Disclaimer: Don’t own any of it, not making any profit from it.

A/N: This story is a bit of a departure from my usual stuff. It will carry a higher rating due to the fact that it will contain sexual activity in later chapters. It is NOT a romance, however, as will be made plain fairly early in the story. It is rather dark in theme, so bear that in mind.

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                                               They were nearing the end of their journey. The group of elves had crossed into Greenwood and was traveling home to the palace after a visit to Imladris. King Thranduil found his gaze returning once again to his Queen as she rode next to him. Queen Valilis was beautiful even for an elf, especially to her husband’s eyes. She was fair, with deep blue eyes and hair like spun gold. Quick to smile, but reserved among those she did not know, Valilis had found the position she occupied upon her marriage to Thranduil to be a difficult adjustment. That she was well-loved by the Silvan elves that her Sindar husband ruled made the transition a bit easier. That she was Silvan herself played a small part in that, but it was the character of the lady herself that endeared her to those she encountered. The birth of their son had further cemented the bonds between Queen and subjects.

                                                As always, Thranduil noted Valilis looking about her warily. She had never fully become settled in Greenwood and the advancing Shadow unsettled her further. She had been born in Lorien, and still had cousins there that she visited frequently. Still, she felt that her place was by her husband’s side more so now since Legolas’ birth. Thranduil smiled as he watched her check the elfling she held on the horse before her, making certain the sleeping infant was warm and dry.

                                                 He chuckled a bit, remembering the last few weeks. This had been Legolas’ first visit to Imladris and he had been much doted upon. Elrond was very fond of children and welcomed the presence of one so young. His own three were well beyond childhood, his youngest being only a decade away from her majority, and the lord of Imladris claimed that until he was graced with grandchildren he must dote on any child available to keep his skills intact. He had had to compete with his daughter on that score. Legolas had Arwen firmly twined around his little finger at first glance and she had proved to be a natural at childcare. She was seldom far from the elfling during the whole of the visit and once Valilis had assured herself that Arwen was a trusty child tender, this had provided the king and queen of Greenwood much needed opportunity to explore the more secluded areas of Imladris. Even Elrond’s twin sons had been captivated by the baby elf. Thranduil sensed gratitude from Elrond on that score, as his sons had become relentless orc hunters in the two decades since their mother had sailed for Valinor, unable to cope with the aftermath of her ordeal at the hands of a group of the foul creatures. Anything, however brief, that distracted Elladan and Elrohir was a welcome phenomenon to Elrond.

                                                 A vague sense of unease brought Thranduil out of his musings. He scanned the foliage surrounding the group, his nervousness growing with each passing second. He turned to his guard captain, issuing orders for all to be at their most alert. The sound of an arrow ripping through the air reached his ears as did the sound of it striking flesh a fraction of a second later. Thranduil whipped around, his heart in his throat. Valilis’ eyes met his for a moment before the light in them faded, quenched forever by the arrow in her throat. A hoarse cry issued from her husband as the bond between them was severed by her death. Thranduil barely retained the presence of mind to snatch the baby from his wife’s lifeless arms as she toppled from her horse. He reeled for a moment, bereft, before focusing all his will on preserving the sole family member left to him. He could grieve later; right now he needed to make certain that his son would survive the night. Calling to his guards to cover their flight, the company surged toward the safety of the distant caverns that held Thranduil’s palace. One of the guards caught up the fallen queen, the others fired arrows at the orcs who were now flooding onto the path, downing the vile beasts before they could reach the king’s horse as it passed them.

                                               Miraculously, the queen was the only casualty and they rode hard through the remainder of the night, reaching the palace shortly after midday. A hush feel over the crowd that had gathered to welcome them home as the guard carrying the body of their queen shrouded in a cloak passed. In his wake, a keening lament rose. Thranduil tightened his jaw, his face impassive. The only sign of his grief were the tears that coursed freely down his face. He was controlling his reactions as best he could as it was the only thing that kept him in the saddle and coherent, but he could not control his tears. He needed to remain strong long enough to get inside his palace. Only then would he allow himself to succumb to the crushing anguish that was trying to consume his soul. He knew he had to release his grief; he could not fade and join his beloved Valilis not while his son needed him.

Disclaimer: Don’t own any of it.

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                                              Thranduil watched, stone faced, as the guards carried the body of his beloved into the palace. He was rooted to the place where he stood, unable to move or think, aware only of the despair that filled him and his need to hold onto his control long enough to gain his chambers. His son shifted in his arms, beginning to cry with hunger. The vague thought that he was glad that Valilis had already weaned the child passed through his distressed mind. A wet nurse would not be necessary. It was one less thing to see to, one less responsibility to discharge before he lost his control. Legolas’ cries rose in volume, the elfing sensing his father’s raging emotions and becoming more and more upset by the minute. Thranduil absently jostled his son, his efforts to calm the child automatic. A touch on his arm startled him back into awareness and he look up into the sorrow filled face of his seneschal, Sindadur.

                                            “My king, allow me to handle things for the remainder of the day. Do you wish to retire to your rooms?” Thranduil nodded, almost too drained to speak.  He cleared his throat, pushing down the knot of tears that hovered there.

                                            “Legolas needs feeding, and we must see to ……. the queen,” he managed, having to force the last bit out past the re-emerging knot. Sindadur nodded agreement, slipping an arm around his king and guiding him into the palace.

                                            “Everything will be done as you wish it, my lord, as always. The prince’s nursemaid has been summoned. I shall accompany you to your rooms and ensure that your wishes are communicated to the proper parties.”  Sindadur broke off his assurances as the nursemaid, face wet with tears and flustered from her haste to get to her charge, arrived and took Legolas from his father’s arms. She curtsied sketchily and hurried off in the direction of the kitchen, intent on feeding the prince and comforting him as best she could. Sindadur steered Thranduil toward the king’s private chambers. Ordinarily, he would never have been so familiar as to touch the king even in passing, but this was hardly an ordinary day.  Thranduil barely noticed, all his attention was focused on remaining on his feet and keeping the raging despair at bay. 

                                               Sindadur was loathe to pester the grieving elf, but had no choice on the most pressing matters. “My lord, do you wish me to send word to Lords Elrond and Celeborn, and to Cirdan?” Thranduil seemed in a fog as he answered.

                                               “Yes, we must. Especially to Celeborn as he will have to tell Valilis’ family. Eru, Sindadur, I cannot.” His façade cracked briefly and he bit his lower lip hard, the pain helping him regain his control. Sindadur grimaced, wishing not for the first time that this had never come to pass.

                                                “Worry not, my king, I shall see to it. No one will fault you for not wishing to write the letters yourself.” Sindadur breathed a sigh of relief as they entered the king’s chambers. Luinloth, the king’s assistant/valet/herald was waiting just inside the door and handed the king a goblet of wine as soon as they entered.

                                                 “It does not remove the sorrow, my lord, but it will dull it a bit. I have your bath ready and then you shall have food and rest.” Luinloth was an oddity in the palace. He had known the king from infancy and indeed was something of a surrogate parent to Thranduil. He was the only one in the king’s long years, save Valilis, who could talk back to Thranduil with impunity. Thranduil downed the wine in one gulp and allowed Luinloth to guide him into the bathing chamber. Luinloth met Sindadur’s eyes over the king’s shoulder and mouthed, “I will speak to you later.” Sindadur nodded his comprehension and departed to write the required letters.

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                                                   In later years, Sindadur would reflect that writing those letters had been one of the most difficult things he had ever done. He settled for composing a short and succinct explanation of the events and copied it three times, altering only the names of those addressed. He then dispatched the letters via messenger birds to their destinations. The matter of the memorial for the queen would require Thranduil’s attention, but it could wait at least until morning. Sindadur had ordered the queen to be prepared to lie in state in the throne room and her ladies were even now carrying out those orders. When all the details that Sindadur could attend to had been dispensed with he returned to the king’s chambers.

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                                                 Thranduil permitted Luinloth to coax him into bathing and dressing in his sleeping clothes, but flatly refused any food. He wanted only to be alone so he could allow his controlled façade to crumble at last and give vent to the tears he was struggling to hold at bay. Luinloth finally acquiesced, tucking the king into his bed like a child and going no farther than the adjoining sitting room in case he was needed. Thranduil curled into a fetal position, burying his face in Valilis’ pillow. His body shook with the sobs he muffled in the pillow. Even though the bed linens had been washed and aired, he could still smell Valilis’ scent on them. The furniture and decorations she had chosen so carefully for their rooms echoed her absence unbearably. He wept until he had no tears left and fell into an exhausted and restless sleep.

                                                  Luinloth peered around the doorframe cautiously. Thranduil remained curled on his side, but was no longer weeping. The herbs Luinloth had added to the wine had finally taked effect and the king was asleep.  The assistant adjusted the covers over the exhausted monarch and returned to the sitting room. Sindadur joined him a few minutes later.

                                                  “How fares the king?” Sindadur’s concern was patent in his expression. Luinloth winced slightly as he replied.

                                                   “He sleeps. Sindadur, I am not ashamed in the least to admit that I drugged his wine. Had he been his usual alert self, he would have known it immediately. How he will endure this, I do not know.” Luinloth rested his face in his hands and massaged his temples.

                                                    “He will because he must. He will not abandon his son. He is all the prince has now and he knows as well as we do that he must stay or the prince is unlikely to survive.” Sindadur’s face was lined with grief. He had served Thranduil’s father, Oropher, and had known Thranduil since the king was an elfling. The events of the last few days dredged up painful memories of Oropher’s death and the news that his queen had been unable to endure without him and had faded. “Luinloth, I have sent letters to Lords Elrond, Celeborn, and Cirdan with news of the queen. I have no doubt that Lord Elrond at least will journey here at the least and quite likely Lord Celeborn as well if the queen’s family decide to make the journey. We will not be alone in this, nor will he.” Luinloth merely nodded and the two lapsed into silence, holding vigil over their king.

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                                                Elladan, Elrohir, and Arwen were finishing their breakfast in the Last Homely House, or more accurately they were throwing the remains of the breakfast bread at each other as they engaged in a battle of wits. Glorfindel stood by, watching with amusement and tossing in a choice comment at intervals. Elrond had already repaired to his study to begin his morning tasks. The house had been unusually quiet since the visitor from Greenwood had left. It was amazing what profound effect one small elfling could have. Glorfindel grinned, remembering the tow-headed prince’s antics. He was going to lead his parents on a merrier chase than Elrond’s three had led theirs, Glorfindel was certain. He looked up as he heard soft footfalls approaching. Elrond entered a moment later, a look of strained control darkening his visage. His children stopped their clowning immediately. Elladan, always the ringleader, spoke first.

                                                 “Ada, what is wrong?” Elrond met his eldest’s eyes steadily and took a breath to compose himself before answering.

                                                 “We received a message from Greenwood a short while ago. They were attacked by orcs not long after they entered the forest. King Thranduil and Legolas were uninjured, but Queen Valilis was killed.” Elrond knew of no way to soften the contents of the message. Elladan and Elrohir’s expressions turned stony, their hatred of orcs only intensified by the knowledge that yet another that they cared for had fallen to the foul beings. Arwen pressed her hand to her mouth stifling a sob, and flew into her father’s arms. He enfolded her, drawing as much comfort from her as he gave. His heart was still in pieces from his wife’s departure, even though he remained strong for his children as he had for Celebrian before her departure and this re-opened wounds that would only fully heal when he joined his wife in Valinor. He felt Glorfindel’s hand clasp his shoulder and he smiled grimly at his longtime friend in gratitude for the support he offered. “I will be leaving for Greenwood before noon to render what aid I can to King Thranduil.”

                                                   “Ada, please let me accompany you,” Arwen pleaded. “I want to help.” Elrond initially thought to deny her, but thought better of it as he remembered the way Legolas had taken to Arwen.

                                                  “Very well, tithen elen [little star] you may come along. Go and pack, Lightly, mind, we will be traveling swiftly. Elladan, Elrohir, I expect you to assist Glorfindel in the daily tasks here.” His sons nodded their assent and Arwen went to her room to pack.

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                                                Celeborn descended from the talan belonging to Queen Valilis’ parents, Belegdur and Teluial wearily. He dreaded most those times that he was required to inform families of the death of one of their loved ones, but as the Lord of this realm he felt that it was his responsibility to do so. He could ease his lady’s burden by taking care of the day to day management of Lorien and the discharging of such unpleasant duties as this and he felt that it was a small scarifice for him to pay in the face of what Galadriel dealt with on a daily basis. Still, this day had been far more difficult than most. The death of any elf was a great sorrow, but this death was more grievous than most. Valilis had been much loved, by her parents and sister, by her many friends in Lorien and Greenwood, and most by the husband she left behind. Ai, and her son! Elven children needed both parents to thrive, which was why elves chose to bear children only in those times that they could be almost certain that both would be able to see the child through to adulthood. The prince was very young, just beginning to walk and talk.

                                               Belegdur had decided immediately to journey to Greenwood and Celeborn thought it best to accompany him. He made his way to his lady’s garden to seek her thoughts on the subject. Galadriel looked up at his approach, gracing him with a brief and sympathetic smile. She knew well all he did and loved him all the more for it. Celeborn was not called ‘The Wise’ for naught and his wife had more cause than most to appreciate that fact. He crossed the distance between them and gracefully took a seat next to her on the bench. A sigh escaped his lips as she brushed her fingers lightly over his hair.

                                                “You will journey to Greenwood.” It was not a question, and he had not expected one. She had known what he would do before he had.  Her hand drifted down his arm to clasp his hand. Celeborn had the hands of an archer, slender but powerful and nimble and she had always been fascinated by them, even now after the long millenia they had shared as husband and wife. She returned her attention to his face, noting the weariness in his eyes as he answered her.

                                                 “Yes. Belegdur feels it necessary to go as does Teluial, for Thranduil and Legolas’ sake if nothing else. Nimendis will remain here. She feels that her resemblance to Valilis would only cause more pain. I am inclined to agree with her, the bond between Thranduil and Valilis was unusually strong. I cannot imagine his pain at this moment.” Celeborn paused his hand tightening on Galadriel’s for a moment. He turned to look her in the eye before continuing, “Hiril ril [bright lady, one of Celeborn’s terms of affection for Galadriel], I fear for the little one. How will Thranduil manage to nourish his fea [soul] alone?” Galadriel smiled serenely.

                                                “Do not underestimate the son of Oropher. He will find a way. Celeborn, this little elf is very important in ways even I have not yet forseen. The Valar will protect him.” Her assurance eased his fears and he smiled at her.

                                                “We will depart before noon. I wish to make as much haste as possible.” He raised her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles lightly and rose to pack what he needed for the journey. Her grip on his hand stopped him and he noted a glimmer of knowledge in her eyes.

                                                “Mithrandir has arrived in Caras Galadon. Perhaps he may be able to offer assistance.” Galadriel smiled serenely again and released her husband’s hand. Celeborn returned her smile in kind and stooped to drop a kiss on her cheek before departing to speak with the Istari.

Disclaimer: I don’t own them; I’m just torturing, abusing, and generally turning them inside out.

A/N: I had said that I would not be writing anything more on this fic until after I had finished ‘Sun and Shadow’, but immediately after an IM’ed conversation with another writer, the plot bunny bit again with a vengeance and would not be denied. So, Ebathory, this chapter is dedicated to you since you helped spawn it. Hope you like it!

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                                                  Thranduil was dreaming. He knew this, but the dream was much more pleasant than reality had been for the last few days so he lost himself in it.  Valilis lay on their bed, her brow furrowed in concentration as she fought through yet another contraction. Her hands gripped his, squeezing much harder than he would have thought her capable. The pain eased, and she relaxed and closed her eyes in relief. Thranduil ran a cool, wet cloth across her face and she smiled gratefully at him. He had heard stories from other elves of wives cursing their husbands while in the throes of childbirth, but Valilis had not once done so in all the long hours of her travail. Elrond had assured them both that they had not much longer to wait until she would be able to begin to push their child from her womb, but for Thranduil seeing his beloved in pain the most difficult experience he had yet endured.

                                                  Thranduil looked up to see Elrond enter the room laden with towels and a basin of clean water. He set the basin on the floor at the foot of the bed, and laid the towels on the bed so that they would be close at hand.  His healer’s calm demeanor was still tinged with the strain that had marked him in the years that had passed since his wife had sailed to Valinor. Greenwood’s king felt a bit guilty for insisting that Elrond attend the birth, but in truth the lord of Imladris was best healer he knew of and it eased Thranduil’s mind to know that he was present. Seeing Thranduil’s eyes on him, Elrond smiled briefly and then set to his task.

                                                  “Valilis, I need to check your progress. Can you roll onto your back and shift down the bed a bit?” She winced, but complied without comment. A moment later he raised his eyes back to her and smiled. “It seems that this little elf wants to see Naneth and Adar. I can feel the top of the head. Push with the next pain.”  Valilis nodded.

                                                 “Yes, now.” Elrond chuckled in response. He had assured them both that the birth was going well, but it did little to dispel the Adar-to-be’s nervousness.

                                                 “Then push and you shall soon be holding your child.” He looked back down. “Very soon indeed, it seems. Your child has quite a bit of hair.” He grabbed one of the towels and laid it on the bed between himself and Valilis. “One or two more pushes should do it. You are quite good at this, Valilis.”  She gave him a brief grimace and began another push. “Stop a moment, the head is out.”

                                                 “Ai, I cannot! Elrond, I have to!”

                                                 “Go ahead, it is all right. Ah, here are the shoulders.” Her cry rent the air as the child’s shoulders cleared then she groaned with relief as the rest of the baby’s body was delivered. Her head dropped back onto the bed and she lay breathing deeply for a few seconds. Elrond meanwhile cleared the child’s mouth and nose and the baby began to wail.

                                               The wailing increased in volume, penetrating the cushioning fog that surrounded Thranduil. He tried to hold onto the dream, but it slipped from him as reality came crashing back. He shook the last of the fog from his senses, but the wailing continued. He pushed himself to a sitting position and oriented himself, viciously clamping down on his grief. His son was crying. Thranduil grabbed his robe from the chair Luinloth had draped it over and moved to the door that separated Legolas’ room from his parents’.

                                               The nursemaid walked back and forth across the room, the howling child cradled against her chest. It was obvious from the look of anguish on her face that she had done everything in her power to comfort her charge to no avail and Thranduil felt a brief stab of pity for her. He closed the distance between them quickly, and stopped her with a touch to her arm. She started at that and began to stammer an apology. He forestalled her with a brief gesture and took his son from her arms. The elfling calmed immediately at his father’s touch and snuggled into his neck.

                                                 “Caranwen, I know you have done all you could. Go to your bed now, I will see to him.” The elleth bobbed a curtsey and fled. Thranduil simply stood there for several minutes, holding his son and swaying slightly while patting the elfling’s back. Legolas was sniffling, but the tension was gone from his small body and if he was not already asleep, he was not far from it. Thranduil sighed and passed back through the door into his own chamber. Evidently neither of them wished to sleep alone and Thranduil was far too drained to enforce the ‘elfling in his own bed’ rule.  He was also oddly comforted by his son’s presence. Legolas had always tended to gravitate toward his father, a fact that Thranduil now blessed as it might make the adjustment to Valilis’ absence a bit less stressful for both of them.

                                           Thranduil arranged the pillows on his bed to accommodate a more upright position and settled himself. He adjusted Legolas’ limp form on his chest and pulled the covers over both of them. He had fully expected not to rest further that night, but the combintaion of the elfling’s weight and regular breathing and the herbs in the wine he had consumed lulled him back into reverie.

                                             Luinloth peered around the slightly open door once again and a sad smile crossed his face. He turned to Sindadur and motioned the other to join him at the door. The seneschel rose and moved to his side.  An identical sad smile graced his face at the sight of their king and prince.

                                             “I told you the child would anchor him here,” Sindadur stated softly, closing the door. “Dawn is still a few hours away, do you still intend to remain here?”

                                              “It is my place to, but I think that you should seek your bed. You will be the one that has to see to things as I doubt the king will be in any shape to deal with anything more than absolutely necessary. You will need what rest you can get.” Luinloth grimaced at his friend in sympathy. Sindadur merely nodded and bade him good night.

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                                                The wizard stood on the bluff, waiting. He had had an inkling that he would be needed in Lorien and had made haste to the Golden Woods. He was always glad to assist his elven friends, but this time his heart was heavy for the reason behind the need for his assistance. He had met the queen of Greenwood several times and was very fond of her for many reasons, not the least of which was the fact that she had a positive effect on her husband. Thranduil was a good elf and a good king, but he could be maddeningly stubborn at times and he possessed quite a temper when roused. The Istari winced at what he must be going through now. His next thought was for the little prince. Mithrandir had no doubt that Thranduil would do whatever was necessary in order for his son to survive, but he worried at what that might cost the proud Sindar.  He, Celeborn, and Elrond would have to be very canny when providing assistance, as it was likely that Thranduil would refuse any overt offers of aid.

                                              A motion in the sky caught his attention and he smiled briefly, seeing the one he waited for. The great eagle back winged to land easily on the bluff, the strokes of his wings stirring up swirls of leaves and debris. He inclined his massive head politely at the Istari as the wizard approached.

                                            “Gwaihir, my friend I thank you for coming. I would ask your assistance in bringing aid to Greenwood’s king in an hour of dire need.” Mithrandir’s expression hid nothing of his sorrow.

                                            “I am always willing to lend assistance to you. How can I and my kin help?” Gwaihir replied without hesitation. The Istari gave explanation of the situation to the lord of the eagles and Gwaihir not only agreed to take the travelers from Lorien, but offered to meet the group from Imladris and transport them as well. As soon as all was ready, the Lorien group departed. Gwaihir and two of his kin sought out Lord Elrond’s group and conveyed them to the point closest to Thranduil’s home that they could reach by air while their fellows did the same for Lord Celeborn and his companions.

                                            Arwen was still flushed with excitement from her ride on the eagle’s back when she gravely returned her grandfather‘s greeting. Young though she was, she comported herself in a manner that was appropriate to the seriousness of the situation. He embraced her briefly, and then the two groups began the walk to Thranduil’s stronghold.

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                                               Sindadur met the arrivals at the open gates. He was shocked that they had arrived so soon, but was also profoundly grateful. Rooms were swiftly prepared and they all went to change and wash the grime of their journey from their bodies. Celeborn and Elrond were the first to enter the throne room.

                                               Valilis lay on a bier that had been covered in flowers and ferns. Her wound had been covered with a garland of yellow flowers and her hair woven with the same. Her beautiful face was serene. Her hands lay at her waist and she was dressed in a lilac gown. Had her eyes not been closed, it would have been easy to assume that she was merely sleeping. Thranduil stood at the foot of the bier, expressionless, his son in his arms. The elfling was sleeping, nestled into his father’s neck. Thranduil’s eyes darted up momentarily at their approach, but he made no further acknowledgement of their presence. Belegdur and Teluial entered the room next, holding each other tightly for support as they drew near the bier. Teluial began weeping softly as she reached out to stroke her daughter’s cheek. Belegdur made no sound, but tears coursed freely down his face. Thranduil abruptly turned and strode out of the room without a word. Celeborn and Elrond exchanged a concerned look and Elrond exited the room after Thranduil.

                                                 Thranduil had disappeared from sight by the time that Elrond reached the door. He hesitated a moment, considering where the king might go. As he stood there, Arwen arrived. He gave her a brief, reassuring smile and bade her accompany him. Father and daughter made their way towards Thranduil’s private chambers as Elrond had surmised that that location was his most likely destination. Luinloth answered their knock with a relieved smile and directed them to the bright chamber that was Legolas’ room.

                                                  Thranduil had placed the sleeping child in his bed and tucked the light coverlet around him. He stood looking down at his son, one hand lightly stroking the elfling’s hair. He turned his head in their direction at their approach but remained silent. Elrond crossed the room and laid a hand on the king’s shoulder.

                                                  “Mellon-nin, I am truly sorry. Come into the other room with me. Arwen will stay with Legolas.”  Thranduil frowned and appeared to be about to refuse when Arwen spoke up.

                                                  “I promise I will bring him to you the moment he wakes.” She met his gaze solemnly. He nodded and stepped aside to let her move to the elfling’s bedside. She settled herself in a chair by the foot of the bed. Thranduil motioned for Elrond to precede him into his sitting room.

Elrond closed the door quietly behind them and crossed the room to pour two glasses of wine. Thranduil stood before the hearth staring blankly into the flames, his face a stony mask. Elrond closed his eyes briefly, praying for the strength to help his friend through the trials he must endure over the coming days. He moved silently to Thranduil’s side, pressing the wine goblet into the Elvenking’s hand and guiding him to his chair.

“I am sorry to depth of my soul for what has happened. I know that words are of little comfort, mellon-nin. Whatever you need of me you shall have, you know that.” Elrond took the chair opposite Thranduil’s, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, the better to see his companion’s face. Thranduil nodded absently, chewing his lower lip as he had as an elfling when he was distressed. Elrond was mildly shocked to see a reappearance of the habit he had thought gone with the other’s majority. He was about to speak again when Thranduil’s eyes suddenly fixed on him.

“I will not fade, Elrond. You need not worry on that score, at least.” Thranduil fell silent again, staring once more into the flames and chewing his lip.

“I have other worries than that where you are concerned, one of which is when you last ate or slept,” Elrond replied softly.

“This morning and last night. Luinloth hovers over me enough for ten elves and he drugs my wine when he thinks I am not looking,” Thranduil returned with a shade of his usual tartness. “Elrond, I am not an idiot. I know that I must eat and sleep. The world does not stop simply because the light has gone out of it.” His voice cracked on the last, but just as Elrond thought he was going to break, Thranduil exerted his formidable will and reigned in his emotions. His storm-dark eyes bored into the Lord of Imladris for several moments before returning to the flames.

Elrond sat back into his chair, forcibly restraining himself from slumping. Meeting Thranduil’s gaze was not an easy thing, even for the bearer of a ring of power and even when the king of Mirkwood was in the best of moods. Now, with the force of his grief behind it, his will was a palpable thing. Lesser beings would run screaming from that gaze in the future, Elrond was certain.

He shuddered at what little Thranduil had allowed him to see. Grief he knew well, it was a constant companion to him since Celebrian’s departure. Anger at the ones responsible he knew as well, both his own and that of his sons. Guilt, too, was familiar for he still blamed himself for not being able to heal what had been done, as Thranduil felt guilt for not preventing Valilis’ death, no matter that he could not have. The emptiness and despair were what was unfamiliar to him, for even though Celebrian was not by his side, he knew that she awaited him in Valinor once his tasks in Arda were complete.

Thranduil was not so fortunate. He was bereft of Valilis for eternity, unless she should be reborn by the will of Iluvatar. Regardless of anything else, he was now alone with a small son to raise and a kingdom that was being threatened by Shadow to rule. There were no words Elrond could offer in the face of that, and so he merely reached across the distance between himself and Thranduil to grip the other’s arm in silent support. Thranduil looked up, startled, and then laid his hand over Elrond’s, acknowledging the unspoken affirmation of friendship and aid. They both sank back into their chairs and contemplated the fire in silence. It was to this scene that Mithrandir entered sometime later. He said nothing, just laid his hand on Thranduil’s shoulder. Thranduil nodded to him, but made no effort to speak.

The door to the bed chamber opened and Legolas toddled into the room, one hand holding firmly to Arwen’s. She smiled sweetly at her father and his companions.

“Someone wanted his Ada,” she explained as the elfling pulled her impatiently along. Although he had not long been walking, Legolas was surprisingly strong and steady on his feet. He spotted his father seated by the hearth and his face lit up with the brightest of smiles.

“Da! Da, Da, Da!” The elfling fairly bounced to his Adar’s side. Thranduil’s expression softened as he reached down to lift the toddler into his lap.

“Did you miss Ada, little squirrel?” He smiled down into the elfling’s face, only a hint of his sorrow still evident. Legolas grinned, wrinkling his nose and grabbing two handfuls of Thranduil’s hair. He dragged his father’s face down enough to bless him with a sloppy, but sweet kiss. He raised a small hand to rub away the dampness left by the kiss and Thranduil actually chuckled a little. “Yes, that was such a good kiss that it must be rubbed in. Did you have a good nap, ion-nin?”

“Da,” the elfling replied, laying his head on Thranduil’s shoulder and playing with the end of one of his braids. He peeked up through his wispy blond locks at Arwen and grinned at her before grabbing a fistful of his father’s robe and sticking it into his mouth. Thranduil patiently removed his robes from his son’s mouth.

“No biting,” he said firmly, turning Legolas to sit facing away from him in his lap. The elfling protested, until he caught sight of Mithrandir. His eyes widened as he took in the Istari’s appearance. The wizard gave the little one a gentle smile.

“Well, hello there, little prince,” Mithrandir rumbled softly to the elfling. Legolas studied him with wide eyes for a minute before grinning and holding out his arms to be picked up. Thranduil’s eyebrows rose to his hairline.

“Consider that a compliment, Mithrandir. He never takes to strangers this quickly.” He almost smiled. “Be warned, if you do decide to pick him up, that everything ends up in his mouth and he does pull hair.”

“Oh, what is a bit of pulled hair between friends, hmmm, Legolas?” The Istari lifted the elfling into his embrace. Legolas studied him closely, his small hands patting the wizard’s face and beard. A grin like the sun breaking through clouds crossed the little elf’s face and he buried his face in the wizard’s beard, nuzzling into it and giggling when it tickled him. Mithrandir laughed and tickled small ribs deftly. Legolas chortled and grabbed the wizard’s nose, prompting said wizard to make an odd noise and sending the elfling into harder giggles.

“Funny!” Legolas declared, grabbing a fistful of Mithrandir’s hair. He looked down at Thranduil. “Mine,” he stated decisively. Elrond’s mouth twitched suspiciously. Leave it to an elfling to be a light in the darkest of times.

“I think you have joined the auspicious company of Arwen and the twins as one of

Legolas’ preferred playthings,” Elrond commented dryly. “As I recall, he had the same reaction to them.”

“He did,” Thranduil stated softly, “and Valilis teased them unmercifully about it.” He stared at his hands clenched tightly in his lap. Elrond stood quickly, motioning Mithrandir and Arwen out of the room. The wizard nodded, laying a comforting hand on the elleth’s shoulder and guiding her to the door.

“Come, Arwen, let us find this little one something to eat.” He looked down at the elfling, who had picked up on his father’s distress and had begun to whimper and patted his back comfortingly. “There now, little prince, there now. Your Ada is in good hands. Let us find something to fill our bellies, shall we? I would be willing to wager that you like berry pies. Shall we see if the cooks have any?”

Elrond made no move until the door had closed behind his daughter and the Istari. Thranduil likewise remained as a statue until the door had closed, and then was out of his chair like an arrow and pacing the room like a caged animal.

“I do not understand, Peredhel. Why? Why Valilis and why in this way? She never did anything to deserve death, especially such a death as this. I do not understand why!” Thranduil roared the last and threw the chair he had been sitting in across the room into the wall, reducing it to kindling. “Why her? Why now, when she has a child that needs her.” The other chair hit the wall and splintered. He swept the goblets and wine decanter on the table to the floor in a vicious motion, shattering them, and threw the table after the chairs, shattering it as well. Elrond held his ground and his silence through the outburst. As suddenly as it had begun, the storm passed and Thranduil turned haunted eyes to his long time friend. “Eru, Elrond, how can I endure this?” He fell to his knees on the debris covered rug. “How can I do this without her?” Elrond knelt in front of him, his hands gripping Thranduil’s shoulders.

“By taking things one day at a time and not allowing your pride to keep you from asking for help from those who care for you,” he pulled the shaking elf into a brother’s embrace. “Now, you must allow yourself to complete the cycle of grieving. Let it out, mellon-nin. Allow me to lend you strength as you did for me when Celebrian sailed. I know it is not the same, but please let me do this for you.” He flet Thranduil slump against him, hands gripping the front of Elrond’s robes, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. He rocked the grieving king like a child, his own tears flowing freely for the loss of one of the brightest spirits he had ever known.

It seemed like hours later that Thranduil’s sobs died away and he lay limply in Elrond’s embrace. The lord of Imladris gently lifted the slumbering king and carried him into his bed chamber, placing him in his bed, removing his boots, and tucking the covers around him like he would one of his children. Elrond looked down at his friend and sighed. Thranduil had seen so much sorrow in his life, only to have more heaped upon him. He did not pretend to understand the reasons Iluvatar might have for allowing such things to occur. Closing the door quietly on the sleeping king’s room, he sent a silent prayer for strength for all of them in the days to come.

The outer door opened slowly, the king’s assistant Luinloth peering cautiously around the edge of it; his eyes wide in disbelief as he surveyed the damage Thranduil’s grief had wrought. He stepped into the room, the dismayed expression on his angular face deepening as he took in each item that had been destroyed. His eyes met Elrond’s.

“My Lord did this?” Elrond nodded wearily.

“I am afraid so, Luinloth. Peace, he is safe enough for now. He has exhausted himself and will sleep for several hours at least, I think. It should be safe enough to clear this mess away and replace the damaged items.” Elrond gave the shaken elf a reassuring smile. Luinloth gave the lord of Imladris a searching look and nodded.

“I will see to it, Lord Elrond. If I may be so bold, you should rest as well. My Lord will have need of you when he wakes.” Thranduil’s assistant turned and began to gather the shards of the goblets and decanter from the floor. Suddenly he looked up at Elrond again. “Lord Elrond? I thank you for coming here. Your skills are needed far more than you know, and far more than My Lord will likely admit.” Elrond’s mouth quirked slightly.

“Thank you, Luinloth. Send for me immediately if I can be of further assistance, to you or to Thranduil.”

“I will, my lord.” Luinloth turned back to his task as Elrond exited the room.

Elrond walked wearily towards the throne room. He wished to speak with Celeborn briefly and then check on Legolas before he sought rest. Celeborn was the only one keeping vigil when he reached the throne room. He paused a moment by the bier, staring down at the still body of the queen. Ai, Valilis, you have left such an emptiness behind, he thought despondently. Celeborn moved to his side and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“How is Thranduil faring?” Celeborn had a calm strength about him that he somehow managed to extend to anyone in his presence and Elrond was more grateful than usual for that rare trait. He sighed yet again as he answered Celebrian’s father.

“Devastated, as one might expect. He dismantled his sitting room a little while ago, but is sleeping now.” He turned to meet Celeborn’s eyes. “He has the strength in him to survive this, if he wills it. Legolas will anchor him here. I do not believe that he will fade, at least not while the child needs him.”

“He will not. I know my cousin, and he is far too obstinate to give up. He does not feel it now, but he will soon realize that he still has tasks to accomplish here. He will stay. Belegdur and Teluial are another matter. Their grief is too strong to allow them to remain on these shores. They will sail for Valinor soon, I believe.” He regarded Valilis’ body sorrowfully. “You are much grieved over, little one. Your passing has left such emptiness in its wake.” He sighed and ran a hand through his silver locks. “What of the child?”

“Mithrandir and Arwen took him to the kitchens in search of berry pies, I believe. He seemed to take to Mithrandir.” Elrond smiled faintly at the memory of the little prince’s reaction to the Istari.

“Good. I will seek them there. You, Elrond, will seek you bed. I know full well that you are on the last of your strength. Go, I will see to anything that needs doing. Go to your rest, ion.” Celeborn guided him toward the door. Elrond, knowing better than to argue, acquiesced without comment. Celeborn sighed heavily and started off in the direction of the kitchens.

Disclaimer: Not mine, darn it! No profit is being made.

A/N: I have little experience with funerals, so I beg your indulgence in this chapter. I have seen several fanfic writers’ interpretations of elven funeral rites, but this is my take on what the Silvan elves might do. Once again, it is my opinion alone and is not to be taken as canon.

Lord Celeborn had seen many strange and unlikely things in his long life, but the sight of an infant elf with the remains of a berry pie covering his face playing peek-a-boo with an Istari’s beard ranked among the strangest and unlikeliest. Despite the somber circumstances that had prompted his presence in Mirkwood, Celeborn chuckled aloud. Mithrandir’s eyes met his and in them the lord of Lorien could see deep sorrow as well as amusement at the little one’s antics. Arwen crossed the distance between them to hug him and he returned the embrace, dropping a kiss on his granddaughter’s brow. His chuckle caused the elfling to stop his game and stare at the newcomer.

“Hello, Legolas. It is good to meet you at last,” the tall, silver-haired lord said to his young cousin. The elfling ducked back under the wizard’s beard, hiding shyly. “Odd, I am certain that I saw an elfling here a moment ago. Where could he have gone?” Celeborn said, prompting a giggle from under the wizard’s beard. “Granddaughter, did my eyes deceive me?” Another giggle came from under the beard. “Well, then I suppose I shall have to go look in the stables, since it is obvious that there is no elfling here.” Another giggle and the beard was flung aside.

“Yegyas here!” the elfling cried, beaming at the elf lord playing his game with him.

“Well, so you are, little cousin,” the lord of the Golden Wood agreed, reaching out to tickle a small tummy. The elfling chortled, wriggling to escape the tickling fingers. Celeborn leaned forward until his nose was nearly touching the little one’s nose. “You have a very dirty face. Did the pie taste good?”

“Good,” Legolas agreed, grinning. “Some? Me some?” He held out his sticky hand towards the table, clearly reaching for the remainder of the pie.

“I believe you have already had some pie, Legolas, but I doubt it would hurt for you to have just a little bit more.” Celeborn sliced a generous piece of the pie, deftly sliding it onto a clean plate. “Shall we share?” The elfling leaned forward, opening his mouth like a baby bird. “I will take that to mean ‘yes’,” the lord of the Golden Wood said with a chuckle.

~

Celeborn stretched his long legs out, slumping in his chair in a most undignified manner. It had been a horrid, wrenching day and he was glad to see the end of it, even though tomorrow would be worse. He contemplated the empty wine goblet in his hand, debating with himself as to whether or not it would be worth the effort to walk across the room to refill it. He decided that it was not, and set the goblet on the small table next to his chair.

After he had finished sharing berry pie with his young cousin, he, Arwen, and Mithrandir had taken the elfling into the gardens so that he could burn off his excess energy. There they had remained until dark fell and the elfling climbed up into Arwen’s lap, yawning and rubbing his eyes. She carried the little prince off to his bedchamber, and checked in on her father before rejoining her grandfather and the Istari in Celeborn’s chamber.

It was much later that both the wizard and the elleth sought their own chambers, and Celeborn reflected that they were no closer to divining a solution to assisting Thranduil without wounding his stubborn pride. The elf lord rubbed his eyes wearily. Perhaps Elrond would be able to work his way through this thorny puzzle with his usual finesse. Certainly Thranduil seemed to pay more heed to the lord of Imladris than he did most others, even if he took pains to hide that fact.

Sighing deeply, the sliver-haired lord rose from his seat and moved toward his bedchamber, shedding his robes as he went. He dropped them carelessly on the floor, something he would never have done in his own home. My lady would take strips out of my hide, he reflected with a tired but wry grin, I will pick them up when I awaken. Morning will come too soon as it is.

He turned on his side, as he would have were he in his own chambers with his lady, missing her warmth beside him. He would have given much for her presence, her calm and insight. They would be returning Valilis to the forest in the morning. He had no doubt that Thranduil would bear the ceremony as befit his position, but the aftermath worried him. His cousin had a reputation for being cold and emotionless save for anger, but Celeborn knew better. He had watched Thranduil from infancy, and he knew what the younger elf’s public façade hid. Once again he thanked Iluvatar for blessing his cousin with fatherhood. That along with his responsibility to his kingdom would hold him to life and to this side of the sea.

He rolled onto his back again, unable to get comfortable on his side without his wife tucked in his embrace. He sent another prayer of thanks that his daughter had survived her ordeal to sail to Valinor and that his wife was whole and with him still before he sought his dreams.

~

The halls of the stronghold were silent as its inhabitants filed out behind their king, who followed the bier his wife’s body lay on. Thranduil was once again composed, but the strain of the last few days was apparent to those who knew him well in the pallor of his skin and the set of his eyes and mouth. He carried his son in his arms. The elfling, aware of his father’s grief, was unusually subdued and quiet. Elrond and Celeborn flanked Thranduil, followed by the queen’s parents, the wizard, and Elrond’s daughter. The rest of the procession followed after, silent until they reached the place their king had chosen for their queen to be returned to the forest.

At the foot of a stately beech, the elves bearing the queen’s bier set it down gently and began singing softly as they wrapped her body in the silk cloth that she lay on. They covered her from foot to neck and then stepped back to allow Thranduil and her parents their farewells. The king motioned for Teluial and Belegdur to approach first and waited while they sang their lament. When they stepped back, Thranduil placed Legolas into Arwen’s arms and stepped forward to sing his farewell, allowing his tears to stream down his face as he sang.

When his song ended, he opened the silk wrappings just enough to allow him to place a braid of his hair and a blanket that belonged to his son inside. He drew the silk up to cover the queen’s face and stepped back. The six bearers moved forward again, lifted the queen’s body from the bier, and reverently placed her into her grave, melting into the crowd of mourners as soon as they done so. The seneschal came forward then.

“Valilis, our beloved queen, wife of our king, mother of our prince, daughter of Belegdur and Teluial resides now in Mandos’ halls. May she find peace and rest there until she is released. We return this container that held her bright spirit to the forest, so that the trees may be as nourished by her hroa as we have been by her fea. Let us sing now of our queen and hold her in our hearts forevermore.”

As one, the woodland elves began to sing filing past the grave as they did, each placing a stone upon it to build the cairn. Thranduil placed the last stone and a group of elves came forward bearing containers of earth, with which they covered the stones. Seeds of the red and yellow flowers that grew by the river came next, for it was the tradition of the Silvan elves to cover the resting places of the ones they lost to battle or accident with beautiful blooms, the better to honor the beauty of the spirits of their departed ones.

One by one, the mourners drifted away, back to their homes until only the king and his son, the queen’s parents and their lord, Imladris’ lord and his daughter, the wizard, and Thranduil’s assistant remained. Celeborn placed one arm around Teluial and the other around Belegdur and guided them back into the stronghold. Arwen took Legolas back from his father and followed her grandfather. Mithrandir bowed his head, speaking a few words too softly for anyone else to hear before he, too returned to the stronghold. Elrond and Luinloth exchanged a look behind Thranduil’s back before they both wrapped an arm around the grieving king and drew him back toward his halls.

A/N: I’m sorry it’s so short, but I can only do so much depressing writing at one time. Heather, you requested this so I dedicate this chapter to you. Thank you so much for the monitor that made this possible!

To all currently following this story:

Thank you so very much for hanging with me for all these years! I appreciate each and every one of you, truly.

As some of you who have asked may know, I am currently completely re-writing this story. I could not have finished it in its present form, as I am no longer the same person I was when I began it. Hence, the re-write. This has always been a story I wanted to tell, but as I have grown, so has it. While not even close to as traumatic as losing a spouse to death, having my own marriage end has changed my perspective on this. The new version of the story will bear very little resemblance to the version preceding this announcement. Therefore, I am posting this to give ample warning to anyone who loves this story in its present version to save a copy while you can because I will be removing it prior to posting the new version. At this time, I don't know exactly when the new one will be ready to post, but I wanted to go ahead so that anyone who wants to has time to grab a copy of this version.

Thank you all again,

sheraiah