The Last Elf Queen of Arda

Chapter 22 - Uprooting

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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