I do not own Thranduil, Mirkwood/Eryn Lasgalen or anything else belonging to Tolkien. Any names you don't recognise from Tolkien are those of my OCs. and if you'd like to use them I'd appreciate it if you asked, but their home and world are all Tolkien's.
Hope you enjoy it!
It had been a long year, but at last Thranduil could breathe freely. More freely, in fact, than he had been able to breathe for decades – centuries, even, since news had first reached him of the Necromancer's arrival in the south of his kingdom. Now the Necromancer was gone. Sauron was gone. His people and his family were safe at last.
Thranduil closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath, tasting the sweet smell of the forest that he loved: Eryn Lasgalen now. No longer Mirkwood. No longer Taur e-Ndaedelos. No longer the Forest of Great Fear. It was over. They had won.
He let the breath out again in a sigh.
Eryn Lasgalen was smaller than Mirkwood had been, of course, but Thranduil did not grudge the land that he had ceded to Celeborn. Southern Mirkwood had been a thorn in his side for too long and was stained with the blood of too many of his warriors for him to look upon it with aught but hate.
Even the spiders' numbers were falling. That problem was still there, but they seemed more cautious then before, and the elves could relax accordingly. They were now the hunters, even in the deep areas of the forest where they had previously only gone in great numbers, and every patrol that returned brought tidings of more of the creatures dead.
Another deep breath and long sigh.
He wondered how long they could stay here, how many of his people would now leave in this brief respite before men took this land for their own. He himself would stay. This had been his home all his life and he would not leave it while one of his people remained. To do otherwise would be to abandon the legacy that his father had left, the realm that Oropher had carved out, gathering wandering Sindar and crafting them and the native Silvan elves into a kingdom. They and their descendants lived on in Eryn Lasgalen, though Oropher was long gone to the far shores.
Thranduil sighed again, taking off his crown and turning it between his fingers, caressing the green leaves and bright flowers. He had won. He had defended Mirkwood for so long, and now that the war was over, he felt exhausted. For the first time in centuries, he had time to miss his father. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back against the tree that supported his back.
"Thranduil?"
He looked up and smiled at the sight of his wife, Menelmîr, her brown hair caught back from her face in a warrior's braid, just as when he'd first seen her, so long ago.
"Good morning," he said, raising a hand. She took it and sat down beside him, resting her head on his shoulder.
"What were you thinking about?" she asked.
He smiled a little. "The fact that I can safely come and sit out here without constantly worrying," he replied. "And my father."
She nodded. After a long moment's silence, she said tentatively, "You could see him again soon."
He nodded. "I know, but I will stay here until the last of our people has gone."
Again, she nodded, but remained silent.
He turned his head a little to look at her. She was staring out into the forest, at the beams of light that were making their way down to the ground, at a lost purple butterfly that fluttered past, searching for a way to join its brethren about the canopy.
"Has Legolas spoken to you of…"
"His plans for Ithilien? Yes, he has." Thranduil sighed a little. He had hoped that Legolas would stay in Mirk- Eryn Lasgalen, now that he had returned from his journey. He laughed a little. That would be the last time he sent Legolas on a two-week trip to Imladris.
"Is something funny?" asked Menelmîr.
"Legolas' 'two-week trip' to Imladris."
She also laughed. "Ai… well, we cannot complain – he did ask our permission before agreeing to join the Company." She smiled. "And he has made us proud, and come home again, even if he does not intend to stay long."
Thranduil nodded. Indeed, despite his... somewhat unsatisfactory choice in new friends (a dwarf? Really? What had possessed the boy?), Legolas had made him so proud that he thought his heart would burst at the thought of him. He took a deep breath and shook his head a little, then removed his crown again and stroking a careful hand across the flowers.
"I'm not sure I'll be wearing this again next year," he said quietly.
"You think that we will all leave so quickly?"
"Many of our people intend to go with Legolas, and others will Sail now that it is safe to travel to the sea and they do not feel that they are abandoning their home in its time of need. Faelon, for one."
Menelmîr sighed. She knew as well as he did that it had only been a matter of time before his chief advisor headed for the Havens. Faelon's son had died at the hands of orcs a few years before, and his wife had taken ship soon after. He had refused to accompany her, bound by his duty to the kingdom, and had been almost visibly pining for them both ever since.
"We could leave too," she said softly. "Filegion is capable of ruling for the little time that is left."
"That wouldn't be fair," he replied. "To leave him this crown just in time for him to watch Eryn Lasgalen fade. No, my love. I have made up my mind."
She looked at him for a long moment, then kissed him on the cheek, her warm breath stirring the few strands of hair that hung down by his ear.
"I expected no less of you," she breathed.
He smiled and gently caressed her hand, running his fingertips across the rough callouses in the crooks of her fingers: the evidence of her constant practice with a bow, her determination that should their home fall at last, she would continue to defend herself and her people as long as she could lay hands on an arrow and draw a string. Even during her three pregnancies, she had still practised. All the time he'd known her, she'd had these callouses.
And now they were no longer necessary. She no longer needed to practice day in, day out, reminding him by her very presence at the butts that theirs was a people under siege. He could finally give her the peace that he'd so often wished he had to give. The peace she so richly deserved.
"The fact that I must stay..." he began, but she knew or guessed what he was about to say.
"Means I will stay beside you," she finished. "You will not send me from your side so easily, beloved."
"Our people will need a leader on their journey."
"I have spoken to Faelon on the subject, and he says that that is a duty he will gladly undertake. Let it be known that he will lead them, and they will follow him."
Thranduil smiled. Truth be told, he had expected that response, but he could not have forgiven himself had he not made at least a token effort to persuade her.
"Very well, then," he said, squeezing her hand and smiling as she shifted to press herself a little closer against his side. "We will remain here a little longer, and enjoy our home as long as we might."
She smiled. "Now that we are free to sit here and enjoy it," she said, "Just the two of us, together."
"Together," he agreed, and took a long breath, finally breathing free.