The Last Elf Queen of Arda

Chapter 27 - Spears of Autumn

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Thranduil stared long and hard at the forest road, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. So they came to it; the moment he had been dreading for nearly a month now. Every morning and every evening just before and after dreams, Thranduil had tried to tell himself that this was not truly happening. Their smiths were not toiling to re-forge armor long unused, their archers were not fletching arrow after arrow to add to their quivers. Most importantly, he himself was not preparing to ride into a joined battle in the north, away from his wife and young son.

Forcing himself to arise and leave Anthelísse's side in bed each morning brought the undeniable truth with it though; the Woodland Realm was going to war once again. When Thranduil looked at his unclad torso in the mirror, he was starkly reminded of the horrors he and his people had seen before on the battlefield. The scars from where an orc had tried to kill him on the end of its spear were white and faded, old memories long put away. In all the years since the Last Alliance, Thranduil had never quite succeeded in convincing himself otherwise that Oropher would somehow have survived if he had not been distracted while coming to Thranduil's aid.

Now, moments away from departing for the war in the north in Angmar, Thranduil felt a sense of great doom on the horizon. Would he ever return to the Greenwood, the forest that had become his homeland? Was this to be his end, and the end of those who now chose to follow him? Thranduil had not obligated any of the elves of the Woodland Realm to join in this campaign. Rather he had let Oren speak to the people once they were assembled in the Great Hall. Much to Thranduil's dismay, the scarred human emissary had proven a passionate and convincing orator. In the end nearly six thousand elves had volunteered to join with the forces of Prince Eärnur of Gondor and Lord Elrond in the north. Thranduil had had no choice but to bow to bravery of his people.

A tug on his cloak broke Thranduil from his morose silence. Little Legolas was warmly wrapped against the chilly air, one of his pet elkhounds leaning against his side. The pair of dogs had been a gift from Thranduil and Anthelísse to their son on his last begetting-day. Although they were not allowed in the upper halls of the Woodland Realm, the hounds rarely left Legolas's side once outdoors. Thranduil almost smiled at how small Legolas seemed side-by-side with the lanky animals.

"Ada, can't Naneth and I come with you?" Legolas asked, his blue eyes wide and pleading. The elfling had learned some years ago just how persuasive that expression could be with his adoring parents. "Aren't I big enough to help you?"

Thranduil knelt down and gathered up his son to him in a tight embrace. "Ah, my brave little leaf. You are most certainly big enough to be a great help to anyone. But I am sad to say that I lost the argument over who needed your help more to your mother." Thranduil looked up at Anthelísse, who stood at the gates of the Woodland Realm in a long cloak of embroidered silver thread. She smiled wanly, but the paleness of her cheeks had nothing to do with the coming winter. "She insisted that her need of someone to help her in governing the realm supersedes my own. Besides..." Thranduil glanced around and lowered his voice. "...Besides, the people need their prince, yes?"

"But Ada..."

"No buts, ion-nin. Promise me that you will help your mother when I am gone?" There was so much more that Thranduil wanted to tell his son; advice for the future, assurances of his undying love, promises that he would always be with them. Some quiet warning in his heart told Thranduil that never again would he see Legolas and Anthelísse after today.

Words did not suffice for such a parting. Instead, Thranduil held Legolas close to his heart once more before letting the elfling go. Legolas seemed to know that something was amiss, and his lower lip quivered slightly.

"When will you come back, Ada?" He asked, his light childish voice shaking.

"Ada will be home when the snows melt, little leaf." Anthelísse reassured Legolas, wrapping her arms around her son from behind. "Until then, it will just be you, me, Aislinn and Galion."

Rising to his feet, Thranduil's armor hissed and slid across itself like a metallic snake skin. This was a new suit of armor, made to fit like a glove. The breastplate and shoulder guards Thranduil had worn thousands of years ago in the Last Alliance had been mauled beyond recovery by the orc's spear that had left him so scarred.

Anthelísse gave Legolas's shoulders another quick squeeze before stepping forward into Thranduil's arms. She smelled like beeswax candles and moss, a scent she had gradually adopted over her years as queen of the Woodland Realm. Vaguely Thranduil remembered how she had smelled when first he met her as Lady of the Noldor; of morning mist and night air. Strange how time could change a person.

"Come back to us." Anthelísse whispered in his ear, holding him tight.

"...I will." Thranduil said softly, wondering if he would be able to make good on such a claim.

"Come back to me in the spring Thranduil, and perhaps we might give Legolas a little brother or sister." Anthelísse added, dropping a kiss laden with promise on Thranduil's cheek. The two of them leaned their foreheads together, then kissed long and deeply.

"You know I would like nothing better in the whole wide world." Thranduil smiled at Anthelísse. "Until then, I leave our little leaf in your keeping, as well as the care of the Woodland Realm."

Suddenly, Anthelísse's sea-blue gaze turned sharp and clear. "Do not do to me what your father did to your mother, or I swear by the Valar that I will hunt you across the length and breadth of both Arda and Aman. Even the Halls of Mandos shall know no peace, for I shall hammer at their doors until Lord Mandos himself has no choice but to release you."

Startled by Anthelísse's sudden and vehement declaration, Thranduil nodded. "For the sake of the peace of Mandos's halls, I shall do everything in my power to return to you, meleth-nin."

"Good." Anthelísse smiled. She stepped back and took Legolas under her arm. The golden prince clung to his mother's leg, staring up at Thranduil with glassy eyes. Thranduil knew that if he did not turn away now, he never would.

And so he turned back to the forest road. In a long column, the troops of the Woodland Realm awaited their king. Pennants of green and gold fluttered from their newly-forged spear tips. Thranduil had learned that much from their situation at the Battle of the Last Alliance; never again would the warriors of the Greenwood have to choose between an early charge and hiding behind the spears of others.

"Soldiers of the Woodland Realm!" Thranduil shouted aloud, his voice carrying through the treetops and echoing along the road. "We have been called upon to fight against the darkness that plagues Middle-Earth once again, and once again you have answered that call. Let no man, dwarf or creature of evil ever dare question the courage of the elves. We ride now to the lands of Angmar under the shadow of Gundabad, let those who would serve Morgoth, Sauron and their ilk tremble and despair!"

"Gurth enin goth!" (Death to the enemy!) The six thousand elven warriors shouted, Gurithon leading the cry from the head of the column. Their voices shook the very leaves of the trees, sending a last shower of gold and red falling to the forest floor.

"Onward north!" Gurithon shouted the order at a nod from Thranduil. As one single unit, the Greenwood army turned about face on the road and headed east. They would ride beyond the eastern borders of the forest, at which point they would turn north and follow the space between the forest and the Grey Mountains toward Angmar.

Mounting his horse, Thranduil paused and looked back to the gates of the Halls. Anthelísse raised a hand in farewell, her golden hair falling like a river over her arm. Legolas waved, still clinging to his mother and holding back tears. One of his elkhounds came and licked the elfling's face though, and Legolas was momentarily distracted. Thranduil met Anthelísse's eyes once more...then turned his face to the north.

At the end of the road awaited the forces of Prince Eärnur...and war.

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