Dark, sombre thoughts clouded the mind of the Elven High King as he walked in the dark of night. Thoughts of war, strategy, the subtle timing needed during the impending death-dance with the minions of Sauron. Thoughts of a kinsman lost...and of the two who had driven him to madness. His eyes smouldered with contained anger as his pace quickened now, his pursuit of tranquility shattered by the image of a beautiful ice-cold face...the face of Anwenelme.
Gil-galad had known of Melost's love for her, but the fact that he had deserted was unthinkable. Melost had always been held in high esteem by the king and Gil-galad knew that he would have to confront the source of the problem. If she were indeed found to be guilty of such a betrayal, she would be dealt with.
Gil-galad's thoughts then turned to Arthain, the so-called friend of Melost. "What was in your mind, that you would take lightly the trust of one of Iluvatar's firstborn?" He turned and strode back toward his tent, having settled on a course of action. The guards saw him coming and drew aside the tent-flap for him to enter. "Send for Anwenelme, daughter of Menelya immediately!" he called over his shoulder. The guards exchanged glances, then one of them set off at a run.
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