A/N: I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. Please don't shoot me. This will be updated every week. I'm so sorry.
Disclaimer: Can we just agree that I don't own Lord of the Rings? This is embarrassing.
Thranduil couldn't sleep. His kids were dead and it was his fault. His fault. It kept repeating through his mind for hours on end. Thankfully morning came. He didn't want to get out of bed, but he had funeral arrangements to make, and he had to let Elrond know of his present situation.
The day went through and Sîdh hadn't left her chambers. That was expected. It kept happening. Drink and food would be brought to her, but very little was touched. When Thranduil went to bed, Sîdh was crying still.
Thranduil took up writing about his days since he had no one to talk to.
The funeral will be held in three days. Sîdh hasn't moved since I returned. I am deeply concerned. She can't pick herself up. I admit, I've had my share of breaking down and moping, but she's forgotten Legolas. How could you forget your child? He has been very temperamental lately. I hope everything solves itself.
I can't sleep, I can't eat, when will the nightmare end? I can't look at the swing, the books, the sticks and mud. It hurts.
Thranduil closed the leather bound book and attempted to sleep. He did.
On the dreaded morning, Thranduil got up and put on his black robe. He laid out Sîdh's dress and tried to get her out of bed. Reluctantly, the elleth got out of bed and proceeded to get ready.
Elrond had arrived with sympathy, and lots of wine. It was gone now. Elrond could no longer understand nor put up with the grief that lay over Greenwood. He left. He didn't stay for the entire funeral.
It was sad and long. The preacher who talked about Arn, Meril, and Bregol, could've been talking about every other elfling. Sîdh walked away in an outrage at the insensitive preacher. Thranduil sighed for the millionth time.
A/N: Yeah, I know I'm awful at angst and sadness, but after chapter eight, YAYYYY!
