"Berenil, you have betrayed me."
The old Elf looked up from his documents and saw the Elvenking at the entrance of the talan that served as his office. He soon relaxed when he saw the twinkle of humor in Thranduil's eyes despite his stern expression. The light of dawn that filtered weakly through the canopy of beech trees nevertheless managed to turn the king's hair into a cascade of pale gold. It draped like a cape across his back and augmented the regal bearing he had mastered an age ago.
"Forgive me, my king," Berenil began, rising to bow, "but I do not recall any betrayals of late. Pray, tell me what breach of loyalty I have committed."
"You did not tell me of the Sindar family from Lindon that has been living outside of court all this time."
"Ah, yes," Berenil said sheepishly. "Soronume and his wife and daughter. They are a delight."
"Advise me now, Berenil." Thranduil slowly stalked around the small space with his hands clasped behind his back. "Do you think Soronume and Linalda wise? Shall I command them as their king to join my council?"
"They are wise, sire. They spent many years in Lord Cirdan's court." Berenil hesitated. "However, they are quite young. Younger than yourself, my king. They weren't born until after your father led us here."
"I have found that age and wisdom do not always correlate," Thranduil said.
"That is true…especially in Elluin's case. The conversations we've had revealed a perceptive mind rare in an Elf as young as she is. Soronume says she spent many hours at Lord Cirdan's feet during council meetings."
"Indeed," the king said thoughtfully.
"But Soronume specifically may be of help with foreign relations. He participated in Cirdan's dealings with the Numenoreans...as well as the Dwarves, and the Noldor." Berenil anticipated his sovereign's face darkening with the mention of the two peoples responsible for the fall of his childhood home of Menegroth and quickly continued. "Having someone with his experience treat on my king's behalf may decrease the burden on your own shoulders, sire."
"Let us rather hope there will be no need," Thranduil said bitterly. "But I will remember Soronume in such an event."
A messenger was soon heard running up the steps. He bowed when he entered and did not wait for permission to speak. "My king, two of the southern villages were attacked by Orcs not two hours ago."
Already moving swiftly out of the room, Thranduil allowed the messenger no rest. "General Cembeleg is to send half of his forces to the south. A patrol is to be assigned to each village, and the rest is to scour the forest. Go." The messenger soon disappeared in the direction of the guardhouse.
Thranduil found his servant, Sulros, and a guard at the foot of the tree. "A message for Galion," Thranduil started.
"My king," the guard saluted.
"A team of healers, mounted, and the spare horses that can be quickly readied to carry the wounded are to follow the warriors."
Berenil caught up to them. Before Thranduil could give Sulros the order to bring his sword and armor, the advisor cleared his throat. Thranduil stopped abruptly and turned, barely tempering his annoyance at the interruption.
Berenil knew better than to advise outright that Thranduil, who had been trained for combat since he was a child over thirty-five hundred years ago, stay under guard at the palace for his own safety. But he considered it his duty to protect his king, especially in the absence of an heir.
"Sire, while Orcs seldom show sufficient intelligence to mount a sophisticated offense, I must urge caution," Berenil decided to say. "We would need our king's guidance in case they take this opportunity to attack the palace while our warriors are concentrated in the south."
"My people's immediate safety is first," Thranduil countered. Berenil noticed the spark of desperation in the Elvenking's eyes before he turned away to keep walking.
Berenil followed after. "Please, my king, I beg you to let Cembeleg and your forces handle the Orcs this time." Thranduil did not stop. "When the survivors come to the palace, they will feel much more reassured if the king is here to welcome them. They will not be coming to the palace, sire; they will be coming to you."
Thranduil slowed his step.
"You are the face of the crown, sire — the only one." Thranduil finally stopped to hear his advisor continue. "To see you put in danger is…" Berenil allowed his concern and love for the king to reflect in his eyes as he met Thranduil's anguished gaze.
Thranduil sighed, relenting. "Then, what shall I do? I will not be merely a face."
Berenil's assistant had been following behind at a discreet distance. Berenil removed his outer robe and tossed it to him. Resolutely, the advisor resumed walking toward the palace. "The enemies here at the palace will be sorrow, fear, and physical needs." Now it was Thranduil who followed, waving for more messengers to approach from their stations.
Berenil lost no time in dispensing orders. "Light the cooking fires. There must be a warm meal waiting for villagers and soldiers alike."
Thranduil moved a finger and one of the messengers set off at a run to the kitchens.
"Summon the minstrels and we shall take up songs, remembering past sorrows and past victories, and then welcome the night with songs of hope and joy."
Another Elf went running.
Thranduil took over. "We will double the patrols around the palace and they will make themselves known to those that pass. And...we should convene the council. We must decide what to do with the refugees."
"Very good, my king." Berenil himself left to gather the king's other advisors.
Healers and soldiers bowed or saluted to their king, leading their horses through the courtyard as Thranduil walked into the palace. The villagers would begin to arrive within a few hours. Thranduil hoped the council meeting would be swift.