Chapter 9 - Those Who Guide

(*)

Thranduil looked up from his breakfast and saw a deer walking quietly through the trees. He looked at Rauwen sideways, trying to quietly get her attention, but she was turned away from him, towards her mother.

He let his hand fall slowly back towards the tree they were both leaning against. He used one of the silent signals she'd been teaching him: three slow taps — move slowly.

He could feel her instantly tense up beside him. She inched her head towards him, her eyes sharp. He tipped his head, looking at the deer until he saw Rauwen catch sight of it.

His gripped the hunting knife she'd been letting him borrow while he'd been practicing gutting and preparing fresh-caught meat — something he'd been happy to let others take care of while his people had traveled across the continent.

Rauwen sighed and relaxed. "Stop, Thranduil," she said quietly.

The deer jerked its head up, ears alert, staring at her.

"It was a good sighting, but we should not hunt such large game here. We are in my grandfather's territory now — I would not take such a stag without his permission."

While she spoke, the deer flipped its tail up, flickering white before it bounded away.

"A pity," Thranduil said, watching its flight. He was itching to try using her bow. Whenever they returned to her territory he meant to take up shooting instruction at the earliest opportunity.

Oropher appeared beside them, almost as quietly as Rauwen would have, to Thranduil's annoyance.

"When did we pass into Tywysog Lenwë's territory?" Oropher said, keeping his voice down. He pronounced the title carefully, as he had ever since Lavangwen had joined them. Thranduil could not remember the last time he'd seen his father being so agreeable.

"Yesterday afternoon," Rauwen whispered. "We are getting closer now. He will come out and meet us soon, or his people will."

"We have not seen any sign of his people yet," Thranduil whispered back. It was curious that Lenwë would let them pass into his territory so quietly compared with Lavangwen.

"Well, they have seen us," Lavangwen said, not bothering to whisper. "My father's people will meet us when they wish to and not a moment sooner."

"We should keep moving," Rauwen said. "Today is the Solstice. The Council is meant to take place tomorrow. If the rains have caused delays elsewhere, they could easily have caused damage here as well – we cannot waste time."

Lavangwen nodded. "A good point. I have been thinking we should follow the water towards the center. It is the most direct route. What do you think, Tywysoges Rauwen?"

The elder Silvan leader did not even glance towards Oropher. Thranduil saw his father's jaw twitch so subtly he doubted anyone else but him would notice.

"I disagree," Rauwen said. "We should go over the ridge. If we reach the river and the water is high it will be too dangerous to cross until we can get to the bridge. We will be left no course but to take the path cut into the rock, which is slippery. It is too dangerous in such a large company."

Thranduil saw Lavangwen's eyes pass over him for a moment while she was thinking and felt a sudden stab of frustration. Just because he needed to improve his woodcraft did not make him incompetent. He could navigate a tight path as well as anyone here — better, perhaps, than some of the harpers.

"Well, perhaps you know the company best," Lavangwen said. "The ridge is the better path for us at present. In that case, we should not waste any time. We have far to travel today and the way is steep. As it is, I doubt we will arrive before the feast has started."

She walked back towards her bedroll, swift and quiet, Rauwen close behind her.

He hesitated, looking at his father first. Their eyes caught and Oropher raised one eyebrow, glancing for a moment at the retreating ellith, then back at his son.

"Come," Oropher said quietly, holding his son's eyes. "We must trust our hosts. They have been good enough to receive us, although we are strangers."

Thranduil knew his father enough to know that this was a warning. They needed the Silvans' goodwill, even if it meant biting their own tongues sometimes. Even if Rauwen's mother had decided Thranduil was some lily-footed princeling. Rauwen knew better, he comforted himself.

The company started out with Lavangwen leading, with Rauwen close beside her, discussing routes. Thranduil walked silently with his father for a little while, but then Tuilinher, the young Cyfarwydd in training, called for Oropher's and Lavangwen's attention.

"My lady!" the dark-haired Silvan elleth called, bounding up to Lavangwen. The older elf smiled at her indulgently.

"My lady, could we ask for your account of your clan's history? Erisdir and Aewenfain tell several points differently, I am curious to know which you agree with," Tuilinher said.

Lavangwen chuckled. "Yes, alright," she agreed. "Although – it is possible I will agree with neither of them and you shall have three tales to sort through, apprentice."

Thranduil saw his father's attention sharpen into interest. "Ah, might I listen to these tales?" he asked, picking up his step to catch up with the Silvan elves. "Your people have developed such fascinating traditions since we last met. Cyfarwydd Erisdir has gotten me quite interested in them."

Lavangwen's eyes shifted back towards Oropher as the easiness of her smile congealed.

"Please, join us, Lord Oropher," she said. "It is kind of you to take such an interest in our people. We do not have such grand places as the city of Menegroth was said to be, nor such grand people as King Elwë and his Maia Queen. One might think you would find us positively provincial."

"Hardly," Oropher said. Thranduil knew the charming smile his father was wearing. "You have founded a unique consortium of allies – that is what you call it, 'the Consortium'? You have kept your people safe and grown into nearly half of this forest, if I understand correctly, all without kings, fortresses, or even metal! It is impressive. And it is pleasant to be among the trees again. It reminds me of my youth."

Lavangwen relented and gestured that Oropher should join them. Once he had, Tuilinher began to speak, excitedly explaining her questions about the founding of Lavangwen's first settlement as a newly crowned Queen. Thranduil noticed a fond smile on his father's face as he listened to the young harper.

Thranduil watched the discussion unfold and slowed down, falling back where he could be alone with his thoughts. Did Oropher even know what he was doing, or was he simply trying to gain the Silvans' favor, then ask Lenwë's advice? If this mission failed – what then for his people?

Rauwen had been listening to her mother speak with the harpers and Oropher, but she looked back over her shoulder for him. She stopped walking and waited for him to catch up with her. They fell into step, following the pattern they'd formed in the last fortnight traveling together. For the first time all day, Thranduil's sense of unease lifted.

"You know, you have improved much, but you will only ever get so far while you are still wearing those boots. If you want to travel like a Silvan elf, you need shoes you can feel the ground with," she said amiably.

Thranduil looked down at his stained boots. Perhaps it would finally be an excuse to get rid of them – once he had the means to replace them.

"Where would you suggest I get such shoes, my lady? We have not yet passed a single cobbler in this forest," Thranduil said. Even to his own ears, the joke fell flat.

Rauwen looked ahead at the rest of the group, who were still engaged in a lively debate a short distance up the trail.

"You seem out of sorts," she said quietly. "What is on your mind? Ah, but that is a foolish question, I think. The Council, what else?"

"Yes," Thranduil agreed. He was unsure if he should say more. Perhaps he should still be trying to charm her, as his father was doing with Lavangwen. But in these last weeks of travel, something had shifted between them, subtle, but real. They had begun to speak more plainly with each other when the others could not hear.

"Try not to worry too much," Rauwen said with a warm smile. "We are all kin. I expect we will work something out."

"Easy enough to say. We set our sights on this venture more than a year ago," Thranduil said quietly, his eyebrows knit together as he walked. "The day is here and all our hopes rest on this Council."

"Have some faith in us," Rauwen said. "My people are good hearted. I cannot say what will happen, of course – but I believe you have reason to hope that this will go well. For myself, I wish to see you safe and happy, wherever that may be in the end. I will say so in Council."

"We will see at the meeting very soon," Thranduil said, but her words were like a balm.

"Soon enough indeed. But first you will meet most of my family. We are usually spread out through the Greenwood with our clans, but once each year we are together again – for better or worse," she said with a chuckle.

She leaned closer, glancing ahead then whispering to him. "I will be curious to see what you make of my cousin, Braignir."

Thranduil raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? Perhaps I should do as you have said your grandfather does – listen first, judge later."

"Yes, fine, but do judge him later," Rauwen said wickedly. "I judge that he deserves it. He has changed in recent years."

He laughed despite himself. Thranduil saw his father turn and look at them momentarily. Oropher returned to his conversation about history with an absentminded smile. Thranduil immediately felt guilty. He was confiding in Rauwen, holding almost nothing back, as though everything was already safe and settled. No doubt his father thought he was doing what he should be doing: politicking.

"In any case," Rauwen said, still grinning, "I should like to see you use that once before we part, whenever that might be."

He looked down and realized she was pointing at the sword hanging from his belt.

"Woodsman or not, I think you are a good fighter, unless I am mistaken," she teased. "After the Council is over, perhaps you will show me. Although, I doubt you can best me."

Thranduil scoffed. "Have a little caution, Lady Rauwen. You challenge me when you have not even seen my skill yet. How do you know I am not a master swordsman?"

"How do you know that I am not a master swordsman?" Rauwen replied.

"I suppose we shall have to see," Thranduil said, sizing her up and not bothering to conceal it. She was fit, clearly. If she understood her weapon, she was likely a lithe fighter.

Rauwen chuckled and patted him on the shoulder. "So we shall, Prince of Doriath, so we shall."

"Where did you get your sword?" Thranduil asked suddenly. "I had not seen another of your Silvan elves with a sword until we met your mother. Is it a rare weapon among your people?"

"Yes," Rauwen said. "We are not smiths, so we must trade for metal goods. Swords are too expensive for just anyone to wield one. Our warriors carry spears or staves, as well as bows – and slings! Do not underestimate us, though, we know how to use what we carry."

"I have no doubt!" Thranduil said, his hands raised in surrender. "I am curious, though, how you learned to use your sword if they are so rare."

"My parents taught me, and my grandfather. All the clan leaders and a few elite warriors use them," Rauwen said. "I suppose in this I might learn a few tricks from you, since you learned it more formally."

"Perhaps. Do not worry, I shall be a kind teacher, as you have been to me. I will not make you do too many drills. Just a few," Thranduil said. He'd fallen back into jesting with her again, forgetting the worries of the day for a few moments.

Rauwen narrowed her eyes at him, but the corner of her mouth was twitching. "You? Give me drills? Mark my words, Prince Thranduil, mark my words. Do not underestimate my skill with a blade, or you will regret it."

"My lady," Thranduil said, bowing to her extravagantly. "I would not dream of it."

She laughed. It was better than music.

(*)

Even though it was the longest day of the year, the shadows beneath the trees were growing dark by the time the company was walking down the other side of the ridge. Following Lavangwen's and Rauwen's lead, the company had fallen silent shortly before they reached the ridge peak.

The quiet and growing darkness made Thranduil edgy. He wanted the comfort of his sword grip in his palm, but he could not hold it, as their guides had been clear that they were likely being watched. He could not afford to make the watchers worry that he might draw on them.

Beside him, Rauwen nudged his arm. He followed her finger as she pointed up, where he noticed fireflies flickering in the gloom. He wasn't sure why they mattered at first, but the first few insects were soon joined by a dozen more, then more, until it seemed hundreds of them were floating under the tree canopy above them. He looked at Rauwen in alarm.

"They are here," she whispered.

He shot her a confused look. "Who?"

"My grandfather's people have come to lead us in. Today was Gathering Day, and now the Shortest Night – there is a feast going on!"

"Hush," Lavangwen warned them. "I will go first and greet them. They will be aware of your presence, Lord Oropher, but an explanation from me might help this go more – smoothly. Stay here."

"We told Lord Lenwë's bards of their arrival two days ago. They are expected," Aewenfain whispered.

Lavangwen eyed her Harper. "And have you heard aught else since you announced them?" She asked.

Aewenfain and Erisdir shook their heads.

"I thought not," The Silvan leader said. "I will go and speak with them. Wait."

Thranduil watched the elder Silvan leader disappear through the trees, trailing fireflies behind her. Oropher's face was inscrutable as they waited in silence, the harpers standing in a huddle, no doubt using osanwë between themselves.

Rauwen lifted her hand, holding it with her palm raised. Small lights floated towards her like leaves caught in an eddy. A tiny creature landed on one of her fingertips, blinking lazily. Rauwen smiled at it and whispered.

Thranduil shook his head slightly, as if to wake from a dream. He'd seen the powers of Melian to build walls from nothing. His own mother sometimes made chilling predictions far into the future. He'd seen cloth that rippled with power and a jewel that blazed with a light so bright and beautiful that it was impossible to look away from.

His breath caught in his throat.

This was something different. Overhead, the trees themselves seemed to whisper along with her, herding the tiny creatures into a golden swarm that chased the shadows away. He had never known any lady in Menegroth, dressed in all her fine jewels and silks, who could compare with Rauwen's beauty in that moment: her smiling face glowing with the magic of her forest, held in her very hands.

Lavangwen reappeared, flanked by two ancient-looking elves in pale green robes. Rauwen nodded towards them and Oropher bowed. Thranduil blinked several times before he could catch his breath and bow properly.

One of Lenwë's people stepped forward. "Greetings, Princes of Doriath, our kin. Lord Lenwë bids you welcome to his lands, and entreats you to join him for our festival of midsummer. Will ye come?"

"Verily," Oropher agreed. "'Tis a joy to celebrate amongst kin, though with regret I have little to offer in return."

Thranduil watched his father's interchange with interest. These oldest Silvans were no different than the eldest Sindar of Menegroth — right down to the old, formal Sindarin they were speaking. They even looked more Sindarin than the elves of Rauwen's and Lavangwen's clans: their hair and eyes were lighter. He could look the tallest of them in the eye.

"One can give only what one has, Lord Oropher. This is known to us, for we have also known want in times past," an ancient elleth said. A few fireflies landed in the long waves of her light brown hair, making it look dark gold.

"Thus our Lord and Lady bid us give ye warm welcome," the first speaker continued. "Come and follow, that ye might bathe away the dust of your journey and join our feast refreshed."

Oropher bowed. Thranduil followed suit.

"Lead on," his father said, glancing at Lavangwen. The Silvan leader nodded, following her father's people without hesitation when they turned and continued down the ridge.

The cloud of fireflies floated along with the silent group. Thranduil could hear the trees rustling as they passed, although there was no wind. He watched Rauwen, wondering suddenly what the green voices might be whispering to her. She had a small smile on her face as she walked. Her eyes were alight with anticipation.

Thranduil sidled up beside her, unable to look away. He leaned and she shot him a questioning look.

"Did they say 'bathe?'" He whispered.

Rauwen nodded. "This is my favorite part of my grandfather's territory and the Solstice gathering. I am glad you will get to see it! I was not sure if you would receive such an invitation," She whispered.

One of Lenwë's people glanced back at them. Rauwen signaled to Thranduil that he should stay quiet.

The group found a stream and followed it until they arrived at a small, but deep pool beneath a large rock formation. A curtain of water flowed over the stones, spewing a fine white mist that floated between the trees. At the edge of the pool stood three tall elves with their backs to the arriving company.

To the side stood a Silvan elf with his arms crossed over his chest. He bore strange marks on his skin, the like of which Thranduil had never seen before – as though someone had drawn blue swirls on his skin with ink.

"So you are the ones I was obliged to wait for," the dark-haired elf said with a sigh. "Well met, Tywysoges Lavangwen. Rauwen," he said with a perfunctory bow.

"Nephew," Lavangwen said, raising an eyebrow at him. Rauwen bowed but didn't address him.

"And who are your… guests?" the elf asked. Thranduil saw his eyes sweep over them, cool and assessing. When he spoke, Thranduil could see that his teeth had been sharpened into points.

"Tywysog Braignir, worry not. The Sindar are kin, and the honored guests of Lord Lenwë this evening," said one of the three elves who faced the waterfall. She turned, her dark blond hair shimmering in the fireflies' light.

"Young Oropher, it has been a long time."

"Nemirien!" Oropher gasped. He bowed deeply.

The blonde stranger smiled. "How you have grown since last I saw you. You were naught but a youth, then. The centuries have flown past us since you took your first breath in my hands."

Thranduil's eyebrows shot up.

"Is this why a healer greets us at the entrance to the Crystal Cave?" Lavangwen asked.

"Yes," Nemirien said. "My Lord Lenwë thought it might be easier to relinquish your arms to me, knowing I could never do ill to a child I once delivered, nor his own issue."

"They are not going through, surely?" Braignir cried. "Only Princes and Harpers may pass through to the Green Lady's Grove in this manner!"

"This is true," Nemirien said. "Lord Lenwë recognizes Lord Oropher Olwion and his son: Princes of Doriath. He bids ye pass through the cave, my Lords."

Braignir frowned but held his tongue.

One of the guards flanking the healer stepped forward, raising a hand towards Tuilinher. "The Princes of Doriath may enter, but the bard's apprentice cannot."

Aewenfain nodded to Tuilinher, who curtsied and stepped back. The escorts who had brought them to the pool stood with her, apparently intending to join her in crossing over the stones.

"Princes and Harpers, ye who guide elves and guard them, the Way of Light is open to you. May the Light bring you wisdom," Nemirien said formally, gesturing to the pool. "So now give us your arms and all ye possess so you may pass through."

Lavangwen, Braignir and Rauwen began handing their swords and knives to the guards. Soon they began to strip their clothes off.

Oropher hesitated, but Nemirien stepped forward. "My Lord Lenwë bid me care for your belongings, Princes of Doriath. Will you entrust them to me, and accept his invitation to enter his feast as befits your lineage?"

"It is required to take nothing with us?" Oropher asked quietly. His hand hovered over his sword belt.

"The Green Lady's Grove is hallowed, My Lord - nae weapons may enter there. You shall not need your traveling clothes or bedrolls this evening. I will return them to you on the morrow. On my honor, Lord Oropher, as one who once called your mother 'friend.'"

"If the Lords of Doriath do not wish to attend our festival as Princes, do not force them," Braignir said, looking Oropher up and down. The Silvan elf had already stripped to the waist, unbothered to be seen naked in company. The blue markings covered his arms, chest, and back.

"You do know how to swim, do you not?" Braignir asked innocently. He looked at Thranduil. "Both of you?"

Oropher unlatched his belt and handed his sword and knife to Nemirien, looking the younger elf in the eye as he did so.

Thranduil wanted to thrash the other elf. He glanced past Braignir to Rauwen, who'd stopped undressing to watch the exchange. Behind her cousin's back she rolled her eyes, sneering lightly at him for Thranduil's benefit. She had warned him about this 'Braignir' earlier, he recalled. Now, he could see why.

"Thranduil," Oropher said, motioning that his son should give up his weapons as well.

"Yes, Lord Father," Thranduil murmured. He unbuckled his belt and handed his sword over, feeling naked before he'd removed a single article of clothing.

"A dutiful son," Braignir said with a smile. "A lovely sight."

Lavangwen cleared her throat. "Indeed it is. I have always been grateful that my brother was blessed with such fine, well-mannered boys. Now – shall we traverse the cavern?"

"Please," Rauwen muttered. She began stripping her clothes off, folding them as she went and piling them on the rocks near her belongings.

Thranduil made himself tear his eyes away when she removed her shirt, instead focusing on his own clothes. It felt vulnerable in this strange place, among strangers, to give his last shreds from home away and stand naked in the chilly mist. He glanced at his father, who was resolutely undressing before the midwife that had once delivered him.

"This is not a weapon," Thranduil heard his father whisper. "I should like to present it to your Lord. Can you see to it that it is returned to me tonight?"

Nemirien curtsied took the mysterious silk-wrapped packet that Thranduil had not seen during the whole journey.

He heard a splash and turned to look: Rauwen was unclothed now, dipping her feet into the water. His hands fumbled as he took in the sight of her, wading into the dark pool, the curves of her body bathed in the fireflies' glow. She reached up to her hair and released her travel braids, letting her inky hair stream down her back.

Something shifted at the corner of his eye – Thranduil turned his head and found Braignir – now fully nude – watching him, eyes slightly narrowed. Thranduil returned to his task, stripping hurriedly, eyes pointedly downward. He slipped out of his trousers, handed them to Nemirien. He left his boots in the dirt and waded into the water, hissing as the cold hit him.

"Come on!" Rauwen said. Ahead of them, Erisdir slipped under the waterfall.

"Harpers first?" Oropher asked quietly.

"It is your first time," Lavangwen answered. "They will share our story of this cave with you, so they have gone ahead. Braignir, lead them in. Rauwen and I will take up the rear."

Rauwen nodded. "After you pass through the waterfall, you must dive down under the stone, through an underwater tunnel. Do not worry, it is not very long."

Braignir dipped through the curtain of water, followed closely by Rauwen. Oropher pushed Thranduil after her.

Thranduil flinched as the cold water hit him. Within seconds he was drenched. It was dark and damp on the other side. He stood in lake water up to his waist, facing a wall of dark stone. Soon his father was beside him.

"Follow me," Braignir said. Thranduil couldn't see the others anymore, just black outlines in the faint light. "Dive under right where I go, and follow the tunnel. Take a good, deep breath before you go, but you need not fear. There is no way to get lost, and it is not long. Wait a few breaths before you follow me."

He dipped down into the water and disappeared.

"Lord Oropher, please, go ahead," Rauwen's voice said, the sound distorted so close to the stone and the water spray.

Thranduil felt his father's hand grip his shoulder. "Come directly after me," Oropher whispered.

"I will," Thranduil replied. And then the tall, dark shape that was his father sank into the water and disappeared.

"Well, go," Rauwen told Thranduil after a minute. Her mother had joined her at her side.

If this was the royal welcome, it was the worst one he'd ever seen, Thranduil thought.

He felt his way forward until he could feel the current pulling at his legs. He took a deep breath and plunged into the dark water, feeling the edges of the tunnel in front of him with his hands, swimming down in utter blackness. His chest started to hurt. He pushed through the fear and swam forward until the heavy rock above him gave way and he burst, gasping, into soft light.

(*)

Notes:

Ok, so this chapter! Thranduil is in trouble, poor lad. He's just noticed that Rauwen isn't just someone he likes talking to. She's... quite pretty as well. But what can elf do with an epiphany like this in the middle of a charged political situation. We shall see.

Braignir & the Pictish references. Ok, historically, there is no real evidence the picts painted themselves blue. Woad is caustic and would burn your skin. That legend is likely actually Roman propaganda but - this is a fantasy world I'm building. You'll see that Tawaren, his sons and their clans are a little different than Lavangwen and Rauwen, and Lenwe's group is unique as well. Their appearance is meant to show some of that distinction.

Arthuriana easter eggs - If you are into Arthuriana (2024 and now 2025 have been my years to get *very* into this, especially Mary Stewart's series), forgive me a few self indulgences here and going forward, mostly with a few names and phrases. Consider them Easter eggs from a fan, perhaps. The Crystal Cave is a generic enough name... I can use it with a straight face.

Missing terms - Finally, I've gone back and added in the Welsh vocab I forgot to define last week, sorry about that!