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The forest city of the Woodland Realm lay nestled in the arms of the Black Mountains, a small but imposing mountain range in the heart of the Greenwood. A single, sloping road led the way up from under the canopy to higher ground. It was the only entrance to Oropher's capital, guarded by a set of black iron gates wrought in spiraling vines and ornate thorns. Even from beyond the gates the city was visible as it spanned the mountain hollow. Its design was not unlike Menegroth, the 'Thousand Caves' of Doriath where Oropher had spent his youth. Unlike Menegroth though, much of the city of Emyn Duir was located on the mountainside rather than within it. When planning its design, the late king had taken much inspiration not only from Menegroth but also from Gondolin.

Perhaps that was why Anthelísse felt Emyn Duir to be a strangely familiar place as they approached with the returning Greenwood army. She had never been to these parts of Arda before, and yet the mountainside city beckoned invitingly as their horses climbed the steep road toward it.

As though by some unforeseen force, the wrought iron gates fell back silently before Thranduil when his horse approached. Trees grew upon the Black Mountains nearly to their summits, and even upon the mountainside their way was shaded in green. Gurithon held the banner of the Greenwood high as the new king led his warriors home.

The street on either side was lined by buildings both elegant and fair. Ivy twined thickly along their walls, and springs of clear water trickled hidden out of sight. As the army road ever upwards through the city, elves began to emerge from their niches and gather.

There was no shouting, no calling out from the Greenwood elves as they filled the streets. The price of victory was clear for all to see. Many times Anthelísse saw an elleth or ellon rush out from inside a home with a smile, only to watch it die as the solemn procession passed.

Murmurs of "The king is dead" began to spread throughout the people. All watched with pale faces as Thranduil rode at the head of the army in the place where Oropher had been expected. There were more than a few eyes on Anthelísse and her company as well, marking well the blue banner of the Noldor that her servant Varnon carried.

Then came the realization that it was not just Oropher who was absent from the survivors. One by one, families searched for and missed members among the columns of soldiers. Weeping could be heard somewhere among the crowd, a sound that only grew as the gates swung shut behind the last of the returning elves.

By the time they reached the steps of the palace of Emyn Duir, a silence as deep and still as death had fallen upon the entire populace. Many holding one another for support in their grief, the elves of the Greenwood gathered around the mountain courtyard behind the army. All eyes were on Thranduil as he slid down from his horse and climbed halfway up the steps.

Dismounting herself, Anthelísse silently gathered her dozen followers about her and waited. She would wait for a formal invitation before approaching the palace of the Woodland Realm. Together, the handful of Noldo placed themselves to one side of the assembly. Anthelísse gazed toward the palace and felt her heart leap to her throat as she spied an approaching elf woman. This must be the queen; Oropher's wife and Thranduil's mother.

The royal lady was somewhat short for an elf. Her long hair shone burnished brown in the setting sunlight, and her face though unlined as was the way of the Eldar radiated both great age and bravery. She wore a gown of a deep mossy hue, embroidered with what appeared to be stylized dragons across the collar. She looked quite Silvan, although Anthelísse suspected the queen was more likely Sindarin by the set of her green eyes. Looking between mother and son, Anthelísse thought that Thranduil had taken after his father almost entirely in looks.

The queen crossed the upper courtyard on swift feet, a small group of courtiers some distance behind. By the time she and Thranduil met at the top of the stairs tears could be seen sparkling at the tips of her dark eyelashes.

"Thranduil...you've come back to us." Said the queen, reaching out to embrace her son and pull him close. Anthelísse saw Thranduil wince ever so slightly, but he bowed his head to his mother's kiss all the same. The absence of Oropher gaped like an open wound for all to see.

"Naneth..." Thranduil sounded choked and so very young. "Adar, he..."

"I know." The queen said simply, taking Thranduil's hands in hers. "I know."

At the bottom of the stairs, Gurithon cleared his throat quietly. "Aran-nin, the people?"

The queen released Thranduil and turned him toward the steps by the shoulders. "We shall talk in private later, ion-nin. For now, you are the king before you are my son."

When Thranduil turned away from his mother, he was met by the entirety of the people of Emyn Duir, all standing in mournful quiet awaiting the words of their new king. There was scarcely a dry eye in the entire assemblage, and the lucky minority whose loved ones had returned clung to each other.

Anthelísse remembered the ease with which her brother had always addressed crowds. Gil-Galad had taken to the mantle of High King naturally; a born leader. Watching Thranduil gaze at the faces of his people now, she prayed that the Valar would give him the strength to rule. She didn't know when she had become so concerned with the fate of the Woodland Realm, or perhaps just its young king. Some things cannot be pinpointed, especially affairs of the heart.

Finally, Thranduil broke the silence that had fallen like a shroud across Emyn Duir.

"To you, my people, I wish I could say that these coming days are to be filled with only joy and peace. Now that the enemy in Mordor has been vanquished, these years before us ought to be among the happiest of our long lives."

Thranduil's voice sounded thin, wavery, unconvinced. 'He really is but a youth' Anthelísse thought, looking down at her tightly clasped hands. 'This station has come upon him too soon'.

"Alas, how can they be?" Thranduil continued after swallowing hard. His eyes darted to Gurithon, who nodded slowly, encouragingly. Then they landed on Anthelísse. She tried to smile, although she feared it looked more watery than supportive. "We have won peace for this world, but have paid too dearly for it. Your fathers, brothers, sisters, mothers, all have sacrificed beyond the measure of grief before the gates of the Morannon. Their blood, including my father's, could never have been fairly matched for its value to us."

The elves of the Greenwood listened in complete silence, no one moving except to brush away a tear here and there. Reunited lovers stood with their heads upon each other's shoulders, and those not so lucky hung their heads with hair unbound in mourning. Looking around at them all, Thranduil felt his courage waver. What could he possibly say to these folk, Sindarin and Silvan alike that could possibly justify so much death?

Looking once more at Anthelísse, her head bowed inside her blue hood, he remembered that she too had lost kin in that rueful battle. His father may not have liked Gil-Galad, Valar knew Thranduil himself did not really care for the High King. Still, he had been Anthelísse's elder brother. Rather than try to speak to every elf present, he focused himself and spoke directly to her.

"There is nothing we can do to fetch back those who have gone to Mandos, and there are no words I can speak to take away the pain of their loss. But I promise you, we will make their sacrifice stand for something worthwhile. We will make use of the fall of Sauron to reclaim that which we have lost. The northern borders of the Greenwood have long been barred to us, overrun by orcs and other manner of foul creatures. We will now make safe all the forest from here to the Grey Mountains. The Greenwood shall from this day forth be a place of solace and refuge from the vast wilds beyond. The enemy is gone, and we have earned this haven forevermore. Let us rebuild our realm, that we need never pay such a price for peace ever again."

There was no applause, but the approving nods from many of the elves gathered was enough. No one in Emyn Duir had the heart to celebrate anything, nor should they. Still, for Thranduil it sufficed just to have his people listen to his words and accept them as being from their king.

Handing the banner of the Woodland Realm to another, Gurithon stepped forward and climbed the steps up from the courtyard. Reach the stair below Thranduil, the captain knelt and offered forth his bow.

"Thranduil Oropherion, to you I swear allegiance as my king from this day henceforth unto my last days upon both Arda and Aman. I offer you my bow, as a symbol of my service to you and your house. By the will of the Valar, long may you reign."

"Long may you reign." It was not a cry of triumph but a fervent murmur that traveled through the gathering of elves. One by one, all present began to sink to one knee as Gurithon had done. Anthelísse did so as well, and her followers quickly followed suite. The queen bowed her head to her son, and the folk of the Woodland Realm paid homage to their new king.

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