~After a long, tiresome journey Thranduil is reunited with his father.~

oOo

"Oropher" (Tom Canton, the Witcher)

The King of Ossiriand

The journey continued. They saw no trace of Fëanor's sons, no orcs, no dangerous animals in the forest. The injured elves slowly got better until most could walk themselves and that made the others' burden lighter.

During the days, Thranduil walked alone and in silence, trying to repress his growing anxiety over the upcoming reunion with his father. Aerneth went in Galadriel's company, seemingly in a good mood, chatty and otherwise normal, but during the nights when she lay in Thranduil's arms she often cried silently. He held her, hoping just being there was enough. He did not know what else to do. He knew from experience there was no way to ever get over the trauma of killing someone. Not completely.

One night, she crawled unusually close, slipping a hand under his tunic to rest it on his chest. "I need you," she breathed against his neck. "I want to think of something else."

He understood what she asked for and glanced around uncomfortably. The camp was small and there were people everywhere. "We cannot; not here. But as soon as we–"

"I want you now." She slowly moved her hand lower.

He swallowed thickly, lust blossoming within him almost painfully. It had been a long time since they slept together and he was just an ellon, after all. He was not hard to persuade.

It became the strangest, most gentle lovemaking they ever shared, and completely silent. They were fully clothed; she only nudged his pants down an inch and pulled her dress up, wrapping a leg around his hips to take him in. He slid his finger over her outer parts as they rocked back and forth at an excruciatingly slow pace, freezing at the smallest sound from the vicinity, kissing with their tongues intertwining in half-open mouths to minimise sounds.

Normally, going that slow would have made it take ages until either of them reached completion. Thranduil enjoyed doing it hard and fast, pushing deep, making Aerneth writhe and gasp and seeing her become unravelled before him, and he knew she preferred it that way as well. But that night it was perfect. Sweet and tender, intimate in a way they both needed.

After abstaining for so long, Thranduil's climax became both powerful and prolonged, flowing through him in languid waves.

The next morning Galadriel gave them rather strange looks, and with a mingle of embarrassment and amusement, Thranduil realised others must have either heard or guessed what they did despite their precautions. Either way, Aerneth and he did not repeat the act again that journey.

oOo

When they were about halfway to Ossiriand, the lack of food became a growing problem. In the attack of the colony the stores had burned down, and when the approaching orcs made Círdan and Gil-galad unable to return the refugees had also lost the promised supplies from the island. As a consequence they had only been able to bring very little to eat.

They did not dare lose a day hunting or foraging for vegetables, so instead they rationed what they had, hoping it would last until they reached their destination. But with increasing hunger they became weak and their pace slowed.

When they at last reached the river Gelion that marked the border to Ossiriand, all food was gone. They risked a break to dig up cattail roots, devouring them ravenously like savages.

"Where to now?" asked Galadriel. "I see no trace of any elvish realm."

"I suggest we go north," said her husband. "There is supposed to be an old dwarf road that leads up to the Blue Mountains. Seeking higher ground, like we said." He nodded at the unbroken, jagged line in the distance.

"My adar and Amdír likely went south," Thranduil objected. "Galion always said it was the most beautiful part of Ossiriand, and it was also there Lúthien and Beren lived."

Most of the group voted for Thranduil's suggestion. They just wanted a place to stay for a while where they could eat and rest. The mountains would have to wait.

They continued south along the river. Gelion was wide and very deep, which boded well for Círdan and Gil-galad's plan to sail up it.

Soon they began to spot occasional traces of elvish activity; a small boat hidden in the reeds, an empty hunting cabin. The path looked to be more than a mere animal track and grew steadily wider. They were getting closer.

When two scouts in green clothes dropped from a tree and landed in front of them, nobody was startled or surprised. On the contrary, they were hugely relieved. Finally their starvation would come to an end.

"Halt, and state your... wait. Tharan?"

"Amroth!" Thranduil jostled past the others, his throat tight with emotions.

Before he could give his friend his normal polite bow – he had never been comfortable with showing affection openly – Amroth had grabbed hold of him and pulled him into a hard hug. "Valar, it is good to see you!"

When he released him, Amroth seemed to take in the state of them all; their weary, harrowed faces, sooty clothes, bandaged limbs. His smile waned. "What happened?"

Thranduil briefly filled him in, describing the attack by Fëanor's sons; Elwing and Eärendil's mission; the orc army on its way. Galadriel added details about the visions they had seen in the mirror.

As they spoke, Amroth grew increasingly dismayed and aghast. "This is horrible news. And very strange, too. We have never been bothered by the sons of Fëanor, but if they have become so aggressive, you were very lucky to escape them just now – only a short way north of here is their border. Their realm reaches from Amon Ereb all the way to the river Brilthor."

Thranduil shuddered. That had been a close call. If they had done what Celeborn wanted...

"You see, when we first arrived here, Maedhros and his brothers reached out to us and wanted to apologise for what they did in Doriath. And naturally we were first not interested in that at all! I mean, all those murders, and the lost children..." His face became hard. "But then Oropher and my adar talked to them and they came to an understanding. As compensation for their crimes, they were to divide the land and allot this part to us. They also helped convince the Laegrim to swear allegiance to us and accept our rule." He scratched his head. "Since then, our relations have been a bit frosty, but we do trade with them and exchange news occasionally. Perhaps the Silmarils and their oath to retrieve them have twisted their judgement?"

"But how did they know the Silmaril was in Haven? We did not even know ourselves – at least not the majority of us." Galadriel gave Thranduil another of her formidable glares.

"Lucky guess?"

She shook her head. "Maedhros knew. He and his brothers delivered a letter addressed to Elwing and Eärendil with an order to give up the Silmaril, and brought their full strength with them, ready to attack if we did not comply." Her eyes suddenly narrowed suspiciously. "I have not thought about it before, but it is strange how they knew so much about us. Even the names of our ruler and her husband... How? Did your people tell them?"

"Of course not; we didn't know you had the Silmaril. I was certain it had become lost after Doriath."

Thranduil felt a growing apprehension. Oropher had known. But surely he would not...?

But then he remembered "There were spies," he exclaimed, relief filling him. "I heard the border guards found tracks in the snow shortly after we arrived in Haven. We suspected the reason why the Fëanorians released all the hostages after they destroyed Doriath was so they could find out where they were heading. They tracked us all the way."

"Aye, I recall that," said Aerneth.

"It is still strange they knew so much," said Galadriel.

Celeborn broke in. "The people are hungry and tired. Perhaps we can discuss this later?"

"Of course." Amroth smiled. "Come with us. We have food aplenty."

As he led them towards the realm, Thranduil fell into step with him, feeling oddly ambivalent about their friendship now that the first relief to see him alive and well was subsiding. Amroth had followed Amdír and Oropher and abandoned Haven.

But on the other hand, he supposed he himself could be said to have similarly abandoned his friends – not to mention his father – by staying behind...

He sighed. If there was something he had learned from this, it was that a divided people was a truly bad thing. There was strength in numbers. He must try to forget the past and renew the friendship with Amroth, and the same went for his father.

"So, how is everyone?" he asked lightly. "You look good."

He grinned. "And you look terrible." Then he recounted names of shared acquaintances, including their old friend Medlin, filling in the news about who had married whom, and what everyone was working with. It seemed the realm was prosperous, affording both the bare necessities and exotic luxury items bought from far away. Apart from trading with Fëanor's sons they also traded with a tribe of dwarves.

Thranduil clenched his jaw when he heard that. "Dwarves? Really?"

"I know," said Amroth apologetically. "Your adar is quick to forgive old grievances, it would appear... at least when there is profit in it. And since he is our king, nobody questions his decisions."

"Not Amdír either?"

He made a wry face. "He is only a councillor now. The original plan was for them to rule a conclave each like they did in Havens in the beginning, but somehow Oropher convinced him this was better. Unity, and all that. And in addition, the Laegrim who already lived here voted for Oropher because he had handled Fëanor's sons so well. Prior to our arrival they regularly demanded tributes from them."

Thranduil nodded slowly. He was not surprised; his father was an expert at getting his way.

They had reached Oropher's realm now. A beautiful stone bridge spanned the Gelion between the tributaries Duilwen and Adorant, and at the other side there was a massive palisade. Beyond the palisade a carpet of fields and gardens extended all the way to the Blue Mountains, bordered by a river on either side. Thranduil saw several settlements, made up of houses on poles, and in some cases platforms built around the trunks of huge trees.

"I see you took after my idea to build platform houses," said Celeborn, sounding pleased.

"Aye, it was my adar's suggestion," said Amroth. "There are spring floods every year. And the talans, as we call the structures around the trees, are great watchtowers. We saw you coming since you rounded the forest, though we didn't know who you were."

They crossed the bridge and passed through an avenue of blossoming fruit trees, curiously looking around the first village. It certainly seemed just as wealthy as Amoth had described. The houses were well built and the streets between them paved with flat stones.

Now people were coming out of the houses. It struck Thranduil that they looked as rich and prosperous as the town. Many wore jewels and ornate silver belt buckles and the fabric of their clothes was expensive and well cut. He saw more silk, cotton, and patterned damask than he had in his entire life before.

Some of them approached the newcomers and began to talk to old friends and acquaintances they had not seen for over a decade, others seemed more cautious. They had become a divided people all those years ago, separated by a quarrel over who should be their ruler, and not everyone was willing to forget the disagreement.

Galion came up to Thranduil, and at least he seemed earnestly glad to see him. "You have to see my vineyard," he exclaimed.

A Laegrim ellon stepped forward. "The king has sent me to bring your leader to him."

They looked at each other; without Elwing or Gil-galad they did not have one.

After some discussion it was decided Thranduil, Aerneth, Galadriel and Celeborn should go. After Elwing left, it had been they who made most of the decisions.

They were brought to the tallest tree in the area, a massive oak that looked to be as old as Beleriand. A spiral stairway of light birchwood led up to a talan far above.

They began to ascend, and with each step Thranduil's trepidation grew. He did not look forward to this meeting.

When they came out on the smooth floor, they found an elegant house in its centre. Lanterns hung from the branches above, and the platform had walls of woven screens sheltering from the wind.

Amdír was waiting for them together with a couple of guards. They wore full chainmail and steel helmets! Their armour must be worth a fortune.

"How do you like our palace?" Amdír asked proudly.

"Beautiful," said Celeborn, sounding awed. "And the view is astonishing!"

It was. Thranduil saw the Blue Mountains clearly from up here, and to the north the many tributaries to Gelion were spaced out in a series of dark lines. To the south he saw the blue band of the sea, and to the west the dark expanse of the Taur-im-Duinath, the forest they had followed from Haven.

"The king will see you now," said Amdír after they had duly admired his design. "Meanwhile I will go down and organise a meal for you. You look starving."

Pulse picking up speed, Thranduil entered the single, large room of the central house, where Oropher sat in an ornate chair on a raised dais.

The sight of his father filled Thranduil with a chaotic jumble of feelings. Gladness, affection, longing... Fear.

A silver crown rested on Oropher's blond head, one that Thranduil recognized well. It was studded with pearls symbolising snowdrops and catkins – King Thingol's spring crown.

It could not be Thingol's actual crown, for that had been inherited by Dior and lost when Fëanor's sons attacked.

Or, could it? Could Oropher have bought it back from the sons of Fëanor?

By now, Thranduil would not be surprised by anything his father did.

He stepped forward, hiding his emotions and putting on a neutral face. "I am glad to see you well, Adar."

Oropher did not show even the slightest hint of recognition. "Do not call me that," he said coldly, his voice impassive. "I have no son."

❈ ❦ ❈

A/N:

This chapter became super long so I divided it into two parts... Will post the next one soon!

Image Credits:

The Witcher, Netflix