Chapter Three: Grave Matters

Special thanks to Kayson135 for betaing this chapter.

ORIGINAL CHARACTER GUIDE:

Celeguir—Thranduil’s firstborn, was killed at Dagorlad.

Gwiwileth—second child and only daughter

Girithron—third child, the crown prince of Mirkwood, and chief military commander

Hananuir—fourth child

Ivanneth—Chief Advisor to Thranduil

Malaithlon—captain of the guard

oooo

Darkness had stolen across the fading twilight as the warriors reached the elven-king’s halls. In happier times, the palatial cavern had officially housed only the royal family, the court, and leading military commanders. Wood-elves infinitely preferred to live in flets among the trees rather than below ground. Settlements of elves had scattered across Mirkwood in days of peace. However, long had these elven abodes been emptied, and the smell of rotting wood was now the only hint of their existence in the stillness of the forest. As the shadow of Dol Guldur had spread, one by one the elven settlements had been attacked or abandoned. Now, there were no settlements south of the Mountains, and these were held precariously. Even dwelling places west of the king’s halls were slowly being disused as the settlers drifted closer to the safety of Thranduil’s halls. Now, most of the fleeing elves had established small colonies north of the cavern, and the area had become rather populous. Indeed, the northern borders of Thranduil’s halls could be likened to small city. Unfortunately, the high concentration of elves also led to an increase of traffic within the cavern itself.

The three princes of Mirkwood had dismissed their patrols after a brief discussion of the day’s events. None of the warriors had had any information to add, whether suggestion or observation made during the course of the day, which had not been already divulged earlier. So Girithron, Hananuir, and Legolas navigated among hurrying elves and groups of loiterers as they crossed into the private hallways and chambers of the royal palace. As they neared Thranduil’s study, the brothers met with Gwiwileth.

“Muindyr.” Her serious gaze slid among the trio. “Perhaps you wish to refresh yourselves before speaking with Adar,” she suggested calmly, her eyes coming to rest upon Legolas.

“Nay, muinthel,” Girithron countered, “we have pressing business.”

The small cuts and scrapes along Legolas’s hands, neck, and face had begun to sting. Spider scratches were not painful, but rather annoying to heal, as the cuts would swell and become angry, itchy welts before fading slowly. Beside Legolas, Hananuir’s nose wrinkled slightly, and the two brothers realized simultaneously that they carried the foul stench of spider upon their persons.

“Perhaps you should speak to Adar first, Girithron. Unfortunately, while you were strolling through the woods today, Legolas and I had slightly more disheveling encounters.” Hananuir smiled amiably at his brother’s frown.

Warming to the game, Girithron grinned suddenly. “Aye, you are both disgusting. Perhaps next time, you would do better to kill the spiders rather than fraternize with them.” He jovially waved his hands at his brothers’ clothes.

Straining his smile, Hananuir adopted a tragic voice, “Alas, but we had not that pleasure. We lacked your interpretative skills and so could not dialogue with our guests.”

Nodding sagely, Girithron drawled, “True, it appears that you could not communicate with them.” He winked conspiratorially at Gwiwileth. “However, it seems my absence hampered not your ability to comprehend them.” 

Raising an eyebrow, Hananuir replied, “Aye, it was truly fascinating to be privy to the intellectual debates of our eight-legged friends. It seems you are a frequent topic of conversation.”

Lifting his chin, Girithron smirked. “They have even composed songs in my honor, is that not so, Legolas?”

Rolling his eyes dramatically at his brothers, Legolas smiled in his turn. “Such praise indeed! If only Adar could hear the lyrics, he might add it to the court’s repertoire and we might enjoy it often.”

Hananuir sighed and remarked, “I, for one, would never tire of such melody.”

Shaking her head in amusement, Gwiwileth’s face threatened to break. The corners of her mouth were tugging imperceptibly upwards, and her brothers hoped to earn one of her rare smiles.

With a sideways glance at his sister, Girithron winked at Hananuir. “Perchance you would grace us with your interpretation, Legolas?”

The youngest prince of Mirkwood widened his eyes in feigned surprise. He drew a quick breath before replying, “I believe I require time alone to first rehearse before any performances.”

Girithron nodded sympathetically as Gwiwileth lost her battle against her countenance. The princess smiled softly, shaking her head in exasperation at the antics of her brothers. “Truly, muindyr,” she chastised lovingly, “I know not how the three of you captain others in your foolishness.”

“Such a feat should only heighten your respect for our abilities,” Hananuir declared boldly.

“Particularly our singing abilities, as Legolas will soon demonstrate.” Girithron grinned at his younger brother’s scowl.

“And what composition shall we be hearing?” Thranduil stood in the doorway to his study, elven eyebrow raised in inquiry, arms folded in a characteristic gesture of exasperation.

Legolas grimaced as four pairs of eyes came to rest on him. “I think Hananuir has a fairer voice than I, Adar,” the youngest prince stated humbly.

Thranduil studied his youngest for the barest of seconds. Turning to Hananuir, the elven-king scanned his fourth-born. His eyes paused upon Gwiwileth and softened, before he finally examined Girithron.

“Hananuir and Legolas, please clean yourselves and return in a manner befitting a prince of my house. Girithron shall report meanwhile.” The king indicated the open door of his study, into which the Crown Prince was ushered.

“Oh, Gwiwileth?” The king turned to his daughter as she made to leave the group.

“Adar?”  the princess inquired softly.

“Perhaps you will share with us what amuses you?” Thranduil was pleased at his daughter’s display of mirth, and he felt his own spirit lighten at the sight.

Gwiwileth surveyed her brothers for the barest of seconds. “Doubt not that Girithron will tell you, Adar,” she replied mysteriously before turning and disappearing down a corridor.

Stifling a laugh, Legolas turned quickly and walked to his chamber. He smirked at Hananuir as his brother rolled his eyes as he continued further down the hallway. A servant drew a bath and the prince was left alone. He stripped, wincing slightly as he brushed against the reddening welts of spider cuts. The young archer bathed quickly, dressed, and proceeded back to his father’s study, where he found Hananuir recently arrived, Girithron studying a goblet of wine, and Ivanneth sitting statuesquely at the back of the room.

Thranduil nodded at his youngest as Legolas took the last empty chair. “Now, then, that you all have arrived, I want to hear your accounts of what happened today in full detail.”

Hananuir began speaking immediately, and Legolas bowed his head as he concentrated on his brother’s tale. The story was almost identical to what had befallen the youngest prince’s patrol. Legolas frowned as he tried to reconcile Hananuir’s account with his own day. The young archer could not fathom how both groups of elves had heard the same songs, yet both patrols had been in different locations and neither group had seen the singer.

When it came his turn to speak, Legolas reluctantly shared his activities during the day. His eyes met those of Hananuir several times as the brothers relived the afternoon’s confusion. The young prince felt Girithron’s keen glance as well as Thranduil’s piercing stare focused on his person. As he spoke, Legolas was uncomfortably aware of how far away the quintet remained from answering the riddles of the day.

When Legolas had finished his account, all three brothers turned to face their father. Thranduil’s face was like stone and his children could not discern his thoughts.

“None of you saw anything unusual?” he finally asked wearily.

“Nay,” Hananuir answered as Legolas shook his head, and Girithron shrugged.

Thranduil sighed audibly in frustration.

“Saw you no tracks?” Ivanneth spoke suddenly, and Legolas started slightly. Thranduil’s advisor was capable of such stillness that the young prince sometimes forgot his presence.

“We saw naught.” Girithron glanced toward both Hananuir and Legolas. The former shook his head seriously, while the latter hesitated.

“I must confess, Ivanneth, Adar,” Legolas said humbly, “I did not examine the ground with the appropriate care to descry any foreign prints. I am afraid that I was preoccupied with the spiders, and for this, I must apologize.”

GIrithron rolled his eyes dramatically at his brother’s fastidiousness. Hananuir winced mentally, realizing that he too had overlooked this precaution. Thranduil accepted the apology with a nod.

“It cannot now be helped,” Ivanneth concluded stoically.

The elven-king looked toward his advisor. The elder elf remained immobile, and Thranduil returned his gaze to his sons. “An invisible singer…” he trailed off pensively and stared into the middle space.

Time passed. Girithron swirled the wine around in his goblet, Hananuir laced his fingers together and tapped his thumbs absently, and Legolas examined one of several maps that hung on the walls of the small room and littered most of the furniture. Ivanneth might as well have been carved of stone for the vitality he displayed.

“What of the dwarves?” Thranduil asked suddenly without breaking his stare.

Legolas felt his ears redden slightly, and judging by Hananuir’s sidelong glance, he was not the only one to have forgotten about the dwarves.

Girithron raised an eyebrow at his younger brothers as he answered, “I found no trace of them, Adar.”

Thranduil knit his brows. “Tell me not that dwarves have added disappearing to their varied talents?” The king’s voice was stern as he regarded Hananuir and Legolas. “I also wish not to hear that the younger princes of Eryn Galen have had their wits addled by a routine spider hunt.”

Embarrassed silence met these questions.

“I see,” Thranduil said icily as he rang a small bell near the head of the table. Immediately, Galion the butler materialized. “Galion, please send for Malaithlon. When he arrives, I would like the both of you to attend us.” The other elf bowed and departed on his task.

Ignoring the discomfiture of his sons, Thranduil produced a letter from inside his tunic and proceeded to peruse its contents. Girithron had now finished his wine and was left to contemplate the empty goblet. Hananuir continued to tap his thumbs together, and Legolas chose to memorize the finer details of a map he already knew during the awkward silence while the elves awaited Galion’s return.

The butler was not long gone, and once Malaithlon and he had arrived, the elven-king greeted them with a smile.

“Now,” he began, “from the reports I have heard today, it appears that the dwarves are still held captive. Whether or not they live is a question we will determine on the morrow. Malaithlon, please organize your scouts tonight to see if any information of their whereabouts can be determined. On the morrow, you and…Legolas will either gather their corpses or capture their persons.” His eyes flickered briefly to his youngest son, who inclined his head in acceptance of his charge.

As the Captain of the Guard nodded once, Thranduil moved his gaze to look fully upon the face of his butler. “Galion, please see to it that twelve store-rooms or empty cells are found to keep the prisoners, if fate has so ordained we are to keep them.”

Furrowing his brow, the elf divulged, “My lord, we are tight on space as it is what with the extra provisions to feed the refugees. I know not if we have this many store-rooms,” Galion replied with concern.

Thranduil pursed his lips as he debated other options.

“We could use the dungeons in the lowest halls,” Girithron suggested after a moment of silence.

Thranduil fitted his eldest with a stare. “The dwarves are no criminals,” he said harshly.

The Crown Prince did not flinch. “It merely seems appropriate to keep prisoners in a prison rather than disturb badly needed storage.” He shrugged.

Father and son locked eyes, and Legolas wondered that nothing in between them was set on fire.

Finally, it was Thranduil who looked away. “Galion, see to it then that the dungeons are in order,” he commanded stiffly. “Malaithlon, report to me tonight if you discover aught of interest. Otherwise, I expect that by tomorrow evening, the dwarves will have been brought here, one way or the other.”

Malaithlon nodded and bowed to depart. Galion quickly imitated his actions upon a glance from the king.

Legolas suddenly found himself on the receiving end of three pairs of elven eyes. The youngest son sighed inwardly as he rose to depart the room. Despite an unusual amount of consideration from his father in recent years, Legolas was not fooled. Obviously a matter of great importance had occurred from which he was being excluded with the unwanted chore of capturing the dwarves. A small part of his mind suggested that his father had volunteered his services because of Legolas’s superior tracking skills compared with those of his brothers. The prince decided to ignore this part.

“Captain Legolas, I trust the dwarves will not escape again.” Thranduil’s eyes softened as he regarded his youngest son. 

The youngest prince paused warily, but there was no condescension in his father’s voice. “No, my lord. They have tested our patience long enough.” Legolas bowed formally and was about to leave the room when Ivanneth suddenly returned to life.

“Prince Legolas.” The advisor rose swiftly, his brow creased in concentration. “If you are not otherwise engaged, I would beg some of your time.” 

“I am at your service, Lord Ivanneth.” Legolas could not quite disguise the curiosity in his voice. He knew the king’s advisor was a very direct elf and would not waste energy with seeking to distract Legolas from the impending conversation.

“My lord.” Ivanneth approached Thranduil. “I have an idea of how the creature remained unseen yet not unheard. Prince Legolas’s knowledge of the forest will be invaluable to me in confirming my suspicions."

Thranduil raised an eyebrow at the dark-haired elf. “Proceed, Chief Advisor. I look forward to your conclusions.”

Ivanneth bowed and gestured for Legolas to precede him from the room. Both elves departed and closed the door softly behind them.

Hananuir paused a moment to ensure his brother was out of earshot. “Adar, Legolas is not dull-witted. He knows you are treating him like a child.”

The king’s face was expressionless as he answered. “I am doing no such thing.”  Thranduil sighed softly, and murmured, almost to himself, “I am granting him a final night of peace.”

Eyes flashing, Hananuir was clearly poised to defend his brother. However, the king’s last comment was unexpected, and the elf opened and closed his mouth in a gesture uncharacteristic of the usually unflappable prince. Unsure whether he should react to the king’s last statement, Hananuir sought the eyes of Girithron.

The Crown Prince’s eyes sparkled with curiosity, and he leaned forward eagerly in his chair. “Adar?” he asked simply.

Since he had last spoken, the king had drifted into a reverie. His body was taut, and his sons suspected that he had not heard Girithron’s question.

In reality, Thranduil had both heard and had not heard the words of his son. His thought had become chaotic, and several half-formed images of faces, both living and dead, circled in his mind. The simple word “adar” had registered in his consciousness, but he was lost as to the identity of the speaker. In his memory, another son called out to him: a dark-haired warrior, bright eyes dulled with pain, but his voice, loving, plaintive…

Thranduil started with a gasp as Hananuir laid a gentle hand on his sire’s forearm. “Adar? Are you well?” his son asked with concern.

Shaking his head as if physical motion could dispel his thoughts, the king smiled tightly. “Aye, iôn nín, I was merely…I have had troubling news,” his voice became grave.

Girithron frowned and Hananuir’s face became agitated. “What tidings?” the Crown Prince queried.

“There is to be a meeting of the White Council,” Thranduil stated simply. The elven-king smiled thinly as both his sons stared at him.

“The Wise have discovered aught?” Hananuir asked breathlessly.

The king shrugged minutely. “Perhaps.”

“Adar, in its last meeting, the Council dealt closely with Dol Guldur. Think you the Dark Tower is the subject of the meeting?” Hananuir’s eyes shone with barely contained curiosity.

The elven-king smiled gently at the eagerness of his son. “I hope the Wise will speak on it,” he said.

“Do you mean,” Girithron breathed after a pause,  “do you mean…the Wise plan to attack Dol Guldur?”

Thranduil was silent.

The Crown Prince bent his head towards his father. “Adar? Is not this the purpose for which you imagine the Council is to convene?”

“I know not with certainty, Girithron, but I pray that it shall come to pass.” Thranduil spoke slowly and heavily.

“What of Curunír? Was it not he that prevented an attack last time the Council met?” Hananuir’s eyes grew unfocused as he recalled the event to mind.

The king frowned with undisguised irritation. “It was he. However, it is now he who has called for a Council.”

The two princes of Mirkwood exchanged a glance as they digested this information. It was Hananuir who broke the silence.

“Why now? Why has he waited almost a century when Mithrandir had already made Sauron’s purpose clear?”

Thranduil shook his head warily. “I know not why Curunír has tarried. Indeed, I cannot assume that he plans to attack Dol Guldur at all. This is merely our hope.”

“Yet we are not fools to hope without due cause, Adar.” Girithron’s eyes bored into those of the king. “Nor is Curunír foolish. Nor any of the Wise. Only for the gravest matters of the utmost import do they gather together in Council.”

“Think you an attack against Sauron himself is a trivial matter, muindor?” Hananuir let a note of scorn creep into his voice.

The Crown Prince did not accept the provocation but continued to study his father’s eyes. Thranduil met the gaze evenly, for long was he accustomed to the penetrating gaze of his third-born child. “Do not be naïve, Hananuir,” Girithron said abruptly, breaking his stare. “The Wise would never seek to challenge the might of Sauron without knowledge.”

“Perhaps such knowledge has been discovered. I deem that for this reason a Council is convened.” Hananuir argued stubbornly. “Are these your thoughts, Adar?”

Thranduil contemplated the wood of the table in front of him in silence.

“Adar.” Girithron did not wait for an answer to his brother’s question. “What thoughts do you keep from us? You too are wise, my king, and I tremble lest your mind traverse the paths my thoughts have wandered upon hearing this news. Put my heart at rest; tell us what you suspect, for you have told us that to you, this news is troubling.”

Thranduil closed his eyes and sighed deeply. “I cannot escape my memories of Eryn Galen,” he began softly. “I cannot remain blind to the beauty and life that once thrived in these woods. No matter that evil and decay creep ever closer, I cannot forget, despite my selfish desire for oblivion, I cannot forget.”

Hananuir’s eyes shone with sudden brightness and Girithron’s face tightened at the pain in his father’s voice.

“My greatest task,” Thranduil continued heavily. “My duty is to restore those days to my people, and so have I fought through the centuries. Yet,” he opened his eyes and a fire burned within them, “Our labors appear to be in vain; our sacrifices for naught. Ever the noose tightens around us, and save an intervention from the Valar, I cannot hope for peace restored.” The king paused and drew a long breath before speaking again. “And tidings for a Council have come. Dare I believe that alliances shall be formed and victory assured through strength of arms? Dare I hope for secret weapons, powers long hidden, now brought to us in our hour of most perilous need?” He shook his head sadly. “I cannot allow my thoughts unbidden to roam in the realm of possibility. For how can I, as your king, provide you false hopes and empty promises to the dire threat that faces us? Unfounded my fears are not, therefore, let me restrain myself ere my hopes shape reality into a dream.”

Both his sons were silent at his words. Hananuir’s gaze was unfocused as he contemplated what his father had spoken. Yet Girithron’s brow had creased in worry at the elven-king’s words, and a glimmer of fear shone in his eyes.

“You speak wisdom, Adar,” the Crown Prince stated respectfully. “Yet, are we not met now to indulge in precisely the thoughts which you have barred from your mind? Did you not keep us here to discuss the possibilities of this Council? For what then, are we gathered?”

“Though I would hear your thoughts, iôn nín, this does not prevent me from controlling my own,” the elven-king retorted.  “You are young still and have not the burden of memory to temper your hopes. Speak freely, of what do you suppose the Council shall discuss?”  

Thranduil’s countenance was patient, but Hananuir regarded his brother with doubt. “You believe for an attack on Dol Guldur,” he stated. “On this we are agreed. Yet spoke you also of knowledge the Wise must now possess. To what are you referring?”

The Crown Prince met the doubt in his brother’s eyes. He could practically hear Hananuir’s mind spinning in search of the answers the latter suspected the former had already discovered. Girithron turned to face the elven-king and discerned a flicker in the depths of his father’s eyes of memory and pain. “Think you,” Girithron whispered finally, “Curunír has found the One?”

The candles lighting the room seemed to grow dimmer at the Crown Prince’s words. The King of the Woodland Realm paled slightly as he contemplated his heir.

“I believe not,” the elder elf ground out slowly and the room seemed to release the breath it had been holding. “Curunír would have indicated as much if he had, and I believe that certain among the Wise would…feel it and seek to inform us.”

“But you are uncertain,” Girithron pointed out with certainty, though his eyes begged for his words to be contradicted.

His father nodded grimly.

“We need not jump to the darkest conclusions immediately,” Hananuir protested without conviction. “There has been no stirring from Dol Guldur for many a long year.” He said this as his eyes flitted from map to map upon the walls.

“Nay, iôn nín, evil happenings abroad are still occurring. The Master of Dark Magic does not rest,” his father negated, though not harshly.

The elves were still as a heavy silence pressed down upon them. With a shake, Hananuir roused himself.

“My heart is deeply troubled with these tidings. I understand now why you wished to spare Legolas.” He smiled sadly.

Thranduil nodded absently and his gaze was fixed on the wooden table in front of him.

Girithron eyed his father. “When is the Council to be held?”

“Ten days, I believe. But we will wait until all have arrived, as is customary,” Thranduil hinted gently.

“Then you mean to go.” It was not a question.

Thranduil raised an eyebrow at his heir as he answered, “as I am a lord of the Sindar, I have indeed been invited.”

“It is a perilous journey to Imladris of late,” the Crown Prince cautioned.

“The Council is not to be held in Imladris,” Thranduil replied slowly.

“Not in Imladris?” Hananuir joined the conversation, wide-eyed. “In Lórien then?”

“Nay, in Isengard, at Orthanc,” the elven-king grated out the harsh word heavily.

“And you are going to Orthanc?” Girithron pressed.

“As the Council is to be held in Orthanc, then I shall indeed be traveling thither.” Thranduil eyed his eldest with a hint of impatience.

“Is that wise?” The simple question cut into the room like a blade of steel.

Father and son eyed each other across the table. Their faces were stern and though many emotions flitted through their eyes, their expressions did not change. The silence in the small chamber was so encompassing as to muffle even the sounds of breathing.

Thranduil squared his shoulders and looked away from his son. “I shall be leaving on the morrow,” the elven-king replied curtly.

“Adar, please consider recent events!” Girithron spoke with his hands in unusual agitation. “If the dwarves are in service to the Enemy, we will be harboring spies in our very own halls. Meanwhile, what is to prevent Sauron from attacking us while the Wise are gathered in Orthanc?” he asked anxiously.

“What is to prevent Sauron from attacking us tonight?” Thranduil quipped.

“The dwarves—”

“ — will be imprisoned separately under strict guard. They shall not be able to communicate with any outsiders and divulge information. Think, Girithron,” Thranduil’s voice urged, “if they are indeed spies, we may in fact be slowing and preventing the possibility of attack.”

“We do not know for certain if the dwarves are evil,” Hananuir insisted.

“And we will not be taking any chances,” Thranduil continued smoothly. “Girithron, it falls to you to rule in my stead. I trust that with the counsel of Ivanneth and Hananuir, all shall be well.” The elven-king fixed his gaze on the Crown Prince.

Girithron looked away. “Speaking of Ivanneth, should not he be privy to this information as your Chief Advisor?” he challenged peevishly.

“I will be conferring with him shortly,” the elven king replied without breaking his stare.

“What say the others? Have none sought to communicate with you?” the Crown Prince demanded as his eyes wandered about the room.

“Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel have kindly suggested I should meet with them in Lórien ere we travel to Isengard. I believe I will communicate with the ‘others’, as you say, very soon.”

“How long have you known of this?” Girithron finally looked beseechingly into the eyes of his father.

“A messenger arrived from Lórien today, whilst you hunted spiders,” Thranduil said blandly.

“A messenger bearing both tidings from Curunír and the lord and lady of Lórien? Does not that seem an odd coincidence?” Girithron glanced toward Hananuir for support. However, his younger brother shook his head quietly, yielding the full responsibility of challenging their sire to Girithron.

“Why should it be so?” The king frowned. “Lórien is between us and Isengard, perhaps Curunír’s messenger had not the resources to travel the greater distance.”

“Such seems poor planning on the part of Curunír, to issue invitations far and wide without properly equipping his messenger for long journeys.”

Crossing his arms, Thranduil growled. “Girithron, is there a purpose to this questioning? I warn you, my patience wears thin, and I have much to accomplish this evening.”

The Crown Prince sighed audibly in frustration. “Forgive me, Adar, I seek not to vex you. My heart is heavy and warns against these tidings. I fear, but I cannot name the cause.”

Thranduil studied his eldest son. “The Shadow presses ever upon us, iôn nín, and the time has long passed for us to defeat it. I would see an end to these dark days with all the strength and power I have left. Fear not, I will take the proper precautions. You will hear from me during my absence,” he assured his sons as they traded anxious looks. “I will inform you as speedily as I can what the outcome of the Council shall be. But you must prepare,” he urged, “for war.”

Girithron still looked uncomfortable, but nodded reluctantly.

“We will, Adar,” Hananuir stated firmly. “Your kingdom shall be ready for the attack ere your return.”

“My mind rests easy in you, my children.” Thranduil allowed himself an affectionate smile at both his sons, before becoming grave once more. “Now, I will confer with Ivanneth. Then, I think a short gathering of our Captains would be prudent ere my departure.”

“Adar, promise me one thing,” Girithron spoke suddenly.

Thranduil raised both eyebrows at the plea in Girithron’s voice. “What is it, iôn nín?” the king asked cautiously.

“Leave not on the morrow. Wait at least until the following day, when the dwarves will have been captured.”

Thranduil studied his eldest son. Girithron’s face was immobile, save a flicker of fear in his eyes. The king was unsettled by his son’s open doubts. Girithron had seen many centuries and much war; too much strife to become so disturbed by thirteen mysterious dwarves. However, Thranduil was by no means cruel, especially toward his children. As he considered, he contemplated that preparations for the journey as well as preliminary battle strategies would occupy much time and were best not rushed.

“Very well,” Thranduil nodded slowly. “I will wait until the following day.”

Girithron bowed his head in gratitude, and Hananuir eyed his brother strangely.

“We shall await you in the Council Chamber, then.” Hananuir rose to leave as Thranduil rang the bell at the head of the table again.

“Wait,” the king commanded, and both his sons paused before opening the door. “Speak not of this to any. I wish not to spread needless panic or fears among my people.”

“We will keep it secret,” Girithron promised and Hananuir voiced agreement.

“Furthermore, the meeting can now wait. I will speak to the captains tomorrow.”

The brothers nodded and left the chamber. They crossed Galion in the hallway outside the king’s study as they departed.

Hananuir walked a pace behind his elder brother and he examined the taller elf sharply. It had become force of habit for him to rely on the Crown Prince’s confidence despite grave danger, and Hananuir supposed that his sanity was largely intact thanks entirely to centuries of enduring Girithron’s stubborn perseverance against all odds. The older elf did not fear, or, if he did, he never displayed such fear openly. It was for this reason that Girithron was such a capable leader and entirely deserving of his position of commander of the realm’s military forces. Hananuir had no head for combat leadership or organization, and he was more than happy to leave all such matters to his elder brother and content himself with the other functions of ruling. He had never had a moment’s doubt about Mirkwood’s safety with his brother in command because he had never seen Girithron succumb to fear.

Until now.

Having reached the threshold of his chambers, Hananuir stopped and placed a gentle hand on his brother’s elbow. “Muindor, a word with you?”

After some hesitation, Girithron jerked his head in acceptance and followed his younger brother into the room. Hananuir sat in one of the wooden chairs against the wall, but the Crown Prince proceeded rigidly to the room’s large window. He remained standing stiffly, contemplating the darkness outside.

Hananuir watched his brother’s back and decided how best to broach his chosen topic. After another pause, he began directly, “Girithron, I marked how Adar’s news has disturbed you, yea greatly, and I am at a loss to comprehend why. Do you know or suspect aught he did not say? Speak, for your worry presses upon my heart.”

Girithron did not move, but it was not the first time Hananuir had addressed a statuesque elf. He knew that the Crown Prince would answer.

Although, for mortals, a long time passed ere Girithron spoke, the time was felt as merely an intake of breath for the immortal brothers.

Sighing sadly, the Crown Prince finally turned to face his younger brother. “Aye, muindor, I hope not to hide from you my fears, nor do I seek to offer false comfort to dispel your cares. For I have neither knowledge nor comfort to give.” He walked briskly to a chair beside Hananuir. “This fear,” he continued, “which weighs upon me is not fear of pain, or defeat in battle, nay, or even of death.” Girithron waved his hand dismissively, as if these considerations were too petty for his time. “Nay, muindor, it is a fear of great evil, which I cannot begin to comprehend. I…sense that it will envelop my mind and against this darkness, all struggle is futile.”

Hananuir felt his breath growing shorter as he listened. He debated how to respond to Girithron’s fears, for he could not casually dismiss an elf he so greatly loved and respected. “Yet, from whence the cause? Long have we known Sauron to be master of Dol Guldur,” he reasoned. “Why do your cares heighten now, when we finally begin to prepare an attack? Think you he has indeed found the One, despite Adar’s belief to the contrary?”

Girithron bowed his head and said softly, “I doubt not the wisdom of our king.”

Hananuir waited for further answer, but his brother gave none. The younger elf knew it was not within Girithron’s practical nature to suddenly fear a possibility which had long existed and of which they had long been aware. Nay, it was clearly the imminence of an attack upon Dol Guldur that had so unnerved his elder brother. A sudden thought entered Hananuir’s mind. “Think you to face him alone?”

“Nay!” Girithron’s voice rose in alarm. “I am no Gil-galad!”

Hananuir narrowed his eyes. “Then you believe an attack is doomed? That merely the identity of our foe assures him the victory?”

Girithron rubbed his hands together in agitation. “Nay, I said not so. I believe that our strength of arms coupled with the power of the Wise can destroy him. If we are defeated, then I fear not death. Rather…the price of victory.”

“The price of victory?” Hananuir echoed dubiously. “To be rid of Sauron once for all? Verily, it will be a great sacrifice, but can we continue to endure long against the Shadow?”

Girithron smiled sadly. “Nay, brother, you reason wisely, as always. Forgive me, I cannot speak plainer and I have no ready answers to your just questions. There is no balm for the turmoil in my soul,” he concluded and rose to leave.

Hananuir rose as well and laid on a hand on his brother’s forearm as the latter reached for the door handle. “Find peace, Girithron. You cannot lead others to battle if you fight a war within yourself.”

Gripping Hananuir’s arm in turn in a warrior’s salute, Girithron nodded tightly and departed. Hananuir was left alone.

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A/N: A very astute reader has pointed out to me an interesting issue with my use of Sindarin throughout the dialogues in previous chapters. Namely, since the Wood-elves are always conversing among themselves, would they not be speaking entirely in their own language? The debate is, of course, valid as to which language that would be: whether the Wood-elves spoke Sindarin or, as Tolkien has indicated, another Silvan dialect. This question is especially complicated by the fact that since Thranduil was a Sindar, he would most likely have taught his children Sindarin. It appears also from Tolkien’s statements in Unfinished Tales that by this point in the Third Age, the Silvan dialect would have all but disappeared, except for place names.

Rather than weigh in on this question, to which valid arguments can be made on both sides, I choose rather to qualify my use of Sindarin words in this story. Since the elves are speaking a foreign language to us English-speakers (whether it be Sindarin or Silvan), I would like to remind the reader of that fact from time to time by inserting a “foreign” word into the English dialogue. My purpose is to simply maintain the idea in the mind of the reader that this dialogue is not being conducted in English. Unfortunately, Tolkien left us with hardly any words in the Silvan dialect, so I have drawn my words from the greater amount of Sindarin vocabulary available. I have chosen to keep only familial references in Sindarin, mainly to prevent confusion, but also to further emphasize the Sindar bond of Thranduil’s family.

I hope that clarifies rather than confuses the matter!

As always, I sincerely appreciate all reviews!!! This chapter was especially difficult for me to write, so I thank you in advance ; )

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Translations:

Adar: Father

Muindor: Brother

Muindyr: Brothers

Muinthel: Sister

Iôn nín: My son