Never Again

Here's the last installment. Hope I didn't break anybody's hearts too badly...(bites fingernails...)

Part II

Consciousness tugged slowly at Thranduil's mind. It was silent, wherever he lay, except for the twittering of birds in the trees. His foggy mind tried to figure out where he was, but he was too weary to care. What he lay on was soft, and it cushioned his body with such gentleness so that he would not feel the extent of his injuries. Am I home?

His emerald eyes fluttered open, and he blinked, trying to focus. He was lying in his own bedroom. Rays of sunlight wafted in from the balcony doors that were flung open, the curtains shimmering in the cool breeze. The walls, beautifully carved marble and rock, were bright and shining, tapestries and pictures hung upon them displaying victories and defeats of Thranduil's lineage, illuminated by flickering candles.

"How are you feeling, my lord?"

Thranduil jumped slightly, startled. He had not realized that someone had been in the room. An Elf was at his side momentarily, having been standing at the balcony. "Daernesta, where is Legolas? Let me see him!" Thranduil demanded immediately, ignoring the question.

"He is resting, at the moment, like you should be doing," Daernesta replied calmly. He gently unwound the bandages on Thranduil's side, studying the wound closely. The blood and gore had been cleaned from his side, only a long line of stitches showing where the scimitar had bit deeply into the king's body. Colorful bruises decorated his chest. Thranduil tried to shift slightly in the bed, but was rewarded with a sharp flare of pain. He groaned.

"Try not to move too much, Thranduil; you have several snapped ribs where you were stabbed," Daernesta told his friend quietly. Thranduil closed his eyes and nodded stiffly, struggling to suppress the pain.

"I guessed that much," he gasped out ruefully. Daernesta proceeded to poke and prod at his side, making sure the ribs were still set and the wound not reopening. Thranduil winced as the healer pushed against a particularly painful area in his side, and tried to ignore it.

"Where is she?" The king murmured suddenly. His green eyes were surprisingly soft; hurt and grief were mirrored in their crystal depths when Daernesta glanced into them. He knew exactly who Thranduil was speaking of and paused slightly, averting his king's gaze.

"We buried the queen beneath the beech tree, my lord. The one she would always sing under, if you recall. Captain Imrathon thought it would be fitting."

Thranduil closed his eyes and fought back the tide of grief that threatened to overcome him. "I thank you," He choked out softly. He lay quietly for the next several minutes, turning his head to the side and gazed mournfully at nothing. Her soft smile haunted his thoughts, her warm touch, her gentle kiss, her rich raven hair that hung in shimmering curls down her back. It hurt to remember her, now that she was gone. He only wished that he could have saved her.

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"Daernesta, where is Legolas?"

The healer glanced up from unwrapping Thranduil's bandaged leg.

"He is in the healing ward down the hall."

Thranduil bolted upright. "He is wounded!" He exclaimed, terror suddenly freezing his heart. "Why was I not informed of this?"

"No, no, no, he is not wounded. The prince has only been placed there because you had been unconscious for nearly a week, my lord, and well…we did not know whether or not you were going to survive."

Thranduil stared at Daernesta in shock. "A week?" he repeated softly. Daernesta nodded.

"Let me see Legolas, please," Thranduil begged of the healer. Daernesta nodded again and left the room with a swish of dark green robes. Momentarily, he returned, this time with a bundle of the finest Elven silk in his arms. Thranduil quickly pushed himself up into a more sitting position, leaning back against the downy pillows for support. He grimaced slightly as he stretched the stitches in his side a bit too much.

Taking his son from Daernesta's grasp, Thranduil gazed down at the little infant lovingly. "Legolas, my little Greenleaf…" the king murmured, and felt his heart lighten when the prince recognized his father and reached with tiny arms towards Thranduil. Smiling warmly, Thranduil gently tickled the baby's tummy, watching his little son giggle and squirm in his strong arms.

The blanket that Legolas lay in was cool and soothing against Thranduil's bare chest. The color was not unlike the splashes of cerulean on Gil-galad's armor worn years ago in the Last Alliance.

It is odd, thought Thranduil, that something so small and fragile could steal my heart. I inherited my father's stubborn pride as he drove me to become the best I could, and yet I become enthralled in a tiny innocent Elven child that could die even exposed to the weather.

By a glance, father and son seemed exact opposites. With his tunic off, rippling muscles could be seen throughout Thranduil's torso, his frame slender, strong and worn from constant years of battle ages ago. His golden hair was sleek and clean, hanging in straight locks just above his shoulders and framed with a crown of gold with springtime flowers entwined that was put on only hours before. Clear, emerald eyes were hard and cold unless they gazed upon a loved one or friend. On the other hand, the little prince in the king's arms had sparkling blue eyes that were bright with innocence, a shock of pale-gold hair just now growing in upon his tiny head. He had the flesh of his mother, a shade of cream as warm as sunlight, unmarred by the scars and horrors of battle.

After a moment Legolas reached out and brushed his small fingers against the linen bandages that were wrapped tightly about Thranduil's abdomen and looked up at his father curiously, as if asking if he was hurt. Thranduil's smile faded.

"Yes, Legolas, Ada has been hurt very badly," the king whispered to him. "He was wounded trying to save your mother, but he failed, and she…she died. But Ada promises to never let anything happen to you, ever again. Not while he has the strength to draw breath."

Legolas, seemingly satisfied with his father's explanation, snuggled closer into Thranduil's embrace and let his bright eyes drift closed as sleep claimed the Elven prince. Thranduil watched his son sleep for the longest time, unable to tear his eyes from his precious child. But when he did look away, silver tears glistened in the king's eyes.

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It was another two days before Thranduil was allowed to be out of bed. Legolas had been moved to Thranduil's bedroom now; he had been staying in the healing ward where he could be watched over constantly without waking his father while Thranduil was still recovering. Ever since the king had seen his son the first time after Vanya's death, Thranduil had absolutely refused to let the Elven child leave his sight. He had all but ordered Daernesta and the others to let Legolas stay in his chambers.

After dismissing Daernesta, insisting that the obviously weary healer needed rest, Thranduil stood at his balcony. Silver eyes stared dully and unseeing at the bright trees, not seeing their green leaves rustling in the wind. He gazed towards the south, where the home of his southern kin lay in Lórien. But as he gazed south, he remembered the forces of darkness that had tracked them from there. He shuddered. A shadow seemed to blanket the sun whenever he looked in that direction. So, the Shadow has returned.

Thranduil's people had been moved two times now; the first time when they traveled from Lindon with Oropher. The thought of his father filled Thranduil with even more grief. He had lost his father only half a millennium ago, yet the grief was still fresh. Along with bearing the grief of Oropher's death Thranduil also was forced to bear the weight of his father's crown upon his brow. It was a difficult task, especially now that he had no one to share his burden with. Vanya had always been his closest advisor and ally, and now he had nothing.

How could the world be so ignorant of what has been lost? Do the trees and the sky not know what has happened? Valar, why did I have to lose her!

Her name haunted his mind. Her screams were tearing at his heart. Even with the baby's laughs and giggles lightening the weight on Thranduil's shoulders, he knew that his heart was empty. The gaping hole would never be filled by any other, not even his son. He could feel his heart being slowly ripped in two, being shredded up like Vanya's flesh had been that horrible morning. He glanced down at his hands. They were clean, bandaged with bright white cloth strips, but Thranduil knew better. Her blood was on his hands. No matter how many times he scrubbed and washed, her blood would always be on his hands, as the blame for her death would lie on his heart.

Thranduil's eyes suddenly focused on his son. Legolas was busy watching a wren flit and chirp on the closest branch, laughing at the little bird's antics. This is who Vanya died for, Thranduil thought sadly. This helpless little child, warmer than sunlight and quieter than the wind, softer than a feather and sweeter than honey…this is what we fought to save. The enemy saw the King and Queen of Greenwood, not the newborn Prince. We were their targets, their objectives, their orders, their goals. Vanya was slain, but I was not. But in their distraction, and how the enemy saw that it was only a babe that my wife protected, it was not necessary to slay him first. Their orders were to slay whoever possible, and as influential as possible. They succeeded. In taking her Queen Greenwood will suffer; already I feel the strain of grief and shadow upon us. But what the enemy has failed in was destroying our hope. The future lived that terrible morning. My child is alive. Because of Vanya's death Legolas lived. We have a future, but at a price.

But his heart was saddened. I only had Vanya for a short time. I shall never love another as I loved her again. But……His eyes strayed to his child once more. But I have my son. She lives on through him, through his sapphire eyes and lovable touch, his warm skin and sweet laugh. I still have Vanya in my heart, and Legolas will always be my heart. She was there for me, and I know my son will be there for me as well, as I will for him. And never, never again will I allow something to get between us, for such a tragedy to occur again. May the Valar strike me down if I fail in this trust.

Legolas is the reason I am still here. I would have put a blade in my heart had my responsibility for the child not existed that morning. I promised Vanya I would raise him, and so I shall.

Bright blue eyes looked up at him and sparkled at the sight of his father. Legolas giggled and reached out with tiny arms to try and touch him, grinning widely, without a worry in the world.

Thranduil gently reached out and stroked his face, a faint smile blessing the king's features. "You look so much like your mother, Legolas," He murmured, and turned his eyes back to the forest. "So much like your mother."

The end.