A Dying Melody

Disclaimer: The characters, setting, and anything from Tolkien are not mine, I do not own anything.

The song haunted him. With her dying breaths she had sung it to him in her soft, melodious voice, before telling him, "I love you, and Legolas. Protect our people. Protect our son. Today, I die for him to live, Thranduil. Forgive me for leaving you. Amin mella lle." Her chest bleeding freely, her body slackening in his arms, her green eyes locking into his, she let out one last, shuddering breath before escaping her torment and pain eternally.

Do not stand at my grave and weep,

Thranduil looked at the beech tree under which his Queen had been buried. He wondered how she thought it possible that he would not shed any tears for her. She, above all the elves who knew him, understood how fragile his heart actually was – how he had frozen it to numb the pain. Gazing at the soil which parted him from his wife's body, Thranduil could not stop a tear from falling, leaving a wet trail down his face.

I am not there... I do not sleep...

Of course she was not there. Only her body was under the ground. Her spirit was in the Halls of Mandos, where it was happy, where it would never return to him. Thranduil picked up a fallen flower from the beech tree, feeling its soft petals with his fingers. Slowly, he strung it with a few others into a crown, placing it where his wife's head lay beneath the ground, for though the Forest did not have a Queen anymore, Thranduil's heart still did.

I am the thousand winds that blow,

There was one day when his wife was pregnant with Legolas and wanted to go up a tree. Both her and Thranduil had climbed the stairs encircling a tall tree with a platform attached at the end of the staircase, above the canopy of the trees. Beneath them was spread a sea of green, the Lonely Mountain on one side, the Misty Mountains on the other. Mirkwood, the forest beneath them was called, for his Elven eyes caught sight of dead trees in the South. That day, however, the wind blew from the North, allowing the sweet scent of Spring leaves and blossoms to greet their senses. A contented smile crept its way into his wife's fair face as she breathed in the air, and he remembered how she had braided his hair neatly, despite the strong wind whipping the golden strands about.

I am the diamond glints on snow,

Except from far away, she had never seen snow when she first met him. Thranduil remembered him describing it to her. A sheet of pure, unstained white. Yet when the Sun shone its light on it, it would glitter like a sea of brilliant diamonds. It was one of the first conversations she had with him, and during their wedding, he had gifted her with pure white gems strung into an elegant necklace. After she had put it on, a bright smile upon her features, Thranduil remembered telling her that none of the gems, and none of Varda's stars above could match the beauty of the twinkle in her eyes as her lips curled up beautifully.

I am the sunlight on ripened grain,

He had never seen ripened grain when he first met her, not even from far away, for he rarely visited men. Later, she had taken Thranduil to a human settlement to show him that sunlight was not only stunning when it reflected off snow, but also when it did off of ripened grain. A whole field of crops had been illuminated by the gentle, golden glow of the setting Sun as her head rested on his shoulders. They were, after all, the Elves of Twilight, and when twilight came, taking away the effect of the Sun on the field, he could not remember ever feeling so at peace as the first stars began shining overhead.

I am the gentle autumn rain...

They were having the annual autumn feast, a few years before their marriage, while he was still the Prince. She had taken his hand, and forced him to dance with her as the harps played a slow, yet merry tune. A light drizzle had fallen, something which, as Elves, did not bother them much. What made it special for them both was that as the drops of water were trapped between her auburn strands and his pale, golden ones, the moonlight reflected off their heads, making them look as if crowned with the stars as they waltzed through the forest glade.

When you wake up in the morning's hush,

When was the last time he had woken to a silent morning? If Thranduil was correct, it was before Legolas was born around a decade ago. For an elfling, his Little Leaf was quiet, though when he cried, it was loud. After her death, he had done exactly that, unable to be subdued, until after being cradled in Thranduil's arms night and day for a week, Legolas finally accepted that his naneth was gone, as he was told, on a long journey and would not come back for some time.

I am the swift uplifting rush,

Uplifting. Nothing was uplifting in his life anymore. Without the sound of her laughter, the twinkle of her eyes, the gentle words of her mouth, Thranduil could not be uplifted. Walking towards the palace gates, turning his glistening eyes away from the grave, Thranduil nearly crashed into a running... elfling. Legolas stopped his run abruptly, waving a flower in the air, wanting to give it to his father. Taking it, Thranduil saw that it was the Simbelmyne.

Of gentle birds in circling flight...

A month after Legolas was born, the three of them were sitting on the balcony, enjoying the sunrise. It was a balcony that overlooked the canopy of the trees. Melodies of the birds could be heard, and Legolas, his eyes wide with wonder, had tried to find the source. Laughing, she had whistled a tune, calling the birds. They had responded, flying gracefully up in spirals, landing gently all over the balcony. A nightingale landed on her shoulders, and ever since, the very same would visit his room, even after she was gone.

I am the soft star that shines at night

Yes, she was. In his darkest days, when his father had died, when he was struggling to take his dutiful place as King, she had shone at his side. Always, her gentle heart had stopped his own from freezing completely in his grief and pain, though nothing could stop it from hardening. All his kin were slain, he had witnessed some of them, and they made him push himself to his limits. None, even Elrond, could best his skill in the sword, and when he would not stop practicing, she had fought against him, her own skill very great, to make him cease. She was the warmth of his heart. The only one who could make him feel again. Yet she was gone. And he would have to face all the centuries alone, until it was time to sail into the West, until her time came to be reborn.

Do not stand at my grave and cry,

The day she was buried was the only day his people had seen him cry apart from the funerals of his parents. Legolas was in his arms when her body was lowered, and his son had not understood the meaning of it. As the tears fell silently down his face, into Legolas' hair, Thranduil grew sick at the thought of having to explain all this to him when he grew up.

I am not there... I did not die...

Currently, Legolas was walking back with him to the palace, his tiny hands grasping Thranduil's grown one. However, the question which the mighty King most feared was uttered by his son a few moments ago, making his heart throb. He looked down at the elfling, whose eyes were similar to his own, yet more alike hers. The young Prince was singing in his childish, yet beautiful, voice a ballad his father never remembered teaching him:

I am here, at your side,

Where I'll never wish to leave

I am here, holding you,

Let it be me whom you believe

I am here, smile again,

Please, for me, don't cry

I am here, live once more,

For I will never say goodbye

Meeting his son's soft gaze, Thranduil smiled. No, she did not die. She lived on in the one she had sacrificed herself for. In her – and his – son.