Through the Snowy Wood by StarSpray

Through the Snowy Wood

Read Through the Snowy Wood

It was very cold. Snow covered the ground in drifts, some reaching high up the trunks of the trees. The wind had blown hard and strong, earlier in the night, but now all was still, and silent in the way a forest could only be at night in the dead of winter. Snowflakes continued to fall all around them. In Thranduil ’s arms, little Elwing shivered, bundled up though she was in Lúthien’s cloak, which held warmth the way summer night-shadows did.

Oropher held up his small lantern; it illuminated the dark drying spots of blood on his clothes and along the edge of his drawn sword. He and Thranduil had been separated inside Menegroth, and Thranduil did not know whose blood it was. He did not want to know. The fear of the enemy finding them before they could reach safety gnawed at him as his thoughts kept circling back to what was hidden beneath Elwing ’s cloak, shrouded by layers of wrappings as well as the cloak itself.

“Wait here,” Oropher said abruptly, stopping beneath a towering beech tree. The drifts had blown about its roots in such a way as to create a small hollow where Thranduil could crouch with Elwing, out of any wind that might arise, and hidden from sight.

“Where are you going?” Thranduil asked, unable to mask his alarm. The snow and the darkness—and the panic of that night—made the forest seem strange and unfamiliar, and he did not want to be lost out there alone with Elwing, not in the cold and with so few supplies. All he had managed to grab in his frantic efforts to dress had been a few pieces of lembas.

“To make sure the way is clear.” Oropher glanced over his shoulder at him. He had spoken little through the night, except to give orders, sounding tense and almost angry the whole time. Now his expression softened, just a little, and he added, “I won’t be long. Take a rest.”

Even without the lantern light, the night was not dark—snowy nights never were, with everything seeming to take on a soft glow. That night it was a comfort, though Thranduil would have liked even better to be able to see the stars. As Oropher disappeared into the night, taking the lantern with him, Thranduil crouched in the hollow and set Elwing down where the snow was not so deep as to swallow her. Her hood fell back, revealing her red-nosed, round face. He was struck all over again by just how small she was. “Are you all right, sweetling?” he asked. She nodded. There were tear tracks on her face, and Thranduil wiped them away with his thumbs.

“Where is Nana?” she asked. “And Ada, and Eluréd and Elurín?”

“I don’t know,” Thranduil said. Menegroth had very swiftly descended into chaos—worse even than when the Dwarves had come. At least the Dwarves had known where they were going. It had been sheer luck that had had Thranduil trip over Elwing where she was huddled, invisible with her cloak, in a dark corner. “I hope that we will find them soon.”

“Where are we going?” Elwing asked next.

“South,” Thranduil said. “Down the River Sirion, where it meets the Sea. Have you ever seen the Sea, Elwing?” She shook her head—and of course he knew well that she hadn’t even seen a river larger than the Gelion, let alone the Sea. “I have, once. It’s a marvel. I think you’ll like it. And Círdan will be there: you will definitely like him.”

“Will Nana and Ada be there?”

“I hope so,” said Thranduil. He rose to peer over the snowdrifts, seeking the light of Oropher’s lantern, or any other movement. All was still. The trees stood like sentinels about them, silent and unmoved by all that was happening. Somewhere in the distance he thought he heard voices—shouting, perhaps—but it was only an echo, and it faded too swiftly for him to be sure. He did not like this. He had never feared to be alone in the forest before, yet now he couldn’t stop his hands from shaking or his heart from pounding; it felt like it had risen into his throat. When he crouched down again Elwing held out her arms. Her cloak fell open and the light of the Silmaril, only barely dimmed by its wrappings, spilled out. Thranduil hurriedly bundled her up again and drew her in close.

After what seemed like hours, but surely was not that long, Oropher returned. He came up soundlessly, and even the lantern was hidden from view by the drifts until he was nearly on top of them. He looked, briefly, as relived to see them as Thranduil was to see him. “All is well?” he asked. Thranduil nodded. “Then come. We should hurry.” As Thranduil got to his feet Oropher started to turn away. Then he paused and said, in a very low voice, “Keep her face hidden, Thranduil.”

Thranduil pulled Elwing ’s hood back up over her face, and turned her so she could see nothing but his chest. “Warmer this way,” he murmured, feeling her tiny hands fist in his tunic.

For some distance there was nothing to see—or to hide one ’s face from. But they were approaching the Esgalduin now, and in the distance Thranduil could hear more clearly sounds of fighting—shouting, and the clash of metal on metal, or the shriek of it on stone. Someone screamed, an agonized sound that made Elwing whimper in his arms. It all sounded very far away, but Oropher slowed and glanced over his shoulder in warning, before they came upon the scene of a small skirmish in a tiny clearing. Thranduil knew suddenly just where they were: his mother brought him here to picnic in the summertime, amid ferns and honeysuckle. Now snow covered it, but it had been trampled through to show the brown stems of dead ferns, and blood was spread over it, flickering black and red in the lantern light. Thranduil saw Noldorin armor and Sindarin clothes. He looked away before he could glimpse any faces. He did not want to remember anyone like that, sprawled out in the snow with empty eyes staring up at the dark clouds.

“Hurry,” Oropher whispered, and they ran on.

At last they came to a snow-covered path that ran alongside the Esgalduin. The river glimmered faintly in the gloom, its music dampened and subdued. There had been fighting there, too, but no bodies. “Look.” Oropher pointed to a scrap of cloth snagged on a branch. “That is no accident. Others escaped, too.”

“Who?”

“Who can say?”

Thranduil paused and turned back before they rounded a bend in the path. Menegroth ’s mighty gates were just visible, as were torches and dark figures moving about in front of them. He turned away and rushed after his father, murmuring soft words that he hoped Elwing found comforting. To Sirion and thence to the Sea. There could be no returning, not even in thought.