(*)
"What do you think of all this?" Thranduil whispered to Gilroch.
They'd gratefully accepted pieces of a nutty tasting flatbread from the Silvans, along with the last dregs of the Silvans' fish stew from the previous night. Thranduil had tried to turn the stew away, offering it to someone else who needed it more, but his hunger had gotten the best of him when it had been pushed back into his hands. He'd taken his prize and slipped away to sit with the lieutenant a little ways away from the larger group.
Gilroch looked over the odd assembly of Sindar who looked unsure of what they ought to be doing, and the Silvans, who were bustling around already, talking and joking as they went.
"Well, it is certainly interesting," Gilroch said when he'd swallowed his food. "They seem genuine enough, although that story about King Denethor last night was, um, unpleasant."
"Awkward," Thranduil muttered. Gilroch snorted.
"Lady Rauwen told my father that she will not even begin to speak with him about meeting Lenwë until tomorrow," Thranduil said.
"Lord Oropher will love that," Gilroch said dryly, keeping his voice low. Thranduil shot his friend a wry look out of the corner of his eye.
"She called today a day for 'rest and repair' and truth be told, she is right. We could use that, however impatient my father may be," Thranduil mused.
"She is an interesting subject of her own," Gilroch said.
Thranduil shook his head in warning. "Not here," he hissed. They were much too close to the other elves to get into that just yet.
Gilroch sighed and surveyed their company again, his eyes lingering on their supply packs. Meldisser began to make her way over to them.
"'Repair' you say — what sorts of tools might they have for that here? Where are we, exactly? It looks like people ought to live here, but it also looks like it was empty until just yesterday," the lieutenant said.
"It is a fishing village," Meldisser said as she approached. "My aunt Sûlwen said they come out here to stay for a few weeks every summer at the height of the season. Some go out on the water to fish, others stay in the village and work on preserving food for winter."
"Then they might have useful tools after all," Gilroch said. "It would be good to sharpen our swords and knives, for one thing."
"We need to fix some of our rope as well, or else replace it," Meldisser added. Gilroch nodded enthusiastically, his mouth full of food again.
"How is your aunt, Meldisser?" Thranduil asked. "That, at least, is a happy chance of this meeting, I gather!"
"Indeed it is!" Meldisser agreed. "I can remember my father speaking about his family on the other side of the mountains, but I never thought to find one of them so quickly! She is lovely — I insist you meet her!"
"Happily," Thranduil agreed. He was a poor substitute for Eluthel, but if he could make Meldisser happy on her behalf, he certainly would.
Meldisser searched the crowd until her eyes caught on Sûlwen. She waved her hand in the air, trying to get her attention. Thranduil, still half-expecting to use court manners in the presence of his hosts, watched wide-eyed as Sûlwen grinned and jogged over to them.
"Aunt Sûlwen! May I introduce you to Prince Thranduil — Lord Oropher's son, and like a little brother to me, if I may say so!"
Thranduil wasn't sure what to do. He made what he hoped was an agreeable gesture, then nodded respectfully to Sûlwen. She bobbed her knees in a sort of curtsy, still grinning.
"Well met, Prince Thranduil and — " her voice trailed off.
"This is Gilroch," Meldisser added. "Lord Oropher's chief lieutenant."
"Well met," Gilroch said.
"Yes, well met," Sûlwen said, her voice bright. "And what do you all have planned for today?"
"We were just discussing that," Thranduil said. "I ought to speak with my father, actually."
"Of course, of course," Sûlwen said. "I was only wondering if any of you might like to join me on the water. It looks like good fishing today!"
(*)
Elraënor watched her son on the other side of the village common and smiled. Golden rays of evening sun slanted through the trees. One of them shone on his face, which looked more relaxed and happier than she'd seen in far too long. His hair was still damp from a swim in the lake after he'd helped the Silvans bring in a fresh haul of fish.
Meldisser's Silvan aunt laughed at something he said. Meldisser spoke and Thranduil seemed to protest, but Elraënor could tell even from a distance that it was in good humor. It was the sort of thing Eluthel might have done with him, had she not gone West.
Elraënor closed her eyes for a moment, staving off a fresh wave of grief for her missing daughter and the kind elf she'd married.
Instead, she watched her people congregating with the Silvans around the outdoor kitchen, where food was already being prepared. The fishing party had been successful, so there would be plenty. They were making the same stew — repetitive, but nourishing, so she could hardly complain. Elraënor intended to make sure Thranduil took two portions again. She hated to see how rangy he looked after this march backwards against the tide that pulled the elves stubbornly West.
After a day of working together on various practical tasks at a leisurely pace, the Silvans and the Sindar looked a little more comfortable together. She smiled. It was good to see her people relaxing into the casual, yet efficient, atmosphere of the Silvan village.
A reed pipe started up, sending a lively tune through the crowd. The Silvans cheered. Someone joined the music with a handheld drum. Two voices began to sing.
Elraënor watched with curiosity as the Silvans began to dance with each other, following an unfamiliar foot pattern in a circle around the fire. Some of them paired up to swirl in circles together, before separating and moving on to another partner. They laughed, chattered, sang and danced, moving — apparently — just for the joy of it while they waited for food to cook.
She chuckled to see Sûlwen tugging at Meldisser's hands, pulling her niece in towards the dancing. The Silvan elf spoke to Thranduil, who raised his hands in protest. Meldisser said something, her face bright and teasing. Sûlwen seemed to agree with whatever she'd said.
At that moment, Gilroch appeared at Thranduil's shoulder; Meldisser grabbed his hand and pulled him along with her. Thranduil shook his head again, but Meldisser said something wicked looking and his face shifted.
Elraënor laughed. He'd been challenged. Her son never could resist a dare.
Soon, the group of four was wading into the dancers, the Sindar watching Sûlwen's feet as she demonstrated. Of course Thranduil, Meldisser, and Gilroch knew how to dance, but the dances of Menegroth tended to be more structured than this. They picked up the basic step pattern quickly enough, but Elraënor could see Thranduil watching the twirling Silvans warily.
Oropher joined her at her side, resting his hand on the small of her back. He felt as serious and focused as he always did these days. She brushed against him, spirit to spirit, sharing her happiness and relaxation. His eyes softened a little. She leaned against his side. In a world that kept changing so quickly it made her dizzy, he was as steady as a mountain.
Rauwen emerged from the trees, speaking with two of her own people as she approached the village center. Her eyes flickered to the circle of dancing elves and her eyebrows went up as she saw that some of the Sindar had joined in. One of the elves at her side grinned and said something; Rauwen shot him a look of amusement.
Rauwen approached the dancers, who'd circled around twice by now, aiming for Sûlwen.
"You are teaching them the wrong steps," Rauwen said.
Elraënor liked the warmth in her voice. The Silvan Queen (in all but name) was a different kind of leader to the ones Elraënor was accustomed to. Elraënor could see the way the Silvans' listened to her and knew they respected their young leader, but at the same time Rauwen was woven into the fabric of their clan, able to laugh and dance with them on friendly terms.
"Not this again!" Sûlwen cried. She twirled around, landing in a curtsy in front of Rauwen. A chorus of Silvan voices laughed around them.
"The traditional manner is perfectly good, I do not know why it needs to be changed," Rauwen said with mock loftiness.
"Because we can, I suppose!" Sûlwen said with a laugh. "Why have one dance form when you could have two?"
"Come," Rauwen called to the Sindar closest to her, who happened to be Meldisser and Thranduil. "Do not let Sûlwen mislead you! There is a real form to this, if you care to learn it."
"Please!" Meldisser agreed happily.
Thranduil bowed to Rauwen, already composed again where he'd been relaxed before. Elraënor felt a mix of sadness and pride. Her son's sense of duty was so strong it seemed to weigh him down at times, but she could appreciate that he comported himself well — so long as he could keep his temper. He was too much like his father in that way.
"I cannot count myself as the best of dancers, but I am pleased to learn your customs. You are kind to share them with us," he told Rauwen.
"Please, it is our pleasure," Rauwen said. She looked him up and down curiously. "I have interrupted your fun, though, Prince Thranduil. Our dancing is meant to be joyous — you will have to find it again."
"I shall endeavor to be joyous, then," Thranduil said smoothly. "I have already been accused of being unable to learn your arts once tonight, I will not brook it twice."
Rauwen snorted. "We shall see, Prince Thranduil," she said, returning his bow with a wry smile.
Elraënor almost snorted herself. She could see the competitive light flashing in his eyes. The more the Silvan leader teased him, the more he wanted to prove her wrong.
Thranduil gestured elegantly towards the dancing elves, refusing to drop his courtly style in the face of her challenge.
"Lead on, Lady Rauwen. Show us this joy you think me incapable of."
Rauwen joined the dancers, her people nodding and making way for her with broad smiles on their faces.
"Do not underestimate our Tywysoges' taste for mirth, young Prince," Sûlwen said. "Although, not so much mirth that she will allow a new dance form, that is just too much!"
Rauwen bumped Sûlwen with her elbow and focused on her pupils. Oropher scoffed in amusement as she began to teach Thranduil and Meldisser the steps.
"Our son truly was raised in Menegroth," he whispered to his wife. "I can remember dances such as this many years ago on the Great March. They cannot be approached like a court dance. That is all he knows, and I am afraid it shows."
"Perhaps he will surprise us," she whispered back. "Is a life with more joy and freedom not what we are seeking here? I for one hope he can find it."
Oropher nodded. Elraënor could feel a thoughtful mood descend on him. They had survived one disaster after another, but they both knew: staying alive was not sufficient. Their people's spirits would wither and fade away if there was nothing left for them but bare survival.
As she continued to watch the dancers, Elraënor felt contentment well up, filling her spirit. The air glowed gold as the sun set, filling the space with a sense of gentle warmth. She smelled something delicate and floral that she had no name for — but she recognized it nonetheless. She'd smelled it in the dream she'd had over and over again in Sirion that had fueled their journey to the Greenwood.
Elraënor breathed in deeply and tried to shift her mind, seeking the Sight. She was strangely nervous to look, now that that vague and pleasant dream seemed to be sharpening before her very eyes. The sense of a haze between herself and the world edged in. Her ears rung. Beside her, Oropher looked away from the dancers and down at her face.
The Sight pulled Elraënor's gaze back to her son. The Lady Rauwen spoke words Elraënor could not hear, smiling and making motions to show some aspect of the dance. She raised her hands — placing one of them on Thranduil's shoulder and the other in his hand. Thranduil put his other hand on her waist, instinctively straightening his shoulders to create the formal structure of a Sindar ballroom dance.
Rauwen laughed and pulled his hand up, behind her shoulder blade. She shook out his other arm from its stiff angle, pushing his hand back, then pulling it forward to illustrate something. Thranduil rolled his eyes at her and the Silvan leader only laughed harder.
To Elraënor's sight they both glowed, bathed in the last golden light that shone through the trees.
Rauwen spoke once more, then Thranduil looked over his shoulder and stepped back into the swirling circle of dancing elves, where he and Rauwen began to spin, each holding the other's backs to keep their circle tight as they increased in speed. She loosened her grip on his back, and he raised his hand, looking unsure, but Rauwen did not miss a beat: she twirled in a circle beneath his upheld hand before returning, placing her hand on his shoulder again.
Thranduil paused and she pushed him on the shoulder, appearing to chide him for stopping. Finally, he laughed, and they began again, spinning in a circle that moved with the current of the other dancers.
Elraënor's Sight shifted and suddenly she knew, she was not looking at her son dancing with Rauwen now, but in the future. They'd each had a crown of white flowers braided into their hair. The sweet smell Elraënor couldn't place pervaded the air. They spun and spun and smiled at each other, their eyes locked together. Something flashed on Thranduil's finger and Elraënor thought she understood.
She gasped and lost the vision, falling back into the village, now pink and orange with sunset. The hazy edge of the Sight was gone.
"What did you see?" Oropher whispered.
Elraënor thought hard for a moment. She rarely shared visions with her husband anymore. She'd learned he found them harder to decipher than she seemed to, so it was often best to summarize. But this — she wanted to be certain she'd seen clearly.
See for yourself, she said.
Through osanwë she shared her memory of the vision she'd just had. She could feel Oropher focus on the images, watchful and intent. She knew when he'd seen it too, for surprise surged through their fëa bond.
Was that a wedding ring? Oropher demanded.
That is what I thought as well, she agreed. The way they were looking at each other…
Yes, yes I agree, he said. An edge of excitement tinted his thoughts. Our son — marrying Lenwë's granddaughter! Who these 'Silvan' elves regard as a symbol of their connection with the forest itself! Greenwood's 'true Prince!'
You are pleased, Elraënor noted.
Of course, my star, of course! What a match! Are you certain of this?
Of course not, Oropher. The future is never settled until it has become the past. But it is a possibility, perhaps even a keen one. The same smell was in the air as was in my dreams that brought us here.
Elbereth! Oropher exclaimed. Elraënor could practically feel his thoughts racing without trying to listen to them.
Do not try too hard to interfere, she warned him. Such attempts can too easily bring about unwelcome results.
He glanced at her sharply, then nodded. We should be cautious, you are right. But let us at least put no barriers in the way of this outcome. Perhaps we can find some plausible opportunities to allow it to take its course…
Carefully, my love, she said again. But Oropher — he looked happy.
He paused his machinations and met her eyes. You are right, of course. As you so often are. It was a good vision not because of who she is, but because our son looked happy.
They shared a knowing smile and turned back to watch the other elves. The dance was dissolving. Thranduil stood to the side with Rauwen, Sûlwen, Meldisser, and Gilroch, chatting.
Her status does not hurt, though, Oropher said. He'd crossed his arms over his chest and was rubbing his chin with one hand.
Elraënor laughed.
(*)
Rauwen sat on the Speaker's Stone, looking over the motley group of Sindar and Silvans, clustered in circles that were more mixed than the previous night. They chatted, huddled over bowls that had been wiped down to the last drop with rounds of chestnut flour bread. (They would miss that if they spent it all on the Sindar before the next chestnut season came again, she thought.)
It had been a better day than she could have hoped for. Once the Sindar had accepted the friendly atmosphere of a Silvan working village, things had gone smoothly. No one could say she had not assisted her kin: they'd fixed their rope, sharpened their knives, given them fishing lines and taught them how to use them, answered questions about navigating in the forest — all manner of things.
Now another night of rest and then, she hoped, she could send them along to follow the river north until they found her grandfather. Preferably before they ate their weight in food her people should be preserving for leaner months. Perhaps Sûlwen would want to go with them as a temporary guide, to see her niece safely delivered.
One comfort was that it seemed Lord Oropher was just as eager to get moving as she was for him to be moving. Although, he'd been looking at her oddly during this last meal. He'd called his son over to him to speak in a quiet alley for some minutes, after which Thranduil had returned looking perplexed.
Nevertheless, tomorrow she would try to politely urge him north. If Lenwë was so fond of 'Young' Oropher, Lenwë could deal with Oropher.
She was so much more relaxed that when someone called for a song, she stood from her seat without hesitation, prepared to hand it over to Erisdir along with a request for a popular song that was enjoyable — and uncontroversial.
His choice of 'entertainment' the previous had been surprisingly helpful to her agenda of asserting her people's autonomy, although it had been a bold choice to speak about Denethor as he had. She might have preferred to let her grandfather deal with that himself.
Still, they'd been enjoying themselves today. Better not to provoke anything now.
Erisdir had picked up his harp and was turning in his seat when Oropher stood up from his place at the stone table. Rauwen's stomach dropped.
"Tywysoges Rauwen," Oropher said, bowing at the waist in her direction. She nodded in acknowledgment, smiling although she felt apprehensive.
"My son informs me that it is your peoples' belief that 'every person should have the chance to tell their own story.'" Oropher said, addressing the group as much as her now. "Since you offered us the gift of your people's tale yesterday, I wondered if I might tell ours tonight. I am not a gifted poet like your Cyfarwydd, but I can tell you of what I know as best I can — if it would please you."
Rauwen caught Erisdir's eye for a moment. The bard looked surprised, but nodded to her. She didn't know what she'd been hoping for. They would be hard pressed to say no to this request after Erisdir's performance last night.
She smiled politely at Oropher. "Of course," she agreed.
"My thanks," Oropher said. He stood up to his full height, which was taller than any Silvan elf she'd ever met except Lenwë's generation, seeming to compose himself. She realized he meant to speak from where he stood.
It galled her to give Oropher her seat, allowing him to set himself down in the place of power like a self-anointed King. But to her people, it would speak loudly and poorly of her not to do so.
"Please," she said before he could start. She stepped away from the familiar carved stone and gestured towards it. "A tale teller takes the Speaker's Stone, for while he shares his story, he commands our attention," she said, repeating the custom she'd explained the night before.
He bowed to her again and approached, settling himself solemnly on the offered seat. Rauwen took her chair at the head of the table, arranging herself beside Thranduil, who seemed to be watching his father with curiosity as much as caution.
Oropher glanced at Erisdir. "I observed your format yesterday. I do not wish to disrespect your customs, but I have no refrain. Many of us lived through the events I will describe, but I can tell only what I saw with my own eyes. I have no poetry."
Erisdir glanced at Rauwen, who nodded. He stood and addressed the gathering.
"Lord Oropher of the Sindar offers us the gift of his life in his own words," Erisdir said solemnly. "We receive it with gratitude. We shall hear his tale through the end, and reserve our judgments until all is told. We bear witness."
"We bear witness," the Silvans murmured, Rauwen along with them. Whatever else Oropher might be, he was canny, she thought. He'd just walked himself into a more sacred tradition than he likely knew.
Erisdir sat and gestured that Oropher should continue. The Sinda lord nodded once and began.
"I am the second son of Olwë, he who saw the land of Aman and returned to lead our people West. I was born under the shadow of Hithaeglir, when our people stopped for a time during the Great March," he said. "Denethor, son of Lenwë, was born not three years before me. I knew him when we were small: we were friendly with each other, but not fast friends."
Rauwen settled into her seat. This was going to be interesting. It might spell trouble in the end, but for now — intriguing. All her life she'd heard her mother's loving stories of her uncle, the great Denethor. It had shocked her when she'd one day heard her other uncle Tawaren grousing about his brother's abandonment of the Greenwood. She'd never considered that Denethor might be anything other than saintly. What might Oropher have to say about her legendary uncle?
Oropher continued. "I was a youth when Lord Lenwë turned back, wishing to come to this great forest rather than cross the mountains. I can say for my part I was sorry to see your people go.
"Later, I wondered if Lord Lenwë had the better idea. When we reached the forests in the lands that came to be known as Doriath, Elwë, my uncle and the head of our host, disappeared. We waited for some time, but my father despaired, and concluded that Elwë had died. He insisted on traveling on to Aman without further delay. My brother and sister went with him.
"I remained, for I loved Elwë, as did my wife, and we could not bear to leave without knowing of his fate. Much later he returned, married to the Maia, Melian, and they took lordship over the lands of Doriath, and protected it. He took the name Elu Thingol. I was proud to call him my King."
Rauwen looked over her people, gauging their initial reactions. They looked calm and curious, which she could hardly disagree with.
Oropher continued. "Before the days of the sun, after the great city of Menegroth had been built, the Naugrim, who you call dwarves, told us of orcs and wolves that had been gathering in force in the north and now traveled into Beleriand. From the Naugrim our people learned how to forge metal weapons and how to use them, and thus we drove the fell beasts from our lands.
"At that time Denethor came to us, seeking audience with our King, where he asked for asylum for his people, who had fled from the Greenwood, as it had also grown perilous. We remembered each other from our youths, and I spoke on his behalf. King Thingol granted him leave to stay in Ossiriand among the seven rivers, along with his people, so long as he pledged his oath of allegiance to the King of Doriath."
Rauwen straightened in her chair, then made herself stay still. Oropher was not bandying words tonight. He had jumped right into the heart of the grievance her people had with his, as Erisdir had brought to the surface the night before.
"For many years, things were well in our lands, and we were safe and happy. I came to know Denethor and, for my part, I called him a friend. He and his Laiquendi, as they became known, preferred not to join us in our fair city of Menegroth, instead living much as they had before. I visited him in their woodland home twice. The Laiquendi's ways reminded me much of my youth; and they remind me of you, the Silvans. I admired them, much as I admire your people now."
Open flattery, Rauwen thought. Interesting tactic. When she looked at the others in front of her, she wondered if it might work, though. Many of the Silvans were smiling back at Oropher.
"But then, the light in the West failed, and only the stars remained. Many fell things moved in the North, and in the East. A great and terrible cry echoed through the lands and we knew evil was upon us. With the arrival of the Noldorin people, returned from Aman, many evils began to gather, until one day, war found us. All who could fight rose up to do so, for we had much to protect. My daughter was still young, then. The darkness frightened her. I wished I could defeat it, so she would laugh again.
"When the forces of our enemies grew too great in our lands, plundering here and there at will, Elu Thingol bid us all arm ourselves, and he sent word to all and sundry in his lands to gather, to fight the enemies who attacked our peaceful kingdom. Before that day, none of us had seen war. Many times we had hunted, and even fought dangers and foes — but war is different.
"I fought in Elu Thingol's company that day. We made our way to the meeting point we had agreed to with King Denethor and his Laiquendi. We arrived at that field to find it was filled with an army, bristling with swords and spears and all manner of terrible weapons. On the other side of that great host of orcs was a hill, and on that hill I could see King Denethor, already fighting our enemies along with his brave warriors."
Rauwen made herself breathe slowly, controlling the pace of her heartbeat. She had heard different accounts of what had happened to Denethor. Many of the angrier versions thought that the claim that Thingol had been waylaid was a lie — rather, that the Sindar had tarried and let Denethor's people take the first blow so the enemy would be weak and tired when the Sindar arrived. Her mother had expressed such doubts about the 'delay' herself.
This was a different story. She didn't know whether Oropher might be exaggerating. She searched his face for signs and thought that, more than anything, Oropher looked weary as he spoke.
"I can speak for myself when I say that I fought hard to cross that field and join our brethren on the hill. There were many foes in our way. Time becomes strange in such a battle. There is nothing but the sword before you, and your fellows at your sides. Each minute feels long enough to fit an age inside it.
"After a while, I did reach the hill, but I found I had arrived too late. When the day was done, and we stopped to bury our dead, I helped the last Laiquendi prepare their people in their own way. The body of Denethor burned along with his followers, and I wept for them.
"I think the tales that have reached you of this tragedy may have changed in the retelling, for that is my memory," Oropher said. He closed his eyes, his head hanging. "I am sorry that we were not faster. King Thingol took a terrible vengeance for Denethor's death on the host of orcs, but it could not bring back our dead."
Rauwen did not think the kind of grief she saw on his face could be faked. She felt the heaviness of it in the fëa sense as well: it hovered over the gathering like a thick fog. She could see many eyes glittering in the firelight. Sûlwen's face was stained with tears. Meldisser held her aunt's hands, her face just as wet as she remembered the day of her father's death.
Rauwen breathed again, calming her heart.
"We bear witness," she said, breaking the silence.
"We bear witness," the Silvans answered, their voices out of sync without the rhythm of the harp to guide them. But they all answered. Some of the Sindar joined them. Rauwen glanced at Erisdir, who nodded at her solemnly.
Oropher opened his eyes again and looked at Rauwen, who gestured for him to continue.
He sighed and went on. "After this battle, Queen Melian used her power to protect our kingdom by raising her Girdle of magic, through which no one could pass without her leave. We heard of many things that happened outside, but in Doriath, we lived in peace.
"When the moon rose, and then the sun, we were afraid. But Melian comforted us, saying that they were her kin, and that they had been sent to give us light again. In our joy, we welcomed our son who was born in the spring after the first sunrise, when all of Yavanna's creations burst forth in celebration! Thus we named him: Thranduil, the vigorous spring in celebration of the sun."
Rauwen glanced at Thranduil. Oropher was apparently quite proud of his son. Thranduil was watching his father with a practiced, blank expression. Rauwen bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from snickering.
"We were happy behind the Girdle of Melian for many years, although the trials of the Outside kingdoms intruded from time to time. Until one day a man walked through the northern reaches of the Girdle uninvited, and he saw Elu Thingol's daughter, Luthien, dancing in the forest. They came to love each other, and this love across the boundaries of race caused many trials.
"Thinking he was setting an impossible task as his daughter's bride price, Thingol challenged this man, Beren, son of Barahir, to steal one of the Noldor's most prized jewels, which themselves had been stolen by Morgoth. The fortunes of our kingdom fell and fell after this. I have come to believe those jewels are cursed, along with the Noldor exiles themselves.
"Thus it was that, after a time and much grief that led to the mortal death of Luthien, one of the Silmarils came into King Thingol's possession, and it poisoned his mind. First, it caused trouble with the Naugrim, and they killed Elu Thingol and attacked our fair Menegroth, killing many elves. After her husband's death, Melian left us in grief. The walls that guarded our kingdom for centuries fell in but a moment. We were ill-prepared.
"Their grandson, Dior, took the throne as King to those of us who remained. We had to make many changes, then, for we had to protect our borders through strength of arms. All of us who remained who had served in battle came forth to form a guard, along with many others who had been trained, or were willing to train, in the use of weapons. My son joined us in this task, for he had trained hard in the fighting arts, and had become skilled. A proud day for a father."
Rauwen nodded politely, glancing at Thranduil again. The other elves were looking at him just as curiously as she was, she noted. He watched his father intently, sitting up tall and proud.
"One terrible winter day in Menegroth, the sons of the Noldor Prince, Fëanor, and their servants attacked us, seeking the jewel of light. They were crueler than they had need to be, simply to retake their father's gem. Our city had been badly damaged in the attack by the Naugrim, but now, it was destroyed.
"It was during that attack that Prince Thranduil made his greatest stand. The sons of Fëanor may have been cursed, but there can be no doubt that they were perilous fighters. As the sounds of battle filled our halls, my wife Elraënor and I searched everywhere for our children. Afraid for her safety, I sent her away with an armed guard. She helped them gather many people along their way, and fortified a defensible hall to hold against the onslaught."
It occurred to Rauwen that after Erisdir taking all that time to sing the praises of Lenwë's line that perhaps Oropher felt obliged to give a similar account of his family's accomplishments. If that was his purpose, she supposed he was doing well. He, Thranduil, and Elraënor certainly sounded like competent leaders to their people.
"My daughter Eluthel and her husband Talgannor are not with us here. She was talented in Song, and her husband was a very fine harper. That morning, they had spoken of spending time together rehearsing. Not knowing where else to look, I went to the theater where they often practiced. I knew something terrible was happening before I even arrived, for the sounds from that room carried down the hallway — they were the sounds of clashing metal, cries of battle, and cries of fear.
"I flew to their aid, arriving to see Thranduil holding off not one, but two of the mighty sons of Fëanor in defense of his sister and her husband. Together, we drove them away. The cowards fled when they were faced with two fighters rather than one young elf with the courage to face them. He has fought in defense of our people ever since, though our journey has been long and hard."
Rauwen scanned the crowd, trying to keep her repeated glances at Thranduil from being too blatant. When her eyes reached him, she had expected him to look proud, or perhaps a little embarrassed by his father's boasting on his behalf, but instead, the Prince looked stricken. He was good at hiding it, but Rauwen was just as good at reading people, and she was sitting close to him. His face might be neutral, but his muscles were taught as a bow string, and his eyes looked haunted. The sculpted planes of his face showed in sharp relief in the firelight, making him look gaunt.
She was struck with the urge to ask him for his own version of what happened that day. His father may tout his bravery, but it sounded like a hard fight indeed. Such a thing could change a person. He met her eyes and she realized she'd been looking too long. She bowed her head slightly towards him and tore her eyes away.
She realized she'd missed some of Oropher's story. He was speaking about the Havens on Sirion now, where the survivors had taken some sort of refuge. She was distracted by her thoughts as Oropher continued on, telling tales of another attack, the lands of Beleriand sinking, and a great host coming out of the West.
Now that she heard their tale, she did pity the Sindar. Her people had struggled, but the Sindar had struggled no less, for all that they'd had a reprieve in the years Melian protected them.
"When the herald of Manwë summoned us West once more, many of our people answered the call. My daughter went with them, seeking healing for the wounds of her soul, for her husband had been killed in the last days of Menegroth.
"We miss her terribly, and those that went with her, but we who are here with you now were not ready to leave this Middle-earth. As your people once did, we turned back — back to the lands we'd once left behind. Back to the ways we lost, following the guidance of the Maia. I have fond memories of our lives before we settled in Doriath. They were simpler, but we had simpler joys as well.
"My wife has the gift of Sight and she foresaw good tidings in this forest should we come here. I pray we can make it so. Perhaps with the blessings of our kin, you Silvan elves, it will be so." Oropher said no more. Silence fell over the gathering.
Erisdir caught Rauwen's eye, raising one eyebrow in question. She shook her head at him and stood. She knew the words for the gift of a person's life story. This time she would say them, not the bard: as one leader to another.
She rose and addressed the Sindar leader. "Oropher Olwion we bear witness to your story as you wish to tell it."
"We bear witness," the Silvans answered.
"We thank you for the gift of your life," Rauwen said.
"We thank you," the Silvans answered.
Oropher rose and bowed to her again, ceding the Speaker's Stone and returning to his seat beside his wife.
"Cyfarwydd," Rauwen said calmly. "Before we sleep, perhaps a night song."
"Of course," Erisdir agreed, taking his harp with him to the Stone.
This had been a raw telling, a thing that could pain the soul. To bring them good rest and prevent tensions from arising, he would sing them a song to soothe them back into ease.
He began to tune his harp and Rauwen sat down again. Oropher leaned towards her across the table, speaking quietly to avoid attention from the crowd.
"Tywysoges Rauwen, thank you for allowing me to speak. I noted that you said your leaders gather once every year – that would not happen to be soon, would it? I should very much like to be at that Council. I hope now you understand why," Oropher whispered.
"We will speak about this Lord Oropher, and on friendly terms — tomorrow," Rauwen replied. She needed time to think.
(*)
Notes
Happy Saturday! Next update is December 7! Writing has been challenging for me recently due to political chaos taking up a lot of mental energy, but I continue to try. I still have a bit of a cushion but I'm glad I started with biweekly updates rather than weekly. Any encouragement you have to share would be much appreciated - those of you who read and leave comments keep me going.
I know this was a long chapter - I hope that's ok! I wanted to keep everything and I thought the course of the one day was a good measure of the chapter. But now we have it: Oropher's view of how things went down before he came to the Greenwood. I tried to follow the Silmarillion canon closely in Oropher's narrative, so I think (I hope) that this a fair, canon summary of what happened to the Iathrim during the first age. Of course, like all tale tellers, Oropher does have an agenda. How he chooses to tell the tale is informed by that agenda.
Speaking of agendas - now Oropher and Elraënor have a new idea about what her vision could have been about! Thranduil's mother just wants him to be happy, but Oropher is already thinking of all the ways that this might help him help his people. He's going to be tempted to interfere, but of course this could backfire spectacularly!