(*)

Thranduil had one eye on Rauwen's back, and one on the sky. The air felt cold and wet, like it was going to dump freezing rain on them.

"It is getting dark," he said. "I would not have thought it could be that late."

"It is not as late as it looks," Rauwen said. She paused and looked up through the tree branches. "We are nonetheless running out of time. Look – the first snow of the year."

"It is early for that, surely?" Thranduil said.

Rauwen growled. "It is early, which is the last thing we all need. But do not fool yourself about the climate here. We see snow in winter. We really should return to our homes while we can. Our quarry is moving away from our settlements, not closer."

"I do not wish to leave it to suffer and die," Thranduil said. "That is not how I was taught to hunt."

Rauwen sighed. She spotted more blood on a leaf and motioned that he should be silent and follow her. They crept through the dim trees, the tracks so fresh now that they expected to find the deer around every turn. Where the pines thinned, snow was beginning to fall to the forest floor.

Finally, on the far side of the creek, Rauwen motioned for him to come look through a gap in the branches. She'd found it, or, what was left of it. Thranduil swallowed when he saw it. The wolves would not have had much time with the deer, but they had ripped it to shreds nonetheless.

Stay alert, Rauwen signaled with one of the hand signs she'd taught him.

Thranduil nodded. He secured his bow to his back and loosened his sword, in case he needed to use it quickly.

Rauwen waved Thranduil closer, so he could look through the gap with her. She whispered in his ear, so close he could feel her breath tickling his hair.

"Is that your arrow?" She pointed to the side of the bloodied remains of the deer.

Thranduil looked and nodded. Rauwen nodded, her face somber, and turned to leave.

Thranduil hesitated. He thought he could feel something alive nearby. He stretched out his fëa to search the area — a trick his mother had taught him. On the far side of the doe's remains, he found it. Whatever it was, it was scared and confused.

He reached out and grabbed Rauwen's elbow before she could get too far. She stopped suddenly and gave him a questioning look. He signaled that she should follow him.

She whispered in his ear again. "We have stayed here too long as it is. We will be hard pressed to reach home."

Thranduil shook his head. He wished he could show her, spirit touching spirit, but he did not dare reach out to her in such an intimate way. Instead, he began picking through the trees towards the source of the feeling. He knew she would follow, likely scowling at his back as she did.

He took care to be silent, and keep all his senses alert for the return of the wolves. Rauwen poked his arm, but he just gestured forward with his head.

When he'd finally reached the thick fir tree where the scared thing was hiding, the snow was falling harder, accumulating in drifts where tree cover was lightest. The boughs of the pine trees were dusted with white, making the whole forest seem to glow in the dark. He brushed a clump of snow off a branch.

Thranduil spoke in low tones as he moved the branches aside, whispering words in Quenya that his cousin Finrod had taught him to calm spooked horses. It had never seemed to matter if they understood Quenya or not. The words themselves held power.

Under the tree, looking up at them, shivering, a young deer looked up at them, eyes wide. It began to stumble to its feet, but Thranduil repeated his words of comfort, and the fawn let him approach. He let it smell him. It balked at the dried wolf blood on his clothes, so he brushed it with his spirit, conveying a powerful sense of safety. It nuzzled his hand.

Thranduil felt like his heart was going to break. "I killed your mother," he whispered. He brushed his hand over a few fading white spots on its back. It was only a child.

He felt Rauwen's hand on his shoulder. "It must have been born late in the season," she whispered. "But it is old enough to survive on its own. Leave it, Thranduil. We need to get away from here. The wolves may return."

"They will kill it," he protested.

"We might kill it if we were out hunting," Rauwen said.

Thranduil glared at her.

She squeezed his shoulder. "It is the way of things, I am sorry. Nature can be harsh. We need to go. I think we should find shelter for the night. It is too dark now, and we will leave footprints in all this snow."

Thranduil couldn't move. The fawn stepped forward and pressed its face against him. He closed his eyes and waited while a sudden wave of grief washed over him. He thought about where they were, out in the forest alone, in the snow, in the dark, with ferocious wolves of Morgoth roaming about. What could he do to help this poor creature?

Thranduil pictured his map of the Sindar territory in his mind, trying to figure out where they were. If they could just leave the fawn somewhere safer… He imagined tracing a finger down the creek that they'd left only a little way behind them.

He looked over his shoulder at Rauwen. "I think I know where we can go," he said. "But I am taking it with us."

Rauwen stood and crossed her arms, staring at him. He rose. The fawn pushed its nose into his thigh.

"It will leave tracks," Rauwen hissed.

"So will we."

"I was going to bring us through the tree branches, off the ground."

"We need to follow the creek anyway. When we get to it, we can wade downstream. No prints."

"It is freezing!"

Thranduil shrugged. "We are already wet. When we get to the cave, we can get dry."

Rauwen narrowed her eyes. "Cave?"

"It was empty not three days ago. Sûlwen said so herself. She suggested if we wanted to use it, we ought to claim it quickly."

The fawn whimpered. Rauwen sighed. She put her hand under its jaw, holding it firmly, but not harshly. Thranduil felt an odd sensation ripple through his spirit. The fawn looked up at her with wide, trusting eyes and was silent.

"Come on, then," she whispered. "Let us find this cave."

She led them back to the creek, leading the fawn behind her, with Thranduil following. She shuddered when she stepped into the frigid water, shooting Thranduil a look over her shoulder as she did.

The fawn balked, but she coaxed it after her. It minced through the stream, picking its feet up high to keep them out of the cold water.

"He has more sense than you, Lieutenant," she grumbled.

Thranduil shrugged. He was very careful not to wince when he stepped into the stream, although the cold seeping into his boots stung.

He was so intent on picking his way over slippery rocks and finding the truffle clearing that he forgot to look for a shelter where they could leave the fawn. When they got to the clearing, he pointed up at the gaping mouth of the cave, high on the side of the rocks.

"We cannot get this one up there," Rauwen said.

"I meant to look for a safe place to leave him on the way," Thranduil admitted. He looked around and pointed at a thick clump of scrubby pines a few paces into the forest. "Under there."

Rauwen looked skeptical. She motioned that he should wait, then scaled the rock face. After carefully probing the entrance, she crawled inside and disappeared.

A few minutes later, she poked her head out and leaned down, beckoning Thranduil over. "Come around the side," she whispered, pointing to one end of the rocks.

He went around. The fawn followed him, not wanting to leave his side.

He didn't know what he was looking for until the branches of a twisted hornbeam against the rocks began moving. His hand flew to his sword, but he heard Rauwen's voice.

"Here," she said.

He got closer and saw there was another opening to the cave, hidden behind the back of the hornbeam.

"We cannot bring the silly thing inside, but hide it under this bush and then we can at least keep an eye on him," she said.

She whispered a few words in the Silvan language. Thranduil encouraged the fawn with more Quenya, and between them, they got it duck behind the hornbeam, up against the stone.

"Go and gather some firewood where the pines are thick, there will be less snow to leave prints in," Rauwen told Thranduil. "I will come help."

"Is there enough space for a fire in there?" he asked, but she'd disappeared. The curious fawn stuck its face into the hole after her. Thranduil chuckled as he saw her hand reach back out to scratch the muzzle of the little deer. Content, he made his way to the front side of the rock to do as she'd asked. Soon enough, she was beside him. They gathered sticks and a few logs together in silence.

With their firewood slung over their shoulders, bound with their belts, the two elves scaled the craig. Rauwen slipped inside the cave first.

Thranduil peered over the edge, unsure of what to expect. Just inside the entrance, there was a cramped space, scattered with dry leaves. He grimaced. He would fit inside, but he'd have to crawl. Definitely not enough room for a fire. There was a dark space at the back, where Rauwen disappeared as he watched.

He followed her, easing through the space onto a stone ledge, and then a sudden drop. He realized the hill was almost entirely hollow. Rauwen was moving below him in dim light. He jumped down and some sprinkles of snow drifted down on him. He glanced up, looking for holes overhead.

"Yes," Rauwen said. "This is a big cave, but it is not a dry cave, which explains why it is not occupied. It is still damp from yesterday's rain. I hope a small fire will dry out the cave and our clothes, and keep us from losing our toes."

She was crouching, arranging some rocks in a circle on the same side as the fawn. The little creature's face was poking inside. Thranduil approached it, chuckling. It bleated piteously when it saw him.

"What are you complaining about?" he said softly.

Rauwen snorted. "I imagine it has never seen snow before, and it is likely hungry. It ought to be able to eat some of that hornbeam bark, though."

"Poor creature," Thranduil said. He thought the fawn was having a particularly bad day, having lost its mother and now freezing in the snow. He took off his cloak and reached out the hole in the rock, arranging his cloak over the branches outside to shelter the deer better. He whispered in Quenya, bidding it to rest easy for the night.

"You will spoil it," Rauwen said. "It needs to survive in the wild when we leave tomorrow."

Thranduil turned and saw her rubbing a stick between her hands, working to get a spark going.

"I have a flint and steel," he said. She glanced up at him and shrugged. She kept working at her stick.

"Oh? How much longer will your steel last?" she asked.

Before he could answer, Thranduil felt his mother's mind seeking his. He'd wondered when she'd look for him again. He'd already waved her off in the morning, but now it was getting late. A mother with a mind like Elraënor's was hard to hide from.

Ion nín, where are you? She asked. You said you would return when you caught your quarry.

Forgive me, Lady Mother, he answered. It has been a strange day. I will not return tonight because of the snow, but you need not worry on my behalf. I am with Tywysoges Rauwen.

Thranduil felt his mother hesitate. He thought he caught a whiff of amusement in her mind.

Are you? Elraënor asked. How unexpected.

I – yes, Thranduil thought. We fought off some wolves together. They caught the scent of the deer I wounded. I think she is right that we will need to do something about the pack without delay. I will brief you all when I return.

You are not hurt? Elraënor asked, any hint of amusement gone.

I am not. Lady Rauwen has some superficial wounds. I was concerned for her – the blood of those wolves is like orc blood. Her wound needed cleaning, but we have attended to it. Now we have taken shelter from the storm and will wait it out.

Well, that is not an encouraging report. I am glad nothing worse happened, Elraënor thought.

"Thranduil!" Rauwen's voice interrupted his thoughts. He looked at her in surprise. The fire was going at her feet, letting off a strong smell of pine smoke.

"What happened? All of a sudden you looked like you had gone into reverie," she said, looking him over with concern.

"My mother was searching for me. Osanwë…" he said.

"Ah," Rauwen said.

Thranduil could feel his mother watching through his eyes, although he'd told her before, as politely as he could, that he did not like it when she did so.

"Would you please ask the good Lady Elraënor to pass on a message to my Cyfarwydd, then?" Rauwen said. "Better not to have my clan worrying because I have not returned."

I will see to it, Elraënor said, not bothering to let Thranduil tell her the message. She ignored his annoyance. Kindly convey my well wishes to Lady Rauwen. I hope her wound does not pain her too much.

I will. Mother, I am sorry I left so suddenly this morning. I should not have run off, Thranduil thought. He had some explaining to do, and he knew it.

It seems as though it is working itself out, Elraënor said. We will speak of it more when you return.

Father will be angry with me, Thranduil thought with apprehension.

I do not think he will, Elraënor thought. You were upset. He will understand.

Thranduil thought she was trying to hide her amusement this time, which was odd. She generally would not try, she would succeed.

Look after each other, dear. Stay safe. You will return to us when it is time, I have no doubt, Elraënor thought, and withdrew suddenly.

Thranduil frowned. His mother was behaving strangely. He tried to think of what it might mean.

"Well?" Rauwen said. She was near the fire, unlacing her soaked tunic. "Your eyes are no longer a hundred leagues away. Has she gone?"

Thranduil cleared his throat. "Yes. She will speak to your bard, as you asked. She wished me to share her sympathies about your wound. She hopes you are not in pain."

Rauwen looked down at her shoulder. "What did you tell her? It is only a flesh wound. Now that it is clean, it will be gone in a few days."

Thranduil shook his head. "I said as much. My mother was being polite," he said.

Rauwen nodded, and shrugged her tunic off. Her damp undershirt stuck to her skin.

"Come sit by this fire and warm up," she told Thranduil. "We need to dry off or we will freeze."

Rauwen shucked off her shoes and began tugging at her leggings. Thranduil looked away. He thought the strangest things about his neighboring clan leader sometimes. It made him feel… odd.

He approached the fire, but saw few good places to sit. Rauwen was in the only really flat, dry spot. She saw him searching and patted the spot next to her. She was just in her shirt, which she'd arranged to hang loose over her lap. He could still see her bare legs.

"What are you waiting for?" she said, giving him a curious look. "Get out of your wet clothes already. You can set them to dry on that rock shelf." She pointed.

Thranduil hesitated, then did as she said. If it were Gilroch, or Meldisser, or even Tuilinher, he would not behave so timidly, he chided himself.

He pulled his tabard off and set it out to dry near the fire. He worked off his boots, tossing them to the side of the fire where he hoped the wood smoke would cover any smell they let off, soaking wet as they were.

He was working on removing his leggings, looking decidedly downward, when she spoke again.

"That is better," she said. "We could not have the Prince of Doriath losing toes to frostbite or I would have to answer to…" her voice trailed off.

Thranduil had frozen where he was standing. She would have to answer to his father. Of course. None of this was personal, he would be a fool to think otherwise. He felt like he'd swallowed a stone. She'd had to come save him, or her difficulties with her Sindar neighbors would only get worse.

He gathered his wits and finished stripping off the worst of his soaked clothes. As she'd said, this was necessary and practical. Any good soldier would do so in their circumstances. Half of them would lounge around naked and make a joke out of it.

He smoothed out his face and turned, searching for a seat that was not elbow-to-elbow with his father's most important and tentative political ally while they were shivering and damp in their shirts.

"Thranduil," Rauwen said.

"Yes, Tywysoges?"

Her face fell. "I – forgive me, please. I meant to jest, but that was in poor taste, I can see."

She scooted over, leaving as much space as she could in the flat area. Reluctantly, seeing nowhere else to sit, he folded himself tightly into the space in front of the fire, tucking his shirt carefully around him.

He glanced at Rauwen. She was staring into the fire, frowning slightly.

"Thranduil, I must apologize to you. The last time we were here, in the clearing, I spoke harshly to you, and I regretted it. It was not your fault that Sûlwen shouted. I love her, but no one knows better than I that she forgets herself sometimes."

Thranduil looked into the fire, avoiding her eyes. He'd thought about that day in the clearing for hours. Just that morning, he'd run off into the forest, simmering in resentment after thinking about it all night.

She tried again. "You have been doing very well, and not just in woodcraft. You have gained the confidence of my people, perhaps more than any other leader in your clan. I – it has been a relief to me, knowing that I will be able to leave the leadership of more hunting and gathering parties to you very soon."

She poked the fire with a stick, turning a log that had begun to let off black smoke from some bubbling pitch.

"The truth is that I need your help," she said quietly. "I cannot be in three places at once, but it often feels that I am needed everywhere, and everything is important."

Thranduil turned to look at her, looking for any signs that this was some attempt to maneuver him, although he didn't think that was her way. Her face looked too uncomfortable for that. She had swallowed her pride to share that admission with him.

"I wish to help you, and both our people," he said finally. "I – understand why you were upset about the noise. I have thought often about what you said when my father announced all of this. There is indeed much to lose if we err in judgment."

Rauwen released a sudden, shuddering sigh.

He looked away so she could gather herself.

His eyes ranged to his hated boots, which were so very close to the fire that they might finally burn so he could be rid of them. But he had nothing to replace them, and he'd have to walk home in the snow. He leaned over and shoved them further from the flame.

"Thranduil," Rauwen said. He looked back at her, and their eyes finally caught. "Are your boots from Menegroth?"

He nodded, apprehensive. She'd caught him glaring at them too often. "I got them when I joined the marchwardens, after the Girdle of Melian fell, and we needed to protect our borders. They were made to last."

"Those stains," she said slowly. Thranduil recoiled without meaning to. He stared at her, feeling sick.

She hesitated, but did not back away. "Whose blood is it?"

He sucked in a deep breath of smoky air, which made him cough. She kept watching him, waiting for him to answer, or steer her away.

"I cannot say for certain," he finally said. He refused to look at the boots again. He looked into the fire instead.

Rauwen nodded, seeming to think. "You do not need to speak of this to me if you do not want to," she said.

He nodded, silent. He could hear her breathing, so close beside him.

"Whose blood do you think it is?" she asked.

He closed his eyes. He swallowed. But in the dark cave, with no one else watching or listening, he found he wanted to answer. She might actually understand.

"My sister's husband," he whispered. "Talgannor, my law-brother."

Rauwen poked the fire. He could see her nodding slowing out of the corner of his eye.

"Your father said he died in the Noldor attack on Menegroth," she said carefully.

Thranduil nodded. His heart was beating too fast. His eyes burned.

"When your father told us the tale of your people, I remember thinking there was more to the story of that day than he said. He bragged about your fight–"

"I wish he would not," Thranduil spat.

Rauwen raised her eyebrows at him. "So what happened? Did you not fight off the sons of Fëanor?"

Thranduil scoffed. "I fought them, but I chased them nowhere. I am only alive because it amused them make me fight for my life and the lives of my family, all the while showing me that they could defeat me at any moment. Their entertainment cost them, because it gave my father time to find us. They found the fight harder when they were not fighting two against one, and they ran."

Rauwen growled. "Kinslayers! They have no honor. And yet, your fight bought you time, and that saved your sister, did it not?"

Thranduil shuddered. "It saved her from death, but not from sorrow. Talgannor died in her arms before our eyes."

"He tried to help you fight them?"

Thranduil hesitated. Did he want her to know of this? He'd never spoke of it to his parents, out of shame. For the same reason, he'd kept it from his friends, his fellow fighters… Eluthel had known. She'd seen everything as it happened and then avoided his eyes for days.

He shouldn't tell Rauwen — a rival of his father's in many ways. But she'd kept his secret about the net, even if she'd almost ruined it when she'd lost her temper. The desire to purge himself of the story was overwhelming. Rauwen was a good leader at heart, but like him, she was young. Like him, she'd earned her wisdom with blood.

Rauwen paid attention to the fire, seeming to accept he'd said as much as he was willing to say.

"When I first saw our assailants, I hesitated," Thranduil said. His words spilled out quickly, before he could change his mind. "I could not believe they meant to attack us. While I stood there gaping, he knocked my sword from my hands. Talgannor should have stayed hidden, but instead he came to my defense. While I regained my weapon, they struck him down. He was only a harper, Rauwen, not a fighter. The knife he carried was hardly more than a table knife – a decorative thing, with a real silver blade and gems on the hilt. I should have been defending him, but instead my mistake cost him his life, and cost my sister her happiness."

Rauwen was settled back into her seat. She'd turned to rest on one hip so she faced him while he spoke. When he finished, she looked away for a moment, thinking.

His heart pounded as silence followed his confession.

She turned her face towards him again, her face serious and sad. "I would be hard pressed to call aversion to striking down another elf a 'mistake'. It is so unthinkable… or it was still, then. How could you have known they would kill you in cold blood, without so much as a complaint against you?"

Thranduil shook his head. "Still, I let down my guard. A 'beginner's mistake' you accused yourself of just this afternoon. It was clear they had been stalking us. My inexperience cost Talgannor his life."

Rauwen's face was twisted in a small frown. "He chose to defend you, his wife's beloved brother. What might he have thought of himself if he had not done so?"

Thranduil stared at her. He swallowed.

"He knew you were the better fighter. Had you fallen, there would have been no one between your sister and those villains. Surely he knew his actions would allow you to recover your weapon? It was the only thing he could do to ensure she was protected."

She watched Thranduil. She said her next words carefully.

"Have you considered that in blaming yourself, you dishonor his choice?"

"I …" He found he didn't want her to see him shedding tears.

"There are some terrible days…" she said. "Some terrible days after which there is nothing to do but take care to remember the painful lessons they delivered."

Thranduil nodded, not trusting himself to speak, lest his voice crack.

"I gather you did not hesitate when they attacked your people again?"

Thranduil let out a bark of angry laughter. His heart hurt, as though he'd been kicked in the chest.

"No?" she said, surprised. "I missed your father's recount of your part in the fight at Sirion, but I cannot imagine that is untrue."

"Oh, it is true," Thranduil said bitterly. "You missed nothing. Even my father cannot find a way to brag about my conduct that day."

Rauwen paused. "I cannot imagine what you mean."

"My father cannot brag of how I fought in Sirion, because I did not join the fight."

"Were you not there?"

"I was there."

"Then, what? If you told me that you hid out of fear, I would not believe you."

Thranduil shook his head. He should stop speaking. But part of him was starting to think she had a right to know just who she proposed to entrust the protection of her people to.

"We were at home in our hall, with our full household, and even a few neighbors. Eluthel was performing for us. I was the first to see the smoke, and the fire rising from the far end of the settlement. My mother found my father's mind. He had been meeting with our Lady Elwing. He told us it was the Fëanorians again.

"I wanted to go fight them. I wanted to rip their guts open and watch them die in agony for everything they'd taken from us, and still, they returned to destroy us.

"But there were many people in our hall that night, and very few were good fighters. Our hall had its back against the sea cliffs. I knew the tide was halfway in, and there was a large rock — when the tide was in, it became an island that could not be reached. But when the tide was out, the water was so shallow, you could walk out to it. I thought we could make it if we ran.

"I forbid the two guards at our gate from leaving and I had my mother lead us down to the beach. We barely made it out to the rocks before the water rose. Even then, the guards insisted that we fighters should go and join the battle, now that the civilians had been made safe.

"Still, I would not allow it. I thought … I thought if morning came and our foes were waiting on the shore to purge the last of my people, then the three of us would have to make a stand in the shallows.

"But I was wrong. We should have joined the fight. I do not know if three more of us might have changed what happened. But maybe we could have helped. I have never felt more shame than I did the next day, walking around the burned and bloody settlement with a clean sword."

Thranduil stopped with a shudder. He slumped back against the cold, wet stone behind him. He felt like he'd just vomited, although all that had come out of him was words.

Rauwen took a deep breath in and released it. The only sound was the crackling of the fire. A puff of snow fell from the roof into the flame, hissing.

Finally, Rauwen spoke. "How many people were in the hall with you that night?"

Thranduil glanced at her and looked down at his hands.

"Thirty-six, including myself and the guards," he said quietly.

"Thirty-six! And every one of them was unharmed?"

Thranduil nodded. "The sea protected them. They did not need me. I should have gone."

"They are all here with you in the Greenwood now," she said. Her eyes raked over him. "I am right, I know it. A full third of your Sindar clan lives because you protected them by acting quickly."

Thranduil frowned. "Eluthel is not with us. Neither of the guards I forced to stay followed us."

"And the rest?" Rauwen asked, one eyebrow raised.

He sighed. "They are here," he admitted.

"As I thought," she said with a knowing nod. "Of course they are. I would be."

"I was afraid," he admitted in a whisper. "I told myself I stayed to protect them, but part of me was afraid."

"You would be a fool to have no fear at the edge of a battle," Rauwen said. "And you are not a fool, Thranduil Oropherion. I see that very clearly."

He shook his head, beginning to feel upset. She did not understand. He must not have explained it well.

"You wanted revenge, too," Rauwen said. "But you did not indulge that desire, did you? You did your duty in the best way you could, even though it was not glorious."

She tapped a finger on her arm. "What did your father say about it?"

Thranduil closed his eyes. "When I returned, he said 'I am glad it worked.' We have not spoken about it again. He is ashamed of me."

Rauwen growled. "It would be stupid to be ashamed of you for making a strategic retreat! And if I have learned my own hard lessons his year, it is that your father is not stupid, either."

Thranduil shook his head. "He did not make me a Lieutenant until your Council forced his hand. He could not yet be sure that I would make better choices if he entrusted our people to my care."

Rauwen scoffed. "It is easy to look back in time and decide what you might have done differently had you known more, but that is the thing — you cannot know more more than you do when you decide. That is what makes being a leader hard."

"It is cruel of him to let you think this," Rauwen said, her words bursting out suddenly. There was an edge of anger in her voice. "From what you say, your choices in each moment seem sound to me.

"That is what my mother made me see when she was training me to become a clan leader in my own right, you know. After every fight, every choice, we would look back, moment by moment to see if a better choice might have been made — without the benefit of hindsight.

"Your father should have done this for you. How you are meant to learn well without proper guidance, I cannot imagine. What? Are you meant to just watch and absorb knowledge like a plant drinks water?"

Thranduil made himself close his mouth, realizing he'd been gaping at her.

"You are too hard on yourself. As painful as it is, we are all bound to make mistakes, especially while learning something new. It does not mean you are incompetent by any stretch of the imagination."

"I —" he stuttered. He was caught between wanting to defend his father and how much he savored her words. Still… "He has not had time to teach me gently. We trained together for many years on the practice courts in Menegroth, but once it became real, the stakes were very high, very fast. In such a position, our mistakes can be so costly. That is why he — I — cannot afford to tolerate my own errors. Why should our people follow me, if I avoid a fight like a coward, or hesitate when I should be on guard?"

"Yet they do," Rauwen said. "If they trust you and they see that you let each painful lesson strengthen your wisdom. And you did not run out of cowardice, stop saying that."

She paused, seeming to think about what she would say next. She gave him a nervous glance, then steeled herself and faced him squarely.

"Early in my time as leader of my own clan, I thought they would throw me over and return to my mother," she said.

"No!" Thranduil gasped. "But — you are… you. The 'true Prince of the Greenwood."

Rauwen groaned. "There was a time I was proud of that legend, but it has its own costs. And yes, it is true. The first time we encountered wolves, I was overconfident. I was loathe to leave our very first settlement, on my mother's border. So, when we first saw signs of wolves in autumn, I convinced my clan that we should not move so close to winter. We could have done it. It would not have been impossible, and I can see looking back that it would have been better. When we saw wolves again, a few years ago, I did not hesitate to abandon our village.

"But back then, I did not yet know better. So we stayed, and all winter we were harassed by those creatures. Many of my clan learned to fight when they had never had to before. And it still was not enough. They snuck into our village one night and attacked us. They pulled a baby from his cradle and killed him. I lost elves. My people were wounded, and the sanctity of our home, destroyed."

Thranduil listened to her and his heart ached. "My mother said she met a member of your clan who bears scars from wolves' teeth."

Rauwen nodded. "Faoiltiarna. It was her baby that was killed. Her fëa cannot heal the wounds of her body because the grief is too great. I think of the weight of my choices often when I see her pain."

"Can you forgive yourself for your errors?" Thranduil asked.

"I grieve them, but I do not let them fester," Rauwen answered. She laughed, which was puzzling.

"My dear mother would not indulge me if I bemoaned my own mistakes too long. I resolve to take their lessons and move forward. I owe my people no less, since they have given me their trust. The rest of that winter I relied heavily on Erisdir's guidance, and his ability to communicate with my mother's clan. I thought once they could, they would all flee back to her. But we survived. We moved our village for the first time. And none of them left me. Not even Faoiltiarna."

"It is no wonder," Thranduil murmured. Listening to her made him want to rise to whatever greatness might be in his blood. She even made it seem possible. "I hope one day that I will be able to call myself as able a leader as you are, my Lady. You are an inspiration."

Rauwen leaned closer to him. She put her hand on his arm and looked him in the eye. He felt warm down into his toes

"Hear my words, Thranduil Oropherion — I am confident in the leader you will become. I am confident in the leader you already are. I told my mother as much many months ago, on our journey north.

"If I have given you any other impression, I am sorry. If I have been too hard on you, it is only because I wish to see you meet your very great potential. Forgive me for that, please. Of all the Sindar, there is no one I trust more than you. We are equals, you and I — equals in spirit, if not in title. Yet." She winked at him.

Hesitantly, still unused to the physical ways the Silvans communicated with those close to them, he put his hand over hers. She squeezed his arm. They smiled at each other, side by side in the firelight.

A spark popped, flying out of the fire and onto Rauwen's cloak, where it began to sizzle and smoke.

"Ai!" she shouted and leapt up to save her clothes. Thranduil couldn't help but laugh.

(*)

Notes

Hello and happy Saturday! The next chapter will go up May 3rd. Next Saturday, April 26th, I will be posting a one shot about the third kinslaying from Thranduil's PoV. Untested, which is already published, tells the story of the second kinslaying from his PoV. Some of you may have read it already!

Yay, we're finally here! These two have so much in common and I am soooooo excited that being snowed in is finally getting them alone, away from All That, where they can discover how true that is. :D

I really hope you enjoy! I always love hearing your thoughts. 3