The Last Elf Queen of Arda

Chapter 33 - The Footsteps of Fëanor

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Siroth made a half-hearted attempt to keep Thranduil in his tent, but the king exerted his authority with steely purpose. In the end the healer could only step back as Thranduil dressed himself and belted on his sword. His head throbbed within its shroud of gauze, but Thranduil's one good eye was grim and set as he prepared himself. Even his personal servants were not allowed to help as he pulled on his cloak and pinned it. Thranduil's silence forbade anyone from approaching him.

When Gurithon returned, he bowed his head and looked back up, not shying away from Thranduil's bloodshot gaze.

"I found Tharnor among the infantry...he awaits you by the lake, alone."

Thranduil nodded. He was halfway out the tent entryway when Gurithon moved slightly, blocking his path. Thranduil glared, but Gurithon leant in to speak in a low murmur.

"Please, mellon-nin...will you not let me go with you? When I have been by your side through all other evils we have faced in this world together?"

Thranduil did not answer. His glare barely softened, but he laid a hand on Gurithon's arm.

"No...this evil I must confront face-to-face, with no one to stand between us." His words rasped and grated painfully inside Thranduil's raw throat, making them sound ungentle. Gurithon understood though. He moved aside, leaving the way open to the world outside.

Thranduil could feel hundreds of eyes upon him as he walking through the camp. These were his people, and yet their gazes became a gauntlet that he had to endure. He knew what a sight he must look; half his head swaddled in white gauze, his long silky tresses cut short after having mostly been burned off. Thranduil did not look at anyone as he passed. Instead he kept his eye and his course set straight ahead; toward the shores of Lake Evendim.

When he reached the edge of the camp the stillness of the land came as a relief. The scars of battle could still be seen clearly upon the ground as he passed. Orcs, goblins, trolls, their black blood had stained the rocks for a full league around. Thranduil paused only slightly when he came upon the burial mounds the elves had raised over their fallen kin. Noldor, Sindar, Silvan, they all became equal in death. Here their bodies would become one with Arda, as their souls passed beyond to Mandos's keeping.

The realization that he would be unable to give the same peace to Anthelísse's body came crashing down upon Thranduil. Anthelísse had come to him one final time in dreams, of that he was certain. What had become of her physical form though? In what wretched place would her bones lie forevermore? The thought nearly brought Thranduil to his knees.

A cold wind blew from Lake Evendim, bringing with it the scent of still water. Thranduil remembered his purpose then, and found the strength to stay on his feet. Setting his jaw and clenching his fists, Thranduil carried on toward the lake. There he would find the one who had summoned Anthelísse to her death. There he would find the one who had betrayed them both and Legolas as well. However would he tell Legolas?

At first Thranduil did not see Tharnor. He climbed the hill on the edge of Lake Evendim, gritting his teeth as the chilly air attempted to probe the flesh beneath his bandages. He spied a lone figure standing at the water's edge then, their back to Thranduil as they stared out across that still expanse of water. Rage and grief barely contained, Thranduil approached the treacherous Silvan.

He was only a body length away when Tharnor drew in a deep breath. Thranduil stopped short, his own chest heaving with emotion.

"I will not beg forgiveness for my actions...but I did not mean for her to die."