The Throne Room of the New Palace was by no means as vastly impressive as that of the Old Palace, but it had no need to be; any hall inhabited by Thranduil, installed on an antler-framed throne atop even a small flight of step, was instantly transformed into the most awe-inspiring and solemn of places. Lit as it was by strategically placed wall sconces and lantern stands, the impression was one of a king who glittered with jewels and magnificence from his silvered winter crown to his elegant grey suede boots. Swathed in a magnificent robe of office, gems sparking fire from the rings on his hands, he was, if anything, more impressive in this setting than in the larger Hall of Audience in the Old Palace; here, he was more visible, somehow.

It was not to be wondered at, therefore, that when the village elders were escorted into the Royal Presence and shown where to stand by the guards, they swallowed and shivered, for the moment awed and humbled, bowing and trying to hide their trembling once told to rise.

Behind and to either side of the throne were ranged members of the King's Office and the Palace Office – all of them, even Faerveren – accompanied by Commander Triwathon and Captain Narunir. Beside them, several Galadhrim stood like ethereal spirits, the illusion of their unreality only highlighted by the more solid presence of Lord Elrohir and his spouse Rusdir next to them.

Thranduil waited for just long enough for the elders to show signs of unease before shifting slightly in his seat and indicating the first elf.

'You,' he said. 'The elder of Oak Village. Begin.'

The ellon swallowed, raised a defiant chin.

'We were attacked from the skies. The village burned, elves were snatched away screaming… and the garrison did nothing! We were under attack for over an hour before…'

'Master Merenor, how long does it take, on foot, to get from the garrison to Oak Village?'

'Sire.' Merenor stood and bowed, produced a sheet of paper and glanced at them. 'In the canopy, under ideal conditions, an hour and part of an hour. In the dark, with dragons preventing canopy running, more like to two hours.'

Thranduil acknowledge the information with a lift of his hand.

'Oak. Continue.'

'We lost friends, family, our homes, we… and we did not deserve… and there was no help…'

'Commander? Oak Village?'

Triwathon rose to his feet and came to bow to the king.

'Sire, Oak Village was relieved by a company led by Captain Hannith. Volunteers with her were Captain Rusdir and Lord Elrohir. It was difficult, I understand, to persuade some of the inhabitants to leave…'

The elf turned on the commander.

'And is that all you have to say for yourself? Stuck all the way out here, ignoring the fact that the villages were under attack, sending… sending interlopers and a lesser company out to threaten us out of our…'

'Enough,' Thranduil said, his languid voice drifting like an icy wind across the throne room. 'Elder, be silent lest you offend more than you already have. Do you forget how hard you petitioned to settle more than a league and a half from the palace? Do you not recall how you were offered a guard flet close by? A hunter troop stationed within reach of all three villages? Has it escaped you that at every touch and turn you have insisted on making Commander Triwathon's job impossible?'

'My king, I… that is not… I…'

'And have you also forgotten that I summoned you here so that you could place before me the questions of those formerly in your care? This you have yet to do. You.' Thranduil pointed towards the next village representative in line. 'Perhaps it is too soon for the displaced elves to have properly articulated their questions. But speak. I am more interested in how your villagers took the news that they will be returning to the Old Palace.'

'Sire.' The elleth addressed gave a respectful bow. 'I am Taranith, of Beech Village. My brother Arastor was taken by one of the dragons, but survived. He – pardon me, I know it is not what you have commanded of me – he wished me to express his grateful thanks to those elves who rescued him and bore him to safety. His wife was there, dead, and the elves tidied her respectfully, and then one sat with his friend who was waiting for the Lord of the Halls of Mandos… he – my brother says they were kind.'

Thranduil flickered fingers towards Triwathon, who again came forward.

'Captains Canadion and Thiriston, staying as guests, volunteered to help. It was they assisted Arastor to the New Palace.'

'Noted. Continue, Taranith.'

'Your majesty, of course my friends are distressed and saddened to lose their homes. But they are loyal elves, sire, and will obey your commands. For myself, I am grateful for the care and shelter we have had, and that there are places waiting for us. When he is well, I think my brother will support my authority with the people, if it is needed.' She took a breath. 'It was asked of me… they wish to know… will they be able to return, not to live, but to see where their loved ones were placed? Or is the area to be forever untrod?'

Parvon, watching, thought Thranduil hesitated for a heartbeat, as if this was not what he had been expecting. But the king paused only briefly before replying.

'The region will be made safe, the trees nurtured and comforted, and once healing has begun in the forest, then yes, those who wish it may return to walk the paths. Only it will be a place of memory, not of dwelling, in honour of the dead.'

'My king is most generous. Many will be set at ease by this news.'

'And you?' Thranduil's pointing finger moved along to the last elf in line. 'Have your villagers formed questions fit to repeat, yet?'

'I am Edemes of Beech Village. My people were not happy to be told to leave, either.' The elleth paused, as if trying to phrase things so she would avoid Thranduil's ire. 'But the guard were trying to help. Many of my villagers are greatly distressed at what they perceive as interference in their way of life and wished me to ask whether or not our king has listened too well to the advice of those whose jobs are made harder with us to care for… but I am sure that is not the case…'

'No, indeed,' Thranduil said, glancing at his fingernails as if bored, bored, bored by it all. 'For them to make such an allegation would be most unwise, and I am sure your villagers are simply confused, it must have been a very confusing time for them… Very well.' He dropped his hands to the arms of his throne and sat more upright. 'Go back to your people, all of you. Tell them they can come to the Old Palace and resettle, perhaps even in talain, or they could sail, or they can leave the protection of their Elvenking should those suggestions not suit their whims. But they will not live in Beech, Oak, or Elm Villages ever again. You are to find some who are willing to leave now, uninjured, if possible, entire families, if there are such, to be first to return. As such, they will make the journey by cart, and with full protection on the way. Subsequent convoys will most likely be on foot, but with the protection of the guard. Give the names of those you choose to go first to my Palace Office advisors before sunset tomorrow. You may go.'

The elders bowed and retreated in as much haste as was dignified. Once the throne room was free of them, Thranduil sighed.

'Very well. Parvon, Triwathon, no doubt you have many questions. Captain Rusdir, Lord Elrohir, we thank you for your attendance. And your Galadhrim guests, we are grateful for the aid you gave to our villagers, reluctant to accept though they were.'

'Sire.' Rusdir stood before the king and bowed. 'I wished to ask – concerning my nephews… Elrohir and I are all the family they have, now. I – we – would like to take them back with us, to Imladris. The young ones have said they would like it. It is a very different place now that Lord Elrond has sailed. Of course, if ever they are unhappy, we will bring them home again… but…'

'Peace, Rusdir. They are your family now, and if they wish to be with you, then I will release them from the forest with my blessing. Only remember, they are Silvan, and they will always have a home here, should they wish it. As do you, and your spouse.'

'Sire, we are grateful. May I ask…? Our Galadhrim friends wish to make a suggestion…'

'Very well.'

Rusdir stepped back and Lumormen approached and bowed to the king.

'Our forest, and your forest, we are neighbours, great king,' he began. 'And we of the Galadhrim wish to offer our aid, such as it is, to your damaged regions. We would use our craft and skill to help repair the wounds to the forest caused by fire. For it seems to us, that the trees here were young, and they may well recover. It is small service, but we would do it well.'

'We will be most pleased to accept your help.' Thranduil said. 'Arrange matters with Commander Triwathon – he intends to send out a working party to begin to assess the damage and dismantle the village infrastructure. Working together would benefit all parties. Very well. Dismissed, everyone, except Triwathon, Narunir, Parvon and Faerveren. Good.'

The throne room being cleared of all except the three named, Thranduil descended from his throne. Faerveren looked towards the exit as if wishing he could have left, too, and the king noted the direction of his gaze with a private smile.

'Peace, all of you. I wish only to thank you and to give further instructions. Triwathon, I want you to oversee the Galadhrim efforts in the forest yourself, thus freeing Narunir and Hannith for escort duties…'

'Sire?'

'All elves being relocated to the Old Palace will have a guard escort. Thus when comes the turn of those who are unwilling to leave, they will not realise the guard is there to counter any attempts at rebellion. Besides, it will simply look as if we wish to reassure them they are safe.'

It didn't quite answer Triwathon's concerns, but he was unable to find a way to express what really was bothering him.

'Parvon, you will manage the New Palace Office alone for a time. I wish Faerveren to return to the Old Palace with us, if you can spare him. And Merenor and Hanben at the same time.'

'Then of course I can spare Faerveren.' Parvon smiled warmly at his underscribe. 'He has worked hard and served exceptionally well. Family time is important. Enjoy your downtime, Faerveren.'

'Thank you, Master Parvon! I have… it has been interesting, recently, but I think a change would be nice.'

'I shall work you, Faerveren, never fear,' Thranduil said. 'Parvon, I wish to have all the homeless elves settled back in the Old Palace as soon as can be, with due patience for their healing, of course. The escort guards who accompany each convoy will not return, thus creating a sort of natural attrition in the garrison here, Commander. My intent is that you be left with one company, rather than three, by the time the restoration of the forest is complete. Thus you will not have the personnel to support the villages and it is my hope they will begin to consider a return to inside the perimeter around the Old Palace without excessive prompting… yes, I know, it is harsh, these are their homes… but they would not let us put processes in place to keep them safe and so they must learn to live in insecurity. And with fewer elves to worry about, your own workload will diminish, Master Parvon. Do you understand'

'I think so, sire,' Parvon said slowly. But… I would rather someone else told Healer Mae, if there happens that anyone injured in the villages were injured…'

Thranduil sighed.

'Yes, indeed… very well, in dire circumstances, Healer Mae can attend the desperately injured. But that is all. Looking forward, I intend that the New Palace be disbanded after next year's Night of the Names. That gives you almost an entire year to arrange and implement the required procedures. I realise that elves will be attached to this area until those they have laid to rest are absorbed into their trees, and I expect visitors will come from Imladris to see where their seneschal is resting. But even so, a year is plenty of time.' The king allowed his face to relax into something near to a smile. 'There. That was not so very bad, was it?'

Parvon glanced around his friends. Triwathon's expression was frozen, immobile. Narunir looked as if he had taken a body-blow, and Faerveren was blinking and gulping as if trying not to cry. They were his people, his responsibility, and he wasn't going to let even his king get away with ruining their lives in so light a manner.

He took a breath, aware he was beginning to shake.

'No, sire,' he said. 'In fact, it is far worse than expected. While we appreciate that you noted our service in the face of the elders' complaints, this – taking away all we have worked towards – it is… shocking…'

'Have I not worked to the same end?' Thranduil enquired mildly, not yet annoyed, simply mystified.

'Yes, sire, that is true, I suppose,' Parvon replied. 'But wherever you are, you are the Elvenking. Commander Triwathon and Captain Narunir's garrison is here; there are commanders and captains already in your majesty's Old Palace, will they be expected to simply take on lesser roles? Away from the New Palace, none of my recent work is of relevance to the King's Office and I would be just another scribe. My work, my life, was here, and…'

'But it was not always so. You will find other tasks, Parvon. Or I will find them for you. I seem to recall you offered to act as escort for any who would sail…'And now Thranduil's voice became full of silken menace. 'Be assured, that opportunity will still be open to you…'

Parvon gritted his teeth.

'My king is most generous,' he said.

'Yes, indeed,' the king replied. 'Now, you all have work to do, I think. Let me not impede your going.'