Author's Note: The Lord of the Rings belongs to Tolkien Estates. Enjoy!

Thranduil stepped into the Halls of Healing, his tumultuous soul immediately soothed by the calming sound of harp and flute singing in harmonious duet. He wore a circlet of silver and a brooch on his tunic as the only indication of his status in the realm. Instead of his usual expensive clothing, he wore the simple, fern green garb of a warrior of the Greenwood. His bow was slung on his right shoulder - a quiver of arrows across his back. His blue eyes scanned the room for a particular lady, and after not locating her on his first perusal, he proceeded further into the hall.

As if summoned by magic, the object of Thranduil's affections appeared from around the corner. She wore robes of cream this day, and she carried a wide wooden bowl filled with a white cloth floating in water. A content smile graced her lips, which further assisted Thranduil with feeling a little more light of heart than he had been. She had not noticed his presence as she continued on her trek to a table where she set her burden down. She then glanced his way, and initially, a look of puzzlement crossed her face before she grinned and approached him. Thranduil smiled in return.

When she was close to him, she dipped into a low bow with her knees almost touching the floor and her arms spread out to her sides, palms facing down. Though they had been courting for years, she still maintained the protocols necessary for their stations in life when they met in public places. Thranduil preferred that she didn't bow to him as her prince, but she had insisted. She rose from her obeisance and met his gaze once more.

"Thranduil," her tone was breathless with the pleasure of seeing him, and it made his heart flutter at it. "Are you alright? The old wound is not troubling you?"

Thranduil shook his head. "No...it is perfect, thanks to you."

It was all because of her hard work and skill as a healer that Thranduil could see and no longer carried a trace of the significant dragon wound he had sustained on a scouting mission. it was during this most difficult time of his life that Thranduil found himself falling for the pretty maid. She had been stern but kind, and she had looked beyond his deformity to see the essence of who he was beneath. She had listened as he talked of his grief associated with the mission, she had comforted, and pushed him when he needed it. He could never repay her for her devotion to him except by returning it. She was pleased at his report, but she soon looked concerned.

"Something distresses you. I can sense it in your demeanor. You are melancholy, and I know that is not your true nature."

Thranduil had come with the mind to speak to her, but now that the moment had come, he found it difficult to say the carefully prepared words he had agonized over for two days. War was upon the earth, and the Elves of the Greenwood had largely managed to escape it until now. The wood had been infiltrated by some of the fell creatures that Sauron kept in his charge, but the warriors had been able to drive them back, but not without loss of control of some of the forest as well as fighters. She had been busy tending to the wounded and ill while he spent hours training for combat. Their time together had been limited, and Thranduil was about to tell her that this would not change.

"I must speak with you...alone," Thranduil murmured.

She glanced around the room to check if she was needed right away. Assured that she could be spared for a few moments, she nodded in acquiescence. Thranduil left the halls, peering behind him to be sure she was following. They walked out into a small courtyard where, in the center, a small fountain bubbled merrily. The courtyard was full of native fern and flower and a stone bench to rest. Thranduil approached the fountain and stared at the flowing water. He hoped it would give him the strength to say what he needed to. Taking a fortifying breath, he turned to face her. She stood there, carefully watching every movement as if she was committing it to memory.

"You are leaving."

His formulated words fell away at hers. It was a simple sentence full of unadulterated truth. There was no accusation or bitterness in it, but it was a statement that made Thranduil's stomach knot from the pain in which it was said. How he wished he could deny it and bring her comfort, but they both knew that would not be the case. Thranduil nodded in affirmation. She closed her eyes, and he watched every muscle in her body tense at the news. She stood that way for a moment before opening her eyes. The grief in them was like a knife to his heart. He couldn't bear to see her like that, and he turned away.

"Yes. There is to be a great alliance led by Gil-galad, Elendil, Isildur, and Anárion, and they have asked for support. My father has heeded their call, and as a prince I must-"

She turned away. Thranduil noticed the movement and faced her once more to catch a short glimpse of her face and the tears she was beginning to shed. He reached out to her, grasping her arm to stop her from widening the distance between them. She stopped, a small sob escaping from her lips. He could see she was fighting to regain mastery of her emotions and knew she was having a difficult time of it. He could feel his heart aching to see her in such a state, and without a second thought, he wrapped his arms around her. He could feel her shudder while she struggled to stop her tears.

"It is my duty. Do not weep for me."

"How can I not?" she asked, turning to meet him face-to-face. "How can I...when I love you so?"

Thranduil felt his heart burst at her admission, even though he had known all along of her love. He placed a finger under her chin and tilted her face upwards so they could look upon each other. He saw a lone tear snake down her fair face, and with the pad of his thumb, he gently wiped the tear away. "It gladdens my heart to hear you say so. I will carry those words with me on the battlefield, and may they be a shield for me so that I may return to the one who granted me such a gift."

He rested his hand against her cheek, and she closed her eyes, leaning into the touch. She placed one of her own hands on top of his and gently squeezed. "When will you depart?"

"At daybreak. The host is to cross the mountains and we will join them as they pass through."

"So soon..." she said wistfully, letting her hand drop and her eyes open to behold him again.

Thranduil nodded and drew away from her. "Yes. I...I cannot say that this will end quickly. We have heard Sauron's forces are great, and it will take all our strength to vanquish the enemy. Even so...when I return-"

"If you do return," she cut in, voicing the thought that brought her torment.

"When I do, I wish for us to be wed."

Her eyes widened in shock at his admission. "Your...father would allow this?"

Thranduil smiled. "He has blessed our union. He knows what it is like to love, and he will not deny me that joy." He took hold of her hands and held them in his, reveling in the feel of her skin against his. "I know it will be some time, but I wanted you to know of my affections before we parted."

Her smile returned, and Thranduil was gladdened by it. It was challenging to remain morose when she beamed as she did. He smiled as well, and then removed the brooch from his tunic. It was a simple one wrought of silver with a green gem in the center surrounded by thin swirls of silver. He admired the jewel briefly before taking hold of one her hands and placing it gently into it. He closed her fingers around it, securing it within her grasp. Her fingers trembled slightly at the gesture, and she looked up into his eyes, searching for the reason why he was giving her this precious jewel.

"I wish you to have something...to mark my promise to you. Wear it with pride. You are my heart's chosen one."

"I...I do not know what to say, other than...I shall," she replied, holding the hand with the brooch enclosed within close to her heart. "I will think of you...every day."

"And I you," Thranduil whispered. "I must go and finish our final preparations. I...may not see you again before we depart."

"I will be there tomorrow to see you go with the host."

Thranduil bowed his head in acceptance of this before he took his leave of the maid who had stole his heart. The maid stood in the courtyard for a few moments longer to process what had just happened. Tears threatened to spill once more, but she knew she could not shed them. She had to remain strong for her patients. They relied on her calm, blithe demeanor to give them hope in their recovery. She could not share her sorrow. She also knew that Thranduil would not want to see her mourning his leaving. She pinned the brooch to her robes and returned to the Halls of Healing for the rest of the evening as if nothing had changed. And in the morning, she stood among those who bade their warriors good-bye. She watched Thranduil mount his beautiful white horse, and when their eyes connected for the last time, she hoped she had conveyed how much she loved him.

"They will not follow him," Oropher stated, his agitation clear in his pacing across his tent.

Thranduil watched his father, wondering what he was planning. The Silvan elves had been quite adamant that they would only follow their own leaders as they did not know Gil-galad or the others. While Thranduil had felt a fierce sense of pride in their protestations, a part of him was exasperated with their stubbornness. He wondered why they would not understand that they would far better if they presented themselves to Sauron as a united force. The leader of a second band of Silvan elves, Amdír, stood in the tent with them, partaking in the discussion.

"I understand their reluctance. It has been two months, and we have barely made progress. We have spent so much time here in Dagorlad, and they believe Gil-galad an inadequate leader. In truth, I am in agreement," Amdír replied.

Thranduil eyed the king, his dislike showing in his eyes. He was not fond of Amdír, who was quick to point out the faults of others when he was better suited to heed his own criticisms. "Gil-galad is not the sole leader of this force. What of Isildur, Elendil, and Anárion?"

"They are not asking for command of our forces, are they? More than that, they are Men." Amdír said pointedly.

Oropher stopped in his pacing and faced Amdír, his face impassive. Thranduil knew his father enough to know that he was annoyed with the Elven king. "No, they are not," he conceded. "There remains; however, the question of what our warriors would have us do if they will not follow Gil-galad. I understand they wish to limit our losses. Our last war with Sauron was just as devastating."

"I have considered options, and I believe that we can make quick work of Sauron's forces if we attacked Mordor directly. The Black Gate is not far from Dagorlad, and I believe that if the Men can hold off Sauron's armies here, we can take our warriors to Mordor and make quick work of Sauron there."

Oropher hummed in thought. Thranduil immediately did not like the sounds of the plan, believing they would triumph as one united army. He watched his father, dismay growing as he realized that his father was considering this action plan. He felt he needed to speak up and debate this with Amdír before a poor decision was reached.

"Father, I do not feel this is the correct path to follow. It is true that we have not made much progress, but you and I know the strength of Sauron's forces. They are not creatures to trifle lightly with!"

Amdír scoffed, addressing Oropher. "You would take counsel from one who has not seen battle?"

Thranduil had been so diligent during this campaign to restrain his temper in an effort to be a good leader to his warriors, but Amdír had tried his patience enough. With a swift movement, Thranduil withdrew a small knife from its hilt around his thigh, crossed the distance between them, and held it to Amdír's throat. Thranduil was nose-to-nose with the insufferable wretch, his breath coming quick and his eyes burning with fury. "You think I have not the experience to counsel my father on affairs of war? You look upon one who has led troops and slain a Fire Drake with one blow from his sword! Tell me, Amdír, what have you done?"

"Thranduil, enough!" Oropher called out, his tone stern. "Put away your blade. This is not the time to make enemies. We have plenty as it is."

Thranduil waited a beat before withdrawing his blade and stepping back. This made Amdír smirk at the prince. Thranduil wanted nothing more than to slit Amdír's throat and watch his blood pool around his feet, but he knew the action would bring dishonor on him and his kingdom. Thranduil sheathed the blade once more and turned toward his father.

"I apologize for my ill-bred behavior. I shall retire if I am not wanted."

Oropher motioned for Thranduil to leave. Shocked that his father would take Amdír's side, the prince offered his father a curt bow before storming through the flaps to the outdoors. The night was cold and extremely dark - no stars shone during this time of strife. Thranduil took a few deep breaths of the crisp air and looked toward the cloud-filled sky. He sighed as his anger dissipated with the cleansing cold of the air and thoughts of the maid he left in the Greenwood. His heart ached to see her once again and behold her fair face outside of his dreams; however, he felt that if his father followed Amdír's counsel, it was quite possible Thranduil would never get that chance.

"I know you do not approve..."

Thranduil turned and faced his father, who was approaching him at a leisurely pace. "You are my King. There is no need for you to explain yourself to me."

Oropher stopped beside Thranduil, looking out over the fields where the armies had made camp. "I may be your King, but you are my son. I should have held you in greater esteem than I did." There was a pause. "This was not an easy decision."

Thranduil scoffed lightly, his smile ironic. "We both know there was no choice. Amdír would have done as he saw fit with or without your blessing, and our warriors would have followed him instead of you. It would have undermined your rule..."

"Yes."

"Will we succeed?" Thranduil asked, turning to face his father once more.

Oropher did not answer. He continued to survey the land as if he was drinking it all in for the last time. A breeze ruffled their hair and tunics, making Thranduil shiver involuntarily. They stood in silence, the gravity of the situation weighing heavily on their minds. It was impending doom that loomed over them, and Thranduil found himself wishing more than ever that she was beside him just for the comfort of her presence. He looked to the sky once more, wondering what she was doing and if she was thinking of him.

She was tending to an injured warrior when the news came of Oropher's passing. Shock and grief overwhelmed her, and her hand flew to the brooch at her throat, as she then thought of Thranduil. Where was he? She left the side of the warrior, walking through the Halls of Healing in a daze, looking for anyone who could tell her more information. The musicians had stopped their usual gentle tunes and began to play laments for their fallen king. Many had gathered in the halls and courtyards of the palace, sharing in their mutual despair. She pushed through them all, her numbness giving way to panic. She had to know! Her toe caught a wayward foot and she stumbled, crying out in her anguish. Gentle arms grabbed hold of her and righted her once more. She looked into the grief-stricken eyes of a messenger in thanks before allowing herself to dissolve in her worry.

"Please!" she said through a gasp. "What of the Prince?"

The messenger nodded. "He lives."

She couldn't help but laugh briefly in relief. He lives! Her tears spilled over, and she let them. She had been strong for so long, and it felt wonderful to finally have a release for all of her pent-up anxieties. She thanked the messenger for his news and she continued on through the crowd back to the Halls of Healing. She could not abandon her post, even when the entire population was now in mourning for the loss of their leader. While she was truly saddened by Oropher's passing, she found that she was glad that she had some news of Thranduil. He had lived, and she hoped that he would continue to live for her. It was a selfish thought, and she let herself have it for a brief moment because she had spent so much of her life over the months helping and caring for others. She did not begrudge them this as she truly loved her work, especially when it had helped her take her mind off of her love's absence.

The King is dead...and that means...Thranduil is now king and leader of his armies... she suddenly thought, her mind turning sober. Her muscles tightened as apprehension coursed through her once more. The war continued, and who knew when it would end. So much could happen. Something may have already happened, and they would not know of it for several weeks. Her hand was at the brooch once more, her fingers worrying the stone beneath the silver. She had to continue to hope that Thranduil would return, for she could not think about how her heart would shatter if the opposite were to happen.

Seven years. It had been so long since Thranduil had laid eyes on the Greenwood, and he was glad to see the lush green of the tree canopy as he rode up to the palace with his host behind. They had been victorious, and many of his warriors expressed gladness at having triumphed over darkness and to return to their home. Thranduil, on the other hand, had been haunted by the bloody toll of it all. The Battle of Dagorlad had been their most costly campaign, and not just because they had lost his father. Oropher had fallen with two thirds of their warriors when they attacked Mordor. Thranduil spun his father's ring on his finger, melancholy consuming him. He made a vow to himself - that he would never allow so much loss of life to happen while he was King of the Greenwood.

Cheers erupted as Thranduil and his retinue entered the wood. Music played and songs of victory were sung as Thranduil dismounted his horse. He smiled, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. What he had seen was worse than the Fire Drake in the mountains, and he was haunted by the countless dead now lying in the fields of Dagorlad. He passed the reins of his horse to a handler before he was led to a dais at the center of the crowd. He stepped up, and the crowd immediately quieted, waiting for him to address them. Thranduil took a moment to collect himself because he did not want to share his sorrow with them all. They all had experienced their own losses, and he could not give them his grief to shoulder on top of their own. He surveyed the crowed before speaking.

"We have won...but not without great loss. My father...Oropher...would have wanted us to celebrate despite his absence. As your new king, I swear that I will no longer allow such destruction to enter our borders again."

There was a roar of approval from the crowd as Thranduil descended the dais and made his way to his new royal chambers. He had spent seven years being a pillar of strength for his people, and he was infinitely weary for it. When he came to his chambers, he had staff present to help him undress from his heavy armor and tunic before he bathed to wash the dirt and sweat from him. The clean water felt delicious against his grimy skin, and he could feel the hot water soothing aches from being in a saddle for days and loosening tight muscles. When he had finished, servants helped him dress into silk robes of dark green, replacing his princely circlet with a more elaborate silver one of kingship. Set in the center was a beautiful white opal. He was studying his reflection in the mirror when a knock sounded on his door.

"Enter," he replied.

He heard the door open and the soft footfalls of someone entering. He closed his eyes, sensing the energy of the person behind him, and he immediately knew who it was. Slowly, he turned and opened his eyes to behold the one who had kept him alive over the years. Tears were in her eyes as she stood for a moment, almost questioning his presence in the room. After a moment, she sobbed and flew across the room. He opened his arms in time for her to catapult herself into his arms. He hadn't known bliss like he did this moment when his arms closed around her, holding her tight to him. He rested his head on top of hers, taking in the scent of day lilies wafting from her hair.

"You are here...you are alive!" she whispered between her sobs.

"Of course I am. I told you I would return," Thranduil replied, his throat tight with restrained sorrow. He then pulled her away from him to study her. She was just as beautiful as he had remembered, and her eyes were alight with joy, which softened his melancholy. "You have not changed."

She returned the gesture, searching his eyes. "You have," she whispered.

He turned away. "How could I not? So much death...so many horrible things..."

He felt her gentle touch on his biceps, and he wanted to melt into her and never leave her side again. "And yet you survived. Do not blame yourself for being alive, Thranduil."

Thranduil faced her once more. "I cannot allow that to happen again. I will not sacrifice my people for the world again."

"Sh..." she soothed. "Do not think of that now. I am here...and you are here...and I love you."

Thranduil tilted her head up to his, and he closed the distance between their faces. "And I you," he whispered before capturing her lips with his own.

He drew her close to him, the feel of her body against his driving him to ecstasy. How he had dreamed of kissing her! She tasted as sweet and light as a summer wine, and he began to feel lightheaded as if he was becoming drunk from her. He pulled away, and she rested her head on his shoulder. Thranduil felt as if he could stay like this with her in his arms forever. They spent several minutes embracing before Thranduil reluctantly pulled away and offered her a seat on a chaise. She took it, arranging her robes about her as she did so. Thranduil took pleasure in watching her perform such simple actions, committing every movement she made to memory. He then noticed the brooch and felt delight course through him at the thought that she had kept him close to her over these long years.

"You remembered..." he stated nodding toward the jewel.

"Oh.." she sighed, placing a hand over it. "It gave me comfort when I needed it most. It was...as if you were always with me."

He came to her and sat beside her. "You remember the promise I made when I gave that to you?"

She looked into his eyes. "Yes. That we would wed."

"If you will still have me..."

She laughed lightly, as if she found him silly. Thranduil felt a touch miffed by that, but he tamped the feeling down. He knew he could use more laughter in his life after the horrors of war. "Do you think that because you are king I would not marry you? Thranduil...I was never in love with your title. I love you for you."

"I ask only...because I feel I am not the same as you left me."

She rest a hand on his cheek, running her thumb over the smooth skin. "Yes...you have seen much...more than I could ever imagine. I will not make light of it. I will care for you as I always have," she paused with a mischievous smile. "And I will remind you to take pleasure from life when it seems you have forgotten."

Thranduil chuckled, grasping her hand and pulling it from his face so he could hold it in between his hands and close to his heart. "How could I ever forget to when you are the sun?"

Author's Note 2: Amdír was the Sindarin king of Lórinand, which was renamed Lothlórien. During the First War of the Ring, he and Oropher commanded separate armies from Gil-galad and led charges during the Battle of Dagorlad. Oropher attacked Mordor while Amdír fought in the fields now known as the Dead Marshes. It was during this battle that both Oropher and Amdír lost their lives as well as the majority of their forces.

I've also decided to keep Thranduil's wife nameless as Tolkien never named her in any of his published writings.