The Pride of the Greenwood

by Fishing4Stars

After the sinking of Beleriand, Thranduil follows his parents' expedition to relocate the survivors of Doriath to Greenwood the Great. Oropher once knew their king, Lenwë, but it has been more than two thousand years since they've spoken. Searching for Lenwë, hoping for his help, the Sindar instead meet Rauwen, a young Silvan leader who is skeptical about welcoming the Sindar into

5. Chapter 5: Greenwood's Children

Chapter 5 - Greenwood's Children

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Thranduil felt like he'd stepped into another world. Just that morning he'd helped pass around a meager ration of fresh berries and nuts among his people, counting themselves grateful they had breakfast at all. In the weak morning light, he could see the sharpness of his company's cheekbones. The hands that accepted the food were too thin.

Oropher's morning gathering of those who could serve as guards or hunt had had a current of urgency flowing beneath it, for they were hard pressed to find enough skilled guards for the camp and foragers both. What flour they'd brought with them from Lindon was dwindling down to nothing.

And now? Now they were at a feast! The Sindar sat on stones or logs, or else stood and leaned against trees, trying to eat delicately from carved wooden bowls with wooden spoons. A giant clay pot had been balanced on four stones with a fire beneath it. One of the Silvans lifted the lid to ladle out more bowls of stew. The smell of it made Thranduil's mouth water.

The Silvans moved around freely, speaking to each other, laughing, and singing snatches of song. They were remarkably relaxed, Thranduil thought, given the strangeness of the situation. But then, this was their home.

He glanced around them to see a circle of round buildings with pointed, thatched roofs surrounding an open space with the fire pit at its center. At the backs of the small houses, tall trees loomed. He could see glimpses of the lake between them if he focused his eyes.

"Please," Rauwen said to him, gesturing that he should take a seat at a stone table where his parents were sitting. Thranduil settled himself beside the same elf who'd announced Rauwen that morning, nodding to the stranger, who smiled at him warmly.

Facing the fire, a stone with carvings on its sides, and a seat worn enough to show that it was used as a chair, sat empty. Thranduil noticed that the Silvan elves gave it a respectful berth when they passed the stone — except for Rauwen, who touched the seat absentmindedly when she passed. A seat for the Princess, then, he guessed.

Rauwen said something in the Silvan tongue to one of her people, who smiled and made his way over to the soup pot. Thranduil could almost make out some of the words. They sounded right sometimes, but their meaning escaped him.

"Have you had enough to eat, Lord Oropher? Lady Elraënor?" Rauwen asked politely. Thranduil noted that his parents had already been served out of clay bowls that were somewhat finer than the wooden ones he'd seen the rest of the Sindar eating from.

Elraënor nodded and smiled but did not speak.

"Yes, thank you," Oropher said. His voice was meant to be smooth, but it sounded overly formal instead. Thranduil thought his father looked stiff among the smiling Silvan elves.

"Lord Erisdir has been a good host to us. Truly, this is all quite generous," Oropher said.

Thranduil averted his eyes, looking at his mother instead. Of course. Oropher had chafed as a guest living on the charity of the Elves of Lindon – why should it be any different here, kin or no?

The elf beside Oropher bowed his head from his seat. "Please, sir, I am no Lord. I am called Cyfarwydd, which I believe you would call a 'bard' or perhaps a 'harper'."

"It has more meaning in the Silvan tongue than just an entertainer," Rauwen said. She sat down on a plain stone seat at the head of the table, arranging her blue robe around her. "Cyfarwydd Erisdir may answer any questions you have if I am not present. I may need to leave at moments to see to clan matters. He is empowered to handle minor matters in my stead."

"I understand, Lady Rauwen," Oropher said. "We are well received, truly."

Thranduil gave the well-dressed 'harper' a second look. It was a strange culture if musicians were second in command to Princes, rather than warriors. What was it his mother had called Erisdir? 'Wisdom keeper,' that was it. An advisor of sorts, then. A good person to impress.

Rauwen reached for a large jug on the table. She poured a dark liquid into a cup and handed it to Thranduil, then poured another for herself. Thranduil's eyes darted to his mother, confused. Rauwen was the Silvans' Princess, but she was serving them wine herself? His mother gave him a little nod of encouragement, her hand on her own cup. He drank, resisting the urge to inspect the cup first. Thranduil's lips puckered in surprise when he tasted it. Rauwen watched him, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, that is sweeter than I expected!" Thranduil said with a stifled cough. He readjusted and took another sip. "It has a fascinating flavor. Is that berry wine, or something like it? Honeyed, perhaps?"

Rauwen nodded, chuckling at him over her own wine. "Indeed it is, well done, my lord."

The elf she'd sent away for food returned, placing bowls in front of Rauwen and Thranduil. He handed them wooden spoons, nodded his head respectfully, then left. Thranduil could see Rauwen watching him, her spoon untouched beside her bowl.

She will not eat until you do, his mother's voice whispered in his mind. The bard did the same with us. Go on. This is not a formal audience with a noble family of Menegroth. It is good, hearty food. You are so thin, darling, please eat.

He didn't need any more coaxing. The smell of the stew before him was maddening. Carefully, he dipped his spoon in and took a bite. He closed his eyes for a moment, almost overwhelmed by the strong flavors of fish and a sharp, green vegetable he wasn't familiar with. Chewy, nutty bits of grain floated in a fatty broth. But it was hot and it was good after so many months of lean food in the wild.

When he looked up, Rauwen had started eating, smiling knowingly at him over her spoon. His parents made polite small talk with the bard while he and Rauwen ate. He would never have asked for another bowl, although he badly wanted one. Without asking him, the Silvan Princess had one of her people refill it for him.

"Thank you," he said quietly when it arrived. He glanced around to see if his people had had enough, feeling guilty for taking more than his share.

"There is plenty," Rauwen said calmly, tracking his eyes. "We have had lean years before. We know hunger. We have had excellent fishing so far this summer – our bounty is yours while you are our guests."

"Thank you," Thranduil said again. He wasn't sure what else to say, so he just ate. He'd seen his father's jaw work silently for a moment while she spoke.

By the time he was done eating, many of the Silvans were dancing, swirling around in the firelight singing songs in their own language. A few kept beckoning the Sindar to join them. Meldisser had been pulled into the fray by her newly-found aunt and was laughing, trying to keep up with the unknown steps.

"Lady Rauwen," Oropher finally said. "I am very grateful for your generosity. I hope that we may speak about your grandfather still. You mentioned he is farther north? Perhaps if you can give us our bearings – "

"Please, Lord Oropher," Rauwen said, interrupting. Thranduil watched his father close his mouth and blink in surprise. Even in the Havens there had been few people who ranked highly enough to get away with interrupting Oropher Olwion.

"Let us leave these more serious matters for a day. Tonight is for celebrating the reunion of our kindred people. Tomorrow is for rest and repair. Only after you have enjoyed a few good meals and some sleep without the worry of being ambushed should we speak of the future. Please, I insist," Rauwen said.

Oropher seemed to be weighing his words when Thranduil's mother uncharacteristically spoke ahead of him.

"That is very kind, you have our gratitude," Elraënor said. She gave Rauwen a warm smile and held her hand to her heart.

Thranduil saw his father close his mouth, glancing sideways at Elraënor in a way that Thranduil suspected meant they were speaking with osanwë. Oropher's mouth settled in a flat line and he held his tongue.

"Good, good!" Rauwen said, returning the smile.

"Let us have a story!" a Silvan voice cried behind her.

"Yes, Cyfarwydd, will you sing us a song?" another added.

Thranduil saw Rauwen miss a beat, her eyes shifting to Erisdir. When he met her eyes, he immediately bowed his head towards her. Thranduil saw a twitch of the Silvan leader's jaw muscles that reminded him of his father before she smiled and gestured toward the carven stone seat beside the table.

Erisdir rose from beside Thranduil, picking up something large, which he carried to the stone. The bard sat and began unwrapping his package, which Thranduil soon saw contained a lap harp. Erisdir took it out and began to tune it. The Silvans settled down, huddling on the ground in groups, their eyes trained on Erisdir.

Thranduil felt prickles on the back of his neck, like someone was looking at him. He turned his head and found Rauwen watching him watch her people.

"One who tells a tale takes the leader's seat, for while they sing to us, they command our attention," she said.

Thranduil returned what he hoped was a neutral, interested expression and nodded.

"I have not heard of such a tradition before," he said carefully. There seemed to be something sensitive about this stone chair. He did not want to say the wrong thing.

Rauwen breathed in as if to speak, but Erisdir began before she had the chance.

"Tonight we welcome guests to eat at our hearth and dance with us beneath the eyes of Elbereth Gilthoniel!" the bard said.

The Silvans cheered. A few of the Sindar clapped politely, but stopped when no one joined them.

"Tonight we are strangers to each other, but it was not always so. Once, long ago, we came from one kindred, who followed the Great Hunter west from Cuiviénen."

Erisdir struck a chord and began to play as he spoke, his voice lilting hypnotically.

"It is known to us that our leader, Lenwë, once drew our people away from the Great March West and led us to our beloved forest, for he is like us, and loves this land," he said.

"It is known," the Silvans said. They spoke quietly, but together their voices made a harmony with Erisdir's tune.

Erisdir continued. "How shall I tell of those many years of wandering? How far they went, those who came before us, in the days when Lenwë was called King! Many ways they tried, before we Silvans found ourselves. For a time, our people traveled with the seasons."

There is some ritual to this, Thranduil heard his mother whisper in his mind. Pay attention. We may need to understand the ceremony of it later.

Yes, Lady Mother, Thranduil agreed. Did you notice the tension between Lady Rauwen and the bard? She did not like giving up that seat, whatever their tradition may be.

Yes, I noticed, Elraënor said. It is best not to involve ourselves in it if it can be avoided. He deferred to her, in any case. It may be a little thing. Listen, now, they are telling us the tale of their own people. We should not miss it.

Thranduil turned his attention back to Erisdir's chant. He'd missed some portion while speaking with his mother. She was listening to the song now, but she'd left the connection between them open so he could speak to her still in the privacy of their minds.

Erisdir sang. "Then we ceased wandering and built a fort on Amon Lanc, the bald hill, and gathered our families together so we would never be parted from each other. But we found it was not our way to live so loudly upon the earth, and we let the earth have our fortress.

"So Lord Lenwë and his Lady, Iúlwen, brought us back to live beneath the trees, but our numbers grew and grew. We could not feed all our great peoples from one corner of the forest without changing her beyond recognition, and this we could not find it in our hearts to do. Our people spread here and there, divided and leaderless before the world grew dark.

"This is known to us," Erisdir said.

"It is known," the Silvans chanted.

Should we join the refrain? Thranduil asked his mother.

I think not, Elraënor replied after a pause. 'It is known' to them, not to us.

Thranduil nodded lightly and listened. Erisdir's voice had a soothing timbre that made him feel sleepy. It was a pleasant voice, though it was darker than Thranduil's law-brother's had been. That memory of Talgannor stung — Thranduil pushed it from his mind.

Erisdir sang on. "Before he arrived in the Greenwood, Lord Lenwë had one son, who he named Denethor, for his boy was strong indeed. Denethor was born at the foot of the Mountains of Mist, before our people turned away from the Westward March. Lord Lenwë treasured this son, who was nimble and valiant, and who many of our people greatly admired.

"Later, in our hill fortress at Amon Lanc, Lenwë's daughter was born. She was named Lavangwen, for her mother dreamed that deer and dogs alike would eat from her palm and do as she bid. And Lenwë' treasured his daughter, who was quick and clever, and whose measured words are trusted by many of our people.

"Later still, beneath the trees, another son was born to Lenwë and Iúlwen, and he was called Tawaren, for he was their first child born to us after we had named ourselves the 'Silvans', the wood elves, for we had learned we are a people of the trees. And Lenwë treasured his son, who was a keen hunter with a stout heart, and who is known to our people to be wise in the ways of the forest.

"These are the children of Lenwë and Iúlwen, and they are known to us," Erisdir said.

"They are known," the Silvans answered.

Thranduil's eyes flickered to the group of elves seated around the fire. Their rapt faces belied their casual seating arrangements. Even leaning against each other, sitting in the sandy soil, they had the look of an audience listening to something sacred.

Rauwen's subtle expressions as Erisdir listed the members of her family and their virtues had been especially interesting. Thranduil made a note to himself to ponder that later.

Erisdir sang. "Now, when Lenwë had taken our people into the northern lands of our forest, he spoke thus to his three children:

"'My children, our people have grown in such numbers that we can no longer live together in safety. We are scattered here and there throughout the Greenwood, each family caring for themselves. But the days grow dark. Beasts and goblins roam in our woods, and we suffer.

"Now we must gather our people into clans and live each in our own kingdoms within the forest, so that we may strengthen each other and yet still live lightly upon the land.'

"'But father, you are our King, how will you lead us if we are so far apart?' his daughter Lavangwen asked.

"'You shall be your own Kings and Queens of lesser title to me," Lenwë declared. 'Once each year we shall gather and I shall give you what orders I see fit. But you must be able to lead your people in many things without my guidance, for you cannot wait when trouble finds you."

"'I will lead those who will follow me,' his son, Denethor, agreed. 'But I will lead them away from the Greenwood. The dangers here have grown too great! Such perils as these must be answered with strength of arms. Those who will follow me I will take across the mountains to the realm of Elwë to seek his protection, for we have heard he is mighty."

"'Brother, I did not think you could leave our forests so easily!' Lenwë's son, Tawaren cried. 'We are Silvan people. We belong with our trees!'

"'There are trees in the realm of Doriath," Denethor told him. 'And yet greater safety there. I will go over the mountains in whose shadow I was born to seek refuge with our kin.'

"King Lenwë was troubled, but he agreed. And King Denethor gathered many people together, and those of our kin went West after all, to the lands of Doriath.

"This is known to us," Erisdir said.

"It is known," the Silvans answered.

Thranduil felt like he'd swallowed a stone, listening to this tale of days past when Doriath was a safe haven under the protection of King Thingol. He turned in his seat to look at his father, who was sitting up straight, his face still and expressionless.

Keep your wits, his mother said quietly in his mind. Whatever they might say about our people, do not be the first to take offense, Thranduil.

Yes, Lady Mother, Thranduil agreed. He checked himself, ensuring that his face was neutral and turned back towards the fire. Father knew King Denethor, did he not? I have heard his name before.

He did, yes. They were on friendly terms, but Denethor met a bad end. Now listen.

Erisdir Sang. "Many years passed. Every year Queen Lavangwen and King Tawaren would go to meet with High King Lenwë, who would direct the division and protection of the Greenwood between their clans. This way of life was better suited to this age of danger, but still, it was difficult. A year can be too long to wait to seek guidance from one's High King. Queen Lavangwen and King Tawaren learned to do as they must to lead their clans, but when their choices displeased their father, bitter were the arguments between them.

"Then there came a meeting of the royal family that changed many things. A small few of our people who had gone across the mountains returned, telling us of the death of King Denethor. He had been called forth by his new sworn High King, Elwë, called Elu Thingol, to help defend the kingdom from attack. But many of Denethor's soldiers lacked the good armor and weapons that the Sindar of Menegroth bore.

"They went forth as they had been ordered, and yet King Thingol's forces did not come, though Denethor prayed for them. Thus Denethor, son of Lenwë, died along with many of his people, waiting for he who they called their High King. For Elu Thingol did come with his host, but he came far too late. It is said they were waylaid, though we know not how.

Eyes ahead and stay calm, Elraënor told her son. Thranduil held himself very still. Ahead of him, Rauwen's eyes were fixed on Erisdir.

"So we have heard," Erisdir said.

Is that true? Thranduil asked his mother. He'd heard something about an elf named Denethor who'd died before he was born, but he didn't remember anything so dire as this!

"So we have heard," the Silvans answered. Many of them had mumbled or whispered this time, so the chorus of their voices fell flat.

In part. Oropher would tell the tale differently, Elraënor said, her mind voice terse.

Erisdir sang. "Upon hearing this, High King Lenwë wept and threw down his circlet of silver, which he had bought at great cost from the dwarves.

"'My children!' He cried. 'What use are High Kings that cannot come to the aid of their vassals in time to save them? The Greenwood is large, and we must each do as we see fit to protect our own. Call me 'King' no more, nor yourself. I shall take the title only of clan leader: Tywysog in the language of our people. We shall be equals and shall meet not for instruction, but as a Council who shall together make such arrangements as we see fit.'

"'Father, this is well,' Lavangwen agreed, for her territory was farthest from his aid. 'But this wisdom comes at a bitter cost. For our brother is dead, who I loved, as are many of our people.'

"Tawaren kept his tongue, but he agreed, and the last Kings and Queens of the Silvan elves put down their crowns and called each other equals.

"This is known to us."

"It is known," the Silvans answered.

Thranduil's mind raced. So that was the meaning of 'Tywysoges' — Rauwen was as good as a Queen herself, albeit of a small kingdom! Still, she did not act like any Queen Thranduil had ever heard of. The more he heard about the Silvans, the more baffled he became. He glanced at his own people, who were listening with wide eyes. He refocused. Missing some of the tale would only make it harder to understand.

Erisdir Sang. "During the years before the End of Kings, each clan had lived in its own way. King Lenwë had sought to protect his clan through force of arms, but our people are not smiths, and metal weapons have ever been costly to trade with the dwarves. Many sentries were lost in those years, for fell things sought them out and attacked them without mercy. We found we are not a people of open war.

"Queen Lavangwen had sought to protect her people through fortification. Lavangwen's clan took to the caves above the Great Falls and made them into a fortress of sorts, with great doors and many halls. But our enemies came to know where they were, for the building of the caves was loud, and the people therein uncareful, for they believed themselves safe behind the stone. One attack after another rained down on the caves until finally, Lavangwen and her people fled.

"But King Tawaren was born under the trees, and knew the forest as his own blood. His clan made secrecy their armor, and stealth their weapon. They lived in villages well hidden in the depths of the forest and took great pains to keep themselves from being known. More than any other clan, Tawaren's people thrived, so Tywysog Lenwë and Tywysoges Lavangwen took Tawaren's ways as their own. This is now the way of all Silvan people.

"It is known to us," Erisdir said.

"It is known," the Silvans answered.

Erisdir continued. "In our many years of living in this Greenwood the Great, the forest has come to know us. More and more children were born who were marked by the forest from birth — whether it be dark hair, green eyes, shorter stature, or birth marks in the shape of leaves, the magic of the Greenwood was in their blood, and it showed. As they grew, many of these children became masters of the forest. Tywysog Tawaren himself learned to speak with trees from such a one born into his clan! From a child of her clan, Lavangwen learned to tame beasts and birds! These children were called Greenwood's children, and they were rare and strange to us for a while.

"By this time, Tawaren had two children of his own. When his elder son, Braignir, was grown and had left to lead his own clan, Lavangwen gave birth to a daughter, who was born under the trees, and she was called Rauwen."

The eyes of all the Silvan and Sindar elves turned to the blue-clad lady sitting at the head of the table. Thranduil could only see the dark side of her face, but she seemed thoughtful, her eyes trained on the bard.

Erisdir sang. "When she was small, her clan thought her strange, but she was well loved. She feared nothing in the Greenwood from the time she could run. Dark-haired, Rauwen could hide beneath the trees and ferns and never be found. Nimble, Rauwen could walk through high branches as easily as she could walk on the ground! Her mother asked her how she hid so well, and Rauwen would say 'the forest taught me!' and her mother would laugh, delighting in her child's imagination.

"But soon it became clear that it was not imagination, but truth. First among all the Silvans, Rauwen was born knowing the songs of the trees just as well as the voices of the elves — from her first breath. The forest is in her blood. This is how we know that Greenwood the Great has chosen us Silvans to be its own people, for it speaks to us all, from the least of us to Lenwë's own line. Many more of Greenwood's children have been born since then, who have known the tree's songs since their first breath.

"When Rauwen was grown, and Tywysoges Lavangwen's clan had grown too large and unwieldy, she took her daughter to the Council and asked that Rauwen should be accepted into their ranks as a leader of her own clan, to take a new territory further south still than Lavangwen's. This was agreed to with celebration! Then our clan divided itself from Lavangwen's to follow Tywysoges Rauwen, our first true Silvan Prince, to live in the way of our people – as brothers and sisters to this forest. Each of us in this clan chose this for ourselves.

"This is who we are, and this is our Tywysoges Rauwen, Greenwood's true Prince. For we care for the forest, and the forest cares for us. This is known to us," Erisdir said.

"It is known! We care for the forest, and the forest cares for us," the Silvans answered, their voices rising with the sparks from the fire.

Erisdir struck a final chord and a hush fell over the assembly. He rose from the stone seat and returned to his bench at the table.

Thranduil looked at the elves seated around the fire, whose eyes were trained on Rauwen. He realized that most of the Silvans elves bore signs of being relatively young – as young as he was, or younger still. There were more dark-haired heads among them than light, by far. These tree-speaking young Silvans watched their Tywysoges with pride shining in their eyes.

Mother, we have not just found the Nandor. We have found the most entrenched enclave of green elves that exists, Thranduil sent to Elraënor.

So it would seem, Elraënor agreed. The Sight does not send me idle dreams, ion nín. This has the smell of fate about it, though I do not yet know its meaning.

(***)

Author's Notes

Hi! I know it's later than I usually post on Saturday, but here's the update! The whole US election insanity has been... a lot. The horrors persist but so do I, and the fic goes on. I really hope you are enjoying it! Another tale within a tale this week: I really hope those continue to work. But now you know why Rauwen is a little bit of big deal among her people and why she, more than any Silvan leader, is going to want to protect her people's connection with the Greenwood, as well as their way of life.

Writing has been a little slow going lately, but I am working on it bit by bit. Your encouraging comments are very motivating and helpful when you share them. 3 Next update is November 23!

Terms
Osanwë - I can't believe I haven't had to define this yet! It's direct mind-to-mind communication (telepathy) between elves. Galadriel was able to do this in LotR and others could do it in the Silmarillion. Thranduil's mother is pretty adept at it, which is useful for having discrete conversations.

Notes and Context

In the Silmarillion, Thranduil and Oropher are part of the Sindar (grey elves) that live in the City of Menegroth in the kingdom of Doriath. The King of the realm is Elu Thingol (Elwë), who was a brother of Olwë (who I've made Oropher's father). The whole kingdom gets hidden behind a magical wall, essentially, maintained by Thingol's maia (angelic being?) wife. I read into that that Thranduil was born and raised in this city, cut off from everything else, and he was raised royal (he's the King's second cousin) - so his experience with being diplomatic would have been in a much more formal setting.

Denethor: The story of the Silvan/Nandor/Lindor/Laiquendi/Green Elf called Denethor is canon, but the passage is very short, so I've embellished it, as it might have been embellished from being retold by one person and another and so on. The Silvan elves' impression of what happened is also an embellishment that I find plausible, given that they canonically had so little contact with elves across the mountains. The canon material on Denethor and on the various names for this group of elves can be found in my Silvan Canon Project, linked above on Tumblr, in the First Age materials - if you happen be curious about that!

Denethor and Lenwë are canon characters from the Silmarillion, both with only cursory mention. The rest of Lenwë's children and grandchildren are my OCs. All the wives - Iúlwen, Elraënor and eventually Rauwen, I don't think that's a spoiler, are so called 'textual ghosts', so essentially canon OCs.

The role of the harpers/bards/Cyfarwydd, as you can see, are part storyteller/entertainer, part advisor, and part historian. They have to learn the full body of stories from their people's oral history, which they use to guide the clan leader. That will continue to get built out in this fic, but to be clear, it's entirely my invention as I build a Silvan society that fits within the limited description we have of their lives.

Talgannor is Thranduil's brother-in-law, who was married to Thranduil's sister, Eluthuel. (Both OCs. Both in "Untested.")