(*)

"How long will this journey take?" Thranduil asked.

Rauwen finished tying the raft to a tree and turned, following his gaze. Across the lake, the elves they'd left behind were still gathered on the shore, watching them. Thranduil's mother stood, tall and calm beside Gilroch. The two of them had been left with the charge of the Sindar until Oropher returned.

Rauwen had asked some of her Sindarin-speaking people to keep an eye on them, with strict orders not to bring any of the Sindar back to the Silvan village, no matter how comfortable the groups had been getting in the week since their arrival. (She'd since heard rumblings about moving the solstice holiday party out to the island instead. She didn't know what to think about that.)

"A little over a fortnight, normally," Rauwen answered. Thranduil kept looking at the island.

"The meeting is on the day of the sixth new moon of the year, is it not? That is when the march leaders would gather in the middle of the procession on the Great March. You have left extra time," Oropher observed.

"Yes, even if the sixth new moon coincides with the solstice festival," Rauwen groused. "It is best to leave enough time, though, especially since it is your first time making the journey."

"We can keep up with you, we will not need it," Oropher said, stepping up behind her.

Rauwen pushed down a flicker of annoyance. "It is a good practice, nonetheless. The path can change in a year. Trees fall. Streams flood – we have a more rain than normal this spring. Bridges break," she said.

She hoped this was not a mistake, bringing Oropher and Thranduil along with herself and Erisdir to the leader's Council. Oropher was already chafing at not being in charge, it seemed.

"Did you say the leaders met in the middle on the Great March procession?" she asked.

Oropher nodded.

"I would love to remind my grandfather of that," Rauwen said dryly. "Mine is the most southerly clan. I do not like spending so long away from my people every year, just to travel all the way north to his territory."

"Iunderstand that. It does not sit well with me, either," Thranduil said. Rauwen thought he was watching Elraënor, his brow wrinkled in worry.

"Your mother will be well," Oropher said, unbothered. "She has led our people before. Gilroch will defend her just as you or I would, should it come to that. She is not afraid."

Oropher touched his hand to his own chest, reminding Thranduil that he could feel Elraënor's moods as easily as his own through their marriage bond.

"The island has never been attacked, not in all our history," Erisdir said, giving Thranduil a reassuring smile. "They will still be there, safe, when we return."

"There is a first time for everything," Thranduil muttered.

Rauwen frowned at him. Something about that pinched her heart.

"Do not tempt fate," she said quietly. "But between your people and mine, that island is as well defended as it is possible to be in this forest."

Thranduil nodded, but he seemed unable to tear his eyes away from his mother.

"Should we begin our journey? We started later in the day than I would have thought. We can still make good distance before nightfall," Oropher said.

Rauwen shot him a sharp glance. Oropher bowed his head towards her.

"Please, lead on, Tywysoges Rauwen," Oropher said politely.

Rauwen nodded and shifted her bedroll until it was comfortable on her back. She waved her hand, signaling that they should follow her. Quietly, the small company walked into the woods, leaving their people behind.

They walked without speaking for a while before Oropher fell into step beside her. Rauwen glanced at him, asking a question with her eyes. These journeys were usually swift and silent. Erisdir may vex her at home at times, but he was an easy travel companion. He understood how to slip through the trees like a shadow, not attracting attention.

"You have said we have extra time," Oropher said. "I must admit, I am curious to see some of the locations from your people's history. Are there any along our path? Amon Lanc? Or perhaps your mother's cavern dwellings? Your uncle Tawaren's first settlement?"

Rauwen considered this. It might be good that Oropher was showing an interest in her people's history. She didn't want to waste time this early, though, in case the Sindar guests slowed her down. The Council waited for no one.

She decided only one site was close enough to suit her sense of urgency.

"Amon Lanc is not too far," she admitted. "I could lead us past it today if you wish. Then we must move on to my mother's current territory. She will travel to the council with us."

"Ah, excellent!" Oropher beamed. "Amon Lanc is in your land, then?"

"No, just outside," she said. "This is rich country we are in – the old fort's location was chosen for a reason. But I did not want to be responsible for patrolling that relic, so it is not within my grant. It belongs to no one."

Oropher nodded, looking thoughtful. "Have you always lived at the edges of your territory?"

"No," Rauwen said, her mood souring a little. "We were driven from our first settlement by wolves."

"I am sorry. That is ill luck," Oropher said.

She looked at him and decided he was being sincere. She nodded in thanks.

"We might stay the night by Amon Lanc, Tywysoges," Erisdir suggested from behind. "We will have to pass through the marsh soon. There is no place to stay once we enter, and it can easily take all day to reach the far side. Perhaps we could start early tomorrow rather than commit ourselves today."

"That is a fair point," Rauwen said. She realized she did not yet know how well the Sindar could travel at night. The marsh was not a good place to test that.

"It will mean we have not gone far today, but some years the marsh floods and it can get quite wide. Does that suit you, Lord Oropher?" she asked.

"Yes, of course," Oropher said. "We are following you, Lady Rauwen. You know this forest best. I am curious to see your old fortress, in any case. When Cyfarwydd Erisdir shared the tale of your people, I wondered how Lenwë's people learned to build such a thing at that time – we had never had a permanent settlement along the March."

"That the Cyfarwydd would have to tell you. It is he that has studied the details of our history," Rauwen said. "Very well. To Amon Lanc." She shifted their path eastward.

They picked their way carefully and quietly through the woods, pausing sometimes to gather food, since they were no longer in a hurry that day. Rauwen and Erisdir explained in hushed voices how to tell good mushrooms from bad, or which greens were edible. Erisdir pulled a thick, white root crawling in grubs out of the earth once, to which Rauwen grinned in pleasure.

"We will eat well today," she whispered. Oropher nodded, his face looking bland and polite, but Thranduil listened to all their explanations attentively. Rauwen smiled to herself when she took the lead again.

She still wasn't sure why Oropher had insisted his son accompany him: Thranduil seemed reluctant to leave his people. Nevertheless, he hadn't argued with his father, and now he was here, watching his footsteps more carefully than he had the first time she'd met him, improving as he went. There was much she and Erisdir could teach the Prince by the time they reached Lenwë's territory, given his willingness. The thought pleased her.

After a while, the trees began to thin out. The ground rose subtly beneath their feet. Finally, they peered out from under the trees to the sight of the bald hill rising before them. Rauwen raised her hand, halting them while she scanned the hill for signs of danger.

"Weapons out," she whispered. "No one patrols this place. We do not know what might have decided to shelter in the ruins. We should take care while we look around. Stay close. Listen carefully."

Rauwen, Oropher and Thranduil drew their swords. Erisdir changed his grip on the ash staff he had been using as a walking stick. Together, they crept out of the shade, wading through scrub and tall grasses until even those petered out. There were no sounds of danger. Nothing moved in the ruins, so they kept going.

Rauwen thought Oropher looked eager as they climbed, but she felt herself growing tense and wary out in the open.

"Cyfarwydd, is there more you can tell me about this place? When was it built? How many lived here?" Oropher asked Erisdir.

"Oh, there are many stories about Amon Lanc," Erisdir said. Rauwen could hear his voice going dreamy as he thought of his favorite tales from the past. He was a bard through and through, always looking backwards for poetry to spin.

"Do you mind? I will wait at the wall so we can go inside together. You are right to be cautious of what may have holed up inside. Some of those buildings look practically intact," Oropher said, indicating that he wished to go a little faster, taking the lead.

Rauwen shrugged, letting him pass her.

"Erisdir, will you join me? Please, I am curious. Tell me how it was founded," Oropher said, taking a few strides upward. Erisdir happily followed, humming under his breath as he thought of where to start.

Rauwen hesitated, her eyes sweeping over the empty hillside and the wide bowl of the sky above them. There was no cover here – nowhere to run and disappear so she could regroup and stage an attack on her own terms. If something came for them, there would be nothing to do but stand and fight. She felt a shiver run down her spine. She looked sharply behind her, checking for Thranduil. She hoped he had not noticed her discomfort.

Thranduil was standing with his back to her, scanning the edges of the woods below them. He turned and looked up again, narrowing his eyes at the ruins ahead, before catching her eye. She looked away from him.

"This place is eerie," he whispered.

"Full of ghosts," Rauwen agreed. "Your father seems undaunted."

"My father runs towards trouble and fights his way out," Thranduil said. He looked ahead sharply, his eyes hovering over his father. Oropher didn't look back.

"You are more cautious," Rauwen observed. She kept looking past him, checking behind them.

"Perhaps," Thranduil said. "Lead on. I agree with you in this. If we are going into the ruins, let us do so with our eyes open."

"Eyes open or not, we cannot watch our own backs," Rauwen muttered.

Thranduil glanced behind them once more, then back up at her. "I will watch your back, then."

"Who will watch yours?" Rauwen asked.

"You are more important than I, Tywysoges," he said, shaking his head. "You have people who need you to return. It would be my honor to help ensure that you do."

Rauwen paused. An odd feeling welled up, filling her chest.

"Your people need you as well, Prince Thranduil," she said. "Walk beside me. We will watch each other."

(*)

Thranduil sat in the doorway of an abandoned stone building, looking into the dark, watching for any signs of danger. The embers from the company's fire painted their sleeping faces red.

He hadn't realized how accustomed he'd become to the forest's noises until now, when they were missing. The only sound was a low wind, hissing as it crept through the empty ruins of Amon Lanc.

The fire crackled behind him. Thranduil turned sharply to look, only to find that Rauwen had risen and was arranging wood on the coals so the fire would burn with little smoke. What smoke there was wafted away as drafts from a half-collapsed chimney nearby blew through the room.

When she'd finished she padded over to the door, crouching beside Thranduil, her sword at her hip.

"You should go to sleep," she whispered.

Thranduil shook his head. "It is not your watch yet. I will wake you when it is, Lady Rauwen."

She sighed, shifting to sit against the other side of the doorway, close enough that they could still whisper.

"I cannot sleep, so you might as well," she said.

"Why?" Thranduil asked. He didn't say what he was thinking – that he doubted he could sleep here, either.

Rauwen seemed to think, glancing back at Oropher and Erisdir, who appeared to sleep soundly.

"Bad things happened here, long ago. It can stain the soul of a place, if you know what you mean. I do not like it," she whispered.

"I know what you mean," Thranduil agreed. After everything that had happened, his beloved Menegroth had seemed menacing and foul. He could not have imagined leaving, but when he left he couldn't imagine staying, either.

He tried to feel for it now, letting his fëa flow outwards, testing the air. He understood what she meant, but he couldn't feel it here. Perhaps it needed to be your own people that had died in a place for it to feel poisoned. Since they'd arrived, they'd found nothing more than a colony of bats that had taken to one of the last buildings with an intact roof. To him, it was only a cold, lonely hill under a dark sky.

"Your mother was born here," he said, suddenly remembering the story Erisdir had told.

Rauwen shrugged. "She is old," she said with a quiet snort."Your father seems rather curious about it all, even though it's mostly crumbled stone and weeds now."

"He is also old," Thranduil said dryly.

He resisted the urge to glance at Oropher to make sure he wasn't listening. It didn't matter if he was, Thranduil knew he would be forgiven. His father had been clear about Thranduil's mission on this journey — to get into Rauwen's good graces, for all their sakes.

"I do not know if it is so among your Silvans," he continued. "But I find that many older elves spend much time looking backwards, searching for something. He certainly does."

Rauwen nodded and huffed, her smiling face in sharp, red relief in the dim firelight. "Our people are not so different."

"Maybe," Thranduil said. "There are many things I would like to learn from you, though. 'Woodcraft' you called it – it almost seems like witchcraft to me."

Rauwen scoffed at him. "Nonsense," she said. "You could learn any of it. I could teach half of it to you by the time we reached my grandfather's territory."

"Only half?" he said, raising one eyebrow. He wondered if she meant it.

Rauwen grinned at him. "I suppose we would have to see if you are a quick learner."

Thranduil shifted his weight off the door lintel to lean closer to her. "I promise you, Tywysoges Rauwen – I am a quick learner. I suppose we would have to see if you are a good teacher."

Rauwen mimicked him, leaning until he could feel her breath on his cheek. "I am an excellent teacher, Prince Thranduil."

"Then we shall have no trouble," he whispered. "I shall be speaking with trees by the time I meet this famous Lord Lenwë."

Rauwen relaxed back again. "Ah, that I cannot teach you, though. How to read the forest floor, yes. How to track, how to walk silently, how to hide better – although with hair like that, shining like a beacon for everyone to see, you are at a disadvantage."

"I – I would welcome your knowledge on all these things. But, why not speaking to trees? Your bard made it sound as though there is no one better at it than you."

Rauwen turned her head halfway, peering into the darkness outside. "I would not make that claim. But I cannot teach you, because I have never had to learn. I have known the green voices all my life, from my very first memory. Perhaps Erisdir might instruct you. Or, better yet, my uncle Tawaren."

Thranduil followed her gaze, looking into the dim alley outside. There were no plants other than spiny grasses and weeds that had pushed their way up through ruined stone walkways.

"Can you hear them now?" he asked quietly.

"We are too far from the trees," she murmured, shaking her head. Her eyebrows had bunched together in a frown, but her eyes looked sad.

For the first time since he'd met her, she looked almost vulnerable. It was no wonder, then, that she did not like Amon Lanc. He wished he had some comfort to offer her.

If he could not offer comfort, perhaps conversation. He had learned that when he missed someone who he'd lost, their memory could steer his heart into calmer waters. A memory of his sister Eluthel singing flashed across his mind. A distraction for himself, then, too.

"What are they like?" he asked.

Rauwen looked at him again, confused.

"The green voices," Thranduil repeated. "Would you tell me what they are like?"

She smiled, her eyes coming alive again. The cold spot he felt he always carried in his heart now – the place where Eluthel and Talgannor belonged – suddenly felt a little warmer.

(*)

"How does that work, exactly?" Oropher asked Erisdir, feigning rapt interest. In truth, he was only half-listening to the harper, who he had been encouraging to speak at length about the Silvans' histories and tales.

As Erisdir began another artful explanation, Oropher let his attention shift to the conversation his son was having with the Silvan Princess. Their friendship appeared to be progressing nicely with the two older elves out of the way, Oropher thought smugly. He was determined to keep Erisdir occupied frequently for this purpose.

Not that the bard's information was useless, not at all. Oropher had been learning how much had happened among these woodland people since he'd seen them last. The more he heard, the more Oropher thought the systems of separate, but cooperative, clans could work to his advantage.

Ever since they'd set out on this venture, Oropher had wondered how he could negotiate a grant of some land within Lenwë's kingdom to do with as they pleased. He was not eager to pledge himself to another high king, particularly not one who had been subordinate to Oropher's own father. Now, it seemed a potential solution might be simpler than he'd thought.

The thing Rauwen seemed touchiest about was any mention of Olwë outranking Lenwë. If Oropher could convince the Silvans he sought entry as another clan leader of equal rank, perhaps he could do better than carving out a corner of the forest for a kingdom of his own. Perhaps they could have access to the full Silvan consortium, and all the trading and resources he imagined came with it. He could build his influence from there.

As for which corner of the forest he would request for his Iathrim, so far he had seen only one that truly appealed to him. And for that, he'd best be on excellent terms with Rauwen. Thranduil would be the key to establishing such terms, Oropher thought. He had noticed his own conversations with the Silvan leader remained guarded.

Ahead, Rauwen was leading them along a deer path that ambled away from the brook and up through drier ground.

"No, look, you can tell how fragile a stick is just by looking at it, Prince Thranduil," Rauwen said, pointing at a few examples on the ground. She was leading Thranduil over a tree-covered rise, where the leaves and sticks were dry and could crackle underfoot.

"To keep quiet, you want to step on ones that are either fresh-fallen and still green, or ones that have rotted enough that they are soft underfoot. In between that they are often brittle and will snap if you step on them," she explained.

"I do not know how you can watch the placement of your feet so carefully while also staying aware of your surroundings," Thranduil said, picking his way carefully and quietly between the trees. He swerved left to avoid a patch of ferns that would rustle if he walked through them.

"There could be watchers hiding behind so many of these trees and bushes. It would be easy to lose your way as well," he added, standing in one spot and scanning his surroundings.

The trees were close here, branches rubbing against each other, often with few openings to pass between them. Hard country to find good places for a settlement, Oropher thought. He watched his son searching the shadows for lurking dangers.

It had been far too long that they'd all been on edge, never having anywhere safe to rest. What his people needed was to have a home again, even if they had to make it with their own hands.

"Well," Rauwen said to Thranduil, "As for watchers, the green voices and the birds are helpful once you know what to listen for. You gain a knack for it all after a while – alternate picking your path on the ground, then looking up and getting your bearings as you start to follow it. And as I said, use your spirit to lighten your step– "

"Just like walking on snow, yes I remember," Thranduil said.

"You are doing well," Rauwen encouraged him. "You just need more practice until you can do this and also keep up a normal speed. You will get it one day if you try."

"Do you usually teach this to children?" Thranduil asked dryly. He stepped on a twig that was too dry, cracking it underfoot and groaned in frustration.

Rauwen snorted. "Of course. It is not often I have had to teach adults, because they already learned this centuries ago. Do not worry, Prince Thranduil, you are learning as swiftly as the cleverest young boy I have ever taught."

"Why thank you, Lady Rauwen, so kind of you. I am hopeful you will give a good report to my father, surely he will be proud of my progress," Thranduil said.

Rauwen laughed and looked back at Oropher. She caught him looking before he could divert his gaze, so he chuckled as well. He found this sort of jesting a bit tedious, but the younger elves were enjoying themselves. That was the important thing.

"Terribly proud, son. It is not every father who has the gift of watching his child learn to walk twice," Oropher said. He'd meant to join in their humorous exchange, but it came out sounding formal, even genuine.

Thranduil stared at Oropher, confused. This wasn't their way with each other.

Oropher shrugged, keeping his manner as casual as he could manage. "I never thought you would have a use for such knowledge or I might have taught you myself. Alas, there were other things you needed to learn in a fine city like Menegroth. I know you have the aptitude to learn such things – and now that it is relevant, of course you excel. I am hardly surprised."

"Of course, Lord Father. I had not meant anything by it," Thranduil said awkwardly. Rauwen was looking between them, a wrinkle forming between her brows.

"Do not let me interrupt you. I am grateful to Lady Rauwen that she is sharing her expertise now. She is right, such skills will serve you well," Oropher said.

His wife was too right that interference on his part was not helpful, he thought. All he could do was conspire to let them spend time together and trust in fate.

"Cyfarwydd Erisdir, please continue," Oropher said, pointedly turning his attention away from the younger elves and back to the bard. "You were explaining to me the Silvans' method of raising a timber frame using guiding music to coordinate. A fascinating solution."

Oropher did not hear the answer. He was overcome with an unfamiliar sense of regret that he and his son were not closer. Looking back, he could not find one moment when the warmth he'd shared with Thranduil as a boy had shifted. Thranduil was older now. He shared Oropher's sense of pride and duty. Truly, he was a son one could be proud of: a good soldier who would make a fine captain one day soon.

Long ago, there had been more, though.

From the corner of his eye, Oropher saw Rauwen and Thranduil exchanging a meaningful glance. Thranduil went back to practicing his light, silent steps. Suddenly, he stopped and pointed at the ground.

"Is that not wild carrot?" he asked.

"Well spotted!" Rauwen said, already beginning to pull the roots carefully from the soil. "You do pay better attention than the children I have taught. I appreciate not having to explain things twice."

"I do not know what these children could be thinking, then," Thranduil said as he shook dirt out of the roots he'd just pulled up. "Lady Rauwen, your instructions regarding root vegetables are positively enthralling."

Rauwen snorted and elbowed him in the arm. "I think what is enthralling to you is the thought of eating said root vegetables. The way you eat, Prince Thranduil, sometimes one might think you were a Man."

Oropher kept himself from smiling when Thranduil began to protest and got shushed for his efforts. Elraënor, right again, he thought fondly. It was good to see Thranduil smiling once more.

Oropher asked Erisdir another question about construction, but in the safety of his own mind he was pleased.

Yes, the children were getting on very well indeed. Everything was coming together beautifully.

(*)

Notes:

Hello and welcome! As always your comments are greatly appreciated - they provide such motivation to keep going!

I've been writing still, but slowly. Lots of personal stuff going on right now with the end of the year and the holidays and the State of the World. Because of that my next update will be in three weeks, not two: so on December 28th. I need a little extra time to make sure I'm not completely decimating my backlog already.

"Amon Lanc" means 'bald hill' in Sindarin. It's the highest point of the highland at the southwestern corner of Greenwood. You will know it by another name by the time it appears in the Hobbit, when it's been taken over by a necromancer and renamed "Dol Guldur."

Tolkien's notes on the exact origin of Amon Lanc are a little inconsistent, as can happen in the legendarium, but at least one note refers to Amon Lanc as the wood elves 'ancient fort,' so I'm attributing it to Lenwe's earliest settlers in the Greenwood. There's nothing specific in the canon about what might have driven them out.

And yes, as noted, Oropher will occasionally be a POV character, like Elraenor. Here we get our first little glimpse of him trying to play it cool. Trying is the operative word, lol.