The Last Elf Queen of Arda

Chapter 6 - Nin lithiach

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Thranduil had only just been settled back onto the cot in the healers' tent when Anthelísse appeared. The circlet was gone from her brow, freeing her long golden hair to fall forward across her shoulders. The elf lady's blue eyes were slightly reddened, confirming Thranduil's suspicions that she had indeed been weeping. When the young king of the Greenwood greeted her with a tiny smile though, Anthelísse returned it.

"Your chest was paining you earlier?" she asked, washing her hands over a basin and blotting them dry on a cloth draped over its edge.

Thranduil winced, acutely aware that even the light weight of the blanket was uncomfortable at the moment.

"Was it so obvious?"

Anthelísse shook her head, approaching his beside and lifting back the cover. "No. Do not fear, King Thranduil. That you were present this evening was impressive enough given your condition."

Doing his best to lay still, Thranduil allowed Gil-Galad's youngest sister to undo his loose tunic and unwind the dressings about his torso. They were not alone in the tent, but most of the other wounded were either resting or being tended by other healers who moved silently about. The grey sun had long since set, and lanterns hung from support poles cast a low orange glow.

As Anthelísse gently probed along the edge of the numerous stitches atop Thranduil's clavicle he grimaced. The spear had gone straight through his shoulder, and both front and back would no doubt have scarring. Apologetically, Anthelísse dabbed a poultice from the small bedside table onto her fingers and began to smooth it along his raw flesh.

Thranduil had always secretly been somewhat shy, even as the prince of the Greenwood. Where Oropher had been outgoing and comfortable among the crowds that thronged the woodland halls at feasts, his son preferred to associate in smaller groups. Never before had Thranduil ever been in close quarters with an elf-maid, despite the teasing of the other Sindarin youths as he came of age. To have the Lady of the Noldor now tending to him with such comfortable ease made his chest flutter. He felt perhaps he ought to say something to break the silence, but Anthelísse seemed so intent upon her work that he thought the better of interrupting her.

When finally Anthelísse straightened, satisfied, Thranduil was certain that she would see the deep blush that had covered his face.

It would have taken a blind fool to miss it. Wiping the remnants of the herb poultice off her fingers, Anthelísse found herself at a loss for words. Oropher's son was young, wounded, and grieving, and perhaps the tenderness she was feeling was that of a caregiver toward the vulnerable. The pink shyness covering Thranduil's cheeks was undeniably endearing though. Turning away, Anthelísse thought to perhaps retire for the evening. She must be tired, and out of sorts after leaving her brother's graveside.

"Lady Anthelísse?"

Thranduil's voice was soft, nervousness threatening to make it waver. Turning back from the washbasin, Anthelísse set aside the cloth in her hands.

"Yes, what is it?"

"Do you intend to depart Arda because you wish to reach Valinor in all haste, or because the Noldor believe there is nothing left for elf-kind here?"

Almost exasperated, Anthelísse looked away and set about undoing the ties of the smock covering her mourning gown. This marked the third time now that Thranduil had brought up the departure of the Noldor in her presence.

"Why such an interest in the intentions of our people, King Thranduil? With my brother dead, there is nothing to keep the Noldor here upon these shores. Besides, the Valar have opened the way for us to return home, so why should we not heed their call?"

Thranduil had the grace to look slightly abashed. Inching himself up gingerly into a half-sitting recline, he followed Anthelísse's every movement with an intensity that she could not read.

"Have you ever seen Valinor then, my lady?"

Anthelísse had to shake her head. "No, I was born after my people departed from that realm. I have never seen the light of the Two Trees, nor the white shores before them."

A healer came up between the rows of beds, clearly intent on speaking to Anthelísse. Leaning in and murmuring in a low voice, the Noldo elf conversed with her briefly before returning to the vigil over the wounded. Thranduil however was not deterred, and spoke again before Anthelísse could excuse herself.

"Why such a hurry to leave Middle-Earth then? Are there not sights and lands to entice your interest here compared to Valinor?"

Anthelísse arched a golden brow at her patient. "I may have been born after the Exile of the Noldor, but I am still old enough to have seen more than a fair piece of the lands of Arda. Where realm could you suggest as being wondrous enough to compete with the Blessed Realm?"

"...The Greenwood?"

Under the Lady of the Noldor's piercing gaze Thranduil felt both exhilarated and terrified. In truth the Woodland Realm would likely not be a place of joy and beauty again for many years after having lost so many warriors in battle. His would not be a homecoming marked by celebration, but by mourning. Still Thranduil loved that wild and ancient forest as if he had been born beneath its eves. Just as he was sure he was to love Anthelísse, daughter of Orodreth and Eldalótë. He had just buried his father, and the thought of the golden Noldor lady before him leaving this world as well wrenched at his heart.

"The Greenwood?" Anthelísse frowned slightly. With a quick glance over her shoulder in the direction of the other healers as they made their rounds, she reached for the lone chair at Thranduil's bedside and sat. "And what would I do there, Thranduil Oropherion? Surely you have your own healers among your people, and I am no Silvan huntress."

The words came quickly, almost an earnest babble from Thranduil's lips. "You would be welcome there as my guest, Lady Anthelísse. After all, your skill has all but saved my life after battle. And the woodland realm is a beautiful place, full of hidden paths and whispering streams. You could wander for a century and still not truly know all of the secrets of the forest."

"Lady Anthelísse?"

The healer who had spoken to her earlier called from a short distance away, leaning over the bedside of another casualty of war. Clearly Anthelísse was needed elsewhere at the moment.

Rising, she tucked a stray lock of her sun-touched hair behind an ear. More than a small part of her was tired of this war-torn world, and wanted nothing more than to sail beyond those grey mists into the waiting arms of her family. The Noldor were a passionate people though, and there was a desire to know more igniting within her soul. It was a small, humble flicker for the moment, but it was there.

"Will you consider what I have said?" Thranduil gazed up at Anthelísse beseechingly, his heart worn clearly on his sleeve.

"Yes...yes I will." Picking up her smock once again, Anthelísse hesitated before taking leave of the young king.

Slowly, Thranduil reached out the hand of his uninjured arm. His fingertips just barely brushed her wrist, touching more sleeve than skin. All the small hairs on Anthelísse's arm rose to attention though, and gooseflesh prickled everywhere.

"Nin lithiach."*

"Lady Anthelísse?" The healer's call was getting more insistent, and it appeared one of the wounded was in need of care right this minute.

Just before turning away, Anthelísse met Thranduil's gaze one more time. Both elves were blue of eye, but where Thranduil's were the pale, icy turquoise of Oropher, Anthelísse's was as rich and deep as cobalt. It was like a meeting of sky and sea, with endlessness in between.

Then Anthelísse was gone, rushing to assist with a patient whose grievous condition was taking a turn for the worse. As Thranduil lay abed looking at the tent ceiling and listening to the agonized groans of the dying human, he thought of his father. To him at least, the tents of the healers had become a strangely beautiful place. He was momentarily grateful that Oropher had died in battle rather than passing slowly and in agony here. If there was any sight fit for a man's last though, in Thranduil's opinion it was the beautiful face of Anthelísse.

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*You enchant me.