The Last Elf Queen of Arda

Chapter 7 - Permission For Joy

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The encampment had been dwindling noticeably day by day since the final battle of the Last Alliance. First it had been the elves of Lorien departing as one force. Then the army of Men under the command of Isildur had left with scarcely a word of farewell to the remaining elves. By the time the folk of Imladris disappeared over the horizon with a fluttering of blue banners, only a small gathering of tents remained overlooking the plains of Dagorlad. Come evening even these would be gone.

The Noldor elves had already begun their departure the night before. In small groups and larger parties, the Exiles stole away by shadowed paths that would eventually lead them westward to the Havens. When the time came for the Greenwood folk to turn homewards, there were only a handful of tents flying Noldo color remaining.

Gurithon had been thoroughly scandalized when Thranduil had voiced his intent to ride his horse that morning. 'My king, you cannot possibly!' and 'Your wounds will not permit it!' were the chief arguments made, and made repeatedly. The captain was joined in his campaign by Siroth, the Sindarin healer whom Oropher had always included in his retinue. Between the two, Thranduil had finally been persuaded to at least begin the long journey northwards riding in a litter.

When the young king was helped out from the healers' tent on the arms of both Gurithon and another of his warriors, Thranduil supposed he could be grateful to at least be walking now. Still, each step was slow and labored. The effort of staying upright despite the throbbing of his chest and shoulder was significant. Thranduil was almost thankful to recline on the cushioned litter set up for pulling between the harnesses of four mounted riders.

With a glance around at his people, Thranduil supposed it really must be time to leave. All of the Greenwood survivors were assembled, and looked to their king with a contained eagerness. They all wished to quit this place of sorrow and return home to their forest. With one last look across the plains to the burial grounds of the Last Alliance, Thranduil gave the order. It was time to go.

"My Lord Thranduil, look!" exclaimed Eneniel, one of their Silvan archers.

Following Eneniel's long white finger, Thranduil and many others turned. The final Noldor tent collapsed...and was rapidly bound up by a handful of elves. With this final dismantling of the encampment, Anthelísse gathered her followers to her and approached. Thranduil sat up straighter (as straight as his shoulders would permit) to greet the elven lady.

"Lady Anthelísse, do you journey west then?" he asked. "Or have you considered my invitation?" Thranduil could scarcely dare to breath, much less hope.

With one dozen Noldor elves behind her, Anthelísse spoke both to Thranduil and the elves of the Greenwood assembled.

"I have...and I accept your invite, King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm. Myself and those still remaining wish to both see your forest homeland and impose upon your hospitality for a time." A slight movement quirked the corner of Anthelísse's lips in a half-smile. "We shall see if the Greenwood truly does rival the mystery of the Blessed Realm."

Thranduil could have cheered aloud. He was a king now though, albeit a youthful one. He couldn't keep the pleasure from shining clear across his face when he replied.

"You and your folk are most welcome then, my lady. May I offer you a place here beside me?" Thranduil indicated the spacious litter, doing his best to recline upon the cushions in an inviting rather than painful way.

Anthelísse shook her head. "I thank you for the offer, but will ride alongside." Suddenly, a wry gleam came to her sea-blue eyes. "You and my horse shall simply have to share my company. Besides, is it not customary for a litter to be accompanied by a rider?"