After a long journey, the Rivendell delegation at last came within sight of Thranduil's realm. Greenwood scouts spotted their approach, and a messenger was sent to the Hall to alert the king to his approaching guests. Thranduil's seneschal, Gilglîr, brought the message to Thranduil as he sat in Legolas' deserted room, where, after all these years, the king was still wont to spend all his spare minutes.
"Thranduil, Glorfindel and Erestor are nearing the Hall."
Thranduil merely nodded. Sometimes it was too great an effort to speak.
"Thranduil, I apologize for this, but—"
Thranduil raised his head, interrupting his friend.
"Gilglîr, I know what you are going to say—I must make every effort to fulfill my duties, for the situation is grave. Very well," he continued, arising from his seat on Anomen's still-rumpled bed—Thranduil allowed no one to disturb anything in his son's former room. "Very well, I will put aside my grief and play the king—stern, impassive, with space in his heart only for welfare of his realm. In the company of Elrond's emissaries, I will be either grave when needful or merry like one who is jovial when that is required."
Gilglîr's heart ached for the king, but he merely nodded. Together they left the room that had become both a sanctuary and a memorial.
Thranduil kept his word. When the Rivendell Elves rode up to the hall, he stood there, his face studiedly neutral, to formally welcome them to his realm.
"My Lords Erestor and Glorfindel, I bid you and your companions welcome. It has been far too long since we have received a delegation from Imladris. I pray that you will make free to ask for anything that is needful for your comfort whilst you are among us." He bowed slightly.
Erestor and Glorfindel bowed a little more deeply in return.
"My Lord," said Erestor, "we thank you for your gracious welcome and hope that we may find the means to at least in part reciprocate your kindness, for I am sure that we lack the means to match it entirely."
Thranduil inclined his head in acknowledgement of the compliment. He gestured for the two elf-lords to come forward and enter his Hall. As they passed him, he glanced back at their retainers, who would be escorted by his servants to lesser quarters. One of them, his face hidden by his dark unbraided hair, looked very young to be included amongst such a company. "My son's age, perhaps, had he lived," the king thought sadly. Pain stabbed through him, and he forced himself to look away from the young Elf. Determined to keep his emotions in check, he stalked into the Hall.
Although Anomen had kept his head lowered, from time to time he risked a glance at his father. Was it true that the king had been grieving over the loss of the prince of Greenwood? True, his father looked serious, but in no way did he look sad. He looked as a king should when greeting ambassadors who had come bearing important messages.
"So it is a lie, then, that my father sorrows over my death," Anomen thought bitterly. "Of course," Anomen reminded himself, trying to restore his hope, "in such a public setting my father is unlikely to show private grief. I must see more of him before I can be sure."
Many days passed before Anomen had another opportunity to observe the king, who spent long hours in discussions with Erestor and Glorfindel. At last their business was concluded, and Berenmaethor informed the Rivendell Elves that they would be leaving on the morrow.
"But first," he told them, "we are to attend a feast in honor of Erestor and Glorfindel. By all accounts, Thranduil means to give us a spectatcular send-off so that we will carry word of his glory back to our realm."
"And we are all to attend, even the least of us?" asked Thoron.
"Yes," replied Berenmaethor. "Even little Dûrrandîr here," he added with a grin. From the time Anomen had rejoined their company, everyone had been careful to address him as 'Dûrrandîr'. In that way, they had become so accustomed to the name that they were unlikely to slip up and call him 'Anomen' whilst in the hearing of any Greenwood Elves.
"Now I will be able to determine his true feelings," Anomen thought to himself. "The feast will last for hours. Surely even my father could not dissemble for such a length of time. And," he added to himself, "many toasts will be made tonight. My father will no doubt drink liberally, especially if Dorwinion wine is to be served, which it surely will. That should loosen his tongue!"
So it was that a hopeful Anomen took his place amongst the other Rivendell Elves at a long table near the front of the Hall of Celebration. Anomen was seated at the very end of the table, farthest from the dais, but he was still in a position to see all that transpired at the king's table.
As the lesser Elves were filing into the Hall of Celebration, Gilglîr was helping Thranduil into the elaborately decorated robe that he would wear for the occasion. Thranduil sighed as he stood patiently whilst Gilglîr adjusted his formal garb.
"My Lord?"
"It is nothing, Gilglîr. I am merely so tired. It takes a great deal of energy to pretend that one is not grieving. And tonight," he added bitterly, "I face the hardest task of all. Hitherto I needed merely to counterfeit a grave demeanor; tonight I must put on a merry one."
"I know," Gilglîr softly replied. "But you have only to endure this one feast. On the morrow, our guests will depart."
Thranduil nodded somberly. "And a great relief that shall be to me. It seems that whenever I glance through an embrasure, I spy a young Rivendell Elf who, dark-haired though he be, puts me in mind of the prince. I shall be glad when he has gone hence."
The dark-haired Elf in question was finding it difficult to sit still, so eager was he to see how his father acted.
"Dûrrandîr," hissed Thoron, "Glorfindel is staring at you."
"Pointedly?"
"Yes."
Fortunately for Anomen, at that moment the herald announced the king, and all attention turned to that personage.
As Anomen had expected, the feast dragged on for hours, and their glasses oft were raised in toasts. Through it all, however, Thranduil smiled and laughed, giving no sign that he had ever suffered any cruel blow, let alone the loss of a son. Indeed, the longer the feast went on, the merrier Thranduil became—and the sadder grew Anomen.
"Dûrrandîr," said Thoron, as he noticed how Anomen had lost his appetite, "what is the matter? You are a native of Greenwood, is that not so? Are you not glad to have Greenwood food placed before you once more? Or," he added, trying to joke, "perhaps you left in the first place because the Greenwood diet did not agree with you!"
Anomen tried to smile but couldn't. Thoron grew concerned. "Are you ill?" he asked anxiously.
Anomen answered carefully. "I left Greenwood before I had become accustomed to this Dorwinion wine. Perhaps I have enjoyed myself too much this night."
"Ah," said Thoron wisely, "and you are yet underage. I should have discouraged you from drinking each and every toast! Come, let us slip out and return to our quarters. I think we can do so without being noticed."
They were noticed, however.
"Thank the Valar!" thought Thranduil. "That Elf no longer darkens my sight. Mayhap now it will be easier to maintain my composure for the remainder of this feast."
Still, Thranduil had yet one more trial to endure. The following morning, he had to bid the Imladris Elves farewell.
"It will take only a few minutes," said Gilglîr soothingly. Thranduil nodded miserably. The feast had taken well nigh all his strength.
The Rivendell Elves were assembled outside the entrance to the Hall. Elrond and Glorfindel stood at their head. All bowed as the King of Greenwood came forth. Thranduil bowed slightly in return.
"My Lords Elrond and Glorfindel, I have enjoyed your presence in my realm," lied the king smoothly.
Glorfindel replied first. "My Lord, your pleasure could not have been greater than ours. We got the better of the exchange, for you graced us with your person, and in exchange we brought only ourselves."
"Yes, we do indeed thank you, my Lord," said Erestor in his turn. "I must say that your hospitality exceeded even that which rumor had led me to expect."
Thranduil graciously inclined his head. Glorfindel and Erestor bowed once more and moved toward their horses. Partway there, Erestor came to a halt and turned to address the king once more. "My Lord—." He paused. It seemed that there was something more that Erestor wished to say but that he hesitated to do so.
Puzzled, Thranduil said, "Yes, Lord Erestor?"
"My Lord, we have been formal with one another, for we have had much to accomplish and little time to spare. But I cannot depart without expressing somewhat of my feelings. We have heard in Imladris of the loss of your son. My Lord, you have my deepest sympathy, and know you that you have Elrond's likewise."
With one final great effort, Thranduil kept himself from weeping before his guests. "I thank you for your concern, but that unfortunate accident occurred long ago and I am quite recovered." With that, Thranduil bowed his dismissal of the Rivendell Elves and escaped into the Hall, his dignity intact.
As he did so, Anomen was unwittingly trying to prove himself to be Thranduil's son, for with a great effort, he too masked his emotions. But far away in Lothlórien, Galadriel wept.