The darkness had shifted almost imperceptibly, and the trees began to stir. Thranduil lifted his head and looked around the small clearing where he sat. Dawn would come soon; he had been sitting there all night. Perhaps he should have been taking his rest, but he knew he would not have been able to sleep. Far better to come to the clearing instead. It was his personal place where he and his Queen, while she still walked the forest, had often come when they desired privacy. Now that she was gone, he came here by himself whenever he needed to think. He suspected that the Wood Elves knew very well where he was, but none had ever come to disturb him here, and for that he was grateful.

There had been much to think about this night, and now, as dawn approached, Thranduil was not at all certain that he had reached any conclusions. His emotions still swung wildly between pride, grief and fear, and he had conquered none of them. However, he had at least identified and sorted out what he was feeling, and he decided that that, at least, was progress. He feared for his son, and he grieved for the hurt that had been inflicted upon his people, but he was proud of them. He was also proud of himself. During his long night in the clearing, Thranduil had thought long and hard about his encounter with the wine decanter, and he had realized something about himself.

Like any Elf, his emotions ran deep, and his love for those closest to him ran deepest of all. The grief for a lost loved one was one of the worst hurts an Elf could suffer. Some were strong enough to survive it, and some were not. Thranduil's own mother had faded after Oropher's death, and one day she had simply walked away and had never returned. Thranduil had never blamed her. He had suffered from his father's death as well, and then later he had suffered the loss of his Queen. Both times, he had sought to put wine between himself and the pain of their loss. It was the grief, that terrible, cutting grief that overpowered him and made him completely ineffectual. The wine had merely been a way for him to avoid the grief.

Now that he knew this about himself, it had strengthened his resolve. Legolas might be dead, but he might not be. There was no need to grieve now. And, if it did come to that, he would allow himself to feel the pain and grieve fully rather than sink into a cup of wine and perhaps, this time, never come out. Luindil would help him, and now that Dol Guldur was no more, perhaps it would be safe for him to set aside time for personal sorrow.

Thranduil leaned against one smooth trunk of a triple birch tree at the edge of the clearing and looked up into the sky. The silken blackness of night had changed to a velvety gray, and the stars were beginning to fade. Dawn in the forest was a gradual thing, a series of glowing colors appearing one after the other. There was more mystery to it than watching the sun rise, and Thranduil preferred that mystery. He looked up at the patch of sky visible through the trees and sighed.

A rustling among the branches caught his attention. A slender hand brushed a branch aside, and Celeborn stepped out into the open. Thranduil was not altogether surprised that it was his southern cousin; none of his own people would have dared to come here. He did wonder how Celeborn had found him, though. As if reading his mind, Celeborn smiled.

"Luindil told me I might find you here," he said. "He asked me to come and check on you. It seems he had no wish to come himself, though he dearly wanted to be sure you were unharmed."

"That is to be expected," Thranduil replied. "This clearing is the subject of a little game that I play with my folk. They pretend not to know that I come here, and I pretend not to know that they are aware of my visits. But I shall say that you found me on your own, and you are welcome." Thranduil gestured to a patch of ground next to him, and Celeborn gathered his robes and sat down on the dewy grass.

"It is a beautiful place," he said. "I can see why it is that you would come here."

"I come when I need to think."

Celeborn arched an eyebrow at him. "Have you had productive thoughts this night?"

"I have." Thranduil arched his back and stretched, then moved to seat himself in the fork of the three trunks of the tree.

Celeborn shifted to look straight at Thranduil. "Luindil showed me the decanter of wine he retrieved from your library last night," he said. "He told me much that I had not known before."

"Luindil betrayed my confidence," Thranduil said sharply. "I will have words with him about that."

"Do not punish him," Celeborn said. "He told me about your troubles merely as a preface to his expression of pride in you. He cares about you as deeply as if you were his own son."

Thranduil was silent for a while. "Luindil helped raise me," he said after a while. "My father did not want to begrudge his people their ruler nor his son the care of adults. So Luindil cared for me when my father could not. When I was grown, I entrusted him with similar care of Legolas."

Celeborn laughed. "Every time I decide that Oropher was the most stubborn, thick-headed Elf since Maedhros, I hear such a tale as this that convinces me that his wisdom was indeed great, when he chose to employ it."

"Because it is such a peaceful morning, I shall take that as a compliment."

"As it was intended," Celeborn said. "And I would have you know my happiness in your choice as well. It is a difficult thing, to give up a source of comfort, treacherous though it may prove in the end."

"Thank you." Thranduil was surprised at how much he did in fact appreciate those words from a cousin he had not seen in centuries. Both Elves watched as the sky changed from gray to pale pink. "I have chosen hope over despair," Thranduil said. "I think that I wish to hold on to hope for now. Should it come to despair, then I would delay that moment for as long as I can."

Celeborn thought for a moment. "Would it ease your mind, Thranduil, to know the last I saw of Legolas?"

Thranduil started. "You saw him?" he cried. "When? Where? Did he pass through Lothlórien?"

"He and the Ringbearer and their companions left the Golden Wood nearly two months ago," Celeborn said. "The Lady Galadriel and I bade them farewell, and we gave them many gifts. When they arrived, they were weary with battle and grief, but in our land they found healing and rest. We ensured that the Fellowship had all the aid we could give for the next leg of their journey."

"I -- thank you." Thranduil could say no more. This brief report was the only news of Legolas he had heard since the beginning of the winter. Legolas was alive, or had been two months ago. Still, to have had news at all was heartening.

"I was pleased to have an opportunity to meet Legolas," Celeborn said. "He is merry and charming and as fine a huntsman as any Elf in Lothlórien. While the Fellowship tarried with us, I took the liberty of trying him out on a larger bow than the one he originally had. He took to our bows quickly, and the Lady Galadriel and I agreed that he should have one as a parting gift."

"And a princely one it was. My heart rests a little easier knowing that my son has such a weapon to protect him in battle."

"The protection lies as much in the skill of the wielder as in the weapon," Celeborn cautioned.

Thranduil smiled. "True. But when a child goes into danger, no matter how old nor how experienced, a father may put faith in any small thing that might improve his chances of seeing that child again."

"One can never stop being a parent," Celeborn observed. "My daughter's daughter is full grown and is to be wedded soon, and yet every night I find myself uttering wishes to Elbereth for Celebrían's health and safety in Valinor."

"Then perhaps you will not laugh when I tell you of one of my decisions this night," Thranduil said. Celeborn turned and looked expectantly at him. Thranduil was silent for a few minutes, searching for the right words. The sun had risen fully, and the clearing was flooded with light. "The trees look brighter now, do they not?" Thranduil asked. "The fire burned many more such clearings in the forest."

"And the shadow of Dol Guldur no longer hangs overhead."

"Exactly." Thranduil took a deep breath. "That is why I have decided that this forest will no longer be called Mirkwood. I wish to cast that name aside and call it Eryn Lasgalen, The Wood of Greenleaves."

"Eryn . . . Lasgalen?" Celeborn asked thoughtfully. "May I assume that this choice of name reflects something more than the changed appearance of the place?"

"You may." Thranduil could not quite bring himself to look in Celeborn's eyes. "Among the Silvan folk, there is . . . a belief, a superstition, that some part of an Elf is contained in the name, that a name has a certain binding power. And I thought that perhaps this new name might call to my son. It is a silly thing, I know, to believe in such a superstition . . ."

"But it is understandable, nevertheless," Celeborn assured him. "After all --"

"-- One can never stop being a parent," Thranduil finished.

"He will come home," Celeborn said. "I feel it in my heart. You, Thranduil, must ensure that he has a home to return to."

Thranduil smiled at his cousin and faced the morning with considerably more cheer than he had felt in months.

Celeborn and his company departed the newly renamed Eryn Lasgalen several hours later. They had a journey of several days before them, and Celeborn wished for time to explore his new territory of East Lórien before formally presenting it to Galadriel. His parting with the Wood Elves was amicable, and he promised that a company of builders and farmers would arrive at the settlement before very long.

"Do not worry overmuch about us," Luindil told him. "Already the warmer winds begin to blow, and the wild plants of the forest will soon bear fruit. I do not think we will starve before aid comes to us."

"See that you do not, then," Celeborn replied. "And watch over my young cousin, Luindil. Elvenking or no, someone must care for him, lest he become too responsible to care for himself." He and Luindil shared a knowing wink, and then Celeborn rode off with the Galadhrim.

"Elvenking or no," Thranduil huffed to Inglor, "they don't respect me. I am the Lord of this realm, and they talk about me as if I were a child." Inglor glanced from Thranduil to a placidly smiling Luindil and back, and then the corners of his mouth began to twitch. Thranduil glanced over at Luindil's too-innocent expression as well, and soon he and the Captain of his Guard were both struggling to repress snorts of laughter. Luindil stalked over, his head held high.

"I suppose this is a royal giggle?" he asked. Thranduil and Inglor nearly fell over each other laughing. Luindil smiled. "It is good to hear your laugh again, Thranduil," he said. "Too long has the forest been sober."

"Mirkwood was a dark and dangerous place, with little time or cause for laughter," Thranduil said. "But Eryn Lasgalen is a brighter, more cheerful forest. We are alive, after all, and it is springtime. Let us check the fish traps in the Forest River and then organize a hunting party."

"A hunting party?" Inglor asked. "In the spring? There is nothing to hunt. The deer will be thin and scrawny, and the does will all have fawns."

"Even a thin and scrawny stag will have some meat," Thranduil said. "And there are other things to hunt in the forest besides meat. There is news, for one thing. And I think we would all enjoy the expedition."

"If it brings you joy, my Lord, then we will hunt," Inglor said and ran off to see to the fish traps. Thranduil closed his eyes, breathed in the freshness of the forest, and sent off a wish to Elbereth that, wherever he was, Legolas might enjoy as fine a spring day.