The Last Elf Queen of Arda

Chapter 8 - Lingering on the Threshold

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It was some weeks before finally they came into sight of the southern tip of the Greenwood. Their capital lay in the Black Mountains at the heart of the forest. The former capital at Amon Lanc was naught but a deserted fortress now, having been so since Oropher had removed their people after Sauron's return from the fall of Numenor.

As they passed by the southern edge of the Greenwood the tallest spires of the old fortress could just be seen. A short time ago their party had diverged from the River Running, which would eventually lead north to the kingdom of Dale.

By now well enough healed to ride his horse without trouble, Thranduil glanced anxiously over at Anthelísse. This was her first sighting of the Greenwood, and he rather regretted that the ruin of Amon Lanc would be the initial impression. The elves of the Woodland Realm had built a new city at the foot of the Black Mountains which was by far fairer than the remains of the old fortress.

Long golden hair fluttering behind her in the late summer breeze, Anthelísse was gazing with interest toward the forest. The trees were somewhat less thick and grand in these southern parts, affording a clear view to the ruins.

"That there, the structure looks elvish." She said, pointing with a long finger over the heads of the army around them. "Was it occupied by your people?"

"Yes" Answered Thranduil, taking a moment while the Lady of the Noldor was looking away to massage his shoulder stealthily. It still pained him often, but less so with every passing day. "My father found the Silvan folk of the forest centered there at Amon Lanc when first we joined their people. There we lived for some time, but after the fall of Numenor we relocated ourselves closer to the heart of the Greenwood."

"It looks quite forlorn." Anthelísse commented, still looking at the old fortress as they rode. The crumbling towers seemed to pass only very slowly at a distance.

"That it does. But I assure you, our new capital surpasses Amon Lanc in both beauty and location." Thranduil had to pause for breath to prevent himself falling into the babble that often escaped when he spoke to Anthelísse. "We now live at the border between forest and sky, with the Black Mountains at our back and the Greenwood all around."

"That sounds rather dwarvish to me, to be living in the arms of a mountain range." Anthelísse heard a murmur from her left, where her handmaiden Aislinn rode a few paces back.

Anthelísse shot a warning glare at Aislinn, but that didn't stop spots of pink from coloring Thranduil's cheeks. Smiling reassuringly at the young king, Anthelísse nodded.

"I cannot wait to see your people's home, hir-nin." She said, well aware of Thranduil's desire to impress her with his homeland. "We ourselves have lived in the arms of the mountains before, as the hidden city of Gondolin was positioned so."

Aislinn's embarrassment could nearly be heard as a tangible force in the air. Once again smiling, Thranduil looked intrigued.

"I have heard what books and tutors could tell of the city of Gondolin, but there is nothing like a first-hand account. Perhaps you could tell me of the hidden Noldor kingdom Lady Anthelísse?"

They talked at length of the historical elvish kingdoms of Arda, and many other topics besides. When evening fell and the army halted to make camp Anthelísse always dined alongside Thranduil and the other Sindarin nobles in his tent. It was almost a happy journey for Oropher's son.

The terrible losses suffered at the Battle of Daglorlad could only be put aside for so long though. The closer they drew to the capital, the more a shadow began to creep over the hearts of the returning elves. All of them carried the burden of survivor's guilt, especially with two of their number having fallen for every one that journeyed home. Thranduil above all felt the weight of responsibility upon him.

Anthelísse was surprised to find her previously-endearing host becoming more and more introverted as they approached the last days of their trek. Normally it was always Thranduil who sought her out and had the first word in their many long conversations while on the road. More and more she took it upon herself to attempt to stir the Greenwood king from silence. Her attempts were not always successful.

By the time they at last turned their horses westward and entered upon the forest roads, the aura of melancholy hanging over the entire army was palpable. Thranduil was actively dreading that first moment when they rode into the main citadel. Then would their people see for the first time just what the price of his father's pride had been.

Suspecting as much, Anthelísse noted how the ranks of the army slowed their step and arranged themselves into a solemn procession with only the slightest direction from Gurithon. When Thranduil positioned himself at the head of the column to lead his warriors into the city, she purposefully placed herself just behind him. Stranger she may be among the folk of the Greenwood, Anthelísse still wanted Thranduil to know that she was with him.

Holding up a hand, Thranduil brought the army of elves to a halt on the forest road. Leaning back on her saddle, Anthelísse murmured to one of her folk to unfurl her standard. The blue banner of the Noldor rose and hung slack among all the other green and silver Woodland flags. It wasn't terrible visible in the low light of the forest, but Anthelísse was the Lady of Noldor and would be properly heralded as such.

"Gurithon, sound our arrival."

Thranduil spoke in a low voice, his eyes fixed on the bend in the path before them. No doubt the capital city lay just beyond. Sure enough, when Anthelísse raised her eyes to the thick canopy she could just make out the vast greyness of mountains to the north. The Black Mountains were not numerous or tall, but against the vastness of the forest they loomed immensely.

The Silvan captain took up a horn from his belt and with a deep breath blew into its mouthpiece. The sound immediately brought flashes of the last time he had heard it rushing to the surface of Thranduil's mind. Charging down the plains at his father's side...rushing to meet the orcs head-on and alone...

Nudging his horse forward, Thranduil led the army down the road and around the bend.

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