AN: It has been forever since I have updated, I know.  I think I might be back on track with this story.  A big thanks to Daw the Minstrel for beta reading for me.

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The faint murmurs of the forest reached him before the scouts. Had they not, the acrid smell of scorched trees told him all he needed to know. The normally content forest song that had accompanied them on most of the day's march had become mournful-almost painful to hear. A ball of apprehension welled up in Thranduil's gut. Each step stirred up a billow of ash that assaulted his eyes. The trees around him slowly began to take on a different look as they walked further on. Some were completely burned, with only a charred stump remaining, others only scarred on what was obviously the side facing the fire.

Thranduil led his patrol onto the scene in utter dismay. Stepping into the clearing, he found himself gasping for breath as the ash that had been stinging his eyes swirled into his lungs. He closed his mouth and fumbled for a cloth to hold over his nose. A pain surged up in his stomach. After stepping over a fallen tree-one more that did not survive-Thranduil looked out across the clearing. Everywhere he looked lay the fallen and charred remains of what was once home to beautiful gardens tended by the Entwives. In the bordering forest stood charcoal branches where once there had been old growth forest. Smoke still rose in areas where the fire had burned the hottest. A painful feeling of loss, only faint at first, but now nearly overwhelming, descended upon him. The few remaining trees in the area were mourning, he realized. Not a single growing thing remained in the soil where the gardens had stood. Having regained his breath, Thranduil lowered the cloth and moved further into the clearing.

Another smell wafted in on the breeze. To his horror, Thranduil realized it was the smell of burning flesh. It was only then that he noticed the bodies. Some were obviously orcs-he could tell by their gear-what was left of it anyway. He side-stepped one of the aberrations to approach remains that were obviously not of an orc. Who were these people? They were burned beyond recognition, and there did not seem to be anything to identify them.  The remains appeared to have been stripped of anything of value before being burned.  Thranduil took a deep breath and crouched down to examine one of the bodies. Several orcish arrowheads were strewn around the remains. Thranduil's face twisted in disgust as he looked over the blackened remains. Very little flesh was left. He realized the extreme intensity of the fire when he looked a bit closer and saw that parts of the exposed bone had taken on a blueish-white hue. He closed his eyes and turned his head, needing a moment to get control of himself.

When he opened his eyes, a flash of something metal caught his attention. He leaned over and picked it up, turning it over in his hand. The silver had been tarnished by the fire, but Thranduil recognized it as one of the buckles of Elendil's soldiers. The pain in his stomach intensified.  This was the advance scouting party sent ahead by Elendil. Judging by the burned bodies that were strewn across the clearing, there were few if any survivors. His patrol was now the forward party.

He sent two squads out to scout the area. If there were survivors, they would need to find them quickly. Thranduil looked up to the sky. The setting sun reflected off the smoke as the last vestiges of the fire still smoldered. It was a fiery red sunset. He did not doubt the dawn would be the same.

Most of his patrol stood in stunned silence surveying the damage done by the enemy as they were pushed down the Anduin in advance of the Allies. Most of Thranduil's patrol had never witnessed such wanton destruction. A loud wail sounded, and Thranduil jerked his head to attention.  A scout approached and saluted.

“Women and children, my Lord. None of the men who came to their aid survived.”

Thranduil gave a short nod and walked toward the sound as a woman ran up from the banks of the river, followed by two small children. Behind them, a trickle of survivors-both old and young-climbed up the bank.

“Alert the King to what we have found,” he ordered.

The scout saluted and dashed back the way they had come.

“Taldur! Eldiren!” The two squad leaders approached. “Begin the search for more survivors and set up a temporary camp. When the healers arrive they can tend to any wounded.”

Taldur began organizing the search while Eldiren gathered his squad and began setting up camp just inside what was left of the scorched trees. Thranduil could not help eyeing the dead as the rest of his patrol began collecting them and making burial preparations. They had been severely overwhelmed, he thought to himself. A second scout ran toward him from the south.

“Orcs, my Lord, along the western banks, just to the south. They appear to be searching for something.”

Thranduil looked toward the south. He could not see them from his position. “Looking for survivors, no doubt.”

The scout was young and his excitement clear. He was anxious for battle. Thranduil waved two squad leaders to him.

“Take your archers and position yourselves along the eastern banks behind the line of brush. See to it that we have a secure position, but do not engage them if we are outnumbered. We can keep them at a distance until the rest of our troops arrive.”

The squad leaders saluted and called their archers together, then spread out along the bank.

“Get this filth out of here!” he barked as he stepped over a slain orc. Three warriors who had been staring at the scene in silence were wrenched from their thoughts and began working on ridding the area of the dead orcs.

Thranduil approached the huddled survivors. Nearly all of them had at least minor burns and several appeared more seriously injured. Working hard to mask his horror, Thranduil listened attentively to the story of the attack. An old woman who seemed to be spokesperson for the group pointed around the former gardens with her walking stick.

“They burnt it all! Some o' them Entwives was taken-who knows what'll happen to 'em! The rest of 'em was burned with tha gardens-they might be tha lucky ones. There was nothin' we could do but hide and watch tha slaughter!”

Thinking back to the arguments he had had with his father, Thranduil realized that Oropher had been right. These people had done nothing to draw the enemy's attention to them, yet here they were suffering nonetheless. I was wrong, he thought. This could easily be my home.

“We will provide you with food and shelter for the night,” he said to the old woman. “We have enough to spare.”

The woman seemed reluctant to accept their aid, however, and eyed him suspiciously.

“Greenwood will do everything we are able,” he added.

He supposed the suspicion was somewhat founded. They had never had too many dealings with men. Oropher preferred to keep to themselves as much as possible, and Thranduil found he agreed with the sentiment. Of course, that was before the last messengers arrived requesting their help. They had somehow managed to convince his father to act.

At length the old woman relented, and Thranduil saw to it that by the time the rest of Greenwood's forces had reached them the camp was set up and the dead were cleared away. With the increase in warriors, the orc patrol was dispatched without major injuries, but the talk around the encampment that night was joyless, and very few harps found their way into the hands of harpers. A long day's march had ended with a first hand view of what they were truly fighting for, and then a battle.

Thranduil found himself seeking solace among the branches of the remaining trees. He leaned against the trunk of a partially burned beech and watched the activity on the ground. Cevenion seemed to have once again settled in to working with the healers. Thranduil rather thought his friend was better suited to the healing arts than the killing ones, but he had not been able to convince Cevenion of it before leaving, and he doubted he would be able to do it now. He supposed it was for the best anyway. It would be good to have someone among the fighters with knowledge of herbs and healing in case the healers themselves were unable to reach them. Thranduil thought back to the argument he and his father had had some weeks previous. How could he have been so blind? He had even gone so far as to throw insults at his own father. He looked toward where Oropher was sitting with several advisors, and watched him for a moment. Oropher always seemed to end up with what he wanted in the end. Thranduil had occasionally thought that was because his father was relentless and would push until he was satisfied. He now realized it was more than that. Oropher was not only relentless, he was generally right.

Taking a deep breath, Thranduil looked around for his friends. He spied Eldiren off near the edge of the encampment with his brother, Idhren, and nearly snorted a laugh. Eldiren was not going to give his brother one moment's peace until he was satisfied with Idhren's fighting skills.

“I am doing exactly what you are saying!” Idhren nearly shouted.

The look on Eldiren's face made his dissatisfaction clear. “You are not, and what is more, you are not even trying. I do not know why I am bothering! If you are that determined to be sloppy with your footwork, then I should just let you be.”

Idhren spun around and stalked off. Thranduil shook his head. Eldiren had been so critical of Vondil just a few days earlier and here he was doing the exact same thing. Still, he supposed if he had a brother he would want to ensure that his brother knew what he was doing.

“What are we doing here?”

Thranduil came out of his thoughts with a start and looked down to the next lower branch. Galion was on his way up, and judging by the look on his face, was looking for an argument.

Wonderful, he thought. Galion was in Sador's clan. As Sador's main advisor, Galion had always been against the war, arguing that Greenwood would be better served if they stayed where they were and defended the forest. If Galion had his way, there would be no contact with anyone outside of those who dwelt in the forest, and the Elves would simply retreat in the face of enemies. Then again, Thranduil sometimes felt the same way-but there was only so far that they could retreat. At some point it was necessary to take a stand. After the last few days, he was beginning to see his father's reasoning in a much clearer light than he had previously.

He also suspected that Galion had always been a bit jealous. It seemed to Thranduil that Galion had only really become contrary after Oropher had become king.

“We are doing our duty to our king.”

Galion settled onto the same limb on which Thranduil now sat. “Is it really our duty? We are going to some unknown land to fight an enemy who has left us largely alone. Why would we make this our fight? To prove ourselves to those with whom we have no contact already? Or perhaps to show our kin in Lorinand that we can be as brave as they, even without the benefit of Noldorin influence.”

Thranduil narrowed his eyes. “What are you implying?”

“Nothing, really. It just seems to me that we ran from the wrong people. We left our home to move north because of a couple of dwarves and a strutting Noldo elleth? I sometimes wonder what the king is really concerned with. Is it truly a concern with Sauron-who has not bothered us at all-or is he afraid of appearing weak to...”

“If you do not wish to lose your tongue, I strongly suggest you hold it!”

Thranduil clenched his fists at his side. The temptation to knock the fool next to him from the tree was nearly overwhelming.

“If we do not stop Sauron now, we will find ourselves fighting him in our own homes. ... or would you rather see Greenwood burn like everything here?”

Galion's head nearly spun clear around as he fixed a glare on Thranduil.

“I would rather see the young ones who are newly of age back in their own enclave, with their own kind, flirting with their love interests, not marching off to war!” Galion spat back.

Thranduil bristled. He wanted those things as well. How could this infuriating elf think otherwise?

“And camping here,” Galion continued, “does nothing but expose us to more aggression! There is no real cover here, save a few burned out trees. We should not be out in the open like this.”

“We are in as much cover as is available!” Thranduil countered. “It is not as though there are many options in a burned forest!”

“We should have pressed on.”

“How can you possibly think it wise to press on when we have survivors to care for?” Thranduil wondered why he was even bothering to speak to Galion. He had no sense whatsoever.

“They should be handed over to men to care for. We have our own to look after,” Galion replied matter-of-factly.

Thranduil looked at Galion as if he had grown a second head. He took a long deep breath. It will not serve any purpose to knock him from the tree, he reminded himself.

“If you will excuse me, I have duties to attend to.”

Without waiting for an answer, Thranduil leapt to the ground and stalked away. Arguing with fools such as Galion was not going to serve any useful purpose, so he would simply refrain from doing so.

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Thranduil kept his expression schooled, but it was obvious to him that Oropher was nearing the limit of his tolerance. He glanced from Amdir to his father before his attention was drawn back to the king of the Noldor. Thranduil did not want to admit it to himself, but he found Gil-galad impressive – imposing even. Elendil was no less so. It was an interesting assembly. Amroth was standing slightly behind where Amdir was seated and Elrond was standing slightly behind Gil-galad. A host of other lords both elven and human were in attendance as well, some of whom Thranduil recognized, some of whom he did not.

Celeborn's appearance may have helped soothe over tension between Amdir and Gil-galad, but it had only increased Oropher's immovability-something that Thranduil himself could not quite understand. Whatever had occurred between his father and Celeborn had been painful enough to Oropher that he rarely spoke of his cousin at all-even of their youth.

Men were in attendance as well. Elendil was seated at the table where large maps were spread, while Isildur and Anarion stood off to the side watching their father. Assorted aides were gathered outside of the command tent. Elendil had been rather quieter than Thranduil had expected. He had really left most of the talking to Gil-galad. Thranduil supposed that the two of them had already hashed out the battle plans without input from the other realms in attendance. Indeed, given the current conversation, that seemed to be exactly the case. Thranduil glanced at the map again, where stone carvings representing different battalions were spread across at various intervals. Someone had also written on the maps, and arrows were drawn in all directions.

“Oropher, we appreciate your concerns, but we really must insist...”

Oropher slammed his hand down hard on the makeshift meeting table, bringing Thranduil's attention back to the discussion. Anarion exchanged glances with Isildur.

“The Woodland Realm does not send her warriors into battle under the command of other lands. We march under our own banner. All of us! Had you not assumed otherwise, and drawn these plans without our input, you would have known that and we would not be having this conversation now!”

Thranduil rather thought that, even if Oropher had agreed to send a number of his archers under one of Gil-galad's commanders, they would likely not only balk, but, at first opportunity, return to their own ranks. It had not only been the Chieftains who had made it clear that the elves of Greenwood fought for Greenwood.

The look on Anarion's face spoke volumes, as did Gil-galad's. Apparently Oropher's reaction was not wholly unexpected.

“The warriors of Lórinand will not allow themselves to be split regardless of where you believe you need more support,” Amdir added, rather calmer than Oropher.

Gil-galad shook his head. “With increased archery support in key positions, we will stand a better chance of holding off melee combat longer. If we thin their ranks first, we will be in a much better position when it comes to it. Combining our forces in the center...”

Oropher leaned forward, heat rising in his face as his frustration increased with nearly every word Gil-galad spoke.

“If you think for one moment that the warriors of the Greenwood will stand in straight lines behind your ranks simply because you command them to do so,” he sat back in his chair, “well, you will be sorely disappointed.”

It was Gil-galad’s turn to anger now. Thranduil felt the corner of his mouth twitch, and he was forced to suppress the desire to grin at the look on the Noldorin king’s face. It would be completely inappropriate, of course-and this was no laughing matter. Gil-galad's face reddened, nearly matching Oropher's.

“I am in command here, Oropher, and your warriors will do are they are ord...”

Oropher stood abruptly.

“We were under the impression we were here on our own accord, not to subjugate ourselves to your will.”

Gil-galad jumped to his feet as well.  “What sort of king does not have control over his own people?”

Thranduil blinked before masking his surprise as his father leaned forward threateningly, his face red and his expression stony.

“What sort of person becomes a king in order to control those around him-whether they will it or not?”

Oropher spun and marched from the command tent. Thranduil followed him out. Behind him, he heard Amdir and Amroth following suit. Voices in the tent rose, but Oropher ignored them all and turned toward their encampment.

“Oropher! Wait!” Thranduil recognized Celeborn's voice. He turned around to see Celeborn coming toward them.

“What do you want?” Oropher snapped.

Celeborn held up his hands. “I am not here to argue with you, Gwanur.”

“Why are you here, Celeborn, and more importantly,” Oropher glanced around, “I do not see your leash-holder.”

Celeborn reddened, but Thranduil had to give him credit for not rising to the bait his father had obviously thrown out.

“They do not understand, Oropher. That is all. Gil-galad does not understand how a band of warriors will not fall into assembled discipline as his own troops do. Elendil has similar problems understanding how things work in Greenwood and in Lorinand. They do not understand the finer points of directing woodland elves in the way you would have them go.”

“Nor have they tried!” Oropher retorted. “These plans were drawn long before we arrived, Celeborn, and I see your hand in it as well. I will not have it!”

Oropher turned to go. Thranduil looked at Celeborn. This was not the first time Celeborn had attempted to approach Oropher over the last few days only to be rebuffed. Thranduil's own memories of his father's cousin were generally good ones. Of course, he had been very young when events at the end of the last age had created the rift between Oropher and Celeborn. He nodded to the older elf before following after his father.

 Thranduil waited until they were far enough away to speak.

“Have we come all this way for nothing?”

“They will be calling this evening, mark my words. And they will be doing it with less pretension than we have seen thus far.”

“But if they do not?”

Oropher quirked an eyebrow at Thranduil.

“They will.”

“My lord,” Thranduil hesitated. He was not absolutely sure that his words would be welcome. Still, they needed to be said. “We have come all this way to take part in this alliance-you yourself said that it was something we needed to do. Now we are walking out of the planning meeting.”

Oropher whirled. “The alleged planning meeting that you accuse us of walking out of is nothing less than another attempt to place us under someone else's direct command. The plans were made long before we arrived, Thranduil, surely you saw that.”

“I did see that, but we were...”

“We were to be assimilated-separated and placed in the rear echelon along with the incompetent! Do you think for one moment that any of the--”

“I do not mean to imply that we should follow their battle plan, Adar, but should we not at least have heard them out? Or given them the opportunity to change it?”

“That is what we are doing.”

Thranduil looked at his father for a moment, then nodded. They were almost to their encampment. It would not do to be arguing with him in public anyway. He only hoped that the morning would bring the alliance back.