Chapter 12

Untold Stories Part 2

In three days, Thranduil and his company had crossed the mountains and reached the northern borders of their kingdom. Compared to the well-established southern part, the north was wild with overgrown trees and unfamiliar plants. The grass was as tall as their knees and the light emanated from the thick green leaves of the trees. Birds chirped and flew to and fro, as if greeting the elves in their domain. As the Elven-guard walked on, they took their time looking around the strange place. It had been too long since they last visited, and that last time, King Oropher was with them.

Thranduil led his horse on foot; his one hand loosely clutched the black reins. Even Raithon was now walking, darting his eyes to every corner he could see. Whispers came between the elf guards behind them, some speaking in their native Silvan dialect. This dialect Thranduil and his father learned over the years; for they were foreigners from that land some thousand years ago. Oropher had led the small part of his remaining Sindarin people across the Blue Mountains and founded Greenwood, and the Silvan folk took him as their king. It was a very long time ago now; he could barely remember what his birthplace even looked like.

He sighed deeply, trying to muster what memory he could find. He walked absentmindedly among his companions, and his eyes were now set on the green ground in which he trekked. He was capable of resting his mind whilst walking, an ability he did not share with others. And as he walked, he felt himself getting lighter by the second; the voices of his companions faded into the light.

Prince Thranduil remembered who he was then, some thousand years ago; he was a young elf, too easy to influence by the elders around him. He remembered his father Oropher, still but a lord back then, a member of the Hidden King's court; and his mother was as beautiful as any Elven-maidens of old. Her hair was as bright as the celandine that bloomed in the forest; her eyes were dark and soft. Thranduil remembered how these eyes could turn pierce whenever he had done any mischief. His world revolved around her. He also remembered how he used to clutch a bow in his hands, a fake recurve bow that one of the marchwardens had given him. He remembered looking up to this marchwarden, the silver hue of his hair was unmistakable. This was the best archer of the forest, and possibly the whole world; and Thranduil had always been mesmerized by that very fact alone. Every morning he would get up, take his bow, and run outside to meet his marchwarden friend. And he would always be waiting for him; with a strong bow in his hands, Thranduil knew he was called after it.

One day, however, his friend bade farewell to him, saying something about going after another friend. Thranduil looked dismay back then; he knew very well that this man was an outsider who disrespected one of the King's counselors. The dark-haired man was fully-grown while Thranduil remained almost like a child to the eyes of others. Reluctantly, he bade farewell to his friend and hoped for the best. Years passed and news arrived in the forest. It disheartened everyone who heard it. The Strongbow was no more, and so was the friend he tried to reclaim.

Thranduil remembered crying quietly under the shade of an old beech tree across the river, his knees tucked to his chest as he bit his lip. His friend would have scolded him for crying, but he could not help it. He imagined his friend sitting beside him, the strong bow clutched tightly in his hands wherein he earned his epithet. The silver hair shone under the moonlight, but his face resembled Erynlith more. There was a pennant fastened on the longbow's grip, a pennant emblazoned with trees and three silver stars on a green field.

In his youth, he remembered having few friends. He was not exactly very sociable as he matured. He was often in a company of few people, among them was Raithon, one of the marchwarden's sons. It would be hard to believe that the very elf he remembered was still walking beside him, always at his side even if things went worse. Thranduil remembered the King's daughter, how she was always called the 'most beautiful of them all', and he did not disagree. That infamous beauty was noticeable even for strangers. But he never spoke to her, and did not even intend to do so. Whether it was the feeling of inferiority that the King implied to him, he did not know, even to this day.

In his brief reverie, Thranduil jerked up, feeling the cold hand on his shoulder. He turned behind him and saw Raithon's inquiring look.

"Are you alright? You don't seem well to me," his friend and captain said. "Maybe you are tired. Come, let us rest for a while."

"No," Thranduil said reassuringly. "I was just… lost in thought, I guess. We cannot delay. We have to reach the end of the forest river before sundown. I would like to make a fast outline of the place so I may start working on a more appropriate architectural design. Let's go."

He pulled the reins of his horse and the others followed. He felt irritated for being interrupted; his reverie was getting better, or so he thought. His pace quickened so that he would be a few steps in front, away from the whispering guards.

Now, where was I?

His reverie returned him on the memory he hated most. There was a great battle; their underground palace was under siege. He could see his people being scattered among the stampeding citizens; some were screaming in terror, some called out for their loved ones, while others cried. He was among those scattering elves, desperately pushing his way out of the messy crowd. On his hand was his bow, a long one a good-natured marchwarden handled him ere the siege took place. Thranduil called out for her, for his mother that he could not see. His father searched on another place, calling out her name over and over again. And as the search continued, the doors of the fortress broke open and the hateful Naugrim burst in. What happened next was blurry, even in his memory. All he could remember was that, Oropher was kneeling on the edge of the underground bridge, weeping. Thranduil slowly made his way and peered over his father's shoulder. And there she was, the beloved mother he was looking for, bloody and lifeless. The light in her eyes were quenched and her lips were parted as she sighed her last breath. And in that very moment, Thranduil collapsed on the ground and wept.

A few years later, Oropher led the remnant of the Sindarin kingdom. Amdír and his younger sister were among this small company, and holding Amdír's hand tightly was the young Amroth. His mother was lost in the second siege wherein an army of foreigners demanded for a petty elf-smith's jewel. The Hidden King was no more, and so were his beautiful daughter, and his heir. But the heir's daughter escaped, and her Sindarin kindred know not where she had gone. Thus, the small company of elves marched across the mountains and eventually founded small realms to rule. Amdír and Oropher divided the forest among them; and Amdír ruled among the Nandor while Oropher ruled the native Silvan of Greenwood.

Erynlith forced an awkward smile. Their return to Lórinand was unexpected, especially when she was taken while she was half-asleep. But there was no turning back now. It had been three days since they arrived in Lórinand, and Caladhir and Erestor were admitted into a better-looking infirmary. Things turned worse when Amroth suddenly abandoned her for the fair Nimrodel, the very reason why she was smiling so awkwardly. Her cheeks began to hurt, and she wished to be back in Greenwood with the friendly Silvan folk.

"Good morning, tra-la-lay…" Erynlith sang as she passed by the river Nimrodel always sat on. The Nandorian elf-maiden had bright golden hair, and her eyes were as blue as the sky. Erynlith had often wondered how she never had that kind of beautiful eyes, or even the rich golden hair Amdír and Amroth had. Even her mother had the same golden hair. On the other hand, she was stuck with her father's dark hair and dark eyes, making her look more like Erestor than her own family members.

Nimrodel looked up from where she sat. Her legs dangled on the river bank, feet dipped into the cold, rushing waters. She did not speak; she could barely comprehend the common speech, and Erynlith felt silly for not remembering. Erestor had always reprimanded her of learning the language, but somehow, she always forgot about it.

"Ah, um, 'quel amrun," Erynlith tried again in Sindarin, hoping the elf-maiden would understand.

A sly smile crept upon Nimrodel's lips, and she nodded. She returned her eyes on the water. Erynlith quickly dismissed herself from the lady, mentally noting never to pass that river ever again.

"Here we are!" Raithon beamed at his companions. Gears were carelessly dropped on the ground, and the elf guards stretched their aching limbs. Raithon placed his hands above his hips. "Did I not tell you to rest? Or is it because Thranduil refused?" He gave his friend an accusing look.

Thranduil chuckled as he set himself on the ground, sitting cross-legged, and leaning against a white boulder. "We are in a hurry. We have no shelter here and no fortress to protect us should enemies arrive, especially in the night. We have to be quick with our errands. I expect luncheon to be served when the afternoon comes. For now, let us rest. I will do my quick assessment later."

"The forest river looks good, no?" Raithon dropped beside Thranduil. His eyes were locked on the said river up ahead. "If we are ever to make a fortress somewhere here, I would choose next to the river. Then, we can build gates and bridges made of stones. An underground palace like the good old days, hm?"

Underground palace, Thranduil thought gloomily. Then, he pulled out a paper and quill from his pack. He began sketching the scene before him: the trees, river, boulders, and even the slightest overgrown roots and thorny bushes. It was a rough draft that would need many revisions later. He imagined their new fortress being built in that very spot, and it excited him to know that this fortress would be designed after the palace he remembered from his youth.

"And if it's finished, I want to start my own family." His friend sighed. "It's about time for us, don't you think?"

"Speak for yourself," the elf prince countered, not looking up from his work. He began to put more detail on the course of the river and the banks beside it.

"Is that a mountain I see?" Raithon narrowed his eyes.

Finally, Thranduil looked up and saw a mountain. His eyebrow twitched when he remembered something else. His mood turned grim and he quickly returned to his sketch. He mumbled something under his breath, prompting Raithon to ask about it. But Thranduil shrugged his friend off; now he really wished he was back in the south, dozing off in the library or probably bothering someone…

Then it hit him.

He could be at Greenwood now, bothering Erynlith. Somehow, he felt incomplete, especially when he was not given a chance to say goodbye. And it had been three days; of course she would wonder where the haughty Prince of Greenwood went. He could be at Greenwood now, wandering in the forest and most likely visiting the small family of foxes he introduced to her. Or they could be picking bluebells for Erestor again, or he could be hearing Erynlith singing one of her weird songs.

"Uh, Thranduil?" Raithon inquired again.

He blinked and looked at his friend. "What?"

The dark-haired captain pointed at the sketch. Beside the river, a standing figure was drawn. It was no doubt that the physique was female, but her face could not be seen. It appeared that she was overlooking the river and it was evident that she had a flower in her hands. Her dark hair was unmistakable.

Thranduil blanched and felt his blood run cold. He quickly took the paper away from his friend's eyes, but it was already too late. The captain was smiling smugly, as if he had just found out the greatest secret there was.

"Thought you said you weren't interested," he simpered.

"I am not," Thranduil answered sternly. "This is not her…"

"I haven't mentioned a name yet, you know…"

"Be quiet and let me finish my work. Go away and hunt for our lunch."

"Oh, come on! Can't we spare a little time to talk about that little drawing?"

"NOW, RAITHON!"

The captain laughed heartily as he left a pale Thranduil to himself.

Erynlith never felt bored in her life before. From what Amroth had assured her some days ago, the Nandor of Lórinand would welcome her delightfully. They did, but as the days passed, they seemed to forget that she was there. She rarely saw Erestor; the healers in Lórinand were stricter than Santien.

She anticipated that Amroth would give her company. But as she sat inside her room, she found herself Amroth-less. The Prince was too occupied in keeping his beloved Nimrodel company day-in and day-out. He tried coaxing her into joining them in a stroll in the forest, but Erynlith always declined. She didn't want to intrude on their little romantic sessions, after all. It always made her cringe to her bones whenever she thought of that.

As if on cue, Amroth entered her room.

"Aren't you going downstairs? People are preparing for Aduinal en Meleth. It will take place in the next three days. Come on. I know you want to see how the food preparation is going…" he crooned at her.

She pursed her lips. "Depends… Nimrodel gonna be there?"

Amroth paused for a while. "Well, of course, she will be."

"Then I am not going out, tra-la," Erynlith sang.

"You cannot be that hostile to each other now, Eryn," Amroth pleaded her.

It was always his problem, to get those two to like each other. His Nimrodel had always been the cautious one, too cautious as even the King Amdír had noticed. She disliked the outsiders from the forest, and Erynlith and Erestor were no exceptions. Whenever those two arrived in Lórinand, Nimrodel would keep her distance from them, either glaring or muttering something. No one really blamed her for that. Everyone knew how much these foreigners had brought problems in their forests. Nimrodel blamed them for the orcs and wargs in the fields. Her hostility to Erynlith was not personal, merely a product of her constant distrust of others.

"Just… give it a try, okay?" Amroth tried again. Erynlith nodded and watched him leave her room.

"Are you ready to depart?" Thranduil asked his companions impatiently. He was already mounted on his white horse; his gears and packs were ready. But his companions were still packing their things, and he sighed impatiently. Their brief stay in the north was a rather pleasant one. The weather was chilly due to the incoming winter. At last, after what seemed to be years, the Elven-host was once again ready to depart.

It took them another few days to travel. And among that time, Thranduil had once again secluded himself from the group, recounting the memories he had almost lost. His memories returned him to the year before his marchwarden friend left. That warden had one son, and that son was well-known for his umber hair and grey eyes. He was tall and proud, and grew at the same pace as Thranduil himself. But they were not friends; he preferred the warden to be his friend instead. He remembered when the marchwarden gave him a recurve bow for starters, and a slender quiver to accompany it. Thranduil had been so cheerful back then that he actually skipped dinner just to run around the forest with his new gift.

Other elves had also caught his attention before. Most of them were minstrels and counselors of the Hidden King, and those counselors were friends of his father. Amdír's younger sister was also his friend, a pale and golden-haired lady much like her brother and nephew. She was easy to please and most light-hearted in all situations. Oropher had once considered getting them together, but Amdír downright refused that offer.

"Where are you?" A voice sounded beside him, and it was Raithon.

Thranduil smiled. "Back when the world was younger, and so are we."

"Ah, those days." Raithon shuddered as the evening wind breezed past him. "I do not know why you are lingering in the past too much. Do you miss someone? Or do you intend to do that to yourself?"

"A little of both," Thranduil admitted. What was wrong with him today, dwelling on the past? Was it what people call nostalgia? He was an elf and being nostalgic was not in his vocabulary. But here he was, smiling and frowning at the newly-brought up memories. He supposed he had never done that before, being busy with his work as a Prince, and thinking about those old days made him feel closer to his lost friends, to his lost mother.

In another few days, they arrived back in Amon Lanc, eagerly greeted by the Silvan folk. They missed the Elven-host, no doubt, and it made the elf guards more cheery than they had been on their journey. The other guards offered to take away the gears and horses. Thranduil and Raithon went on their separated ways, with the latter rushing over to see how Santien was doing. She must have been lonely without him. As Thranduil sprinted towards his father's study room, he paused, remembering Erynlith all of a sudden. With a little smile on his fair face, he turned his heels and went for the infirmary.

As expected, Raithon and Santien were already there, and the auburn-haired healer looked distressed. Thranduil approached her, somewhat concerned, and asked: "What happened? Are you alright?"

Santien shook her head. She did not speak. Then, Thranduil looked up to his friend, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. The captain shook his head and gestured for the prince to enter. Thranduil did, and his eyes widened in realization. He cursed and ran back into the palace, searching frantically for his father. The double doors of the King's study room were flung open, revealing an angry Thranduil on the other side. Oropher calmly disregarded his papers and turned to his son.

"Ah, Thranduil," the King greeted casually, opening his arms to receive his son. "You have returned, I see. How was the North? Have you found a place for our new fortress?"

"Where are they?" Thranduil demanded as he panted heavily. "Where is she?"

Oropher pretended not to know. He tilted his head innocently and looked confused. "Where is who, ion nin?" He tapped his nails on the desk and gestured for his son to sit down. "Relax now. Everything will be fine. But who are you looking for?"

"You know damn well who!" Thranduil raised his voice, much to the King's surprise. Then, he paused, looking around. "Amroth… where is he? Where…? Oh, you are kidding me!" He sighed exasperatedly and quickly exited the study room.

Oropher could not see, but he could tell that the prince demanded the guards to bring his horse once again. He heard the steed neigh and its thundering hooves faded into nothingness. The King calmly took a sip from his wine cup and sighed in defeat.

"Oh, my. Thranduil is sharper than I thought he would be."

Next Chapter: The annual Evening of Romance in Lorinand takes place.

Author's Notes: Well! Would you look at that massive wall of texts? Sorry for making very long paragraphs; I wanted to establish Thranduil as a character before proceeding. If we had a glimpse of Eryn's life some six chapters ago, here is Thranduil's past. I really loved writing this chapter. There were so many Silmarillion and History of Middle-earth references. Did you manage to recognize some of them? (・ωｰ)

*Rousdower - "I thought we were a thing..." LOL. That was hilarious! Thrandy sure did not see that coming!

*DeLacus - From travelling to partaying, Thrandy will have more things in his hand the next chapter. Maybe I should start using the #RivendellDoubleE as well. LOL