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Chapter Text

Eru Ilúvatar creates the Ainur (The Holy Ones) who are the offspring of His thoughts.

Ainulindalë - Music of the Ainur/Creation Story

Ainur descend into the world and become known as the Valar and the Maiar (servants of the Valar; subordinate yet powerful)

• Lords of the Valar
• Manwë Súlimo the King of the Winds, and the King of the Valar, and husband of Varda.
• Melkor (Morgoth Bauglir) the First Dark Lord, was the strongest Vala before he was banished from the group.
• Ulmo the Sea King, and the Lord of Water.
• Aulë the Smith, and the Lord of Earth and all that's underneath, and the husband of Yavanna.
• Oromë Aldaron the Huntsman, the Lord of Forests, and the Great Rider, and the husband of Vána.
• Námo (Mandos) the Doomsman, and the Judge of the Dead, and husband of Vairë.
• Irmo (Lórien) the Lord and Master of Dreams, Visions, and Desires, and Creator of the Oloré Mallé, or Path of Dreams, and the husband of Estë.
• Tulkas Astaldo the Wrestler, the Champion of Valinor, and last of the Valar to come to Arda, and the husband of Nessa.
• Ladies of the Valar
• Varda Elentári the Star Queen, and the Queen of the Valar, and the wife of Manwë.
• Yavanna Kementári the Fruit-Giver, and the Lady of Earth, and the wife of Aulë.
• Nienna the Weeper, and the Lady of Mercy.
• Estë the Gentle, Lady of Healing and Rest, and the wife of Irmo.
• Vairë the Weaver, and the wife of Mandos.
• Vána the Ever-young, and the wife of Oromë.
• Nessa the Dancer, and the wife of Tulkas.

Years of the Lamps

• First of the three great time periods of Arda
• Melkor passes over the Walls of Night surrounding Arda and enters Arda
• Melkor destroys the two lamps created by the Valar to bring light to the world 

Years of the Trees

• Second of the three great time periods of Arda
• Yavanna makes the two trees in the land of Aman where the Valar now live
• The elves awake in Cuiviénen in Middle-Earth (Eru Ilúvatar creates them)
• Oromë learns of this awakening after Melkor
• Elves are invited to Aman; the three clans that arrived at Aman are the Vanyar, Ñoldor, and the Teleri.
• Melkor is captured and chained in Aman in the Halls of Mandos (three ages/three thousand years)
• Galadriel is born
• Melkor leaves Mandos and eventually meets Ungoliant
• The Silmarils are made and Varda hallows them
• Ungoliant destroys the Two Trees of Valinor
• Melkor steals the Silmarils and flees to Middle-Earth
• Creation of Moon and Sun
• Some Ñoldor cross the sea into Middle-Earth in search of Melkor and the Silmarils
• At some point, Melkor is given the name Morgoth by one of the Ñoldor 

Years of the Sun

• Last of the three great time periods of Arda
• First Age begins following the departure of the Ñoldor from the Undying Lands into Middle-Earth 
• Efforts against Morgoth…
• Thuringwethil and Draugluin are killed
• Valar come down to Middle-Earth and the War of Wrath begins
• Morgoth is cast into the Void
• Some elves are summoned and return to Aman; others like Galadriel stay; some Ñoldor remain in Lindon; many Sindar depart east and establish realms, under Oropher
• Second Age begins following the casting of Morgoth into the Void
• Sauron arises again in Middle-Earth
• Sauron begins building Barad-dûr 500 years later
• Sauron deceives the Ñoldor in Eregion, but Gil-galad mistrusts him
• Celeborn and Galadriel, together with their daughter Celebrían, emigrate from Eregion to Lórien
• The Ñoldor under Celebrimbor are instructed by Sauron, beginning of the forging of the Rings of Power
• Forging of the One Ring
• Barad-dûr completed
• Celebrimbor begins fighting Sauron
• War of the Elves and Sauron begins
• The Three Rings are hidden
• Elrond sent to Eregion as lieutenant of Gil-galad
• Eregion destroyed
• Elrond establishes the refuge of Rivendell
• Númenor begins establishing permanent settlements in Middle-earth
• It was the kingdom of the Númenóreans, the Dúnedain
• The Ringwraiths/Nazgûl first appear
• Sauron establishes himself as High Priest of Melkor, "Lord of the Dark"
• War of the Last Alliance begins
• The Last Alliance of Elves and Men is formed
• Sauron's forces are defeated in the Battle of Dagorlad
• Siege of Barad-dûr begins
• Oropher is slain; Thranduil becomes King
• Isildur slays Sauron by taking the shards of his father's sword Narsil and cutting the One Ring from Sauron's finger, destroying Sauron's physical form and winning the war.
• In the aftermath of the War, many Elves of Gil-galad's following depart to Aman: end of the Ñoldorin realms in Middle-earth.
• Third Age begins with the defeat of Sauron
• Isildur loses the One Ring in the Anduin, the Great River of Wilderland
• Legolas is born
• Sauron takes up his abode at Dol Guldur
• Greenwood is renamed Mirkwood
• The Nazgûl begin to reappear. Orcs begin to infest the Misty Mountains
• The Shire is first settled by Hobbits
• The Witch-king of Angmar returns to Mordor
• Erebor is founded
• The approximate birth year of Sméagol
• Sauron returns to Middle-earth and establishes himself in Dol Guldur in southern Mirkwood
• Sméagol (later known as Gollum) becomes the fourth master of the One Ring, after killing his cousin Déagol
• Celebrían is waylaid by orcs, receives a poisoned wound, and consequently departs Middle-earth
• Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thráin II, is born
• Erebor is taken over by Smaug
• Bilbo Baggins is born
• Bilbo Baggins obtains the One Ring
• The White Council drives Sauron out of Dol Guldur
• Esgaroth is attacked by the dragon Smaug, who is consequentially killed by Bard the Bowman
• The Battle of Five Armies
• Death of Thorin II Oakenshield
• Bilbo returns to the Shire with the Ring.
• Sauron returns in secret to Mordor
• Sauron declares his presence in Mordor openly
• Estel, later known as Aragorn, comes of age and is told about his heritage
• Saruman takes Isengard for himself
• Frodo Baggins is born
• Arwen pledges her hand in marriage to Aragorn
• Sam Gamgee born
• Frodo Baggins comes under the guardianship of Bilbo Baggins
• Aragorn captures Gollum at Gandalf's request, and brings him as a captive to King Thranduil's halls in Mirkwood
• The Ringwraiths are given the task of retrieving the One Ring 
• Thranduil is attacked and Gollum escapes
• The Council of Elrond is held at Rivendell and The Fellowship of the Ring sets out in the evening
• The Fellowship parts after Gandalf falls into Khazad-dûm while fighting a Balrog
• The Breaking of the Fellowship of the Ring
• Battles of the Hornburg/Helm’s Deep, Pelennor Fields/Minas Tirith and Gondor, Bywater/Shire, Dale/Dwarves of Erebor and Iron Hills, Mirkwood, and Black Gate
• The Nazgûl and the One Ring destroyed. End of Sauron
• Mirkwood is renamed Eryn Lasgalen
• Aragorn takes the Sceptre of the Reunited Kingdom.
• Faramir marries Éowyn
• Samwise Gamgee marries Rosie Cotton and together they move into Bag End
• Elrond, Galadriel, Gandalf, Frodo and Bilbo depart from the Grey Havens
• The Fourth Age begins with the destruction of the One Ring and Sauron
• This story.

Chapter Text

Had the unbearable screech not brought him from his deep thoughts, the faint shaking of the ground would have certainly received his attention. He turned away from the council and looked beyond the forest of trees. He needed not a messenger to be certain of what had occurred and for the first time in eons, he felt a vague sense of peace wash over him. But it was gone as soon as it made itself known, for he heard her voice echo in his mind’s eye. 

Bericín arda renyë anoncín.

Within the blink of an eye, Thranduil was striding towards his room, the halls of the kingdom carrying the howling of his orders behind him. “Manwaindë. Munta turberth minnú nín dâf.” As he changed into his armor, he heard the cries of orcs barreling through the edges of his kingdom. He was certain the Children of Ungoliant would not be far behind, for they have terrorized his people and longed to enter his realm since darkness took over this once beautiful forest.

“Mí eneth Valion,” Thranduil muttered with anger, his eyes never leaving his gardens which he feared would soon be overrun by those gastly eight-legged creatures. Hastening with his armor, the King rushed through the soldiers to reach his gate before the unfortunately familiar war cries of the orcs echoed through the kingdom. 

“Archers in your position. If anything unfamiliar so much as breathes in this direction, kill it.” Thranduil gave the orders, the sound of his warriors readying themselves no longer bringing him pride. There was no silence before the storm, no calming winds before the scorching fires. There was only death knocking at his door.

But he was not one to wait for them to knock him down. No, he would welcome their intrusion with ruthless anger. As soon as the gates were opened, Thranduil led his army past the bridge, watching as the spiders dared to reach this close to his kingdom. He smirked for a moment before he swiftly killed the dark creatures, not sparing even the youngest of them. He heard the cracking of trees coming from the west, driving his sword through the body of a spider before turning and watching as the orcs plundered everything in their way with the trolls. 

“Darthalda talaf,” the Woodland king prepared his men and women, growling irritably before leaving the spiders to his soldiers. He ran towards his most hated enemy, never showing them his emotions as he expertly made his way through their ranks. Within an hour, the uruk-hai were dead and the king watched as the black uruks attempted to escape with the remaining trolls. Thranduil knew he would never get a chance like this again, telling his archers to aim for the disgusting animals as he continued to cut through the army of evil. 

It was not until hours later, perhaps even days, that Thranduil had gotten rid of unwelcomed guests bordering his kingdom. He had expected to lose many of his kin and he knew it was not luck or exceptional battle formation that prevented more deaths. No, this was different. The source of their power was destroyed and they were weakest now. 

He walked through the forest he had not visited in centuries, conversing with some of his guards as they continued to strike the dead bodies to make sure they were, in fact, dead. Before he could attempt to return to his realm, Thranduil heard her voice again, but unlike before, he welcomed it.

Glenna Lothlórien.

“Arrelian,” Thranduil wiped the dried blood on his skin and waited, looking up to the elf hastily approaching him.

“Yes my king.”

“Give the order. The kingdom remains in danger but we must head to Lothlórien. Have your men stationed at all corners and I will lead the rest south. No one comes through the roads or rivers without your knowledge.” 

“Yes sire.” Arrelian bowed his head before sounding the horn, telling his men to return to the Woodland realm while the rest followed Thranduil. By the time they reached the southern kingdom, a great fire had scorched the dark trees and even though they were no longer his trees, Thranduil could not help but feel a deep sadness towards his once beloved beings. His weariness manifested itself through his raging attacks and he showed the powers of darkness no mercy as he smoothly pierced their ranks like a sword going through silk. It would have been a lot easier had the Lord and Lady of Galadhrim were with him but he knew Dol Guldur needed to be dealt with soon and no one was more fit for the task than them. 

It was a week later when Thranduil finally sheathed his sword away and marched back to his home with his kin. He knew he should maintain some form of distance from his soldiers to meditate on what was to come next but he did not want to be alone. He chuckled at something one of his guards whispered, raising a curious eyebrow and laughing even harder when the elves were puzzled by the public display of positive emotion from their leader before attempting to silence themselves. Before he could respond to them, the familiar voice spoke in his ears yet again, allowing him to pause in his steps before turning his head to the south.

“Lady Galadriel,” Thranduil nodded at her before looking towards her husband and bowing his head as well.

“Lord Celeborn, I trust Dol Guldur is no more.” It was more of a comment than a question but both of them mirrored his actions and bowed to him as well.

“The time has come for these lands to shine in Starlight again.” Galadriel spoke quietly and watched as Thranduil sighed in relief at her words. 

“King Thranduil, you have rid these lands of evil for centuries, as have we. With the forest cleansed and Sauron's forces destroyed, the Woodland Realm will remain as such. Mirkwood is no more but the lands will be divided. We will remain in ours, East Lórien.” Celeborn smiled at his wife before turning his attention to Thranduil once more.

“And mine will be Eryn Lasgalen.” For the first time since his coronation, Thranduil bowed to the Lord and Lady, smiling at the unspoken words of peace that shall forever remain in this forest. 

As he headed towards his men, Lady Galadriel stepped forward and stopped him.

“Ed i lith cuil naonnen.” She whispered to him before doing something that was unexpected of their kind. Thranduil watched as he felt her hands move to his heart, tapping twice on his chest before letting go and stepping away from his shocked being. “Your son is heading towards the Shire, perhaps it is time you venture beyond these trees.” 

Thranduil turned his attention to Celeborn and was not surprised by the Sindar’s lack of interest, his eyes narrowing briefly before agreeing to the Lady’s wishes. 

“Eruhantalë.” The quiet king left with his kin soon after, letting some of his guards know that he will be heading to the Shire to help the powerless habitants of the villages. Not a day later, Thranduil was leading his army, yet again, to fight a battle that is not his. But something about Lady Galadriel’s words struck his heart and he knew she was not speaking of the forest being reborn. 

He was not sure what he would say to Legolas once he saw him, but he did know he no longer wished to hide his words or emotions from his son. He had a few days to think of something. 

All of these minimal worries were forgotten when Thranduil beheld Rhuduar. He could not recognize the lands before the war but they were certainly greener and not as bloody as now. He sighed heavily before giving the orders once more. This was the third week of a deadly battle and he would later recognize those days of being in the midst of war as a string of actions depending on muscle memory and nothing else. By the time he made it to the Shire, the orcs had done more damage than he previously thought. He was never one to care for other lands, let alone those not of his kin. But upon looking at the emptiness and sadness of the rather beautiful countryside of the hobbits, his heart hurt and he fought with every part of his being to rid the hills of Sauron’s minions.

The howling of a warg brought him back from his destructive haze and he watched in horror as the orc smiled while his pet ripped his kin to pieces. He drove his swords through anything and anyone that dared to approach him, hoping to be the one to bring death to the vile wolf and its master. But before he could move towards the warg, another ran through the battle ground, jumping on the heads of some uruk-hai before expertly swinging their sword and slicing the head of the orc. The wolf was not given a chance to react to the death of his master, the howling turning into a horrifying wail before it ceased to emit any more noise. 

Thranduil watched as the unfamiliar warrior stepped away from the wolf before continuing to kill the unfortunate souls that were in his way. But as soon as his thoughts strayed away from the matters at hand, they were violently returned back to him when he saw the long, silver hair of the one he longed for.

“Legolas,” Thranduil whispered under his breath and he watched as his son turned and faced him, his eyes as surprised as his own. He cared not for anything in the world as he made his way through the bodies until he was standing back to back with Legolas.

“Adar.” The deep voice snatched him back to reality and Thranduil smiled at his son before they continued to defend the Shire. Neither of them said anything else, their actions speaking loud enough. He was not sure when Gandalf arrived along with the Eagles of Manwë but he was most thankful for their aid. 

As the small hills were rid of Sauron’s servants, Thranduil cared not for where he was, dropping Aldanil to the ground and telling his men to find somewhere to rest. A few attempted to approach him to ask if he needed anything, but when he did not bother to respond, they left him to his devices and decided to find somewhere to pitch their tents. 

From the corner of his eyes, he heard someone approaching him and hoped to not be disturbed. But when they picked up Aldanil, Thranduil immediately stood to take back his sword. 

“You dare to-” The words died in his throat when he saw who it was. Legolas remained passive, bowing his head before bringing the sword forward to his father. In that moment, Thranduil cared not for any inanimate object, pushing it away before pulling his son in his arms. Both elves were surprised by the show of affection, for they both knew this was the first form of physical interaction Thranduil had in thousands of years. 

“Adar, what brought you here? What of our home?” Legolas inquired, hoping to not sound as defensive as he used to be.

“Lady Galadriel asked me to join you here. As for Mirkwood, it is no more.” Thranduil watched as his son’s face fell, and he could not help but smile at his choice in words. Home indeed. 

“It is Eryn Lasgalen now, my son.” Legolas perked up at the response and mirrored his father’s smile before asking him to walk along with him. 

“I will not ask you to come with me, but I will not deny you from knowing how much joy it would bring me should you return with me.”

“There are many things I must do Adar,” Legolas turned to face his father, watching many emotions swim in his eyes. “But I will return to the Wood of Greenleaves soon.” Thranduil’s heart betrayed him and for the second time that day, he pulled his son towards him before immediately letting him go as he saw his guards approaching.

“King Thranduil, Prince Legolas, Gandalf the White requests your presence in your tent.”

“My tent?” Thranduil inquired as he walked behind the guards.

“We took liberty to set up camp my King. We were not sure when we would return but the Wizard kindly gave us a place to stay until your orders.”

“Very well.” Thranduil looked at Legolas and rolled his eyes, knowing very well the next conversation would be nothing short of entertaining. As they walked through the hills, Thranduil watched as his son said his hellows to some hobbits he appeared to be familiar with. He said nothing of the friendly behavior, opting to remain quiet until Legolas decided to speak with him again. Their relationship survived this far but it still needed mending.

Thranduil was busy cleaning his sword of dried orc blood when he entered his tent. He heard the Wizard bid him a good day and he looked up to reply to him when he saw the soldier from earlier again. He completely forgot of the occurrence and remembered it as they were walking, hoping he would see him again.

Except it was clearly not a ‘him’ but a ‘her.’ And by the Valar she was the most beautiful being his eyes had ever had the pleasure to gaze upon.

“King Thranduil, we cannot thank you enough for your aid.” Gandalf continued to speak even though he knew the elven king could not bother with him for a second. It was not until Legolas stepped forward that Thranduil finally returned to his senses, immediately looking away from the- well, he could not determine if she was of his kin or not.

“You are most welcome Gandalf.” Thranduil could not trust his own tongue, afraid it would betray him as his eyes had not a moment ago.

“It would be our honor if you stay with us for the celebrations,” a young hobbit walked around the Wizard and handed Thranduil a flower. The elven king leaned down begrudgingly, or as he meant the others to think, and took the flower from the little hobbit, nodding at her before returning to his rigid posture again.

“Since you will grace us with your stay, I would like to introduce you to an old friend of mine. She has been my companion for quite some time now.” Gandalf looked towards the woman, silently asking her to move from the corner and introduce herself to those in the room.

“Aranya, it was an honor to fight alongside you on this day. Eruhantalë an menta lye véna. Náessënya Eithoriel Írui,” her melodious speech shot through his heart like an arrow and it was a few moments before he realized he had never heard that name before. Thranduil barely managed to contain his expression, a part of him angry because of the power this creature had on him with just a few words. 

Thranduil held her focus for a brief moment before he nodded and turned away from her. He knew there was no reason for the unfriendly behavior oozing off of him but he could not betray himself any longer. Nodding at the company in the tent, Thranduil looked at Eithoriel one last time before deciding he needed to rest.

“If you do not mind, I need to rest.” He was never one to wait for a response but it seemed that it was the week of many firsts for him because the elven king refused to ask any of them to leave, and waited until all those in the tent bid him a farewell.

“Namárië Aran Thranduil,” Thranduil hesitated when he heard her as she was exiting his tent, only responding with a slight nod before asking his guards to not disturb him until he left the following morning.

As soon as he was by himself, Thranduil pulled back the drapes of the tent and rid himself of the filthy armor. He was in need of a bath but he could not trust the waters of this land. He was tired but he knew he could not get any sleep if there were traces of war on his skin. Taking one of the small cloths, Thranduil soaked it in water and tiredly wiped away the dirt and blood, slightly hissing when he passed over some open gashes on his arm. So busy avoiding the wounds riddling his silky white skin, Thranduil had not noticed the source of his irritability until his eyes descended down his slender contours and took in his form. 

His irritation only increased and he threw away the cloth, muttering furiously as he quickly dried himself before crawling beneath his covers. No sooner than he laid down his head did sleep welcome him with open arms. And for the first time since he became king, Thranduil allowed himself to be washed away by sweet visions, dreams he would not have the heart to utter to another until he sailed away into the Undying Lands.

Chapter Text

Disgust and shame dripped down Thranduil’s heaving chest as he pushed the covers to the floor and left his resting place. His eyes widened in shock as he saw visions of his dreams pass through his mind’s eye. This was nothing short of strange and he looked around frantically to try and make sense of what he has experienced and seen ever since he saw her. But nothing in the humble tent offered any explanation on what he was feeling. Walking towards the small urn at the corner of the tent, Thranduil took hold of a washcloth and wiped his chest with it, wincing in pain when he passed over an open gash that leaked blood throughout the night. 

Before he could dwell on the severity of the wounds, he heard a distant horn sounding not too far from the Shire and instantly recognized whose it was. Like the previous weeks, the anger of war took over his mind and muscles, and he moved swiftly through his tent to put on his armor. He barely managed to properly wear it, not caring for anything or anyone as he exited the tent and looked across the darkened fields for a horse. He saw several of his soldiers running towards him and as he prepared to ask them whether the orcs have reached the boundaries of the land, his eyes looked upon Eithoriel as she rode through the hillside and made her way into the forest without company. 

He ignores his subjects as he mounts a horse one of his soldiers just brought and turns it towards the bloodstained hills, bellowing out orders towards whoever was left of his company as Legolas caught up to him and rode into the first. 

“They have not come from the East,” Thranduil whispers in anger as he races into the trees, frowning and pushing his horse to gallop quicker when he hears the horn sounding once more. 

She has reached them.

“They came from the North...from Gundabad.” Thranduil should not be surprised by such news but the idea that such a place was still inhabited to this day made him feel uncomfortable, perhaps even irritated. 

“I see you still prefer the company of hasty minds,” he tells his son just as they begin to descend the hills, and looks over to ensure that he was not misunderstood. When he sees Legolas smiling, he sighs in relief and raises an eyebrow at his son’s response. 

“I prefer to call it brave.” 

The conversation is cut short when an arrow comes flying towards Thranduil’s head. He dodges it seconds before it pierces his neck and he dismounts from the animal as soon as he sees an army of orcs running towards him. He wastes no time, letting his body take over for him as he begins to slice through the disgusting beings. He’s not sure how long he’s on those hills but when he notices a slender figure making her way towards him, he can’t help but halt in his movements for a moment to commit the scene to memory. 

There she was again, going through the bodies of the servants of evil as if they were made of clouds. He cannot turn away from her and grips his sword harder when he sees how fluid and confident she is, so much so that he doesn’t notice a dying orc crawling towards him and stabbing his leg. Thranduil cries in pain and cuts off the head of the orc before pulling out the dagger and continuing to fight those who’ve surrounded him. 

He curses himself for being so reckless and momentarily smiles when he realizes he was what he teased his son about not long ago. Thranduil looks across the land and narrows his eyes at the dead bodies watering the once green grass. He knows his son and himself have not been here for too long and it occurs to him that Eithoriel was responsible for the violent massacre. 

It was terrifying yet beautiful.

When his elves arrive, Thranduil finds the strength to ignore the pain shooting through his leg and pushes himself to kill whatever gets in his way. He does not wish to lose more of his people and prays to the Valar to protect them.

“You are hurt!” His eyes snap to the side when he hears her speak and grows angry at the implications behind her words. Eithoriel notices the shift in his demeanor because she says nothing else as she stands behind him and swings her sword in unison with him. Thranduil drowns out the sound of dying cries by focusing on the ringing of his company’s swords. 

Like before, he is not sure how long it takes for them to get rid of the orcs. Taking a deep breath, Thranduil vaguely nods in affirmation when one of his soldiers tells him that whoever was left of the orcs was destroyed by the ents and the trees of the forest. He does not ask for his horse, instead walking through the hillside to see who needed aid. 

When he is sure that every one of his elves was placed on a horse, he sheathes his sword and calls for one of his commanders. 

“Thúldil.”

“Yes my king?”

“Help me give them a proper burial.” If the request shocks the young elleth, she says nothing of it and nods before calling others to help them. There aren’t as many dead as the previous battles and Thranduil shuts his eyes in thanksgiving before he begins to pile the bodies next to each other. 

As he does so, he senses another’s presence near him but doesn’t bother to halt what he is doing. 

“Do you require any assistance?” The question is asked with innocence and Thranduil knows that Eithoriel is asking with genuinity but he can no longer hold his anger, not when he’s looked death in the eyes for so long. He turns around and stares into her eyes, his heart skipping a beat when he realizes just how golden they are.

“You will remember to speak with respect.” The response is growled and Thranduil ignores his surroundings when he sees her expression soften at him. She bows her head in silence before she steps backward. 

“Forgive me, I did not mean any offense.” Eithoriel whispers as she excuses herself and moves across the field to help with the burial. He is not sure what to make of her reaction, especially since he has not asked for her aid. When he looks up and sees Gandalf looking at him, he shakes his head softly and turns to the dead bodies once more. 

The White Wizard proves to be of more service than the last time Thranduil has seen him because his people rest across the field by nightfall. On the way back to the Shire, Thranduil speaks briefly with Legolas before he tells him to join the others if he wishes. When Legolas remains at his side in silence, his heart calms and he forgets the pain he is feeling. 

But peace was never his friend and it flutters away as soon as Thranduil switches his attention to Thúldil, more specifically, the way she speaks and laughs freely with Eithoriel and Gandalf. He is not sure what they speak of but the prospect of feeling this relaxed irritates him and he excuses himself from his son as he gallops ahead of the company and races back to the comfort of his tent. 

He ignores the whispers of his people and even the quick glance Eithoriel throws him, not caring to look back once as he shuts his eyes and prays for better rest this night. When he makes it back to the hobbits, he is slightly calmer and even smiles at some of them as they continue to thank him for his efforts. Thranduil nods and asks where he could have a supply of fresh water. When one of the younger hobbits tells him that he will bring him water to the tent, the weary king thanks him before he heads towards his private space and hastily takes off the filthy armor. 

“King Thranduil?” He hears the hobbit call from outside and tells him that he could enter. His eyes widen in surprise when he sees more hobbits coming in with fresh water and setting them across the tent. 

“Thank you Master Tunnelly.” Thranduil bows his head and watches as the hobbits move around him to exit the tent. 

“No, thank you. For helping us keep the Shire.” He says nothing more as he leaves and Thranduil stares at the empty space to try and remember when he’s become so invested in the lives of such small beings. 

He moves to the urns and proceeds to wash his skin off of the grime and blood, wincing when he notices how much worse the wound on his chest and side became. He ignores the irritation of the ripped skin and remembers how little it compared to that of his face, continuing to wash himself until he reached his leg. When Thranduil inspects the wound gifted to him by the dying orc, he remembers how ignorant it was to allow himself to gain such a strike due to a pair of gold orbs.

The king throws the washcloth away and lays back on his sheets, not caring of his state as he shuts his eyes and hopes even for the briefest rest. 

As he falls deep into slumber, Thranduil opens his eyes and finds himself in a beautiful garden filled with silver willows and flowers. As he makes his way past the luminescent florals, he sees a cerulean lake stretching far into the land, the shores of which had sands glistening in grays and white. 

He is not sure where he is and before he can look around to try and find a mark that would give him a hint of this realm, he hears soft footsteps approaching him. 

Thranduil inhales deeply when he turns around and sees the figure standing in front of him. 

“Eithoriel.” He whispers and chooses to remain in his place, afraid of breaking whatever spell that has washed over his dreams again. 

“Aranya,” Eithoriel smiles as she approaches him and he wonders whether she knows how transparent her cloak is. He says nothing as she stands in front of him and bows her head before asking him to sit near the lake with her. 

“ Mana sinomë? ” Thranduil asks when they sit at the foot of the lake, purposely looking anywhere but her almost nude form beside him.

“It is a place where the weary find rest.” Her voice is somehow more enchanting than before and it takes Thranduil a longer moment to realize what she may be implying. 

“Am I dying?” He doesn’t know what drives him to ask such a question but a part of him is relieved when her response washes over him. 

“L á nalyë senda.” 

They sit in silence for a long while before Thranduil hisses at the burning skin of his leg. As he begins to inspect it, Eithoriel places her hand on top of his and shakes her head to prevent him from irritating the wound.

“May I see your wounds, sire?” The king finally turns to look at her and he barely manages to swallow when he finds her eyes much brighter than before. There is a strangeness to her but he feels calm when she pleads with him again and moves to his side. He can only nod as he pushes the large cloak off of his shoulders and reveals the wounds peppering his silk skin. 

Dipping her hands in the water of the lake, Eithoriel moves to his side again and shuts her eyes as she lays her hands on his ripped skin. Thranduil flinches when he feels her skin upon his, and he doesn’t dare look away from her when the heat of her hands turns into an ice cold sensation. She takes a deep breath before her eyes flutter open and she looks to the clear sky.

“Anor valthen, togo laugas lín nestad enin gûr hen. Ceven dhaer, anno vellas lín enin 'raw hen. Suil Annui, erio thûl lín i faer hen.” He has never heard such a healing spell before and it makes him question her abilities for a moment. But then he sees the veins beneath her skin turning into a dark shade of blue just as his skin begins to return to its original form and he realizes that her healing abilities may not be of this world. Eithoriel continues to chant the unfamiliar words until his chest is no longer littered with large gashes. 

“May I look at your leg?” She doesn’t give him a chance to say anything, holding his gaze until he caves in and nods to her yet again. As she pushes away the cloak, Thranduil feels himself reacting to her touch and he shuts his eyes to attempt and conceal from her his desires. He pushes his hands into the soft sand and holds onto whatever control is left in him just as she places her palms on the entrance and exit wounds.

But unlike before, Eithoriel heals the stab wound in silence, occasionally pouring water from the lake over it until his skin is nothing but a slight shade of pink. Thranduil marvels at what she has done within the blink of an eye and before he can ask her how she has managed to heal him this quickly, Eithoriel stands up and walks into the vibrant grey trees surrounding them. 

“Linda lórë Aran Thranduil.”

At her farewell, his eyes shift slowly until they shut and within a moment, he falls into a deep sleep filled with nothing but soft touches and whispered words conveying what he has not been able to find in his heart ever since the passing of his wife. 

And when he awakes from his rest just as the sun rises in the sky, he has to reason with himself to not approach Eithoriel regarding his wounds. The wounds that no longer existed. The wounds that up until mere hours ago showed no signs of healing. The wounds that she has managed to cure in his dreams.