A/N I'm alive! I did not mean to leave this story for so long, but life just took me and ran, so that was fun. It's not abandoned and I will finish it, just bear with me with all the random AWOLs :) I would like to sincerely thank everyone who has taken an interest in this story, I honestly was not expecting that, and it has blown my mind…so really, THANK YOU

o0o

Thranduil felt lighter than he had since he had been dropped into this world. Whether he was trapped by chains or his own acquiescence to remain behind castle walls, it weighed near the same. He was not made to be caged, and the surrounding forest soothed him. King Edmund and his Shadows traveled lightly, both in gear and tread. They moved with the forest not through it. If Thranduil ignored the reality of his circumstance, he could almost imagine that he was on patrol within his own kingdom. Almost. For all his imagining, he couldn't ignore how different the forest felt. It was just as alive as his own Greenwood, but it was different. He was not in tune with it. It was not a song that flowed through him, and he held no bond with those around him. As familiar as he felt traveling like mist through the forest, he was still untethered.

The shift in the atmosphere sent spikes through Thranduil's senses. King Edmund and his Shadows froze.

"Be on your guard," King Edmund said lowly, "It is a heavy evil we are moving towards."

And heavy it was. The atmosphere itself seemed to be drug down–pulled from its sky by cruel hands. Thranduil knew well those cruel hands. He had felt their sharpness as they gauged their way through his kingdom. He had felt the trees' torment and heard the crying of the land. He was the Woodland King–its pain was his pain.

"Is it familiar, Thranduil?" King Edmund asked him.

Thranduil met the King's serious gaze, a gaze that was interestingly not out of place in the young face, and simply said, "Yes."

Two days further in their travel and once green woods turned dark. It was the same malice that had turned Greenwood to Mirkwood, and Thranduil felt a deep hatred rise up from his own dark pits. His hands ached to tear through the creatures of the dark, and his blood boiled in search of violence. This was something that set him aside from elves such as Elrond–this thirst for violence.

He sensed it and knew that they were no longer alone in intangible darkness, but that the creatures of the dark now hovered near them.

"We must stop your majesty," Thranduil spoke softly.

Edmund looked at him, "What do you sense?"

"Creatures–creatures of perpetual hunger and destruction." He looked at those he had accompanied, and with the quiet authority of the Kinghood he was crowned with, he said, "Prepare yourselves, they will come from above."

None questioned him.

And come they did. Giant spiders descended from above. They hissed and threatened in their foul language, but Thranduil met their vitriol with his own. The blood he craved was before him to take-and take it he did.

King Edmund and his shadows held strong, but their opponent seemed to have no end. Stiff dead bodies piled up around the Narnians and still the spiders came.

"I do not know how much longer we can hold, Your Majesty!" A Faun yelled over the onslaught.

Not looking away from the stinger he was dodging, King Edmund responded, "Hold we must! There is no retreat!" They fought back to back having been pushed together by the overwhelming force.

Thranduil pulled his sword out from a writhing spider. He had to buy time. He had made a promise to the High King, and he intended to keep it–King Edmund would not perish today. Yet he did not know if–cut from his Kingdom as he was–he would have the strength to hold the spiders at bay.

He had no ring of power, but that did not mean he was devoid of power. With a purpose beyond bloodlust, he ravaged through the spiders between him and King Edmund–cutting clean through the last one from end to head.

King Edmund's eyes slightly widened as Thranduil appeared before him from the carnage.

"Prepare to retreat. I will give you the opening you need," Thranduil commanded.

King Edmund must have seen the complete surety that Thranduil held, for without question he turned to his shadows and commanded, "prepare to retreat!"

Thranduil stepped forward, seeming to glow, with each step he grew brighter–drawing the hateful hisses of spiders. Softly he began singing, yet with each step, his voice grew louder. It was an ancient tune, learned at the feet of Lady Melian herself in a land that no longer exists. The tune reached in him and outward, yet he doesn't know if it'll be enough–if he'd be enough. This is not his land, and it does not feed his strength, nor does he know if he can give it his own strength. He keeps singing, his voice steady through the violence of his hands.

He is soon surrounded by the horde, with their vitriol and darkness pressing down upon him and his light. His song has grown louder, and pulling it around him he shoves downward.

The earth responds.

Out of the packed and trampled earth thorned vines pierced through, cutting through limbs and bulbous bodies alike, grabbing spiders and crushing them to the ground.

The earth seemed to crave his song, and Thranduil felt it reach for him in search of more–he gave it. Instead of simply pushing it downwards, Thranduil pushed it all around him. The trees shivered, their creaking branches reaching toward him. Their roots entangled spindly legs and broke reaching mandibles.

The spider's foul language turned to terror shrieks. Thranduil remained in the midst of thorned vines and roots as any remaining spider trying to flee were instead tangled in reaching tree limbs.

Like a marionette that has had its strings cut, Thranduil fell to the ground. With his hands and knees braced on the packed earth, Thranduil could do nothing but breathe. His power dissipated, leaving a near staleness to hang in the air. The earth though, still reached to him in search of what had called it.

Cautiously, the vines made their way toward him and one gently wrapped itself around his wrist as if entreating.

"I cannot give you more," Thranduil said breathlessly.

It tightened its hold, its thorns prickling into his skin.

Thranduil slowly pushed himself back on his knees, one arm was outstretched, caught in the vine, and he rested the other shaking hand on a thigh, "I thank you for coming to my aid," he said gently, "I did not know if you would hear me, I see now that you are not so different from my land. But truly, I have nothing else to give. Please, return to yourself, and know that I may have need of you again."

The vine slowly released him, and retreated with what could be termed a caress to his hand. The trees reformed themselves as the vines morphed back into the earth. Thranduil, the last Elven King in Arda, let himself fall into the arms of the beckoning darkness.

o0o

Celeborn was not hiding exactly, he simply did not wish to interact with any living being. The top of the tree swayed slightly, moving him along with it–if he had his way he would gently sway on the treetops until the day he fades. But such peace had not been granted to his kind.

As if to stress the point of no peace, Celeborn felt a disturbance. What it was, he could not tell–life beyond the tree was the same. No threatened birds flew into the sky, nor was there a shiver racing through the trees. No, the disturbance had come from within him. Something had called to him. Celeborn had ceased trying to reach his wife through his bond–the silence was too painful. Now though, he reached within himself. The bond to his wife was just as painfully silent as before, but there was something else, something he never thought he would see again. A long-dormant bond was active–it was feeble, and barely there, but there it was. Celeborn curiously reached for it and found that it didn't dissipate with his attention.

Following the feeble bond, Celeborn found himself in front of a crumbling wall–a familiar wall.

"Thranduil?" he said softly.

The wall that Thranduil had erected between their bond so long ago was breaking. Celeborn knew the other elf wouldn't have done it on purpose–something must have happened. Something so draining that Thranduil no longer had the strength to block Celeborn.

"Thranduil," he said stronger.

"Thranduil!" he made it a command.

"Celeborn?" the voice was soft and drained.

"Yes, it's me,"

"Whe…"

"I'm not really with you. It's the bond."

"Bond?" Thranduil's words were more breaths than actual words.

"Yes, our bond. Your block is crumbling," Celeborn really wished he could see him, "What happened?"

"Spiders. Had to fight."

"And since when has fighting spiders left you so weak?"

"Too many…couldn't…couldn't let him die. I called, but it only took…didn't give."

Thranduil's story was near incoherent.

"What took? Who did you call?"

The moment before the response stretched out longer than before.

"Thranduil!"

"Earth…trees."

"What are you saying?"

"Called."

"You called the earth and trees?"

"Yes,"

Celeborn was both very confused and getting a sinking feeling in his gut, "But how? They responded?"

"Yes."

The realization was bitter, "You gave too much of yourself, didn't you? That's why you don't even have the strength to block me anymore. It's what took and didn't give back."

Impossibly, Thranduil's voice grew evan softer, "It's not like home."

The light of the bond dimmed.

"Thanduil!" No response, "Thanduil!"

Celeborn desperately reached within himself, grabbed part of his own strength and shoved it through the breaking wall.

"Don't you dare go out on me Thranduil!" Celeborn had to focus on keeping his voice from shaking, "That's an order from your commander!"

Silence met his command. A beat, and then feebly, "Sir yes sir."

Celeborn beamed, "There's my soldier! Your orders are clear–heal. I'll be behind you if you'll let me."

That voice was still feeble but clear, "Yes sir."

Celeborn took a breath, he would stay and he would do what he should have always been doing–taking care of his kin. And if when Thranduil regained his strength and tried to block the bond again, well he would have another fight coming.