Approx 751 (S.A.) the Greenwood:

She is a leaf, one of millions, shivering in the wind. It gusts harder and so suddenly, she is ripped free of her tenuous hold of the branch. Drifting, tumbling, swirling on the breeze, she takes a breath-

Now she is a tree, one of thousands, solid and forbidding and ancient. The wind cannot move her, though her branches and leaves dance to the song it conducts. She hums in approval and takes a breath-

She is a squirrel, scrambling and running and scratching her way down the trunk of a tree. She makes her way down to the forest floor, pausing, then running, then pausing again. She takes a breath-

A deer, grazing comfortably in the safety of the herd. A breath.

A hunting cat, stalking in the shadowed undergrowth. Breathe.

An owl, nesting in the heart of an oak, waiting for night. Breathe.

Awarenesses flickered by, faster and faster, blurring together too quick to keep up with. The entire forest pressed against her mind, all clamouring for her attention, a whirlwind of information that she could not process. In the rush of noise, lights flashed by - consciousnesses that instinct warned her she could not, dared not, touch. Those were Elves, and their minds were closed to her accidental intrusion. But even still, they burned impressions on her senses - laughter and singing and sweet wine; friendship and love and joy; relaxation and peacefulness and-

Fire.

Óleth awoke, heart pounding and breathing harsh in her chest, almost falling from the branch where she had been resting. That certainly would have been embarrassing; she had not fallen from a tree since she was an elfling, barely allowed to wander unsupervised from camp.

She let her eyes drift closed as she tried to understand what she had just witnessed before her memory of it faded. Her awareness of the goings-on in the Greenwood was not unique by any means, all the Silvan elves could commune with each other mind to mind and with many of the other denizens of the woods if they chose - ability to do so even in her sleep was more unusual, she had only met a scarce handful of other Elves who could do so. It was often a relaxing way to way to pass her resting hours, as there was little in the Greenwood that would threaten an Elf. There was peace here.

Well, mostly.

Since the intrusion of the Sindar elves out of the west a year past (but not the Far West, they'd continuously stressed.), a tension had crept over the forest like a winter frost. Nothing had been settled between Sindar and Silvan. Some of the Sindar had sensibly dispersed into different lumornyss, but the majority had remained where they had first settled: a hill in the southern region of the forest, that they had begun to call Amon Lanc in their harsh tongue.

Their Sindar cousins were certainly strange, Óleth mused, though she could scarce call them cousins, they were so different. She could not understand their desire to settle, to plant roots like a tree and build permanent structures. Nothing in the Greenwood was permanent; the lumornyss moved from camp to camp across the whole forest from month to month. Some lumornyss would even switch camps twice during the longer months, Laer and Rhîw. And these camps were chosen weeks in advance, to ensure they would not clash with another lumornoss and to ensure that the area had sufficiently recovered from the last time someone had stayed there. Some campsites ended up unused for years if the area looked too drained.

"You've never been tree-running before?" A familiar incredulous voice broke into Óleth's thoughts, disturbing her concentration. Óleth opened her eyes, glowering down at Sídhiel from the tree branch. Her sister had just wandered into view, accompanied by the Sindar ellon she was so enamoured of, Thranduil; Sídhiel looking like she was about to burst into laughter, and Thranduil suitably embarrassed at his ignorance.

"It is not a skill I particularly needed to learn in - before," he said, with an uncomfortable set to his shoulders. Óleth snorted.

Did they not have trees in Doriath? Óleth wondered. Certainly, if they wore such heavy cumbersome armour all the time as Thranduil seemed to do, they would break all but the sturdiest branches. Sídhiel's thoughts, it seemed, were running along a similar branch.

"I must confess I find it odd." Óleth found it odd that her normally verbose sister was taking such pains to speak slowly and carefully but she did not dare interrupt Sídhiel now. Her sister was fierce when riled and did not care for Óleth's disdain of the Sindar elves. She didn't understand how Sídhiel could welcome them so easily. "Here, in the Greenwood, an elfling could do this. Much of our lives are spent walking along the paths the trees made, from branch to branch. It is faster, much faster, than walking upon the ground. It is little wonder that you tripped when we first met."

Thranduil flushed, his ears twitching in discomfort. "In my defence, I was not precisely paying attention to where I was going."

"Well then, I am certain it should not be terribly hard to teach you," Sídhiel teased. "Provided I have your utmost attention this time."

Óleth rolled her eyes and then leaned over a little to look down at them properly, fully intending to announce her presence before she was accused of snooping. But as she did so, the branch creaked, and Thranduil's gaze snapped up to meet hers, his hand flashing to the ever-present sword at his hip - Óleth's awareness shrank to those pale blue eyes staring back at her as her world was engulfed in fire.

The heat of the flames licked at her skin and her mouth filled with bitter ash. The trees around her were caught up in the inferno, summer green leaves crisping and burning away, the branches screaming in protest. Animals stampeded past, fur aflame and feathers singed as they sought shelter from their Elven co-inhabitants; but the Elves too were fleeing the blaze, voices raised in alarm and despair as their homes burned. Above the anguished wails of the burning wood came a roar like thunder and the snap of immense wings. In the middle of all the carnage stood Thranduil, oblivious to the flames that burned him too, his eyes still fixed on her.

And then as suddenly as it had come, it was gone, though the flames left light-shadows dancing in her eyes as if she'd been staring at the sun. Sídhiel was frowning at her and Thranduil's expression had changed to one of confusion as his hand drifted away from his sword. She felt her face heat with embarrassment and scrambled awkwardly to her feet. Before either of the other two could speak or try to stop her, she turned and fled.

Óleth bounded through the trees, leaping from branch to branch as smoothly and effortlessly as only one born in the forest could. Even with her mind in turmoil, her thoughts scattered and unfocused, she had no trouble navigating the pathway of branches the Greenwood provided for her. Unaware of the trees shifting beneath her to keep her aloft, she could not drive away the mental image Thranduil had inadvertently brought about.

She knew there was a reason why she didn't like him, but she never could have guessed that he could have been the focus point of such chaos and destruction. Ever since she'd first met him, he'd set her on edge. She'd tried to warn Sídhiel to stay away from him, that her every instinct recoiled from him even if she did not consciously know why. She'd tried to warn the others too, that the Sindar should be sent away, but none had listened. Even Sídhiel had laughed her off, as she never had before, dismissing her bad feelings as nothing more than reasonable suspicion of strangers. As time had passed and no danger had appeared and no betrayal had come at the hands of Thranduil nor any of his kin, and it had become harder and harder for Óleth to convince anyone that they did indeed pose a danger to the Greenwood.

This was not the first time Óleth had seen such things, admittedly never anything so violent, but she had had other visions before. Thranduil's father, Oropher, seemed to wear a mantle of shadow, woven of sadness and grief. She had seen auras of happiness around pregnant elleth, caught glimpses of injuries before they'd occurred, even managed to warn a friend of Sídhiel's not to go to the river alone one day, and thus that ellon had avoided drowning to death.

But the vision Thranduil had prompted was stark and she could not shake it from her mind; even the fringes of it had intruded upon her sleep as he'd approached. Óleth shook her head as she ran, wishing for someone that shared her abilities that she could speak with. But the few other elves that she knew of were far away, she did not know where their lumornyss were staying at present.

What did it all mean?

On instinct, as the branches thinned and fell away beneath her, Óleth allowed herself to drop to the ground, marshalling her thoughts back to the present to see where the trees had lead her. As she looked around, she groaned. Why here? she thought furiously at the trees, which gave no reply, leaves waving peacefully in the gentle breeze.

Traitors that they were, they had guided her steps deep into the heart of the forest, much further north than she ever liked to go. The trees here had purposefully left a clearing around a massive beech tree, an ancient progenitor of the forest, and one that would brook no neighbour. No animals lurked or denned in this clearing, no birds roosted in sprawling branches that scraped the sky. It was forbidding and ominous, and all avoided this clearing if they could.

At least, if they had any sense they did.

"So you have returned at last, little dreamer," a voice thrummed at the edges of her mind, strong despite the age of the tree. Óleth stepped further into the clearing, reluctance dragging at her feet. She had avoided this place with fervour since she'd stumbled across it as an elfling and the tree had scared her witless. She'd sworn she would never willingly return to this tree again - it knew too much, to the extent that some among the Silvan whispered that it had once been an elf like them, ages of the world ago, and had merged with a beech tree to hide from the Dark Lord, Morgoth. But somehow, they had become trapped, and then twisted, and refused to use its knowledge for the benefit of any but itself.

Whether this was true or not, the tree certainly did not behave benevolently to most. It loved to taunt those who came to speak with it, bait them with glimpses of dark futures, or trip them with its roots. Once she'd heard of a belligerent elleth who had had a branch dropped on her by the tree for asking questions the tree had deemed offensive. But there were some that it treated with less hostility - Sídhiel, she knew, came here often and had never been assaulted, nor had even heard the voice of the tree. And Óleth, herself, had heard it speak with something resembling fondness at one point.

"You have been gone for many turnings of the seasons, little dreamer," it continued, the voice growing stronger as she drew closer. "Though I have sensed you near my clearing many times. Do I scare you so?"

"Not at all," Óleth responded with her thoughts, settling down into a meditative pose out-with the reach of root or branch. "I simply had no questions that you could answer for me." It was best to show the tree no fear, she'd learned, for the tree yearned for the satisfaction of scaring others.

A wave of amusement emanated from the tree, washing over Óleth's mind. "Very well. And what has brought you here now, when you have left me in solitude for so long? I can feel the lingering essence of terror in the corners of your mind, even though you try to hide it from me. What has scared you so sweetly?"

Slowly, hesitantly, Óleth opened her mind further to the tree, recalling the images that Thranduil had prompted to the forefront of her thoughts. "I do not know what this means, or why it happened as it did. He has never provoked such a vision before now, I have seen him many times without more than an unsettling feeling."

"Your sleeping mind knows more than you do," the tree answered with a thoughtful hum. Its branches creaked in an approximation of a laugh. "Indeed, you still have not noticed all. I know of this Thranduil and have brushed his mind, when he wanders the forest. I have Seen him also. His mind wanders away from his control on occasion, meandering deep into past traumas."

"What does this have to do with my vision?" Óleth protested. Vaguely, she remembered Sídhiel mentioning the horrors the Sindar elves had endured, betrayals and wars and the like, but she had not thought much on it.

The tree's leaves snapped in irritation, liking the cracking of a whip. "I am telling you, dreamer, so interrupt me not. I must explain so that you might understand what I have known for seasons, since before this Thranduil had ever set foot in my forest. If you care not for my answers, you may leave."

The tree ceased speaking, an abrupt pause in which Óleth might leave if she chose - but it was heavy with the implication that if she did choose to leave, she would likely not be welcome to return ever again. Instead of rising to her feet, she ducked in her head in contrition. "I apologise, wise tree. Please forgive my rudeness and continue."

An amused huff echoed in her thoughts. "You have learned to speak politely since last we spoke. This is good. Who taught you manners at last? Algarion perhaps, he has always considered you to be his favourite student. But to return-" the tree seemed to pause, as if it was trying to recall what they had been speaking of before her interruption. Óleth resisted the urge to prompt it. "As I was saying," it finally continued. "Your vision of the fires that consume much of Thranduil's future met with Thranduil's memories of fires in his past. I imagine he was as surprised as you, or would have been if he had Seen the same things as you. Perhaps he did, perhaps he did not - who knows if he also has the Gift? Maybe you should teach him."

Óleth bit her tongue, restraining the urge to snap at the tree for teasing her. It would do her no good. Instead, she wondered on what else it had said, about Thranduil's future being consumed by fire. Fire was dangerous, as all knew, but it was especially dangerous to a forest and those that dwelt within. "Might I ask another question, wise tree?"

Branches flexed in an almost shrug. "Perhaps. You can ask, dreaming one, but I may not answer. I See the possible question that you might ask, and that bores me. So think carefully on your question."

"Is Thranduil a danger to this forest?"

The tree sighed. "You didn't even hesitate," it scolded. "But I will answer you anyway, for I See you will not accept anything other than an answer. Thranduil is both danger and salvation of what you call the Greenwood. Fire is his past and his future and it will consume all within its path. As the fire blazes through the forest, you will lose many things dear to your heart, little dreamer, and he will bring you much joy and also immense pain. Do not despair, for he too will rejoice and suffer more than you. And when the last of the fires dies away and the darkness clears, a a green leaf will unfurl beneath the moon and you will know peace."

Óleth gave a shiver, pulling her mind away from the tree in horror. She was more alarmed now than she had been when she'd first arrived; certainly she was not reassured at all. In fact, she was more determined now than ever than Sídhiel should have nothing to do with Thranduil at all. Even if the tree had promised a far flung future of peace, Óleth did not trust it one bit.

But even if she could not stop Sídhiel from seeing Thranduil, she could at least prepare now. And hopefully, she would be able to save at least some of the Greenwood from the Sindar.