It shouldn't have occurred as a surprise to him. No, the air was saturated with the smell of blood and open flesh and the long-forgotten breeze was presently murmuring of death. Limp bodies were strewn haphazardly on the ground, torn and mangled and, occasionally, bloodied beyond basic facial recognition. He knew their arms were not enough and now, due to the Silvan Elves' carelessness, they were suffering a most major blow to their armed forces.

So, when the body in front of him fell, it shouldn't have occurred as a surprise to him. The blow had come so fast that he hadn't had the time to call out, to warn his father of the strike that would cut his status as the Elvenking short as well as his life. Thranduil could only move his body, his arms outstretched and his fingers straining to grab a hold of his father.

Clinging to the impossible was not something Thranduil tended to do and whether or not it was inherent or learned from Oropher mattered little. His face was pained and his chest was tight, yes, but he knew he couldn't hold on forever. The masses were ready to collide again, to generate more death. He didn't want to see it anymore. He quickly glanced down. The eyes staring upward were blank now, already void of life, and the blood that was still warm with life kept flowing. Thranduil gave himself a moment of peace before pulling himself up. He would allow his person to come apart and grieve at a less unfortunate time. He knew he needed to take command. He would lead his decimated army in Oropher's name.

Becoming his father in status served to remind Thranduil the cost of bearing such a title.

The crown fit perfectly. The only thing that bothered the young elf was the fact that his chest seemed too big for his heart.

Thranduil made himself enjoy their laughter. While watching his folk smile and laugh and dance to the sweet melodies of music did provide him with a sense of security, the Elvenking knew that the distraction was temporary. Even as his lips slowly curved into a rare smile for his wife and his hand brandished a cup of wine, Thranduil knew that their activities now wouldn't keep him safe from the images and the thoughts later on, not when he had unlimited hours in his chambers to think.

So the Elvenking of Mirkwood celebrated with his people, flashing a smile or two throughout the course of the evening. Such gestures would become an especially rare sight in the years following the first festival.

The news came as a surprise to him. His messengers were winded now and trembling with a trepidation that he had only seen in the war that had claimed Oropher's life. Thranduil stared at them, unsure of what to say. Then, he was suddenly looming over them, shouting, screaming, raging with the ferocity of a wild animal that scoffed at the prospect of being "tamed".

It took six guards to restrain him.

It took two elves to tell him.

It took one person to ruin him again.

She couldn't really be gone, could she?

Thranduil found that his chest seemed to feel more empty.

Mirkwood was overwhelmed with a looming sorrow that was etched into the heart of every elf that occupied the land. None of them could believe it, Thranduil even more so, but the proof lay in the still body and pale body that had been carefully placed on the stone and embellished with flowers. The flowers were beautiful.

"Like her," the Elvenking added absently to himself, unaware of the concerned glances thrown his way, "definitely like her."

A small tug on Thranduil's sleeve didn't move the king's gaze.

Legolas quickly found himself surrounded by doting elves and relatives while his father stared, wondering.

Elrond was not always a friend to him, but the man did offer him comfort at the despair-filled points in his life. They had come together on occasion in the presence of wine and cautious smiles and stories that seemed to make each man appear more real to the other. For Thranduil, it was seeing the love that Elrond had to offer to everyone who crossed his path. Fair and just, strong and humble. Elrond was almost tempting.

The first touch was casual. It had been a clap on the shoulder out of good humor. The next was a strong arm wrapped around his shoulders like a snake but with the gentle affection of a songbird. It was this gesture that caught the attention of both elves, each in their respective stupor. Thranduil with his lips parted but with no words to match and Elrond with eyebrows raised and a slightly guilty shine in his eyes.

"Thranduil-" Elrond started but could not finish. His arm would not move. It took Thranduil closing the distance and meshing their bodies together for Elrond to realize his mistake too late. The Elvenking was now dependent on him. The strong figure of grace and power and beauty was deriving a new sense of hope from him.

The night would be filled with harsh pants and broken words that neither would forget.

Word about the lives of the elves almost passed through swiftly, so it wasn't long until Thranduil knew of Elrond's passing. He felt what was left of his heart crumble to pieces. Flashes of their first name replayed through his mind along with the promises that Elrond had made to stay with Thranduil. He had promised to stay. He had promised to love him. He had promised to never leave.

The King of Mirkwood gave a throaty, bitter laugh. "Liar."

To the surprise of his guards and messengers, Thranduil turned away and started for his chambers. He was smiling. Legolas, who had stood with the messengers, started after his father with an unsettling feeling of fear. He grabbed Thranduil to still him.

"Father- Why? Please stay." Legolas tightened his grip on his father's arm when the King of Mirkwood tried to pull away.

"Leave me," Thranduil commanded in the voice of a king but not of a father.

This only made Legolas stay grounded, glaring at his father with the same icy blue eyes. It seemed to unnerve Thranduil. "You will not take leave to your chambers. Not again. I cannot bear it when you stay there for days, weeks, without eating or taking care of yourself. I shall not condone it, father."

Thranduil softened his gaze. "I know. I will not ask your forgiveness."

It was with that remark that Thranduil managed to pull away from his son's grip. Legolas knew that once he lost his grip on his father he would never get it back again. It was too late. The all powerful King of Mirkwood would retreat to his chambers, refusing to eat and refusing to sleep. He would stay there and not permit entrance to anyone. He would stay there and contemplate his decisions and the regrets in his life.

His regret to fall in love.

His regret to try and fall in love again.

Thranduil knew in his chest a heart did reside ever so alive. It was just a little icier than most and perhaps -just perhaps- it beat with the sorrows of the world for almost no one knew such death other than the great Elvenking himself. After all, when one succumbs to death, the two get acquainted rather quickly.