The Last Elf Queen of Arda

Chapter 4 - Fight From the Front

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As evening approached, Thranduil grew more and more restless lying in the tent of the healers. Gurithon had quietly informed him earlier that they would be laying Oropher to rest at the head of the other fallen warriors of the Greenwood. Wounded he may be, but damned if Thranduil was going to be absent for his father's funeral.

Hi desire to be seen and to give his remaining people a leader only intensified when he overheard a whispered conversation through the wall of the tent next to his bed. Clearly the speakers did not realize they were being eavesdropped on, but even Thranduil's limited knowledge of the Noldorin tongue Quenya told him more than he wanted to hear.

"They say that, were it not for his order, Amdír would never have led the Lórien elves into that early charge."

"Ai, it was poorly done. Oropher was a fool if you ask me. Either that or mad; otherwise what else could have possessed him to charge the ranks of Mordor without our forces, or those of Elendil?"

"I agree; fool at the least and mad at the worst. It's a wonder that the Greenwood folk still living haven't gathered together and left already. Were I them, I wouldn't care to be ruled by the house of Oropher in the future."

Thranduil's fists gripped the blanket until his knuckles hurt. His chest felt unbearably tight in a way that had nothing to do with either the thick bandages or the wounds beneath them.

Never forget to be proud of what you are, and you shall never falter ion-nin.

He could hear his father's voice as clearly as if Oropher were standing right beside his bed. I shall always be proud to be your son, Adar. Thranduil wanted to believe those words, and clung to them with all the strength his aching heart still had. The words of the elves standing outside burned like hot irons to his ears though.

"Be still, both of you!"

A sharp, female voice interrupted the conversation on the other side of the tent wall like a dash of icy water.

"My lady!"

"We beg your pardon, Lady Anthelísse. We did not mean..."

The lady spoke again, curt and angry. "You knew what you meant, even if you did not know or care who might hear. Those who died upon yonder field sacrificed much, and do not deserve mockery from the likes of you. I suggest you both find something useful to do with your hands; I grow tired of your idle tongues."

"Yes my lady, of course."

"As you wish, my lady."

Thranduil listened to the entire exchange intently, never minding even when his sudden intake of breath sent pain racing across his chest. By turning his head slightly, he was able to catch sight of a silhouette cast against the tent from the outside. The figure stood for a moment, then turned and circled round toward the entrance. To his surprise, Thranduil recognized the golden-haired healer who had tended him earlier as she stepped back inside away from the grey wastes of the plains.

Noticing the wounded king watching her, Anthelísse sighed and made a gesture toward where she had been standing moment before.

"You heard, Lord Thranduil?"

Sadly Thranduil nodded. "Yes...I heard."

"I am sorry, truly I am. Soldiers do not think sometimes before they speak." Anthelísse silently cursed the two members of her brother's army. Her army, she corrected herself. The remaining Noldor in Middle-Earth were her people now, and by the Valar she would see to it that those two were demoted for their thoughtless words. The misery and grief in the Sindarin elf's eyes before her sapped whatever leniency she might otherwise have been inclined to grant toward such behavior.