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.