(*)

Thranduil eyed the entrance to the sacred grove, drawn to the unsettling magic that stood between himself and the only people here that he knew. He could see the shapes of his father and the Silvan leaders through the trees, but they looked blurry, as though they were far away. He couldn't hear them at all.

The sun had passed its zenith and then some. Food preparation had started, stalled, and now started again. He hoped it meant this was almost over.

"It is going a little long this year," a chatty elf beside him said. "You and your people have been quite the surprise for our leaders!"

Thranduil nodded, unsure of what to say.

The elleth to his left chuckled. "Well, I am glad I joined my parents for the Council journey this year. I would have missed the excitement had I stayed home!"

Thranduil smiled at her. This was Fânien, daughter of Celoman and Nimdes, who were also inside the circle. He found her pairs of sharpened front teeth strange to look at. The blue spirals tattooed on her cheeks were odd, but more endearing to him, as they had been placed to end in the center of her dimples when she smiled.

He'd learned this morning that all of the youngest elves he'd danced with last evening were not from Lenwë's clan, which was full of ancients. The younger elves were all visitors who had come for the solstice, and the Council, to mingle and hear the year's news.

"You are a quiet one," the chatty elf teased Thranduil, startling him from his thoughts.

"Forgive me," Thranduil murmured. The shapes behind the shield were moving; the elves at the cookfire were scrambling to finish their tasks. He wanted nothing more to see his father return unscathed, he told himself. But Rauwen would emerge from the circle, too. His heart beat a little faster at the thought.

"Oh, let him be," Fânien said, slapping the other elf on the arm. "His people have been through too much, it is a worry for him, can you not see? Take heart, Prince Thranduil, my people do not turn away kin in need, you will see."

Thranduil thought to himself that she might need to believe that was true on her own clan's account. She was as thin as most of the Sindar company was. She and hers had not been eating well of late, he thought. His people were not the only ones struggling in this new age.

The shield dissolved, falling to the ground like rain. Oropher's familiar baritone voice floated through the trees, speaking softly with Braignir, of all people. Thranduil frowned.

Rauwen flew out of the grove like an arrow, her face a stony mask. Thranduil stood up, walking towards her in alarm. He reached for his sword, only to remember that Lenwë's people were still holding it.

"What happened?" he said when she was close enough that he could speak quietly. "Something went badly," he guessed.

Rauwen scoffed, her voice coming out in a hiss. "Oh, not for you." She swerved, leaving him to twist around to watch her pass in confusion.

Rauwen's mother was right behind her. Thranduil shot Lavangwen a questioning look as she passed. Her eyebrows were pressed together.

"Ask your father," she said. And she was gone, running to catch her daughter.

Thranduil strode towards his father, who stepped away from Braignir to meet his son.

"Thranduil, calm yourself," Oropher whispered. "Get control of your face."

"What did you do?" Thranduil whispered back.

"Secured our future in this forest." Oropher said, irritated.

Thranduil looked over his shoulder at Rauwen. Her mother's arm was around her shoulders. Their heads were close together, speaking quietly.

Oropher sighed. "Yes, she is unhappy with me. We all had to make compromises today — us, too, son. Listen, I will explain more when I can, but it is long since time that I made you a Lieutenant. I need the clan leaders to know it, so the title is yours — now."

"But, Gilroch?" Thranduil stumbled.

"Gilroch is senior to you, that has not changed. Calling you 'Prince' implies things that we do not mean, I think. I will say more later, but prepare yourself."

"I am not even a Captain yet," Thranduil objected.

"You act as a Captain. Our people have followed you like a Captain since — well, you know. The title was not relevant, given your rank. Now it is."

Thranduil took a deep breath, thinking of what to ask next. So many questions. He didn't get a chance, for Braignir joined them.

"You will learn everything soon enough Prince Thranduil. It is the role of the Cyfarwyddion to make announcements after they have had a chance to deal with their own business. For now, we break bread together."

"'Lieutenant' will suffice when you address my son, Tywysog Braignir," Oropher said quickly, nodding at Thranduil. "The same as Sadrion and Fânien are called, if I translated that term correctly."

Braignir raised an eyebrow, but he nodded. "Yes, that is a good enough translation. Well then, Lieutenant. A person of your rank should eat with us at the leader's table."

Thranduil bowed and said nothing. Better to stay silent, until he could make sense of any of this.

He held his silence at the table, where he was seated beside his father on his right and Fânien on his left, with her parents beside her. He listened as Braignir offered his brother and law-sister half of his chestnut and hawthorn crops if their people would come and harvest them themselves. Iúlwen left her seat to speak to Celoman and Nimdes as well, quietly admonishing them for not asking for help with food earlier, and promising them assistance.

Thranduil felt the tension leave Lieutenant Fânien beside him. Relieved, she took to her supper with an enthusiasm he understood all too well. His people could survive on so little food, but at a certain point it began to hurt. He nodded at her when he noticed her looking.

"See?" she said to him, smiling. "We take care of our own here."

He returned her smile, but when she'd looked away again, he couldn't help but seek out Rauwen. Seated between Lavangwen and Lenwë, Rauwen appeared to listen, silent, as they both spoke to her, their voices so low Thranduil could not make out their words.

Thranduil made himself look away. He listened to the chatter around him while he ate, pushing past the queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He could not afford to push away food freely offered.

His father was speaking with Braignir again, asking questions about orcs, trolls, and defensive measures.

What had Oropher done?

When they'd finished eating and the shadows were beginning to stretch across the woodland floor, the magic shield that surrounded the Harpers' Guild fell, leaving the entrance to the sacred grove open for the first time all day.

Fânien gestured at Thranduil with her chin, so he rose with the others as they made their way into the sacred grove once more. This time, the crowd of curious Silvan elves that had grown as the day wore on joined them.

On the platform with Lenwë and Iúlwen's carven chairs, Cyfarwydd Emrys stood with Aewenfain at his side. The rest of the bards stood to either side of the dais.

Thranduil watched the ancient elf look out over the crowd, his eyes pausing over the group that formed around Tawaren and his sons. Rauwen and Lavangwen stood together, separate from them. Lenwë's people sorted themselves into their own circles, of which Thranduil could make no sense.

"Noswaith dda," Emrys said when the elves had gathered.

"Noswaith dda," the Silvans replied. Thranduil became nervous that this would all be conducted in the Silvan tongue, leaving him and his father in the dark.

But Emrys continued in Sindarin. "Another year has passed in our beloved Greenwood. Today our leaders have gathered and shared much. Our people to the west, under the leadership of our brave Tywysog Braignir and his warriors, have faced waves of orcs and trolls and have kept them at bay, for which we are all grateful. We thank you for protecting our borders, Tywysog Braignir."

Murmurs of gratitude rippled through the crowd.

"Our people who live with Tywysog Celoman and Tywysoges Nimdes have suffered hunger this past year. To them we all offer our sorrow, and our help. As we each are able, we will see to the feeding of your clan."

The Silvans hummed in sympathy. Thranduil saw Fânien take a deep, slow breath, but he could not tell what she was feeling. Was it shameful, among these wood elves, to ask for such assistance? Or was she relieved that her kin were there to help her people when they struggled?

Emrys continued. "Our population grows year by year. Tywysog Tawaren's clan approaches the time for a splitting. Lieutenant Sadrion will join him now to prepare to lead a new clan when it is time. Lieutenant Fânien will look to such a future as well, when she is called on, as we continue to grow."

Thranduil watched as Tawaren placed a hand on the shoulder of his grandson, who bore the same blue markings as his father. The younger elf glanced back at Braignir, who grinned with pride, flashing his sharp teeth; his son's smile reflected back at him. Between her parents, Fânien looked resolute, standing tall for the gathered Silvans to see.

They were strong, this family of Lenwë's, Thranduil thought to himself. The wood elves were not led by one king, but by a dynasty that supported each other, lending strength where it was needed. He'd only half listened to Erisdir's long winded explanations while they had walked north, but now he wished he'd paid closer attention.

"But we do not have to wait to welcome the next new clan to our forest," Emrys said. The grove grew quiet as he paused, scanning the crowd.

"For this year we welcome a clan unlike any that have joined our people before. Once, long ago, many of our people left this forest, following our beloved King Denethor to seek refuge with our kin in the Kingdom of Doriath, and they were welcomed there, and honored."

Thranduil heard whispers begin to rise from the crowd. He held his breath.

Emrys continued. "Today we do the same, welcoming the Sindar who have come seeking welcome and aid from us, not as strangers, but as kin. As kin we accept the clan of the Sindar into our Consortium under the leadership of their Tywysog Oropher, son of Olwë, and cousin to our Lord Lenwë."

Hushed voices buzzed all around him, some excited, some confused, some upset.

Emrys cleared his throat. "Oropher, son of Olwë, we charge you, as a Tywysog of our Consortium, to guard and to guide your people faithfully and well, to uphold your promises to give aid to all elves of this Greenwood as your own people, and to respect the will of this Council as you would respect the will of your liege lord. Do you so swear?"

"I do swear," Oropher agreed. "We are honored to join you, to learn from you, and to share that which we can to help this forest kingdom flourish."

"Then we welcome you," Emrys said, holding his arms wide, his hands lifted to the sky.

"We welcome you," the Silvans repeated, their replies off kilter and disjointed in their surprise. A few scattered cheers erupted.

Thranduil's heart was racing. Whatever he'd been expecting, it hadn't been this. His people would have a home again. His people would have a people again — they would be among kin. Not as neighbors, kept at arms' length, but as equals in this alliance of clans that stretched across the forest. It was everything they had hoped for. It was more.

His elation twisted when he thought of Rauwen. He turned to look at her where she stood, stone-faced beside her mother, her arms crossed over her chest. He couldn't understand why she begrudged them this. She'd been friendly to him. She'd been generous to all of them. He turned back, his food sitting heavy in his stomach.

"In its wisdom, this Council has granted the Sindar the territory beside Tywysoges Rauwen, in the southern region of this forest."

Thranduil felt his mouth going dry as he listened. He did not let himself look back at her again. The whispers behind him were buzzing.

"There, Tywysog Oropher and his clan will rebuild the hill fort at Amon Lanc."

Whatever Emrys said next was lost in an explosion of gasps and chatter. Thranduil turned towards Rauwen so quickly he felt his shoulders protest from twisting. She glanced at him, her eyes meeting his involuntarily, then snatched them away, but he'd seen her face and it was full of anger.

Oh, father, what have you done? he thought to himself.

"Quiet, please, quiet," Emrys said. "It is the hope of this Council that the Fort at Amon Lanc will serve us all, for the Sindar have blacksmiths among them, and know ways of growing food from which we can all benefit. The settlement may serve as a place of retreat in times of need as well. The Sindar are well-armed and have experience defending a keep which we did not when last we lived in Amon Lanc. This knowledge they will also share with Tywysog Braignir, in the hopes that they may assist his efforts in sending the orcs away for good.

"Your leaders will speak within your clans and send elves to assist in the building, as speed is essential for this project. That is all I shall say on that score for now.

"Now it is our custom that every clan should have at least one Cyfarwydd serving its people and sharing the wisdom of the ages with its leader. Our Guild has discussed at length and decided thus: I shall step down as first harper for this clan, and I shall go with Lord Oropher, for I remember the raising of Amon Lanc, and can advise best in that regard."

Thranduil heard Rauwen huff behind him. He risked a look at her and saw a gleam of dark amusement in her eyes. It seemed for all these pretty words about being welcomed in as trusted kin, his people were going to be watched over by someone of considerable influence. The head of the Guild himself would be at Oropher's side for every step of this venture.

He looked to his father, who was bowing to Emrys cordially; bowing low enough that only Thranduil, who was standing beside him and knew him well, was likely to see his jaw muscles working in irritation.

"You will be missed, dear Emrys," Iúlwen sighed. "But I can see the wisdom in this. No one knows Amon Lanc better than one who lived through its full history."

For the first time in this gathering, Aewenfain stepped forward to speak. "We trust Cyfarwydd Emrys will provide strong guidance in this venture, but he will not go alone."

This time Thranduil thought his father was beginning to look openly frustrated. It seemed two bards had not been the deal. He felt as though he was watching a landslide roar towards him, too fast to outrun.

But then Aewenfain gestured to Tuilinher, who stepped onto the stage, and Thranduil watched his father go from tense irritation to guarded curiosity.

Aewenfain smiled warmly at her student and presented her to the crowd. "I am pleased to say that my apprentice is an apprentice no longer: Journeyman Tuilinher shall take her first journey alongside Cyfarwydd Emrys and the Sindar clan, so she can help memorialize this unique undertaking in our people's history."

Aewenfain put a hand on Tuilinher's shoulder. "Go well, dear friend, on your journey to mastery. I have no doubt you will rise in our ranks as swiftly as the birds whose name you bear."

"Thank you, teacher," Tuilinher said, returning the gesture.

This time the group cheered together, without the confusion or nerves that had been building up like a gathering storm. Thranduil felt like he could breathe again as his father began clapping, smiling at Tuilinher and nodding agreeably.

These harpers were sharp, Thranduil realized. Thranduil had thought once or twice that the young bard might remind his father of Eluthel, the way he'd spoken to her. Erisdir and Aewenfain must have noticed as well. Certainly, Oropher would be more receptive to Tuilinher than Emrys.

Before the cheering had ceased, Lenwë joined the harpers on the dais.

"These are glad tidings to end our meeting with, for it is a rare day that another member is admitted to our esteemed Guild of Cyfarwydd," Lenwë said. The elves cheered again. "You have studied well, Tuilinher, and no doubt you shall continue to do so. May you guide our people for many ages to come."

Tuilinher curtsied at Lenwë, who turned to take something from the hands of an elf who had followed him.

"A gift, then, in honor of your promotion. A bard should have a fine instrument. I have nothing finer to give than this," he said. Reverently, he removed the silk wrappings in the hands of his servant and lifted Eluthel's flute. Thranduil breathed in sharply.

"I am told this flute was made by none other than the most famed windsmith in all of Menegroth, for one truly gifted musician — Lady Eluthel Elraëniel, Princess of Doriath."

Lenwë half turned so he could watch Oropher while he addressed Tuilinher. Thranduil's heart beat hard, watching his sister's instrument change hands.

"May it bring all those who hear you play it joy and comfort, and a reminder of the great works of which our people are capable."

Tuilinher accepted the flute with a knowing smile and curtsied to Lenwë, then Oropher, who bowed in return.

Thranduil finally realized what it meant: Eluthel's flute was coming home with them, in the hands of another young musician who would give it a new voice. Salt burned his eyes. Eluthel would have loved this.

"It has been a long and strange day, dear friends," Lenwë told the crowd. "Go now and gather with your people and rest. We will meet again next year and have many tales to share, I am certain."

The crowd began to drift away. Thranduil watched his father until Oropher turned and looked at him. Thranduil bowed his head. Oropher nodded and Thranduil could feel something he could remember from the days of his youth: spirit brushed spirit and he could feel, again, how fiercely his father loved him – how determined Oropher was to protect them all. Thranduil was filled with a sense of purpose. Together, they would rebuild. Their people would be whole again.

Nemirien approached, hovering a few paces away while father and son spoke without words.

Finally Oropher turned to her. "Healer, greetings."

She curtsied. "My Lady Iúlwen asked me to show you the lodging we have prepared for you. You will stay for at least one more night, will you not?"

"Certainly," Oropher said. "My thanks for the hospitality. There is much I must discuss with my new advisors. We may well stay a few nights, if our hosts do not object."

"I leave that to you to decide with them. But the beds are ready for you now and we have laundered your travel clothes for you, so they are fresh for your return journey."

Thranduil followed the ancient healer, his head still spinning with thoughts. The sweet smell of Rauwen's nightflower garland wafted by him as he passed her. A stab of regret twisted in his chest. If only he could speak with her! If only he could assure her that they would keep whatever promises his father had made to assist her people in preparing for this change.

But as he passed her, he heard her speaking and knew he would have no chance until they met again in the south: in their homes, side by side.

Oropher met him at the edge of the grove, giving him another fleeting brush of spirit."We will endeavor to be good neighbors to her people, son. She will forgive us after a while."

(*)

Rauwen wanted to leave. She wanted to fly away, to sail above the canopy home to her own people.

She needed to breathe air she was not sharing with all these people, watching her every expression for signs. She needed to think her own thoughts so she could prepare herself to move forward on this path she did not want to tread, but which she must.

"Rauwen-fach," Her mother whispered, standing close so others could not hear. "Walk home with us. We can speak on the way and help you plan. There are some opportunities in this, at least, and nothing that cannot be overcome, so long as you keep your head."

Rauwen shook her head. "I need quiet. I need to think. Most of all, I must reach home with as much time as possible before Oropher can catch me, so I can prepare my people. Thank you, mother, but I cannot wait."

She felt surer with every word she said. "I am leaving tonight. Now."

"Alone?" Lavangwen said, surprised.

Rauwen nodded. "Yes. Yes, that is what I need."

Her mother shook her head and frowned. Her eyes darted to Erisdir, who was waiting a polite distance away beside the dais.

"At least take your Cyfarwydd, if you are so concerned with preparing your people. Ah – no – I speak as your mother for a moment. I will not let you run into the night forest alone and distracted. Take Erisdir, or wait until tomorrow and go with me as far as my border."

Lenwë had been approaching them slowly. "Forgive me for listening, granddaughter, my nightflower. My heart aches that this was done against your wishes, but it is done, and I must agree with your mother. If you can wait even a little, I will have my people prepare travel provisions for you and your bard so you can move swiftly home."

Rauwen swallowed, her eyes turned down. She was being entrusted with so much. Her mother and grandfather still saw a young one who needed help, but she needed to show them it was not so. She would handle Oropher. She would see it done.

"How soon could they make such provisions ready?" Rauwen said, infusing her voice with strength.

Lenwë sighed. "Give us two hours, if you must go tonight. But I wish you would stay."

Rauwen turned towards the dais, meeting Erisdir's eyes squarely. "Cyfarwydd, make ready. We are leaving in two hours. I expect us to travel as swiftly as we are able, and quietly."

To his credit, Erisdir did not argue. He bowed to her. "Yes, Tywysoges. I will be ready, and we will go."

She pretended not to see the look pass between her mother and her advisor as she turned and left the grove to find her belongings.

(*)

Notes:

Hello and happy Saturday! I don't know when the next update will be, but I'm working through the next chapter at a decent clip. I may make it by the next normal two week mark. As I'm now working without a backlog, I'll do the best I can. Writing energy has been feast or famine for me lately. I love hearing your thoughts, it helps keep me going!

We are now over the hump, so to say - the question hanging over everyone's heads has been answered, and now Rauwen's clan and the Sindar will get to build their future together. Thranduil's newly born interest in Rauwen will have to contend with the realities of their peoples' new partnership, but he simply cannot stop looking for her. I am excited to start *really* bringing them together in the next few chapters.

(I am sorry the last chapter was so long. I will try to keep them more reasonable going forward! That was just a big one I'd been working towards.)

Aewenfain refers to Tuilinher's name being associated with birds in this passage. Her name means 'friend/lover of the swallows' (as best I understand it.)