A New King

Menegroth, Doriath, First Age 503

Menegroth had become a city of ghosts. Gone were the silver animals and babbling fountains, gone were the merry voices and busy market stalls, and worse, the food was gone too; their stores of meat, lembas, dried fruits and preserves having been plundered by the dwarves just like everything else of value, and with so few survivors they had had a hard time replenishing them. As for the lembas, that was lost to Doriath for good.

Looking around among the assembled people, Thranduil saw signs of suffering in almost every face. With lack of food they had grown sallow and thin, and several still had ugly battle scars.

All citizens had gathered outside the provisionally repaired city gate, waiting to greet their new regent whose arrival had been announced by a forerunner earlier that day. Well, almost all of them – Oropher had claimed to have a headache and remained in bed. He had hardly left it at all since the battle.

A horn sounded cheerfully, and a large following emerged from under the eaves of the forest, with the king-to-be and his family walking in the front. Their colourful clothes, gleaming jewels and healthy looks contrasted sharply with the sorry crowd that welcomed them.

Behind the royals came another group of elves, all garbed in forest green and equipped with longbows. They must be Laegrim, Green-Elves of Ossiriand. The Laegrim were said to be great hunters and archers. Maybe they could help restock Menegroth's empty larders?

Feeling the first glimmer of hope in a long time, Thranduil moved his gaze to his new leader, Lúthien's son. Dior looked more mannish than elvish. He was broad shouldered and shorter than his wife, but his chin was smooth and his dark hair braided in the Doriath fashion. As if he had tried hard to make himself fit in.

Nimloth, his wife, was a relative of Celeborn, and had the same silvery hair colour as he. Two small children followed close on her heels.

"Greetings, my kin and friends," exclaimed Dior in a strong voice that easily carried to them all. "I bring good tidings in these dark times. The animals – for I refuse to call them anything else – who ruined your fair kingdom, are no more. Beren, my adar, hunted them down and ambushed them at Sarn Athrad, killing every last one. They have paid for their evil deeds!"

A murmur rose among the assembled, grim smiles breaking out in haggard faces. Nobody had forgotten the treatment they had received from the dwarves. Good riddance!

"The necklace of my grand adar was also retrieved and is now worn by my naneth, Lúthien," Dior continued. "Sadly the rest of the treasure was lost in the river, but despair not! With me I bring what I believe will be more welcome than silver and gems." He indicated a row of horse carts behind the Laegrim. "A bounty of food!"

This was met with an expectant cheer, but the merriment was interrupted by a strange sound, high pitched and easily carrying over the din. All eyes turned towards it, and an almost reverent silence commenced as the elves realised what had caused it. A baby. A pink head with tufts of brown hair had emerged from a sling across Nimloth's shoulder.

Thranduil felt a rare warmth in his chest. How long had it been since the last time there were elflings in the city? Centuries or more. Hearing the wailing baby now, he took it as a good omen, the beginning of something new. Doriath had already fallen just as Lúthien had foreseen in Galadriel's mirror – perhaps that meant it could rise out of the ashes again? A new spring dawning, where the kingdom would be rebuilt and brought back to its former glory.

If so, Thranduil might have a future to look forward to, that was not entirely black.

oOo

Dior was crowned soon after his arrival, and the ensuing feast was so grand it surpassed anything that had been seen in Menegroth for decades. The whole realm was invited to share his bountiful table, laden with numerous delicious courses, and to see the radiant queen and her children up close. The king took time to speak with everyone who wanted, holding audiences well into the night, and the people left the party with strengthened hope and a growing love for their new regent.

The hopeful feelings did not abandon Thranduil. It gladdened him to see how soon the newcomers settled, and how well they fit in with the other citizens. The friendship and old bond between the Sindar and their distant Laegrim relatives had been renewed – and of course the food and other supplies they brought were more than welcome too.

Not surprisingly, the royal family became universally loved, particularly the children. The twin boys and their baby sister received so many gifts of homemade toys, clothes, blankets, sweets and bedding that Queen Nimloth had to commit a whole room in the palace to store them in, and they had hardly time to use a fraction of the clothes before they outgrew them.

The childrens' growth was particularly fascinating because they were part human. They were less developed than elflings of similar age would have been, but grew exceptionally fast. In a mere month the baby gained an inch and learned to hold her head up.

Thranduil followed the childrens' progress with interest mingled with wistful memories of another little human he had watched grow up: Túrin. He hoped the fate of the twins and their sister would be less tragic.

King Dior turned out to be a humble and very diplomatic leader, showing interest in Doriath's traditions and how the city had been organised, and after re-employing Oropher as chief councillor – and asking him to perform the coronation! – the new king managed to dispel even his disapproval, which was a true feat. Of course, Oropher did not stop resenting that a stranger had been made king instead of him, but from then on he only complained about the unfairness in the privacy of their home, and it actually seemed that the amiability he showed Dior was not feigned.

Being the only captain left in Doriath, Thranduil was assigned another important task by the king, which he quite enjoyed, namely to be a coach for the newly recruited Laegrim march-wardens. They were already proficient archers, but only few of them had ever fought in a battle, and to be able to protect their new realm they needed to learn close combat. Every morning the training grounds filled with people sparring, performing fencing routines or practising fighting on horseback.

All in all, it seemed like it would be a good spring.

oOo

A couple of months after King Dior's coronation, Thranduil was on his way to another day of training. The pleasant smell of fresh wood filled the air, and he saw signs of rebuilding everywhere: repaired doors, market stalls once again loaded with foodstuffs and other necessities, new statues of trees and animals along the main street. The latter were not made of silver anymore, but of other materials available such as wood or clay.

Outside the rebuilt city gate he stopped, joining several onlookers who watched the queen with her two maids and the royal children. They were at the new playground that had been put together by many willing hands.

Under the watching eyes of the maids (and the audience), little Eluréd and Elurín were ascending a dead, barked tree that had had its branches shortened, making it perfect to practice climbing on. Meanwhile their sister Elwing slept on a blanket, well wrapped in furs. Her mother sat beside her, face upturned to catch some of the spring morning sun.

It was such a peaceful, idyllic scene, and it made Thranduil's chest ache to know that he would never have a family like that. Yet, the king's children were not an altogether bad substitute. If he could have no elflings of his own, at least he could watch over and care for his leader's.

He continued his walk, but not much later he was distracted again, this time by the sight of someone digging in the soft loam near the Esgalduin. It was an ellon with a coppery hair colour that was not uncommon among the Laegrim. He had turned over grass to expose the soil in a wide strip and made a row of holes in it.

Pausing, Thranduil regarded him. He was filling buckets from the river now, emptying them in the holes. What was he doing?

When he curiously went closer, the ellon straightened his back and greeted him with a smile. "Good morning, Captain!"

Thranduil recognised him now, he was Galion, one of the new recruits.

"I will come to practise soon, I must just finish planting those." Galion indicated a sack from which a bunch of cuttings protruded.

Thranduil picked one up and turned it over in his hands. He did not recognise the shape of its triangular leaves.

"I brought them with me from home," said Galion. "They are grapevines, if you know what that is?"

Thranduil shook his head. He returned the cutting to Galion, who placed it in one of the holes and filled it in with soil.

"They get berries that are very tasty. And you can make good wine with them."

At Thranduil's approving hum, Galion went into a lengthy description of the vineyard he had kept in Ossiriand, and the varieties of vine he had bred, trying to create one that would yield the most plentiful harvest and sweetest berries.

His enthusiasm reminded Thranduil of Amroth and his goat breeding efforts, and with a pang he realised how much he missed him. After Mablung's death in the dwarf attack, nobody remained here of the friends of his youth. Amroth was far away in the south with the others who had left.

"Ossiriand sounds like a lovely place," he said, attempting to steer his mind away from another person who was far away in the south – Aerneth.

"It is." Galion's gaze grew distant. "The land between the rivers is very fertile, so everywhere you look there are rich gardens, fields, fruit trees and a bounty of flowers. And many animals too, of course."

"I am a bit surprised so many of you left that for a city you had never been to."

"Lúthien persuaded us. She can be quite convincing." He grinned.

Thranduil well remembered the former princess' headstrongness. "How is she nowadays?"

"Well, both she and Beren are getting old, as mortals do, and her hair has turned white. But she still loves to dance." Galion had finished planting and washed his hands in the river.

"My naneth was from Ossiriand too," said Thranduil while they walked to the training grounds. "Her name was Eiriendîs, if you knew her? She moved away after the First Battle of Beleriand." To his surprise, he found that talking about his mother did not hurt as much as it used to. Maybe time really could heal wounds.

"I don't recognise that name, nay, but I am young and wasn't born yet during the First Battle. I will celebrate my fifteenth decade day next week."

"Congratulations in advance."

"Thank you. And actually… I have a few barrels of grape wine that I brought with me here, and I plan to open one for the occasion. Maybe you would like to come over and try it?"

Smiling in surprise, Thranduil accepted the offer. "It would be my pleasure."

oOo

Summer and autumn passed. Thranduil watched the king's children and Galion's vines grow, and so did his hope – until one late night when an ellon arrived in Doriath, a messenger from Ossiriand. He brought two things: the Silmaril in its necklace, and the news that Lúthien and Beren had passed away.

Lúthien's death dampened Thranduil's spirits like a wet blanket over fire, and the same went for everyone else, Sindar and Laegrim alike. An elleth they had known and loved was gone – really gone – in the way of mortals, and they would never see her again, even in Aman.

In addition, the Silmaril added a new cause for worry. Dior wore it around his neck just like his mother had done, and her father before her, which meant that rumours about it risked spreading with every visitor to the city.

The day after the gem had arrived, Oropher complained about the king's carelessness during supper. "I suggested that he place it in one of the vaults, but he refused. He said it is too beautiful to hide."

"Well, he does look handsome wearing it." Thranduil smiled wryly, though he really agreed with his father. It was good that the Silmaril was back in Doriath where it belonged, and Dior absolutely had the right to it – his father Beren had cut it from Morgoth's throne with his own hand, after all – but it was unwise to carry it so openly.

If the Dark Lord learned where it was, his balrogs, orcs and remaining dragons would crush the realm completely in their search for it. And then there were Fëanor's sons who might try to steal it. If they were still alive, that was; nothing had been heard from them since the Battle of Unnumbered Tears three decades ago.

But then again, it may not be so easy for anyone to find out about the Silmaril. Doriath rarely received visitors anymore, only messengers from Ossiriand now and then, and on a few occasions from the Mouths of Sirion. Not much trading went on between the elvish realms with the orc bands roaming the western plains making travelling dangerous.

And as for Morgoth, it seemed Melian's Girdle had both protected and kept Doriath hidden, for even now when she was gone his spies never entered the forest. Perhaps he thought it was only inhabited by humans.

Thranduil figured the Silmaril was probably quite safe, and his worry unfounded.

oOo

Another couple of years passed, until again an important message came for the king, this time with a small company of runners from the south. They brought a letter from Círdan Shipwright with a renewed offer for the people of Doriath to move to his realm. He described how there was now an entire city of Iathrim, as the emigrants from Doriath called themselves, where the brunt of the new arrivals could move in. And as for Dior and his family, he was welcome to stay at Círdan's fortified island, the Isle of Balar, where his treasure would be better protected.

It was clear from the offer that Círdan knew exactly what this treasure was, and that in turn meant that rumours about the Silmaril had spread after all.

As usual, Oropher told Thranduil the news very soon afterwards, and added: "I advised Dior to stay. I know Círdan is your wife's adar and all that, but I cannot help suspecting he wants the necklace for himself. Why would he believe it safer on an island than here, where it can be hidden deeply below the city if needed? It will be much more conspicuous there, I'd say. And why would he think that Dior wants to live apart from his people? Círdan cannot know how loved he is by everybody."

At the mention of Círdan and Aerneth, Thranduil had had to force himself to uphold his calm face and keep paying attention to his father's words. Was she well? He had not heard from her in many years, and after that time when Doriath was sacked he had not tried to reach out to her again. He did not dare, for he feared she would keep refusing to answer, and the pain if she did would undo him.

When he had his emotions under control, he considered Círdan's message. A second chance to leave the city? If they took it, he could be with her again. Perhaps if he tried to convince his father, and…

But who was he trying to fool? Oropher would never leave his favourable position in court, and even if Dior agreed to go, Aerneth would likely not want anything to do with Thranduil. Not considering the way they had parted. He had chosen his father over her, and she would never forgive him for that.

During the afternoon, Thranduil had planned to inspect the guard posts around Menegroth. There were only a few left these days, located close to the city, for even with the added Laegrim archers he did not have enough march-wardens to patrol the outer borders. Walking to each of them in turn, he made sure the small cabins were adequately disguised, and that the designated scouts discovered him in due time.

Usually Thranduil enjoyed leaving the city for a forest walk, but now his heart was not quite in it. His thoughts kept straying to the letter, and he alternated between wanting to travel south or to stay in Doriath. Knowing how weak their defence was, and realising that if Círdan knew about the Silmaril, others – more illwilling – might as well, the forest no longer felt very safe. But he also agreed with Oropher that the Isle of Balar probably was not much better.

When he returned to the city in the evening, he was surprised to be intercepted by one of Círdan's messengers, and he was even more surprised when he realised he recognised him. It was Galdor, a friend of Aerneth's, whom she had once followed to Doriath as an emissary from Eglarest.

Galdor put an envelope in his hand. "This is for you… Captain Thranduil, it is now?"

"Um, aye," he mumbled, too bewildered to mind his manners and thank him. He stared at the folded square of parchment, turning it this way and that. There was nothing written on the outside, not even a name.

"I was asked to wait for a reply, if you want to send one. We will return south early tomorrow morning, so bring it to me before then, if so. You can find me in the guest quarters of the palace." With a nod, he left.

In his hurry to unfold the envelope, Thranduil hardly noticed him go.

It was from Aerneth. Feeling both hot and cold, he read her short note over twice. The letters were elegant, yet unfamiliar – it struck him he had never seen her handwriting before – and the content formal.

"Husband," she began. "I have been contemplating writing to you for a long time, and now that an opportunity to have it delivered arose, I decided to seize it. My adar has invited your people to live here, and if you should accept, I need to prepare you for how it will be between us. Or rather, not be. Under careful consideration, and in consultation with a very good friend, I have decided that it will be the least painful for either of us if we refrain from contact. A clean break, if you will, allowing us to live our separate lives in peace, and forget that the mistake of our marriage ever happened. Hence my reluctance to open a water connection with you a few years back. I trust that you understand, and rest assured that you will comply with my wishes. Best regards."

With shaking fingers he folded the letter again, refraining with difficulty from crumpling it instead. A clean break… Mistake… I trust that you understand. No, he did not understand, and he certainly did not agree. Why could they not keep in touch every once in a while like they used to? And who was the 'very good friend'?

With a pang of jealousy, he imagined her with that golden-haired ellon she had once kissed. But surely he would not have left Gondolin?

In a horrible mood, Thranduil stomped home and went to bed early. He did not sleep anything that night, and at sunrise he quickly scribbled down a reply.

"Wife. Our marriage was indeed a mistake, and of course I will comply with your wish. I have met a new friend as well, one very dear to me, and that is all the company I need. In addition, I highly doubt my new king shall accept your adar's offer. We do not need his meddling, and he would do best forgetting he ever heard of the treasure we keep. It is ours."

That would show her. Technically Galion was not 'very dear' to him, or even a friend – more an acquaintance. But she need not know that. If she became jealous, it was all she deserved.

oOo

Menegroth, Doriath, First Age 506

A family of snowmen in the making made Thranduil and Galion chuckle when they passed the playground on their way to cut a tree for Durufuin, the winter solstice. Though crude, the snow sculptures were easily identifiable as the royal family; little Elwing was just decorating the snow twins with brown, dead grass for hair while their real counterparts looked on. Now six years old, the half-elven twins looked like chubby little dwarves in their thick winter clothes.

"My hair is not that short," complained one of the boys. Eluréd, Thranduil thought he was, though it was hard to see. Queen Nimloth cut their hair at different lengths, but that was hidden under their bearskin hoods.

"And my nose is smaller," said his brother.

Thranduil lingered, amusedly watching the girl finish the snowmen and the boys proceed to build a wall around them. "For safety," they explained. "In case bad orcs and dragons come."

"I want to see dragons," said Elwing.

"Nay, you do not," Thranduil could not help replying, dispelling the memory of Glaurung's evil eyes and gruesome smell.

"Captain Thranduil!" The boys looked up with wide grins.

"Have you seen a dragon?" Elwing went over to the fence.

"Once. But that is a long story." And one he did not want to tell, he added silently.

"I want to hear it!"

"Much as I would love to tell that tale, I sadly cannot, princess. There is a feast to prepare. You wouldn't want a Durufuin party without a decorated tree, now would you?"

"Nay," she conceded.

"There you go, then. See you tonight!" With a wave he went on.

"I am jealous," said Galion when they entered the forest. "Why are you so popular with the kids?"

"I have no idea," he said innocently, keeping silent about the candy he regularly spoiled them with when their mother did not notice. "Perhaps I am just unusually likeable?"

They continued to the part of the forest where the best fir trees grew, wading through the thick snow with difficulty. Thranduil could easily have assigned others for the task, but he enjoyed doing it himself. It was highly satisfying to stride through the silent forest, the snow covered branches glittering dazzlingly in the cool winter sun, and search for a tree that was just right.

Finally picking a solitary one, straight and symmetrical, he told Galion to hew it down.

"Such a shame to kill it." He had a soft spot for all living things, but let his axe fall nevertheless.

They were almost back in the city when a scout dashed up to them. Breathlessly he grabbed Thranduil's arm. "There are Noldor in the woods!" he panted. "Armed. Heavily armed!"

Feeling cold, Thranduil instantly dropped the tree on the ground. "Hurry on then, and alert the king! I shall gather the march-wardens." Then he started running.

Thoughts tumbled around in his mind like frightened birds. Armed elves – coming into another realm unannounced. What was this? It was unpreceded. Completely unpreceded.

In passing the playground he yelled without stopping: "Get the children inside! Quick." Whatever would happen, Thranduil had a horrible suspicion it would not be safe for them.

In the corner of his eye he saw a maid pick up Elwing and another the twins, hurriedly abandoning the snow family for the safety of the city. Thank the Valar they had obeyed him without fuss!

He continued to the training grounds where the brunt of the march-wardens practised. Grimly he told them what had happened, and to follow him and arm themselves. Upon hearing elves were coming, disbelief filled their eyes. What had they ever done to the Noldor?

It did not take long to get ready. They had practised this many times, after all, though none of them could have imagined fellow elves to be the threat they had prepared against.

When the foreign host arrived not much later, the march-wardens had lined up outside the city with Dior in the front, all of them in leather armour and helmets, armed with longbows or swords.

The Noldor counted about a hundred and their leaders wore intimidating armour: full chainmail, even on their legs.

"How dare you come into Doriath without leave?" Dior said coolly. On his chest, the Silmaril gleamed brilliantly. Illuminating his face, it gave him a near ethereal beauty.

A ginger ellon took a step forward. "We intend no ill," he said, but his gaze had instantly trailed to the necklace.

Thranduil's heart beat faster when he took in the ellon's unusual hair colour, and then saw the stump that was left of his hand. He realised who he must be, and judging by the murmur among the march-wardens he was not the only one who had either guessed or recognised him.

"No ill," Dior snorted. "And this army on your heels – those weapons are for practice, only?"

"If you do as we bid, nobody will get hurt," said the maimed ellon. "You know why we have come."

Dior's young face became stern; if he was afraid, he hid any trace of it well. "Who are you? Show your colours."

Another elf unfolded a banner, and there was a collective hiss as the defenders saw the multicoloured star set in a sun with wavy rays.

"I am Maedhros Fëanorion. My brothers and I are here to fulfil our oath and reclaim what is rightfully ours."

Thranduil's throat felt tight. The sons of Fëanor, who had already slain elves once, had come for the Silmaril. This could never end well.

A/N:

Sorry for the cliffhanger, but I had not the heart to write about war today, with a real one not far away...

The next chapter will begin bleakly, but there will also be a long-awaited reunion of Thranduil and Aerneth, where he finds out who her 'dear friend' is.

Another thing… It's now been 1 years since I started this story, and because I think my English and writing have improved a little since then, I've gone back and edited the earlier chapters plus added a few quotes. Check it out, if you like. :)

Of elvish races: The first elves who awakened became four clans; Avari, Vanyar, Noldor and Teleri. The Teleri were later divided into Falmari, Sindar, Falathrim and Nandor (who in turn were divided into Silvan and Laegrim). This means the Sindar were fairly closely related to the Laegrim.

Thank you dear Katia0203, your reviews always make my day!