Chapter 30: Not So Petty Councils
They waited to mourn until after the harvest was done. It took three days, and after the sun set on the third the people came together beneath the stars. Greenwood had lost only five souls thanks to the warnings from the border. Four fell defending the farm in the first wave of the attacks. One rode with Thranduil. All five of them were Iauron's kin. His children, he called them, and he led the prayers to guide their souls safely across the sea and into Namo's arms.
Caladhel's eyes were fixed on Roewen, who stood silent and stoic beside her grandfather. They had returned to their assigned farm shortly after the attack and finished their work in relative silence. Caladhel had not known what to say at the time, so she said nothing. When she finally did find the words, the time was not quite right.
Following the prayers, the farm echoed with a lament – haunting, beautiful – sung in the Silvan tongue. Caladhel wondered who the singers were – if they, too, were kin to the fallen. She suspected so. Roewen slipped away, retreating to a bench beneath a great oak at the edge of the field.
Caladhel followed after, and when she reached Roewen's side she gestured to the seat beside her. "May I sit?"
Roewen nodded.
Caladhel seated herself and was silent for a time before she said, "I wanted you to know how sorry I am."
"Sorry for what?"
"That you were forced to choose."
Roewen shook her head. "Your apology is unnecessary. There was only ever one choice."
"How is that?"
"Long ago I made the choice to be a warrior, a guardian of this wood. And with that choice comes a burden that can be heavy at times."
"What burden?"
"To obey." Roewen reached out her hand and set it upon Caladhel's, seeking to ease the Lady's guilt despite her own pain and loss. "I did not choose you over Nensell. I chose my oath to this wood. Nensell made the same choice in her youth. You are not responsible for her death, and nor am I."
Caladhel was certain Roewen believed what she said. It did not diminish the pain in the warden's eyes, but it made that pain bearable. Caladhel had suspected by their banter that Nensell and Roewen were friends, and knew them now to be distant cousins. "Were you two very close?"
Some of the sadness drained from Roewen's eyes at Caladhel's question as fond memories of Nensell came forth. "We were like sisters." Roewen turned curious eyes on Caladhel. "Do you have any sisters?" she asked, feeling somewhat ashamed for not having asked before now. It was still painful for Roewen to speak of her brothers, and thus she avoided the topic if she could.
"I have my cousin," Caladhel replied. "She and I were raised together. I may have siblings across the sea. My parents sailed when I was very young. I think my mother wanted more children, but I shall not know until I journey to Valinor."
The possibility of having unmet siblings across the sea seemed strange to Roewen, but she did not think it proper to say so aloud. "What is your cousin like?"
"She is a lady."
"You are a lady," Roewen countered.
"She is much more traditional than I."
"So I take it she would not have joined us in counting potatoes and shooting orcs."
"Most definitely not." Caladhel could not recall the last time she sighted dirt on her cousin's fingers. And while in their youth both ellith had trained with bow and blade, Celebrían cared not for either. She learned them only as a precaution and requirement for traveling abroad. Caladhel wondered what it might be like to have a sister-in-arms like Roewen. There were a handful of ellith in Lórien's guard, of course, and Caladhel knew them by name, but they were neither kin nor close friends.
Caladhel's thoughts returned to Nensell, and the words she spoke to Roewen before she passed. One particular question had troubled her thoughts, and she felt brave enough now to seek an explanation. "When you and Nensell spoke, she asked about Queen Naerwen, if I was like her. What did she mean by that?"
Roewen cringed again, as she had when Nensell asked. The topic clearly made the warden uncomfortable, and it had not been Caladhel's intent to cause her further distress. "Is that a question I aught not to ask?"
Roewen shrugged, but the discomfort in her eyes was less equivocal. "Let us say, it is a question that is difficult to answer without sounding unkind."
"Was she that terrible?"
"She was unhappy," Roewen replied. "Greenwood was not Region. She missed Doriath and Menegroth's halls. She could not let go of the past. When King Oropher died, she had no reason to remain on this shore."
Caladhel could think of one. "What about Thranduil? Was he not reason enough to stay?"
"Thranduil is ours. She knew that. She resented it as well, her and Lord Túven. They were never fond of we Silvan elves who befriended their sons."
"Why?"
Roewen shrugged. "Perhaps they did not consider us noble enough companions for Sindarin Princes."
Caladhel could very well believe Túven thinking so. His distain for others was one of his least admirable qualities. She had no way of knowing if Thranduil's mother had been of like mind, or if Roewen's guess was mere speculation.
Roewen's thoughts wandered as Caladhel's had, only in a different direction, to a happier time long since past. The corners of her mouth curled at the memory. "Nensell had a terrible crush on Brandil in her youth."
Caladhel was surprised at the mention of Thranduil's cousin. She had not heard Roewen speak his name since their first conversation. "What was he like?" she asked.
"You never met him?"
Caladhel shook her head.
"He was incredibly charming," Roewen said. "In face and form he was much like Thranduil, only more beautiful – if you can imagine. He smiled all the time and laughed much more often. And that silver hair of his… I tell you, you would not believe how obsessed some ellith were with the color when they first set foot in this wood. One might have thought the Valar themselves walked among us. Both princes were hounded by ellith who thought them terribly exotic. Thranduil abhorred the attention, but Brandil… he loved it."
Pain and joy warred behind her eyes all the while Roewen spoke. It had been the same when she first mentioned Thranduil's cousin, but tonight, the emotion behind her memories felt more profound. "Did you love him?" Caladhel asked.
Roewen was startled by Caladhel's question. She did not consider herself so very transparent, and on any other evening she might have been able to keep the emotion from her eyes. "I tried not to," she said, "but it was no easy task."
Caladhel had no need to ask why Roewen would deny her heart. They had already spoken of Túven. Caladhel could only imagine the Lord's reaction had his son proclaimed love for a Silvan warrior. Caladhel did not ask if Brandil returned her affection. She did not have to. Thranduil's bond with the elleth was strangely familial and it made more sense if, indeed, she had meant something to his cousin.
"I think our king's ears are ringing," said Roewen. She marked his approach from across the field. When he was within a few feet of them, Roewen greeted him with a nod. "My lord."
"Captain." Thranduil nodded to the warden in return before addressing Caladhel. "May I have a private word with Roewen?"
"Of course." Caladhel gave Roewen's hand a gentle squeeze before departing.
Thranduil took the seat Caladhel vacated. He followed her with his eyes until she safely rejoined the gathering. Iauron greeted her warmly and she took his arm, but the ancient elf's expression was not nearly as lighthearted as it had been only a few days before.
Thranduil exhaled slowly, but the pain in his heart was not banished so easily. "I shall miss Nensell."
Roewen nodded and a smile tugged at the edge of her mouth. "I was thinking about the harvest festival where she braided Brandil's hair into Aithron's while they slept."
Thranduil's eyes brightened, too, at the memory. Brandil and Roewen's brother had passed out at a table after what was later reported to be their fourth bottle of wine – a competition, of sorts. Nensell had attempted to wake them, and failing, decided to teach them a lesson. Their reactions upon waking had been particularly entertaining.
"They might have had a bit too much wine that night."
"You think?" Roewen laughed softly, but her humor did not last, for the memory was equal parts fond and painful. A silence fell between them. It was broken by Roewen. "I am tired of losing people I love," she said.
"So am I."
Roewen knew well the weight of Thranduil's loss. His burden was greater than hers, and her own was not small. She knew, also, that he had found joy again in this lady from Lórien. That fact should have been a comfort to Roewen, but after her argument with Caladhel in the trees, it made her uneasy. "That lady of yours… I came close to knocking her out."
A flurry of emotions crossed Thranduil's face in rapid succession, from shock to anger, but settled last on curiosity. "Why?"
"She did not understand your command, that you would allow Nensell to die rather than place her in danger. You should correct her on that account. I might not be around next time to restrain her."
Thranduil had feared Caladhel would disobey his order to stay in the trees, just as she had when he warned her of the dangers in the forest. He would speak to her, as Roewen asked, but he was uncertain any conversation would change who Caladhel was at heart. "I suspect she will do what she wills should a like situation occur again. She can be more stubborn than I am."
"She will need to be, if she is to deal with your kin."
Thranduil shot the warden a half-hearted glare, but conceded the point, for it led him to his second purpose in seeking Roewen out this night. He was not the only one cursed with stubborn kin. "On that note, there is another matter I wish to discuss with you."
"My punishment?"
"You did disobey my order."
"It is an unfortunate habit, one I have tried hard to break."
"At least your faults have good timing."
"Meaning what?"
"I have a task for you."
"What kind of task?"
"I need your help with him."
Roewen knew precisely whom Thranduil meant, and she would have much preferred any other possible punishment. "Can you not simply set me to scrubbing the palace floors?"
Thranduil shook his head. "I need him to come to Limrond. I need him at our next council meeting."
"He hates council meetings."
"I know."
Thranduil explained his purpose to Roewen and she listened to him in silence for a time. After he was done, she said, "If the matter is so urgent, why not ask him yourself?"
"I already have. Now you must convince him to come."
"What if I promise never to disobey you again?"
"You have made that promise before," he reminded her, "and forgotten it a century later."
Roewen crossed her arms over her chest and huffed dramatically. "You are lucky we are friends, or I might seriously consider defecting to Lórien's guard."
"I am not sure if Lord Celeborn would welcome a deserter," Thranduil said with a smirk, "but you can ask him upon our return."
It was late when Roewen finally made her way to the rallying tent. Most everyone on the farm was asleep, but Iauron was still working. Roewen was not sure if he had taken rest since the first horn blast. She suspected not. He was making notes in his ledger, a quill in one hand, a glass of wine in the other. His head rose when she appeared before him.
"What can I do for you, child?"
"You can pour me a drink," she said.
Iauron studied her a moment before he set down his quill. He drew a clean glass from somewhere beneath the work table and poured her a drink. "How are you holding up?" he asked.
Roewen sipped the wine. It tasted bitter, like her mood. "Better," she said, "and worse. Our king set me to hound you."
"Is that right?"
"He wants you to return with us to Limrond."
"So he said." Iauron returned to his ledger, without further comment.
"And your answer?" Roewen pressed.
"I have no interest in petty councils."
"The matter he wishes to discuss is not petty."
Iauron lifted his eyes from the page before him, meeting Roewen's. "I told our king my opinion, as I told his father before him. I was not heeded then either."
"Thranduil will heed you," Roewen said, "but he cannot act alone. Someone must speak for us at the council."
"The wardens have Lord Iordor to speak for them."
"I meant someone to speak for the people. Lord Iordor is not one of us, and even if he were, he is only one ellon. He will need support if he is to sway others to our cause."
"There are some at court who do not take kindly to my meddling in their affairs."
"You are the one who refused a seat on the council."
"My dear child, I promise you, one day you will understand."
"I understand perfectly," Roewen said. "Nensell is dead. She would be alive now if King Oropher had heeded your advice."
Iauron's eyes hardened and he set his quill down on the table before addressing his granddaughter's accusation. "Should I wail because Oropher chose the advice of his kin over mine? That his counselors did?"
The glare he turned on Roewen was intense enough to cow any other. Roewen bristled at the intensity of his gaze, but she would not relent. "What do you expect, when Lord Túven's voice is the only one heard? There are those on the council who would heed your wisdom, if they could but hear it."
She held his gaze, refusing to be the first to look away. It was a battle of wills, and to Roewen's astonishment, Iauron gave way first. He took up his quill and returned to his ledger, but Roewen refused to be ignored.
"Why are you so damned stubborn in this matter?"
Her tone was sharp, too pointed for Iauron to ignore. "It is not our way," he replied.
"No. It is not. It is their way. And if that is your sole excuse for inaction, it is a feeble one."
Iauron's eyes narrowed at her insult, but his voice remained calm. "Your claws are sharper than usual today, little lion. Fortunately for me, my hide is tough." He dipped the quill into the inkwell and continued writing.
Roewen shook her head in dismay. "Sometimes I think you are as bad as Queen Naerwen. The past is gone. It will never come again. If we and the Sindar are to truly be one people, we must be heard in the council. As our elder, it is your duty to speak for us."
Iauron sighed then, and shut his eyes. When he opened them, he looked truly ancient, his eyes and the lines of his face bearing the weight of many thousands of years. "If Thranduil and his council heed my advice now, more will die."
"Perhaps," Roewen replied.
"And how will I sleep at night," Iauron snapped, "knowing I sent my children to their graves? I have never desired that power over anyone. It is a burden I have no wish to bear."
Roewen understood him well, but she had little sympathy for her grandfather's position. "Thranduil must make such choices every day, and he has asked for your help in choosing wisely. It would be deeply selfish of you to withhold counsel, so that you can sleep easier. Our king deserves better, and so do we."
She turned to leave but at the edge of the tent she paused, and meeting Iauron's angry eyes one last time, she said, "If you truly loved your children, as you claim, you would not allow others to decide our fate."
Iauron watched her disappear into the darkness and after he did not return to his work, but sat brooding deep into the night. Her claws were sharper than he thought. They cut deep and left their mark upon his heart.
The company departed for Limrond the following morning and as before they rode day and night. When they reached the gates of Limrond Caladhel was unsurprised to see her uncle awaiting her with worried eyes. He helped her dismount and drew her directly into his arms.
"Caladhel," he hugged her tight and after held her out at arms length to inspect her head to toe. He found her well, until he met her eyes. They were not the eyes of the child who left him but a few short days ago. She was so much older now. More her age in years than she had been before. He lifted his hand to cradle her face. "Are you well?"
Caladhel set her hand upon his to reassure. "I am fine," she said. "Did my message not reach you?"
"I received it, but I would have slept easier if you had delivered it yourself."
Caladhel frowned at her uncle's admonishment. "I am sorry," she replied. "It was not my intent to worry you."
Celeborn lowered his hand. "I know," he said, "but love breeds concern, whether warranted or not."
At that moment Beleth and Daerel appeared at Caladhel's side, drawing the Lady's attention from her uncle. Celeborn laughed at the younger elleth's enthusiastic greeting and unending flurry of questions.
"Lord Celeborn."
Celeborn turned at the sound of his name to find Greenwood's king standing before him. "King Thranduil." He bowed politely, but did not bother to mask the irritation in his voice. "I was wondering how long we would have to wait until your return."
"It was not my return that concerned you."
"No," Celeborn replied, "it was not. I thought you would send her home upon receiving word of the attack."
"I tried," said Thranduil. "She wished to stay and help."
"I am sure she did. You should have sent her home, anyway."
Thranduil agreed, and if he could alter time, he would have, but a part of him wondered if Caladhel would have obeyed that command. It had not seemed likely when he argued with her beneath the rallying tent. He wondered, too, if Celeborn would have triumphed under like circumstances. "Would Lady Galadriel have left your side if you commanded it?" he asked.
The light of fury lit Celeborn's eyes at Thranduil's question, but it faded quickly to a simmer. Celeborn glanced briefly at his niece, regarding her for a moment, before returning his attention to the King. "Not likely," he replied.
Thranduil would not be celebrating this tiny victory over Celeborn any time soon. If anything, he feared it a step backwards compared to their previous interactions.
"If you will excuse me," said Celeborn. "I must see to my niece."
Thranduil freed the lord with a nod of his head and watched him return to Caladhel's side. He took up her arm and escorted her alongside Beleth into the palace.
Thranduil called a council meeting the evening of his return. Túven sent the messengers to inform their council members and guests. He was displeased to learn Iauron had come for the purpose of speaking to the council. He was livid when Thranduil expanded the Lórien High Counselor's invitation to include Caladhel.
"She has no place in our council," Túven all but shouted at his nephew.
"I decide who has a place in my council," Thranduil countered, "not you."
The argument ended there, and the invitations were sent out.
Caladhel knew the invitation was coming and informed her uncle as he escorted her to her rooms. He was gladdened to learn Caladhel would be included, for he was not fond of withholding knowledge from his niece that might affect her. He had done so with the orcs, allowing her to join Thranduil at the border as if he knew nothing of the danger. He would prefer not to face such a choice again. Celeborn did not bother warning his niece about the delicate nature of Greenwood's council. She was a better diplomat than he by far and suspected she would pick up more from the lords' interactions than he had over the last few days.
Celeborn met his niece at her quarters an hour after the evening meal and escorted her to the council chamber. Lord Iordor greeted Caladhel warmly upon her arrival.
"I am glad you are here," said Iordor, "and that you brought the old goat with you." He jerked his chin in the direction of Iauron who stood a little ways away.
"I heard that," Iauron said. He, too, greeted Caladhel and she introduced him to her uncle.
"Ah, yes," said Iauron, "Lord Celeborn. I have heard much of you. Most of it untrue, I imagine."
Caladhel did her best to contain her laughter. Iordor smiled, too. Celeborn was a bit unsure how to respond and was saved from doing so by Iordor.
The Lord extended his hand to Iauron, clasping the older ellon's arm. "Thank you for coming," he said.
Iauron returned the gesture and Iordor's thanks with a nod of his head.
Caladhel took her seat behind her uncle as the council was called to order. The proceedings were much as she had experienced in other elven realms, and the realms of men as well. Thranduil filled the counselors in on all that had happened at the farm and Túven read additional reports submitted from those who were present before Thranduil's arrival. Iordor spoke last, covering the border reports and the news from the scouts of orc movement and numbers around Amon Lanc.
Caladhel listened all the while, but more than that, she watched the faces of each counselor as they listened, marking who asked what of the king and lords, the tones in which they spoke, and who they looked to for support or resistance.
The question was finally raised on what should be done about the orcs in the south of Greenwood, and an argument quickly ensued.
When Iauron spoke, he said, "I counseled Oropher to raze that fortress of his to the ground before abandoning it. Its walls were too strong to be left unoccupied for long."
It was clear to Caladhel that Túven and his supporters had provided the counter opinion. Arguing that the work necessary to dismantle the fortress was a wasted effort that time and nature would accomplish for them. It was clear now that position had been a mistake, though Túven would not readily admit it.
Iordor argued that they could no longer ignore Amon Lanc. They could not allow the orcs to gain a foothold in the south of Greenwood, else they and Lórien find themselves in constant danger. He called upon the council to send word to King Amroth, and propose that their warriors wipe out the orc threat in a joint assault.
Caladhel's uncle agreed with Iordor, but Celeborn was a practical ellon. He was not entirely sure Lórien would agree to aid Greenwood in this endeavor, for there had been, as of yet, no sign of trouble on their border. "Lórien's might was depleted, too, in the war with Sauron, as you all know," said Celeborn. "I cannot promise they will vote in favor of sending aid to Greenwood. But if it is the council's wish to pursue this course, I will stand in support of the effort before King Amroth."
Túven and a few others stood opposed to the action, but the greater part of the council heeded Iordor, heartened by Celeborn's support and the words Iauron spoke to them all.
"My blood flows through the veins of more elves in this wood than any other," Iauron said. "I have mourned more kin than I care to count, and I have no wish to see more of my children lost. But the threat in the south must be answered, while it is still small enough to be stomped out."
The topic was debated awhile longer, the hows and whens and the precise wording of the message to be sent to Lórien. Celeborn was asked to deliver the message to his people.
"Lord Iordor will accompany you," Thranduil said to Celeborn. And to Iordor, he added, "If anyone can make our case to Lórien's council, it is you."
The council adjourned shortly thereafter, without Caladhel having spoken a word. She continued to watch, however, who spoke with whom when the council broke up and who left the room together. She marked, too, which members were pleased with the outcome, and which were not.
Caladhel's attention turned from Thranduil's counselors to the King, himself, when he approached. "May I escort you to your rooms?" he asked.
Caladhel accepted his offer with a nod and took his arm. He led her from the council chamber. It was only by chance that Caladhel caught a glimpse of Túven before they departed. The anger in his eyes when she met them was unmistakable.
They walked together through the halls in silence for a time, until all the other council members were out of sight.
"You needn't have kept silent," said Thranduil, "if you had something to say."
Caladhel glanced up at the King to find a look of concern upon his face. She did not know its cause, but wished to reassure him. "I have learned it is best to listen when first invited to a council. There are unique dynamics to every circle of power. It is useful to understand the threads connecting each member, those that hold them apart, and those binding them together, else one might find themself caught in a web."
"That is wise," he said.
Caladhel thought he sounded surprised. She knew he was not overly fond of councils and diplomacy, but it had not occurred to her that such understanding was beyond him. "I would have spoken," she said, "had I something to add."
"Will you tell me whom it was that spoke your thoughts?"
"I agree with Lord Iordor and Iauron, and I…" She paused, unsure whether her next thought was appropriate to speak aloud in their current location.
"What?" he asked.
Caladhel glanced about the hall to be sure none could hear them. She lowered her voice in case she was wrong. "I think your uncle would agree with them, too, if not for his dislike for them."
"How do you know he dislikes them?" Thranduil asked.
"The signs are obvious," she replied. And they were, to any who watched closely. Túven's animosity towards Iordor was more than obvious, and Caladhel could not help but wonder at its cause.
She was, however, pleased that Iordor would be delivering the message to Lórien alongside her uncle. It would take some doing to convince Amroth's counselors to commit their sons to another battle and she believed Iordor's wisdom would serve well to persuade them. "It will take time for my uncle to reach Lórien and for Amroth's council to decide on a course. What do you plan to do in the meantime?"
"In the meantime, we celebrate the Starlight Feast."
Caladhel was surprised to hear him say so, for she had all but forgotten the feast. "It seems wrong to be celebrating at a time like this."
"My father would say that even in dark times, there is cause to be joyous."
"Do you believe that as well?"
Thranduil gazed down into her upturned face and his free hand rose to caress her cheek. "I do now."
They reached her door and Caladhel invited Thranduil to join her on the terrace. Daerel was bustling about inside, awaiting the Lady's return. She hurried off to fetch tea for Caladhel and the King.
Caladhel took a seat upon a divan but Thranduil moved to the edge of the terrace and looked out over the rail. She wondered how long it had been since he last stood there. "Your mother's rooms are beautiful, by the way, much airier than my former prison cell."
"You like them?"
"Very much so," she replied. "Though I admit, before I came to Limrond, I did not imagine it possible to find such beauty beneath the earth."
"I suppose it is a matter of taste."
"And what is your opinion?"
"I like these halls better than my father's fortress."
Caladhel was surprised to hear it, though perhaps she should not have been. After all, he spent his childhood in Menegroth's halls. It was only right that he felt more at home.
Caladhel had long wondered why Oropher abandoned Amon Lanc for she suspected the rumors whispered in Lórien were half-truths at best. "I have heard it said your father abandoned Amon Lanc to flee my aunt's influence. Is there any truth to that?"
"Perhaps a small measure," Thranduil said.
"And the rest?"
Thranduil considered her question as his gaze swept across the many stairs and galleries beyond the terrace. "Limrond reminded him of Menegroth," he said. "My father hoped it would please my mother to live as we had in Doriath."
"Did it?" Caladhel asked.
The corners of Thranduil's mouth drew downward. "No," he replied. "She thought these halls a prison."
In Caladhel's mind, the word 'prison' seemed and overly harsh descriptor of one's home. But she already had reason to suspect Naerwen had been a harsh elleth. "Why a prison?"
"She missed her home," Thranduil said. "She missed the holly trees. She missed…"
His voice caught in his throat, and he said no more, but the pain in his eyes was clear from afar. Caladhel rose from her seat and came to his side. She took hold of his arm.
"What else did she miss?"
Thranduil felt her arms wrap around his own. He looked down to see her eyes full of concern. Her right hand stroked his arm gently, lovingly. He had tried not to dwell on how much he missed her touch these last few days. There were more important subjects to focus his mind upon, work to be done. But there were moments, sharp but fleeting, when he wished to have her close. He would banish the thoughts whenever they arose. He did not feel the need to deny his heart now. He set his free hand upon hers and caressed her fingers.
She had asked him a question about Naerwen, what it was she missed. How could he explain the depths of his mother's pain in mere words?
"She missed the child who rode off to fight Morgoth," said Thranduil. "He never returned."
The pain of guilt Thranduil revealed with these words was beyond measure. Caladhel could not imagine the weight of it. She hugged Thranduil's arm a bit tighter. "Did she blame you for this?"
"No," he replied, "but I was not who I once was, and she had already lost so much. My father was all that remained of the happy days she remembered. When he died, her spirit died with him. She had to sail."
"Did you consider going with her?"
"No. I could not abandon my people."
Caladhel was not surprised by his answer, but she was certain the loss of his mother had been a great pain, as it had been for Caladhel when her parents sailed. Caladhel rested her head on Thranduil's arm. There was nothing else she could do or say to comfort him in his loss.
Thranduil drew her into his arms and she rested her head upon his chest. His right hand rose to stroke her hair. The scent of lavender soap and the warmth of her body soothed his soul. He did not wish to leave her, not now or ever, but he knew he must.
"I must find my uncle," said Thranduil. "We always confer after a council meeting."
Caladhel drew back and looked up to meet his eyes before she asked, "Will he be angry you spoke with me first?"
"Probably," he said.
Caladhel's expression darkened a measure. She knew she had already angered Túven this night by her presence at the council.
Thranduil laid a kiss on her forehead. "Do not be concerned," he said. "I will deal with him."
A/N: 'Roe' is the plural of 'raw,' which means 'lion' in Sindarin. I liked the plural form better as a name, so I took that instead. Therefore, the approximate translation of Roewen's name is 'lion maiden.'
