A/N: I am out of the country on an unplanned business trip. So, for the readers of my fanfiction, What It Means to be a King, I am uploading the story of Sirion as it was written. Something for you to read while I am away. Chapters 1, 6 and 7 were used as flashbacks so if you wish to skip it, you can. I'll be back the second week of February.

The mouth of River Sirion. May 25, First Age 538

5:24AM THRANDUIL urged his horse down a stretch of sand. The beach was empty as always. This area was not far from the Elven settlements, but no one ventured out here. The beach was hidden as it lay under a sheer cliff which jutted out above him. Standing above the cliff, one could not see the sandy area underneath. It wouldn't be until Thranduil was past the shadow of the rock above him that anyone on the top of the cliff could see him.

This was his secret place which Thranduil shared with no one, not even with Aron and Durion, not that they had much time for him these days. Although Thranduil reached his majority twenty years ago, his father's warriors took every opportunity to leave him behind. Even when he was included, Thranduil was kept at the back, away from the dangers, where he was allowed to pick off Orcs from distance.

Thranduil knew, of course, that he was too young to be initiated into the Warrior Order, but times were different now. They needed every abled body who could wield a sword or a bow. Dangers around them had grown while the number of warriors diminished. So many of the warriors had been lost at Menegroth.

But while he convinced his father to train him as soon as he turned his majority going against the norm, warriors kept him away from the heat of the battle whenever they could. But, how was he to learn to be a warrior when he was always pushed behind the backs of others whenever there was any skirmish worth mentioning?

This time, too, while Lord Amdir took Aron and Durion to meet with the warriors from Noldorin settlement to stop Orcs that were encroaching too near their haven, Thranduil had been excluded.

His mother, at least, had given up trying to turn Thranduil into a healer. Not only was the healing art something Thranduil had no talent in, he wasn't even remotely interested in it. He had no idea why his mother had it in her mind to make him a healer.

Tamping down the mounting frustration, Thranduil urged his horse into a run. He was not allowed outside the living quarters during evenings, certainly not around the marshes and definitely not in the open areas like this beach, but Thranduil figured what his parents did not know wouldn't hurt them. At least, if they found him missing in the morning, they wouldn't be as alarmed as they would be to find him missing after the dark.

So far, the Dark Lord's creatures had not found their settlements, but there were dangers all around them, especially at night when Orcs and Wargs prowled. But at times like this when the sun was rising, and everything glittered golden, Thranduil felt it was still like those old times, back in Doriath, under the beech trees of the Forest of Neldoreth.

As Thranduil felt Brennil stretch her neck and thunder down the firmly packed sand, trembling with excitement at being allowed to run freely, he closed his eyes and spread his arms wide and felt the winds rush past him, whipping his hair and face. He was sure that if he could fly, it would feel like this.

He whooped at the top of his lung, as loud as he could and laughed out aloud. This was the only place he could do this as the noise of the waves and wind masked all the sounds he made, no matter how loud.

All shadows he felt seemed to disappear at this moment, all his frustrations and anger that he wanted to hide from his father and especially from his gentle mother.

Thranduil's chest filled with wind and the pale light of the dawn, chasing away the shadows. Feeling his head clearer, Thranduil rode back up the narrow track between the two large boulders. The entry to the beach area was hidden by tall grasses that grew abundant here. Thranduil had found this pass only two moons ago, tracking a game.

Just as he got up onto the grassland by the bank of the river that flowed down into the sea, Thranduil looked up towards the white tower of Arvernien as he always did when he was here. The Noldorin settlement where Elwing lived with her husband Earendil and the refugees from Gondolin was built on a top of a cliff, westward from the Sindarin settlement headed by his father.

There was something heavy laden over its sky, something dark.

Curious, Thranduil rode towards it. Elwing's mansion was only an hour of hard ride away although his mother would not approve of Thranduil riding that fast.

The first thing Thranduil saw was tall spears that shone in the faint light of the dawn. In the red gleam of the rising sun that had not yet rose over the Ered Luin, the golden armors and helms of the soldiers glowed blood red. When he was close, but far enough to not gather their notice, Thranduil got off his horse and crept towards the soldiers. If there was one thing he had learned from his father's warriors, it was stealth. And these soldiers in gold armors and red capes were obviously Noldor, and Thranduil had learned to be wary of them.

When Thranduil saw the device on the armors glinting on the faint dawn, he froze. He could never forget it: Eight flames with eight rays shooting out of a jewel in the middle. A device of Feanor.

Thranduil's heart pounded like a war drum.

Arvernien (Sindarin, Land of Birches)—Southernmost tip of Beleriand where Cirdan established a secret haven for the Elves running from Morgoth. In FA 506 Feanor's sons attacked Menegroth and Sindarin refugees fled here and established a settlement by the Mouth of Sirion. They were joined by the refugees from Gondolin in FA 511 (they took close to a year to travel to the haven).

Ered Luin (Sindarin, Blue Mountains)—also known as Ered Lindon, it was unbroken line of mountain range during First Age which separated Eriador from Beleriand. After the War of Wrath, the central range of the mountains broke when the Beleriand sank