Chapter 2:  Homecoming

Thranduil drew his horse to the side of the forest road and halted.  He nodded at the commanders as they rode past, each followed by the warriors under his command.  They were close to home, and at the pace they were traveling he hoped they would arrive as darkness fell, although his second disagreed with that assessment.   He examined the faces of his people as they rode past.  Some were happy; many seemed to be having difficulty containing their excitement as they neared their homes.  They needed to keep slowing their horses, as their excitement kept spurring the animals to greater speed.  Then there were those who seemed unaware of their surroundings.  They paid little attention to those around them and responded only to the direct commands of their captains, each locked in his own despair.  The majority of his command seemed to switch between deep sorrow and stoic acceptance.  It was not unusual to see a warrior trust his horse to continue on without direction when its rider was lost in overwhelming sorrow. 

They had changed in so many ways since they had departed Greenwood, he thought.  Many of these elves had never fought in so large a battle.  They were unlike the troops that Gil-Galad and Elrond had commanded, veterans of the continual struggle to destroy Morgoth before the Valar had come.  Of his people, few had fought in any of the battles of Beleriand.  They had been inexperienced in the kind of combat seen on the fields of Dagorlad and the slopes of Orodruin, but no more.  Those that survived had learned the harsh lessons of war and had grown closer as a result.  They had arrived in Mordor independent fighters, but they returned home forcibly schooled in the high elf style of combat.

Thranduil pushed such thoughts to the back of his mind, returning his attention to the present.  A full half his command had passed while he had been caught in thought.  He checked forward and back to find the nearest of his commanders, and then rode to join Mandel, one of his youngest commanders, who had just passed.

“Mandel,” Thranduil began as he drew his horse alongside.

Mandel gave a quick half bow in response and Thranduil continued.  “ I have a task for you.  When we arrive home, deliver the names of the wounded and healers still in the south to the heads of each house.  I do not wish for their families to assume the worst.”  

“I will see to it, my lord,” Mandel replied, but his countenance was puzzled.

Thranduil waited, but Mandel remained silent.  After a time Thranduil asked, "Is there something you do not understand?"

 Mandel turned in the saddle, his face clearly showing his discomfort and embarrassment.  “Forgive me, my king, but I wondered if their kin would not already know who had fallen and who is well?  When my father...,” Mandel paused and drew a deep breath to steady himself.  “When he fell, I knew.  Not the exact moment, but when I was no longer in the heat of battle, I felt his absence.  Our connection had been broken.  Would that not also be felt by those at home?”

Thranduil looked ahead, but his gaze was unfocused as he thought for a moment how to answer.  “Many that await word are not bound to any.  They seek word of friends, siblings and distant relations.  Of those who are bonded, many will still wait for confirmation.  So I would provide comfort to those few that I can. Some perhaps will know for certain before we arrive.  The feä bond does not stretch over infinite distance.   It is strongest when you are close.  It weakens the greater the distance separating the two feär.  The bond does not break, but becomes silent.  The bonds of husband and wife are strongest.  Often when one is under extreme duress, the other will know, even across great distances.  Which is why some will know their husband or wife is gone.  For there are few things more likely to cause duress as the sight of an orc sword coming toward you when there is nothing you can do to block it,” he grimaced at the memory.  Only the timely actions of another elf had saved his life.

Mandel glanced over at this king, and his own eyes were dim with memory.  “Or a goblin spear,” he added.

Mandel started when a voice piped up from behind them. “Or a stampeding Oliphant.”

Then from further back another added “Or a swarm of Easterners.” 

Thranduil bit back his grin as Mandel squirmed in momentary discomfort, for he had not realized that those under his command had been listening to his conversation. 

“I think my wife may have been convinced I was dead when the mountain fell on my scouting party,” Nadennor offered to the conversation.  There was a pause and those around him turned to stare at him.  Nadennor had spoken infrequently since that day when many of his companions had been killed by the rockslide, and not at all about the actual event.  There was a silent moment, and Mandel found himself looking to Thranduil, uncertain how or if to respond.

Then Thranduil heard a muffled snort from another elf. “So dramatic, Nadennor! Your wife likely thought you had gone to live with the Naugrim instead.” 

Mandel’s eyes widened in shock, and he turned back to see how Nadennor would react.   

Nadennor’s eyes sparked back to life as he turned his attention on Bangamir.  “Then perhaps I should tell your wife the truth, that you were not in fact under attack by the Easterners, but instead were trying to trade your sword for some of their cooking spices.”

Bangamir smiled broadly.  “You may tell her that, and she will likely believe your words, for I have missed her cooking dearly.  I have never met an elf than can season venison like she does.”  His grin turned sly and he lowered his voice to a mock whisper.  “I will tell you this secret: I have brought back some spices, but from the west not east.  Some of those Noldor had the most ingenious cooks.  You and your wife should join us for dinner one evening, Nadennor. We would welcome your company.”

Nadennor smiled faintly at Bangamir’s antics and nodded, “I would like that.”

Then the conversation turned to a new topic and Thranduil turned his attention back to Mandel.  “Are you surprised?” he asked.

“I think…,” Mandel began, his voice lowered for privacy. “I would not have tried to tease him.  He already seemed so very fragile.”

“I think you will discover that some thrive on challenge more than comfort,” Thranduil sought to explain, drawing on his own memories of battles won and lost.  “They do not feel they deserve comfort.  Some find more difficulty in living on after a battle, than in enduring the battle itself.”

Mandel nodded. “One more question, my king? 

Thranduil nodded and Mandel continued.  “We are no longer far from home.  Do you once again feel the feel the bond with your wife? 

There was a long silence following his question and Thranduil stared off toward the horizon.  Mandel, fearing he had caused offense, made to retreat.

“Forgive me, my king.  I did not mean to intrude…” but Thranduil stopped him before he could finish. 

“No, no apologies are necessary.  I am not perhaps the best authority on this issue, but I know that some bonds will strengthen as we draw closer, others will take longer to reestablish.  Each bond is different.” He turned his gaze back to Mandel and nodded reassuringly.  “Now I must go.  You will see those names delivered?”

“With all haste,” Mandel replied solemnly.

Thranduil nodded and urged his horse forward.  As he rode back to the front of the column he could not seem to let go of the topic.  Some bonds were already returned.  He could dimly feel his mother, and stronger still was the bond with his wife, but he was not yet ready to acknowledge it.  She was likely little changed from the day he had married her, shortly before leaving for battle, but he was not the same. She deserved so much more than he could now give.  It felt like joy and happiness had been burned from his heart.  All that remained were the ashes of the dead, and he was drowning in them.

So many had passed into Mandos’ Halls.  Ten thousand warriors had left Greenwood and of that number only a company more than three thousand were once again among the trees.  He reached his hand up to his tunic.  Tucked into it was a scroll.  The paper crackled and reassured him it was still there, and he dropped his hand back to his lap.  It was a precious and horrible burden he carried, for committed to the parchment were the names of the dead.  The very first name on the list was written in his own hand, that of Oropher, his father, King of Greenwood.  

**

Several hours later, they turned north off the Old Forest Road and headed toward the distant hills of Emyn Duil.  The sun was setting over the Misty Mountains and night had fallen before they had reached the settlement borders.

“It appears, my king, that we will be arriving home by starlight, rather than sunlight,” said Tulukrad, second-in-command of Thranduil’s army.

Thranduil glanced at the sky, visible through the occasional openings in the canopy of leaves, and turned to regard his commander with narrowed eyes.

“How good of you to point that out.  I had feared a blindness had settled across my vision, hiding the sun from me.  I am relieved to hear it is not so,” Thranduil answered, ignoring the suspiciously triumphant look on Tulukrad’s face.  He glanced again down their path and through the trees, and a grin stole across his face.

“But you are wrong just the same.  We will not arrive by starlight, but rather by firelight.  Look onward and tell me those are the lights of stars,” Thranduil commanded.

For in the near distance, flaring to light on the path, were torches, held in the hands of elves.  Thranduil felt his heart clench as the lights continued to ignite and voices rose up in a song of welcome tinged with sorrow.  Soon their final path home was a tunnel of light, and at its end it appeared the whole forest was aglow.  His people had come to light their way home and to honor those who would never return.

**

A/N:  According to a couple of sources, Thranduil’s elves were originally settled on Amon Lanc, where Sauron eventually built Dol Guldur, almost due west of Lorien.  In the second age, before the battle of Dagorlad, Oropher moved his people North of the Gladden Fields in order to put more distance between his people and the dwarves of Moria.  So I’m placing the Elven settlement just North of the old Forest Road, but South of the Emyn Duil (Emyn – nu- Fuin).  It was not until almost 1100 years into the Third age that Thranduil moved his people to the northwest corner of Greenwood/Mirkwood

Also, the number of Greenwood elves that fell in the battles of the Last Alliance is unknown.  It is only stated that Thranduil lost 2/3rds of his people, including his father.  So the numbers you see listed are made up, but do have a bearing on later story elements.