~Thranduil and his wife live together in relative happiness when a messenger appears an early morning and peace is disturbed once more.~

oOo

The Third Kinslaying

Havens of Sirion, First Age 538

Married life was good, great even. The past decade had been such a breath of air, Thranduil mused, sipping his blackberry wine and suppressing a grimace at the sour taste. Galion had moved to Ossiriand so the sweeter grape variety was no longer available.

Across the table Aerneth looked lovely in the mellow evening light. They had been talking about languages during dinner, comparing Sindarin to what little Quenya and Mannish they knew, and now they switched to the usual 'how was your day?'. Aerneth told him how she had landed a large haul of herrings that day, and he described how he had shot a deer.

They had changed occupations now that the colony was so small. Queen Elwing had no problem ruling it on her own, so Thranduil had ceased being her advisor and begun working as a combined border guard and hunter, and the lembas Galadriel baked was enough to supply their decimated number so Aerneth helped the fishermen instead, effectively using water magic to surround fish and drive them into the nets. If Thranduil was honest, that was for the better, Galadriel's lembas was more filling and hence lasted longer, though Aerneth's was tastier.

Talking about work and languages were safe topics, but others were not, and those they consequently took care to avoid. That was the secret to their marital bliss: avoidance.

Thus, none of them ever mentioned how hard they struggled to maintain the colony with so few people left, nor did they speak of the growing darkness in the north with orcs multiplying and settling all the way down to where the river Narog met Sirion, or the rumours that Morgoth was breeding more dragons that could be released any day to set Beleriand aflame and burn the continent to embers. They never talked about Tuor and Idril who had tried to sail to Aman thirteen years ago and were now presumed dead, or their son Eärendil who left nine years later, abandoning Elwing and their baby sons. Another attempt to seek help from the Valar gone awry.

It was pointless to discuss the many problems they faced but were powerless to do anything about. Avoidance was the way forward. Avoidance and seclusion; keeping themselves to themselves as much as possible.

Not that there were many others to meet anyway; Aerneth's relationship with Galadriel was frosty since she began to live openly with Thranduil, and most of his friends had moved to Ossiriand. Only Taurandir had refrained from joining Amdír's and Oropher's rebellion.

Naturally Oropher and his new colony was another strictly avoided topic in Thranduil's and Aerneth's home.

Thranduil did see Elwing now and then, mostly because he felt it was his duty; she was still a very quiet person and dinners at her home were morose. She missed her husband he supposed, for despite his initial apprehension about their hasty marriage it had appeared to be a very loving one. At least until he abandoned her and sailed west.

The twins were rarely present when Thranduil visited, for which he was secretly grateful. At six years old, Elros and Elrond were spitting images of Elwing's late brothers, and Thranduil could not look at them without thinking of little Eluréd and Elurín dying alone in the forest after the kinslaying.

Elwing had never really connected with her sons; their birth had been lengthy and complicated, and then her husband had left while they were only toddlers. Instead they spent most of their time with a neighbour couple, Aerneth's old friend Galdor and his wife.

Aerneth had once suggested they could help with the boys too, but Thranduil had been firmly against that. Sooner or later they would die, that horribly final mortal death, and the thought of losing more children dear to him was too painful even to consider. He preferred not to get to know them at all.

Avoidance. That was the way forward.

Having finished talking about today's work, Aerneth changed to a more mundane but equally safe subject. "Whose turn is it to do the dishes?"

"Yours."

"I could have sworn I did them yesterday."

"But you didn't."

"Alright, I will do them." Her eyes became shrewd. "If you pay."

Thranduil carefully wiped his mouth and put his empty goblet down. "And what would the price be? Not that I have much. A loin of venison from the deer I shot today, perhaps?" He was holding back his smile; he knew exactly what his wife had in mind.

"I have an appetite for other loins." Her gaze settled somewhere below his navel.

"I see." Without moving a muscle in his face he began to clear a free area on the table, sliding plates and cutlery to the side. Other times he had left them, with smashed earthenware and greasy, stained clothes as a result. It had felt hot in the moment but not so much afterwards.

When the surface was sufficiently empty he pulled Aerneth to him and pushed her down on it. Never taking his eyes off hers he slowly leaned forward, planting his hands on either side of her head as he pressed an almost chaste kiss on her lips.

Moving an inch to the right he ghosted another peck, and a second, continuing until he reached her ear. "What do you want?" He let his breath tickle it and saw her throat flutter with her quick pulse.

"Everything."

"Then..." He followed the contours of her ear with his tongue. "Everything it is."

When they stumbled to bed much later the dirty dishes were still undone.

oOo

A sound outside made Thranduil's eyes snap open. Tensing, he reached for the sword he always kept in reach beside the bed; with so few warriors remaining in Haven he did not feel safe even in his own home.

He could not hear it anymore but was certain he had not dreamt it.

It was still pitch dark. Slightly disoriented he slipped out of bed and crossed the floor, careful not to stumble into anything. At the window, which was open in the mild spring night, he pulled the curtains aside and looked out.

Weak moonlight illuminated the neighbouring houses and the road below. Everything was still.

Figuring it was better to be safe than sorry, he pulled on his clothes and silently sneaked out. He headed straight to the palisade, which was located only a few yards from his house, and climbed the nearest ladder.

Taurandir and Celeborn had the watch that night and came over to him as soon as he showed his head.

"There is a rider approaching," whispered Taurandir.

Thranduil strained his eyes until he saw it too; a darker speck against the pale moor, almost impossible to spot in the darkness – but the faint sound of hoofbeats whenever the horse reached harder ground gave the location away. That must have been the sound that woke him up.

The question was whether this lone rider was a friend or foe? Coming alone could mean he was a refugee, or maybe a messenger. But from whom?

Oropher?

The thought made Thranduil both apprehensive and excited. Though he never spoke about his father he did think about him and often wondered how he managed in Ossiriand. Had the Laegrim accepted him as king? Did he even survive the journey there?

Despite everything, Thranduil could not help missing him. They had almost always lived together and it felt strangely empty never to hear his dry remarks or annoyed rants about one thing or another.

He shuddered when he recalled the horrible way they had parted. To his "Farewell, Adar," Oropher's features had contorted with fury. "I have no son," he had growled and stormed out of the house without looking back.

He had probably not meant it but the words stung nevertheless.

The rider was closer now and aided by a glimmer of light appearing in the east the three onlookers could see him more clearly. He carried something oblong across one shoulder, something white.

"It is a banner," mumbled Celeborn.

"A white flag." Thranduil tensed. "I have a bad feeling about this. If he brings a white flag he must know we would be hostile towards him otherwise, and that means he is no friend."

Taurandir picked up his bow, swiftly stringing it, and Celeborn did likewise.

Thranduil squeezed his sword handle. "Shall I wake up more guards?" he breathed. The rider would soon be within hearing range.

"Let us hear what he wants first," Celeborn suggested. "One elf – or man, perhaps – cannot do much harm against a guarded oak palisade."

The person unfolded the flag and halted just out of arrow range. He carried no visible weapons and his long cloak covered his torso so Thranduil could not make out whether he wore armour.

"Suilad," he called.

"Who goes there," Celeborn returned.

"I have a letter for Prince Eärendil and Queen Elwing."

Thranduil's eyebrows rose. The stranger apparently knew Eärendil had been a prince here, and that he ruled together with Elwing, but not that he had sailed away. Again he thought of his father; he wouldn't know the latter but the former. Was the messenger from Ossiriand?

"From whom?" Celeborn asked.

"A friend."

The three guards on the palisade exchanged looks.

"I don't like this," whispered Taurandir.

"Me neither," Celeborn agreed. "It feels like a trap. I suggest we tell him to leave the letter and back away so we can check it before delivering it."

The others nodded agreement.

Celeborn turned back to the messenger, giving him the instructions. The ellon thankfully obeyed without ado, tossing a rolled up piece of parchment on the ground. "I shall remain out of bow's range, waiting for an answer."

Taurandir volunteered to fetch it, and when he returned with the missive, Thranduil immediately recognised the seal; wavy rays in a circle surrounding a star.

Then it was a letter from Ossiriand, but further north... From the realm of Fëanor's sons.

His blood ran cold. Could they have somehow found out about the Silmaril after all these years, and written a letter to demand it? Or was it just a lucky guess? If the latter, Elwing must find a safer hiding place than her house.

Celeborn had recognised the emblem as well. "That is Fëanor's star. What does his sons want from us this time? We do not have anything."

Before Thranduil could reply, a telltale gleam in the distance drew his gaze. The sun had risen over the eastern mountains and reflected on something metallic in the marshy pine wood in the outskirts of the moor.

Warriors. Everywhere he turned he saw them now; spread out at even intervals in a huge semicircle from the Sirion in the east to the coast in the west.

Grimly he touched Celeborn's arm, indicating the reflections. "We are surrounded."

Celeborn cursed under his breath. "I knew it was a trap."

Thranduil's stomach grew heavy. If Fëanor's sons had brought their full strength here then it was not only a lucky guess. Then they knew. In some mysterious way they knew.

"I will wake up the other guards," Celeborn whispered. "But we must keep quiet and not give away that we have discovered them until we know what they want."

"And I will bring the scroll to the queen," whispered Thranduil.

As he ran, his heart beat fast. They were too few to defend Haven against a full-scale assault, especially when the attackers were war veterans both more experienced and better equipped than Elwing's few march-wardens. He remembered all too well how it had felt to meet a Noldo in melee during the kinslaying in Doriath.

Would there be another kinslaying now?

He passed his own house and hesitated. Aerneth must still be sleeping; he had to warn her.

Dashing inside, he gently shook her shoulder. "Shh," he breathed. "We're under attack. Fëanor's sons. When I'm gone, lock the door and bolt it."

Her eyes gleamed white in the darkness. "I am not staying here," she hissed.

"Yes you are! You are no warrior." With that he hurried out, fervently hoping she would do as told.

Continuing to Elwing's house he ascended the stairs in two long steps before knocking on her door with gusto. "Wake up! Fëanor's sons are here. They are here for it."

She swiftly opened, wrapping herself in a nightgown, eyes wide and dark hair in disarray. Mutely she took the letter and broke the seal.

Her face grew darker and darker as she read until she crumpled the parchment in her hand. "No." She threw it on the floor.

"What did they say?"

When she did not reply he unfolded it, trying to read through the wrinkles. The letter began politely enough, with an offer of friendship and trade, but continued with strict demands: "... return what is ours immediately ... know you salvaged it ... theft ... wrongfully keeping it..."

It ended with a quote from the oath they once swore: "Whoso hideth or hoardeth, or in hand taketh, finding keepeth or afar casteth a Silmaril. This swear we all: death we will deal him ere day's ending."

Thranduil swallowed. "We have to. There is no way we can survive an attack when we are so few."

Elwing firmly shook her head. She brought a small wooden chest from her wardrobe and opened it. Light spilled out, illuminating the room almost like daylight as she put the necklace on. "It is mine."

There was a hustle outside and Galadriel entered with Celeborn. "My queen, you must hurry to get the children and–" She abruptly silenced when she saw what the queen wore, eyes first widening in shock, then narrowing with fury as her mind did the calculations and she realised how a Silmaril had ended up in Haven.

She took a step closer to Thranduil. "Did you know about this?"

He nodded. There was no point denying it.

"I can't believe it! You brought something that dangerous here and never told a soul!"

"Galadriel!" Her husband put his hand on her arm. "Keep your voice down."

She shook it off and continued in a lower, but no less outraged voice. "Had we known this, we would have kept it on the Isle where it would be easier to guard. But here? Madness."

"We have to return it to them," said Celeborn, who had picked up the wrinkled letter and read it. "Their adar created it after all; they have a claim to it. They write here that if we cooperate they will be friendly. And we need all the friends we can get right now."

"I agree." Galadriel sounded calmer now. "Their oath drives them on. It drives them to kill. I saw it happening in the first kinslaying in Alqualondë." She shuddered visibly at the memory.

"As did I in Doriath," Thranduil added. Much as it grieved him to give up something as beautiful, there was nothing for it anymore. They had no other option; it was that or certain death – and then they would still lose it.

Elwing's hand flew to her neck, covering the stone and squeezing it. "Never." She shook her head vigorously to give emphasis.

"You must," Galadriel tried again, slowly edging closer, hand imploringly stretched out. "Think of your boys and of your people. Would you sacrifice them for a jewel? I am sure you realise this is the only way. Give it to me and I shall take it to Fëanor's sons."

Elwing's eyes darted between her and the others and she began to back away. Before anyone had a chance to react she suddenly spun on the spot and jumped out of the half-open window.

Galadriel feebly clutched at the empty air where she had been, then looked out. "She runs towards the port."

"Let me go after her," said Thranduil. "I have known her since a girl; she listens to me."

"Then I shall go see the messenger and bid him to take me to Maedhros. I will make him promise no harm will come to the queen or any of us for hiding the stone, and then escort him back here."

"I go with you," said Celeborn.

"Nay, it is safer if only I go." She smiled grimly. "He is my cousin after all, and even someone as depraved as he has become will not hurt close kin."

That settled, Thranduil hurried after Elwing. In the weak morning light the Silmaril made her easy to spot; a bright beacon against the dark ocean. She had boarded one of the smaller swanships and it looked like she was trying to set sail.

"My queen," he called. "You cannot sail that on your own. Be responsible now."

"I can, and I will," she said through gritted teeth.

"And abandon little Elrond and Elros?" He was on the gangplank now, advancing on her slowly in case she did something rash again.

"I will return for them when my treasure is safe." She was still clutching it, working on the sail with only one hand.

"Elwing, please, don't be ridiculous now. We must–"

"There it is!"

The voice had come from behind and Thranduil turned towards it, hand on his sword. When he saw who it was he swiftly drew it.

They were eight, wearing Noldor chainmail and with drawn swords. Two of them looked like twins and he vaguely recognized them from the attack on Doriath. Amrod and Amras, Fëanor's youngest.

The bright light of the Silmaril must have attracted them as well. The palisade only reached a short way out in the water and on a morning like this when the tide was low they had probably rounded it easily. The seaside had always been Haven's weak spot.

"Give it to us," said one twin, stopping before the gangplank Thranduil guarded.

"Never." Elwing kept working on the sail, by the sound of it.

"We are eight against two. And soon we will be eighty against two." He put a horn to his lips and blew it twice. "Now, return our adar's Silmaril to us at once and we shall spare your life despite your hiding it."

"No," yelled Elwing. "My grand adar and grand naneth took it from Morgoth's crown and I inherited it. You can't have it. It's mine!" With that she jumped onto the railing and dived head first into the sea.

"Elwing!" Thranduil ran after her, his heartbeat a sudden roar in his ears. His mother had died when she jumped like that but then he had been further away. This time he would be in time. This time he would save her.

He dropped his sword and dived in where she had disappeared. The cold water drove the air from his lungs and made him gasp as he emerged, desperately looking around. Where was she?

The light of the Silmaril guided him once more. It was moving away from the shore at a steady pace, just under the surface.

She could swim! Of course she could, she had grown up here at the coast. Filled with a mingle of relief and embarrassment Thranduil started to swim after the retreating glow.

He heard a jingle and turned his head to see Amrod and Amras take their chainmail off, obviously intending to follow as well.

Ahead of Thranduil, Elwing broke the surface, still swimming as fast as she could. He took the opportunity to try to reason with her again. "Come back," he called. "You cannot swim all the way to the Isle of Balar and you know it! You will get tired and drown. Please stop. We have to give it up. I am sorry, but we really do."

She did not reply this time, just grimly swam on.

Thranduil was gaining on her, she was part human after all and he a fit elven march-warden. Soon he could catch her leg.

She struggled fiercely, clawing his face with her nails, nearly pushing him down.

Amrod and Amras were close as well now, and they carried long daggers between their teeth.

Releasing Elwing, Thranduil focused on them. "Wait! Let me talk to her first. Don't harm her."

"It is too late for that," one of the brothers growled in a muffled voice around his blade, eyes fixed on Elwing who had taken the opportunity to flee again. "Move aside or taste my knife." He took it in one hand and continued to swim with the other.

Thranduil could not let him hurt her. He lunged himself against him and caught his hand, trying to wrestle away the weapon.

"Get off him!" An arm caught Thranduil's throat from behind, pulling him back. Drawing his dagger, the other twin prepared to slice his head off.

Desperately Thranduil fought to get free, slipping under the surface to evade the new threat while protecting his face with his arms. He felt the knife follow him down and a line of pain erupt on his wrist.

He dove away, kicking at the pursuer before swimming with long strokes. To his dismay he noticed the twins had split up; one going after Elwing and the other remaining close on Thranduil's heel.

On the shore two of Amrod and Amras' companions were entering the water as well, bringing similar knives.

For the first time fearing for his life, Thranduil tried to increase his speed. Why had he not brought his sword? But he had been so intent on saving Elwing he had not thought clearly.

His pursuer was close; he felt another burning cut, this one on his leg.

This would not work. He had lost.

Feeling all strength leave his limbs at the realisation, Thranduil turned to face his opponent in a last, desperate attempt to survive. If he failed, then at least he would go down fighting; a worthy death for a warrior.

Around him the water became tinted red with his blood as he waited for the Noldo to reach him.

He drew a breath, and another, tensing his body, preparing himself for more pain as he must fight the sharp blade unarmed.

The ellon raised his dagger. It gleamed like gold in the morning sun.

But before he could sink it into Thranduil his hand began to wobble. Around them the water had started to move, bubbles bursting as if the sea was boiling.

"What is this?" The twin's grim expression was replaced with worry and disbelief as he looked down.

A wave was forming, growing with impossible speed to monster size. It swept over the ellon and dragged him deep into the abyss.

The water stilled when the wave vanished as suddenly as it appeared.

Nearer the shore came screams and yells of fright as the six who had lingered were pulled out and then down by another wave, and further out a third caught the remaining twin.

Thranduil looked around him at the now empty sea, shaking with alarm and shock. What had just happened?

A figure came running into the water and began to swim. "Thranduil!"

Understanding hit him and his worry immediately ceased. It was Aerneth! She had used her water ability to save him. "Over here!" He waved at her.

They met in a cold, wet hug, clinging to each other while struggling to stay afloat.

"I told you to stay in the house," he mumbled against her hair.

"Bastard. I just saved you." She gave him a series of icy kisses.

"Thank you." He kissed her back, but then broke it as he remembered. "Elwing! Where is she?"

"The queen?"

"She was swimming out but I can't see her anymore." He strained his eyes, scanning the dark surface while he told Aerneth what had happened.

"The Silmaril! She had it all this time? And you didn't tell me!"

"Only Adar and I knew. It was safer that way."

"Safer? By the bloody Valar, Thranduil, I am your wife! Don't you trust me to keep a secret? But you trust that ellon?"

"Calm down. We must find Elwing, that is the only thing that matters right now." He started to swim again, trying to aim for the spot where he had last seen her.

Still grumbling, she followed suit. "All these years. Not a word. Damn you, Oropherion!"

Thranduil ignored her. The sea looked empty, but the rippling waves would make it hard to spot a small, dark head, especially when he was swimming himself. Surely Elwing could not have drowned this fast?

"Wait," Aerneth panted. "I have an idea. Let me ask Uinen. She can find the queen and take her to safety."

Thranduil waited anxiously as she closed her eyes and sang a swift melody. Soon a face formed in the water before them.

He regarded the apparition with curiosity, his worry over Elwing temporarily forgotten at seeing a Maia for the second time in his life. Queen Melian had been beautiful but otherwise looked like an elleth, but this lady was far more otherworldly with her green seaweed hair billowing around a face as calm as the sea before a storm, and eyes wise and deep as the ocean itself.

"Please, dear Uinen," Aerneth said. "Can you find Queen Elwing and bring her to safety? She carries a Silmaril."

"I sense her," a warm, strong voice replied. "She is alive but struggles. The deep ocean is not under my authority but I shall ask my lord and master, the King of the Sea."

The face disappeared and again the water began to boil, but if Ulmo had come Thranduil could not see him. Instead he saw something else, something strange and beautiful far out. A huge, white bird was flying up from the waves, beating its wings to gain altitude. When it circled over them he saw the Silmaril shining brightly around its neck.

The bird turned west and increased its speed as it flew towards the horizon. Soon it was no more than a gleam in the blue sky, a tiny, brilliant star.

"This is it," Aerneth breathed, her voice awed. "This is what Ulmo meant when he spoke to my adar many years ago. He said a new star shall arise from this shore and save the children of Ilúvatar. Queen Elwing will save us. I can feel it."

Thranduil nodded slowly. He sensed it too, the importance of what they had just witnessed. It made him feel both hopeful and sad, because without knowing how he knew it, he was certain he would never see Elwing again.

❈ ❦ ❈

A/N:

Translation: Suilad = greetings

This was another complicated chapter to write. The Silmarillion canon just didn't make sense to me... particularly that Elwing would rather jump into the sea with the Silmaril, abandoning her sons to the enemy, than hand it over to Maedhros. But finally I came up with an explanation that I hope makes it a bit more believable – that her traumatic childhood and upbringing as well as a complicated birth has prevented her from becoming attached to her children, in combination with the Silmaril's dangerous allure that seems to affect elves similarly as the Ring does men later.