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The rest of Thranduil and Anthelísse's stay in Imladris went off without incident, although there was a brief exchange between the hot-headed young king and an elf lord in the training yard of the barracks. When it came to light that the elf lord in question was in fact Lord Glorfindel formerly of Gondolin, Thranduil found himself yet again having to swallow his pride and make apologies. This time though he at least could find some solace in the fact that Glorfindel also begged Thranduil's forgiveness for losing his own temper.

When it came time three weeks later for Thranduil and Anthelísse to return to the Woodland Realm, there was a tiny bit of relief mingled with the goodbyes all around. Elrond assured them that they were both welcome to return and visit whenever they pleased, and in return Thranduil extended an invitation in kind to the Lord of the Hidden Valley.

Spring was approaching its zenith as Thranduil, Anthelísse and their followers began the ascent into the Misty Mountains once again. The melt had widened the paths and made for somewhat easier going this time over. Still there were many treacherous passes and narrow roads overlooking seemingly endless chasms as they passed.

Unable to sidle up to Thranduil on the single-file ledge, Anthelísse called forward to where he rode near the head of the procession.

"I have been thinking meleth-nin; it's a blessing that you have begun your reign in this age in the company of others such as Elrond and young Amroth."

Thranduil dared not take his eyes off the rocky path, not with the drop being so far down on his left. Clever as she was, he still didn't want to surrender full control over their course to his horse. Instead he settled for calling out and letting the wind carry his words back to Anthelísse.

"Oh, why is that?"

Anthelísse answer had a teasing note to it. "Because if you were pitted against the likes of Finarfin or Thingol in diplomacy, I fear the elf kings of old would eat you alive with that hot head of yours!"

Gurithon snickered from the lead, earning a glare that could have killed directed at his shoulders from Thranduil. Likewise Aislinn and Iminyë giggled on their grey and white horses. It was the plain but unfortunate truth. The king of the Greenwood was not without a retort though.

"What of Fëanor? I daresay the old fox had a temper that burned far hotter than mine, and yet he still managed to lead the Noldor back to Arda from the Blessed Realm."

Disapproval was evident when Anthelísse replied. "Surely you wouldn't want to compare yourself to Fëanor Kin-Slayer? His is hardly a standard to follow."

"True, but you must admit that he had his own sort of intelligence and courage. It was no small feat to convince the Noldor to face exile at the hands of the Valar like that."

Iminyë piped up from behind Anthelísse as they rounded a dizzying corner. The valley floor was so far below that it could hardly be seen beneath the clouds. Wisps of mist clung to the handmaiden with delicate golden curls like a veil.

"But in the end, Fëanor's courage came to naught. He and his sons never reclaimed the Silmarils, and the Halls of Mandos shall be his prison even until such time as the Second Music of the Ainur." Iminyë spoke with great solemnity. "In the end, the will of the Valar wins out over any petty designs we may strive toward."

Thranduil's eyebrows went up. "It takes courage to disagree with a king too, Iminyë. You put great faith in the power of the Valar, don't you?"

"Shouldn't I?" Iminyë replied. "They formed the world by the decree of Eru, and so I think it's only right to give them their just reverence. In the end, we are all in their hands."

Thranduil smiled despite himself. The mountain fog was thickening, and his voice sounded oddly muffled when he spoke.

"Anthelísse, it seems you have a scholar in your entourage. Perhaps a place in the libraries of Emyn Duir with our learned philosophers would be more suited to your tastes, Iminyë?"

A rock shifted and fell from above, sending a landslide of grey earth onto the ledge between Thranduil's horse and Anthelísse's. Her horse reared in startled fear, and Thranduil was forced to canter his own mare forward after Gurithon to avoid further rocks.

Thranduil was about to call back to Anthelísse and the other half of the party when a new sound from above made his blood run cold. Instinctively his hand went to the hilt of his sword.

"Aran-nin, goblins!" One of their guards cried out, pointing.

At least fifty of the vermin were dropping down the near vertical rocky face toward them from above. Their shrieking cries and whoops echoed around them, magnified by the mountain passes. The treacherous creatures must have set off the rock-fall on purpose to separate their party.

"Draw swords!" Thranduil shouted, pulling his own blade from its sheath with a reverberating ring. "Anthelísse!" he called across the choked ledge. "Stay down!"

Whether Anthelísse had heard him or not, Thranduil couldn't know. The rocks blocked the other side of the path from all sight. There were a number of the Greenwood's best warriors back there with her, as well as a number of Anthelísse's own Noldo guards. Not being able to see Anthelísse or reach her terrified Thranduil.

That terror lent a new speed to his sword, a new sense of urgency to his form in battle. Thranduil fought like a cornered wildcat, killing any goblin that got within reach. Gurithon and his other guards barely needed to worry about defending their king; Thranduil had the fight well in hand for his part. The goblins dropped down on them like spiders, and the narrow ledge left the elves very little room to manoeuvre.

It would take more than fifty goblins to kill an elite force of elves though. Thranduil and his guards slaughtered the goblins on their side of the landslide site with ruthless efficiency. One of the younger, less experienced warriors took a nasty slash to the thigh, but apart from that they were mostly uninjured. The last goblin had barely hit the ground before Thranduil was already leaping at the rocks that barred the path.

"Anthelísse!" When the only answer was the muffled sounds of battle, Thranduil rounded on his captain. "Gurithon, we're going over."

The battle-schooled Silvan could have protested, warning against the risks of climbing over freshly fallen rocks. Even a slight change of weight could send the rest of the mountainside sliding over the edge. The burning light in Thranduil's eyes defied risks though, and Gurithon just nodded curtly. With those elves who were still fit for battle behind them, Thranduil and Gurithon clambered lithely up the barricade and over.

The bulk of the goblins had attacked the rear of the party, and the fight still roiled when Thranduil and his warriors leapt down into the fray. With the elves now rejoined, the goblins soon broke and tried to scatter back up the mountainside. Gurithon was fast to react though, and on his command the elves shot down the fleeing vermin.

Dropping his sword, Thranduil turned from the sight and began racing about through the mist.

"Anthelísse, Anthelísse where are you?" he cried out.

"Here, Thranduil!"

Thranduil recognized Anthelísse's voice, and thought he would drop to his knees from relief. Following the sound of her calls, he found her and her followers backed against the wall of the mountain pass. They were disheveled and wide-eyed, but upon seeing Anthelísse safe Thranduil felt his throat close.

Heedless of the black blood spattering his clothes, Thranduil ran straight to Anthelísse and drew her to him in a desperate embrace. The scent of her hair and the feel of her in his arms was bliss.

"Please." He whispered into the crook of her neck. "Please, don't ever leave me."

Anthelísse let him hold her for a minute more, her hand twisted in the back of his hair. Then she murmured "Thranduil, I'm not harmed. Are you alright?"

Reluctantly Thranduil stepped back and held Anthelísse at arm's length. "Yes." He said breathlessly. "Yes I'm alright."

"My lady?"

Aislinn was kneeling a short ways away in the fog, her long black hair unbound and wild. She looked to Anthelísse, then down at the limp figure she cradled on her lap.

Anthelísse went to Aislinn, and Thranduil heard the tears that choked her words.

"Iminyë..."

The handmaiden had been slain by a single blow from a goblin sword. Her eyes stared unseeing, veiled by half-closed lashes. Anthelísse sank to her knees beside Aislinn and joined in a soft, keening lament.

Thranduil looked on, sensing that this grief was not his to share. Instead he did the only thing he could; be there for Anthelísse. He waited quietly to one side as the elf women mourned their murdered sister.

When at last their tearful song fell silent, he approached Anthelísse and laid a hand on her shoulder. She reached out to close Iminyë's eyes, and then leaned back against him.

"Come." Thranduil said softly, looking up to the elves who stood silently around them on the mountainside ledge. "Let us leave this place."

Wordlessly Anthelísse nodded. Three other Noldo from her entourage helped Aislinn to wrap Iminyë's body in their cloaks and tie her onto her horse.

"She will be buried with honour in the Greenwood." Thranduil promised Anthelísse, wrapping a supportive arm around her shoulders. "If that is your people's wish?"

Anthelísse watched Aislinn mount up in front of the pallbearer horse with a pale but composed face. The Greenwood elves checked the bindings once more, ensuring their sorrowful bundle would not be disturbed on the journey. The attentiveness with which they did so comforted Anthelísse.

"Yes...that is our wish." Anthelísse whispered.

"Then it will be so." Promised Thranduil. Still with an arm around Anthelísse, he led her away to her own horse. This golden elf lady had been his light and strength so many times before. Now he vowed to do the same for her.

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