Lullaby

They watched from the shadows of the skeletal trees. Two forms, both with different perspectives on the horses passing by, and what the Noldorin gifts meant for the forest realm. Until now, Noldorin influences had been steadfastly rejected and banned. The dead king had refused, his whole reasoning for being in this forest, to escape those same cursed elves.

But Noldorin blood coursed through the veins of their allies now, and they were bound to be affected.

Such a small king and his people, could they stand against that which was heralded by the Prince’s return upon such steeds?

-----

“We will need a stable man, Master Galion, but who! Who here among us knows what a stable entails?” The ellon threw his hands up in exasperation. The horse that had borne the messenger either roamed free in the courtyard or around the entrance of the gates, pestering any who dared come near it. “It is too cold to let it roam free, and we have no place or food or anything. And if what we are to believe is true, they are bringing a whole army of the creatures home with them! Its winter, where shall we find the means to house these creatures?”

“True, the Sylvans are not accustomed to keeping such creatures, but our returning lords could surely help us, having spent a decade among those who do.” Galion allowed a small smile to curve his lips. “And perhaps there are a few among us here who remember the Noldorin stables of Beleriand.”

Galion’s assistant stopped in his path and dropped his hands to his side, and the elder of the two reached out and touched the younger’s shoulder.

“We will manage, Saelbeth.” Galion removed his hand from his cousin’s shoulder and smiled. The younger was his relation, but he had only met him upon returning to the Green Woodland. But that they were related was no mystery. The same silver hair and deep turquoise eyes, the sign of Galion’s father. “Go and prepare the rooms for those who return. Leave the horses to me.”

------

Hooves pounded the earth, kicking up snow and mud on land not tainted by blood and ever holding its breath for their return. Ellyn posted at the gates--ornately carved things of beauty in deep dark wood--stood and cried out joyously, heralding the arrival of the Prince�of the battered remnants of their loved ones returned.

Amrun sensed her son�s spirit long before the cries of her people echoed through the corridors of the Caverns. To say that her heart was overwhelmed with joy would have been a lie, for she did not instantly rise from her chair. Alone in her room, having banished away all for a moment of peace with her torment, Amrun stared in her mirror at the shell that was her body. Even in the silver and gold work of the frame, Oropher had shown his crest, the Beech tree. Two trees that grew along the oval, their branches and roots entwining respectfully at the top and bottom. He had claimed that the gift and image were his confession and honor to their love.

�But what in all of Melkor�s hells could they mean now, Oropher,� she whispered to her reflection. Someone pounded on her door, someone not Galion, for he would have merely entered, his soft voice telling her to come, for Galion would know that she already knew of her son�s presence. Just as she had known of her husband�s death ten years before.

Standing, she walked to her balcony, that which used to be her son�s. It overlooked the courtyard. Down below the gates were wide open, and there stood, on their snorting creatures, those that were left, mostly Sindar as most of the Sylvans had remained in the forest with their tribesmen.

Her heart was instantly in her throat, and tears at her eyes even after she had thought none were left.

Less than a third returned. Less than that. The cries of joy were quickly replaced with the murmurs of lament that escalated to wails of sorrow, as mothers, father, wives and children, siblings and lovers finally confirmed what they had long felt. Amrun knew she was not the only one to feel death, the wind�s whispered message through the decade.

Just as the sorrowful spirit of her people filled her, Amrun caught a glimpse of Thranduil among them. His golden hair, like her own, flashed out among the silver and dark of the Sindar and Sylvans. A mother�s will to comfort her child, outweighed all else.

He was searching the faces in the courtyard, looking for her, Amrun saw. And she was not down there. Galion was, his arm reaching for the son of his closest friend, embracing, whispering in Thranduil�s ear. Two sets of eyes slowly rose to meet hers upon the balcony.

She disappeared in swirl of silver and blue silk, her feet flying over the stone of the Caverns till she came to the doors to the palace. They were propped open, letting in the winter wind. The courtyard was solemn despite the entirety of the population gathered there.

But she sought only her son, those blue eyes that reminded her of Oropher�s with every flash and glint of light. That golden hair that had been nothing but fuzzy tufts the day he was born.

Galion stepped aside the moment she reached them, a fluid motion and perfectly timed as she had not paused and encircled her babe with her arms, cradling him against her bosom as if she expected him to seek comfort there.

But Thranduil released only a slight breath of air against her ear and a whispered �mother.� She felt his heart beating, her own pounding in her chest. The babe towered over her, he supporting her, comforting. All the tears she held back fell down her cheeks for just this moment, when she held him in her arms, felt him alive before her.

-----

�My lord.�

�Galion, please�no formalities.� Thranduil spread his fingers over the silk-embroidered coverlet of the bed. Head bowed, he unclasped his cloak and tossed it to the floor. Loosening the ties of his tunic, Thranduil sighed and fell back. Blank eyes stared at the ceiling of the curtained-bed. The bed of his parents, where they had lain together, husband and wife. It seemed a sin to lie there now, to take it as his bed.

�Thranduil, the ceremony must be soon.�

Thranduil tightened his fingers over the coverlet.

Amrun sat in a chair by the curtains of the balcony, her eyes never leaving her son unwatched.

�Galion is correct, as much as I regret it.� Her voice was devoid of all emotion. Oropher�s armor propped against the wall beside her. She smoothed back her pale golden hair, dropped her hand to her lap, her fingers never idle, fidgeting.

Outside, Thranduil�s embrace had ended abruptly, he taking her hand gently in his and tugging her toward the horse of the Noldor. She had followed hesitantly, already knowing what he sought to show her. A white cloth, the closest thing to a shroud he could find, covered the armor lashed to his steed. As it were Oropher�s body itself, Thranduil reverently handed the sword to Amrun.

She had faltered. All the whispers of the wind, the replaying of the lullaby in her head, had not prepared her for the final admittance that he was not returning. Even the rending in her heart had been nothing to holding his sword in her hand. But the tears had not fallen. She had none left for Oropher.

�Mother, do you suggest that we do this before the mourning is ended?�

Amrun blinked, shaking herself from her thoughts.

�We have been mourning for ten years, Thranduil. We must end it with hope, and you are that hope�� Amrun stood and walked to her child. Sitting on the bed beside him, she did not touch him, did not look at him, but perused a delicately embroidered hart on the bedspread.

Thranduil touched a similar hart beside him. He dreaded sleeping here, in his home. Thus far his dreams had not existed. Nothing haunted him, but here, he feared that things would haunt him--within the safety of his home. Already images were forming in his mind.

A rush of thoughts flowed through his mind. So much would need immediate attention. Amroth had made it clear that he expect some sort of contact between their realms immediately, a contract of allegiance. Those of Imladris would need something as well, Cirdan in Mithlond. But he would let Master Elrond and the others deal with the Men. He had had enough of Men for now. Those weak beings who could not see what needed to be done and made rash decisions�like his own father�s rash decision.

Thranduil squeezed his eyes shut and bit his tongue. Such bitterness and disrespect for his dead father could not be allowed. The healing indeed needed to begin, if only for his own heart and mind.

But who would stand beside him and help him heal?

�You should find a wife soon, Thranduil. Do not do this alone��

His mother�s voice was a mere whisper, and he blinked his eyes open, looking to her in confusion. Amrun still did not look at him, and he glanced at Galion who had become quiet.

�Why? I have Galion, Lathdir and Halathir�you, my mother. What more do I need?� These were false questions, for he already had known the subject would come up. He had thought about it staring at the gates of Mordor. Elrond had spoken of a bit of grace, feminine grace that could comfort and make an ellon fall to his knees before her--which in and of itself could be dangerous.

Who would he even consider? There was only one, but to bring her here? She would not be caged by such walls long before it drove her insane.

�Son, there are things only a wife may do to keep a king from losing his mind�a comfort only a wife may bring.� Amrun met Galion�s eyes, and the ancient ellon nodded. He had considered broaching the subject himself.

Amrun turned her head to stare at her son�s profile, Oropher�s profile. The urge to kiss him as she had her husband was overwhelming. Touching his chin, she leaned forward and kissed his cheek affectionately.

�In a fortnight, I expect to be celebrating a new king, my son,� she said abruptly, and stood. Walking past Galion, she touched the silver-haired ellon�s shoulder and offered him a weak smile. Galion laid his hand over hers and squeezed it.

----

Saelbeth could not contain his curiosity. The magnificent creatures filled the section of the caverns cleaned out to cage them. Already carpenters and stonemasons had been sought to build stalls, plans drawn up by Galion himself, which reflected his memory of those in Beleriand.

Halathir held the reins of one beast, the one that had carried the messenger, a tall beast with a playful spirit. His fingers idly caressed its muzzle. It responded, nuzzling the ellon�s shoulder. With a smile, Halathir turned his head to meet the creature�s eyes, deep black, wet orbs that glistened with light from the torches along the walls.

�I remember, Halathir, when Oropher came here that summer. You all came riding horses, and then after sometime, during the merging of our peoples, the mortal creatures eventually died or were released.� Saelbeth touched the leather saddle on the newly finished half wall of the stall. The young elf moved hesitantly around the horse, somewhat afraid to touch it. What need did the forest peoples need for these creatures, unless they meant to leave this place? A horse was not discrete like the camouflaging bowers overhead. Only intruders rode such creatures, and those that meant to stay, had given them up.

Halathir nodded as he smoothed his hand over the horse�s coat.

�Thranduil is accepting those that Oropher rejected.� Saelbeth�s voice held fascination for the animal.

Halathir nodded again, remaining silent.

Lathdir leaned against the entrance to the area, listening though he did not speak. The acceptance of such a simple gift, like a horse�an entire cavalry of horses�meant so much that words would not describe.

--------

The nights were filled with laments for the fallen and the days filled with false pretensions of daily routine. Thranduil found himself tossing and turning in his father�s bed. The bed where his parents had made love, kept pillow talk as Oropher had spouted all his fears and concerns for what would happen at the gates of Mordor.

Thranduil rolled out of bed and crawled to a table near the wall. Galion was so good. A bottle of wine. The ‘protectorate’ of the realm uncorked the bottle of wine and drank straight from it. Slipping his tongue inside the mouth, he tasted the strong red liquid.

Dreams had started to haunt his nights, just as he had feared. Dreams where he slid through the mud, watched his father be struck down by the terrifying hoards of Sauron’s dark army.

Silently, Thranduil cursed Eru. Then he crawled to the balcony and forced himself shakily to his feet, his elbows supporting himself on the rail. Looking out over the darkened forest and courtyard, he cursed Eru loudly.

All he had known was virtually destroyed. Ellyn he had been childhood friends with. Ellyn with wives, mothers, families. Ellyn barely past their majority and who had not yet made their marks in the world.

And his mother had mentioned a wife! What could he offer? Nothing. He could not be king in this state of insanity. Malterin. She was better off free and roaming the forests for eternity.

------

Lathdir heard the hoarse and drunken cry of his friend and lord. Glancing up at the over hanging balcony, he then looked back at his companions.

“The Prince.” Halathir made as if to stand and go to Thranduil.

Lathdir cursed and stood before Halathir could. Saelbeth looked to them with question.

“What is it?”

“Many soldiers go through this after their first battle.” Lathdir stood and took a bottle from Saelbeth. Galion’s cousin watched them with curiosity. Lathdir looked down. “Thranduil had never experienced war. Most don’t react until they are home again. Until they see themselves compared to those that have never killed before, did not see their comrades fall to the blade.”

Saelbeth averted his eyes, stared back into the fire they had built in the courtyard. He was not like the others. He had never had a warriors heart but had opted for Galion’s training.

Halathir watched as Lathdir left them. He drank and looked down at the dirt between his legs. His knees up, his arms resting on them, he stared. Oropher had taken great pains to protect his son, to preach the importance of getting away from the Noldor and everything associated with Beleriand and the Valar. Thranduil had been coddled, protected from war. A few skirmishes here and there with orcs, but that was it. Not whole armies brought down in one swift moment. Not his own father struck down before his eyes.

Halathir closed his eyes before any tears could fall. He remembered when his own innocence had been lost. He was much younger, barely his majority. Orcs had attacked his family. All save himself had been killed. He remembered the blood lust watching them murdered by the creatures. Then killing those in vengeance, then the guilt for being allowed to live when all he had loved had been killed. How long had he wandered Arda praying for death? It had not been long before Oropher had taken him into their traveling band.

Then there had been Lothlorien. The disagreement and Greenwood.

Halathir opened his eyes and tried to offer Saelbeth a smile.

----

Tears left red streaks down Thranduil’s face as he sobbed. The images would not leave his mind, no matter how much he drank, no matter how much he cried. Ellon after ellon fell on the battlefield where the trees of Greenwood should have been. He was blind to all around him.

He rolled his cheek against the cool wood of the balustrade, his hand over his face as sobs wracked his body.

“My lord.”

“I am no lord!” He fell from the rail back on to the floor.

Lathdir caught him beneath the arms and tried to lift him despite Thranduil’s resistance.

“Let me go!” Thranduil fought him. Lathdir would not let go.

“You are drunk.” Lathdir kicked away several bottles as he half dragged Thranduil toward the bed and away from the balcony.

Thranduil struggled against Lathdir, but the dark haired sylvan was not under such extreme influences and held him firm. Thranduil slugged him. Lathdir dropped him and covered his nose. Blood spurted onto their clothes.

“Sweet fucking Eru,” Lathdir cursed softly. Blood dripping from his nose, Lathdir grabbed Thranduil by the collar and shoved him into the bed. The red liquid stained the front of his tunic, Thranduil’s clothes. “You need sleep.”

“NO!” Thranduil protested and jerked away. “My dreams are cursed.” He fell to his knees, his face in his hands.

Lathdir dropped down beside Thranduil. He knew. He knew the pain and the guilt. The devastation of such war experience. His hand hovered over Thranduil’s tangled golden hair.

Thranduil hit Lathdir’s hand away. Bitter blue eyes looked up at Lathdir, filled with a thousand silent curses and thoughts of death.

“Why do I live?”

“Because you are meant to carry on.”

Thranduil fell silent. Sprawled on the floor he stared into nothing. Absentmindedly he wiped at Lathdir’s blood that had splattered his face.

“Immortality is a false pretense.”

“Yes, my lord.” Crouching on the floor beside his lord, Lathdir watched Thranduil, unsure of his lord’s state of mind.

“We are merely long lived. Mortals have the blessing of Eru’s children.”

“We must take what we are given, and thank Eru for it.” Lathdir had never thought those words would ever pass through his lips.

“How can an elleth love ellyn like us?”

Lathdir could not answer. Instead he looked away, fighting his own demons and losses. What comfort could he offer this young soon-to-be king? He did not know himself.

Watching Thranduil, Lathdir wiped the blood on his face with his sleeve.