Thranduil sat at his desk, staring off into the distance. Had it been just this morning he had said goodbye to Elenlor? Kissed her and embraced their son? How could something like this have happened so quickly?

His hair was still damp from the rain, but someone had managed to persuade him to change out of his bloodstained clothes. He did not know who at the moment. In fact, he did not even remember changing.

The pain had been pushed away for the moment. In its' place was an emptiness that made him wonder if the pain was such a bad thing after all. He could not deal with it now, but he knew it would be back.

His hands were trembling. Soon, Halynder would bring his son. He would have to tell the elfling…he would have to tell him… His mind shied away from the knowledge he would have to impart to his son, unwilling to dwell on it himself. Shock could only keep the agony at bay for so long however. Thranduil leaned his elbows on the desktop and placed his head in his hands with a moan.

He could hear movement outside the door. Legolas' chirping voice echoed in the hall. Halynder murmured something, and Thranduil heard the councilor depart.

"Ada?" The young prince appeared in the doorway. "What is the matter?"

Thranduil did not respond to his son. He sat at his desk, his face buried in his hands. How could he do this? What could he say?

"Ada?" Legolas clambered into his father's lap, his small hands reaching up to stroke the Elvenking's cheek.

At the prince's touch, Thranduil slowly circled his son with his arms, clinging to the small blond elfling as if his life depended on it. He met the child's eyes and nearly despaired. Did his eyes have to be exactly her shade of blue? His features a permanent reminder of that which was lost?

Legolas' blond brows drew together in confusion. What could upset his strong father so badly? And how could he help? His eyes brightened as a thought occurred to him. If he didn't know what to do, at least he knew someone who did…

"We will find Nana," he told his father decisively. "She will know what to do…" Legolas broke off in horror as he saw his father's eyes fill with tears.

Without a word, the Elvenking gathered his son close to him and sobbed.

Legolas cried as well, his father's tears frightening him. For if his father cried, surely something truly horrible had happened…

0-0-0-0

Thranduil gazed at the elf seated across from him and felt his heart clench in grief. He had always respected and admired his father-in-law, even before he and Elenlor had wed. He did not think that this was a discussion they would ever have…

Elalkar's eyes were dark with grief. Thranduil had sent a message the night before, informing him and Hirilor of their daughter's death, and the Elvenking had known then that he would eventually have to face the older elf.

But how could he? How could he face Elalkar? The raven haired elf had entrusted him with a priceless treasure, and he had failed in his duty to protect her. A sharp blade of sorrow twisted in his heart even as he thought of it. No one could regret his failure more than himself. If he had just run a little faster…if he had left before Legolas arrived home, Elenlor would still be alive. He had known something was wrong! Why hadn't he gone to find her instead of waiting!

"Thranduil?" His father-in-law's voice drew the fair king back to the present. Elalkar was gazing at him intently, a look of concern etched across his face. Thranduil wondered how many of his thoughts had appeared on his own features to garner such a look.

"I…" the Elvenking tried to speak, but could not force himself to push the words from his throat past his lips. Swallowing the lump that tried to choke him, he made another attempt. "I…I am sorry, Elalkar." Sorry! How inadequate a word. "I failed in the duty you entrusted to me. I…" Thranduil choked as his wife's face floated through his mind. "…I could not protect her…"

Before he could say another word, Elalkar rose from his seat abruptly, a cry on his lips. "Aran nin! Do you think I would cast blame on you for this!" The dark haired elf lord shook his head in frevent denial. "No!" Dark eyes looked on his son-in-law with new compassion. Slowly, Elalkar sank back into his seat, but still leaned forward intently. "Thranduil…" tears sparkled, but did not fall. "Thanduil, do not berate yourself. I gave Elenlor into your protection many years ago," he stopped, fighting his own grief. "You have never failed me, or her." Silence reigned for a few moments, broken only by the patter of rain against the glass. "Even before Elenlor had chosen," Elalkar said quietly, "I knew whom I wanted for her husband." A single tear slid down the elf lord's smooth cheek, but he seemed not to notice. "She was not…outgoing, as you well know, but shy. Yet she gave to you her friendship." Elalkar smiled brokenly. "And you recognized it for the precious gift that it was. You were willing to be no more than her friend, though you loved her." The older elf sighed softly, leaning his head back against the chair and closing his eyes briefly. Two more tears rolled down his face. "You cherished her, and I know if you could have in any way prevented it, no harm would have ever touched my child."

Though needed, the gentle words undid Thranduil's control. He could have stood against blame, indeed, he would almost have welcomed it, for he felt it was deserved. But the compassion in Elalkar's voice was too much. The fair elf felt tears of his own slip down his face.

Elalkar stood, his dark hair falling around his shoulders. Wordlessly, he turned towards the door. Thranduil pushed himself to his feet and followed the elder elf. With his hand on the knob, Elalkar looked back at his king. "Hirilor and I," he said softly, "will not be staying long." He saw the shock on the Elvenking's pain stricken face and wished he could lessen it somehow. "I…I have been here long, aran nin, and seen many things. I did not think I would have one of my children leave Arda before myself." Dark eyes met green, and Thranduil could see the wealth of grief in Elalkar's gaze.

"When?" the fair king asked numbly.

"Soon." Elalkar sighed softly, as though the world had rested its' weight on his shoulders, and he found himself unable to carry the load. "After Elenlor's funeral." The elder elf placed a hand on Thranduil's shoulder. "I just wanted you to know, before we left, that you have become very dear to me, aran nin, even as one of my own children."

Elalkar embraced the stunned elf, smiling as he felt the Elvenking's arms tighten about his shoulders. Thranduil was strong, both in mind and body. The elf lord had felt that strength before…but now, as he held his daughter's husband, Elalkar could feel the fair elf's pain. He could see Thranduil's strength waver and stumble as his support was ripped away. It grieved him almost as much as the loss of his daughter to see the one she had loved filled with such sorrow.

"Navaer, aran nin," Elalkar whispered. He pulled back and tried to smile, but his grief was too great. He would offer what comfort he had, and pray that it would be enough. "Navaer…ion nin."

0-0-0-0

The day of the Queen's funeral dawned cold and grim. Rain poured in an unceasing torrent, as it had since the day of her death.

Despite the rain, nearly all of Mirkwood's inhabitants appeared to wish their monarch farewell. Sorrow weighed heavy on elven hearts, dragging their spirits into the rapidly deepening mud. An almost tangible grief pervaded the very air.

A song rose from the fair folk of Mirkwood, but it was not happy. Beautiful, as everything the elves made, but full of grief rather than laughter. Sadness, rather than joy. The elves mourned for the queen they had come to love. Tears fell almost as heavily as the rain that poured over them as Thranduil's voice rose over those of his people, his deep tones laced with pain.

Many were the pitying glances cast at the elf prince where he huddled between his grandparents. A light had gone out of the golden child with his mother's passing. He clung to his grandmother, the Lady Hirilor, clutching the last gift his mother had given him. The white handles of her knives gleamed in his small fists, and he would let no one even attempt to take them from him.

Slowly, one by one, the elves paid their respects and drifted away until none were left.

None…save for the king.

0-0-0-0

Thranduil stood as though carved from stone, all but unaware of the cold rain that had soaked through his clothing long ago. His golden hair was plastered to the back of his neck and his forehead.

Through the shifting, gray, sheets of water his green eyes were fixed on the stone that marked Elenlor's grave. It was beautifully carved marble, smooth, unmarked by any flaw or chisel scratch, save for one side. On the side that faced the west, flowing elvish script was cut deeply into the stone.

Elenlor, Bereth Lasgalen

Nae! Mor na i or ar le silme, Elenlor.

Orë nin na blung si Im vanwen meleth nin.

Avo raen palan, hiril nin! Nai hiluvalmet le i annứn.

The Elvenking stood, immobile as the marble itself. He could hear the elves slowly departing through the trees. Only when he was sure he was alone did he allow a sigh of relief to escape him. A king had to be strong in his peoples' eyes, but right now, he felt anything but strong.

His support had been torn away. He was weak, and his armor was crumbling even as he stood. He could not take the crushing weight of guilt and grief any longer. Mirkwood's king fell to his knees with an inarticulate cry. There were no discernable words, but none who heard could fail to hear the pain. He could not take it any more! Trembling with the strength of his emotion, Thranduil tilted his head back, blindly gazing into the pouring rain.

Everything was cold…so cold. Normally, the chilly downpour would not have affected the fair king as greatly as it did now. But his chill came from deep within, only to be heightened by the torrents.

He knew that he should leave, go back to the palace and join his wife's parents and his son. Somehow, he could not force himself to rise. It was not only that did he not want to be surrounded by sorrowful faces, reminding him of what was lost…

…part of him did not want to leave Elenlor alone.

He did not know how long he remained there. Time no longer had any meaning. Thus was he surprised to feel a hand grasp his shoulder firmly.

"Tolo, mellon nin." Halynder's voice was pained as he looked down at his king. Grief etched itself deeply into the elf's heart as he saw the empty expression in his friend's eyes.

Thranduil gazed at him blindly. "Mas?" he asked dully.

"Bar lín." The raven haired elf pulled the fair king to his feet, almost taking all the other's weight on himself. "Saes, mellon nin…" Halynder could tell he was fighting a losing battle even as the words left his mouth. Thranduil was not listening to him. "Thranduil," He pulled one of the king's arms over his own shoulders.

"Ion lín tira as le."

At those words, the Elvenking looked up. "Legolas?"

"Hîn lín aniriel adar." Halynder's eyes were serious as he met his king's gaze. "He needs you, Thranduil."

To the councilor's surprise and horror, a look of pure torment twisted Thranduil's fair features. For a few seconds, Halynder could plainly read the bitter struggle that tore at his friend's soul. The Elvenking wished to return to his home, hold his son, comfort the child and receive comfort from the elfling's presence. But at the same time…

"Halynder," Thranduil's voice was pained, desperate. "I can not leave her alone!" His fair head dropped until his chin all but rested on his chest. A shiver shook his lithe body. Despair flowed from him with almost palpable force.

Halynder did not reply. He could not speak through the lump that settled in his throat. The arm around his friend tightened almost reflexively. "Mellon nin," he murmured brokenly. "If I could I would take this grief from you." Gently, he tipped Thranduil's face up until he looked into the fair king's eyes. "She is not there any longer," he said quietly. "Please, Thranduil, think of your son." He could see the indecision war in Thranduil's green eyes and pressed forward. "She would not wish this for you. Either of you."

A deep sigh poured from the Elvenking, almost like the sound of one releasing his last breath. With slow movements, the fair elf straightened, taking his own weight. Halynder kept his arm around his friend, but it was more for mental support than physical. Together, the two slowly made their way back to the palace.

0-0-0-0

The rain had stopped at last, sometime during the previous night. Grey clouds still filled the sky, but for the moment, the downpour had ceased.

Thranduil stood at the edge of Mirkwood, barely underneath the shadows of his trees. His green eyes were fixed on the small party of elves before him.

Elalkar, Hirilor, and a good number of their household were leaving the shadows of Mirkwood for the shores of Valinor. Some were mounted, some were on foot; an expression of grief marred each fair face.

They had said their goodbyes. Already, they were disappearing into the distance. For a brief moment, Thranduil was seized with the wild desire to run after them. He wanted to leave! He wanted to flee the responsibility of his kingdom. Flee the grief that only increased year after year as he helplessly watched it slip farther and farther into the darkness. He wanted to receive healing for the wound that had been ripped through his heart when his wife had been torn away…

Looking after them, the Elvenking actually took a step, half deciding to follow…

A small hand tugged at his sleeve.

Thranduil looked down into the wide, hurting eyes of his son. "Ada," he whispered, "Where are they going?"

He could not leave. He could not abandon Legolas here. Perhaps, for the first time in his life, he sympathized fully with the Lady Anguirel. Only now did he understand how cruel her fate had been. To be trapped within your grief without hope of healing.

The fair king bent and lifted his small son. "They are going to Valinor, Legolas." He was different though.

Legolas chewed on his lip in agitation. "Will they come back to see me?"

Where Anguirel had given in to the despair, he would fight it. Where she had surrendered to her grief, he would find hope. After all, did he not hold in his arms what Elenlor had considered most precious? "No, ion nin. I am afraid they will not. But someday, we will go to see them, and then we will never leave them again."

He would stay. For Legolas, he would stay. Without another word, the Elvenking turned his back on the departing elves and entered his kingdom.

0-0-0-0

Weeks had passed and Thranduil felt every hour. He lay in bed, unable to sleep, his mind wandering. The ever present grief pushed at him, pulling at the corners of his consciousness. Threatening to drag him under the deep waters of despair. He could not let it!

The Elvenking sighed softly. Wearily. His people worried for him. They feared he would lose this battle; succumb to his grief.

Fade.

Another deep shuddering breath echoed through his chambers. He was trying to live. But food and drink turned to ash in his mouth, so he did not eat. His dreams were haunted by a lovely elf woman with golden hair, so he could not force himself to sleep.

Pain was his constant companion, and he did not enjoy the relationship. On the contrary, he fought against it daily. Unfortunately, he knew that he was losing. How could one fight against an enemy when you were unarmed…and it had all the weapons it could ever desire?

Green eyes gazed up at the ceiling blankly. Counting the beams in the roof above his head distracted him somewhat, but it was never enough. With a grunt of disgust, he turned onto his side…

…only to be confronted with the empty expanse of bed where his wife had slept. He could almost see her now. She always slumbered curled into a ball, like a little cat, one slender hand tucked beneath her cheek. Her hair would spread across the pillows. If he touched her, she would turn towards him, cuddling against his frame…

His hand was actually reaching out, but it touched nothing but cold sheets.

With a cry, the king sat up, ripping the covers away. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he turned his back on the offending mattress. Thranduil raked shaking hands through his tangled hair.

It was hitting him strongly now. He wanted to leave…he wanted to fade…

A small sound, like the echo of his own voice reached his ears. The Elvenking listened intently…

Nothing.

Disturbed, he started to stand, but was brought short as his door swung slowly open. A small, tearstained face peered around the heavy wooden portal. Seeing his father awake, Legolas almost pulled back. Thranduil would have no such thing.

Quickly rising, the fair king crossed his room and pulled the door wide open. "Man na den, ion nin?" He bent down to the child's level, tenderly stroking blond strands behind the prince's pointed ears. "Were you having bad dreams?"

Legolas nodded silently. Thranduil gently pulled the elfling into his arms, embracing him. For several moments, neither one said anything. At last, the blond prince pulled back slightly and looked into his father's eyes. "Can I stay here tonight, Ada?"

"Of course!" The Elvenking stood, lifting his son with ease. Legolas sighed softly and rested his head against his father's shoulder, burying his face in Thranduil's neck. The king could feel how his son still trembled from the horrors of his nightime world. "No more bad dreams tonight, Legolas." One hand stroked the elfling's golden hair as he cradled the child. Moving to his bed, the fair elf tucked his son under the covers and climbed in himself.

Legolas was asleep within moments. Thranduil watched the prince slumber, and suddenly, he realized he was seeing things he had never seen before.

Legolas slept with one hand curled under his cheek…just like his mother. His small limbs curled themselves into a tight ball…just like his mother.

Blue eyes graced his fair face…

The Elvenking was so accustomed to everyone telling him his son was him all over again, he had almost forgotten that this was Elenlor's child too. Yes, if he looked closely, he could see her.

Tears filled Thranduil's eyes. He had almost despaired. He had almost given in to the overwhelming grief. One hand gently stroked blond hair away from Legolas' face. How could he have overlooked his son?

His soul found the anchor it needed. Someone who would not fill Elenlor's place, but who would mend the gaping wound in the Elvenking's heart.

0-0-0-0

Navaer, aran nin. Navaer…ion nin.- Farewell, my king. Farewell…my son.

Elenlor, Bereth Lasgalen. Nae! Mor na i du ar le silme, Elenlor. Orë nin na blung si Im vanwen meleth nin. Avo raen palan, hiril nin! Nai hiluvalmet le i annứn-Elenlor, Queen of Lasgalen. Alas! Dark is the night without your starlight, Elenlor. My heart is heavy no that I have lost my love. Do not wander far, my lady! May it be that we will follow you into the West.

Tolo, mellon nin.- Come, my friend.

Mas?- Where?

Bar lin- your home

Saes, mellon nin…ion lin tira as le.- Please, my friend…your son looks for you.

Hin lin aniriel adar- your child desires his father.

Man na den, ion nin?- What is it, my son?

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