Chapter 2: To Each Their Own

(*)

Resigned, Thranduil began to pick his way down to his people's encampment. He stopped behind a large, leafy tree and combed his fingers through his hair, taking a plait out and re-braiding it to remove a few twigs. He brushed the dirt and bits of dried leaves off his clothes as best he could.

I wish I had thought to bring a mirror, he thought. His hand brushed over a patch of half-dried mud that stretched from the bottom of his tunic down his thigh.

Or perhaps I am better off not looking. Some Prince I am!

Thranduil sighed, resting his forehead against the smooth bark of the tree, closing his eyes while he thought. How was he going to explain this to his father?

Leave out the part about getting caught in a trap, to start, he thought. If that huntress does not return, who would know?

The longer he mulled it over, the more solidly he concluded he could do nothing but present the truth (or most of it). His father often thought Thranduil more accomplished than he deserved – Oropher was likely not to be angry. But Thranduil would know, and it shamed him.

Worse, his mother could find out if he was not careful about keeping his mind shielded. The way she looked at him sometimes, her eyes full of pity, he wondered if she knew already just how badly he had failed Eluthel on their last day in Menegroth. He wished she would get it over with and give him the kind of punishment he deserved, or at least her disappointment. Pity, he could not bear.

Enough! He told himself. Just do better. I must do better.

He straightened, taking a step back from the tree. He began to walk away but paused, thinking about what the huntress had said to him about speaking with trees.

"Pardon me," Thranduil said quietly. "Thank you for your support." He rolled his eyes as soon as he finished, feeling foolish. What was one meant to say to a tree they'd been leaning against?

He walked the rest of the way down the little hill and slipped out of the trees at the edge of their camp, so close to his sister's best friend that he almost bumped into her.

"My Lord!" Meldisser said when he appeared. "That is well – I thought perhaps a bear was coming down the hill."

"A bear?" Thranduil said, incredulous. Surely he had not been that loud. He recalled how silently the huntress had walked through even the driest leaves. She moved through the wood as beautifully as a dancer giving a fine performance.

His sister's best friend snorted. "Maybe only a small bear. I remember when you were so small – not like the ungainly giant you have become. You were adorable."

Thranduil rolled his eyes and scoffed. "No, Meldisser, it is only me, not a bear, small or large. Your Prince if you please. Where is my father? I must report to him."

"He is with your mother under the awning," she replied, pointing to a rough shelter they'd constructed with a few lengths of oiled cloth that looked more tattered now than they had when they'd set out from the Havens.

"Thranduil, are you alright?" she asked, stopping him before he could walk past her.

"Yes, fine," he said, nodding to her politely. "I must report to my father."

"You found something, then?" Meldisser said, her face brightening.

"You must ask my father later," Thranduil said.

"My, my what a good soldier you have become! Eluthel would be so proud of you, Thranduil, I hope you know that."

Thranduil's stomach dropped and his throat clenched. He tried to swallow so he could speak. His sister's friend, so close she herself was almost like another sister to him, placed a gentle hand on his arm.

"We all miss her," she said quietly. "I pray that she has found the peace she sought when she sailed to Valinor."

"She does not even know anyone there," Thranduil said, more bitterly than he meant to.

"She knows the others who went – she was hardly alone. Half of Beleriand has crossed the sea now! Your grandfather is King in Alqualondë. He will welcome her. He will help her heal," Meldisser said. "She hoped she would be reunited with her husband – I pray that it is so."

"Do you believe that? Do we know anyone who can say that elves return from the Halls of Waiting? They say they are returned to their own bodies, as if they had been newly made. How?" Thranduil asked, his skepticism clear on his face.

"I do not know Thranduil, but I hope," Meldisser said.

"She has left our family, perhaps forever, on nothing but a hope. It is likely I will never see her again. She might as well be dead! For this, this superstition!" Thranduil cried. He hushed himself and smoothed his face as he noticed the other elves around them shift to look at him out of the corners of their eyes.

"Do not say that! She is not dead. I, for one, think we will be reunited in the West one day. We have all been called there, we can only resist so long," Meldisser said.

"I do not want to go to Aman, Meldisser. We were born here. This is our place. Why should we leave it?"

"They say Lenwë and his people think the same. We have all had a painful reminder recently that your mother's visions ought not be taken lightly. Perhaps these elves who stayed the course have some wisdom we can learn from. Your mother did say it was a good vision she had of us coming to the Greenwood."

"Good, but vague," Thranduil replied.

Once, he had been happy to leave the sea. Now, he was not so sure. For months they had been cold, dirty, and thin. He'd felt triumphant when they crossed over Hithaeglir , but he had celebrated too soon. Now, they were stumbling around this inhospitable forest with no direction other than 'speak with Lenwë.'

What if Lenwë had nothing good to say to them? What then? The huntress in the wood had cut him from her trap and spoken with him, but she had been guarded. Not welcoming, certainly. It set him on edge. What if she did not return? What if she and the other Nandor evaded them purposefully now, letting them wander until they grew too weary to continue and gave up?

Meldisser sighed heavily, bringing him back to the conversation.

"Have some hope, Thranduil. It pains me to see you so unhappy. You must find a place and a future for yourself. I am not your sister, but since she is absent, I hope you know you can come to me."

Thranduil composed himself and nodded, grateful but removed.

"My thanks," he said. "You have always been a good friend to our family. I am glad you are here with us. Now please excuse me, I really must speak with my father. You are not wrong that there is something of note to report."

She nodded and moved out of his way, but she watched him walk away with a sad look on her face.

Thranduil approached the meager shelter his father worked beneath, rehearsing his report in his mind. He paused to look at the simple roof they'd constructed with weathered cloth and a few ropes. It was crude and unbeautiful, like so much of their lives now, he thought. It was barely even effective: it would keep water out, but only if the wind didn't drive the rain sideways.

Thranduil and his family had been nobles of high rank in Menegroth. As cousins of King Thingol, they'd been afforded choice living quarters and positions of honor in the King's council or in the royal guard. His mother, Elraënor, had been allowed to study with Queen Melian herself from time to time to hone her potent, but unpredictable gift of foresight. His sister Eluthel and law-brother Talgannor had been sought after performers. Now, what remained of his family had nothing but a tarpaulin between themselves and the sky.

Thranduil caught sight of his father standing under the awning with Gilroch, his chief lieutenant, looking at some papers spread out on a large stone. Thranduil had never known Oropher to be so tanned as he was now – his white-blond hair looked bright against his browned skin. Thranduil looked at his own hand and thought he must look like that as well.

Elraënor sat on another stone under the tarpaulin with three other ladies. They spoke quietly with one another as they worked on fixing clothes that had been mended a dozen times already. Thranduil had never seen his mother work so much. Their travel had been rough on cloth that had been made for leisure, or at best light soldiering: the need to work on mending had become endless. As soon as they stopped walking each day, those who could sew took out their needles and threads and worked until the light seeped from the sky.

Oropher and Elraënor swore this was a good path, going back to the ways of the first elves. As much as he trusted his parents, a sense of doubt and dread had begun to gnaw at Thranduil, worsening the further east they traveled. There had to be more than this, surely? At least someday? Sometimes he wished he'd gone into the West with Eluthel, but something in him fought with all his might against the song of the sea.

"Ah, Thranduil," Oropher's voice interrupted his thoughts. "You are back earlier than I expected. Have you something to report?"

Thranduil felt many eyes raking him over, taking in his wrinkled, soiled clothes. Oropher glanced at him from where he stood, still bent over the stone and the maps. Thranduil stood tall before his father, his head held high and his face composed.

"Yes, my lord," Thranduil said. "I encountered another elf in the forest. I believe it will be of interest to you."

Oropher straightened, his eyes suddenly bright and focused on Thranduil. "You found the Nandor, son?"

"I — yes my lord. We may wish to be sensitive with that term, she objected to it somewhat strenuously," Thranduil said. All the elves in the vicinity were staring at him, eagerly awaiting his news.

"She?" Oropher said with surprise. "You found a lady?"

"A huntress," Thranduil said. "I set off one of her traps accidentally. It was well concealed. It prompted her to reveal herself to me. She had been watching me, perhaps for some time. She was also, um, well hidden."

"Are you hurt?" Elraënor said, letting her sewing drop into her lap, her eyes worried.

"He is fine," Oropher said quickly. "You look hale enough, in any case. Tripped a snare, was it? Well, they are hard to see sometimes when they are made with skill."

"Indeed," Thranduil said, keeping his face calm. He didn't look at the faces of any of the other elves. He didn't want to see their judgment. He needed to give a good report.

"Where is she, then?" Oropher asked. "You did not ask her to come speak with me?"

"I did ask her to come into the camp. She walked with me as far as that ridge," Thranduil said, pointing back toward the wood. "We drew swords at the first – she is a keen warrior, that much was clear. I convinced her I meant her no ill and she did the same. We spoke a little. She was not warm, but she did offer us a warning. There are bands of orcs in these woods sometimes, we should take care."

Oropher nodded, frowning. Gilroch looked grim beside him. The lieutenant's hand wandered to his sword.

"I told her your name, which she knew, and that we seek an audience with King Lenwë. She seemed amenable, but when we came within view of the camp she grew skittish. She told me she would pass on the message to her leaders, then disappeared before I could try to convince her. I did not pursue her – it is not as though I could detain her had I caught her. She said that they will find us, and that we will not be able to find them."

"Hmm," Oropher hummed. "Do you think she is good for her word and she will tell them? I was friendly with Lenwë last we met, although that was quite long ago. I believe he will meet us if he is told I would like to speak with him."

"It is hard for me to say, my lord," Thranduil hedged. "For my part, my impression was that she was wary of me, and of us. She said they have heard ill news out of Doriath. And yet, we put our blades away quickly enough and she led me back here by a better path than the one I had taken into the woods. I would be surprised if she kept news of that encounter to herself."

Oropher nodded along as he spoke. "This is good," he concluded. He stepped forward to place a hand on Thranduil's shoulder – a formal gesture from a leader to a soldier worthy of praise. "I think this is quite good. Well done, my son, very well done indeed. We will stay here a few days and hope that she returns with her King."

Oropher turned to Gilroch, his hand falling from his son's shoulder. "In the meantime, we must organize a larger watch. I do not like this news of orc bands. It was good of this huntress to warn us."

"Yes, my lord," the lieutenant agreed. He gave Thranduil a formal nod of acknowledgement. Thranduil was itching to find somewhere quiet he could hear the older warrior's thoughts about all this. Gilroch was so much easier to speak to than Oropher sometimes.

Thranduil felt the eyes that had been on him fall away, following Oropher or returning to their work. Excited chatter began to race through the camp.

"Thranduil, come here, please," his mother said quietly. He turned and approached her with a bow.

"Go and change into your spare clothes. These need washing now," she said. Her fingers found a torn hem. "Ah, and mending," she said with a sigh.

"Forgive me," Thranduil said.

Elraënor smiled at him and shook her head. "There is nothing to forgive. This was all in the line of duty. You should be proud, Thranduil. As I am."

"Lady Mother," he said, bowing again.

She smiled and lifted a hand to his cheek. "Go on, then," she said.

He nodded, and turned to change.

(*)

Rauwen nearly revealed herself by laughing when the Sinda lady told Thranduil she'd thought he was a bear. Rauwen had watched, staying close behind him as he'd stopped and rested against the tree, then thanked it – however awkwardly – and fumbled his way down the slope.

Whoever this lady was teasing him for being a bear and a baby surprised Rauwen – even when he'd joked with her, he'd seemed so lofty. Apparently, not all his peers held him in such high esteem as he held himself.

Rauwen's mirth did not last long. He'd asked her in the forest to let the Sindar tell their own tale – a request she could not deny. It was a person's sacred right to tell the story of their life for himself. Now, she began to get a sense of what that story would be. A law-brother dead. A grieving, beloved sister lost to the Unquiet of Ulmo. And these Sindar, aimlessly following a vague hope of a new start, fueled by the dreams of one noble lady who likely had never spent a day outside before she'd spurred her people on a journey that – Rauwen knew – must have been terribly long already.

Despite herself, she pitied them. When Thranduil walked away and Rauwen could not follow, she gave up on watching the Sindar and turned towards home. Although she normally tried to pick a different path every day, avoiding wearing tracks through the forest that might lead foes to their hidden village, today Rauwen found the stream and let it guide her. While part of her remained wary of her surroundings, as always, she wanted to be able to think.

The sun was getting low by the time she reached the hollow where her people made many of their crafts that produced smoke or noise – things they simply could not afford to do near their living quarters, for fear of attracting enemies or beasts who might attack them in their sleep.

She hoped that Sûlwen might still be there. Rauwen's dearest friend had said she meant to work on her ceramics today. There was nothing Rauwen wanted more just then than a chance to speak with her Sûlwen.

As Rauwen peered into the hollow, trying to see if anyone remained, a gentle hand tapped her shoulder and she spun around, her hand flying to her sword hilt.

Sûlwen backed away, hands up, but smiling. "Goodness, you are distracted by something today – I can never sneak up on you! I take it you found the source of the disturbance you sensed at the edge of our territory. Is it true? Are there strange elves in the woods?"

Rauwen let her hand fall, berating herself in the safety of her own mind. She could never afford to be so unwary anymore – the world had grown more perilous since the birds had carried stories of a great battle that had driven fell beasts from their stronghold and into the lands of innocent people.

"I am glad it is you, dear friend. You are not wrong, I have been deep in my thoughts. There is a clan of Sindar refugees from Doriath camping at the edge of our territory. They are looking for us – or, the 'Nandor' as they still say. They wish to speak with my grandfather. Oropher Olwion leads them."

Sûlwen whistled quietly. "Not at all what I expected, although I cannot say I knew what to think. The trees are not exactly reliable at all times. They have given us false impressions before."

"Come," Rauwen said, her eyes darting about as she regained her bearings. "It is getting dark quickly, let us walk while we speak. We are due home."

"Yes," Sûlwen agreed. "But what will we do, Tywysoges? I suppose the Leader's Council is not so far off. You could bring them with you and they could speak with Tywysog Lenwë then."

"I am not bringing the whole group to the Council" Rauwen hissed.

"Perhaps just Lord Oropher, then?" Sûlwen suggested.

Rauwen sighed heavily. "Perhaps. Or his son. It was he who I encountered in the forest – he walked right into a net trap and nearly got himself strangled. They are dangerous, Sûlwen. They are not careful to stay hidden, they know nothing of woodcraft – they are much too loud and out in the open. They could expose us so easily! No, I am of the mind to avoid them, truth be told, and hope they move away from our territory."

"But Rauwen!" Sûlwen cried. "They are still our kin, however distant, and they are in need if they have fled from the destruction of their home. I have heard your father speak of Oropher fondly – he would be cross if he learned you refused to help them. He will want to speak with them, I have no doubt."

"They have my pity, but they are not my responsibility – this clan is. They will bring bands of orcs down on us. And besides, young Prince Thranduil left me uneasy. I do not think they hold is high regard. I fear Oropher wishes to meet with my grandfather to try to declare himself, son of Olwë, to be our rightful king!"

Sûlwen paused, frowning. "Surely he would not, after all this time," she said doubtfully.

Rauwen sighed. "I fear it."

"My poor, dear friend, how these cares weigh on you sometimes. Let us go home and enjoy our evening meal and a good tale. Get some rest and decide in the morning," Sûlwen said, her hand finding Rauwen's shoulder in a comforting grip.

"I wish I could," Rauwen said. "But we must set a watch on them in the morning, whatever we decide to do in the end. I will have to tell the clan about them tonight so I can assign shifts. They will all have opinions before we get the chance to sleep."

"Ai, Rauwen, enaid…" Sûlwen said. She pulled on Rauwen's arm, prompting her to stop her ceaseless forward motion and turn to face her. Sûlwen pulled Rauwen into an embrace, her fëa twining with the other's as well as her arms. They were still far enough from their village that Rauwen allowed herself to take the offered comfort, returning the embrace.

"It will be alright," Sûlwen whispered.

"I will make sure of it," Rauwen said, pulling away and gathering herself. She was the leader of these people. She had to be strong, so they could rely on her.

Sûlwen scoffed, but Rauwen could feel fondness brush over her spirit.

"We will make sure of it, Tywysoges – you and I and all our clan. Together – as we always do."

Notes
I like integrating lore, but my intention is that this should be enjoyable whether you've read the Silmarillion or not! :) Some notes & thoughts below.

Terms

Hithaeglir - the Misty Mountains. (Sindarin).

Tywysoges - a Welsh word meaning 'princess' (Tywysog is masculine).

As a note, I use the word "Prince" in the same sense that Tolkien did: not in the modern sense of 'son of a king,' but rather in the older sense of a 'leader' or 'noble person.' That is also my understanding of how the term 'Tywysog/Tywysoges' was used historically, so there are times I might refer to Rauwen as a 'prince' - not a 'princess' - because I think the connotation is quite different. Under 'Great Britain' in the Encyclopedia Britannica there's a discussion of this use, including "Essentially, a prince originally was one who was sovereign in his or her territories, and the word is transgender—Mary, Queen of Scots, in her correspondence described herself as "a freeborn prince."

Enaid - this is a Welsh word that meals 'soul' or 'life' and, to my understanding, is sometimes used as a term of endearment. I believe it's appropriate for this use, although I believe it maybe somewhat intimate.

Fëa - 'soul' (Sindarin) - a Tolkien term for elves' spirits. I treat them as having both awareness of and control of their spirits, which are the source of a 6th sense as well.

General

Rauwen and Sûlwen are very close friends - I think in modern terms they might consider themselves to be in a queerplatonic relationship. Whatever the biological imperatives are for elves regarding physical relationships and marriage, though, the designer of Arda cannot stop people from loving each other and supporting each other. Love comes in many forms. 3

Oropher's father is not specified in the canon so far as I've been able to determine. Olwë, king of the Teleri who now live in Valinor, canonically has at least two sons, one of whom is never given a name. That Oropher is Olwë's son who stayed behind in Middle-earth is my own speculation. Probably not intended in the canon, but not inconsistent with the canon to my knowledge. If you're primarily a Hobbit and LotR fan, note that this means Oropher is Galadriel's uncle.

Silvan language & terms - without going into too much depth, Tolkien's notes about Silvan elves does make it clear that they developed their own language during the period from the time Lenwë and the rest of the Lindar (/Nandor, eventually Laiquendi, etc.) separated from the elves following Oromë to Aman and they time they meet Oropher & Thranduil during the second age. It would be a related language to Sindarin, but it is distinct. Tolkien's notes are mixed about the extent to which Oropher & Thranduil adopt the Silvan language as they integrate, or encourage the use of Sindarin. I may address that way down the line. In the meantime, in the AU that this story is located in, I use Welsh as a stand in for the Silvan language and use some Welsh words the same way I use some Sindarin words, which is mostly because I think it adds to the sense of scene. I think Welsh makes sense because it is a root language Tolkien used to formulate Sindarin. It's also of personal interest because I'm half Welsh by heritage. I know there is at lease one Welsh speaker who reads my work - please feel welcome to correct anything I get wrong if you like. It's not expected, just welcome!