Princess of Arnor - The King's Regent (Under Edit)

Chapter Twenty Three: Eryn Lasgalen

"She must return to me, she is my life, my soul. I cannot go on without my beloved." - Finwë

Thranduil stood on the east side of the balcony of the treehouse for the last time. The ground was still carpeted in a light dusting of snow that frosty February morning. His Elf sight drifted across the Anduin to the distant hilltop peaking over the forest and he thought about what was once there. His father's fortress and his mother's gardens. He had met and wed Lasseth there, in the days before the necromancer arrived.

Lasseth, he felt guilty to think of her, as though he was being disloyal to both his wives in some way. "Hope comes on eagle's wings!" His mind was still filled with her last words. She had willed him to love again and give her beloved son the sisters she could not and he knew in his heart that he was honouring her memory. As he focused his gaze eastward, he noticed Celeborn had wasted no time sending builders to Amon Lanc. Already a structure was appearing out of the scaffolding.

Someone clearing their throat caught his attention, and he turned to see Merenthel standing behind him. "Everything is packed and ready, my Lord King. But the Queen is unwell. Perhaps we should delay our journey till the mid of the day."

Thranduil gave her a concerned look. He was keen to head for home but didn't want to risk the journey if Thorwen was sick. "What is wrong with the Queen?"

Merenthel smiled slightly. "The early days can be difficult for mortals, especially in the mornings. But I have given her some peppermint tea to soothe her discomfort, she will be much better soon."

Thranduil breathed a sigh of relief. His beloved Thorwen may be a Maia, but she was incarnate, and he knew babes grew quickly within mortal women. But he also knew their carrying could be both difficult and dangerous. Often he had heard of even the strongest of women, from the Beornings to the Dalemen had died in childbirth. Every minor discomfort Thorwen endured worried him, but he kept his concerns to himself. "Very good Merenthel, I shall return to the queen shortly and we shall travel as soon as she is well enough."

At the mid of the day, the royal progress left Cerin Amroth for the last time and began their journey towards Caras Galadhon and the Hythe. Galadriel, Celeborn, Óliel and many of the Galadhrim had gathered to bid farewell to those departing by river. The Elves loaded horses and luggage onto the swan boats, including Galadriel's basin. She had passed it to Alethris, who had told her of the stone circle in the Woodland Realm. Galadriel felt this would be a suitable place for her basin now that the power of Lothlórien was fading. Thranduil and Alethris bid her farewell. Galadriel had decided to remain as she had matters to attend to before she left her realm forever.

But Celeborn was keen to see how the building of his new palace was progressing. So, both he and Óliel joined Thranduil and Alethris in the swan boat at the head of the flotilla. As the boat pulled away, Galadriel led her people in a song of farewell. Thranduil then heard Galadriel speak to his mind. "Take good care of our beloved granddaughter. Her time in Middle Earth grows short. Her Fea is far too strong to be carried within its mortal vessel forever."

Thranduil turned to Alethris and smiled reassuringly. Though her silver eyes shone brighter than ever. She looked weary but with a bloom about her he had seen in many a pregnant female, be they Elf or Mortal. He put his arm around her, and as she rested her head upon his shoulder, he could still see the shimmer about her skin and at once understood Galadriel's warning.

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In her dreams, Almárie was once again in the pale grey robes of a Maiden of Estë. She and her maiden sisters tended to the body of the Noldor Queen whilst the King sat with her weeping, talking and pleading for her to return to him. At his side, their young prince looked on, but Almárie noticed the child showed no emotion. There was an air about him, a presence even for one so young that was both intriguing and unnerving. Lady Estë appeared, her long grey robes rustling as she walked and her voice like a gentle summer breeze. "King Finwë, it is no good. Queen Míriel will not return from Mandos. You must let her go, and raise your son alone. This is no place for a child to spend his days."