A/N: A week late, but extra long to make up for the delay! Welcome new followers, and thanks to those who added this story to their favorites. There will be fewer than a hundred chapters in total so we are certainly nearing the end. If you have any guesses or wishes for the end, let me know. I'd love to hear your thoughts!

81 - The Heir of Greenwood

Thranduil breathed deeply, indulging in the scent of the skin to which his body was pressed. He ran gentle fingers through the waves of golden hair that belonged to the same person, stopping every once in a while to work through the tangles that recent activity had caused. His wife hummed softly, the melody of a Silvan song of harvest provoking waves of joy in his heart.

It had been two days since the delegation from Rhun had left Greenwood. During the visit itself, Thranduil and Elluin had little rest, despite their fatigue after the battle at Stony Bend. They spent their days as diplomats and hosts to Gudrun and her people, and much of their nights in conference with their advisors. They had regular messages from Derion in Stony Bend to answer, and meetings with other council members and Pedirion to ensure that relations with Gudrun's tribe would continue in the best interest of Greenwood.

By the time they were free of their obligations to their guests, the Elvenking and queen had promptly escaped to their chambers and collapsed into deep slumber. When they had both awakened late the next day, they had finally found the leisure to process all they had endured in the last several days.

First was the sorrow, overshadowing their relief. Aurados was lost. They grieved together for many hours. It had been a new experience for Thranduil to share the journey with someone else, and he realized grimly how much lighter he felt for it. During his thousands of years of dealing with such events in solitude, he had usually buried his lamentations deep within himself. Allowing his grief to surface alongside his wife's was like skewering a festering wound; he found it strange and agonizing, but then felt afterwards that his spirit had a chance of healing if given enough care and time. Of course there would be scars, but scars were better than gashes that tore deeper into him with each battle.

His fingers found another snag in Elluin's hair. It would have been easier to correct if he moved his other arm from around her waist, but he could not bring himself to do so. Elluin sighed sleepily before resuming her song as he stubbornly continued his work one-handed. Her eyes were closed peacefully, starkly different from what he had seen in her in the hours following their mourning. Their deep blue was stormy and anguished as she confessed her guilt over what happened in Stony Bend. Thranduil had patiently led her through the process of recognizing that such tragedies were now her lot as a leader. He quietly shared some of his own experiences as prince and king, recalling with infallible and eternal clarity the names of each scout and soldier who died as a result of one of his commands.

And his darling Elluin, his heart, had drawn him into her arms and taken his sorrow again into herself. They shared that terrible privilege, now—the power of life and death over the Elves in their realm. Thranduil was once again tempted to regret his decision to expose his beloved lady to such sorrow, but realized again that the strength and love found in their unity far outweighed it.

They had rested again after that. The emotional turbulence exhausted them both. But once they regained some of their energy, it was not long before they sought comfort in sharing their bodies with each other, the delight in their oneness acting as a salve to their recovering spirits.

It was now half a day later, and still they did not wish to stir from the bed.

Finally satisfied with his wife's hair, Thranduil stretched, drawing her more tightly against him with a groan. Her quiet chuckle filled him again with joy as she readjusted her arms around his torso. He turned his head to give her a long kiss, putting a stop to her humming.

She stayed quiet once he pulled away to rest his cheek against her forehead. The stillness, broken only by the birdsong of early afternoon coming through the open windows, was contemplative.

"So, my heart, are you at peace?"

The softly spoken question caused Elluin's deep blue eyes to open fully and meet Thranduil's. He knew she understood his question to refer to what happened at Stony Bend. After a brief silence, she said, "Naudeth helped me realize that things would not have turned out much differently had I not gone to Stony Bend. Even had you forbidden me to go, we would have sent healers to the settlement. And we would have sent soldiers to defend them once we had word of the attackers' approach."

Thranduil's eyebrows rose and he turned his head, studying the shadows of the leaves jittering across the ceiling for a while. "I suppose you are right."

She continued quietly, "And still we may have lost Elves in the battle; more, perhaps, because they would have lacked my Silent Guard."

He nodded absently in agreement. "In that case, I would bear the guilt of their deaths alone."

"No," she said immediately, pulling her arm under her to rise onto her elbow, looking at him earnestly. "You are never alone, Thranduil. Not anymore."

He saw the devotion and the honesty in her eyes. They were irresistible. Thoroughly pacified, he threaded a hand into her hair once more and pulled her toward him for another lingering kiss.

Elluin subtly changed the angle of her body against Thranduil's, provoking a growl. He broke the kiss to look at her, knowing very well that her effect on him was obvious in his gaze. "Elluin, we have not eaten today—"

"Have we not?" she interrupted with a smirk.

His chuckle was soon swallowed by his wife's lips, and it was long before they spoke again.

~.~.~

Another day later, the Elvenking and Elvenqueen emerged much strengthened from their chambers. Together, they saw to their duties in the wake of the battle in Stony Bend and the foreigners' visit. It had been taxing, especially seeing to the funerals of the fallen soldiers. They provided what comfort they could to the soldiers' families, and managed to keep their own hearts from breaking anew, resigned to the perpetual ache.

Their moods were not lifted when Lord Derion returned from the settlement, along with the Elves that had been recovering from wounds, the remaining healers, and their escort of warriors. The new chieftain had gifted Greenwood with a few dozen of the enemy horses, along with a small chest of valuables looted from the fallen and defeated foes. It was as satisfying as such a gift could be, diplomatically speaking. But it fell hopelessly short of the price Greenwood paid for the victory.

The council meeting to hear Derion's report had been blessedly short, but then came the rest of the business that had been neglected. Thranduil had left Elluin in her office, pity warring with amusement as he saw her army of clerks approach with their ledgers and struggling to remain polite in their urgency. He knew she would be occupied long into the night, as she had been unable to see to the household for over a week now.

As soon as Thranduil turned around, there was Galion standing a respectful distance away with his own armful of papers, an apologetic but determined look on his face as he kept his eyes at the level of the king's chest. Thranduil suppressed a sigh as he beckoned the steward to follow him into his office. They took their seats as a servant scuttled in to slide a cup of tea onto the edge of the king's desk and hastened out with a curtsy.

"So, Galion, what disasters have occurred here while I was otherwise occupied?"

The steward pursed his lips in uncertainty, and Thranduil became suddenly concerned. It was not like him to hesitate.

"No…disasters," he said. He finally met the king's eyes. Thranduil blinked at the worry he saw there. "Though, there could have been."

"What do you mean?" he demanded.

"Sire, you know that the other council members and I are honored to serve Greenwood however we may, and in your absence, we do whatever we can to continue the legacy that you and your father have built."

There was a pause as Galion seemed to consider his next words.

"I am grateful for your service," Thranduil said, and he meant it, through his confusion.

"But we cannot do all," the steward finally admitted, distress seeping into his tone. "The council would fail without a king or queen."

"You lack neither. Speak plainly, Galion."

The steward sighed. "As you wish, my king. The realm needs…an heir, sire."

Thranduil's gaze became stern. "We have been married for less than three years. It is too soon."

Galion had abandoned some of his reticence now. "It would perhaps be considered too soon for a common Elven marriage in a peaceful world, sire. But for a warrior king, I lament that it is not so."

The king remained silent, his expression displeased as he considered the words. Galion bravely cleared his throat after a while and dared to speak again.

"Your court and I have dealt with as much as we could, sire. The remaining items of business are listed here." He set a large piece of parchment in front of the king. "The associated reports are here." Another stack of documents was laid beside it. After another moment of silence, Galion stood and bowed.

Reflexively, Thranduil gave him a nod of dismissal. He spent only another short while in an internal battle with his thoughts before emptying his cup of tea and picking up the parchment. The sooner he finished with this, the sooner he could escape into the forest and seek counsel from the trees.

~.~.~

The sun was fast sinking toward the horizon when Thranduil reached the small clearing near the training grounds. He saw Nidhair sitting on a branch overlooking the space, as if waiting for him.

"Hail, Elvenking," the guard greeted, hopping down and drawing his sword. "I ventured to guess you would have been chained to your desk too long for comfort today, and longed to escape."

"You guess rightly," Thranduil acceded. His mind was still muddled, tossing thoughts of the state of the kingdom around with what Galion had said. "I was coming to seek wisdom from the forest."

"Come. The mind works easier after the body's work is done." Nidhair lifted Tauglang as Thranduil drew Gaelang, and the twin blades sang as the warriors sparred. As neither wore armor, they tempered their movements, focusing more on technique and strength. It was a long match; the sky had turned gray and the first stars were beginning to wink into view before they finally stepped away from each other, panting and contentedly tired. They emptied their water skins and sank onto the grass beneath one of the trees bordering the clearing.

Once they had caught their breath, Thranduil broke the comfortable silence. "I have not thanked you for your protection of the queen at Stony Bend."

"It is my duty and my privilege. No thanks are required. You know this," Nidhair replied easily.

"If I had lost her…" Thranduil fell silent as his throat worked.

"Here is the meat of it, then," Nidhair murmured. "You worry for the future of Greenwood."

The king nodded wordlessly.

"You know, there is a way to make all of us happy," Nidhair said innocently.

The ellon absently picked up a twig. "And how is that?"

"Simple: beget a child."

Thranduil scoffed, returning to twirling the twig between his fingers.

"I am in earnest," Nidhair insisted, misinterpreting the sound for dismissal instead of frustration. "The kingdom would do well with an heir. It would give your lady wife another object for her creativity and care, and encourage her to keep close to the palace for a decade at least. It would be an increase to both her safety and her satisfaction. You would have someone else to brighten your days who has absolutely no duties to complete with your time. And once the little one is grown enough, there will be yet another royal to help you with the demands of the realm."

"Nidhair, you are not the first person to make that suggestion today." Thranduil threw the twig angrily at the ground.

"Well, I flatter myself not entirely without wisdom," Nidhair said with a smirk. "Perhaps the repetition is an indication that it is an idea worth considering."

"It is a perfectly sound idea," Thranduil seethed. "What I dislike is that something so personal be decided for us, without the slightest concern for whether we feel any desire for it."

Nidhair sighed, leaning back against the tree trunk and studying the brightening stars. "Thranduil, do you not think that the people who love you would know it would make you happy to have a child?"

Thranduil frowned in thought.

"We saw the relationship between you and King Oropher," the captain continued calmly. "True enough, you did not agree on everything. But the love between you was obvious. If you had your own little one, you would treasure the relationship just as much, or more."

"Nidhair, it is so soon," Thranduil argued, though weakly.

"What difference does it make?" his companion retorted. "We are Elves. We will endure as long as Arda itself. The time you do not spend now, you can spend later."

The king remained silent.

"Think of it logically, then," Nidhair pressed, sitting up to look directly at his friend. "What the kingdom has is a king and queen who love each other, and a gaggle of advisors who would end up squabbling fruitlessly amongst themselves without one of you to lead them. Another thing the kingdom has is a multitude of foreign neighbors: the settlements and tribes of Men in the plains and across them, and Gondor far to the south. There are some lingering pockets of Orcs in the Misty Mountains to the west. Our Elven allies have their own borders to protect, and there is too much of the Noldor influence in their courts for our people to accept much partnership with them, in any case."

Thranduil nodded in agreement.

"Now, what we lack," the captain continued, "is an heir to the throne, and time. I have seen your face when you look southwards… to Mordor. Our Enemy is not defeated, and though he is weak now, he is not gone forever. In order for the people of Greenwood to endure, we will need a leader. May Iluvatar grant that you remain on the throne until the uttermost waning of the Firstborn, Thranduil…but if it not be so, I would have your child become our people's hope."

Nidhair reached over to set an arm on Thranduil's shoulder. "We are in a blessed moment of peace. It is soon after your wedding, yes, but it is also the ideal time."

The Elvenking stared up into the sky, his view partially blocked by the branches of the tree beneath which they sat. Suddenly, he jumped up and into the tree and found a perch beside the trunk near its apex, leaving his companion lounging but alert on the forest floor. He wrapped an arm around the trunk and closed his eyes, concentrating to pick up the strings of song woven by the plants and creatures about him.

Deeper and deeper he delved, stretching his awareness as far as it would go. He sensed peace in all directions. The season had diminished the flow of water in the mountain streams. Branches were beginning to shed their leaves in obedience to the perpetual rhythm of the world. Elves with bright spirits walked and sang amid the trees. Woodland animals made their way to their dens, some of which were full of family members and food stocked for winter, others empty but for solitary near-mature predators for whom surviving winter would be a rite of passage into adulthood.

Would a future child of his come into the world only to face a dreadful winter? Thranduil worried. Would he be called off to battle against some foe and finally fall, leaving Elluin alone with a babe?

Elluin…How many battles has she not averted? With her help, peace was made with the Dwarves of the Misty Mountains and the Men of the plains to the east. It was true—for now, the kingdom was surrounded primarily by allies. And his glorious Elvenqueen would work to keep it so, more capably than he could himself. He did not need to trust in his skill at arms to protect his family, for his family made its own protection.

And this was essential for his happiness, he thought resolutely. He had not yet lost a vague rumor of foreboding disquiet in his heart whenever he thought of his queen. It had increased since the incident at Stony Bend, despite her promise that she would not leave the realm without him again. Whatever cause he could give Elluin to take particular care for her own safety, he was most eager to provide.

Thranduil spread his thoughts wider, not minding the effort and ignoring the tremble he could distantly sense in his limbs. His awareness extended even to the edge of the trees, up near the Gray Mountains and down past the narrows of the forest and Amon Lanc. There were no invaders, no foreign magic; all was as it should be, and he allowed the familiar melody of the music of the realm to soothe him. His kingdom was beautiful. And for now, it was safe.

He opened his eyes and looked up at the brilliant night sky. A smile touched his lips.

~.~.~

As the near-full moon reached its zenith, Elluin flipped restlessly through a ledger. She felt impatient—moreso than her flock of clerks and attendants deserved. Even as she parsed through their updates and requests, she suddenly realized that the feeling must be coming from Thranduil, overpowering enough within him to reach her, as their spirits were intertwined.

Elluin rose from her desk and started walking out, her followers immediately falling into step with her without so much as a blink. With each decision she expressed, she dismissed another of them until, at last, she climbed the last of the stairs up to the royal talan alone. The guards opened the doors for her wordlessly and she entered to find Thranduil pacing back and forth in the receiving room.

Sulros had evidently been trying to calm the king's apparent agitation. Elluin entered just as the servant was gesturing toward a tray of chamomile tea with a plea for the king to sit. But Thranduil stopped his pacing when he saw his wife, staring at her with an adoring but nervous look in his eyes. Elluin could see no urgent distress in his features and relaxed.

"Good evening, my queen," Sulros said with a small bow when it was clear Thranduil was not going to speak. "Shall I bring another cup for the tea?"

"One, it seems, is more than sufficient," Elluin answered with some amusement.

"Leave us, Sulros," Thranduil broke in sternly.

Elluin was thankful for the long acquaintance between the two ellyn, along with Sulros' easygoing nature, that prevented him taking any offense at her husband's aggressive tone. He merely bade them both a good night in as friendly a voice as ever, and hastened out.

"My love, what ails you?" Elluin asked once they were alone, stepping close to a very still Thranduil.

He clasped her hands in his own and studied them for a long moment. At last, he met her eyes.

"My heart," he said solemnly, "I wish to know your opinion on begetting a child."

Elluin quirked her brows in confusion. "You know I would like to have children."

Thranduil's impatience returned with a huff and shuffle of his feet. "Yes, but I mean…now." He turned anxious eyes to her again.

Her lips parted in shock, and she took a few breaths to read behind his words. At last, she asked, "Thranduil, is this coming from you or from the council?"

A smile broke over his face that caused joy to burst within Elluin's chest. "Both," he confessed sheepishly. "I have been strongly urged by both Galion and Nidhair. But the captain helped me realize that it is something I truly do wish."

A thousand thoughts warred for dominance in her mind. There would be so much to prepare, so much to plan… There could be no significant travel during the pregnancy. They had no nursery. How would they divide their time between caring for the babe and seeing to their royal duties? Who would—

All her thoughts were scattered when Thranduil placed a gentle kiss on her hand. "My heart," he said quietly, his eyes sparkling with hope as they searched hers, "will you do me the inestimable honor of bearing my child?"

Abandoning logic and examining her own desires, Elluin found them, to her surprise, completely aligned. She smiled back at her husband in delight and slid her hands up to his shoulders. "Most glady, my love."