87 – Fleeing the South
Galion surveyed the carts, stacked high with goods that the people would not need until winter. Until their own journey to the new fortress, the Elves of Greenwood that remained would survive very well on whatever springtime bounty the forest provided, the grains and dairy the king's council obtained through trade with the Men of the plains, and the strength of their Silvan songs. Galion bowed to Cembeleg, who came marching towards him ahead of a company of soldiers, his armor making him seem even broader and commanding than usual.
"Lord Galion," the gruff voice greeted with an answering salute, "how go the preparations?"
It was a courtesy. Everything was clearly ready. "The cargo awaits your pleasure, General," the steward answered with matching politeness. "I thank you for the escort."
"We will take no risks with the Elvenking's people." The theatrics over, Cembeleg gestured for the group to take their places about the caravan as palace servants picked up the reins of the cart horses. Thranduil and Legolas came to the gates to wish them a good journey, and at the bright sound of a horn, they set off. A few hundred Elves followed the dozens of carts on foot; a few families, but mostly craftsmen that would aid in establishing the new stronghold.
Side by side, Cembeleg and Galion watched the group make their slow way through the gates. The route would take them eastwards on the Old Forest Road until they reached the plains, then northwards to the hill where the new Elven kingdom was taking shape under the care of scores of Elven masons and a pair of their Dwarven advisors. The rumble of the carts on the road at last died down, and eventually the voices of the Silvans singing a walking song also dwindled.
Galion cast a brief glance around them to ensure they were unobserved, then let his stance relax from one of proud correctness into a nervous one. "Does it bode ill that the royal family, the head of their household, and the leader of their army all elect to stay here while others establish the new fortress?" he mused.
Cemebelg grunted, and let the silence float about them for another long moment before he spoke again, seeming to have resigned himself to enter into this confidence with the steward. "Thranduil is uneasy. He will not leave his queen. His foresight is not to be disregarded."
The words chilled Galion to the marrow. He swallowed. "What can we do?"
The earnest question earned nothing but a helpless shake of the general's head. "We can only be vigilant, and do our duties as we have always done."
Galion stared at the cluster of trees that made up the royal apartments. The queen had not visited the site of the new palace, and yet she had written instructions toward its design, based on the plans and reports from the Elves involved in excavation and construction. Once established, the fortress would bear the stamp of the Elvenqueen, even if she never stepped foot inside it. But a stamp was different from the person herself. Despair grew in Galion, suddenly swallowing his mind as it ran over all the possible ways he could safeguard her within the scope of his station.
He did not notice he was trembling until he felt Cembeleg's hand clamp down on his shoulder.
"Steward." The rough voice recalled Galion to his senses, but he knew his desperation showed as he met the general's grim expression. "Perhaps you should ensure we have adequate messengers stationed about the halls. If any crisis occurs, it is important for the right people to be notified as quickly as possible."
He clung to the suggestion as he would to a log in the river in which he had been drowning, finding that he could once again draw a steady breath.
"I will, general," he managed to say, conviction coloring his tone and straightening his spine.
"And find your flute," Cemebleg continued, his lips twitching as Galion blinked in surprise. "Did I not hear the queen instruct you recently to practice more often? She is quite insistent that our people should fill the forest with joyful sounds as often as may be."
Galion nodded dumbly. He had lost count of the number of times Elluin had made such requests. With every group of Elves she visited, she encouraged plans for forest circles, asked for songs, and even gifted commissioned instruments for them to learn and play. From the talk on the council, he knew that the darkening of the Greenwood was a source of concern for her. The queen trusted, however, that the forest would be better able to resist the growing shadows if imbued with the light of the Elves.
"Where is it, then? Your flute."
Galion sighed, broken out of his thoughts again. He did not quite have the heart to thank Cembeleg for helping him claw out of despair and into a plan for action. "I keep it in my desk nowadays," he replied, attempting a light tone. "Perhaps in a few centuries I shall be able to accompany Lady Lairien as she sings."
Cembeleg grunted in amusement. "My wife might tolerate such a thing, in a few centuries, with diligent practice."
The steward felt Cembeleg's evaluating gaze sweep over his face. The general drew in a decisive breath, apparently satisfied with his assessment. "To our posts, then," he said, and marched toward the barracks.
Galion followed in his wake, musing with a mixture of admiration and embarrassment that he had needed a soldier's coaxing to effectively resume his duties. But then he realized that a good general always knew how to muster his troops. He felt now, more than ever, the burden of caring for his royal charges.
~.~.~
Two months later, the second caravan departed, the heavy guard surrounding several hundred Elven villagers along with half the council members.
"It's so quiet here now," Elluin mused at dinner that evening.
"Is it?" Thranduil asked, sipping his wine nonchalantly. "It seems I see more servants in the hallways now than ever."
"It seems they do not wish us to feel that there will be any decrease in our due attention," Legolas said with a grin.
"If they only knew how we live on patrol," Thranduil said wryly.
"But mother does not go on patrols."
"No," Elluin said with a fond smile, "but before I married your father, I often spent nights under the stars with friends."
"It is hard to imagine a time when Father ever let you out of his sight," Legolas said, "even when you were a palace servant."
Thranduil snorted. "I am ashamed to say it took me many years before I recognized my need for your mother, Legolas. Before we wed, she went on many expeditions away from the palace, taking several days at a time to search for flowers or gather the season's bounties. But now, I keep her cooped up behind the walls like a hen." He took her hand with a pained expression on his face. "Is it very taxing, my heart?"
"Hardly," Elluin replied, releasing his hand to caress his cheek. "The move has kept me too busy to leave, even had I wished to. But you and others have told me so much of how darkness has crept into the southern woods that I find I would prefer not to see it. I shall be glad to go north when it is time for us all to abandon this palace."
"It is not long now, Mother. We will be settled in our new home by the first snows."
Elluin sighed wistfully. "There have been so many lovely winters in the woods close by," she said. "Do you remember the junipers that used to grow on the hill to the northeast, Thranduil?"
"Very well, and fondly," the Elvenking answered in a matching tone. "Now the area is mostly greenbrier."
"How quickly the plants and animals come and go from the world," Legolas mused quietly.
"In the river that is the life of Arda, we are all stones in its current," Thranduil said soberly. "Men and beasts move as swiftly as kernels of sand to reach the end of their journey. The great trees are hefty stones, patient in their travel as they, like the Elves, reach up toward Varda's stars in joy. But we—we are boulders. We are dragged but slowly down the stream, sometimes leaving pieces of ourselves behind during the turbulent moments, feeling it each time a piece of us is chipped away."
His voice faded and he stared for a moment at his half-empty plate. Then he looked up at his family, eyes bright with emotion.
"But the rewards of love and fellowship surpass the pain of those broken pieces. This is one of the greatest lessons I have learned," he told them fiercely. The answering light in his son's eyes assured Thranduil that he would remember it.
"Speaking of rivers," Elluin said after a long moment, "will you tell me more of the one that runs by the new fortress?"
"It is rich and strong," Legolas said eagerly. "It runs right into the plains. I believe we can use it as a traveling route, where we had been using the Forest Road until now."
"It does not go west," Elluin noted.
"We have little need to go west," Thranduil said. "But I did plan to make a path toward the western border of the forest, so that at least the Anduin can be reached if any are ready to seek the sea."
"Does the Anduin remain a safe route in these darkening days?" Elluin asked.
"For now," Thranduil said. "Strange creatures are living in the Vales—smaller than Dwarves, scuttling mostly unseen between their odd hidden dwellings. The birds enjoy them, sensing no evil. And yet, though we seldom see the footprints of their bare feet, we also see an alarming increase in Orc boot prints to the south."
Elluin paled. "Are the villages closest to the river evacuated?"
"Yes, Mother. The only ones left now are the ones higher up in the Dark Mountains, and one large settlement only half a day's walk to the south."
She nodded absently. "When are they to arrive?"
"Two weeks hence," Thranduil said. "And a few days after that, we will all escape this place."
They were silent for a while.
"Maethon!" Thranduil called. The servant entered a moment later, bowing to the table with the unspoken question on his face. "Let us have some music. My queen wishes for some distraction from somber thoughts."
Maethon's eyes lit up. The harp strings soon had cheer vibrating through their hearts.
~.~.~
Thranduil listened for as long as he could, then excused himself from the table to retreat to his office. The bookshelves with their contents had been cleared away, and only a large pile of essential ledgers were left neatly stacked on one corner of the desk. The map of Greenwood's villages lay on the table, and he reviewed it for what must have been the thousandth time. All the residents of the southern and western villages were crossed off with a line of charcoal. At first, the sight had given him pleasure, as it showed the kingdom's progress toward completing the migration to the northern fortress. But now, the black marks seemed an ominous representation of the darkness creeping ever closer to the Dark Mountains.
A shiver ran down the Elvenking's spine. Ever since they visited Amon Lanc, the sense of foreboding that had been slowly growing within him had taken on more urgency. Now, it was nearing terror. He willed it away from himself, knowing that if his heart was correct, and there was a threat approaching, he would need all his wits about him to protect what remained of his people here. Fervently, he hoped that whatever shadow dared to come this far north would arrive long after the Elves had left. But he knew this hope would likely not be granted.
Thranduil tapped a finger beneath the place on the map, depicted by a crowned beech. He traced the path from the palace to the Old Forest road, turning at the line where the trees thinned along the River Running, moving northward toward what the Elves named simply the Forest River, and the new Fortress of Greenwood. The council had elected to call it Danothrond—the underground stronghold of the Green Elves. It ultimately stood as a rejection of the flawed Men and High Elves. It was these who, it was suspected, were ultimately at fault for the survival of the shadow that was now overtaking their forest. In Danothrond, however, the Silvans had a base from which to spread their unique light in defiance of darkness and celebration of life.
He rolled up the map and set it resolutely on top of the pile of ledgers. Their new home deserved more attention than the unsettling smudges of charcoal. And so did his family. Thranduil walked toward the sound of the harp, where he knew his wife and son were waiting.
A/N: Thanks for hanging in there with me, readers! I love receiving your comments. I hope you all enjoyed these last moments of relative peace, because it's all about to unravel.
