Since the catastrophic Battle of the Five Armies, mourning had spread over the great forest of Eryn Galen, despite their wondrous defeat of the Necromancer and the expellation of his poisonous presence.

Such a victory should have been a cause of celebration, a thrill of hope and joy should have swept through the ancient land. But to the sorrow of all, this did not happen. Their king had faded soon after the Battle, and his younger brother Thranduil had ascended the throne. Thranduil had led the armies to Dale and done most of the negotiating; for years, his position as commander had been supreme, while the best healers striven to stay the fading of the ancient king. But years and the call of the sea had their effect, and upon the eve of their victory, another member Elu Thingol's family departed beyond the shores of Endor.

Yet this was not all that they had to mourn. More yet was to be cast in the Elves's face.

Feren, Thranduil's most loyal soldier, came before the King and bowed his head. His features were taut and rowdy, and whatever great emotion was within him, he could not seem to control it. " Aran-nín, galu! ( my king, a blessing) "

Thranduil's eyes contracted, and though none saw them move, they keenly took in every aspect of his soldier. The rents along his leathern armor, his heaving breast, the sweat that had mixed with dirt on his rounded cheeks—and above all his inability to meet his king's eyes.

But he decided to let the Ellon tell him himself what had so perturbed him.

" Na vedui ( at last), Feren. Were you hindered from coming to my side? Where is Hîr Legolas and Híril Elwanu?"

Feren paled and suddenly, he sagged to the floor sobbing, his back wrenching. His hair hung about his features in matted rags, and Thranduil immediately felt fear of the worst kind. " Feren, answer me. Where are my children?" He rose from his throne, letting the satin robes glissade from his shoulders, as in three quick bounds, he was before his cowering soldier. His hands griped him by the arms as he hauled him up to meet his eyes.

Feren gazed in the ice of his King's eyes and his soul withered away. No matter what tortures his king could devise, he could never bear to turn those eyes white with sorrow. It was not his place to tell the tale.

Thranduil heard and read all that Feren comprehended in his mind. The years of service and his own elfishness enabled him to read the minds of others with potent strength. Often, nothing was hidden from the mind of the King.

Feren dropped suddenly, and he gasped as the king placed a weighty foot upon his chest. " They are dead! Answer yes or no, Feren! Or answer not at all and I'll throw you off this bridge." Feren didn't quiver, but instead his gray-brown eyes found those of his king and focused on them. He was silent, his voice still, his heart beating with devotion.

Thranduil growled, and suddenly lifted the soldier off the ground, and, gripping him with mighty strength, prepared to hold him over the edge of the bridge that made up his throne room.

" Aran-nín, Adar (father)!" a youthful voice spoke out; his tones honeyed and mellow with the sweetness of a spring wind. Thranduil stopped, a solitary gaze of relief published across his face. He let Feren go—on firm ground— and then turned around.

Legolas Thranduiliôn stood behind him, his oceanic blue eyes, those inherited from his Mam (grandmother), were deep and rich. Yet trouble frolicked upon the waves of his heart, and his features, noble and bold, were down-trodden; sorrow imprinted by a terrible brand. Whatever relief had filled Thranduil when he first looked upon his son scampered away; immediately, a feeling of sickness overtook his fae and caused his mortal body to sway dangerously upon the edge.

Feren leapt forward and pulled his Majesty forward, whilst Legolas ran to his father and pulled him into his arms. " Adar, you know?"

" Iston, ion-nín (I know, my son.)," Thranduil told his son, leaning his head against his shoulder. He looked blankly off at the far corners of his realm, picturing it like a map, desperately seeking the presence of his missing child. Legolas would only have returned alone for one reason; Elwanu had been lost.

Legolas sensed his father's grief through their bond and turned him to himself, forcing his father's silvery eyes to rest upon him. Strength flooded between the two of them as Legolas prepared himself to tell his king and father what had befallen his sister.

" Orcs attacked. On the way back from Dale. We believe that they were fleeing from the ruins of Dol Guldur. They were swift and ruthless. Feren escaped to find reinforcements; Elwanu and I stayed to fight with our guard. Then all was quiet. The forest fell still, the ground hardened, and it was as though our very vision had become fog. We could see nothing of our kin. Some of those who survived said it was as though a whirlwind had caught some up and left others. Elwanu was gone after that; we never could catch sight of her again."

Thranduil gazed his son in the eyes, his mouth straight and firm, his soul hardened. Legolas watched his blue eyes become coated with ferocious ice death slide into his veins, and his features morph into stone.

" Ai. Elwanu is gone. Lost."

Legolas moaned, his features a petulant whine as he gazed at his father seated beside him. " You know you did not have to come to the Council of Elrond? It's been terrible mostly."

Thranduil did not speak aloud; his countenance was quiet, hawkish, and composed. He only removed his hand from his wine glass and turned to gaze at his son. " Had we not come, you could not represent the Elves upon this quest."

Legolas rolled his eyes, exchanging an annoyed smile with Glorfindel, who was unaware of his pique. " But to be called less powerful than Glorfindel?! Yea, I am not a Balrog slayer, but truly, my bow has slain as many enemies as his sword."

Thranduil glanced at him, an indulgent smile suppressed upon his features, " And I suppose that you would have preferred to visit with your gwanur(cousin)?" The question was harmless, but it was enough to make Legolas pale and shake his head. His cousin, Edhellen, was one of those Elves who, though a perfect statesman, could not seem to gain the love of his warrior cousin. Perhaps it was the difference between Prince and Captain.

He replied to his father through their bond, with a morbid chuckle, " I'd rather be held by the hounds of Mordor." Suddenly, the bond stilled. Both Elves looked down at their food, quietness reigning at their end of the table, as they recalled one who very truly was held by the hounds of Mordor.

Glorfindel noticed this disquiet and carefully nodded to Erestor who sought to alleviate it. " My lords, what troubles you?"

Both Elves looked up, and in their piercing gazes, Erestor saw both father and son equally mirrored. " We are only thinking of the beauty of the Hall of Fire. It must be very pleasant to reside in such a valley, where evil seldom ventures. And if it does, you have the powers to guard against it." Thranduil told them, his expression flawless.

Legolas did not change mien, but he knew it was a silent jibe against Elrond. It had been a subject of discussion at the Council—after the Ring had been decided about—that Thranduil should do a better job guarding his borders and keeping back the evil of Dol Guldur. Thranduil had not appreciated it.

Elrond heard the jab and found it within him to ignore the Elven King. The Noldorin and the Iathrim had never been on the friendliest terms, and it seemed that Thingol's great-nephew had inherited all of his peculiarities.

Thranduil gracefully moved his head to meet Elrond's gray eyes and fair features before raising his wine glass in a silent acknowledgement of his host. He then settled his piercing blue eyes upon the far end of the Hall. Legolas was quite glad for his tan tunic; it hid his restrained laughter.

Suddenly, the entire Hall of Elrond erupted into shouts of alarm, of wonder, of fear, and of urgency. Thranduil leapt from the table and quickly went to the back wall that was dotted with weapons. His royal guard was with him immediately, and Legolas had already found a vantage place with his knives.

Most of the other Elves had not been as ardent or quick in their movements. Many of them were still rising from the table in surprise, both at the sudden alarum and at the speed and quickness of the Wood Elves. It became apparent then that the old adage, " More dangerous and less wise," was more than true about the Wood-Elves.

Elrond motioned for his visitors to be at ease, smiling slightly as he watched the Hobbits dive for cover under the table. " My lords, I assure you that no harm can come to you here. Such a thing could not be."

Thranduil snarled, " Elves have ever been killed in their own dominion by their kin."

Elrond stiffened at the mention of the Kinslayings, but before he could make retort, his sons came rushing in, surrounded by their guards and several Ranger companions. " Atar (Father), quickly, we have need of your aid. An elleth." All eyes focused upon the creature that Elrohir bore in his arms.

It was a maiden. Her figure was covered in dirt and filth, the scent of orcs rising up from her. Her arms were covered in dark whirling tattoos, those that the Avari ink upon themselves, and her unconscious features were dangerous. Fierce even. The only thing that kept them from running away from her in horror, was, that through the filth coating her hair, they could still make out the ethereal starlight beauty of it.

Even as it was, whispers of " Moriquendi", " Dark Elf", and " Accursed" flooded the Hall until Elrond shouted, " Be silent! Aragorn!"

Aragorn leapt up from his seat, and with a quick sweep of his arms, he cleared the long table immediately. Elves pushed away from the Hall, knowing that it was quickly about to be a surgery, and Erestor ran out into the corridors to gather those things, which his master would need to tend the wounded elleth.

Thranduil exchanged glances with Legolas and shrugged. He did not know that Elrohir and Elladan had left the Valley of Imladris to go scouting. He should not have been surprised. Once the Halfling had been pursued by the Nazgûl, they would have immediately gone to make sure that the surrounding lands were free and they could breathe clean air. It was their constant habit following their mother's departure.

Elrond bent to look at the elleth as she was laid upon the table and turned to see his daughter's wan face. His eyes contracted, and for one moment, he was watching his wife upon the table, his daughter unable to unsee her tortured mother.

" Aragorn!" His voice was fraught with sorrow. " Take Híril Arwen to her room immediately."

Aragorn performed his duty, only looking back once to glance at the she-elf, in fascinated fear.

Elrond examined the wound, while querying his sons, " How was she wounded?"

Elrohir exchanged a glance with his brother before speaking in a cracked voice. " Please forgive us, father, we wounded her."

Elrond straightened and anger flooded his spirit. Thranduil stood behind his sons, and it was only the knowledge that their father would be displeased that kept the twins from fearfully turning to face the Elven King.

" How?" It was a command: an order from a master, not a father.

" She attacked us, fearful for the lives of the Orcs."

Legolas laughed mockingly. " Surely, you jest, Noldorin, to hide your own guilt. An elf protecting orcs? Nonsense."

The twins prickled under the insult, but did not take offense. " Nay, but it is true. After we had subdued her, we discovered the cause of her fear. They were not orcs as we know them. They are Avari."

Thranduil stiffened and exchanged glances with his son. He himself felt his heart beat, tick, and yet all was silent beside that solemn procession. " A Moriquendi elf?"

Elrond, while still applying pressure to her wound, motioned for Thranduil to wipe away the blood and grime from her features. " Discover for us the nature of our victim."

Thranduil and he held each other's gazes, and while friendship was surely lacking, in this moment, they determined not to be like those of their past. " I will."

Just as he was about to move towards the elleth, suddenly, she gasped, and seeing Elrond, ripped herself from his hands and pushed. She slid down the end of the table and was face to face with Glorfindel.

" Remove yourself from my presence, Kinslayer!"

Glorfindel stopped as though struck, and before he could recover himself, she struck him, flinging him against the wall. He lost consciousness for a moment, she was that strong or enraged. She appropriated his sword and then turned to face the Hall.

Blood lined her features, her eyes were dark and tempestuous, and her full lips open as though breathing was difficult. One hand held her side, where the gash was. Yet despite the seeping blood, she was vibrantly alive and tremulous with the power of her fae coursing through her. " How dare you bring me to the house of a Noldorin, húna onóna (accursed twins)!" She flung the insult at the twins who stunned by her perfect Noldorin.

Elrond moved towards her: his hands up in a peaceful gesture, his eyes focused upon her eyes. " Elleth, we mean you no harm. Whatever harm has been done unto you by the Orcs, we shall seek to avenge. And if you believe us to be your enemies, then give us the chance to become your allies."

Her eyes, silvern sapphires, dropped and she gazed at the sword in her hand. Her eyes darted behind her, and she focused her glance upon Glorfindel, who was groaning, his head buzzing and his vision traitorous.

Then she met Elrond's eyes again, her features contracting and her lips trembling as though unused to emotion. " My lord, I shall accept your hospitality. But, ere I do, swear to me that you will send word to the Elven king."

Elladan interjected, a query flowing from his lips. " Elleth, what right has a Moriquendi to seek the High King of the Wood Elves?"

Her eyebrow quirked, and suddenly, a dagger flew from an unknown place on her body and landed in stone crack besides Elladan's foot. " Elf, you know not how close I came to avenging myself upon you. Take up the dagger and bear it to Thranduil, aran-nín(my king), and he shall know who is the bearer."

Elrohir took the dagger from the ground, patted his disconcerted brother upon the back, and turned to the magnificent king. " Hîr nín( my lord)."

Thranduil captured a shuddering breath, though it vibrated in his chest, and he took the dagger reticently. The elleth's eyes followed him and ere he could even examine it, she gasped, a cry of pain, of joy gilding her words. " Adar!" She exclaimed, the western wind's scents and joyous laughter playing in her voice. " Aran-nín, you have found me!"

Thranduil looked up at the she-elf, and his son seized his shoulder, gripping it so hard, that he found himself wincing against the pressure. At first, he could distinguish nothing about her, nothing that denoted her to himself. But then, the bold, vibrant eyes, silver and blue melded into one glorious gem, as precious as mithril itself. Her hair too, underneath the dirty gray filth, he could see the star-shine filaments, their incandescent rays piercing even the most confounding darkness and grime. And the final proof, the badge of Elmo stamped upon the ivory horn of her dagger. It was Elwanu.

Legolas uttered for him, what he could not say himself, " Nethig (little sister)!" Legolas reached out towards her, his feet leaden as though he could not comprehend what had happened, yet desperate to hold her, to feel her, to know her as he had believed impossible.

Elwanu gasped again, and then lurched forward, her side convulsing as the blood gushed from her exercise, and she felt a blurring of her vision. Something wasn't right. She felt weak, something that she couldn't even comprehend. Even when the orcs had captured her, she had never been weak. But now she was. Weak from relief at finding her family, weak from her anger, weak from... was it captivity?

Even as her mind shut off, she was aware of her father taking her in his arms and holding her tight, his beautiful eyes immediately coming to her vision as he rocked her gently. She heard her brother's voice calling for healers. She extended a feeble hand to him and felt him take it. Oh, her body might have been weak, but right now, her fae was trembling with joy and she was sure that gravity could no longer hold her upon the ground. " Oh, Adar, you found me. Honeg(little brother), ai, you have found me."

Thranduil met his son's blue eyes even as his son stared into his. He did not know that the ice had fled from them, that his body irradiated warmth that comforted his child in his arms, and he certainly didn't realize that the marble had left his cheeks, allowing life to enter in again. He simply looked at his son and gasped with joy, relief, and reunion, " Yes, she is found!" Then with beautiful love, he pulled both son and daughter into his arms together, situating himself so that his love and rejoicing could flood through them all. Yes, she was found. His family was found again too.

So, hello! This Jetta Lee. For those of you coming to this a second time, yes, I did update and edit this story. A person on .net (PetrogradAn) told me that I had a long way to go before I ever got published. I agreed with them and discovered a love of grammar. So for that, thank you so much. The majority of the changes are just grammatical and making a few lore correction.

I still want to thank MagicofNarnia on Wattpad for giving me the inspiration to do this. Her Narnia one-shots are simply fantastic, and you should totally check out her profile. If not now, when?

Uhm, just a few little author tidbits. In the Hobbit, it actually never mentions Thranduil's name as being King of Mirkwood. It just calls him the Elven King. So in my lore, I thought it would be interesting if Thranduil became King really after the end of the Battle of the Five Armies. Later, Tolkien did say that Thranduil had been the King of the Wood-Elves ever since the death of his father and Ámdir at the Battle of Dagorlad, but I feel that it is fun to add some family to his life and give him a slightly different story. Please, forgive me, Tolkien.

One more thing; in the passage when Thranduil makes a jab at Elrond, I call their differing houses the Noldorin and the Iathrim. The Iathrim were the Elves of Doriath, which is Thranduil's race; they were called the Iathrim because they were protected by Melian's Girdle or Fence. Iathrim literally means "people of the Fence".

I hope that you enjoy the rebooted version of Found!I had a lot of fun editing it and finding all of my mistakes. Have a wonderful day and a Happy Late New Year!

Living for Christ,

Jetta Lee