Thranduil paced for days inside his chamber, clutching the little box close to his chest, the only reminder he had left of her. The silence was loud, deafening. Her memory inside his thoughts was so intense that he feared it might drive him mad. He could almost feel her again, next to him, but the reality was that the connection he once shared with her was now severed. She was lost to him, dead to the world.
The elven guards could not find any trace of her, not even his son could. They searched the woods for days, but to no avail. Arvellon saved the King's life, removing the dagger and bringing him back to his senses only to have him lose himself at the thought that he had broken his promise to protect her. His heart sank over and over again, until he retreated inside himself, so much so that Legolas feared the Greenwood will begin to decay again. He felt compelled to once more see to the welfare of the kingdom in his father's stead.
In the late autumn afternoon, he came to visit Thranduil and found him staring in silence out the window overlooking the forest. The trees were now barren of leaves, in expectation of the coming winter. Six years had passed.
The death of his mother had been hard on his adar and Legolas nearly lost him to Mandos as well. He began to worry again, but tried his best to hide his anguish from his father.
-I bring you news, Ada!
Legolas informed him of the progress that the human army has made against the orc invaders. They were preparing their last stand at the gates of Gondor. Following the death of Aragorn's son a couple of years before, due to a strange sickness, the gondorin Queen, Helena, was now leading the army into battle. Words of her victories and courage had spread fast through all of Middle Earth and most human kingdoms had sent her troops in support of her endeavors.
-I would seek your permission to pledge the elven army to her cause, Legolas said. She is battling the shadow. If we claim victory, we might at last vanquish the orc filth from our land.
Thranduil's gaze moved from the window to the hearth behind his son, his attention fixed upon the flames. The prospect of war seemed to bring a visible change on the King's face. If anything, it would provide means of distraction from the numbness he was feeling within.
-You need not worry so much, Legolas. My first duty is to my people, it's always been thus. I will never abandon them. Or you. Let the elf continue to grieve, ion nin, for the King cannot. The King must not.
-Adar, I did not mean to… I wish there was something I could do…
-Prepare the troops, Legolas! It seems the elves are going to war once more.
A week later, Thranduil and his forces were crossing the Anduin, entering the kingdom of Men. From atop the hill near Minas Tirith, they were met with an overview of the human troops regrouping in the valley below. The soldiers were all lined up and standing at attention. Their numbers were indeed impressive.
The army ranks parted and four riders came forth through the new-formed passage. One of them continued to ride up the hill to greet the Elvenking.
-Suilad, heruamin! He spoke in the native tongue of the Sindar, placing his hand on his heart and then extending it towards the King.
-Suilad, mellon nin! Thranduil replied.
-Queen Helena has been expecting you. The arrival of your troops, as allies and friends, honors us. I am Urhol, son of Uther my lord.
The elf bowed his gaze as a sign of acknowledgement and respect towards the human envoy.
-My son, Legolas, Thranduil introduced him with a gesture of the hand.
-Mae govannen, my Prince. I am honored.
-As am I. I shall gladly fight and bleed beside our human brothers and pray to Eru he will grant us victory.
Pleasantries exchanged, it was time for the armies to march for the White City where they would prepare for battle.
From the back of his war elk, the King could not help but stare at the other three riders that had stopped down in the valley, in front of the human lines. The distance was great but his elven eyes could easily distinguish the figures of two men, dressed in heavy armor. He even recognized one of them; it was Prince Alistair of the southern kingdoms. Thranduil had known his father well during the battles fought in the War of the Ring. Riding between them, on her white horse, the human Queen was dressed in mithril, which made her shine brighter than the hot sun in summer. She turned to face her troops and addressed them a few spirited and carefully thought out words, meant to inspire and hearten them for the days to come.
Thranduil felt his heart freeze at the sound of her voice. He desperately tried to read her, but he could not. Her mind was closed, sealed off from any attempt to reach her inner thoughts.
The valley before him resounded with thousands of voices rising in unison to answer the call, before starting their march towards the city, through the fields of Pelennor.
Legolas signaled the elves to follow and as he watched them go, he was reminded of the bloodied battle he had once witnessed there, before the destruction of Sauron's ring, during the third age. He then turned to his father, beside him, feeling his anguish at the sight of the Queen.
-I could sense your mind, he voiced with concern. I thought it too at first. But it cannot be her; she's gone. Ada, please! Stop tormenting yourself with the memory of her. Rid your soul of past shadows or I fear you might fade away, regardless of your will.
-Why hasn't she come to me? Thranduil replied, immersed in deep thought.
His eyes were still following her as she moved further and further away, leading the army of men. There was no mistake in his heart now. She was her, Helena was Sonja.
Alistair was riding beside her and from the looks of it they were very well acquainted with one another. They were engaged in an intense conversation and smiled often at each other. Thranduil felt his hands automatically curling into fists at his sides. An unfamiliar feeling took root inside the King's heart, swirling within him, rising to choke him. He was jealous.
Still a great distance behind them, the Elvenking noticed that the other man accompanying the Queen seemed to carry another, smaller person, on the back of his horse. It could have easily been a child, he thought to himself. The Queen went to him and brought him onto her horse, holding him lovingly in her arms, then continued to ride towards the main gate. It was unmistakably a child, a boy, no more than five or six years of age, with sunshine hair, and for a brief moment it reminded the elf of a young Legolas. Thranduil's heart stopped once more.