Summary: On the Dawnless Day, who else was affected? (Sorry, my Muse hasn't lost interest in Alcarin, of course, but...well, we'll see what happens to him later, I hope)

I have never seen such darkness, in all the time I have lived. I have seen darkness, and death, and evil; seen them face-to-face and survived, when I was hardly more than a youth by the reckoning of my elders. I have led my people through the fight against the Dark Lord for far longer than I care to remember.

One might suppose that any of these days...these nameless days strung up one after another...might have been my darkest day, my most despairing hour. But now, as Anor fails to penetrate the clouds which have rolled up from the south and east...as she fails to cast her golden rays upon the realm I have worked so hard to hold...steadfast as I and my people are, how can we bear this Shadow, so unlike any other?

 It portends death not just for my folk, but all of Middle-Earth. And my son.

Aran Thranduil Oropherion's thoughts were dark and dismal as the gloom that surrounded them all. A shrill cry pulled the King from his musings as he sat alone in his study; he had drifted off while poring over battle plans. When he looked up, he saw not the Fell Beast of his imaginings, but a small hunting hawk, one of Aranel's line, sitting on the windowsill. Each of the birds had been gifted with their ancestress' name, in honour of the Lady of Imladris who had given the first, before she had even been wed.

"Aranel." Thranduil held out his hand, and the hawk landed on his desk. He stroked her feathered head, and images flooded his mind; through osanwe he bid her give her secret messages.

My son stands at the Black Gate! Thranduil's heart pounded.

Yea, my lord, but only as a distraction for those who will save us all. Aranel's confidence filled the King, and he could see her ancestress in her...just as he saw the courage of the one who had given him the princely gift.

Celebrian...Bri...He let out a sigh.

Remember the words of Hurin, O King! Aranel cried. For did not thy tutors teach thee the old tales?

"Day shall come again..." Thranduil whispered aloud. For all their sakes, he hoped it would. Yes. He must have hope.

He would have hope...and he would hold his son again, in time.