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Thranduil had little good to say about mortals these days. One thing he would forever grudgingly be indebted to them for however was that first gift of his favorite indulgence. Most all of the Woodland Realm's external trade was conducted with Elrond and Imladris these days. There still persisted one single open account with the human kingdom of Dale to the East though; for shipments of Dorwinion wine from the arbors of the south. Thranduil had sent Daeris to negotiate that contract in his stead, but as soon as he had heard that the River Running was open to southern boats from Gondor he had acted swiftly. It may only be one account, but the ledgers related to it saw plenty of transactions. The king of the Woodland Realm had his vice, and he was quite content with it thank you very much.

"Galion, send for a cask of Dorwinion from the wine cellars." Thranduil said, sitting back on the throne and draping one long leg over the other. The day could not officially start winding down until he had a full goblet in hand. King he may be, but by Thranduil's reckoning that entitled him to a little indulgence after dealing with the matters of the realm for hours on end.

"Very good Aran-nin." Galion bowed and signalled for a servant. The steward knew the inner workings of the royal household better than anyone. Thranduil had never said as much aloud, but Galion knew very well how indispensable he was. That occasionally permitted him to sneak in a few teasing remarks that no one else could have gotten away with. With a wry half-smile, Galion added "Concluding things early today, I gather?"

Thranduil casually dandled one foot in the air. "Unless Maechenel wishes to come back a third time to whine about the details of Mereth Nuin Giliath, then yes."

As is summoned by Thranduil's remark, a page rushed down the causeway toward the throne. Galion could practically hear the king's eyes rolling all the way from where he stood on the audience platform. He hoped the Dorwinion would not be too long in coming. As the page approached though, the grim set of his face made both Thranduil and Galion take pause.

"Aran-nin." The elf bowed quickly. "There's been a report to the front gate...of an attack in the forest. Baraniel requests your presence at the causeway."

"Why can she not walk the hundred steps from there to here herself, and deliver her report to the throne? Have Baraniel's feet become too sore from standing on guard duty?" Thranduil asked drolly.

The page did not back down though. "Begging your pardon my lord, but Baraniel said you would want to come and here the scout's words yourself...She also called for your horse to be brought to the gate."

Galion frowned. That was both highly presumptive and highly unorthodox for Baraniel to have done. Something was afoot.

Thranduil seemed to think so too. Rather than chide the page any further, he gave a curt nod and arose from the throne. His long silvery robes trailing behind him, Thranduil set aside his scepter and set course for the front gates along the wending causeways of the Woodland Realm. Curious, Galion decided to stealthily fall in behind the king.

Sure enough, Baraniel was waiting at the front gate amongst a cluster of rather anxious looking guards. There was also a scout, his forest leathers still stained from fast travel. Upon seeing the king all bowed their heads.

"I apologize for calling you here King Thranduil." Baraniel said. She looked grim. "I would not have done so if it were not of the utmost importance."

"What is it, Baraniel?" Thranduil asked sharply, ignoring her apology. He was not happy with the growing cloud of fear in the air. It was plain in the eyes of the others, pinching their brows and thinning their lips.

"Tanwë, give the king your report." Baraniel turned to the scout.

Looking at Thranduil with wide eyes, the scout Tanwë spoke softly at first. He was very young, barely a century older than Legolas. The thought of his son joining the patrols next year when he came of age nearly distracted Thranduil for a moment. Mentally shaking himself, Thranduil forced his attention back to the present instead.

"Orcs crossed our southern borders again today, Aran-nin. They've been quite aggressive as of late with the high summer months. As you know, some of our folk have been shunning life inside the Halls of the Woodland Realm in favor of living openly in the forest. The orcs attacked one such small settlement, a group of five families living together half a league south of here. I alerted the first patrol I saw and sent them to intercept the orcs...then came straight here as fast as I could to raise the alarm."

"Half a league south?" Thranduil asked sharply. When the scout confirmed as much, he glanced at Baraniel and saw confirmation there. They knew very well who lived in the settlement Tanwë spoke of; the elf in question had taken a leave of duty just two days ago to spend time with his family.

Thranduil drew in a deep, slow breath. The other elves could practically see the mask of icy calm slide into place. "Were there any survivors once the patrol moved in to assist?"

"I...I do not know Aran-nin. I was already on my way here by that time."

Without another word, Thranduil gestured for the groom that was leading his horse. No one even thought for a moment to suggest the king not go. Everyone knew far better.

The ride along the forest paths was brief, even more so because of the pace Thranduil set. He did not speak, but the hunched set of his shoulders as he led spoke volumes. Anyone could see that the king was afraid. When they came thundering into the clearing on swift hooves, a scene of woeful brutality awaited them.

The patrol had come to the settlement's aide with all haste, but it had not been fast enough. Orcs lay dead all around, littering the forest floor with their corpses. Their black blood mingled with the blood of their victims; the five families who had chosen to live beneath the eves of the Greenwood rather than beneath the stone ceilings of the Woodland Realm. They knew what a terrible risk they had been taking, but the pull of the forest had been too strong.

Members of the patrol stood in silence at intervals around the clearing. They looked like mournful sentinels, their quivers empty and their blades stained with black. When Thranduil dismounted, their eyes followed him. Thranduil needed no one to show him why he had been called here...Gurithon was waiting for him.

The proud Silvan Captain of the Guard, Thranduil's oldest and now only remaining friend lay with his back against a tall oak tree. He had been propped up and offered whatever care the would-be-rescuers from the patrol could provide. As Thranduil approached Gurithon though, his gaze flickered down to the blood-soaked bandages wrapping his torso. When he met Gurithon's calm, steadfast eyes again, they understood perfectly; it was over.

"I knew you would come...Sapling..." Gurithon said softly as Thranduil knelt to one knee beside him. He offered a weak smile, betraying that his mouth was filled with blood. Gurithon was dying.

"...Why did you not make Thenniel listen to me?" Thranduil asked, his voice quiet and strangled. "I told her, told you both that it was too dangerous to live alone out here."

Gurithon smiled, but then coughed slightly, painting his pale lips red. "Since when...has anyone ever been able to make...Thenniel do anything? Besides...this was our choice, both of ours. We wanted our child to see the stars every night."

The sound of soft sniffles reached Thranduil, and he looked away from Gurithon toward their source. Gurithon followed Thranduil's gaze and smiled again. Slowly, painfully, he lifted his arm to the small elfling who clung to one of the patrol member's legs.

She was a tiny thing, Silvan to the very core. The bright red hair that floated about the elfling's shoulders was a perfect echo of her mother's well-known tresses. The eyes were Gurithon's though, without a doubt. With a choked sob the elfling rushed forward and flung herself into her father's one-armed embrace. She was bloodied, but the blood did not appear to belong to her.

"Thranduil, this is our daughter. We named her Tauriel. The very image of her mother, is she not?" Gurithon's voice sounded stronger when he spoke now, and he stroked the weeping elfling's head. "Hush now iel-nin (my daughter). We named you 'Daughter of the Forest', and so you will never be without a parent. The forest will always be your home, and we will always be with you whenever you walk beneath its' eves."

"Don't go Ada..." Tauriel let out a hiccupping sob. Her tiny fists clutched at Gurithon's blood-stained cloak.

Hearing Gurithon's daughter crying, Thranduil was suddenly, abruptly transported back to the day when Legolas had brought him back from the very brink of fading. Legolas too had wept and begged for his father not to leave him. A lump rose to Thranduil's throat, and his eyes stung. Deep within its frozen prison, his heart gave a painful, shuddering throb. Emotions Thranduil had buried for years threatened to break free and drown him in an instant.

"Thranduil."

Gurithon's voice jolted Thranduil, and he once again saw clearly his old friend's face. Gurithon's eyes were dim, shaded. A trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth, and he leaned back more heavily against the trunk of the tree.

"Yes...mellon?"

"Thenniel...she is gone. She...ah, there is no sense in telling of it...my beloved is dead. I saw her die, and now I see her with my darkening eyes...waiting for me." Gurithon drew in a labored breath. The end was fast approaching. "Will you watch over our child? I would entrust you with Tauriel, and ask that you care for her in our stead...Please, mellon-nin?"

Struggling to hold himself together, to keep the tattered pieces of his soul from dissolving, Thranduil looked once again at Tauriel. He and Anthelísse had once spoken with hope of giving Legolas a brother or sister. Legolas was fast approaching maturity, well beyond the days of wanting or needing a playmate. Still, some tiny fragment of Thranduil's heart bled at the tears in Tauriel's large green eyes. There was no question in his mind, not when it came to this.

"Yes. Yes of course I will, Gurithon." Thranduil whispered. "I swear it, your daughter shall want for nothing. I will see to it that she is as well cared for, educated and trained and Legolas ever was."

Gurithon smiled, even though his eyes no longer seemed to see what was before him. "Then I am content..." He murmured. Tauriel curled up in the crook of his arm, still whimpering and crying for her Ada not to leave her.

"I will never forget you, nor all the times you stood between me and death, old friend." Thranduil said softly.

Suddenly, a final burst of life seemed to animate Gurithon's failing body. His eyes opened, and he drew in a sharp breath.

"There...is one thing...I must ask...Sapling." Gurithon grated out, his words barely audible. Thranduil had to lean in close even to hear. The coppery scent of blood was all around, mingling with the rich smells of moss, bark and forest life. "That day...after Anthelísse...Tharnor...did you...?"

Did you kill him?

Thranduil drew in a sharp breath, momentarily afraid. He rocked back on his heel and cast about for words. Seeing the calm, unafraid light in Gurithon's gaze though, Thranduil decided just once to share the burden he carried.

"Yes."

Rather than look shocked or disappointed, Gurithon's lips twitched in what might have been a smile. Then his face really did lift into a fierce grin, a warrior's grin.

"...Good."

Then, holding his daughter with one hand and his bow with the other, the Captain of the Guard of the Woodland Realm died. When he passed though, Gurithon did so with a fierce, proud smile on his face. He was a Silvan elf, a warrior of the Greenwood who lived and died to defend his people. Gurithon died with his beloved awaiting him, his child secure in her future and his conscience clear. It was the sort of death that Thranduil would have given anything for.

Thranduil knelt before the body of his friend for a long time. Then, something moved in the forest behind the clearing. With weary eyes Thranduil looked up. What he saw was an echo from what felt like another life, a memory in flesh and blood.

A stag stood watching, its antlers nearly scraping the branches overhead. It was an animal so enormous and regal, it had no equal. Thranduil was certain now that there was no chance in these forest meetings. Bowing his chin, he acknowledged an equal. Perhaps Gurithon had not been his last and only friend.

After a moment the stag echoed the gesture, its rack scraping the branches and rustling the leaves. Then it turned and stepped away into the Greenwood. Thranduil had a feeling they would be meeting again very soon.

Slowly rising to his feet, Thranduil let out a long breath. He had shared the knowledge of what he had done with another, and had not been judged. Gurithon was gone, but for some reason Thranduil felt a strange sense of numbness. It was not exactly peace, but it was not the agony of grief either. There was someone who was feeling that agony though. Turning his attention to Gurithon's weeping daughter, Thranduil spoke gently to the elfling.

"Come, Tauriel. Your father and mother have asked me to watch over you, and I will. We should not linger in this place."

The elfling looked up, tears still running down her little face. She looked Thranduil straight in the eye though without fear, a boldness that Thenniel would have been proud of. Then, chin firm, Tauriel got up and took Thranduil's offered hand.

The other elves moved in to take up the bodies of their kin and bear them to their places of burial. Thranduil did not stay to watch though. The king lifted his new charge up onto his horse's back and then mounted behind her. Then, backs straight and wills strong, Thranduil and Tauriel rode away.

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