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Anthelísse took the offered chair at Thranduil's right and was seated. A servant quickly stepped forward to fill the silver chalice at her place with a thick red wine, the alcohol content of which she could smell even at length. The other elves seated around the long table each likewise had a full goblet, but not a single one looked light-headed in the slightest. Quite the opposite in fact; the general atmosphere in the room was grim and somber.

"I trust the accommodations are to your liking?" Thranduil asked, a hint of the eager-to-please young ellon she had known on the road shining through.

"Yes my lord, quite." Anthelísse said, picking up the wine goblet and hovering it beneath her nose. The powerful fumes nearly prompted her to set it back down, but she caught a look from Queen Nellas. It seemed that she was being watched all about the table. Steeling herself, Anthelísse took a sip with a straight face.

"The vintages of Dorwinion." A tall elf with most unusual, mismatched eyes said from two seats down. "Most visitors find it entirely too strong for their liking. What do you think, Lady Anthelísse?"

Opting to forgo breathing rather than splutter like a drowning victim, Anthelísse nodded slowly as the wine burned its way down her throat.

"Tharnor, our Master of Coin." Said Thranduil, gestured to the elf with grey and brown eyes by way of an introduction.

Finally recovering her voice, Anthelísse greeted Tharnor politely. "Well met. The Dorwinion has a heady taste to be sure, and is no doubt capable of making impressions of its own."

It was a very subtle jibe, but perhaps even a bit too much for a first meeting with the inner circles of the Woodland Realm. A few around the table chuckled, including Thranduil and Queen Nellas. Deciding not to push her luck though, Anthelísse set the goblet back down.

Thranduil went around the table and introduced his other councilors one by one. There was Daerchon, the Master of Words, responsible for managing the libraries and all ministerial documents, as well as Erchelil, the Mistress of Gardens who oversaw the care and tending of all things growing in Emyn Duir. By the time Thranduil reached Daeris, the Mistress of the Larders, Anthelísse was having to work hard to keep all names, faces and titles straight.

"So tell me, Lady Anthelísse, what shall be the fate of the Noldor in Arda now that the High King has fallen?" Tharnor asked, lifting his own goblet of Dorwinion and drinking smoothly. "I hear that King Thranduil introduced you as High Queen to the Lady Nellas." The elf lord eyed her dispassionately, a flinty edge to his smile.

Bristling slightly, Anthelísse did not return Thranduil's quick sideways glance. The young king colored, realizing that he may have miss-stepped in his desire to make a good introduction of her to his mother.

"Your king was very kind to say as much." Anthelísse replied. "However, though I may be Gil-Galad's heir in Middle-Earth, too few of our folk remain to justify my claiming the title. The majority of our folk now reside either in the Halls of Mandos or upon the shores of Valinor. Perhaps they shall choose a new king from among the Vanyar, or perhaps my brother shall retain the kingship upon his release from Mandos."

"So you lay no claim upon leadership of the Noldor then?" Queen Nellas asked, sounding slightly surprised. The Queen Mother's dark green eyes glittered slightly in the low light of the dining room, watching Anthelísse from beneath her circlet.

"No. I released my remaining people from any charge of fidelity to me after the Battle of the Last Alliance. Those who have accompanied me here did so of their own free will."

"Interesting..." said Tharnor. The Master of Coin's pale hair made his eyes stand out like two unpaired marbles in his face.

"On the topic of rulers and crowns..." Maechenel, the Master of Ceremony set his elbows on the tabletop and placed his fingertips together. "We have yet to discuss a proper coronation for you, my lord Thranduil."

Thranduil visibly cringed, and Anthelísse was reasonably sure she saw Nellas's hip shift, as though she had positioned her foot atop her son's beneath the table. Recovering himself, Thranduil took a drink of wine before answering.

"Perhaps, a mourning period first? After all, everyone in the city has suffered grievous losses. Now may not be the best time for such a thing?"

Maechenel's mahogany eyebrows practically flew together. Peering at Thranduil over his fingertips, the Master of Ceremony made clear his displeasure with the suggestion with his expression.

"With all due respect my lord, now may be the best time for something in the way of a celebration. Our people have suffered greatly, yes. But I'm sure even the Silvan elves can agree that this should also be a time for joy. The enemy is defeated, never to rise again we hope. We ought to bring some happiness back into the hearts of our folk with much feasting and merry-making!"

Anthelísse personally disagreed, but held her peace. The Noldor were a race well used to hardship and sorrow, and perhaps less prone to combating such things with celebration. Still, from what she knew of the Silvan elves she supposed Maechenel had some grounding in his arguments.

"Speaking from the heart of my own loss, I can hardly imagine anyone being much interested in making merry today, tomorrow or even the day after that." Thranduil said, looking down.

Anthelísse suddenly envisioned Oropher seated in the very chair where his son now sat. As if it were happening right at that very moment, she saw the king talking easily with his councillors, Nellas at his right and a smile upon his face. Oropher was taller than Thranduil, broader in the shoulder and all around a more powerful presence. Then the vision passed, and once again Anthelísse beheld the new king, trying so very hard to fill the enormous shoes that had been thrust upon him while still mourning his father.

"Perhaps, Lord Maechenel, a compromise?" The queen was saying. "Why not wait two weeks at the least, and then hold this coronation ceremony you seem so eager to plan? By that time the folk of Emyn Duir will have had time to compose themselves, and you will be able to ensure every detail of the proceedings is just so."

Clearly something had been said right here; Maechenel flushed and smiled, while Thranduil looked immensely relieved.

"An excellent idea, Your Grace." The Master of Ceremonies demurred, guest lists and meal plans practically flying behind his eyes.

"My lord?" A servant spoke from a side door where he had entered. "Dinner is ready, at your pleasure."

"Thank you Galion, we are ready now." Thranduil said, waving the elf forward. Everyone around the table seemed happy enough to turn talk toward plans for a coronation, with Maechenel cheerfully taking suggestions and amending them. Thranduil and Nellas sat in silence as their dishes of roast pheasant were set before them, and Anthelísse couldn't help but feel slightly uncomfortable. Apart from Thranduil she knew no one there, and it seemed clear enough that the nobility of Emyn Duir were not particularly excited to include her in the conversation.

After dinner, it wasn't long before Thranduil stood and officially dismissed everyone. Gratefully, Anthelísse rose and took her leave of the table. She was used to the mire that was politics; the Noldor were not without their own inner circles. Normally though as Gil-Galad's sister she was used to enjoying much more in the way of welcome and esteem. Leaving the room came with a distinct sense of relief.

She hadn't gotten but a dozen paces down the palace hallway though before she heard a voice call after her.

"Lady Anthelísse!"

Pausing, Anthelísse winced and turned to look back. Thranduil was walking swiftly after her, the doors to the dinner hall still ajar behind him.

"Yes, Lord Thranduil?"

Thranduil paused, seeming taken aback by the stiff, formal tone in her voice. "I...I do apologize if the welcome was less than warm. I've lived here since I was but an elfling, and we have not had many guests in all that time. I think the wars have only made everyone all the more suspicious of outsiders."

"Particularly of the Noldor variety?" Anthelísse asked, perhaps a bit more sharply than she had intended. "I noticed your Master of Coin was quick to probe my intentions regarding my sway over the Eldar."

Thranduil looked abashed. "If it helps at all, I do not harbour any suspicions about your intentions whatsoever, Lady Anthelísse. You came here in good faith as my guest, and I wish I could convince my councillors to honor that."

"You are king now, coronation or no, Lord Thranduil." Anthelísse said, remembering her vision of Oropher seated in stark contrast to his son. "If you do not takes the reins of this kingdom, then I fear others will do it for you."

"You suggest I would be usurped?" Thranduil asked, fear flickering in his eyes as though she had just spoken his darkest fears.

"No!" Anthelísse exclaimed. "Nothing of the sort! I..." she had to pause to choose her words. "I am concerned though that if you do not assume the mantle of king both publically and in your heart, you will lack the faith of your people in years to come."

Thranduil glanced to the side where a painting hung in the pale golden lamplight. It looked like a meeting of two peoples, one side clad in woodland guard and dark of hair, with the other side in silvery regalia and heads of shining gold. At the head of the Sindarin party a king strode forward on his canvas to greet the Silvans; Oropher.

Finally, Thranduil sighed. "You are right, Lady Anthelísse, and I know it. I cannot help but believe though that if I take up my father's crown, it is admitting that he really is gone."

'Perhaps that is why I refuse to take up my brother's mantle too.' Anthelísse thought briefly to herself in a flooring private admission. It was a revelation too private even to share with Aislinn later on back in her chambers.

At the end of the hall, the others were beginning to disperse from the dining hall in small groups or alone. Anthelísse spotted Queen Nellas over Thranduil's shoulder, watching her son's back intently. Whether Thranduil sensed her gaze of not, he suddenly straightened.

"I was wondering, Lady Anthelísse, now that you're settled...if you might like to have a tour of the city tomorrow? I suppose I will be kept busy most of the day, but seeing as you're my guest I'm sure nobody would begrudge me the time to be your guide. That is, if you wish me too?"

Warmed by the questioning, expectant way that Thranduil was waiting for her answer, Anthelísse gave him a small smile.

"I would be glad of such a tour, my lord. When shall I expect to meet you?"

"At dawn? The city is quieter then, but the sunrise over the mountains really does add to the beauty of Emyn Duir."

"Dawn it shall be then." Anthelísse nodded. "Until then, my lord?"

"Until then." Thranduil smiled, then turned away towards the queen. Nellas nodded to Anthelísse, and Anthelísse returned the gesture before departing for her guest apartments.

That night as she lay on the verge of reverie, Anthelísse could not help but turn the details of the day over in her mind. She had witnessed pledges of fealty, wavering of faith and the mistrust of the Woodland nobility. It was enough to turn even an elf's head. Still, on the morn she had a date with King Thranduil. That thought in itself sufficed to guide Anthelísse into a peaceful and calming reverie.

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