Summary: Greenwood the Great is in mourning, and a shadow has fallen over the Elvenking. Can he find the courage to go on?
A/N: I'm going through a Greenwood/Thranduil/Legolas phase at the moment, and after seeing some amazing works on Deviantart, I came up with this piece! I know that this has probably been done quite a few times before, and it's probably a bit too corny for most people, but *shrugs* I like the fluffy and sweet stories, kinda like cotton candy, actually. Pardon any errors (it's 1.26am here where I am), but please do feel free to review anything about the story - the errors, good parts, bad parts, what you liked, what you didn't, etc, yeah. Thank you, and enjoy reading! :
The elegantly decorated room had high, graceful arches and ceiling-high clear glass windows. The spacious, homely room would have been dappled with the early morning sunlight half filtered by the leaves of ancient trees surrounding the Palace, had the maroon velvet drapes not been drawn.
The rooms lay silent, dark, and cold and empty - except for the presence of an ellon lying on an armchair beside the fireplace.
The ellon's white blond hair was unraveling from its braid and lay tangled around his hunched shoulders. His tunic and trous, once a clean white embroidered with green-gold leaves around the high collar and long fitted sleeves, was splattered with a foul black substance. A goblet was clenched in pale, bloodless fingers while he stared into the dark red wine swirling within, as if it withheld all of Ennor's secrets.
"Why?" He asked, speaking seemingly to himself. He dipped a finger into the wine and traced it around the rim of the goblet absently, appearing to be in deep thought. "Why?" He repeated, a frown marring his handsome and regal features, golden brows drawn together and shadowing his pale blue eyes.
He swallowed the wine, relishing in the way in it burned as it went down. Only pain kept him awake nowadays. He refilled his glass with unsteady hands, the wine sloshing over the glass to the carved oak table, staining it a dark, dark red, the colour of –
"Stop."
The authoritative command… he knew that voice.
He looked up from the glowing embers of the fireplace. The room spun in a mix of muted and darkened colours. His hand shot out, grabbed an armrest. He sat up straight, looking around for the source of the voice, which haunted him in his head day and night. This time, however, he could have sworn he heard it with his own ears.
It felt… real.
Tangible.
But there was no one there.
He closed his eyes, despairing of ever seeing her or hearing her again. Why did he ever choose to love? Why had he failed? Why did the Valar take her from him, as they did his naneth, then his adar?
Warm hands cupped his face, and he felt someone whisper his name. He slowly opened his eyes to reveal pale blue orbs brimming with unshed tears. His eyes widened when he saw the elleth standing before him, before they darkened and closed.
"I have failed you," he said tightly, fists clenched on the cushioned armchair. "I do not deserve to live. If I could have reached you just a moment earlier…" he trailed off, throat tightening at the reminder of his greatest mistake.
"Stop," she repeated, taking his cold hands in hers, settling down beside him. "What happened was not your fault. The yrch would have overwhelmed the party even if you were with us. You would have perished as well had your guard not pulled you back in time-"
"I wish they had not," he spat. "All they did was to condemn me to this half life, with my fea torn asunder, to wander the ends of the earth without its partner, a King to rule without his Queen."
Silence reigned in the room, and for an instant he feared that he had condemned himself in her eyes. She sighed, and turning to him, she said, "What has happened was inevitable. The Valar had shown me that it was my time to leave Ennor, that my fate was unavoidable. I did not agree with them initially, but the march of Time cannot be reversed. I am gone to Mandos' Halls, and you must accept that, no matter how bitter it is a pill to swallow."
He opened his mouth to protest, but she continued on, "However, I go with the knowledge that you will find the strength to continue even without me. Take heart, melethron, we will be reunited in the West some day."
He smiled sadly, "Even if it will be several ages of this world before I sail West?"
"Ah, but what is an Age to an elf? Time is nothing to us. Fulfil your responsibilities in the East, beloved, as a ruler and father. We will see each other again soon."
The wooden doors creaked open, and a sliver of light entered the room. "Ada?" A young, childish voice asked.
He sat upright, all else forgotten, concerned for the elfling. "Legolas? What is wrong?"
"Is s-s-storming outside, ada," the elfling sniffled, carrying a stuffed toy in the shape of an elk, "The wind was making funny sounds and, and, the trees weren't singing any more, and I's got scared and I wanted nana!"
Grief overwhelmed Thranduil at what his son said. Swallowing hard, he resolved to be what his wife said, and more – a ruler, a father, and also a mother. "Nana is gone, Legolas," his throat constricted for a moment, "but Ada is here, he will keep you safe."
And as the Elvenking laid his son on the bed once occupied by two, the storm outside died down, replaced by a gentle, cooling breeze which swept through the wood, calming the inhabitants of the forest.
He changed his tunic and trous for a clean set, and washed up before climbing into bed beside his son. As he drifted off into the path of dreams, he felt someone draw up the thick covers over them both and kissing his cheek.
"I will always be with you."