Doriath is destroyed, Beleg is dead. The King has been slain, his daughter has fled. The Princes' are lost, the Queen is as well. The daughter has fled, so rumor must tell to the harbor at the sea.

And amidst it all Oropher his father, nor Artanis, nor Celborn, nor any others of the royal host has Thranduil seen for months now.

His time in the abandoned house of Eöl has been quiet.

Long ago the master of the house went away - to what fate Thranduil had yet to learn. And with the master gone the servants had left as well. So the house though built of stone in the manner of dwarves nonetheless needed repairs to be livable. In this Thranduil had busied himself, and in doing so he was able to dull the pain of his loss. For he believed himself the last lonely survivor of Menegroth; yet he did not dare to go beyond the borders of Nan Elmoth to seek out his Sindarin Kin. Most especially not with the increase in fell beasts, wargs, orcs, Feanorians and worse yet that that flooded into Doriath unhindered since the leaving of Melian and the fall of Dior.

The memory still burned in his mind, his king falling mortally wounded by Celegorm. And fire rose in his heart against the sons of Fëanor, chiefest of his enemies. He thought many times how King Thingol had been wise to set himself apart from them, though it had seemed without reason at first. But thought makes the heart heavy, so Thranduil turned to work instead. He did not hide in the shadows or dark of night, but lit the forges by day and hunted at dawn and dusk, and so for a long while he had a quiet peace and time to himself. In time he began to feel content with this lack of responsibility. It took a while for him to remember all that Eöl had taught him in his earliest days, but soon he well remembered the smith-craft and set to making many valuable and beautiful things. What he could not use he sold cheaply, for he still knew himself to be only a beginner - though a skilled one.

However; he had no relations with the dwarves. When they had seen the smoke from Eöl's forge they had assumed the master had returned after a long voyage and came expecting welcome. But shortly they were informed that Thranduil was now lord of Nan Elmoth and that if they valued their lives that their visit would be the last they ever made to those lands. He raised their ire and they raised their axes, but in the end were bested and hurriedly returned home with dire tidings to their kin. And after that they troubled Thranduil no more.

It is hard to say how long he remained in the small land. Yet soon word filtered to him that many of the survivors had passed into a hidden city in the mountains; where it lie no one knew with any certainty. But long did Thranduil tarry in Nan Elmoth even after learning this, for he knew he would miss the tall dark trees of the forest, the strange flowers that bloomed in the dark - blossoming with heady fragrances. He knew he would yearn for the quiet, the sounds of the ancient woods. But it grew on his heart that perhaps someone - anyone, had survived other than himself. Only by leaving could he know for sure.

So Thranduil prepared to leave. In the deep storerooms he found the set of old black armor that he had worn once long ago when he warded Nan Elmoth during the forging of Anglachel and Anguirel, light but strong. Also there was a bright mithril sword and a beautiful circlet of galvorn set with diamonds and sapphires in a delicate manner. And Thranduil took the brooch from his worn clothes; one he had made in his early youth under Eol's mentorship, and used it to close a long black wool cloak around him. And when he was made ready he closed up the house as securely as he could - for it may be long before he could return again. Yet, as he did so he caught his reflection in the mirror and started so badly that his sword was half-drawn ere he recognized himself. With a laugh he murmured,

"What a dangerous thing to encounter your own shadow!"

Now he took time to gaze over his form.

It had been some time since Menegroth and he had come to his full maturity now, reached for elven kin between 50 and 100 years. His hair had grown long and shone like palest gold over his shoulders, though a great deal was hidden under the dark cloak. His gray eyes were piercing and tinged with sorrow and old hurts yet unhealed. Yet; here he was now clothed in the garb of his unsullied youth - from a time when all things were new and wondrous.

With a heavy heart Thranduil left Nan Elmoth, unsure of when, or if he would ever return. It took many years of searching and rumor. He spent what time he had searching for clues as to where the remainder of Doriath had gone to - working as a bodyguard and courier to earn enough money for food and shelter at the far flung inns and taverns. Men he saw for the first time in large numbers and often worked alongside them, though it galled him to be reduced to such meniality. For in those days men lived in rude homes, rough and bare and devoid of the pleasures known to the elves - for their lives were short and hard and filled with sorrow.

It was only by fate that he stumbled upon the lone path that led to the hidden city. Issuing in past the encircling mountains Thranduil made his way into the wide plains. Years of stealth aided him as he crept unnoticed toward the shining citadel under the cover of nightfall. All he had heard of the hidden city had made him wary of contact with any of its citizens. He had no desire to never be heard of again, and longed to return to the deep safety of Nan Elmoth. But if he could find any survivors like himself it would ease his suffering immensely. With this desire in mind Thranduil found a way into the city itself. Through cunning he was able to pass three gates into Gondolin itself - but at the Gate of Writhen Iron loud cries went up and he was surrounded by a numerous host, for the guard of Gondolin took no trespass lightly and it was unheard of for any intruder to get so far. Immediately he was taken and locked in a cell. In the morning he would face the King of Gondolin and High King of the Ñoldor - for his entry into the city demanded both explanation as to how it was done as well as judgment on the punishment for such an unthinkable breech.

The next morning as the sun rose he was taken from his cool cell. Around him were several elves in shining armor so he made no threatening move, for he sensed that he was only an order away from death. And one stepped before him who was radiant to behold. That elf was clad in silver armor that glinted as if covered with the dust of diamonds. Yet; his hair was long and dark, though his face was fair and pale with eyes the color of the deep sky.

"You are the intruder?" He asked.

"I am your captive. So what now is to be done to me? What are your laws regarding this - for I only know that none who seek out the city return alive."

And the elf looked upon him and fell silent for a moment. "You are to be taken as you are before the king. That is a pity for you stranger, garbed as you are I do not think your reception will be warm."

"I am a trespasser in your eyes." Thranduil responded, bitter at his capture and at the ending of all his hopes. "My reception would have been cool regardless."

So it was that the bound elf was led to the Kings Hall.

Thranduil's eyes beheld the beauty of that legendary hall, with high pillars of white marble wrought over with silver and gold in many twining designs, and the tapestries of twelve houses hung from high vaulted ceilings. Many-hued light shone in through colored glass - each window fashioned into an image from the cities long history. Upon a high white throne sat a tall elf with long dark hair. He was clad in many layers of fine white silk bound with a golden belt and resting above his brow was a coronet of gold and garnets that gleamed in the morning sun.

"Ecthelion of the Fountain come forth," The king called. "For troubling news has reached me that you have a prisoner from outside our walls."

Ecthelion replied. "Yes, my King. We found him last night at the foot of the fourth gate - it seems he could find no way to breach it before he was caught. He is a strange elf and I have left it to him to tell his tale directly to you."

Beside the King in a crescent shape were twelve seats, each taken by a lord of one of the twelve houses of Gondolin. And Thranduil was led into the open space in their midst and held there by two guards, but Ecthelion took his own seat beneath the banner of the fountain.

Thranduil remained as silent as the stone hall. The host awaited the Kings first words. It was only after long thought that he spoke.

"Wayfarer. You have been brought here for judgment. I do not assume however that you know what you are being judged for, nor who is here presiding - for we do not easily allow news of our ways beyond our borders. I am named Turkáno; in the language here Turgon. The city you have entered is named Gondolin, and I am it's King. The twelve you see around you are the lords of my realm who are faithful to me, with them only will I take counsel today. Is there anything that I have said that is unclear to you?"

And Thranduil understood, yet a thought bothered him and he spoke.

"You have named yourself Turgon - yet another name you spoke before which was foreign to me and I do not know it's meaning."

Turgon nodded from his high seat. "The name given to me at my birth by my father Fingolfin was Turkáno; for in tongue of my forefathers it means powerful commander."

At this Thranduil's mood darkened and he spoke; "The tongue of your fathers I have not heard for more than a century for it was forbidden in the land of my birth - for it is the speech of the Ñoldor, for whom my King, Elwë-Thingol had little love."

And Turgon sat still in surprise. "Thingol? Then you are from Doriath then? And it pains me to hear that the Ñoldor hold no dear place in your heart - for among my titles is another: I am the High King of the Ñoldor here in the Middle Earth."

It seemed to Thranduil that all the pain of the long years came back, and though he tried to control himself the venom in his words was clear.

"Your pain is a pittance compared to mine, knowing I am in the company of kin to slayers of my people. For you speak of Doriath- yet do you know how it fell? It fell to Ñoldor blades - at the behest of the seven sons of Fëanor - another High King of the Ñoldor. In that assault I lost my King, his wife and children were slain and all my kin are now dead and my dear companions lost. I am the only one I know that remains - which is why I have come to your realm to search out any who may yet live. Now I know that none would abide here in the shadow of a Ñoldorin King. "

On his throne the King sat silent for a long time. Then he spoke again.

"You say that my pain is a pittance compared to yours, yet you do not know what I have suffered at the hands of the same elves who have tormented you. For I have crossed the frozen north, And I would not have crossed at all were it not for the doom lain upon all Ñoldor who first followed Fëanor in pursuit of the silmarils. Yet little was the love of Fëanor for Fingolfin who I followed - for he abandoned us to the cold wastes when he burned the ships that were to bear us across the wide seas. Many died in that crossing, and among them my wife though my daughter yet lives. It is said that some of the Ñoldor who crossed went into Thingols realm before his death and took residence in Menegroth. I know only of one, the daughter of Finarfin, my cousin Artanis."

And at this name Thranduil looked up in surprise and wonder. His body shook as hope rekindled itself.

"Artanis? You are close kin of such a fair maiden? Yes...I knew her in Menegroth in the days of my youth and there was her friend. I have missed her dearly since Doriaths fall and I know not where she or her husband Celeborn have gone. I only hope their fortunes have been happier than mine."

"They most assuredly are." Turgon spoke. "Yet to care for a Ñoldorin? Is that not a stretch for you?"

With this Thranduil felt ashamed, for it was true.

"I am sorry for my rash words, they were spoken out of sorrow."

And Turgon smiled for a brief moment at him. "Yes. Artanis is my cousin, and she has returned safely with her beloved to my keeping here. Whatever fate I may judge for you at least keep that as comfort. Now I have declared myself, so to shall my council declare themselves."

And at this the first elf to Thranduil left arose. Behind him was a banner of red, upon which was a black hammer. And the elf was tall and strong with hair the color of deep copper.

"I am Rog, of the House of the Hammer of Wrath - blacksmiths to the King."

And he sat and the next elf arose. Behind him was a banner of sable upon which was a silver harp. And the elf was short in stature with quick eyes and a sly smile.

"I am Salgant, of the House of the Harp - maker of beautiful songs for our King."

And as he sat he looked smugly upon the bound elf before them. Yet the elf next to him was the one who had brought Thranduil and in his eyes was empathy. Behind this elf was a banner of swirling water wrought in silver and diamonds on blue.

"You know my face, my name is Ecthelion of the House of the Fountain - guard of the fountains and the seventh gate of Gondolin."

And as he sat the elf next to him arose, and spared a smile at Ecthelion who returned it. This elf had hair the color of spun gold and the banner behind him was a green field bearing one golden flower.

"I am Glorfindel, of the House of the Golden Flower." Then he smiled. "Administrator of resources for Gondolin."

As he sat the one called Salgant gave a snort, yet Ecthelion halted any word the Lord of the Harp may have spoken with a glare as sharp as diamond.

The next rose and the banner behind him was a field of darkest green with a light tree in emerald upon it. He was lean but strong and clad in green. His hair was rich brown.

"I am Galdor, of the House of the Tree. Warden of all the green lands around Gondolin."

And the next rose under two banners held equal: one with a field of white upon which was a pale blue snowflake and a banner of palest blue upon which was a tower of white. This elf was tall and strong, yet possessed of a cool grace.

"I am Penlod, Lord of both the House of the Tower, and the House of the Snow - mine is the keeping of both lore and of the wealth of Gondolin."

When he had seated himself the next arose, and he was an elf of rather normal stature clad in robes with many colors. His hair was dark brown, yet his eyes seemed to shift colors with the light and dance from one hue to another. Behind him was a banner set with a glory of colors circled around an arrow in flight.

"I am Egalmoth, Lord of the House of the Heavenly Arch, and leader of the greater host of archers in Gondolin."

And at his seating the next elf arose under a banner of gold upon which was a fan of purple feathers. This elf was fair and thin with sharp eyes.

"I am Duilin, Lord of the House of the Swallow, the best of the archers of Gondolin."

And a look passed between him and Egalmoth, yet nothing came of it. And the next arose under a banner of black, unmarked. And at this Thranduil was surprised, for a banner sable un-blazoned was the mark of the Dark Lord himself. The elf that rose was clad in sable as dark as his hair, which gleamed like jet. Yet his eyes were dark as well and piercing.

"I am Maeglin, Lord of the House of the Mole, miner and forger of the riches of Gondolin."

And as he moved to take his seat the prisoner moved - much to the astonishment of all present. It was only by Ecthelion's speed that he was stayed.

"Maeglin?!" Thranduil called out in surprise. "Maeglin of Nan Elmoth?"

At these words Maeglin grew wary, freezing like a deer caught unawares. "Yes. And you?"

Thranduil struggled against Ecthelion's grip. "Maeglin! It is me - Thranduil! Or have you forgotten my face as well as my voice?"

And Turgon spoke to Thranduil. "You know of the Lord of the House of the Mole? How?"

Thranduil replied, "I knew him in Nan Elmoth! I was the one who brought his mother herbs from the forest and news from Menegroth! And when he was old enough I was the one who taught him the art of the sword and bow! It was I who warded Nan Elmoth when his father went away on long journeys to the dwarves! Have you forgotten all of this Maeglin?"

And Maeglin was silent, but Turgon turned to him and spoke; "Do you know the elf before us? Who has been brought here for judgment? Is he friend to you?"

To this Maeglin was again silent. So Turgon said; "I must know the answer to this, many times have you remained silent in council but I will not allow it this day. Speak what you know."

And Thranduil was relieved, for he thought himself soon to be relieved. Yet Maeglin gave a bitter smile.

"Yes. I know Thranduil." He whispered. "He is a dear friend of my father."

In the second the words slipped from Maeglins mouth Thranduil was thrown down upon his face in the kings hall and felt the tip of a sword at his neck. The hall was in uproar with countless angry voices all crying out at once so that they echoed from the vaulted ceiling. And Turgon raised his hand and silence fell.

Thranduil lay in shock and uncertainty, fearful of what was to come next. From his throne Turgon came.

"Lift him so that I may see his face, but do not allow him to stand yet for my judgment may be swift." And so Thranduil was held on his knees, with a sword to his throat lest he try to move again. And the King no longer looked upon him with pity but with wrath.

"Woe unto you unfortunate wretch that you claim allegiance with so dark an elf. Do you know what has become of your accomplice at least?"

And Thranduil said, "No. For these last hundred years I have searched for news of him but none has come. I thought...I thought that he and his kin were dead. Has he made it here?"

"He has indeed." Turgon admitted. "Though it should grieve you to know he is no more in the world of the living, not since he was thrown from the cities walls - as punishment for the killing of his wife in this very hall that you have entered into."

To this Thranduil was silent, his gray eyes wide yet unseeing as the grief of this loss weighed upon him. "I can say only this, that that must be a lie."

And the sword at his throat drew near, that it began to cut the skin. And Ecthelion growled at him; "You call our King a liar? That alone is worth death! Not the least coming from friend of one who murdered the Kings sister!"

Thranduil spoke. "The Kings sister? I knew not Aredhels lineage, only that she was much beloved of Eöl and that of his own free will he would never harm her."

"Her harm came out of love for her son." A voice responded from the last high seat. There, a strange elf with the web of mortality wound about him spoke. And he moved forward until Thranduil could see him, a mortal man he seemed - fair of hair with bright blue eyes.

"His mother leapt before the poisoned dart that was cast by Eöl at their son. And so poisoned she died. All this occurred long ago."

"And why would Eöl try to kill his son?" Thranduil asked. "What reason could a father have for such an act?"

Turgon answered, his voice cold as stone. "Maeglin did not wish to return to Nan Elmoth, and though I extended welcome to Eöl he did not take it. So he threw a poisoned dart at Maeglin and Aredhel my sister caught it with her own flesh and as a result died. And for this he was thrown from the wall of Gondolin to his death."

And Thranduil was silent a time, yet his anger came swiftly thereafter.

"Why did Maeglin not dodge, for he is an elf like any other." To Maeglin he spoke; "How is it that your mother had time to move yet you did not?"

Maeglin remained silent. Yet as he shifted Thranduil caught a glint at his side and knew the blades name which was belted there and grew vengeful.

"So he refused to leave Gondolin with his father. Yet you say the issue was moot - as none leave Gondolin but by leave of the King. Nay, I know now what wrath brought Eöl to Gondolin. For he loved his wife - yet not so much he would pursue her if she truly chose to leave. And I will confess there was no great love for his son and he would not miss him. Yet, at Maeglins side there is now a sword - that Eöl would go to the ends of the earth to retrieve."

Thranduil looked up at Turgon. "Look upon Maeglin - at his side lies the reason for your misery! The sword there is none other than Anguirel, mate of Anglachel which Eöl gave to King Thingol more than 200 years ago as payment for his freedom in Nan Elmoth! The twin of the sword that slew Glaurung and is now named Gurthang and lies shattered beneath the mound of Túrin Turambar!"

At this the host of lords murmured among themselves and Thranduil continued.

"One sword he gave up for his freedom, to be free of kings and bondage in Nan Elmoth. one he kept for himself. Yet you took by your decree both from him, o King. His sword and his freedom. And ultimately his life, though the grief of loosing his dearest would have killed him in time without your aid."

"Do not speak to me of his love for my sister, vagabond." Turgon snapped fiercely. "What proof of this love do you have?"

"In the satchel I have brought there is a gift which was meant for the white lady and was never given. I have brought it to give now, though it be too late."

And from the satchel Rog fetched the fine necklace and brought it before the king. And there wrought into it were all the things Aredhel had loved - nights in the forest, the flight of deer in the hunt, the cool of autumn the twinkling of stars. Wrought with moonstone and diamond and sapphire and set in a deep black metal the color of her hair.

At length Turgon spoke: "And where did this come from?"

Thranduil replied. "Eöl's forge, the last work of his hands. For he knew Aredhels heart was restless and sought to comfort her any way he could - for her son Maeglin urged her often to leave Nan Elmoth, even without his father."

"So it was by Maeglins' council that Aredhel returned?" The King asked, his eyes turning to the Lord of the House of the Mole who stood near the throne. And Maeglin spoke; "We wished to come to Gondolin to escape the dark woods."

"And of the sword, is this true that it was stolen from Eöl and as such is the main reason for his pursuit?"

And Maeglin spoke; "I know not if it was his reason for the pursuit, who could know his thoughts?"

At this Thranduil moved again, though not far for he was held fast by Ecthelion.

"How idly you stand for others - yet how industrious you work for yourself! I should have expected this from you, betrayer unto death! You stood idly while your mother died for you, you stood idly while your father was killed and now you stand idly while I await judgment! You were not moved to spare them so I must judge that you would be no more moved to spare an old friend!"

And to King Turgon Thranduil spoke: "I would not have conceived that a King so mighty would give an ear to the whisper of a fell serpent!"

"He is a Lord of Gondolin and it would be wise to give him appropriate respect! He is Lord of a mighty house whose great works defend the hall you have entered vagabond in black! And furthermore he is my kin - tell me why your council is preferable to his?"

And Thranduil grew silent, for now King Turgon would have his say. He circled the bound elf, his eyes filled with cold wrath.

"I, vagabond, have a decision to make. For the matter of your fate now concerns me. Do you know the laws of Gondolin? One; that none may enter the city unbidden. Where were you found?"

At Ecthelion's urging Thranduil answered. "By the fourth gate."

"Then you have entered my realm unbidden, this punishment is at my discretion. Gondolin is hidden for a reason. Do you not know the few leagues between our gates and the black one? Secrecy is our shield. Why have you come?"

"To seek my father. He is known as Oropher - chief of both Thingol and Dior's royal guard before Doriath fell."

This induced much murmuring. When it had faded Ecthelion at last spoke: "This name I know. For he is a rider in our march wardens. Loyal and steadfast, honorable and strong. A Sindarin elf with pale gray hair who came from Doriath some years ago." To Turgon he spoke, "My King, if this elf speaks the truth let it be told by Oropher."

"Call him then. But speak nothing to him of what has happened here, only tell him to come to the High hall. And as for the prisoner do not let him speak a word first."

And Turgon watched as Thranduil was pulled to his feet. Rog warded him while Ecthelion left to fetch Oropher. As he exited the tall doors Turgon stepped before Thranduil and looked upon him.

"Your fate, vagabond is on a knifes edge. If he fails to claim you, you will suffer the same fate as your mentor."

Thranduil shuddered, and kept his silence.

It was not long before Ecthelion returned. In that time Thranduils bonds had been released, so that Oropher may suspect nothing when he entered. Yet Rog stood at the ready for the slightest word from his King, for like all of the Lords - save Maeglin who remained silent - they did not believe his story, nor that any good was in his heart.

Oropher stepped into the chamber and in the moment he laid eyes upon Thranduil his mouth was agape. And heedless of the lords or his king he ran forward and drew his son into a tight embrace. "Thranduil - my son! I thought you were dead!"

"Father! I thought you were as well!"

And the two stood for a long time, their tears drying upon each others shoulders. And Oropher broke to hold his sons face in his hands.

"They...those who saw..they told me you died on the bridge. They said they saw-" And for a moment he could not speak, but then resumed; "Survivors said they saw Maedhros strike you on the bridge and that you collapsed it so that he could not pass. They told me you had died."

Thranduil nodded. "It is true that I was gravely wounded, yet how I survived I do not know. I woke on the banks of the Esgalduin and from there journeyed to Eöl's home."

And Oropher grew tense and once more noticed the lords around him.

"My King. Why is he here before the lords of Gondolin?"

"To stand in judgment for entering the city unbidden." Turgon spoke, standing tall and grave. "And to explain his relationship to Eöl."

At this Oropher paled and knelt before the king. "Forgive me my King! Do not take away my son from me - for I will go where he goes and I will not suffer to lose him again! It is true he knew Eöl from his youth, and from him learned to forge. Yet he was also under Beleg as a march-warden of Doriath, and under my tutelage as part of the Kings guard. He alone stood with King Dior when he was assailed by the sons of Fëanor and he has fought them himself for the defense of your cousin whom we knew as Artanis - the lady Galadriel. So my lord either spare him or release him; but I beg you do not kill him!"

And for a long while Turgon was silent. Then he knelt and lifted Oropher to his feet, and holding his shoulders he spoke, "You are as true to your son as he is to you. For he only risked this peril for the sake of finding you. So I will not have him slain out of consideration for your loyal service. Yet, I cannot also have him leave and betray the city."

To Thranduil he spoke. "It seems your story rings true, young elf. Your father has spoken for you. Will you stay peaceably in the city and abide by our rules for the rest of your days?"

Thranduil nodded, gray eyes shining in gratitude. "Yes, for my father is with me - no more could I ask for."

"So be it." Turgon spoke, and as the lords began to move he motioned to Maeglin.

"Lord of the House of the Mole. A word with you I ask, come here."

And Maeglin came down from his chair, anxious. Thranduils glare caught him and was returned, yet he was nearly simpering when Turgon spoke to him.

"You are my nephew and for that I hold you dear. You have been loyal and brave in battle at my side and have defended the city always. Yet; what Thranduil has said rings true. Though I have no love for the rightful owner, I cannot allow a Lord of Gondolin to remain a thief. The sword you will turn over to Thranduil - and I will not renegotiate it. This decision is final."

The last was said as Maeglin opened his mouth to speak. Instead he closed it in anger and removed the sword from his belt. He thought for a moment to draw it upon this bearer of woe who had come stalking in from Nan Elmoth yet he restrained himself.

Ecthelion removed his sword and re-sheathed it and drew back. And Thranduil took up the black sword. And though none could hear it, it echoed in his mind.

Friend of my Father, Kind toward my creator, call me and I shall come at need - for ever I long for battle.

And though Maeglin was bitter at the loss he was not altogether displeased. For a new sword of his own making was at his side soon after - a blade that did not mock him every time it was drawn.