Chapter 27

Dadwen-en-Aran

I still feel your breath on my skin

I hear your voice deep within

The sound of my lover — a feeling so strong

It's to you — I'll always belong

Thranduil was more than ready to come home.

With a bandage around his eyes and cheek, he steered his white horse well for an unseeing elf. Behind him, the Silvan host, barely a third from what he and his father had mustered seven years ago followed; the green banner of the Elvenking, though smeared with the blood of his kin, was held aloft. Horns were sounded to announce the departure of the elf prince. But he was not on his own. Raithon rode his horse beside his prince and friend, the burn on his back and legs gave him painful memory. Elrond had attended to him better than any other healers, and it made their departure sooner. Other than Raithon, Amroth was ready to return to Lórinand. And Elrond, Erestor, and Círdan steered their horses behind the long line; the remnants of their alliance marching away from Gondor.

When all was said and done, the elven-host marched back whence they came: from the far West, beyond the Misty Mountains. Elrond and his people had agreed to stay for a while in Greenwood, to attend further to Thranduil and Raithon's injuries. Another reason was for Erestor to see Erynlith once again; his heart ached for her, and his heart fluttered at the idea of seeing her again after so many years. But he was not the only one to feel such a way.

Together, the host traveled for many weeks. Raithon rode steadily beside his friend, worried of his condition. The bandages around Thranduil's eyes were worrisome; he could not see anything beyond, but he managed to guide his horse well throughout the travel. He would ask for no help, and often shooed Elrond's probing hand as he tried to assist Thranduil with the bandage. He was more independent and prideful since the War ended, and he would listen to no one anymore. He carried the memory of his father's death with him, that very first day when the phalanx of the High King was broken by a foolish thought. His father's last words ignited a flame within him.

And of Amdír's passing: what would he tell Erynlith?

Something was kindled in his chest. It had been long since he spoken her name so openly. But he always thought of her, every single day since they were sundered. Would she still be in Greenwood as temporary Captain of the Guards? He hoped so; else, who would await him in the forest? He had no father, no king to follow. He was terrified of what would come next: the Silvan folk hailing him as Elvenking. He was not ready. Of all the time, he was not ready for this. If he could only pass the kingship to another, that would be good. But he had no heir; it was far too early to think about that. He had more plans for Greenwood, more plans to ensure the peace and safety in his realm.

"Are you ready to be king?" Raithon had asked him one day, when they had finally passed Emyn Muil. Soon, Greenwood would reach their sights.

Thranduil shook his head. He could not see his friend, but he knew Raithon was near him. "Am I, I wonder?"

"You have to," Raithon said softly, not wanting to sound demanding. He knew his friend had been through so much and carrying a kingdom would add into it. "For our people."

"For our people," Thranduil muttered under his breath. For one thing, that phrase pulled him back to his senses. He was Oropher's heir, after all. He was meant to be the next Elvenking.

Oh, I hear the wind call your name

The sound that leads me home again

It sparks up the fire — a flame that still burns

Oh, it's to you — I will always return

Finally, Greenwood had reached their sights. The Silvan elves sighed in relief. They were almost home. It would only take them a few more hundred steps. They longed to see their family and friends, the wives and elflings left behind. They longed for the warmth of the trees, the rushing waters of the river, the chirping of the birds. They arrived in spring when Greenwood was at its finest. The company tarried no longer. The soldiers literally ran, breaking away from the long line, to reach the forest. At that movement, Elrond chuckled amusedly.

"Shall we? The forest calls us home." He ushered his horse faster.

"I'll say." Erestor smiled, urging his horse. "I cannot wait to see her."

As for Thranduil and Raithon, the dark-haired captain waited for an order. Although he wanted to sprint towards the forest like the others, he could not bring it to himself to leave Thranduil alone, grasping in the darkness that were his only sight. Slowly, he took the reins of Thranduil's horse and led them together back to Greenwood, where surely, their loved ones awaited them. He wanted to see her again, his beloved Santien, and tell her his adventures. He preferred no other healer to attend to him other than her. And he knew Thranduil felt the same longing for a certain elf to which he had trusted the safety of his home.

The Silvan folk were instantly gathered in the field before the palace. They were cheering and clapping and whistling. Soldiers embraced their wives and elflings, now not so young anymore. They had grown for the past seven years although still very young. As Thranduil dismounted his horse, still guided by Raithon, the Silvan cheered louder and clapped louder. Then, the cheering stopped, their eyes in search for the silver-haired King they had known. But Thranduil faced his people and shook his head. He could not see, but he could imagine the disheartened look on their faces. He heard some of the elf guards taking his horse away for the stables, and the voices of Elrond, Círdan, and Erestor muttering. He waited for another voice, something familiar, but it did not come.

Where was she?

He grabbed the nearest Silvan to him, one of the elf guards who were left in Greenwood rather than to battle in the South. The elf was startled at the sudden firm grip on his sleeve. When he turned and saw Thranduil, he instantly bowed and addressed the elf prince.

"Erfaron," Thranduil demanded. "Where is she?"

"She went off to patrol the forest, my lord," the elf guard answered. "Someone has already gone after her. Please wait for a while."

Thranduil growled. He could wait no longer.

Elsewhere, the elf in question was lazily flopped on the meadow, amidst the blooming bluebells. She loved the autumn, but she loved the spring more now. They made the forest more beautiful and made the flowers bloom in different colors. Her black horse was trotting silently under the shade of a tree while she was basking under the early sunlight. Her grey cloak was draped about her torso, her arms dipped behind her head to serve as pillows.

"The leaves are falling down

The leaves are falling down

Red, yellow, green, and brown

The leaves are falling down."

Her singsong was interrupted when a loud banging footfall sounded above her. She stretched her head backwards, and the image she saw was upside-down. The golden armor was unmistakable, and she quickly sat up, her cloak falling onto her lap.

"Erestor!" She exclaimed, throwing herself in his arms like she always did.

Erestor laughed whole-heartedly and spun her around. He kissed her forehead and cheek, and she laughed with him. It was good to see her once more; the reuniting between two siblings was beyond words.

"You look… different," Erynlith remarked. She ran her fingers through the thick locks of her brother, looking deeply into his eyes. She could see the hardships he faced, mirrored in those grey orbs. His golden armor was almost orange with the dried blood. Then, she tiptoed to kiss his nose. "I missed you, Erestor, tra-la."

"I missed you too, Eryn," he replied, disregarding her aversion to nicknames. He raked his calloused fingers through her umber hair and was not surprised when the locks were tangled. He laughed. "Surely now, you could have combed your hair in the seven years that I was gone. Your hair is too thick and unkempt, Eryn. What have you been doing?"

"Playing-captain, that's what, tra-la," she sang in response. Then, she dragged Erestor by the wrist and pulled him back to the palace, her horse Arcastar following them silently. She was beaming, almost like a child. "Is everyone home? Raithon, and Amroth, and Thranduil?"

He smiled and nodded.

When they returned to the palace, everyone was gathered at her arrival. It was Círdan, the silver-haired Lord of the Havens, who had greeted her first. His beard was longer than she had remembered, but he was as friendly as ever. They shook hands before Erynlith and Erestor wound through the thick crowd of elves. Soon, they found Raithon and Santien who were too happy to be reunited. There had never been a wider smile that Santien had at that moment. More greetings were shared, and Raithon complimented her for taking on the position of Captain in his absence.

"Oh, that was nothing, tra-lo." Erynlith laughed it off. "Everyone was cooperating, that's why, tra-lay. Now tell me, where are King Oropher and Thranduil? I want to hear their account of the war. And King Amdír?"

Erestor was relieved Prince Amroth was not there to answer her. Instead, he shook his head wistfully. "I am sorry."

"Oh…" She murmured and cast her eyes on the ground.

He pulled Erynlith's hand and whispered: "It would be better for you to see Thranduil first."

She followed him again; her brother seemed familiar to the very room where they should go. They trekked the upper floors of the palace, away from the ensuing gathering in the king's throne. Soon, they arrived to the farthest chambers, and Erynlith recognized it as Thranduil's chambers. She looked hesitantly at Erestor, doubting what she would find there. The doors creaked and out came Elrond and Celairis, the previous King Oropher's Chief Counselor. Both looked distressed about something, but it was Elrond who smiled upon seeing Erynlith.

"How are you, Eryn?" he asked and embraced her gently.

"Very good, tra-la," she answered and broke away. "May I see Thranduil?"

Elrond glanced at Celairis. There was a silent communication and understanding between them that Erynlith could not understand. Even Erestor was sympathizing at this understanding. What was it? As Erynlith moved to the door, fed up with the mysterious atmosphere engulfing their little group, Elrond quickly took hold of her hand and shook his head. It was obvious he was carefully choosing his words for her. It took him a while to muster them out, to find the very words he needed.

"Make it short, and do not talk to him of dragon fire," was all Elrond had to say.

Reluctantly, Erynlith nodded and slipped inside the chambers. She closed the doors silently, not a creaking sound was emitted. A large porch was on the right side of the room where light penetrated and the singing of birds could be heard. A single king-sized bed sat in the middle of the room. White sheets covered the lithe form of an exhausted elf prince. A small wooden table was beside the bed, and on top of it were a pitcher of water and the herbs Elrond used earlier. A lone chair sat alone in waiting for its next occupant.

She hesitated to come nearer. She stood by the doorway, staring at him. His body shifted lightly, and he moaned in his sleep. A breath was caught up in her throat, and she knew he was suffering of many hurts. Few more seconds and he moved again.

"Erynlith," Thranduil said, although quietly, his voice was as powerful as ever. "Stop hovering by the doorway and come here."

Reluctantly again, she moved away from her post and slowly made her way at the foot of his bed.

"How did you know it was me?" Erynlith asked, peering over his form.

Livid wounds were present on his arms and sides, partly covered by clean bandages around the torso. The lower half of his naked body was covered under the white sheets. Both arms were covered with bandages; the right one was tainted with a shameful hue of crimson. She held her breath when her eyes fell on his face. His whole head was covered, save for his mouth, and his pale golden hair lay on his pillow. A thick cloth covered his left cheek where Elrond described a terrible burn. His eyes were covered fully and his chest heaved lightly from his faint breathing.

"You always smell of forest," he replied, a small smile suddenly curled in his lips. She smiled although knowing he would not see. He weakly gestured his left hand. "Come closer," he said.

Erynlith complied, taking a seat on the chair and rested her hands on top of his left hand. Thranduil reached out for both her hands, and then to her arms. His hands reached her face and he cupped her cheek, remembering her warmth. He felt slightly groggy from the slightest of his movements. He released her face and moved higher on his bed, in an attempt to sit up, but the pain on his chest and hips returned; and he winced, an undignified wince for the Prince of Greenwood. Erynlith flinched from her seat, arms ready to assist him. But as proud and independent that was Thranduil, he merely shrugged it off and laid back to bed.

"My eyes are bothering me," he bitterly admitted.

She did not understand how it felt to lose eyesight, even for a moment, but she tried her best to comprehend and empathize to him.

"I really want to see you," he finished, tilting his head to the side where she was.

She smiled again and ran a finger on his left cheek, very lightly as to not cause any pain. At her touch he sighed, a satisfied one, and he smiled at her.

"Come closer," he ordered again.

Now, Erynlith fully hesitated. How could she come closer? She was sitting on the chair next to the bed. It was the closest she could get. She remained silent, pretending not to hear him. But Thranduil was no fool.

"Closer," he repeated impatiently.

At once she complied, abandoning the chair to lie carefully next to him. Her chin rested against his burning forehead and in response, Thranduil shifted to curl closer to her, his face just under the crook of her neck, inhaling the forest scent she carried all the way from the meadow. She held him in return; one arm wrapped over his shoulder and the other caressed his face; each feather-like touch sent nerves jolting awake.

Ever so slowly, he reached out under his pillow, and Erynlith had to move a little to let his hand grope for something. When it was retreated from the pillow, they returned to their previous position and he held out his curled fist for her to see. Slowly, he opened his hand and there the green pennant that bore her grandfather's name was crumpled. It was tainted with dried blood, the tree and leaves and stars were barely recognizable from it. The grey rope was still fastened, and the embroidered name still readable.

"I brought you a present from war," he whispered, and she smiled.

And they lay there for the following hours. Thranduil had fallen back to sleep, and his friend, tired on her own account, chose to remain beside him. Her arm around his shoulders felt numb and she did not mind. She smiled yet again and kissed his forehead.

Welcome home.

In a separate room away from the eyes of others, Elrond, Erestor, and Círdan were in council. All three elves knew they could not stay in Greenwood for too long. Elrond had Imladris to run, and Círdan had Lindon to manage. Without the High King, the Falathrim would turn to him for counsel. It was an agreeable plan for all of them; even Amroth of Lórinand had agreed into it. The prince had already returned to his own forest to announce them the tidings of war, but he was sure he would find comfort in Nimrodel. The plan of departing was set, but Erestor had something else in mind.

"If I am leaving, Erynlith is coming with me. And no one can tell me otherwise."

*Dadwen-en-Aran - Return of the King

*I Will Always Return – Bryan Adams

Author's Notes: Aaaandd, we're back once more in Greenwood, folks! The shortness of the Alliance arc must be unsatisfactory to some readers; I am sorry about that! We have some angsty Thranduil here and the usual eccentric Erynlith. I kind of missed having her around, but I miss King Oropher and Amdír more!. And then there's Gil-galad from the last chapter! *grossly sobbing*

*Evangeline Pond - Aww, yeah! You're Divergent! I must bow to you! *throws confetti* And yes, we return now to the romance!

*Asmodeus Black - I have special fangirl feels for Gil-galad, y'know. He was cool in The Fellowship of the Ring film. Yeah, Thranduil may not really be blind in that eye (canonically-speaking), but I wanted to try writing him as blind. It brings more angst in the house! *partays*

*llcyyxx - I am glad to hear Erestor doing so well with you! Make sure he drinks his milk before going to bed, and he has a very special pillow. I probably should send that to you as well. And oh! Skiing on the Olympic slopes! I am so envious right now! I wish I could have done the same. Glad you enjoyed your vacation!

*Limbairedhiel - Gil-galad shall truly be missed! *sniffs* Oh! I like to think that the Elves and Men had slumber parties during those seven years, throwing pillows at each other. Maybe Thrandy and Amroth sneaked in to other's tents and played some pranks. You know those kids. *sigh* And I am so sorry for not paying attention on Isildur. Aragorn could kill me! (By the way, are you the guest who posted the same review? LOL)

*DeLacus - Hooray for Maximilien Robespierre! But no hooray for Gil-galad. (T_T) Well, at least Thrandy and Raithon survived, right? Haha!

*xSiriuslyPadfoot - Gil-galad is truly a great character. Now that you have mentioned it, I think I might try a Gil-galadxOC, but that would not happen any sooner, as I am still working with a handful of other stories. And your profile picture! Is that Tom Hiddleston! My fangirl senses are tingling!

P.S. Thank you all for reading and reviewing! I am very grateful! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, as we move on to the next big decisions our beloved Elves are going to make. Stay tuned!