You Are Not Alone

The faint tinkling of silver bells came faintly on the breeze, and Thranduil let himself relax just a little, fairly sure that no evil thing would wear silver bells. After a few more tense minutes, a company of strange Elves appeared, led by a rider in white whose horse was equipped with bells on its light silken halter. Inglor glared suspiciously at the newcomers, his bow half-drawn, not exactly aimed at the rider, but still ready. Galion and Luindil tensed, ready to spring at their King's command.

The rider halted and motioned for his company to halt as well. He seemed to know that they were being watched, although his eyes betrayed no fear. He simply sat on his horse and waited for the watchers to acknowledge his presence. After a few heartbeats, Thranduil stepped out in front of the rider's path.

"It is Lord Celeborn, or I miss my guess," he said slowly. "Welcome, cousin. It has been long since you set your foot in my realm."

"Too long indeed," Celeborn replied. "I had wondered if you would know me again."

Thranduil turned and motioned to his companions. Galion, Luindil and Inglor emerged from their hiding places, eyeing Celeborn and his company warily. Celeborn made as polite a reverence as he could from horseback. Thranduil looked from his kinsman to his company and back again.

"I do know you, cousin," he said, "but I fear my advisors may not. May I present Galion, Luindil and Inglor, all trusted lords of my realm." He extended a hand towards Celeborn. "This is my kinsman, Lord Celeborn of Lothlórien," he told his advisors. Luindil took a step forward.

"My Lord Celeborn," he said, bowing politely. "Your name is not unknown to me, although I have never before had the pleasure of meeting you in the flesh. I am Luindil, who was seneschal to Oropher and now serve his son."

"So you are Luindil," Celeborn said with a smile. "I have heard little about you, but that which I have heard is encouraging." The two Elves smiled at each other. Galion and Inglor finally allowed themselves to relax completely, and Inglor returned his arrow to his quiver. They made reverence to Celeborn and withdrew behind Thranduil.

"I see that I have been fully vetted and found acceptable," Celeborn laughed.

"You must forgive my advisors," Thranduil said calmly. "Guests from the South are . . . rare . . . in our forests these days, and we must be wary."

"Of course."

"But come now, cousin," Thranduil went on. "Surely you and your folk did not make the journey this far north simply to partake of idle chatter in the woods. Come, we will return to my Hall, where my people will provide what entertainment we can. I will warn you that the fare will be meager, yet we will not stint with what we have."

"If it comes to that, my company can contribute something as well," Celeborn said graciously. "But I welcome your offer of hospitality."

"Then let us proceed to the Hall," Thranduil said.

Celeborn dismounted and walked beside Thranduil. The others followed, picking their way delicately over the narrow, almost invisible path that led to the delvings.

Some time later, Thranduil and Celeborn seated themselves in Thranduil's private library. The cooks brought them a stew of venison jerky and a few of the root vegetables left in the cellars, which they took on trays before the fire. A steward followed shortly with two mugs and a bottle. He poured some liquid from the bottle into the mugs and gave them to the Elven Lords. Thranduil raised his mug to Celeborn.

"To survival," he proposed.

"To survival only?" Celeborn asked. "Say rather, to victory."

"Victory, perhaps," Thranduil agreed. "I fear that I have come to adopt many of the superstitions of the Silvan folk, the relevant one among them being that it is a curse to declare victory too soon."

"But victory it is," Celeborn assured him, "for Dol Guldur has been thrown down."

Thranduil smiled. "That is a victory indeed," he said. "To victory!"

"To victory!" The two Elves drank deeply. Celeborn raised an eyebrow at the liquid in his mug. "Rose water?" he asked.

"The stores of wine were nearly destroyed," Thranduil explained, "and we have been sparing what remains for use by the healers." That was not exactly the truth, but it would do for the moment.

Celeborn accepted the explanation without comment and took another sip of his rose water. "The war has struck hard and bitterly here," he said.

"It was hard, yes," Thranduil replied. "But we have survived, and the Wood Elves are free, as we have always been. Free and beholden to no one."

"Beholden to no one." Celeborn gazed searchingly at his kinsman. "That has always been important to you, Thranduil. You have never suffered debt gladly or for long, and I have long admired you for that. Yet I would counsel you not to make too much of this idea. You would do well to remember that you may be beholden to none and yet still be connected to others. Do not cut yourself off from all people in your pride."

Thranduil looked up sharply, fixing Celeborn with a sharp, glittering gaze that reminded the Lord of the Golden Wood of a hawk. There was watchfulness there, and a hint of danger, and then a conscious choice not to pursue the issue. "Your words are well meant, Celeborn," Thranduil said at last. "I will consider them, that I might see their wisdom."

Not for the first time, Celeborn silently cursed Oropher's fierce and rigidly conservative sense of propriety and the legacy of isolation he had conferred upon his son. "It has never been an easy life here for you," he said gently. "But know, at least, that you are not alone in your struggles, and that you never were alone."

"The Men of Lake Town have survived," Thranduil answered. "They fought valiantly against the Enemy as we did, and they have suffered much. I would give them our aid, as in the past, but I fear that this time we have nothing to give."

"That is no shame," Celeborn assured his cousin. "Your intentions are honorable as ever, and there are none who would fault you for not giving what you did not have to give. Perhaps it is not your part to give aid this time; rather, you shall receive it." Thranduil cast his hawklike glare at Celeborn again but did not speak. "My folk are kin to yours, Thranduil," Celeborn went on. "Though we have been sundered many years, still we have not forgotten. Allow us to give you what we can spare in your time of need."

Thranduil glared at Celeborn for a moment longer, then abruptly dropped his gaze. "Ai, cousin," he sighed. "I cannot accept this from you, for you do not know what it is that you offer. Surely your folk have not come through this war unscathed. You have your own lands to think of, and we have so much need here. Do not burden yourselves with the problems of Mirkwood."

"What do you need?" Celeborn asked gently.

"Beyond shelter for the young ones and food enough that we do not starve in our victory?" Thranduil countered. "News, I suppose. Assurance that this is not all some contrivance of the Enemy, that Dol Guldur is well and truly overthrown. Healing from all of our hurts and sorrows. Perhaps that is what I need. Perhaps I should sail to the West, abandon my beautiful green home and leave all my people behind to fend for themselves. Perhaps I must go and leave none after me save the memory of a King who crumbled when his people turned to him for aid."

Thankful that Galadriel was not around to hear, Celeborn slammed his mug onto his tray to command Thranduil's attention. "Sweet Elbereth on a crutch!" he swore. "What is this talk of sailing West? I assure you, Thranduil, it is most certainly not yet your time if this is how you would speak of the journey. No," he said, smiling softly, "I think that the rest you need will come more easily with sleep."

"Sleep?"

"Yes, sleep. How many nights since your final battle have you stayed awake worrying and working and fixing problems?"

Thranduil thought for a moment. When no answer was forthcoming, Celeborn laughed and clapped his kinsman on the shoulder.

"You see?" he said. "You cannot remember. We will speak no more of weighty matters tonight. I am weary from my journey, and you are weary with much toil and care. We shall both retire for the night. After we have slept, we will discuss the future of the Elves of Mirkwood and Lothlórien with clear minds and refreshed hearts."

At last, a wry smile crept over Thranduil's face. "Are you ordering the Elvenking to bed like a wayward child?" he asked.

"I am, at that," Celeborn answered. "Elvenking or no, you are still my young cousin. I am many times your elder, King of Mirkwood, and you will heed my counsel."

Thranduil gave a harrumph that was almost a chuckle. "There are few in Mirkwood who would dare speak to me so."

"I will wager all the jewels in your treasury that there is at least one," Celeborn said. "I will wager that not only would Luindil agree with me, but that you would obey your seneschal like the princeling he still thinks you are."

"Enough," Thranduil said, rising from his chair. "Never let it be said that the Elvenking did not know when to give in to the demands of family. Galion has prepared quarters for you and your company. They are hardly luxurious, but they are the best we can offer at the moment."

"I am certain they will suffice," Celeborn answered.

"Good. Then I bid you a pleasant night's rest."

"And?" Celeborn prompted.

"And I give my word to the Lord of the Golden Wood that I will enjoy the same," Thranduil answered.

Celeborn laughed. "Then I will hold you to your word," he said, "and bid you good night." With that, the two Elven Lords stumbled off to their much-deserved rest.

Although Thranduil kept his promise to Celeborn and slept that night, his rest was troubled. Again and again throughout the night, he dreamed the same dream. Scores of faceless Elves grabbed at his robes begging and beseeching. Their wails mixed together into a single monotonous chorus. Thranduil could not make out what they wanted of him, but he knew, in the odd certainty of dreams, that whatever it was they wanted, he could not give it. He felt that he must escape from their clutches, for he felt another voice calling to him. This voice was important, and he wanted nothing other than to reach it, but he could not identify it, nor did he know why its call drew him so strongly. In the end, it never mattered. Always at the end of the dream, the faceless Elves drew him down into their midst, and he would wake, still feeling the need to escape.

He woke for good early in the morning, still troubled by his memory of the dream. Still mindful of his promise to Celeborn, Thranduil decided to allow himself the luxury of an hour simply lying in bed to think. He listened to the light twitterings of songbirds and smelled the intoxicating green scent of the forest renewing itself. The burn had not been quite as bad as he had feared, and he knew that in a few weeks' time, new green shoots would sprout from the forest floor, basking in the unaccustomed sunlight.

He had seen the survival of Lake Town and had met Celeborn's company on the road, proving at least that Lothlórien also lived. Today he would send out his messengers to discover what other denizens of Mirkwood remained. And then, as always, he would turn his remaining energy to the rebuilding of his settlement, a task that looked far less grim in light of Celeborn's offer of assistance. Thranduil supposed that Celeborn was right; he and his folk did sorely need aid. And although Thranduil's pride made him loath to accept it, he would do just that, for the good of his people.

But the spirit of Oropher within him would not allow him to sit back and take a gift. Thranduil would accept aid from the Galadhrim, but he would not be beholden to them. Their kindness must be repaid, and as Thranduil luxuriated between the sheets, an idea for the repayment of that debt came to him. He would pay Celeborn for the full value and worth of his assistance. He threw off his blanket and started to pull clothes on. It was a daring idea, and he wanted to discuss it thoroughly with Luindil first, but it would put his mind at ease about owing such a favor.