Sing me a Song of the Queen who is Gone by Raiyana

Fare thee well

Fare-thee-well

A week later, the small party was ready to leave; the Queen was mounted on one of the most docile elks in the stables, rather than her usual mount, and a contingent of guards were riding along for protection. Avornien had chosen to accompany her friend, though Nínimeth had not reacted to that news any more than she had understood where they were heading. Behind him, their dark-haired twins stood in silence. Thonnon disagreed with his decision, Thranduil knew, his hot-head son often at odds with him; Thandir had not offered an opinion either way, but that didn’t surprise his adar. As confrontational and temperamental as Thonnon was, Thandir was a deeper well, his emotions often hidden beneath a layer of stoicism. Sometimes, he thought his third elfling was too easily influenced by his louder brother, but secretly he preferred Thandir’s gentleness over Thonnon’s brash nature.

“No gelin idh raid dhîn, a no adel dhen i chwest[1],” Thranduil called, standing by the Forest Gate. Legolas made a gurgling noise in his arms; the leafling was the only one who was happy today, Thranduil thought. Nínimeth had ignored him entirely, had ignored everything, in fact, staring at nothing and reacting to no one. Thranduil tightened the grip on his sceptre. Rhonith was mounted on a spirited elk, one of old Dairon’s gets, Thranduil thought, distracting himself from the vacant look in his beloved’s eyes.

“Atheg,” Rhonith hesitated, running her fingers over his ear and down his jaw, trailing a gentle touch along Legolas’ cheek. The leaf smiled at her. “I do not know when I can bear to return here without her – without you,” she whispered, looking back at the statue-like elleth, whose crimson hair shone in the bright morning sun. Thranduil could hardly bear to look at her himself; he had tried to say farewell earlier, but he wasn’t truly convinced she had even registered his presence. She had allowed the boys into her room, which was even more painful when held against her utter refusal to acknowledge his existence.

“My sons will care for their brother when I cannot, sellig[2].” Thranduil soothed, stroking her ear in return. She smiled, but it wasn’t a happy one, he knew. “I am glad you will be with her until the ship sails,” he murmured, leaning in to press a kiss to her forehead. “I know Nínimeth will appreciate your presence, even if she does not currently seem aware of anything. I will miss you.” In his arms, Legolas was watching peacefully. The twins kept quiet, though he could feel Thonnon’s anger simmering behind him.

“I will miss you too,” she replied softly, “all of you.”

“Farewell, Rhonith,” Thandir called; the first words he had spoken all day. Rhonith smiled at him. With a final wave at the gathered crowd of well-wishers – sombre and already mourning the absence of their beloved Queen – she called for the small group to move. She did not look back at the elf who had become her father in all but blood more than a millennium before.

Thranduil stood by the Forest Gate, staring after them until long after they had passed into obscurity among the trees. It was fitting, he thought, that he would be staring south as his wife left him, his mind turning towards the dark lands to the far south where their oldest son had perished.

When he finally moved from his spot, the King of Greenwood simply returned to his rooms, closing and locking the door that led to the Queen’s private chambers, and sank into a chair, his arms cradling his sleeping son as he wept silently.

“It’s that Noldorin witchling’s doing!” Thonnon seethed, pacing through the quarters he had been offered. Leaning against the wall, his twin, Thandir, flinched.

“I wish you wouldn’t call her that, brother,” he said, twisting a lock of his hair between his fingers, “Rhonith loves Naneth and Adar-”

“Don’t call her that!” Thonnon snarled. “She is not our sister!”

“But she is naneth’s,” Thandir objected, though he flinched again when Thonnon whirled on him.

“Naneth is gone, Thandir, and I bet it was her fault!” Thonnon grimaced. “Adar has always been weak when it came to her; Noldorin witch!”

“She’s always been nice to us,” Thandir tried, but Thonnon ignored him, “Thalion loved her, too.”

“Pffft!” Thonnon scoffed. “Thalion was as great a fool as Adar, and he’s dead, along with grandfather and so many others. Yet she survived.” Pacing to the other end of their room, he continued his angry gesturing. “Now Naneth is going to Valinor; how many members of our family will have to be lost before you see reason? She’s the one who told Adar to send off our mother, I’m sure of it.”

“We were not here, Thonnon, we did not see what happened.” Thandir tried to soothe, though he knew it would do little good. It had been some years since either of the twin Princes had seen their parents. Thonnon lived in the small village by the forest road, with his wife and two daughters, while Thandir had been up north, where a small group of Silvans – intermingled Nandorin and Sindarin Elves – had made their home. That was where he had met Arassiel, and fallen in love. He had worried, once, that his parents would not approve of his wife – certainly Thonnon would have preferred his twin marry a Sindar, like he had – but they had seen the quiet happiness emanating from their third son, and welcomed her easily.

“We met with Naneth, though, brother, did you see anything wrong with her?” Thonnon reasoned.

“She was a little quiet,” Thandir admitted. “And more sad than I expected from a new mother.” He and Arassiel had discussed elflings lately; and the thought still filled him with joyous hope for the future, even if it was slightly marred by the sorrow of knowing that his son or daughter would not meet their grandmother until they were reunited in Aman.

“Because the witchling wouldn’t let her hold the leaf!” Thonnon exploded, startling Thandir out of his thoughts. “That half-dwarf has already begun working her magic on the little one; you saw how he cried until she took him away.” Thandir shook his head silently. He had seen that, yes, but he had also seen how relieved their Naneth had looked when Rhonith took the leafling away. There was a darkness in their Naneth that he had not seen before; a darkness that had not been present even when she was lost in her grief for their older brother.

“They say she has gone mad,” he offered instead, but Thonnon waved off the words like buzzing flies.

“Rumours and gossip, brother,” he retorted. “Did she seem mad to you?” Thandir sighed.

“No…” but she did not seem altogether sane, either. Thandir left the thought unsaid. Thonnon smiled triumphantly.

“I told you it was all a trick.”

The journey proved uneventful, though no less heart breaking for that, Rhonith thought. Avornien rode double with Nínimeth, controlling their mount, because the Queen simply stared into the air, staring at a world only she could see and rebuffing all who came near her. Even Avornien struggled to maintain her famously stoic façade, and more than once Rhonith found herself wishing that she had left this task to someone else, simultaneously aware that she would have hated herself if she had stayed in Greenwood.

Imladris – the newly established home of Lord Elrond, and a fair number of her own ada’s subjects – was as welcoming and homely as any place she had ever been; filled with spirit of Eregion long-gone. The Elves there – many of whom knew her well – were welcoming, but quietly horrified to see the condition of the once-proud Queen of the Forest.

“I do not believe I can help her, Lady Pethril,” Lord Elrond admitted quietly, which was only what Rhonith – they called her Pethril, here, if they did not use her father-name – had expected.

“I am grieved, mellon,” Lady Celebrían added, “but I believe you are doing the right thing.” The only daughter of Galadriel had long been a friend, but her words were no true comfort. Rhonith nodded tightly. Celebrían’s gentle embrace did little to soothe her heartache, nor did the sudden arrival of Nurtalëon help much, aside from reassuring her that she was not going to be doing this alone.

Leaving Imladris with a heavy heart, the small group of woodland Elves felt weary. The land here was too open for their tastes, missing their native forests and tempers were strained.

By the time they reached the Grey Havens, having crossed through Arnor, Rhonith was pleased to be met by the Shipwright, who’d long been a friend to her adar, giving them a chance to rest in one of the houses that overlooked the Gulf of Lune – not all equally well-constructed, her dwarven eyes said, immediately choosing the best one for Nínimeth. The warriors had to stay in a different building, their absence soothing her frazzled nerves, though Nurtalëon remained.

[1] May your paths be green and the breeze behind you

[2] My daughter