~The kinslaying is over and Thranduil tries to save young Elros and Elrond. Later, the survivors must leave the destroyed colony and seek out Oropher's new realm in Ossiriand.~

oOo

Thranduil, by Chicotfp on Tumblr

A New Star Shall Arise

With everything that had happened in the heat of battle and Elwing's escape, Thranduil's agitation and pounding heart had kept him warm, but now the numbing chill of the water was finally getting through.

"We should return." Then he noticed that Aerneth's face had become so pale it was almost green, like she was on the verge of throwing up. "Are you alright?"

Her voice trembled as she replied. "I killed elves."

Thranduil understood only too well. Killing sentient beings was never easy, and he had felt horrible the first time – despite it being only orcs. But these were actual elves, so Aerneth's first time must be so much worse than his own.

Drawing her to him in another cold hug, he offered what little comfort he could. No words could take away the remorse and nausea she must be feeling. "We should return," he repeated instead.

But before they could swim ashore, more people came running, pointing at the white bird that was still visible over the horizon. Thranduil recognized Maedhros with his fiery hair among them; he must have heard his brothers' horn call and come to assist them.

With exclaims of shock and grief the newcomers discovered the bodies that lay bobbing in the shallow water.

"It is Amrod," said Maedhros, turning his brother's swollen face up.

"And here is Amras," sobbed a dark-haired ellon that Thranduil surmised must be Maglor. "Then we are all alone in the world now. No adar, no Silmarils, no brothers. Nothing."

Clenching his only hand into a fist, Maedhros turned to the sea and roared against the wind: "Curse you, Elwing! I see you and I know what you did. You turned the Valar against us! Curse you." He spat. "If you can still hear me, then know that I shall never forgive you for this, and those who helped you shall pay! We shall burn this town to embers, you hear me? And kill your children. Kill every last living soul!"

Maglor put a hand on his arm. "Hush, brother. If Ulmo listens we are in even worse trouble. And surely you do not mean to kill the babies?"

"I meant what I said." He stomped away in the direction of the town.

Maglor hesitated, looking longingly at the rolling waves, but then he turned away from the sea and followed his brother.

"I must stop them," Thranduil hissed to Aerneth.

She shook her head. "Nay. No more killings! Please."

"Not you, obviously, you stay here."

She caught his arm. "Don't! You have no chance against so many."

"I cannot let them take Elwing's children! It already happened before when her baby brothers were killed. I will not have another two young lives on my conscience!" Resolutely he broke loose and began to swim in swift strokes.

He knew Aerneth could have stopped him easily with her water magic, but to his relief she did not. Instead he heard her follow.

It took much too long to get ashore. They had been far out, pulled even further by the current, and soon Thranduil's arms felt limp. He spotted a column of smoke erupting above the town.

Damn! Most of the city was made of wood; the houses, the palisade – a fire could be fatal.

"Send us on with your magic," he urged.

Almost immediately he felt a wave lift him, carrying them both towards more shallow waters where they started running through the surf.

"Stay back," he snapped at Aerneth, but she ignored the order.

He did not persist; arguing was a waste of time, every minute counted now.

The outskirts of the town burned fiercely when they finally arrived, with scorching flames and black smoke pouring out of the windows and dancing on the rooftops, spreading fast from house to house.

"We cannot go there. Let us flee," said Aerneth entreatingly. "Maybe other survivors already brought the babies to safety."

"I have to check." Without waiting for an answer, he ran past the first blazing building, ducking a falling beam. He could not be too late again. He must save them.

Hot air scalded his face and his eyes began to water in the thick fumes. Crouching low against the ground he continued, trying to keep below the smoke and not stumble on any of the corpses lining the street. An intense battle must have raged there; they had been killed with sharp weapons. He had no time to check whether they were Maedhros' people or his fellow townsmen.

He could not hear Aerneth anymore and hoped with all his heart that she had been wise and stayed out of this inferno. He did no longer expect to come out of it alive; a quick glance behind him showed that the way back was blocked by the raging fire.

In the smoke and heat it was hard to orient himself, but at last he found Elwing's house. It looked like a torch, with a blast of flames cascading probably ten yards or more into the air, and the roof had fallen in.

Even if he wanted to, there was no way he could get inside.

The desperation that had driven him up till then was swiftly replaced with defeat. He had failed. Once again young, innocent lives had been taken while he was powerless to prevent it. Had Elros and Elrond burned to death in there, screaming in fear as agonising pain riddled their small bodies?

The poisonous fumes were starting to get to him and he sank down on hands and knees, trying to wipe ash from his eyes so he could spot a way out of the burning city. But he was so tired. Every breath he took was painful and he struggled to fill his lungs.

Slowly crawling away from the ruins of Elwing's home, he chose a spot that looked a little more open, grateful for the prevalent breeze from the sea that kept the air clearer than it might otherwise have been. But on the downside, the breeze also fed the fire, and if he could not get to a less dense part of the city soon he would be scorched into embers.

He reached a gap between buildings and drew a few breaths of slightly fresher air. Invigorated, he managed to get back on his feet and start to run – or hobble, rather.

Further from Elwing's house the fire was less intense and several houses still intact. Finally Thranduil could orient himself. Choosing the shortest way out, he began to run for real.

When he reached the palisade where he had stood only that morning – was it not longer ago? – he stumbled over a corpse. Taurandir's glazed, dead eyes stared up at him. Being on guard duty, he must have been one of the first to be killed.

And had Thranduil not left to bring the message to Elwing, it would have been him.

Crouching, he pulled Taurandir's cloak over his stiff face and continued.

Outside he found a small group of survivors. Galadriel, Celeborn, more townspeople, a few strangers he did not recognise. Many were bleeding or nursing ugly burns. But where was Aerneth?

Cold fingers of fear clenched his heart. Had she followed him? Why had he not checked? But the smoke had made him confused.

He swiftly turned back from where he had come.

"Wait," ordered Galadriel. "Where are you going?"

He did not reply. He had to return for Aerneth, even if it meant he must go back into that furnace.

Galadriel tried to stop him but he was stronger, and soon he was running.

Again he felt heat against his face. He did not want to burn to death, but if his wife was there... He was just about to dash into the city a second time when a hand grabbed his arm.

"Thranduil!"

It was Aerneth. Thank the Valar, it was her. Her face was black with soot but she was alive.

Wordlessly he wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her hard, hard.

"The children?" she asked. "Where are the twins?"

"Gone. I am sorry. I tried."

"Then why didn't you let me follow you? I could have helped."

"It was too late. I came too late."

oOo

They stood like that for a long time, until smoke from the city was spreading their way, a heavy, toxic cloud. First then they turned their back to what had been their home and returned to the other survivors.

Now Thranduil regarded the strangers among them more closely. They wore chainmail.

Fëanorians!

"You!" Thranduil yelled, rage and grief burning in his chest like a mirror of the flaming city. "Why did you kill the children? Why? What had Elros and Elrond done to you?"

"Calm down." Galadriel positioned herself between him and the strangers. "Aye, they were with Fëanor's sons, but they capitulated as soon as they realised their leaders meant to attack their kin! None of these elves had a part in the burning of the city; on the contrary, they helped defend us against Maedhros so we could escape."

Suddenly exhausted, Thranduil sank to his knees. He had no energy left, even to be suspicious of Noldor renegades. If they wanted to stab him in his back, so let them.

"Are we the only survivors?" Aerneth's voice was hoarse from the smoke, or perhaps from emotion.

"I think so," said Celeborn sadly.

"But there are so few," she whispered.

During the night a spring rain began, a soft drizzle that took out the final flames in hissing puffs of smoke, and gently washed the ash off the survivors' faces. As if the sky was trying to soothe them.

But it could not do much to ease their sorrow. The stillness was repeatedly broken by sobs and snivels, and the low, forlorn wails of poor Galdor who had been like an extra parent for Elros and Elrond after Eärendil sailed to Valinor, but now had lost both them and his wife in the flames.

Only the capitulated Noldor remained silent. They were not quite prisoners, but their weapons had been taken from them, and nobody looked kindly at them. Yes, they had refused to kill other elves, but they had not had any scruples about following known kinslayers like Fëanor's sons in the first place, nor to threaten the colony to give up the Silmaril.

In the morning, Galadriel, Celeborn and a few others went back through what was left of the palisade to search among the ruins in a last, desperate attempt to find more survivors.

Thranduil did not go with them. He could not stand the thought of finding a pair of small, black skeletons in the debris.

Instead he let Aerneth wash the burns on his arms and face that he had not even noticed getting, but that stung all the worse now afterwards, and bandage his cut arm and leg from the fight in the water. A good part of his hair on one side was gone too, and he probably looked ridiculous.

But who cared.

They had no medicaments so they were obliged to clean the wounds with seawater and wrap them in strips of clothing. There was no food either, or wine to ease the pain. The fire had taken everything.

The search team returned at noon, dirty and empty handed.

"Only corpses," said Galadriel wearily. Her face was sooty again, streaked with either sweat or tears. Maybe both. "The food is nearly gone as well. A few houses have survived – including yours, Aerneth. I hope you do not mind that we gathered what we could find."

"Of course not. And I have seen swan ships out in the bay – carrying my adar's and King Gil-galad's banners. Hopefully they can help."

In the afternoon, the two swan ships arrived. Aerneth's father jumped ashore first of all, hardly even waiting for the vessel to be moored. Thranduil had never seen him that agitated before.

"My daughter! Where is she?"

"Ada!" She hurried to meet him, falling around his neck. "The sons of Fëanor attacked us. They burned the city down!"

"I know, we saw. As soon as we realised you were under attack we set sail, but alas! The winds were against us."

"Queen Elwing had hidden the Silmaril here and they came for it." Galadriel gave Thranduil a frosty look as if to say she had neither forgotten, nor forgiven that he had known about it and not told her.

"Do you know what happened to her?" asked Aerneth. "She went into the water and I asked Uinen to rescue her. Then I saw a bird flying west with the Silmaril, and I think that was her! Did she bring it to the Valar?"

"I saw it too," he replied. "It was Lord Ulmo who transformed her, and he guided her to her husband. They are on their way to Aman now, and with such a ship as Vingilot and such a brilliant gem as the Silmaril to guide them, I think they will succeed where others have not."

Aerneth smiled. "I hope you are right."

"I am. Do you not recall Ulmo's words? 'A new star shall arise' and save us. It must be Eärendil with the Silmaril in his ship! You are all welcome to stay with us on the Isle of Balar in the meantime." Círdan indicated the smoking ruins of the city. "This will take time to rebuild."

"We cannot," said Galadriel. "The fire has taken out nearly all our stores. We would starve on the island, and so will you when you no longer can rely on Haven for your needs of food and firewood."

"Well, there is always fish..."

"But no lembas, no vegetables, no cured meat. Where would we get that?"

"She is right; I think we must leave the coast," said Aerneth seriously. "I have thought about it all night. Before, I believed the Havens would not fall – that perhaps Lord Ulmo's prophecy about the star that would save us meant this shore was safe. But I was wrong."

"Have faith, daughter. Eärendil and the Valar will help us."

"I don't doubt they will, but it is not safe to linger here," she exclaimed. "Don't you recall what Ossë said? The whole continent will be covered by the sea before the end. He saw it!" In a calmer voice she continued: "Everything they foresaw that time has come to pass. Nargothrond fell, Doriath fell, Gondolin fell... and now the Havens, too."

"Aye, I think Beleriand will sink into the ocean eventually, but the children of Ilúvatar shall be saved. Eärendil will return with an army of Valar and Maiar."

"How can you be so sure he will succeed?" asked Galadriel.

He smiled. "I just know. Maybe it is foresight, maybe a fool's hope – but everything will work out for the better."

"Foresight..." She looked thoughtful. "Let me check my mirror."

oOo

Círdan's and Gil-galad's people began to tend to the wounded and help build temporary shelters with spare sailcloth, and meanwhile Aerneth and Thranduil followed Galadriel some yards away. She needed a calm place to work her magic and not too many around her.

"My silver bowl is gone," she lamented as she procured an earthen one and filled it. Then she sang her water spell.

Thranduil took a step backwards. He did not want to look in the mirror himself; the one and only time he did had been terrifying enough. With a shudder he recalled how he had both foreseen Túrin's death and his own father's that time.

Did that mean his father had not made it safely to Ossiriand?

But in the vision he had fought orcs, and there could not be an orc army that far east; the steep Andram hills cut through Beleriand like a wall, and the only safe passages through were here in the western part of the continent. Unless the orcs had learned to use boats and sailed down the Gelion they would not be able to attack Ossiriand.

Galadriel looked long into the misty swirls. "I see orcs on their way here from the north," she mumbled, voice toneless. "They pour down the plains, cut the trees, kill the animals... Warg riders flank them, and..." She recoiled visibly. "Balrogs. Morgoth has released his fire demons. Now I see them swarming all over what is left of our colony, searching for something. I see no people there. Perhaps we left already."

Her words sent an ominous chill through Thranduil. Orcs, wargs and balrogs. Were they the orcs that would kill Oropher?

"Let me see." Aerneth took over the bowl. "I see orcs too, but in this vision they are near the Falas where I used to live. I see a fleet of ships arriving – a huge one! It carries warriors but I cannot see who they are, I am too far away. Like I am a seabird, circling over them... They land the ships. Now there is a battle, they have attacked the orcs. The picture changes... it is all white, misty... the sky. I see something huge and black flying there... an eagle? The image changes again. Only water. Water, water, water, everywhere..."

She backed away. "I think I saw Beleriand sinking."

"We should return to the others, see what they can make of this," Galadriel decided. Her face had turned ashen and droplets of sweat covered her forehead, either from the effort of keeping the mirror open, or from fear.

Gathering the people around them, Galadriel and Aerneth described their visions as best as they could.

"Perhaps the light from the Silmaril is drawing the orcs hither," Círdan mused. "It shone like a beacon in the sky when Elwing flew away with it."

"Sounds plausible," Galadriel agreed with another sour look at Thranduil. As if that too was his fault. "But what should we do?"

"We could build more ships and sail north to meet the fleet at the Falas."

Gil-galad spoke for the first time. "We cannot take that risk, Círdan. Building ships takes a long time, and first we would need to fetch timber. What if the enemy is already near?"

"Then you would leave it to Eärendil and the Valar to fight Morgoth?"

"Much as it pains me, but aye, I would. You do as you will, but as high king I must look for what is best for my people. We have to move them somewhere safe." He turned his head towards the eastern mountains. "If there will be a flood we ought to seek higher ground."

Círdan looked thoughtful. "Maybe you are right, and it is time to leave this shore. I lingered here because of a vision I had a very long time ago. I knew it was my task to make ships, but in particular one ship... Vingilot, the one I helped Eärendil build. My work is finished now."

Thranduil had listened in silence, now he got an idea. "Then we should first travel to Ossiriand. My friend Galion said it is a bountiful, fertile land, and from there it is not far to the mountains. A good place to replenish our stores. And in addition, my adar lives there now – maybe he can help." As he spoke, another thought struck him, giving him a pang of remorse. "Had Oropher and those who went with him stayed here, we would have been so much stronger. We could have driven Fëanor's people away. We should not have quarrelled and become sundered."

"I agree both about the plan and your conclusion," said Gil-galad.

"I agree too, Ossiriand is our only option." Not surprisingly Aerneth both looked and sounded unhappy when she said that.

Her complaisance made Thranduil relieved; for once she was not making a fuss about something Oropher-related.

"I do not like this," muttered Galadriel, but made no other objections.

"I shall return to the island and inform the rest of the people," said Círdan. "We will bring back all the provisions we can carry."

oOo

Once again they would leave their home and become refugees. Be uprooted. Some took it hard, walking around the familiar places with tears in their eyes, saying goodbye to their memories. Others, like Thranduil, were too weary to be sad. Ever since the attack on the city he had felt strangely numb, just working with the tasks at hand – mainly packing goods on sleds and making stretchers for the wounded to be carried on.

Right now he was gathering his own belongings. Miraculously, Aerneth's and his house was one of the few that was still standing, probably because it was located at the outskirts of the town near the palisade.

They could not bring much. A change of clothes, some kitchen equipment, his swords, blankets for those who had lost everything.

When he picked up his spare tunic, a scatter of sparkling quartz crystals gleamed up at him from the bottom of the chest. He had bought them for Aerneth in what felt like a lifetime ago. "Stars" for the dark cave ceiling in Doriath, and later a necklace and earrings of the same material.

Next to them was a rolled up parchment. He unfolded it, revealing the lifelike sea painting that had been a wedding gift from Falasiel, Aerneth's mother. The harbor seal, the rock it lay on, the tiny waves that almost looked like they moved – and behind them the horizon, with the distant shore of Valinor as an uneven line.

Falasiel was perhaps reborn there now, as well as his own mother. Were they friends? Comforting each other in their exile? There was no way to know.

Maybe if Elwing and Eärendil returned, he could ask them.

Suddenly the emotions Thranduil had kept locked away the past days caught him squarely in the chest. He had lost so many already, yet now there were more names added to his long list, and even if some of them had been reborn in Valinor there were several who most certainly had not.

Túrin. Lúthien and Beren. Tuor. Eluréd and Elurín.

Elros and Elrond.

Why had he befriended so many men and half-elven? And why had he become attached to Elwing's boys despite his firm resolution not to?

Stifling his tears, he swept up the white gems and the painting and put them in his pack. Then he left the house without looking back.

oOo

They were ready to leave and only waited for Círdan and Gil-galad to return from the Isle, when they were abruptly awakened by Galadriel and Celeborn who were on guard duty.

"Torches!" she whispered.

Soon everybody was up, regarding the terrifying sight in the north. A myriad of tiny gleaming points, like stars.

"They are already coming," said Celeborn needlessly. "We have to leave at once."

"Poor Ada!" Aerneth mumbled, despair in her voice.

"Maybe he can sail to the Falas like he first wanted," said Galadriel soothingly. "Greet the fleet you saw."

Walking fast, nearly running, they left their temporary shelter. They would not likely be discovered; orcs had nowhere near as good eyesight as elves, but it would be a close call.

They crossed the river at the shallow ford and steered towards the vast forest Taur-im-Duinath east of Sirion, hurrying to cover under its eaves.

"We made it." Galadriel wiped her forehead. "The worst is over now."

They continued at a slightly slower tempo, remaining in the shelter of the trees. Though the orcs were far away, Fëanor's sons may have spies out. Few as they were, and with several wounded at that, they could not withstand an attack.

The sun rose, spilling soft spring light over the miserable travellers. The trees became full of singing birds and the air rich with flower scent. It felt bittersweet to hurry through such beautiful scenery, treading on a carpet of wood anemones and golden mallos bells while wondering whether everything soon would be ruined by orc filth or burned down by balrog whips.

In the afternoon, Aerneth urgently filled her bowl with water. "Ada tries to contact me."

Círdan's face appeared and when he saw her he looked relieved. "You managed to flee the orcs?"

"We did. Thank the Valar Galadriel spotted them in the night."

"They are all over the colony now, searching and jeering. We can see them from the ships."

"What will you do? Sail to the Falas?"

"Nay, Gil-galad and I discussed it and we will follow you – by ship." He explained that he meant to find where the river Gelion reached the sea, and sail up it until they reached Ossiriand.

"But those are uncharted waters. What if the route is blocked, or the river too shallow, or..."

"We have to try. Ossë will protect me," said Círdan confidently.

After his call, Aerneth became brooding and withdrawn, hardly speaking two words during their short breaks. Thranduil wished he could comfort her but did not know what to say.

Instead he trudged on in silence, pulling the heavy sled he was appointed, his mind full of his own worries. He was thankful to have managed to escape the orcs of course, but the closer they got to their destination, the more conflicted feelings he had about it. He longed to be reunited with his father, but feared it too. Oropher's parting words rang in his mind: I have no son.

They walked through most of the night, only daring to rest a few hours, and waking up to continue before sunrise. In the second evening, however, Galadriel decided they could risk a longer break and a good night's sleep. They needed to regain their strength to be able to continue, especially the wounded ones; already they had lost one with such grave burns he passed away the first morning.

Aerneth and Thranduil huddled close together under their cloaks, cowering against the cool dampness. The ground was marshier here and a thick mist was rising. A good cover, but it also made the night chilly.

"Ada's plan is a suicide mission," she mumbled after a while, using that distorted voice people have when they try not to burst out in tears.

He stiffened; her words reminded him of his mother's drowning. He forced himself to relax and hug her. "You heard him; Ossë is his friend and will help him."

"I still worry."

"I understand that."

"And another thing... so much have happened these days, and I've worked hard, and not allowed myself to think. But now..." She drew a ragged breath. "Now I feel like I have blood on my hands. I can see with my mind's eye how they go under the surface, and I hold them there... they struggle, and wave their arms and feet, but I don't release them. I drown them. I see it happen over and over, and when I sleep I see it again."

Thranduil had no soothing words to say about that. 'It will pass'? But it would not. He could still vividly remember every elf he had killed.

"Also, I..." Her voice trailed off. "Never mind."

Thranduil strongly suspected she had meant to say there was a third reason for her bleak mood: Oropher. It would be strange if she did not apprehend the upcoming meeting just like he did.

He was both guilty and grateful that he did not have to have that conversation with her.

Aerneth's silence lasted for two more days, then Thranduil noticed her walking arm in arm with Galadriel, talking about the beauty of the trees here and lamenting the day when this proud forest – possibly as old as the world itself – would one day sink into the sea and perish. Apparently Galadriel had buried the hatchet and forgiven her for getting back together with Thranduil.

Perhaps that was for the better. With so few elves left in Middle-earth, being enemies was stupid. One needed all the friends one could get.

Thinking of friends gave him a fresh stab at the recollection of Taurandir's unseeing corpse by the palisade. Of his childhood friends, only Amroth and Medlin remained now. Hopefully he would meet them soon in Ossiriand, and Galion too, his new friend with his love of growing grapes.

It would be nice, he told himself, being back among them and having a chance to repair things with his father.

He tried not to think too much about the knot of anxiety in his chest cautioning him it might not be that easy.

❈ ❦ ❈

A/N:

The next chapter it is time for the reunion Thranduil fears... but first they hear strange news about Fëanor's sons.

Image Credits:

Digital image edit by Chicotfp on Tumblr, chicotfp.tumblr.com