~The refugees experience some surprises on the way, but at last there is a long-awaited reunion.~

oOo

Refugee

It was the refugees' small luck that it snowed so heavily. Though the weather made their journey more difficult, it also effectively covered their tracks, delaying the pursuit.

They had decided against crossing the Sirion, for the river was wide and fast and did not freeze over even in bitter winter. Instead they followed its eastern shore south where they could traverse the smaller tributary Aros across the ice.

Thranduil's injury made it difficult to carry Elwing for very long, but she did not protest when he handed her over to Galion so he could cut himself a crutch. She remained mute despite his attempts to cheer her up with tales of Aman and the Undying Lands, sitting stiff and withdrawn on Galion's shoulders when he walked. Thranduil hoped it would pass; they just had to get a bit further from Doriath and then they could eat and rest and treat their wounds – both the physical and mental ones.

The mental impact of the battle was – as always – the hardest to bear. Now when he had nothing to do but walk and think, Thranduil replayed in his mind the death of the two elves he had taken part in killing, particularly the first one. Again and again he heard the ellon's last, wheezing breaths. Was Thranduil a kinslayer too now? Or did it not count if it was done in self-defence?

They walked for several days and nights with hardly any breaks, until at last they entered a secluded willow forest in the area where Sirion met Narog. They felt unusually safe under its eaves, as if some unknown power protected it from evil. Perhaps it was Ulmo? They were getting closer to the sea and the river had become wide and mighty.

"Let us stay here for a while," Thranduil decided.

It was a huge bliss to make camp, build a fire and cook a warm meal. They made makeshift tents of blankets and slept through the night and a large part of the following day, not even bothering to assign watches during the dark hours.

The next day Thranduil cleaned and dressed his thigh properly, and was relieved to see it was beginning to heal despite the strain of walking. But he would probably get a visible scar.

Elwing sat close to him, as she tended to do, and when he had finished putting on a bandage she spoke for the first time since she was taken from her dead mother. "Are Eluréd and Elurín in Aman?" Her voice was very small.

Thranduil looked away. He had managed to hold off all thoughts of the twins in the hands of the enemy, telling himself nobody would harm little children, but if they were killed they would not be reborn to Aman. All Dior's children had inherited his mortality.

"I am sure they are not," he replied at last. "They are fine. Everyone who meets them loves them, and Fëanor's sons will love them too."

"But the bad elves took them from Nana." Elwing's lip trembled.

"Their captors will try their best to comfort them," he invented. "Maybe they give them sweets. You know how much they love sweets, right? And then their ada comes for them as soon as he can."

"When will Ada come for me?"

Never.

"Soon. They will probably let him go when..." Thranduil hesitated. He had meant to say 'when they discover he doesn't have the necklace', but he had not yet told anyone Dior had given it to him, and figured it was best to keep that a secret until they reached Círdan's realm where it would be safe. "Uh, when they get the necklace."

Elwing seemed satisfied with the answer and even smiled slightly, but Oropher frowned. "Such a shame we lost it," he muttered. "Brash boy. Dior should have listened to me."

"At least I have salvaged my vines," said Galion, carefully extracting a bundle of twigs from a wrapping of moist cloth.

Despite everything, Thranduil could not hold back a grin. "That is a relief, for sure," he said dryly.

"You do the Dark Lord's work with those accursed grapes," Oropher scolded.

"Not at all. I do Yavanna's work." He fondly put the cuttings back into his pack.

"Hoom! You know my mistress, then?" asked one of the birches in a deep, yet distinctly female voice.

The whole company jumped at the unexpected sound. When they looked closer they saw it was not a tree but a gnarled creature with long, slender limbs and a cascade of green hair in ivy-like curls.

"Oh! Good afternoon, Madam Ent." Galion bowed reverently. "I am Galion of the Laegrim. Pleased to meet you."

She dipped her smooth, white head. "I am Fimbrethil, and this is Nan-tathren, my willow garden."

"It is beautiful. Just like you!"

"Hrum! You are a polite elf, young one. And I appreciate that you know about Yavanna and gardening."

"Of course! I love growing things. Well, vines, at least."

She smiled wistfully. "I wish the ent-husbands were more like you. Root and twig! They only appreciate the great wild forests."

The others listened to their conversation without interrupting, awed to be close to a tree herder, for despite having lived all their lives in a forest most had never seen one before. Ents rarely visited Doriath; Melian's Girdle had been enough protection for the trees there.

Thranduil supposed it was the presence of the ent that had caused this forest to feel so safe. Fimbrethil was as tall as a tree and looked immensely strong despite her slim form.

"Hoom! More elves are coming," she said now. "Root and branch! Do not be alarmed. They have no axes or swords to hew you down; they seem friendly."

They relaxed and put away the weapons many of them had drawn.

Soon Thranduil spotted the arriving company. They were march-wardens on horseback, weary and covered in bandages. Survivors from the battle.

When the newcomers had been greeted and helped to a meal, they described how they escaped.

"Maedhros released us. For some reason Dior didn't have the necklace, and it wasn't in the city, and when he couldn't find it on us either he let us go. We found the horses wandering loose in the woods, and that's how we got here so fast."

"Is Dior well? And the twins?"

His face fell and he gave Elwing a quick glance before lowering his voice to a whisper. "Dior was slain during the battle, and some cruel ellyn apparently took his sons out into the forest and left them there... When Maedhros found out, he sent people to search for them, but with no success. He seemed genuinely upset about it, and I think maybe that was why he released all the prisoners."

Thranduil stared at him blankly. How could anyone abandon little children like that? Images of their faces came before him, and he imagined how frightened and cold and hungry they must be, until... Until they had either frozen to death or starved. It was incomprehensible how their captors could be that cruel.

His next thought was how to break this news to Elwing. She would never see her father or brothers again, for unless there was a place where mortals came after death they were gone forever.

Best not say anything yet. In time, they would be safe at the Mouths of Sirion and begin a new life there, then he could tell her.

"I wonder what happened with the Silmaril," Oropher mused much later when they prepared for another night in the willow garden. "Did the king somehow manage to hide it before he fell?"

Thranduil decided to reveal the truth to his father at least, and pulled the necklace out of his shirt. "It is quite safe."

His father shaded his eyes against its radiance. "Brilliant." He patted Thranduil's shoulder. "If only Dior had been as discreet as you are, we could have still been safe in our home. Well done, my son. Very well done!"

When Thranduil lay down to sleep a while later, he could not hold back a rather proud smile.

oOo

They left Fimbrethil's garden the next day and continued south, sending those with horses in advance to alert Círdan of their arrival. When he came out from the woods, Thranduil could see the ocean at a distance and hear seabirds cry in the sky, and it struck him that he would soon meet his wife for the first time in over a decade. He winced as he recalled his harsh words in the letter he had sent her, for now other feelings were growing within him. Anticipation. Excitement. Desire.

He had to remind himself repeatedly that she had a very good friend now and did not want to see him, nor have any kind of relationship with him. But what if she would change her mind when they met? Try as he might, he could not repress that tiny sliver of hope.

When they came closer his eagerness grew, and he was almost thankful for his injured leg so he had to walk slowly, or he might have betrayed himself and started to run the last way.

It was a very quaint colony; a cluster of whitewashed houses surrounded by a wood palisade, and further away what looked like wood cottages built on platforms. Several swan ships had been pulled up onto the frozen shore.

When they came to the gate in the palisade a crowd of people met them, with some very familiar elves in the forefront: Amroth, Amdír, Galadriel, Celeborn – and Aerneth.

"Thranduil!" roared Amroth, meeting his old friend in a hard hug. "I am so glad you came at last."

Thranduil's throat constricted as he returned it. "It's great to see you too," he managed. "How are your pigs?"

He laughed. "How did you know I took up pig breeding again?" He slapped Thranduil's back. "I will show you everything once you've settled in."

Aerneth took a step forward, greeting them with a bow. "Welcome," she said, looking at everyone except Thranduil and his father. "I am Aerneth Círdaniel, leader of this town. My adar has been notified of your arrival and will see you as soon as the bay thaws. As some of you may know, Lord Círdan lives on the Isle of Balar now." She indicated a large island far out. "Meanwhile, your kin in the Iathrim enclave have prepared housing for you where you can find rest after your toil."

"Indeed," agreed Amroth's father heartily. "For those I have not met, I am Amdír, leader of the Iathrim. Welcome."

Next followed a rather chaotic reunion, with people seeking out old friends and many of the Iathrim trying to find out who of their relatives had survived the kinslaying.

Thranduil's eyes were drawn to Aerneth who stood alone, shuddering in the chilly wind despite her thick fur coat. She looked more beautiful than he remembered, and more regal. She reminded him of the late Queen Nimloth.

His chest grew tight. How he had missed her!

He took a few cautious steps her way, but to his surprise he found his path intercepted by Galadriel.

"I know you received Aerneth's letter," she said coolly. "She does not want to talk to you."

Thranduil narrowed his eyes. Was Galadriel the 'very good friend'? No wonder Aerneth acted so strangely then! That headstrong elleth had been a bad influence already before, when she persuaded his wife to go fight in the Battle of Unnumbered Tears – and that was the beginning of the disaster their marriage had become.

He was just about to give Galadriel an acid reply when he saw Oropher heading straight for Aerneth. No! Those two must not talk; he had witnessed too many times how ugly things could get between them.

He pushed Galadriel aside and limped over to his wife in long strides.

"You look well, my dear," said Oropher in an unusually pleasant voice that did not fool Thranduil one bit.

She gave him a curt nod. "Thank you." It was clear she was not fooled either.

"Let us go find our new home, Adar," he said smoothly, trying to take his father's arm.

"I was just going to ask where your wife's house is. You and I should reside with her – or you, at least. Spouses should never live apart, you know."

"You will stay in the Iathrim enclave." Her voice had become frostier than the snow on the ground and her gloved hands clenched into fists.

"Then you would turn your own husband out after all his troubles? Do you even know he has become injured?"

Her gaze flicked briefly to Thranduil. "Injured?"

"The Iathrim do not live with the Falathrim, and even if they did, Aerneth does not need either of you in her life," Galadriel cut in.

Oropher ignored her. "It is not right for wives to disobey their husbands. But then, you were always wayward, Aerneth, thinking only about yourself. A disgrace for your adar's house!"

"I will not let you listen to this... bullshit," hissed Galadriel, taking Aerneth's arm. "Come, my dear. I will follow you home."

"How rude! Come back here, or I shall–"

"Please – don't make a scene. Just wait here while I talk to her."

Thranduil followed the ellith until they were out of hearing range, trying to think of an apology for his father's harsh words, but also something to say to him afterwards that would reconcile him with Aerneth and Thranduil living apart.

He had not expected getting in the middle between his wife's and father's tempers quite this soon, and with a weary sigh he realised that this was only the beginning.

"Aerneth... Wait."

She stopped despite Galadriel's pull on her arm, scowling at him but unable to hide her trembling lip. "What?"

"Don't listen to Adar. He is just tired after the journey and stressed over what happened back home. He didn't mean what he said."

"Oh, he meant it," said Galadriel. "And as usual, you didn't speak to your wife's defence. Look how pathetically you're trying to excuse that ellon's bad behaviour. He is your adar, not your owner; it is due time you became an independent adult."

"'As usual'? And what do you know about me and my family?" He glared at her, feeling anger build up. "What gives you the right to interfere in others' marriages? Mind your own business."

"Aerneth has told me everything." Galadriel crossed her arms over her chest; she was becoming agitated as well. "Your relationship was a disaster from the beginning, and that is why she needs a clean break so she can finally heal. Don't you see how bad you make her feel? Look at her! She was happy here, but the moment she found out you were coming she became like this. Nervous, distressed, losing her appetite. All the heartache returning; all the bad memories of the abuse she suffered."

"Abuse? What are you talking about? I–" He broke off, remembering their fights, the yelling, their sometimes rough love-making. Perhaps he had abused her though he never meant to. "I am sorry if I hurt you," he mumbled. Tears pricked behind his eyelids.

"Not you," said Aerneth. Her eyes were misty too.

"I talk about Oropher," said Galadriel. "Didn't you even notice that he hurt your wife? Not only did he beat her on more than one occasion, but she suffered verbal abuse as well. Every day, Thranduil! And did you stand up to her? Did you defend her? Did you try to remove her from that poisoned household?"

He mutely shook his head.

"And then you apologise – like now. Apologise for Oropher, for yourself, for each and every thing. You hurt her – and say sorry. You hurt her again – and say sorry. It drives her insane. You can't treat someone you love that way." When he did not reply, she continued: "Stay away, this time. Leave her alone. Your marriage is bad for both of you. And – if I may advise you too – you should distance yourself from your adar as well. I don't think you and him are good for each other either."

She took Aerneth's arm and walked away.

Struggling to control the turmoil within, Thranduil looked at their retreating backs. It's not true, he wanted to shout after them. But the more he thought about it, and the more Galadriel's words sank in, the more he realised they were true.

He had not defended his wife – had not been able to. And he had a horrible suspicion that that would never change. He would remain a child indefinitely, doomed to obey his father and take his part forever.

With a heavy heart he went back to Oropher.

oOo

Pulling the blanket up to his chin, Thranduil revelled in the softness of the eider feather mattress. There were clearly benefits to living by the sea.

He closed his eyes, trying to forget the distressing events earlier. He must not think about Aerneth. He could not have her, he could never have her again. Yet images came unbidden before him: her beautiful face when he first saw her again; her rosy cheeks in the cold wind; her fair hair spilling from her hood; her pink lips...

Groaning, he tried to get his blood to leave a certain body part.

Something rattled against the window and he instantly sat up. An enemy? Had Fëanor's sons managed to follow them after all? Who–

The rattling was repeated; it sounded more like someone threw pebbles on the house. He relaxed. Was it a sea bird?

Cautiously he went over to the window and peeked out behind the curtain.

A person stood outside, their hood pulled up and their thick fur coat billowing in the breeze.

He eased the window open, allowing her to climb inside.

"Don't tell Galadriel," she whispered. Then she pulled his head down to a deep and needy kiss.

❈ ❦ ❈

A/N:

There went that 'clean break'... ;) 

Image Credits:

Unknown source (found uncredited on Tumblr).