Hi everyone! Can you believe...only three or four chapters more, and I'M DONE! I think I may attempt either an older Legolas fic (make him visit Elladan & Elhorir) ((laughs manically)) or attempt something in Star Wars genre.

I would like to thank Mistopurr and hundred times over and over for betaing this chapter. She's amazing...brillant, and just...wow, she's spectacular.

And to my amazing and faithful reviewers (though few and far between you are)

lillypop, Ampria, Gord and V, Saiya, AnnaethGreenleaf,

Calenlass Greenleaf1! (THANK YOU!!!)

I am so close to achieving my GOAL OF 100 REVIEWS!! The past two chapters i've updated have apparently been failures, because of the lack of reviewers. I've honestly never recieved so few ((breaks down in tears)) I mean i've been really working hard, and nobody likes it. Have I lost ALLLL of my reviewers and readers?? ((cries some more))

People continue to ask me over...and over...Am I going to include Elladan and Elhorir? To tell you honestly...I do not know, but I am hoping my brain will include them. They may make a surprise entrance at one point. But they will not become MAJOR charactors in this story. That is why I am currently working on another story that includes them to the fullest.

As Thranduil started to walk around the camp, large droplets of rain began to assault him. He passed horses outside every tent, sensing from their laid back ears and the swish of their tails that they were no less overjoyed at the wet than he or the rest of the men. The Elven warriors could not find it within themselves to look fondly upon the dirty encampment which had become their home. They lived side by side with humans and dwarves to defeat evil, and nobody with a sane mind could have agreed to house so many strong willed fighters within such a small proximity.

"I hate rain," Thranduil muttered to himself, forgetting that he had once loved it. His mood had been coated with mud for a long time. He had yet to see a decent meal, and neither he nor his soldiers had been given the time for a proper wash. Worse than all of that, he missed his son. He survived the trivial hardships. He cared not for them; any warrior doing their duty could look past minor irritations. But surviving without his only child was so difficult, and he wished more than anything that he did not have to.

Images of Legolas swam in his mind as he took a path which led towards one of the main meeting tents. The Elvish generals had called a council with the commanders to inform them of enemy movements, and no doubt to argue over new strategies. Although many disliked the long talks, Thranduil did not mind them – they gave him something to think about. He sighed quietly as he drew nearer to his destination, but something suddenly froze him in his tracks. A horse. Just a horse, but one which made his heart pound. Whenever he saw that animal, he knew who would follow. His father's groom and his father. Everything seemed to slow around him, everything except his breath which was steadily quickening. A hand touched his shoulder, and he instinctively reached for a weapon as he spun around.

"Celeborn…"

"Good Valar, you are whiter than a pail of milk."

"My father is here."

"We needed him," Celeborn sighed, glancing towards the tent and placing a hand on the younger Elf's shoulder. "He has a substantial number of men. We could not do without the extra force."

"I care not how many you need," Thranduil retorted, his voice low and angry as he jerked back from the touch. "You could have at least informed me that I would have to deal with him."

"I am sorry. We thought it best that you knew nothing of his arrival-

"How long will he be staying?"

Celeborn's silver head shook briefly in reassurance. "Not long. He wishes to go to his own outpost, somewhat closer to Mordor. For more glory, no doubt."

"But at what cost?" Thranduil murmured.

"You know that you can stay away from this meeting," Celeborn suggested quietly.

"I know, but I do not run away from what I fear." Meeting the pitiful eyes before him as though challenging them to mock his admittance of fear, Thranduil held his head high. "I run towards it. That is the only way to have peace."

Receiving an admirable nod, he followed Celeborn to the tent and ducked beneath the flap, glancing discreetly around the large space to try and find his father's presence. The King was missing. With a soft breath, Thranduil took his place behind a chair positioned slightly lower than it should have been. He cared not. Ranking was the least important thing on his mind. As he studied those in attendance, Amdír and Gil-galad nodded in quiet greeting. The few high ranking humans made full bows in his direction. He nodded in return, before moving his attention onto the two strategists standing side by side at a table and gazing upon a worn map.

"As you are aware, everything that is spoken in here remains exactly in this place. We do not need the men knowing and discussing what we do. Their morale is vital to this Alliance, and we cannot allow it to fall any further than it has done already. Prince Thranduil, you are aware of King Oropher's entrance to the camp. Will he be inclined to listen to our orders?"

Slowly considering all the aspects of his father that he was trying so hard to forget, Thranduil shook his head. "Oropher… He will adhere to anything if it suits him."

"I see," Gil-galad said quietly, understanding the Elf he would be up against. "The next affair to be discussed is our spies…"

A hand thrust through the back edge of the canvas, and Oropher entered as dramatically as his status and character denoted. Out of instinct, Thranduil and the other commanders stood. Not out of respect, but because the King was a valuable asset to the battle. He strode straight towards Gil-galad, his dark gaze furious. Whether he saw the Elf whose life he had torn apart was anyone's guess, for he made no acknowledgements.

"Lord Gil-galad!" Oropher roared. "I demand to see the son of an Orc who is commanding a legion of Greenwood Elves that should be under my command!"

"Then you have just insulted yourself, Lord Oropher," Thranduil smirked. In spite of his words and cool tone, he shook slightly as the realization hit that he was addressing the one who had last seen his wife alive.

Oropher whirled around to face the speaker, only to find himself staring into a mirror. "You!"

"It is I, dearest Adar. Did you think me dead already?" Thranduil asked quietly. "No, I have much to live for. Revenge, for instance."

The King of Greenwood shifted uncomfortably, but his gaze was no less angry for his discomfort. Unaware of the glances passed between Celeborn and Amdír which clearly said the situation needed to be resolved swiftly, he took a step forwards. "Tell me," he murmured, aiming to hit as low as he could, "how is your illegitimate son?"

Thranduil's eyes darkened furiously. Celeborn was the first to notice the ominous change in shade, and immediately stepped forwards to halt a lunge he had seen coming. "It is not worth any of that," he breathed. "Do not give him the pleasure of reaching you."

Nodding briefly to acknowledge the advice, the anger did not cease searing through Thranduil's soul. "Do not dare to put my child's birth with your own."

"How dare you? You little-

As a stream of Elvish curses flew across the tent, Amdír moved out of place to block another foreseen attack. "You will not lower the men's morale any further by fighting with your son," he berated the Greenwood King coldly.

"My son? My son?" Oropher laughed. "He died when he married that whore! What was her name? Elranna?"

Celeborn glanced at Thranduil, and knew that the younger Elf could not decide whether he wanted to cry or kill. He had lost control of the game once more. "Oropher, you will stay far away from him. Is that understood?" he hissed. Without waiting for an answer, the silver haired Lord gripped Thranduil's arm and pretended to push him forcefully from the tent, anything to get him away.

Once outside, Thranduil quietly said that he wished only to be left alone with his thoughts, and walked away from the meeting area in no particular area until he came across a river, the only clean water source close to the battleground. As he neared the river, his mind took a detour and settled on his son. Legolas had contacted him on that fateful night so long ago. Could he do the same now? Settling himself on the damp ground near the stream, he attempted to calm himself after the encounter with his wife's murderer.

"Valar, why did this happen to me?" he whispered, hiding his face in both hands.

"Because they knew it would make you stronger," a soft voice murmured.

Thranduil whipped his head around to find Elrond standing a short way behind. He gazed coolly for a moment; company had been the last thing on his mind. Turning back to face the river with no intentions of apologizing for his manner or his rudeness on all the other occasions they had met, he watched through his peripheral vision as his cold glare was ignored. "You really do not take hints, Peredhil. Do you?"

"I try not to."

"Elrond, I wish to be left alone," Thranduil said quietly, fixing his eyes on the water flowing before him. The silver liquid reminded him of the tears he shed when darkness fell. It did not occur to him even for a moment that he needed a friend.

"Forcing down your emotions does nothing to help," Elrond said gently.

"How dare you give me advice on what I should do when you know nothing of loss?" Thranduil snapped, glaring at the dark haired Elf.

Elrond sighed, and was silent for a few seconds before he sat too and spoke in a low voice. "My twin brother Elros chose a mortal life. I watched him die, and that was worse than anything I could imagine. I used to wonder that perhaps it would be better, had he never been born."

Thranduil's stiff posture relaxed slightly. "I am sorry…"

"You still have hope," Elrond said urgently, trying to make the Sindarin Elf understand. "Although the Valar only know when, you will see her again. I will never look upon my brother unless I dream. You will be with Elranna."

"You give me the same advice that Celeborn did," Thranduil said, his mouth twitching in an attempt to hide a smile.

Elrond wrinkled his nose. "I abhor the notion that I may be becoming my father-in-law." He received the smallest of smiles in response to the words, and sighed softly as it disappeared almost immediately. "How is Legolas?"

"He is well. Or so he was when last I saw him," Thranduil murmured. He had to blink swiftly to hide the sudden dampness of his eyes.

"And you… How are you after your father's appearance?"

"Word passes fast in the camp."

"Among officers it does. Answer the question."

"To do so truthfully… I feel horrible."

"I can only imagine." Elrond placed his hand on Thranduil's shoulder in an attempt to comfort him, but the golden haired Elf flinched at the physical contact. No one ever touched him unless they were trying to restrain him, or trying to get something. "It must be very hard for you."

"What do you want?" Thranduil asked suddenly, looking into his companion's grey eyes and expecting to see false compassion.

"What do I want? To be your friend, to try and help you. I cannot let you find light alone. You have struggled too much," Elrond said softly, "and have not come far enough to stay alive for your son. You will fade, Thranduil. I will not let that happen."

Thranduil could not help but be surprised. The only person he allowed close and thought of as a friend was Aramas, and even that friendship was not normal. It was more of a commander to soldier relationship than anything else. He nodded slowly, accepting Elrond's vehement vow in silence. Strangely enough, he felt somewhat comforted already.

"Elros and I were closer than many children can be. We would finish each other's sentences, know each other's thoughts. There were even times when we achieved a telepathic bond," Elrond recalled fondly. Then the brightness in his eyes dimmed slightly. "But of course, he is dead now."

Thranduil's nod was an absent one. "Did you say telepathy?"

"We could communicate mentally, but only under extreme duress, so to speak," Elrond explained.

There was only silence as Thranduil contemplated his next question. "When you did that, what did it feel like?"

"Ah, I see." Elrond studied his companion carefully. "You have communicated with Legolas. Is that not so?"

"On the night Elranna was…the night she died."

"Elranna?"

"My wife."

"The… Elranna," Elrond repeated shakily. "Daughter of Darius, blonde hair, gray eyes. She died in a blue dress?"

Thranduil went deathly pale. "For the love of Elbereth, how could you know that? No one…"

"I had a dream a year or so ago. I remember it well. It started as a series of dreams, and…" Elrond appeared uncomfortable speaking of the matter, and he released a long sigh as the other Elf's skepticism became apparent. "You do not believe in seeing the future?"

"I am a Wood-elf," Thranduil replied scornfully. "My people have their superstitions. I base what I believe on all that I see and feel. I do not trust things that appear to be coincidence."

"You believe in logic," Elrond clarified.

"Is that wrong?"

Elrond smirked. "You have a son who communicated with you telepathically. Let us see how long you trust logic."

"He also talks to trees." Thranduil didn't miss a beat, and shrugged at the raised eyebrow he received for his words. "It is true. He has an unbelievable relationship with them. He talks, they talk back to him."

"I thought most of your kind speak with the trees, you doe-eyed Wood-elf," Elrond frowned.

"Of course, half-elf," Thranduil retorted. "Only when they reach adulthood."

"My father always told me that if a child has an extraordinary ability, their life too will be extradordinary."

"I thought you were adopted," Thranduil smirked.

"Only an extremely spoiled and pedantic brat would say that. I see you will make life as a friend very difficult," Elrond sighed, with feigned regret that he had ever offered help.

"I do try."

Rolling his eyes at the cheeky grin flashed his way, Elrond rose and shook his dark head. "If you continue to try, you will not be getting that glass of Dorwinion I was keeping back for you."

"Vintage?"

"Sweet Valar, you are picky."

As they stood and headed towards Elrond's tent, both he and Thranduil gave smiles that heralded the start of an eternal friendship.

Please, If you have a heart (which i begin to wonder if you do) Please, PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW!! I will never get any reviews when i'm done with this story! And authors work hard, so SHOW SOME LOVE!