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The years turned in his mind. Lost in the deep reaches of his thought Thranduil knew somehow that he was ensnared in the tangled web of his memories. But his knowledge helped him little, and as the memories of Nan Elmoth faded away a new memory brightened in it's place, flickering like flame, 'till it filled all his mind with the flames of the past.

Word came down to King Dior's men that the gates had been broken and that the enemy was upon them. And so he meant to go alone to his own destruction - for he knew that there would be no turning back the sons of Fëanor, nor any hope of defeating them. Yet, by facing them alone he may grant his people time to leave the doomed city before death befell them.

But as he walked he heard footsteps behind him. For Thranduil, son of Oropher and captain of his royal guard followed.

"Turn away Thranduil and go with the others to secure an escape."

And Thranduil replied, "I will go where my King goes, as I did for his father before him. I will not abandon my post in the last hour while I may yet hold it."

Looking upon him Dior knew that there could be no dissuading him and so continued on his destined path. The others he ordered to care for the wellbeing of the Queen and his children. King Dior's midnight robes billowed with speed, sapphires flashing in the torchlight of the cavern city. He came at last to the Kings hall and there waited on his throne - to give his answer in person to the invaders at his door. For his answer was the same as his grandfathers before him to the dwarves that had killed him in anger to hear it - none should have the jewel; the token of Beren's great love for Luthien, fairest of all creation. None, least of all the blood-stained kin-slayers would King Dior of Doriath suffer to hold the precious stone that his father and his father before him had lain down their lives for - save for his own children, when they grew old enough to bear it's weight.

And yet he could not help but watch his captain of the home-guard beside him.

Thranduil bore the helm and the shield and sword of his rank proudly, his long pale golden hair trailing from beneath polished mithril. Dior was reminded of Mablung, who had died defending the treasury when the accursed dwarves of Nogrod had slain the King Thingol - one of the eldest of all elves and his beloved grandfather. His grandmother Melian had departed in grief afterwards, and the jewel once recovered by Beleg, who now also had passed, had gone to his mother and father on the Island of the Dead that Live until the days of their mortal lives were spent.

In all his years in the dark days of Arda Dior had known loss and suffering and pain. He had hoped to restore Doriath to it's glory, yet now felt deep in his heart that it was now the end.

For a long time there was silence as the two elves stood at the high seat, but then the approaching clamour of battle grew near until all the hall rung and clashed with the ringing of swords and armor. Then a loud banging began on the beech doors. Even so, the elven-king Dior held his place, face set with stony resolve. Thranduil stood before him, so that any enemy would have to match him before challenging his king.

The doors rocked and creaked on their brazen hinges. Wood groaned and then shattered, splintering with hollow echoes on the stone behind them. And they were thrown open and a formidable host entered into Thingols Hall of stone beneath the earth.

Two elven princes of the Ñoldor entered, both tall and dark of hair - and they were two of the sons of Fëanor. Their eyes glinted in the hall-light, Curufinwë's like moonstone and Caranthir's like garnet. These two approached the throne of Dior. And at this sight the King of Doriath; Dior Eluchil, son of Elwë-Thingol rose. Yet, it was not the end, for one more came through the door. Little so far had stirred the King Dior's anger so much as the sight of the fair haired elf with eyes the color of stormy seas - Celegorm who's ultimatum he had rebuffed to this bitter end.

Outside the door a host waited, for the brothers had wanted to meet with the King of Doriath alone. The silence weighed heavy in the room. The keenest ears could detect the howling of winter winds above grow quiet as if in anticipation of the doom that would shortly unfold. It was Dior who broke the silence. From his throne he asked aloud:

"Is it not enough that you have slain your own kin once before? Or has the lust driven you to madness beyond all reason? Perhaps you love nothing more than destruction and death - and if that is your desire than you would make more fitting princes of dark lands than of elves."

At these words Celegorm started, but was stilled by Curufinwë who stood behind. Yet Caranthir advanced with sword drawn and shining red in the torchlight of the kings hall.

"You blame us for this end, yet it was within your power to avoid it. We are driven no more mad by the Silmaril than you are, o' King of the dead! For you only had to return what was stolen from us to avert this doom. If elvish blood has been spilled in your halls it is for the sake of your greed alone!"

"Arrogant!" King Dior snapped, and now the rage of the full elf-lord could be seen - for he was mighty in his wrath as a child of Maiar, and Elves and Men. And his wrath shook the walls of Menegroth. "Arrogant and unfit to be called princes of Elves - Orcs alone are fit for your dominion! Step forth you lords of murder and I will send you Mandos, may he do with you as he will!"

And at this no words of his brothers could restrain him for Caranthir stepped forth with eyes blazing red as coals in his anger as he sought battle with the King. Yet Thranduil halted him with drawn sword that flashed so quickly that the blade had passed before Caranthir could see it; and he fell back with an echoing cry of pain even as his blood reddened the stones beneath him. Twice more Caranthir advanced and twice more was driven back. And before he could once more make and attempt his brothers reached out and seized him, drawing him from the fight against his will - for his fading strength had weakened him.

At the sight of his brothers blood Celegorm was stirred to high rage and he swept past Caranthir and Curufinwë to clash with Thranduil. Yet the force of his charge was such that Thranduil could only withstand two strikes, and on the third he was thrown aside and thus Dior clashed with the Feanorian. His spirit kindled by his brothers charge, Caranthir engaged as well and in a flurry of flashing steel the Elf-King Dior held his ground against two of the sons of Fëanor in their wrath. But Caranthir's wounds had already been great and with a last great thrust Diors sword ran through him and he fell and moved no more. His brothers death spurred Curufinwë into his own wrath and he joined the fight in his slain kin's stead. His own end came from a strike to his face that blinded him as Dior swung upwards before bringing the dread sword down. Thus Curufinwë fell beside his brother. Celegorm alone was left - in all the tales told it was a sad battle. For Celegorm the Fair, with pale golden hair shining in the light of the raging fires traded blows with Dior the Beautiful - and with a last mighty stroke mirrored by both the two scions of elven-kings fell in battle.

All this Thranduil saw from the step of the throne, for he could not tear his eyes away from the sight. His King now lay dead, his enemies slain around him. It was not until a hoarse, terrible cry from the shattered door echoed in the chamber that Thranduil was roused to the present once more. The din of battle had risen again and drawn near. Yet the battle did not strike fear into Thranduils heart so much as the sight before him now.

Fiery haired and tall, Maedhros, son of Fëanor, stood before him. His raiments of fine golden-hued cloth had been cut by Doriath blades, and stained with the blood of Doriaths elves. His eyes gleamed a pale blue-gray and were fixed upon the still bodies of three of his six brothers. Their blood covered the marble stones in great pools and spilled over into the river below the Kings bridge. And Dior lay silent, no longer able to tell of what he knew - of his brothers fate or that of the treasure they had died seeking.

And slowly, the eyes of Maedhros unclouded and began to rise until his sight fell on the young Captain sitting injured before the throne, and at the sight his eyes became as deadly and fierce as a dragons gaze - holding Thranduil still in terror even as he approached with his sword flashing like fire. And Thranduil knew not how he broke that spell, yet before he could think he fled through the back way with fleet feet quickly behind.

Young as he was, he had heard the rumour and tales that circulated through the halls of Menegroth in Thingols day; in the days when the Ñoldor had first come to middle earth. He had heard the whispers of Artanis in the night to Celeborn of the dread deeds that the sons of Fëanor had done in pursuit of the Silmarils, yet never had he imagined that he himself would become bound with the curse of the Ñoldor, nor that he would ever in his life be forced to flee in terror from elven-kindred without just cause. But such a thing had now come to pass as he ran through secret ways and dark halls issuing forth flames of war and the terrible noise of battle - always with footsteps in pursuit behind him. As he moved from the secret ways into the main hall a force struck him and he stumbled to the stone floors. Thinking it an enemy, he whirled with blade drawn only to find another also unsheathed - but to his joy the face behind it was familiar - for he had fallen into Artanis; noble daughter of Finarfin and princess of the High Elves. She was no longer clad in shining white raiment, but in the garb of a foot-soldier who had taken to arms - for though Thranduil knew it not she was also called Nerwen or 'man-maiden' by her mother and had passed through the danger of the Helcaraxë to set foot in Middle Earth and was accordingly valiant in battle.

"Ai! Thranduil! You were last seen with the King, where is he now?"

"Slain!" Thranduil replied and grabbed her by the hand to pull her forward, yet she was immovable and towered over him like a monolith. "He is dead - and with him three of the sons of Fëanor. A fourth is behind me even now!"

And the footsteps of doom hastened. From the corridor came a vision of red fury as Maedhros issued forth from the dark passages. He regarded Artanis only a moment, for he had seen her face before in Valinor, as she had been the only of the elf-women to speak during his fathers pleas.

"Daughter of Finarfin, against you I would raise no sword, daughter of my fathers brother. However; Dior's captain behind you has secret knowledge of the treasure of the Ñoldor. Hand him over to me!"

Cold fear crept into Thranduils heart, for he had never spoken of his feelings towards the white lady to her, nor any other. But he could not well endanger one he loved for the sake of his own life. So as Artanis began to speak words of defiance she was stilled by Thranduil.

"I cannot in good faith risk the life of one so fair the in the defence of my own. Yet I also cannot betray my King, and especially not to the kin of his slayers. I will not flee, yet I will not speak either."

With all his strength he gave her a great push behind him, sending her forward down the hall. Recovering herself, she prepared to throw herself back into the fray - even against her own cousin for the sake of a great friend.

But Thranduil blocked her way and cried out; "Your heart flees before you-" for he knew of her great fondness for her newly betrothed Celeborn. "Quickly! To the Green Door before he is lost to you forever!"

And at this Artanis turned and fled away in pursuit - yet she wept as she did so, for caught between love of Thranduil as one of her slain brothers, or the love of her beloved she could not help but choose the later for it was far more powerful to her.

And Thranduil knew this. For when Maedhros moved to pursue he found the captains blade bared toward him on the last bridge of Menegroth.

"You may not pass, for while I draw breath I will not allow you to pursue her."

And Maedhros' face grew yet more grim. "That is no matter, for my business is with you. I will ask but one question of you and your answer will determine mine. Where has the silmaril that Dior claimed gone to? In what place has it been hidden? Speak! For you are the captain of the royal guard and all such things are known to you."

And Thranduil hardened his resolve. "I will never tell one so stained with the blood of his kindred. Get ye from this city, warg! Go spread your desolation elsewhere for you shall not pass me!"

There they clashed on the high bridge above the underground river of the city. Thranduils sword was quick and keen; yet his opponent was of a calibre he had yet faced in the world and he was overwhelmed. Many wounds he received, yet seemed not to harm his foe and he grew weary and his movements slowed. With a great attack his sword was thrown and as he strove to keep his balance he felt the ice cold of the Ñoldor princes' blade in his side. This greatest wound at last drove him to his knees with its pain. Thranduil knew he could no longer hold the bridge, so as Maedhros prepared to bring down his sword the last captain of Doriath spoke secret spells of unravelling so that the bridge was broken asunder with both duelists still upon it, and they both fell into the torrent below.

The rivers of Doriath were swift and cold, yet it was not the doom of Maedhros to die in them. And after a while they came out into the light of day and the son of Fëanor moved to the shore, streaming water from his red hair behind him. For a time he sat in contemplation, but then a glint on the water caught his eye and he went forth to investigate. He passed to the south a little way and found there lying upon the shore the young elf who had sundered the bridge. And he was filled with rage at the sight and thought to slay him while he could, for he was furious and grieved by the loss of his three brothers and the failure to claim the silmaril.

"My vengeance for this will fall upon thee, for you are chiefly to blame for this woe!"

But as Maedhros stood above the elf, poised to pierce his throat with his sword he found he could not move to take his life. For below him the Sindarin elf with eyes closed, and deeply wounded was helpless. And in the light of day Maedhros could see the years upon him and knew that he was in the early spring of his ageless life and that many centuries awaited him upon Middle-Earth. And realizing that in his rage he had thought to kill a defenceless elf, little more than a child and blameless and without evil he stayed his sword, for he could not commit to such a horrible act.

And in grief Maedhros wandered away to reunite with the remainder of his kin, but Thranduil he left lying on the shore.

Some time later Thranduil awoke. After a long time he could move and slowly pulled himself through the darkening woods toward the shelter he knew. For the sun was going down and without the protection of it's people the hills would teem with fell beasts who would slay him without mercy. A long time he wandered until he came to Nan Elmoth and there to the house of Eöl long abandoned. And searching for the open way he entered the estate and collapsed and fell into a deep sleep.