84 – Cirdan's Message

Thranduil looked toward the south. From this vantage point halfway up the Dark Mountains, his gaze stretched across the canopy laid out for miles around, seeming to boil as a strong easterly wind shook the branches. His hair whipped around his head as he turned to look at the soldiers that accompanied him on the scouting mission. Most of them had, by now, shrugged their oiled cloaks onto their shoulders ahead of the inevitable downpour.

Telior handed him his own. The captain's face was just as clouded as the skies, rapidly darkening. Darkening, like their forest. The Elvenking allowed a scowl to surface as he squinted against the gusts of wind. Despite Amroth's increasing distraction from the duties of kingship by a certain Silvan elleth of his realm, Lorinand had flowered under Celeborn and Galadriel's influence to the point that it was now called Lothlorien.

Not so with Greenwood. The realm had the utter devotion of its king, queen, and prince; and yet, every new decade brought its people further north. Greenwood was plagued by a malevolent shadow claiming increasingly more territory. It had become so perceptible even among mortals that it was now called Mirkwood among the Men in the area.

Thranduil embraced the new name as much as he disliked its cause. Fewer foreign entities attempted encroaching on his realm now. He chose his own allies instead of waiting for them to come to him, with few exceptions. Birds were bringing him tidings from the surrounding lands enough to keep him well informed of deeds and happenings that inform his decisions…his and Elluin's.

His expression lightened as he thought of his wife, surely even now awaiting his party's return while she oversaw the palace's preparations against the storm. He admitted to himself that Elluin would not be as much concerned about his own well-being. Her consideration would be bent much more toward their son, needless though it was.

As if summoned by the course of his thoughts, movement in the underbrush a stone's throw away alerted Thranduil to Legolas's approach. The Elf prince soon came into view, trailed by two more guards. Bright blue eyes met his, much warmer than his own. And though they had seen much in their seven hundred odd years, they were yet filled with the blessed innocence of an Elven warrior who had yet to experience a war. Legolas was certainly well trained, as the power and grace of his figure and his movements suggested—Thranduil had seen to that himself. But the prince had experience no loss of his family, close friends, or home, and few Elf soldiers had even been lost in skirmishes with Orcs near the western edge of the Narrows.

Thranduil did not suppress a smile at his son's salute. "Report," he said, wishing to show the surrounding soldiers that he saw Legolas as a competent captain and not only his cherished child.

He only now noticed that there was some perplexity in his son's features.

"Father, sentries along the Forest Road say there is an old man journeying down the path toward the palace. He has been taking pains to ensure he is noticed."

"Do they fear any malicious intent?" Thranduil asked immediately.

"They have not reported any actions that would suggest it," Legolas said.

Thranduil was pleased at the diplomacy of the answer, knowing that in the presence of other Silvan soldiers, his son would not insult them by saying outright that they were, as usual, overly suspicious of the foreigner, and considered him entirely untrustworthy until either he proved himself otherwise or someone in the royal family declared it so. But prudent vigilance was preferable to potentially hazardous negligence.

The rain was starting in earnest, now, but his son did not move to don his own oiled cloak. But Thranduil knew, even as he gave Telior the nod to order the soldiers to resume their trek to the palace, that he would not use one. Even now, Legolas trotted ahead with his escort, entirely too comfortable with the natural feeling of rain on their faces and soaking into their clothes to bother. Thranduil spent much of his childhood in the splendid stone halls of Doriath, and after a long and troubled journey westward, spent time by the beaches of Mithlond where Elluin was raised before coming to Greenwood the Great that was. But Legolas was cradled in the trees from the first, and learned to hear them and climb up the branches before he could walk, just as most Silvan elflings. And with pride overpowering their anxiety, he and Elluin had watched over each upward motion, first through the tree branches, and then council positions and army ranks. What was a bit of summer rain to such an Elf?

~.~.~

The sky was thundering by the time the king's scouting party reached the palace, and rain fell heavily, much of it slapped onto the Elves' faces by the rushing wind. Captain Telior led the soaking soldiers to the barracks while Thranduil and Legolas headed through toward the royal apartments. Servants paused briefly in their errands to bow as the pair passed with identical strides along the pathways, lantern light illuminating their damp silver-blond hair.

Elluin had already risen from the chair at her desk when the guards opened the door. She cast an affectionate and assessing glance at Thranduil before taking her son's face in her hands and kissing his brow.

"Welcome home," she said to them both as she drew back, eyes glittering with joy.

"Home, for a little while longer," Thranduil said as Elluin took his hands.

"The mission was successful then? You found a new site for the palace?"

"Yes, mother," Legolas confirmed. "It is a large hill of stone beneath which a river flows. We entered its base and found a series of caverns that are promising for expansion."

"That is wonderful news," Elluin said, a bittersweetness in her tone that Thranduil immediately perceived, as he felt it just as keenly. He slung a comforting arm around her shoulders and drew her against him, knowing from many such previous encounters that she did not mind the sodden state of his clothes in the least.

"It will take us many years to complete it, my heart," he told her. "All of us will have time to take our leave of this place and help design our new home to our liking."

Elluin nodded, then sighed as if to dismiss her negative feelings, though she pressed her side closer to her husband's. She turned to Legolas again. "Did the trees about the place seem happy?"

"Yes, for many miles around," he answered, his face falling a little. "I had not realized quite how many shadows had grown in the south until I felt a free forest once more."

"All the better, then, that we will be going there," Thranduil broke in insistently. "Although…my heart, we will likely need some guidance from the Dwarves in the working of the stone there."

Legolas gave a nod of agreement. "The Elven masons we took with us said they were uncertain of undertaking such a large project safely without advice from someone with more experience in such matters. The stone itself seemed to be content, bathing in the sun and shaded by its forested crown. It will yield to friendly hands."

Elluin smiled at her son's assessment. "Very well," she said resolutely. "I shall have a message sent to King Biri." Then she looked both the ellyn over again before saying, "Your baths are ready. Supper should arrive by the time you finish, then I can tell you all that has happened here during the month you were gone."

Knowing his wife would reveal nothing further, and curious about what she had heard about the old man the scouts had reported to Legolas, Thranduil quickly complied.

~.~.~

The royal family stood in the throne room two days later, dressed in practical finery. Thranduil and Elluin bore crowns strung with sweet violets and primrose, abundant in the late summer woods. The Elvenqueen's lavender gown flattered her slender figure, and the Elvenking's deeper violet-colored robes accentuated the strength of his shoulders. Legolas wore a tunic of a similar cut to a guard's uniform, but made of finely embroidered cloth of a deep green color that, together with the silver circlet about his brow, softened the icy color of his eyes.

Soon enough, the guards opened the throne room door and Galion, with his usual professionally blank expression, led the guest through. Elluin took the time to study the newcomer. He moved somewhat stiffly but briskly for one so wrinkled of face, draped in a gray cloak and leaning on a wooden staff. His blue-gray eyes were bright as he looked about him, seeming to notice everything with the briefest glance. The lines about his eyes and brows suggested he was equally disposed to laughter as anger, and Elluin steeled herself for a volatile personality. Unnecessarily, as it happened.

"King Thranduil, Queen Elluin," Galion announced, "I present Mithrandir, a traveler from the Havens."

"Well, not from the Havens originally," the man clarified, then slowly executed as low a bow as his aged back seemed to allow. "But that is, indeed, where my time in Middle Earth has mostly been spent up till now." He gave them a friendly smile.

Elluin knew her husband would be as perplexed at these odd remarks as she was. A glance revealed to her the only evidence: that tightness of his lower eyelid that she and Legolas alone had learned to perceive. Legolas, however, was less subtle in his emotions. His curiosity about the stranger was evident in his open expression—all the more because the old man spoke flawless Sindarin.

"Welcome to Greenwood," Thranduil said with an even tone in the same language.

"I am very much obliged," Mithrandir said with a brief bow of his head. "And I also offer my gratitude for your hospitality on the road. It would have been a miserable journey, indeed, had you not appointed your sentries to offer me shelter during the rains of the past few nights."

"It was the least we could do for a guest of our realm," Elluin answered solemnly.

"You have an Elvish name," Thranduil interrupted, "and speak our tongue. Your clothes are also of Elven make, if I am not mistaken. And yet you are no Elf."

"No, indeed," the man said cheerfully. "It was Glorfindel—I believe he is known to you—who gave me the name Mithrandir. Lord Cirdan suggested that he accompany me on my journeys west of the Misty Mountains, and we traveled long together. Now, I know you are friends of Cirdan, for he bid me deliver a message to you."

"Is that your purpose here, then?" Thranduil asked neutrally. "Are you here as Cirdan's messenger?"

"Only in part," Mithrandir said, and continued smiling in a friendly way.

The Elvenking barely managed not to huff in frustration at his guest's avoidance of the implied question. "Then what else, may I ask, do you aim to accomplish by coming to my realm?"

"I wish to offer my services as a counselor while you act on what Cidan suggests," he replied.

Elluin interrupted before Thranduil's patience was overtaxed. "Please tell us, Mithrandir—What message does Lord Cirdan send?"

The old man's eyes sharpened beneath his prominent eyebrows as he looked at her. His friendly tone disappeared, allowing the foreshadowing in the words to fall like the footsteps of doom across the path of their lives.

"Beware the growing shadows of the east. Strengthen your alliances. Look to your people's protection. And if you can," Mithrandir turned to Thranduil to continue, "preserve whatever light can be found in the forest. For from it will issue the restoration of all woods, 'ere the sun sets on the time of the Firstborn in Middle Earth."

A heaviness followed as the words were absorbed. From the corner of her eye, Elluin noticed Legolas shiver minutely, and she feared for her son in light of this new prophecy. Already, the old one weighed heavily on her. It was not until years after he was named that she had realized that the prophecy that had sent her and her parents from the Grey Havens would fall onto Legolas' shoulders. The final lines rang in her ears along with Mithrandir's words, but the words amended to clarify the meaning:

When pilgrim's quarry flees the dell

And Greenleaf stands where grandsire fell

Cast down will be old enemy

And Greenwood evermore be free

"Galion," she said somewhat breathlessly, "please see that rooms are made ready for our guest." The steward bowed and left without a word, recognizing the order as a dismissal even though the room had been prepared long since, and impeccably hiding any thoughts he may have had about the visitor's words. He waved a finger at the other servants in the throne room, and they trailed silently out behind him in a twinkling.

"And Legolas," Elluin said, willing calm into her words even as she saw the old man's gaze shoot toward her son at hearing his name, "please find Cembeleg."

"Yes," Thranduil said quietly, looking straight ahead but unseeing, and his face a shade paler than it was. "Coordinate a doubling of patrols to the south."

Elluin could see the question and concern in the prince's eyes, but he had long ago learned that it was useless to question his parents' orders. With a bow to them and a smaller one to Mithrandir, Legolas strode briskly out of the room.

"Well, I would say that increasing the patrols is wise," Mithrandir broke in through the silence, his tone significantly lighter than it was.

Thranduil swallowed, and Elluin knew he was battling fear of the words, and anger at the man who brought them.

"Mithrandir," she said somewhat tentatively, "I imagine Lord Cirdan informed you of the other prophecy connected to Greenwood?"

The old man nodded once, gravely. "Indeed, my lady. And you can be certain that I will do whatever is in my power to see it fulfilled. My task, you see, is to assist the Free Peoples in their fight against the Enemy. And if he were to gain a foothold here in Mirkwood… I fear it would bode ill for all who profess to oppose him."

Thranduil eventually overcame his unease enough to speak. "What are you, Mithrandir? Though you have the body of a Man, you are not one."

"I am one of the Istari," he said, "at your service." He once again bowed his head to them, the brightness finally returning to his features. "I don't suppose you have yet had others of my kind come to your halls?"

"Not in person," Thranduil said thoughtfully, memories stirring. "However, we have had limited communication with a certain tribe of Men in the north of Rhun. An old counselor of theirs has curiously been with them for many centuries, now. They said he was once called Morinehtar, and now they call him 'Arrogant Bearded One.'" The Elvenking raised an eyebrow at the guest, who chuckled.

"Ah, that is good to hear," he said as if with relief. "I trust my cousin will continue his work in the region, as our tasks are the same." His eyes sharpened again. "But my concern is not Rhun. If I may be so bold, my lord, tell me of the state of the Greenwood."

"Your concern is admirable," Elluin broke in. "This time, however, it seems that it is misplaced, unless you have an alternative means of combating the shadows than what the Silvans of our forest are already employing. We are planning to move the majority of our population to a place in the northeast of the woods, by the Forest River. From there, we hope to make a more decisive stand against further encroachment to the north."

Mithrandir nodded pensively and carefully asked. "Are you so ready to release your hold of the fortress at Amon Lanc?"

"Orcs are too common there, now," Thranduil snapped, still uncomfortable. "Our southernmost villages were abandoned long ago. We have lost too many Elves to Orc raids, and there are too few of us to both protect all our villages and attack the enemy camps. A move north is what is best for our people."

The old man seemed reluctant, but did murmur an agreement. "I see, then, that you already have matters in hand," he concluded, then remained quiet.

Elluin knew Thranduil was not in a condition to extend the palace's hospitality himself quite yet. "In any case, please stay for a while, Mithrandir," she said, intentional both in the warmth of the invitation and in the vagueness of the expected duration. She somehow felt that she could trust this Istar, having confidence in Cirdan's judgment in giving the old man his message, despite the terror she felt at the words. However, she thought it best to remain somewhat cautious in allowing him to stay in the palace.

"That would be much appreciated, my lady," he said with a pleased smile. "I confess the road has been long, and I am eager for rest."

"You shall have it," Thranduil said, seeming to come back to his senses somewhat. "The servants beyond the doors will direct you."

Mithrandir bowed slowly once more and made his way out of the throne room.

Thranduil and Elluin both collapsed onto their thrones. Elluin could not stop the trembling in her fingers as she reached for her husband's hand.

"Our son will go to Mordor," she whispered. "Our Greenleaf will go to the lands of that terrible battle where Oropher died."

"The time of the Elves is ending, and the forests will fall," Thranduil said in turn. "All but whatever we can preserve." He met her frightened eyes with his own. "I cannot see that we shall ever rule over the entire forest again," he confessed. "We will cede the south as soon as we cross the Dark Mountains."

"You heard what Mithrandir said: we must strengthen our alliances," she countered, trying to keep from sounding frantic as her thoughts flew. "The Men of the plains have been asking for concessions of forest land to dwell in for years. Perhaps if they make their own settlements under the trees, they can provide some protection for our people, as well. And the Dwarves of Khazad-dum can be tasked with the Old Forest Road, since they use it sometimes to travel to the Iron Hills."

"We cannot make such a request the Dwarves now. It will be costly enough to have them aid us in building our new fortress," Thranduil said somewhat absently. "But…Legolas…"

"What will we tell him?" Elluin asked dismally. "Prophecy is dangerous. And none of the words were directed to him, either by Cirdan or by Mithrandir."

"You are right," he said, squeezing her hand lightly. "I believe he must be spared the knowledge. But you and I must prepare." He looked at her with determination blooming in his eyes. "We will protect as much of the forest as we can, along with its people, with all the magic and treecraft at our disposal. And we will teach our son to battle the shadows within himself, as you and I have taught each other to do, so that the darkness of that place he will face will not touch him."

"Yes," she agreed vehemently even as tears of sorrow pricked at her eyes. "Our people and our home will survive this, Thranduil. We will have all we need."

He sighed sadly and stroked her cheek. "I wish there were more clarity of our own fates," he mused. "Legolas will go to Mordor, but will he return? And what of me and you? A threat has been growing in my heart for which I have not yet learned the cause, and I am troubled. I fear that Legolas may be the first Elf in Middle Earth to inherit a kingdom from his father."

"No, by the stars," Elluin insisted, taking both his hands in her own, suddenly struck by a glimpse foresight. "You are the one who will see our people through to victory, Thranduil—I feel it."

Thranduil looked anguished, recognizing the premonition and its implications. He suddenly drew her closer to him, settling her into his lap as he pressed his face into her neck. Elluin realized he thought she would somehow be lost to him before the end. She wrapped her arms tightly around him and slowly breathed in the familiar scent of his silvery hair. But she had no words of comfort.