The displaced villagers had been swiftly accommodated and now the uninjured ones were in the courtyard. The sunset was casting its gold over the woods and the forlorn faces of the Elves. A herald bade everyone rise for the arrival of the Elvenking. He walked onto a small platform, his dark gray robes trailing on the steps before he turned to face the gathered Elves. The muted blue of the juniper berries in his crown seemed to emphasize the heaviness in the king's eyes.
"I welcome my people to the palace," Thranduil began somberly, "though I lament the circumstances. I must ask forgiveness from all of you for failing to fully protect this wood that you have entrusted to my care."
At that, many of the Elves bowed or shook their heads. One of the village leaders dared to interrupt the speech to say what the rest were thinking.
"You are not to blame for what happened, my king," his voice rang out. "Truly, if we did not have the royal patrols passing by so frequently, our losses would have been much greater. And the other soldiers and healers you sent, sire, were much appreciated." He bowed again.
Thranduil inclined this head to the Elf in acknowledgment.
Standing beside the platform, Berenil barely managed to conceal a smirk. His king had indeed become quite clever. Although Thranduil's apology seemed to convey weakness on the surface, the king was in tune enough with his people to know that their inevitable response would be to recognize the strengths of the realm and its leadership. Furthermore, his remarks were honest. The Silvans would repay truth with trust. The old advisor made a note to congratulate Thranduil tomorrow on his wisdom.
Thranduil continued his speech in a sympathetic and decisive tone. "Both villages will be rebuilt, closer to the palace. In this way, the soldiers of Greenwood will be able to keep you safer. A few days hence, those of you who wish to return to collect whatever valuables may have escaped the Orcs and their fires will be escorted under guard to do so. Tomorrow, I will request that the villages elect representatives to approve a site for construction from those my advisors will show you.
"But for tonight, we remember the parted." Thranduil closed his eyes and took a breath. "We will sing in their memory. And though our ears may miss their voices, we trust that they now sing in the Halls of Mandos."
Silence descended upon Greenwood. As the sky faded from gold to gray, the Elves stood motionless, many with tear-streaked faces, slowly opening their hearts to a world now changed. Their old homes gone, family and friends missing, they took comfort in their kin that remained and in the king who would help them begin anew.
A lyre began a slow, sad melody. The sound floated over the space and the Elves gradually stirred from their introspection to acknowledge the present. A minstrel sang out in a mournful tone and, one by one, other voices added their harmonies.
*My parted friends, the pipes, the pipes are calling
From wood to glade, and down the mountainside
The summer's gone and all the flowers falling
'Tis you, 'tis you must go and I must bide
I'll think of you when summer's in the meadow
And when the wood is hushed and white with snow
I'll mourn you here, in sunshine or in shadow
Until at last across the sea I, too, shall go
Thranduil finally stirred to look over the crowd. Though for many, healing from grief would be long in coming, he was satisfied that his people would find joy again. Nearly three hundred years ago, he had seen many of Greenwood's residents off as they embarked on the westward road. In the aftermath of the war that killed two thirds of the kingdom's forces, they had sought the rest and healing of the Undying Lands. The Elves that stayed still had hope, and they were ever the most joyful. He knew he could count on their continued resilience.
Now the Elvenking moved among his singing people, clasping shoulders in silent encouragement. When the song of mourning subsided, his own voice took up a song of victory. The musicians quickly followed his lead. Eventually, the feel of the space completed its shift and Thranduil signaled for servants to start distributing food and drink. He made his way to the edge of the gathering where Cembeleg looked on with his usual stern expression.
The general bowed as the king approached. "My compliments, sire," he began in his deep, rumbling voice, turning back to look at the crowd. "You have set the people on a straight path to recovery."
"Merely the start," Thranduil sighed. "There is much left to be done, and not by me. And this was much easier than it was on the Dagorlad."
Cembeleg nodded his acknowledgment. "True, sire." He frowned, remembering the many Elves lost in the war against the Dark Lord. Too many times, he and his young king were forced to pull the Greenwood troops out of grief into renewed courage, for charge after bloody charge, year after tormented year, in a land of choking fumes and barren stone. Cembeleg had admired Thranduil's steadfast leadership at the horrific start to his reign. Though he would never speak ill of Oropher, Cembeleg thought Thranduil to be even more attuned to his people's needs, likely because he was so young when he and the other Sindar Elves first came to Greenwood. Even as a young prince, his care for the realm had earned him the loyalty of the Sindar and Silvan citizens alike.
"Both court members and servants are doing their part tonight." The general nodded his head toward a rich voice rising above the others. "Lady Ninniach joins the song." His face, hardened by the wars of millennia, reluctantly morphed to reveal a small smile. "Ever, she brings joy to the people. A gem in your court, sire."
"Indeed," said the king. The two ellyn watched as the young Lady Ninniach made her way slowly around the crowd, picking areas where voices were weakest. As she moved, light from the emerging stars and the lanterns hanging in the trees glinted off the waves of her rich brown hair.
When night finally dominated the wood, the Elves took up their song of welcome.
**Bright star, while on your lonely way
You fly in that expanse of blue
Your gem-like form and steady ray
Attract the wood-Elves' eager view
Each time that Greenwood's Elven child
At peace amid the trees to roam
Beholds with joy your aspect mild
You tell of happiness and home
Those westward sailing mark your beam
The sea asleep in peaceful calm
While on its breast your gentle gleam
Plays wanton, with its sacred charm
But here, sweet star, at even-tide
When all the wood is hushed to rest
My thoughts ascend, and pensive glide
To distant realm and region blessed
"How fair the Silvan voices," Thranduil said quietly. "After nearly three thousand years among them, I find I still marvel."
Cembeleg again nodded, deciding not to disturb the sweet sound with his rougher tone. The reverent melancholy of the song was yet another balm to the Elves' pain and, gradually, its hopefulness also reached their hearts. A muted joviality slowly spread over the gathering as the music, wine, and company succeeded in dampening the sting of the recent tragedy.
At last satisfied with the course of the evening, Thranduil took his seat at the high table with his aunt Anarrima and a few other court members.
Lady Anarrima turned to Berenil, purposefully looking past her nephew. "My lord," she asked, "do you suppose there will be dancing tonight?"
"There may, my lady," the advisor replied, holding up his goblet with a smile, "as long as the wine keeps flowing."
Anarrima held up her goblet in response and turned to Thranduil. "Sister-son, there are many ellith present tonight who would be very honored to dance with their king. Perhaps, in a while, we can persuade you."
"Dear aunt," Thranduil said, trying to keep a polite tone, "I find I am not inclined to dance so soon after an attack on my realm."
"That is understandable," Anarrima replied with a gentle smile. "But I suggest it for the people as much as for you. Every time you join the merrymaking, it gives you joy. And the people feel more valued when they are joined by their king."
Thranduil managed not to grumble. He knew his aunt was right, as usual. He gave her a nod, resigned to follow her advice as soon as the minstrels changed their tune.
The time was not long in coming. Easy conversation had finally filled the courtyard and the musicians made to drown it out with a bright melody and inviting rhythm. From his post behind the king's chair, Sulros heard Thranduil take a fortifying breath. The servant took it as his cue to help the king remove his outer robe, leaving him in a finely embroidered tunic over breeches and boots. Seeing the king approach the center of the gathering space, Lady Ninniach briefly curtsied and gleefully pulled him by the hand into the circle of dancing Elves.
Thranduil allowed himself to be guided by the music. The more he danced, the more he felt his heart lighten. Soon, he was singing along with the other Elves as they made their way around the circle, frequently switching partners to spin and glide under the sparkling stars. Glancing out of the circle, he saw other Elves eating at the tables or standing in relaxed companionship under the trees. Servants continued wandering around seeing to the needs of the attendees. One of them was Elluin, tasked with distributing wine. By chance, their eyes met and he realized that her smile and the joy in her eyes were an exact reflection of his own.
The feast lasted long into the night, allowing the mourning company to work through their grief and find hope and the start of healing in the life left to them. The king remained with them until the last of the refugees finally sought rest in the safety of the converted storeroom. The stars were already beginning to pale with the coming of dawn.
Members of the court then took their leave of Thranduil, satisfied at having fulfilled the start of their own duties to aid in the people's recovery. Rising from her curtsy, Lady Ninniach smiled at the king. "How lovely it was to have you dance with us, sire," she said. "Though, you may have sabotaged your intentions to lift the people's moods. You left the ellith longing and the ellyn jealous."
"After only one night of dancing?" he said indulgently. "Perhaps the wine was more potent than usual."
"The presence of the king is enough to make any maiden swoon," she answered lightheartedly. With another quick curtsy, she left.
The courtyard was now empty except for a few servants collecting platters and cups. He saw Elluin among them and thought there was a slight stiffness to her movements.
Galion interrupted his observations. "My king, I would urge you to rest before the council. The village leaders will join you after the midday meal. General Cembeleg has already selected the soldiers to accompany them to the new sites."
Thranduil acquiesced and walked toward his chambers. Reaching the top of the stairs before the door, he looked out onto Greenwood. The rising sun was slowly turning the gray-washed world into a vibrant display of autumn colors. Despite the occasional Orc attack, Thranduil felt that his realm was thriving. The population was growing, and there had been no rumors of war in the surrounding lands for hundreds of years. However, as his gaze shifted to the south, he felt the same lingering uneasiness in his heart as he always did. If rest did come, it would be troubled.
Elluin helped the other palace servants collect the last of the abandoned dishes and tried to swallow her jealousy. She had no right to feel thus, and was disappointed in herself for it. The Lady Ninniach had every right to flirt with the king, if she chose. The young noble elleth's heart was so in love with the idea of love that it could be expected.
Elluin briefly considered trying to imitate the lady's approach. Perhaps that would attract the king's notice? She laughed at herself. It certainly would. She was as much of a flirt as a grayling was a baker, and the attempt would certainly be disastrous.
No, better to wait, she decided, and preserve her dignity...and her heart.
* Based on the folk song "Danny Boy" from the British Isles. Many artists have recorded their versions; I am partial to the one by Celtic Woman.
** Adapted from the poem "To the North Star" by William B. Tappan.