Thranduil watched Mithrandir study their surroundings, taking much more time than his son had. Legolas had become nearly sick with the darkness that surrounded Amon Lanc, his heart grieving for the unnatural death and decay that now surrounded his grandfather's old fortress. Thranduil himself had become increasingly uneasy, repulsed by the same presence he had known on the Dagorlad. And that, more than anything else, made him willing to abandon the entire southern forest and flee north with his people.
The old man slowly rose from a crouch beside an outlying pillar long since fallen, with a sigh that managed to avoid becoming a groan of effort. The expression on his wizened face was grave. "I am not certain that this area can be cleansed with our assembled force," Mithrandir concluded.
"No," Thranduil agreed, hoping the answer did not come too quickly to betray how unsettled he was. "I will expedite my people's move to the north."
The man's beard bunched and straightened as he nodded slowly. His eyes were twinkling in thought.
Thranduil gave Telior the order to prepare the group to move out, starting the homeward journey. Eventually, the captain gave the order to mount.
"I will take my leave of you now," Mithrandir broke in as Thranduil reached his stallion.
The Elvenking studied the man for a moment, sparing a glance to confirm the full saddlebags on the borrowed horse he held by the reins. "The road to Gondor is difficult from here."
"I will go to Lothlorien first, and consult with the council there."
"Do you remember where to ford the Anduin?"
"I believe so. I shall ask King Amroth to return your horse—"
"Keep her. May she serve you well, wherever your travels may take you." Thranduil hoped he sounded generous instead of simply in a hurry. His skin was crawling with the evil of this place.
"I thank you for your hospitality, Elvenking," MIthrandir said with a bow of his head. "Please pass along my gratitude and regards to your wife, as well."
"I shall. May the stars light your path." He mounted, barely hearing Legolas exchange his own farewell with their visitor from atop his own horse before bringing his mount into a trot, trying unsuccessfully to avoid considering himself a coward for doing so.
~.~.~
Maethon gently turned the pages of an ancient book. He stopped when he came across a pressed cornflower on only the third page.
Elluin smiled when she saw it. "I remember there were clouds on the day I picked that. There used to be a meadow beyond the old stand of junipers where the sun came down enough for cornflowers," she reminisced.
Turiel scoffed good-naturedly. "Stop now, Maethon, for there will surely be a tale for each of the dozens of flowers you pressed in that book." She leaned more comfortably into the back of the couch in the royal receiving room. Elluin gave a self-deprecating smile of acknowledgement.
Maethon looked up, his eyes slowly brightening from behind the cloud of memories. "This book is not about the flowers, or the forest that was. It is a testament, as Sulros said, to when the king was 'the greatest idiot in the realm.' And now, since you are here to see it, Elluin, it is evidence that he has at least developed some wisdom."
Turiel held up her hands. "Please, Maethon, have mercy! We shall have to listen again to Elluin's numerous odes to the Elvenking. I only have the afternoon to spend with you, and I would prefer it not be spent as a captive audience."
"Ah, but is he not a good king?"
Maethon grunted and shut the book as Turiel sighed with mock exasperation. "He is," the body servant said. Then he added warningly, "And that is all we shall say of it."
Elluin laughed. "I promise, I shall speak no praise of Thranduil for the entire afternoon, then."
The elleth smirked. "We shall see how well you keep your promises, Elvenqueen."
Elluin leaned forward conspiratorially from her seat on the floor. "Now, Turiel, let us reverse this conversation and beg you for praise of your husband."
"That old termite, forever smelling of paper and ink? No complimentary word shall pass my lips on that topic."
Maethon and Elluin exchanged amused glances.
"I hear," Maethon said slyly, "there is a very good reason Achariel chose to live in the barracks. Your daughter has very sensitive ears."
They observed their companion's cheeks color subtly, but she remained silent.
"Some are saying," Elluin continued, "that one hardly needs ears to know what occurs in Pedirion's talan."
Turiel pursed her lips to hide a grin, even as she pretended to study the ceiling. It lasted only a few moments before both she and Elluin began laughing heartily, with Turiel trying ineffectively to cover her red face. Even Maethon chuckled.
A knock on the door interrupted their mirth. Maethon raised an eyebrow at the ellith before rising to open the door. He exchanged a few words with the servant and shut the door again, holding out a small roll of parchment for Elluin, obviously sent by a bird messenger. She read it quickly, then summarized for her friends.
"Thranduil's return will be delayed. He is traveling to the southern villages to encourage them to move to the fortress in the hill by the river immediately."
"Construction has hardly started," Turiel noted, brow furrowed. "What worries him?"
"They have seen none of the spiders during their scouting," Elluin explained. "He fears they are massing for an attack somewhere."
Maethon cursed under his breath, knowing how often the king's guesses were correct, especially when combined with his son's ability to read the forest. It was nearly as refined as Turiel's.
"I do not know whether to speed preparations by sending more carts with our stored goods to the new fortress, or to keep everyone guarded here at the palace while he returns," Elluin said mournfully.
"Let the council decide what is to be done," Maethon advised. "Shall I have them convene?"
"Tomorrow," she said decisively. "Let the three of us share this afternoon together while we may."
Something in her tone of voice prevented any protest from her friends. And though they turned the conversation quickly to lighter things, the undertone of an uncertain future rankled subtly in the backs of their minds.
~.~.~
General Cembeleg shook his head firmly. "We cannot both scout for spiders and protect so many groups of travelers against possible attacks. We do not have enough soldiers."
"Should we then move everyone together, Elves and goods alike, and camp at the foot of the hill while the fortress is completed?" Lord Derion said.
"Our preparations are not complete," Galion protested.
"How long do you need?" Lady Raegdis demanded. "It seems that the king's concern is severe enough to warrant expediting our efforts."
"It is not only the palace residents and stores that must be moved," Lairien broke in. "We must ensure that all the Elves in all the villages, at least those south of the Dark Mountains, will have protection as they travel."
The council members chimed in with their opinions for hours, but eventually reached the conclusion that messages should be sent to assemble all Elves to the palace. There would be armed escorts for the villagers, along with any carts the palace had to spare. The process would take many weeks, as only a few villages could be safely escorted at one time, but they all felt it was the best way. And they needed to start now. Once everyone had assembled, they would all emigrate together with the benefit of the protection of the entire royal army not out on patrol.
Elluin dismissed them, lamenting the empty chairs that had belonged to her parents, who had left for the Havens centuries ago, soon after Legolas was made captain. Soronume would have built them a few more carts in as many afternoons if he had some help. But the ache in her heart was dulled somewhat knowing they were spared the dangers of the encroaching darkness. She took a fortifying breath and stepped out in the hallway, where, predictably, Galion and a small army of palace servants were waiting for her. They needed to find somewhere to house the majority of the kingdom while they waited to travel to their new home.
"How many cots can we pull from the barracks?" she asked. "And how many can comfortably fit into the guest houses?"
Galion selected two ledgers from a precarious stack balanced by one of his clerks. After a brief consultation, servants were soon sent bustling off on their tasks, singing their hopeful working songs. Elluin knew there would be no silence in these halls again until they were all leaving them for good.
~.~.~
Legolas looked back one last time at the newly vacated village. They had left their telain intact, but he knew they would soon be reclaimed by the forest. His fervent hope was that the Elvish presence would linger in the place for many years, and that the trees would therefore resist the attempts of spreading shadows that much longer.
A snort ahead of him recalled his attention. All but the most fiery warhorses were now employed as beasts of burden, and a few of these were still not convinced of the task. But all the accumulated goods of the villagers could not be carried on their own backs. There were tools of their crafts, weapons, cooking gear, clothes, furniture… There were even some sculptures or paintings, despite how rare such pieces of art were among the Silvans. Thranduil had made it clear that they were leaving for good. The only Elves that were to come any further south than the Forest Road would be patrolling soldiers. Whatever the villagers were unwilling to abandon forever had to be brought along now.
Legolas had seen an elleth sigh over a small wooden cradle that she had used with her two children, long since grown now. She would not bring that token of memory along with her. There were no Elflings in Greenwood anymore—she would not be able to pass it along to her grandchildren. There would be no children again, until the darkness of the south was somehow driven out. He felt his heart clench with something like determination.
Ensuring his quiver was fastened securely to his back, and holding his bow firmly in his hand, he jogged forward to join his father at the front of the traveling group.
"Father, can we go back to the palace directly?" the prince asked quietly. "I think collecting these two villages is enough for now."
Thranduil's lips quirked. "What? Do you miss your mother?"
"Not as much as you do, I suspect," he retorted, matching the teasing tone. But he saw the anxiety in his father's eyes. "But, yes, I wish to go home."
The Elvenking cast his son an apprehensive glance. "We cannot separate from the villagers, lest an attack leave them defenseless. We will go to the palace, but we will be slow. Have patience."
Legolas knew his father was speaking to himself just as much as to him.
"Very well, father. I will scout along the path."
"Not too far ahead," Thranduil rushed to say, not bothering to conceal the concern in his voice.
The prince set a reassuring hand on his father's arm before saluting and leaping into the trees.