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It is no small thing, to uproot and move an entire nation. Like any living, growing thing, enough time spent in one place will lead to the putting down of roots. This was just as true of the elves of the Woodland Realm. The Silvan folk had been living in Emyn Duir since even before the arrival of Oropher and his Sindarin followers.

Despite initial resistance, come summertime the number of people willing to consider Thranduil's proposition had grown to over half the population. Nearly every week there came word of new attacks from orcs around the borders of the kingdom. More and more scouts died, ambushed along their patrol routes despite increased security measures. The final straw came when a party of orcs were spotted within bowshot range of Emyn Duir itself. The elves knew just as keenly as Thranduil that they did not have the strength to repel their new enemies from the south.

And so it was that the people of the Greenwood began their preparations to move. Gurithon had described at length to Thranduil and the council exactly where their new home would be. According to the captain it was a large, naturally lit and airy cavern system on the northeastern edge of the forest. Many of the Silvan members of the council recognized the place, the caverns having sheltered their own descendants early in the Second Age. The only vocal opponent, unsurprisingly, was Tharnor.

"Thus we are to abandon our fair city just like that?" The Master of Coin said angrily. "With nary a fight nor a stand?"

"By all means Tharnor, if you will volunteer to lead such a stand then I will gladly see it organized." Thranduil replied. Leaning forward to place his hands flat on the polished tabletop, the king gazed at the council one by one. "If any among you believe we are truly capable of holding Emyn Duir against an enemy assault then please, speak now."

Daeris, the Mistress of the Larders cleared her throat. "Although I am loathe to leave Emyn Duir to take up residence in a cave, I just do not see how we can possibly withstand the rising tide of evil here. Truth be told, if I understand Gurithon correctly, we no longer have what could be rightly called a standing army. It will be some years yet before enough young ellons and elleths have completed their training as warriors of the Greenwood."

Tharnor clenched his white fingers until the bones of his knuckles were prominent. "You would ask me to live underground like a dwarf? You would ask our people to shut themselves beneath a roof of stone away from the light?"

"As I seem to recall, you Silvans lived thusly for some centuries long before I or my father ever came here." Thranduil pointed out, his temper rising. It was poorly said though; the flash of indignant rage that hardened Tharnor's expression spoke volumes. There would be a reckoning between that one and the House of Oropher someday, of that Thranduil had no doubt.

"It was I who told the king of The Halls, Master of Coin." Gurithon spoke up from his post beside Thanduil's chair. "If you refuse to accompany us to the sanctuary of our ancestors, then by all means you are welcome to stay here. Somehow I doubt you will have much company against the orcs though."

The rest of the council had been of much the same opinion. The session had been adjourned with the consensus that the people of the Greenwood would indeed abandon Emyn Duir. Thranduil's announcement to the city later that week had been greeted with much controversy.

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That had been almost a month ago. The height of summer saw the city deep into their preparations for the move. It was not just a matter of packing up individual households. Entire livelihoods were being uprooted, as well as the contents of the entire palace of Emyn Duir. The archivists were in a tizzy trying to package ancient scrolls, books and artifacts from the library, even under the supervision of Daerchon.

Anthelísse was busy helping to oversee the taking down of all the tapestries in the gallery. With regret she gazed upon the magnificent stained glass windows that lined the hall. There was no help for it; most were too large and fragile to attempt such a long move. In lieu of the real articles, a score of artists were even now seated along the length of the gallery attempting to recreate the beauty of the windows on their canvases.

A sudden movement from within the dome of her belly caught Anthelísse off guard. With a grimace, she braced her hands against the small of her back.

"My lady?" Aislinn asked in concern, setting aside the cord she had been tying around a rolled up tapestry.

"I am alright, Aislinn." Anthelísse said breathlessly. "It is just the little one making themselves known."

"You do not feel any pressure though?" Nellas came to her daughter-by-marriage's side, rubbing the base of Anthelísse's spine. "It has been nearly three thousand years since I bore Thranduil, but I still remember well the exact feel of labor. When it begins, you shall most certainly know."

"That I do not doubt." Anthelísse said with a slightly pained smile. "Still, I am not due for another half-cycle of the moon at least."

The queen frowned, her green eyes troubled. "That is unfortunate timing. The journey north to The Halls will take a week at the very least. You could very well be faced with delivering in the middle of the forest if your pregnancy proceeds apace."

Laying a hand across the crest of her belly, Anthelísse gave a little pat. "Anytime you are ready, little one. Your Naneth and Ada will be overjoyed to meet you whenever and wherever you arrive."

"Do you have a name chosen yet for the elfling, Anthelísse?" Aislinn asked.

Anthelísse shook her head. "Thranduil and I have discussed a few possibilities, but we will not know for certain until we see the child's face." She smiled as she recalled that immensely pleasant debate with her husband. "Thranduil wishes the babe to have a Noldorin name, in homage to his ancestry on my side. I disagree though. I think that since the child will be a prince or princess of the Woodland Realm, they ought to have a name that reflects the nature of their people in the here and now."

Nellas slid the tapestry she had just tied on-end into a long crate with the others. The queen turned to where other elves were in the process of taking down the tapestry Anthelísse had woven for Thranduil. Her fey gaze softened as she looked upon the noble face of Oropher, immortalized in a moment of undimmed glory.

"You babe will be a child of three peoples, Anthelísse." Nellas said, her words tinged with an air of prophecy. "Born of Sindar and Noldo parents, but raised in a world of the Silvans. Whichever name you choose, it should if at all possible recognize that."

"A simple enough task, wouldn't you say?" Aislinn laughed aloud. "And do not forget that you will also need to have such a name at the ready for both an ellon and an elleth!"

"Ai, if only I could know which!" Anthelísse exclaimed, kneading her back one last time before going to help Nellas roll up the tapestry of Oropher. "Then Thranduil and I would have half the work in choosing names."

"What do you think, Your Majesty?" Aislinn asked Nellas. "Do you have any predictions as to whether you shall be a grandmother to a princess or a prince?"

"Only Eru knows the truth of the future, Aislinn." Nellas replied.

It was the sort of thing that Iminyë would have said. For a moment, Aislinn and Anthelísse shared a quiet remembrance of their fallen friend. Just that morning Anthelísse had joined Daerchon in supervising the taking down of the handmaiden's statue from where it stood in the library.

In the years following Iminyë's death, one Silvan youth with sorrowful brown eyes had practically haunted the corner of the archives where her statue was raised. Not long after, the ellon had faded from grief himself. In tribute to the young lovers, Anthelísse and Thranduil had had a statue cast of the ellon and placed facing that of Iminyë from across the atrium. The two would be transported to The Halls in the north, there to be installed in the new archives together for all time.

They worked together for most of the morning alongside the servants, ensuring that each and every tapestry was rolled and bound with care. When the final nail went into the lid of the crates carrying the woven treasure, they retired to the queen's solar for lunch.

"What do you know of The Halls, Nellas?" Anthelísse asked as she propped up her feet on the one of the few remaining stools that had not been packed. Without the shelves, paintings and other hangings, the smooth walls of the solar caught her voice and cast it back with a slight echo.

The queen paused in eating her bowl of spiced cottage cheese. "Not very much I fear. I came to this place just as much a stranger as you, albeit alongside Oropher and with Thranduil an elfling on my hip. You would be better served asking a Silvan native of the Greenwood."

"It's strange..." Aislinn leaned forward in her chair to cup her pointed chin atop her palm. "Forgive me for my boldness Your Majesty, but sometimes I quite forget that you are as Sindarin as Thranduil. You are so..."

"So Silvan?" Nellas finished the handmaiden's thought with a wry half-smile. When Aislinn nodded unabashedly, the queen chuckled. "You are not the first to comment, Aislinn."

"I must admit, I have often shared much the same thought." Anthelísse said. She balanced her water glass atop her stomach, which had become far less amusing as it was function over the past few moons.

Nellas smiled mysteriously. "Silvan blood runs thick, even after a number of generations. The Sindarin people of Doriath had been mingling with the Silvan folk of that realm for so long, I have no doubt that I have Silvan ancestry somewhere in my bloodline. Unlike Oropher I was not born into nobility, and so perhaps less attention had been paid to my lineage compared to his since our arrival in the Greenwood."

"You know what that means then..." Aislinn reached over to pat the side of Anthelísse's bump fondly, as was often her habit. "The prince or princess will be a child of all three elvish lineages both figuratively and literally. The blood of the Noldor from Anthelísse, and the blood of both the Sindarin and the Silvans from Thranduil."

"Not so much Silvan as Sindarin." Nellas said. "Still, blood will out. I will be very interested to meet this child in the near future."

"As will we all." Anthelísse smiled. Drumming her fingers lightly against the taught fabric of her dress, she started to hum the lullaby that her own mother had once sung to herself, Gil-Galad and Finduilas.

"Fair as the distant stars
Strong as the rooted tree
On, ever on goes time
Slow for her, and quick for he..."*

* - 'Star and Tree' by Michelle Bottorff

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