Elrond's fëa was like sliding into a warm pool. Every muscle in her body relaxed until the aches and pains she'd been carrying around faded from her awareness, and she floated, drifting through her own healing mind as the lord worked. Maethor and Haedirn's hushed whispers wandered through her ears in streams, dropping lower with each rise of her chest, and Oropher's soft hand gripped hers loosely as if he was worried she would slip into oblivion.

It was natural how easily she tumbled into the heartbeat of the forest.

Oropher was quick to follow her, though he restrained her progress. She had grown accustomed to frolicking through the song with Thranduil, flying far and fast as they leaped from tree to tree, wild as the forest. Oropher forced her to be sedate, calculating, as they moved north to find Thranduil. Though he said nothing, she felt each pause, each stretch of his awareness, as if he were silently teaching her not just to travel the song but to become it.

But the longer she wove through the heart of the forest, the more concerned she grew. Mairon had taken every chance to grab her before. For her to travel so slowly, almost to the northern border, without interruption…

They passed through the towering pines and then around the branches that cradled the talan of the northern outpost, flying all the way to the field of petite white flowers she'd accidentally created.

And found no one.

Charlotte was sure her blood had gone cold in her far-away body. Thranduil had marched north with thousands of warriors, and neither Oropher nor Charlotte had encountered a soul, not even the wardens responsible for guarding the northern forest. There were no orcs either, dead or otherwise. Instead, the field stretched pale and cold and empty toward the grey mountains in the distance.

Thranduil wouldn't have left the forest. But there was no sign of him or his host. Charlotte wanted to surge toward the mountains, but it was as if she was utterly incapable of moving forward. She couldn't even try.

She stretched her awareness out, searching for her companion. "I can't leave the forest, can I?"

Oropher's worried voice bridged the gap between their minds. "We share a connection with the forest. Since this is its end, this is as far as we can reach."

But Thranduil was out there. Somewhere. He had to be.

Oropher barely had time to latch onto her as she dove into the song, flinging herself through the forest to search for Thranduil. She dragged him along the northern edge of the forest before thundering through the trees to the caverns to see if he'd returned home. But the caverns were strangely silent, the gates sealed tightly, even the telain high in the trees and the stone houses between the trunks were devoid of life. She couldn't see anything through the thick stone.

"There are elves within," Oropher assured her when she mentioned it, "though Thranduil is not among them. You have not had enough practice yet to be able to sense the life within the rock, but I will teach you how to do so once this has ended."

If Thranduil wasn't in the northern forest or in the caverns, she worried he had attempted to move his army south. If he'd gone toward Aman Lanc, he'd be marching straight into Mairon's grip. She flung herself faster through the forest, hopping between trees, bushes, and ferns, down the Elf Path and along the Tithenduin.

Until they slammed hard against Emyn Duir, just beyond the old settlement. At first, she thought it was as Oropher had said, and she had yet to learn to traverse the forest's mountains, but even Oropher hit the barrier. Though she could see the life beyond, her fëa could not enter. Oropher pressed against the invisible wall beside her, trying to force himself through.

"Something is blocking me," he said.

She could picture the frown on his face, the confusion. Oropher had been the Elvenking for thousands of years, had likely known every blade of grass and patch of moss in the forest, and he couldn't enter the southern wood. If he couldn't, it would be impossible for her.

Still, they both tried pressing through again and again until they were forced to concede defeat and return. Charlotte whipped back into her own mind so quickly her head spun, and her hand flung up as if to steady her brain.

Oropher chuckled at her. "We'll work on that too," he said before offering his hand once more to help her sit up.

Charlotte let him steady her and then dropped her head into her hands, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes. Thranduil was missing. His whole host had vanished. Her soul couldn't connect with the life of the southern wood. She wasn't sure if she should be terrified or relieved that Mairon hadn't taken the bait.

A hand settled on her shoulder, and she tilted her tired eyes up to find Maethor's concerned blue ones. "Are you well?" He asked simply.

Her mouth opened, but she hesitated. It snapped shut. Was she well? No. She'd been hunted by Mairon— Sauron— chased by spiders, dumped to her death by Thranduil's conniving advisor, magically turned her elk into a previously deceased king, and none of that compared to the absolute terror she felt at not knowing if Thranduil was alive.

"Where could he be?" She asked.

"You didn't find him?" Haedirn dropped to his knees before her. Oropher budged closer, pressing his arm against her side, offering his quiet support.

"The entire host is missing," she said. The words felt cold on her lips. "Thranduil is missing."

Her guards exchanged heavy glances, and then Maethor said, "What about Sauron?"

Charlotte shook her head. "He didn't even try to pull me south, and Oropher and I couldn't enter the southern forest either."

Oropher took over from there, describing the barrier and their frantic trip through the forest. For Charlotte's part, she faded into her mind and tried to reach Thranduil that way, but she'd never done it without being able to see him or without having the song to guide her through the forest. Even with the forest song, the last time she'd tried, she'd accidentally sent her thoughts to Elrond instead. Now it felt like searching for a word on a blank page, as if Thranduil simply didn't exist at all.

What would she tell Legolas? Would she tell Legolas?

She didn't want to keep his adar's absence a secret, not when there was the possibility of him hearing it indirectly from someone else, but she also didn't want to worry him without having more information.

"Where could he be?" She asked again, this time turning to Oropher.

Oropher's mouth turned down, and he sighed. "It's possible that he was forced to push them into the mountains."

"But?"

His shoulders dropped, but he kept his eyes on hers. "But he is wiser than that. He would lose the advantage, and there are far more dangerous beings in those mountains."

Her stomach twisted. She'd been nearly killed by orcs and couldn't forget their grotesque appearance or their putrid rotting scent. To think that they were not Thranduil's greatest threat; acid rose in her throat. "What do we do?"

"We remove Cúthon from his position."

"But Thranduil—"

"We would need enough elves to search for him," Oropher said. "Since the entire host is missing, and there is no sign of battle, we have hope that Thranduil is simply elsewhere for now. I am concerned, however, that the elves have pulled into the caverns and abandoned the forest."

Maethor's hand twitched on her shoulder. "All of them?" he asked.

"Charlotte and I swept that entire area. Our people have drawn into the caves and sealed the doors. We need to summon Raenor. I want to know what orders Cúthon has given."

"You will not need to summon him, King Oropher," a gentle voice said. Celebrian stood at the entrance to the grand tent with Raenor beside her.

Legolas was not with her. Charlotte straightened in her seat, her legs tightening as if to bolt, to search the camp for him. Celebrian shot a quick glance at her and said, "I have left him with my naneth."

"Your naneth?" Charlotte stood, already halfway across the tent. If Galadriel was here, that meant—

"Looking for me, mellon nîn?" Amroth asked as he stepped around Celebrian and Raenor. Of course, he looked exactly the same as he had when they'd parted ways at the Forest Gate weeks ago. She didn't know why she expected to see a change in him. Elves aged extremely slowly from what she'd been told, and yet, his cheery smile and youthful mannerisms felt off to her.

Still, she swept him into a familiar hug. "You got Thranduil's letter then?" She asked with a sigh of relief. With Amroth and Elrond's forces, they stood a better chance of finding Thranduil.

Amroth released her and cocked his head. "Letter?"

"Yes…" she dragged the word out, her hands still wrapped around his arms. "If you didn't get the letters, then what happened to them?" Almost as soon as she asked it, the answer came to her. She pinched her lips and exhaled sharply through her nose.

"Ouch," Amroth smiled gently. "I would hate to be whoever you're murdering in your head."

"He tried to kill me first, so…"

"What?"

Amroth was suddenly deadly. His eyes turned hard, and his head bounced up as if seeking the name from one of the elves assembled in the tent. His muscles bunched beneath her fingers, and she could sense the rage radiating from him. She'd never seen him so angry.

And then he spotted Oropher.

His nostrils flared, and there was heat in his gaze, a flame to scorch the earth. "Oropher." It was hissed between clenched teeth, spat at the ellon who'd been her faithful companion, and Charlotte instantly felt her own hackles rise as she stepped out of Amroth's hold.

Oropher had been through hell to keep her safe. Not only that, but he had been there for her when she'd felt too broken to accept Thranduil's enduring presence in her agony. Oropher hadn't forced her out of her grief. Nor had Thranduil. They'd crawled into her abyss and rode out the worst with her.

A cool hand settled on her shoulder, and she jerked her angry gaze from Amroth to find a glassy-eyed Oropher at her shoulder. He tipped his head to her collarbones, where her stone faintly shimmered, and said, "I thank you, but his hatred is well earned."

"Oropher?" She shook her head.

"There is much you do not know of me yet," his eyes drifted closed as if pained, and for a moment, she swore she saw his fëa flutter, "and I am afraid my explanations will have to wait a little longer, judging by Raenor's expression."

She'd completely forgotten about Raenor. She glanced over Amroth's shoulder and found the ellon shifting on his toes and glancing toward the forest line.

"Report, Raenor," Oropher said, his face wiped clean of emotion save for his haunted eyes.

Raenor stepped further into the tent and gave a perfunctory bow. "A report from the south, Your Majesty," Raenor said. "Two days ago, our scouts located a host of orcs marching north from the direction of Aman Lanc, numbering in the thousands."

"Two days ago?" Oropher cried.

"I was only just informed, shortly after we parted, and I came as quickly as I could, Your Majesty. Reports have slowed between wardens, and communication has been made all the more difficult by Lord Cúthon. He has ordered our people from the forest, withdrawn them into the caverns, and demanded the gates remain closed. I have heard whispers that he even plans to somehow destroy the bridge."

"Then he is likely already aware of the threat, and that is why he's setting the caverns up for a siege. How many still guard the forest?" Oropher was pacing, his eyes wide and unseeing, as if he were wandering over a map of the Greenwood instead of Elrond's pavilion rugs.

Raenor frowned and shook his head. "There are very few of us. Most have been recalled to the caverns."

Oropher froze mid-step, and his fingers twisted. "He holed himself up and left the Greenwood itself undefended? Where does he think our people will go if the forest is seized? What will he do after our people have been trapped in those caverns for months? Especially considering we suspect he has someone preventing the king's missives from being sent. As far as he knows, Imladris and Lórinand are unaware of the northern threat, and he has no allies."

Raenor looked to both Elrond and Amroth with confusion. Charlotte couldn't blame him. Without the invitations Thranduil had issued, why had Amroth and Elrond trekked across Middle Earth to the Greenwood?"

"Focus," Charlotte whispered to Oropher. "What do we do next?"

Amorth scoffed. "He is the last ellon you should seek such advice from."

"Amroth!"

"He is correct," Oropher sighed.

Charlotte shook her head. "Don't do this," she reached out, grasping his wringing hands in her own. He'd crawled into darkness for her; now, it was her turn to go in after him. "Thranduil needs us. Needs you."

Amroth barked a laugh, pain tearing apart the sound. "He is the last ellon Thranduil needs."

"Amroth, what the hell?" Charlotte snapped.

"Tell her," Amroth ordered. Each step toward them was staccato, a beat of her own heart. "Tell her," he snarled, "how your orders led my father to slaughter. Tell her how you could have stopped the bloodshed, how you encouraged the early charge that massacred our people."

Oropher crumbled, drawing into himself. His fëa flickered, but he managed to say, "Amroth speaks true; I am not the ellon to lead our people." He turned to Amroth, his chin forcibly head high. "I promised you answers, and you will have them. Come find me when you're ready."

"Oropher!" Charlotte reached for him, but he swept from the tent without looking back. She couldn't bear to look at Amroth.

She'd known, of course. Amroth had blamed Oropher for his father's death as they'd sat and talked on Beorn's steps. But Thranduil had spoken with such reverence for his adar; it was hard to believe it could be anything more than a misunderstanding.

Charlotte felt like smacking herself. It would have been a massive misunderstanding for it to end in the death of Amroth's adar.

She didn't know what to believe anymore. Amroth had been a good friend on her journey. He'd offered her an escape in case she changed her mind about the Greenwood. He'd started her training, gifted her the weapon that had saved her from Mairon, taught her the basics about being an elf.

But Oropher had been there for her through everything. Faithfully. Unflinchingly. Much like his son.

And now both son and father had left her, and she had to hope she didn't drown.

She turned, putting her back to Amroth, and hiked her chin. "Maethor, Haedirn, correct me if I'm mistaken: it's a five-day trek from the mountains to the caverns, maybe six for a large host. If they've been spotted just south of the mountains, the orcs should already be past them, and we've got, at best, a day or two to intercept them before they reach the caverns."

Maethor's brow scrunched as he thought it over, and he said. "It depends on how close they were to the mountains when they were spotted."

"Crossing Men-i-Naugrim," Raenor said, stepping forward.

"The Way of the Dwarves?" Charlotte asked.

"It is the road that cuts straight through the forest," Maethor explained quickly. "It's about two days south of Emyn Duir, but they would be forced to go around the mountains."

Charlotte tilted her head and waited for him to explain, but Haedirn picked up his thread. "The mountains are sloping on the northern side, but the southern side is steep cliffs and rocky terrain. They would have difficulties traversing that with such a large host."

"So the question is," Charlotte said, drawing on the memory of Thranduil's intricately painted map in his office, "would they choose to round the mountains on the side closest to the caverns or the side closest to Aman Lanc?"

"I can discover that for you, my lady," Raenor said with a bow. His twin flowers peeked through his braids.

Charlotte hesitated, glancing around at the other elves assembled. Elrond was pensieve with Celebrian at his side. Glorfindel stood alert behind them. Her two guards both looked to her, and even Amroth seemed to await her answer. They couldn't be serious?

No one spoke. Her lungs felt solid in her chest. She was no queen. No warrior. She should not be giving orders to anyone. Without Oropher, without Thranduil, no one but Cúthon could command the elves of Eryn Galen. Yet Raenor stood patiently waiting for her response.

"They will follow you, my lady," Raenor swore.

Her eyes darted again to those flowers wrapped delicately into his braids.

"Keep your distance," she said and prayed it was the right path. "Report back as soon as you know which side they're approaching from, and assign another warden, someone you trust, to spread the word."

She chewed her lip. Where would she send them? Military strategy wasn't really her area of expertise.

"There is a post," Maethor offered, "near the center of the forest, about two days south of the caverns. If they assemble there, we should hopefully be able to move them in time."

She wasn't fond of the word "hopefully," but what choice did they have?

"Then have them assemble there, with the possibility of being redirected en route." She turned to Raenor and said, "Tell them…" She tasted blood in her mouth and released her bruised lip. "Tell them Anniuel requests their aid for the defense of Eryn Galen. I cannot officially order them anywhere."

"Nevertheless, my lady," Raenor repeated, "we will follow you."

"As will we," Amroth vowed.

Charlotte finally faced him and shoved aside her anger and confusion to give him a grateful smile.

"Then it is settled," Elrond said, stepping forward to study the odd assembly of elves. "Imladris will join once more with Lórinand and Eryn Galen to purge the shadows from Middle Earth."

Charlotte felt hope and nausea war within her chest and knew that she had just issued the challenge that could see her people and her friends killed.


Translations:

Men-i-Naugrim - "The Way of the Dwarves." (Canon) At this point (T.A. 109), Moria is still inhabited by dwarves, though they have sealed their doors post the destruction of Eregion. The Kingdom Under the Mountain (Erebor) isn't established until T.A. 1999, but the Longbeards have possession of the Lonely Mountain, and the Dwarf Road travels toward the colonized Iron Hills to the east of that. By the Quest for Erebor in T.A. 2941, the road was in disrepair and frequented by orcs and goblins. At that point, it was referred to as the "Old Forest Road." So long story short: Men-i-Naugrim is the Old Forest Road.