"You are up early."
Círdan sniffed as Thranduil made his way to just behind him, then pointed out to sea. "I was just thinking that we are due another clear day, and that I can think of no better indication that the Belain are not wholly displeased with our venture." His hand returned to the rudder. "Or if not the Belain themselves, then at least Ossë has decided to leave us alone for the time being."
"Why do you say this?" Thranduil's gaze followed that of the Shipwright to study the line of clouds to the east.
"Because, my nautically disinclined friend, in the first place, we have had steady winds at our backs, pushing us south at a constant speed, which is a seasonal occurrence. You see, late summer is a time of small storms that would make those strips of leather that Elrond has you wearing utterly ineffective." The smile that broke over the bearded face was wide. "Galion tells me…"
Thranduil's head snapped back to look at Círdan. "What has he told you?" was the soft demand.
Círdan merely shrugged and replied, "Enough to know that you will not want to be aboard the Aeardelien in rough seas." He adjusted the rudder with a chuckle. "Although seeing one's soon-to-be sovereign bent over the railing would probably be demoralizing…"
"I shall have him digging latrines, the moment we are on solid ground again, I swear it!" Thranduil grumbled under his breath, only to glare when Círdan broke out into a fully amused cackle. "What are you laughing at?"
"You," Círdan snorted. "And the fact that it would be very easy to get Galion in trouble, were I not such a fair-minded and honest individual."
Thranduil blinked. "Say what?"
The chortles from the tiller continued apace. "I merely assumed, from indications you gave at the beginning of our trek, that you are not the best of sailors. I also assumed, and from your response correctly, that Galion was witness to your… how shall I put this…"
"Enough. Am I to be made sport of by…"
"Who makes sport of you?" Glorfindel's melodious voice drifted before him as he, too, came aft. "And, more importantly, are the games open to all?"
"Well…" Círdan began.
"No!" Thranduil's brows had already fallen as far as they could.
"It is never a good idea to poke a lion with a stick," Elrond commented placidly, following his former Battle Master and then viewing the stand-off at the tiller with a wry smirk. "They reportedly have very long memories, and a tendency to exact revenge at the least expected moment."
"Whose side are you on?" Glorfindel asked and then laughed openly at the expression on Thranduil's face.
"More importantly, are we seeing any place that looks remotely inviting as a harbor?" Elrond continued, ignoring him. "We passed our one hundred leagues mark days ago."
"I know." Círdan's hand lifted from the tiller and pointed at the coast that lay ahead of them yet. "For what it is worth, I like what I see of the wave action just around that promontory there. I have been watching since Anor first rose in the sky this morning. With any luck, it heralds a bay that will not be merely another waterfall over cliffs this time."
"Your chosen land has yet to welcome you, Thranduil," Glorfindel commented, putting a companionable hand on the Tawarren's shoulder.
Thranduil's shrug disregarded the weight. "I choose to interpret that to mean that Avathar wishes to distance herself from the rest of Eldamar more than we do." He leaned back against the railing and crossed his arms in front of him in order to be comfortable as he watched the inhospitable cliffs creep slowly past.
Elrond turned and watched the water behind them. "Once we do find a harbor, at least we know that the sea herself will keep us well stocked for food." He pointed. "What are those?"
Círdan leaned back to look where Elrond was pointing. "Halacarcarni," he replied with a wide smile. "I wonder if any of our fisher friends are paying…" He turned about and watched the growing activity on the nearest fishing vessel. "I would wager the last kulusta in the Falathren coffers that Dinenon is marking down landmarks so as to return here once we have safe harbor. And look there, how the waves are breaking far from the cliffs? There are shoals and tide pools there, with all the possibilities that those include."
"Now all we need is a place to harbor," Glorfindel mused. "I have seen deer at the edge of the cliffs near sunset twice now, so there is game to be had in the forest. If we can ever get to them, that is…"
"Have you spoken to any of the warriors?" Elrond asked, mirroring Thranduil's lean and crossed arms.
Glorfindel nodded. "They understand the delay. They watch the shoreline when they are on deck, just as we do. They know what we need, and why they are still on a ship rather than guarding a new settlement."
"I heard two of them talking while I was on my way to my cabin last night," Círdan added. "The substance of the discussion was how much happier the one man was, now that he was on the brink of actually doing something useful with his skills, rather than sitting in an inn telling old stories of valor to those who will never understand."
"Good." Thranduil sounded pleased. "It is still early, and it would be better not to be already hearing sounds of second thoughts echoing through those on whom we will come to depend soon."
"I doubt there are many who would have second thoughts were we twice this long without finding decent landfall," Glorfindel said with conviction. "Everyone on board any of these ships was tired of the way things were back… there. Even some who have been in Aman all their lives." He nodded at Thranduil's widened eyes. "Not many, I will grant you, but there are a few." It was his turn to grin. "I understand they were considered malcontents at home, and their families are no doubt heaving huge sighs of relief to know their attitudes will no longer be ruining reputations."
Círdan aimed an assessing gaze at Thranduil. "You will have your work cut out for you, my friend, to create in this wilderness the kind of society that will reward those who grew tired of perfection, or those who seek something more challenging."
Thranduil's lips twisted in a confident grin. "It is nothing I have not done before, Old Man. And if I can do it once, I can do it again."
"Old Man," Círdan grumbled, which only made Thranduil's grin wider.
"Look!" Elrond's call had them all straightening as he pointed over the bow. "Círdan!"
"I see it!" Círdan's hand at the tiller steered the bow of the Aeardelien toward the shore: a genuine white sand beach that, the closer they got, he could see stretched all the way across the back end of the small bay. "Hoy!" he called to one of his men, high in the rigging. "Signal the others to follow." He glanced over at Thranduil. "What say you?"
Thranduil stood forth, legs spread and arms crossed over his chest. "I think our work has just begun," he replied. "About time."
oOoOo
It certainly felt much better to be standing in the sand looking out to the five ships anchored just beyond the tide pools and the treacherous rocks that would tear the bottoms from wooden hulls, Thranduil thought. A second long-boat from the Aeardelien was already through the surf and being tugged ashore by Glorfindel and two of his warriors.
"Welcome to Avathar, gentlemen," he announced grandly, throwing his arms wide.
"Hmph!" Glorfindel snorted. "Can't complain about the view, but the accommodations are…"
"The water's fresh - and quite sweet!" Círdan called from a short distance away, where he was squatting on the banks of a swift-running stream. He rose and gestured toward the line of trees. "And there should be plenty of timber for building a settlement."
Legolas approached his father with something held behind his back. Thranduil gave his son a wary glance, and then let loose a deep breath of relief as a crown of green leaves and a few scattered wildflowers, clearly woven in haste, was unceremoniously deposited on his head. "You have been waiting for a long time to do that, have you not?" Thranduil asked his son dryly.
"Forgive me, Adar. It is just that a King needs his crown." For a moment, the easy tone of voice and smile on his face reminded Thranduil of the many crowns he had worn of his son's creation in the years before that wretched Quest had disrupted so many good things.
Glorfindel's opinion of the Greenwood crown was obvious. "If you are finished playing with the verge, Thranduilion, you and I could confer on just how to arrange for our protection…"
Not in the least contrite, but duly summoned away, Legolas gave his father a shallow bow and walked over to Glorfindel's side.
"It is well that we found this place early in the day," Elrond commented calmly. "It gives us time to set up the pavilions, if nothing else."
Thranduil nodded and watched Círdan direct the long-boats back through the surf, no doubt to begin unloading warriors and supplies. He strode over. "We should probably not land the families until there is more to welcome them. And we will need the canvas tenting until…"
"Understood," Círdan agreed. "We need the warriors first and foremost, and they can help unload the supplies once here. I've ordered three of my carpenters sent ashore with the next boats, so we can start felling trees and preparing for the night."
"Good thinking, although I am willing to wager that the women and children will be grateful when they are allowed ashore."
Turning about, Thranduil could see that the half-dozen warriors that had climbed into the long-boat with him earlier had already established a perimeter between those on the beach and the forest and stood, battle-ready and alert, facing into the wild. Some of them had once guarded his halls in Eryn Lasgalen; they were the ones whose faces showed the least tension with their alertness. One, however, quite young and with the look of the Vanyar about him, studied the darkness beyond the treeline with real apprehension.
"It is different from anything in all of Eldamar, is it not?" Thranduil asked him after walking slowly along the protective line until close enough to address the youngster. "Nothing here is planned, or carefully designed to look random. Here, all is wild, untrained."
"I know." The young warrior responded automatically, and then his grey eyes flitted in surprise to Thranduil's face, to the crown. He blanched. "I beg your pardon, my lord…" he began with a deep bow, his Sindarin heavily accented.
"What is your name?" Thranduil asked, waving the bow aside.
"Hallaferen, my lord."
"You are of Aman, are you not?" When the warrior nodded, Thranduil tipped his head. "Might I inquire what you are doing so far away from everything you have ever known?"
"I would go to the inn, while visiting my uncle in Tirion, and hear the stories told by those who were in Ennor," the young man began, his face flushing deeply. "Everything I ever heard about Ennor made it sound…" His hand rotated ineffectively. "…alive, in a way that Aman was not." He straightened. "I wanted to know that kind of life, even though my parents would speak very badly of those who resisted the summons until the very end."
"You do understand that a great deal of what made those stories… alive… was the danger that was always around us, do you not?" Thranduil cautioned.
Hallaferen nodded. "I began to follow the tournaments, begging any of the warriors to teach me the ways of the sword. My father was… not happy. When I heard about the intention of so many who had been in Ennor to travel to Avathar, I knew that I wanted to be a part of this. I know…" He swallowed hard. "…that I am untried in battle. But I am willing to learn, to serve."
Thranduil gazed long into those earnest grey eyes, seeing nothing but determination and eagerness. "Very well, then allow me to give you your first lesson on life outside the control of the Belain, Hallaferen," he said, gesturing toward the trees, "for all the rules by which you have lived your life before this moment have just been discarded. Think. We know that there are no other Elves out there who might be conspiring against us. We also know that there are no yrch in the Blessed Lands. So for the most part, we do not watch against a two-legged enemy, do we?"
Hallaferen's eyes were wide, but he was listening very closely. "No, my lord, we would not."
"So, this leaves the four-legged variety. or," and Thranduil lowered his voice to increase the drama, "even, possibly, the eight-legged variety." He watched those innocent grey eyes widen even more. "However, if the eight-leggeds are anything like their kin in Ennor, they will spend some time watching us with almost the same level of concentration that we will be looking for them, hoping to discover our weaknesses. The four-leggeds, too, will more than likely neither run from us nor come close for a while. After all, this land has seen nothing of the Edhil. No creature will know what to expect of us, anymore than we will know what to expect of them, will they?"
The young warrior's shake of the head was hurried, nervous.
"Your duty, then, at this post at this time is simply to keep yourself alert. Watch the brush and ground at the base of the trees, as far back as you can see clearly, for any movement, and call out if you see something. Even if it ends up being nothing but a doe escorting her young to the tender grass at the edge of the forest, call out. More men will be coming to assist in this effort as the boats land, but for now, the responsibility for keeping all of us here safe rests on your shoulders and those of your comrades. Do you think you can do this?"
"Yes, my lord." Hallaferen nodded firmly. "Watch for movement, and call out if I see any. That I can do easily." The young face relaxed. "Thank you…" He glanced once more up at the wreath of green leaves that adorned Thranduil's head. "…Sire."
"Good man." Thranduil clapped the warrior's shoulder and continued on past him, now keeping an eye on the forest himself.
Were there spiders here? If so, were they as large or as dangerous as those in what once had been Taur-e-Ndaedelos? What else might be waiting out there for them, what else that they had never faced before, that might have been left behind by Morgoth or Ungoliant? His interest, his curiosity, about this new land that he had come to claim and rule would have him simply begin walking and see what came his way, but he refrained.
Laeriel would be furious with him if he just were to wander off into unexplored woodlands alone, without even his son to guard his back; and she would be right to do so. No doubt he would hear from Elrond endlessly about the foolishness of such an urge. He turned around and began watching the beginning bustle as those first few found tasks to perform.
He located Glorfindel and Legolas and strode over in their direction. The time to stand and watch was not now; all hands would be needed to get this venture started properly. "What are your thoughts?" he asked as he approached, more than ready to do something besides observe.
oOoOo
Olórin waited his turn to step from the long-boat into the shallow water of the beach, his staff helping him find his footing. He had done all he could aboard the Gwaelaer, organizing groups heading for shore and the supplies that they could carry with them as they went. Most of those remaining on board now were Círdan's men, involved in securing the ship so that a mere few could keep watch while the rest went ashore.
The midday was already long past, and the beach looked more like a beehive than the quiet refuge it had been less than a day before. From the forest came the sound of axes biting into wood. In the middle of the action, Thranduil and Círdan stood directing those buzzing around them and making notes as they went. As Olórin heard the crackle and then crash of a falling tree, he saw Thranduil pause in the middle of speaking and close his eyes as if suddenly in pain.
"Are you well?" He asked, hurrying forward and reaching for the tall man.
Thranduil nodded slowly and then turned to gaze at the forest. When he returned his attention to the people around him, the sadness in his face was obvious. "I know that we need the lumber - even if we were to build our settlement as telain, we would need some supply of wood to start with. I just…" He glanced back over his shoulder. "I do not like to hear the cries. Excuse me for a moment." He took off for the line of trees, and Olórin could hear him calling for those with axes to stop their work for a moment.
"Wood-elves," Círdan sighed, shaking his head. "We would have no boats at all, no furniture, were they to be in charge."
"Thranduil's palace in Eryn Lasgalen had some very fine furniture," Olórin felt moved to protest.
"Yes, but they were a long time in being made. Thranduil's people still feel very close to the forest itself, the very trees, to the point of… Did you hear him talking about the cries?" Olórin nodded. "He speaks of the cries of the trees." Círdan jerked his nose in the direction Thranduil had gone. "No doubt he is out there, communing with them now, begging their pardon for what he knows has to be done."
"You do not hear them?" Olórin asked in surprise.
Círdan shook his head, and his expression clearly spoke of his fraying patience with the sensitivies of wood-elves.
Thranduil was gone a long moment, and then the sound of axes biting wood began anew, and he was walking slowly back.
"Better?" Olórin asked kindly.
"No, but tolerable," Thranduil answered bleakly. "I had forgotten how hard it is to make room for a new settlement, how many of the fair folk of the forest who have found their home here for many years have to perish to provide us with what we need." He shook himself almost physically. "But this time of sorrow will pass, and the forest will recover. It is a promise I make to myself – and today to the trees of Avathar."
"So," Olórin spoke up in a voice made forcefully cheerful, "I am ready for something other than lolling in a bunk. Give me something useful to do."
"I have just the thing," Thranduil answered immediately. "Elladan!" he called out and then gestured broadly for the elder twin to join them. Once the son of Elrond was there, and greetings had been exchanged, Thranduil laid out his idea. "I want you and Olórin to take a small squad into the forests right here, in the area, to see what kinds of bounty the land in the immediate vicinity can provide for us. Do not penetrate deeply, as we still do not know what dangers may lurk inland, and be back before sunset."
"Bounty?" Elladan asked in confusion, and Olórin was grateful that he wasn't the only one that didn't entirely understand just what it was that was being asked of them.
Thranduil sighed. "Bounty," he repeated tiredly, "as seen through the eyes of Wood Elves. Are any of the trees fruit-bearing? Nut-bearing? And what about game, is it plentiful? Sickly? What about birds, are they familiar, strange, predatory, what? Are the bees still visiting the flowers? Elladan, you know what to look for when it comes to herbs and food plants, for I seriously doubt your father would have turned you loose without at least a basic knowledge of plant lore. I am certain he will thank you for any reports of medical herbs, and the cooks will be grateful for being able to eventually resupply vegetables or those needed for seasoning."
"He does not ask for much, does he?" Olórin asked Elladan in a voice not quite soft enough not to be heard.
Thranduil shot him a glare, still obviously not in much mood to be teased. Once more he stepped aside and called out, and this time, a warrior came at a quick trot. "Yes, Sire?"
"Olórin, Elladan, this is Cannagar. He will know what to look for when it comes to signs of spider." Thranduil nodded as Olórin's eyes widened. "Cannagar, I want you to choose a squad of those you know understand spiders. I want to take no chances."
"Sire!" Cannagar's fist was at his heart as he bowed, and then he in turned walked away calling out names until he had five others gathered around him. He led his select group back over to the King. "We are ready, Sire."
"Be careful," Thranduil cautioned them one last time. "We want no accidents to mar our first day here."
Olórin exchanged a bemused look with Elladan and then tightened his hold on his staff. "Then we should be off," he declared and started forward. By his third step, Elladan was at his side, with the warriors surrounding them in a loose formation.
The Avathar forest had an untouched feel to it that even Olórin could appreciate. The trees grew straight and healthy, from what the Maia could understand of the soughing of the wind through the leaves. The trees themselves were curious, and a little distressed at the sounds of pain from near the beach.
"Look!" Cannagar said softly and pointed at a trio of deer – two does and a half-grown fawn – who slipped into the deeper forest the moment they saw the strangers. "When the time comes to hunt, at least we know we'll eat well."
Elladan wasn't listening. His attention was on the greenery at his feet. "Rosemary, mint," he muttered to himself. "And comfrey too!"
Each one muttering to himself about the discoveries they were making, they moved in a rough circle. Cannagar kept his eye on all of them, calling them back when they wandered further than necessary away from the rest.
Eventually Olórin's attention was called up into the branches of a tall oak, where an owl grumbled at them for having disturbed his rest. Further up in the canopy could be heard the chittering of songbirds, along with the occasional flitter as they would dart from one perch to the next. He caught sight of a squirrel sitting on a branch in the middle of a meal of an acorn. "If I did not know this to be Avathar, I would take this for the fences of Lothlórien," he commented to his companions quietly. "I feel no latent evil here."
"That is a good thing to know," Elladan replied absently, rubbing the broad leaves of something on the ground and then smelling of his fingertips.
"Over here!" one of the warriors called. "Apples!"
"Are they ripe?" another called back. "I would kill for something fresh right now. Dried fruit is not my idea of good."
"Not quite," the first answered. "They would give you a belly-ache if you ate them now."
"I found berries," a third sounded off. "Not ripe yet, but in but a little while, they will be."
A squawk caught Olórin's attention, and a flap of black wings. "Well," he answered the call very conversationally, "we are here, and we are not leaving anytime soon." The bird ruffled its feathers and cocked an intelligent eye downward before giving out another raucous screech. "No, we most likely will have no designs on your young. You are safe." He sent forth calming thoughts. "What can you tell me about this place?"
The raven could only send images, but most of them were of open skies, the open beaks of the nestlings, and brief flashes of insects. One image, however, made him frown. "How far?" he asked tersely, then shook his head at the confusing images that flashed past too quickly to understand.
"Hoy!" he called out. When the others had gathered, he pointed at the raven, which sat still preening. "We have word of spiders."
Cannagar frowned. "Where? How far?"
"I could not understand that part of her message to me," Olórin threw his hands up. "But from her reaction, I do not think they are close. Still…"
"Still…" Cannagar repeated thoughtfully. He gazed upwards into the canopy. "The afternoon ages, and Aran Thranduil told us not to be away after sunset. We should direct our steps back toward the beach. I think we have the information he wanted, and the land should sustain us nicely, once we know where everything is." He indicated a direction, one that Olórin was fairly certain was the one from which they had come. "We should stay closer together now, though. Spiders like to hunt in twilight, if these are like the ones back home, that is."
None of the Elves was as relaxed as before; even Elladan walked more carefully, with his hand on the hilt of his sword. Olórin decided he would be much happier, and feel much safer, once out from beneath the cover of the trees. There might be no lingering evil from Morgoth, but Ungoliant had had plenty of time to leave her progeny behind, and they had had more than ample time to procreate and thrive.
Avathar was beautiful, and some of what it held was deadly. Carving a land suitable for man to live in from that danger would not be an easy task, and Olórin found himself a little less than confident of success.
oOoOo
Dinenon climbed from the long-boat and looked around the burgeoning settlement with amazement and curiosity.
Far enough back from the marks of the high tide, row after row of neat canvas tents gave evidence to the housing provided for the warriors. At regular intervals were rings of stone and metal stakes to hold pots over fires at night, providing both hot food and warmth to those not standing watch. Larger pavilions made up their own line a little further back, and they, like their smaller cousins, had several fire rings in front of them.
The sounds of construction were easily heard over the bird calls from the woods beyond the stacks of logs that comprised the protective barrier around the camp. Along that row of timber, obviously harvested with the intentions of using the wood for dwellings and other fortifications, stood rude platforms upon which a pair of warriors stood at alert, facing into the woods beyond.
Considering that it had been only two days since dropping anchor in the protected waters of the bay, Dinenon was pleasantly surprised that such progress had been made.
His contemplation of what was and what might be in just a few days more was interrupted by the approach of a tall, golden-haired man with a narrow strip of woven grass adorning his head. With him came Círdan. "Master Dinenon," the stranger said in a deep and mellow tone despite its odd accent. "I am Thranduil. I understand you have asked to see me?"
"Aye." Dinenon gave an abbreviated bow to Thranduil and then a full Falathren salute to Círdan. "My Lord. I was wondering if it would be possible to shift our families to the larger ships, so that we can take to open water and begin fishing to supply food for all of you."
"That is actually not a bad idea," Círdan agreed after very little thought. "We are busy enough with construction of protection and dwellings, we need as many hands at that task as possible. For the time being, perhaps living off the bounty of the sea might be in our best interests short-term."
"Aye! With the halacarcarni running so close to shore here, I am certain Ulmo intends to feed us well." Dinenon smiled widely at his lord. After all, that was a favorite delicacy of many of the inland-dwelling lords.
Thranduil slowly nodded. "Very well. Your idea has merit. The Aeardelien is the larger of the transport ships… Círdan, do you believe that all of the families will find comfortable living space on her while the smaller ships ply their craft in the open water?"
"Begging your pardon, my lord Thranduil, but I have been aboard the Aeardelien. She's more than big enough to hold our folk, and your ladies as well." Dinenon yanked on the tuft of hair that covered his brow in deference. "Until there be places for them here, on land, that would do quite well for them."
This Thranduil fellow who rumor had it intended to be lord over this new land gazed back at him with some surprise. Did none of his people ever speak to him as one man to another? Dinenon transferred his gaze to his lord to await the verdict.
But it was Thranduil to whom Círdan gave the final word. "I will have families and belongings transferred to the Aeardelien this afternoon, in plenty of time for the evening meal. However, Master Dinenon, I would request that you limit your open water roamings to waters from which you can return to our Havens at night."
Dinenon gazed from Círdan to Thranduil and back. "My Lord?" he asked, aiming his question very clearly at Círdan. "Only half a day out?"
Círdan rubbed his beard and thought for a moment. "Dinenon, Avathar will have a king, and that man will be Thranduil. I intend to give him my allegiance."
Wondering if he had given offense, Dinenon turned a wary look back to the stranger. "I have heard the tales your lady-wife tells of your time over there." His nose jerked toward the east. "She says you kept your people safe, even without any help from others."
Thranduil met his gaze frankly. "I kept them as safe as possible in very dangerous times and under perilous circumstances. I know not what my lady-wife may have told you, but I do not expect you to give me your loyalty without earning it through making good decisions and relying on those who are more experienced with things that I have never encountered before. When it comes to matters of the sea, obviously you and Círdan have the weight of experience behind you. Perhaps, when I know more of what it means to live near the sea, I will feel more confidence in letting you choose your own times of leaving and returning; for the time being, however, I would appreciate your letting my caution hold sway in this matter."
Oddly, Dinenon felt satisfied with that response. "Thank you, my lord…" He looked back at Thranduil. "Sire," he pronounced slowly and gave him a much more respectful bow than he had before.
oOoOo
Círdan watched the captain of the Aearwing walking back to the long-boat. "We had not considered this," he commented thoughtfully.
"Considered what?" Thranduil asked.
"What it will mean to realistically combine so many different clans and traditions under a single voice of authority." He rubbed his beard again. "Look about us. We have Felessil, Geledhil, Imladhril, Tewerril, Gelydh… and each of them is looking to a different one of us for guidance and leadership. If allowed to continue, it will undermine all efforts to create a new unified society, free of the constraints of Eldamar."
Thranduil turned and gazed after Dinenon, his brows creased together. "You are right: that is a topic on which we have spent very little time."
"It is understandable," Círdan continued. "Each of our clans has traditionally settled in different parts of Aman, keeping to our own kind and maintaining loyalty to our previous lords." He gave Thranduil a sharp look. "Even if the rest of us openly throw our weight behind your lordship over this new land, you will have to earn the respect of each and every man, woman and child who did not follow you originally, you know. It will be a very long and tedious task, and you are not necessarily known for patience, my friend."
"I can be patient when the situation calls for it," was the quiet response. "This is important enough to all of us." Then he returned Círdan's sharp look. "But, as you say, this is something the rest of us have not discussed before. Have I been foolish in simply assuming lordship here? Is there another who…"
Círdan raised a defensive hand. "I think all of us are more than willing to defer to your experience at ruling over a dangerous land without the benefit of Celebrimbor's jewels, Thranduil. What I think is needed, however, at the first opportunity, is a meeting of our merry band of conspirators, to make certain you have no competition for the position. After that, a more general meeting of all concerned, where we in leadership roles make our positions plain."
"Ah, yes. I have heard of your fondness for meetings from Elrond." Thranduil smiled. "And while a monarch generally does not rule by committee, but rather by strength of will and personality, perhaps this is something that I can learn from you."
"Especially if you take the time to form a council of advisors that includes all of the major clans represented here. Once those who look to them have decided to follow their lead in throwing their loyalties over to you, then you can start thinking like an autocrat again."
"Being autocratic is not necessarily a bad thing," Thranduil retorted, his brows climbing his forehead.
"I never said it was." Círdan shrugged. "But without having won your people's loyalty outright, especially with a group this small and intimate, attempting to be so would be a recipe for disaster."
Thranduil caught at Círdan's arm. "We should bring this to Elrond and Celeborn right away, so that we can get a decent start on this before we start to experience problems. Celeborn is with Glorfindel, drilling those not actively on watch or helping with the building efforts. Elrond…"
"Is off with his sons and yours, gathering herbs just beyond the barriers." Círdan supplied the information needed. "No doubt, he will be easy to summon back. I shall go for him, while you summon Celeborn."
oOoOo
"They are back - early!" The word spread quickly across the camp.
"We can finish this later," Elrohir said, the hand not holding his sword on his knees as he struggled to catch his breath. "You are just too fast with those knives of yours!"
Legolas grinned. "You just know you were on the verge of being defeated, and you want a chance to get your second wind."
"You would do the same, in my position," Elrohir challenged. He straightened with a grunt. "But we really should go see why the scouting party is back so soon."
"I know. Faeldir is a stickler for keeping to schedules, and we had planned out a patrol route that should have kept them out for the better part of the day. For him to head back into camp, he must have found something that he felt we needed to know." Legolas frowned. His old captain was very regimented, and didn't vary routines often at all. The more he thought about it, the more concerned he became. "Come on!" he waved at Elrohir and began to trot toward the barrier.
By the time he had drawn closer to the clump of warriors, he could see his father pushing through the gathering crowd. "Faeldir!"
"Sire." The taciturn warrior had his hand to his heart and was bowing even before Thranduil had come all the way forward. "Spider-sign, Sire, less than an hour's march directly east of us. There is a small, rocky hill that looks like it may shelter a cavern, and I saw fresh webbing in the distance."
There was a stir of worried voices from those surrounding Faeldir. "Did you see any of them? Are they as large as the ones we battled before Sauron was destroyed?" Legolas demanded.
"From the webbing, I would estimate that they would be no smaller than the largest we encountered at home," Faeldir turned to face him. "It is possible they could be larger still."
The worried mutters grew louder. "Quiet!" Thranduil barked, and then turned back to the warrior captain. "How fresh were the webs?"
"Still glistening," was the reply. "Woven within the last half-day."
"How do we keep spiders from over-running the camp?" a very unhappy voice asked from a small group of warriors from Imladris.
"Now you know part of what you are looking for when you serve your rotation at the watch," Thranduil replied, and Legolas found himself not quite grinning to hear the volume and return of a tone of confident authority that had always carried his father through as ruler. "Now you know that there is genuinely something in those trees that we need to watch against."
"Sire," Legolas spoke up, knowing that the subject would need to be raised. "If I might, many of the warriors here do not know how to battle spider. I suggest we alter the training and sparring routines to include intensive instruction on what to do when faced with such a foe."
Thranduil nodded, his green eyes glinting approval. "See to it, my son. I will leave it in your and Faeldir's capable hands to address the issue of seeing our warriors prepared for all possibilities."
"Is the settlement safe?" another voice asked from the very back of the group, where the Falathrim who had been felling trees and preparing the lumber for use were gathered in a tight group to listen.
"Bring me something to stand on," Thranduil hissed in the direction of Galion, who quickly found an empty water keg and brought it at a run. Only barely waiting for his old friend to deposit the keg into the sand before standing on it, Thranduil looked out over the faces that surrounded him.
"All of us decided that life in Eldamar was too perfect, too regimented, did we not? Did we not come to miss the challenge of the unknown and the unexpected?" He turned slightly, addressing yet another portion of the group. "Were you not all warned that the land we were traveling to held dangers perhaps as great, if not greater, than those we faced back home? Well, now we know at least one of them, and for some of us, it is a familiar face.
"You ask if the settlement is safe. And I must answer that no, it is not – at least, not yet." He swept his hand over the entire group. "Each and every one of us will have to be on his guard from now on, aware of what is going on beyond the barrier and among the trees, until we have shelters that are capable of genuinely protecting us from spider attack. Those of you who work the forges will need to begin to manufacture protective grates for the windows of our dwellings such that no spider can enter that way."
"There can be no question now: this battle will be between edhel and beast. All other differences must fall away – now! Look around you." He nodded and gestured again. "Go ahead, look. See the faces of those who stand with you. Some of those faces belong to clans you have barely gotten to know in Eldamar, people you would never have had reason to meet had you all not chosen to come on this folly. But listen to me now, all of you!
"These are your brothers now. Here, in Avathar, we are not Golodh, or Imladhrel, or Galadhel, or Falassel or Tawarel. We have turned our backs on those designations and joined our lives and our fortunes to a new, common cause, and so we shall own a new name. We are the Avathrim, and the Avathrim know how to fight spiders, or will be learning very quickly."
Legolas nodded his head. What had been a tense and frightened murmur had been transformed by his father's rhetoric into the beginnings of agreement, approval – even a sense of pride. A quick, assessing look about the collected group found Elrond standing not far from Celeborn, with both nodding somberly. Círdan stood with Gildor and Haldir, and although his arms were crossed over his chest, he too was nodding.
This was what his father had always been good at: taking a disadvantage and making it into a matter of strength. He had known, or at least suspected, that there would be spiders. Legolas narrowed his eyes in sudden appreciation. That is why he had been slowly sending scouting parties further afield: he'd been hoping to find them. Spiders in Avathar were the key to bringing a motley group of malcontents from differing realms in Ennor together for a common agenda that none could deny!
And it had worked.
"Will we be feasting on them as well?" a jaunty voice demanded from a corner of the contingent from Eryn Lasgalen.
"Feasting?!" echoed a shocked voice from the other side of the crowd.
Legolas appreciated that his father had the good sense to cover his mouth before the wide smile of amusement at the looks of horror offended and undid all the cohesion-building he'd just accomplished. There were many here that had never experienced the little spark of pleasure otherwise hidden in the darkness of Taur-en-Ndaedelos.
"Yes! Feasting!" another excited voice exclaimed from the wood elves. "You have not tasted anything as good as spider legs in butter."
"I think," Thranduil stated, holding up his hand to halt what could have turned into a shouting match, "that on the day we finish all of the dwellings, and can finally bring the families ashore who yet await us on the ship, we shall indeed feast on venison, for those who are unready to sample one of the less expected delicacies from Eryn Lasgalen, and spider, for those with more experienced or courageous palates." He didn't hide his grin anymore. "But we shall wait to discuss the virtues of differing tastes, shall we not? We have a settlement to finish building, a watch to keep, and defensive training to undertake. So I ask you: are you with me?" He threw up his hands dramatically.
And even Legolas felt moved enough to be carried along and join his voice with the resounding cheer of the Avathrim answering their king.
oOoOo
Elrond rose from where he'd been sitting on the ground and straightened his back with a grunt. Still, he couldn't be anything but satisfied; he had cleared a small area just to the north of the opening in what would eventually be the defensive wall around the settlement, and many of the more familiar herbs that grew in the surrounding forest had been carefully transplanted to this more easily accessible spot. At his feet, two little slips of athelas struggled to overcome their torpor in newly turned and nicely dampened soil. With luck, these would thrive here as well as their parent plants did back in Barvedui.
Along the upright logs that were the start of the stockade walls, he had planted some of the hobbits' taters well over a week ago, and those little plants were already looking sturdy and happy. On the other side, others had planted slips of berry vines. Elrond knew that some of the Tawarren warriors made a habit of pausing and singing to the transplants on their way either out to or in from a patrol, and that it never failed that the little plants looked more healthy for it afterwards. In his pavilion sat small trays filled with seedlings of several fast-growing vegetables that would also be transplanted eventually, once they had grown enough. Elsewhere, among the many crates of supplies still to be unpacked, were bags of seed awaiting the spring rains.
He gazed up at the sun and gave a sigh. There was just enough light in the sky left for him to stop by the healing tent and check in with the rest of his staff before heading back to the pavilion he shared with his sons. Not that there was anything truly pressing that he needed to assess immediately; the one of Círdan's men who had not managed to get quite out of the way of a falling tree would be laid up for at least another two weeks, but the leg was mending nicely already. It would do well, though, to establish a routine that would be followed by whichever healer would eventually take his place.
It was time for the changing of the watch rotation. Warriors going to and leaving the watch platforms chatted amiably among themselves, beginning the process of learning of each other, regardless of their origins. Elrond sniffed and folded his homespun bag into something small enough to tuck into his belt. Thranduil's speech to the entire company had been dissected, he knew, by nearly every man in the settlement, but the overall opinion had been that the ideas put forth were good ones. There would always be some minor differences between individuals, but the sense of common cause was catching hold now.
"Cúronion! You are with me this watch!"
Elrond stopped as if suddenly pinned to the spot. That voice! Long had it haunted his waking dreams, and never had he imagined to hear it again, but… He spun, looking around madly, desperate to find the one who had just spoken.
"Keep your tunic on, Brondur! I promised Rúmil the use of my whetstone."
A man with pale-blond hair plaited with archer's braids trotted across the clearing and finally halted at the base of a ladder leading up to one of the watcher platforms. Elrond's curious gaze climbed the ladder much faster than Elven feet could in order to catch a glimpse of the one whose voice, he was assuming, had caught his attention.
Dark hair, long and silky, decorated with a swordsman's braids finished with rude leather ties, were all he could see at first of the warrior already in place. The man was tall, however, certainly taller than his light-haired comrade in arms, and he moved with a grace that made Elrond almost ache in memory. But…
It couldn't be; the armor the man wore was that of the simplest warrior. The sword in the scabbard hanging at the man's hip was of obvious Elven craftsmanship, but not the magnificent weapon that he himself had cleaned so often that he could still remember the tengwar that ran the full length of the blade, the glint of the jewels...
"Oh, for the love of… Here, give me that…" It was that voice again, smooth, deep, resonant, relaxed. There was no mistake.
It cannot be! I heard the Belain sentenced him to…
The dark-haired warrior turned at last to offer a helping hand down to his friend with a wide and friendly smile, and Elrond's heart jumped into his throat after hesitating painfully. That smile had warmed his heart and his memories for the better part of two Ages. He had long mourned for him, never once believing that the Belain would be merciful enough to allow him to see or greet the man again before the breaking of the world.
He turned and began walking very slowly toward the healing pavilion, his mind shocked into silence by the simple reality: he had not been mistaken; the voice belonged to his foster-father, Maglor Fëanorion.
What in the name of Manwë was Maglor doing here, in Avathar?
Elven Vocabulary
Aeardelien - Sea Sport - a transport vessel
Aearwing - Sea Spray - a fishing vessel
Belain - The Powers (Q. Valar)
edhil - elves (Q. eldar)
Eryn Lasgalen - Wood of Green Leaves (Greenwood - formerly Mirkwood)
Gwaelaer - Windsong - a transport vessel
halacarcarni - Q. (lit) tooth-fish (I made this one up to describe a form of food fish from Valinor)
kulusta - Q. gold coin of Aman
Taur-e-Ndaedelos - Wood of Great Evil (Mirkwood)
tengwar - Elvish script form of writing, invented by Fëanor
telain - tree-platform dwelling of wood elves (sing. talan)