The Last Elf Queen of Arda

Epilogue

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It had been more than three thousand years since the Battle of the Last Alliance. More than a century since the final fall of Sauron and the destruction of the One Ring. The Greenwood was a place of peace now, but also of silence. The Sindarin folk of the Woodland Realm had all departed from the Havens following the end of the War of the Ring, at long last heeding the call of the Valar to the shores of Aman. All that is, save two.

Thranduil stood upon the threshold of his halls, gazing out upon the green light of the forest. The years had changed him much. No longer was he the cold, anguished creature that had endured the queen's death. Neither though was Thranduil the young, earnest 'Sapling' who had idolized Oropher and worshipped Anthelísse. Thranduil was still fair of face and strong of body...but he was old. The long years of his life felt all the longer looking back upon them for all the immense joy, love and sorrow that they had held.

A leaf fell from a tree above the river causeway, fluttering down to settle on Thranduil's shoulder. The first fallen leaf of autumn. Soon the Greenwood would burn brightly with hues of red, gold and orange, all to come showering down over the forest floor. Thranduil would be there to witness the turning of seasons in the Woodland Realm, as he had been for nigh on six thousand years now. Legolas would not.

With soft footsteps, Legolas came to stand at his father's shoulder. His horse awaited, a few small saddlebags packed and ready. The faithful creature was ready...ready to carry Legolas to the western shores of Middle-Earth. King Aragorn of Gondor was dead, and now Legolas intended to sail to the Undying Lands.

"Will you not come with me, Ada?" Legolas asked, laying a hand on Thranduil's shoulder. The leaf brushed off his dark grey robes and fell silently to the ground between them.

"No...I cannot." Thranduil said. He turned and beheld his son, taking in Legolas's face as if he would memorize every last detail. "I am needed here."

It was a thin excuse, one that Thranduil had stubbornly stuck to no matter how Legolas pressed him. The only person whom had ever known of Thranduil's darkest secret was Gurithon. The only elves remaining in the Greenwood now were Silvans, and they had little need of a king to govern them. The people of the Woodland Realm had essentially reverted back to their old habits and ways from the days before Oropher had come from Doriath. Thranduil for the most part only acted as king in a symbolic manner during seasonal gatherings.

"You are certain about the dwarf?" Thranduil asked, more resigned than teasing. He and Legolas had fought many battles over the years regarding his deep friendship with Gimli, son of Gloin. In the end the bonds forged between the two during the War of the Ring stood fast, and Thranduil had had to admit defeat. Still he wondered at his son's fantastical notion of bringing a dwarf to the Blessed Realm. The thought of a naugrim upon those shores where he could not go admittedly stung Thranduil a bit.

"I am." Legolas said.

Thranduil smiled slightly, shaking his head. "You are just like your mother when you set your mind to a course of action, ion-nin. She could never be swayed from what she believed was the right thing to do either."

They had spoken much and often of Anthelísse in the years since the War of the Ring. The memories had been sharp-edged and painful at first, but the more Thranduil recalled Anthelísse the more the grief softened. He had told Legolas all he could remember of their meeting after the Last Alliance, their courtship in Emyn Duir, and even of her final days. Legolas had listened in rapt attention to Thranduil's every word, and more than once the two of them had wept bittersweet tears together. It was a time of great healing for both father and son.

"Will we ever meet again?" Legolas asked, staring long and searchingly at Thranduil. He had Anthelísse's eyes, Thranduil noticed with pride for the thousandth time. Then again Legolas had always had the best of both his parents.

"...Not upon these shores." Thranduil tried not to outright lie. In truth he did not know. The fear of punishment at the hands of the Valar for his slaying of Tharnor still haunted his waking hours.

Mercifully though, Thranduil's dreams were free. Reverie came to him frequently and far more deeply than it ever had these days. He would often wander strange paths, some place between sleep and memory. There Thranduil would meet Oropher, Nellas, Gurithon...and Anthelísse. Whether his dreams held any actual fragments of the spirits of his loved ones Thranduil could not say. All he knew was that he never quite felt alone anymore.

Looking away, Legolas gazed long and lovingly at the Greenwood. Then he sighed. "What should I tell the others then? What should I tell Naneth?"

Thranduil paused. Had Gurithon shared with his family the truth of his kin-slaying? If so, then there was nothing really that he could say to explain himself.

"Tell your mother and the others...tell them that I always have and always will love them, no matter how much distance or time parts us." Thranduil reached out for Legolas's hand. "And I love you, my son. Beyond the ends of this earth and all the ages of eternity, I love you forever."

"Ada..." Legolas fell into Thranduil's embrace. The two of them stood holding one another close for a very long time. "I love you Ada, truly I do."

"Then go, my son." Thranduil forced himself to release Legolas and take a step back toward the halls. "Go with all my love and all my blessings, and may the wind fill your sails all the way from here to the shores of Aman!"

Turning away from his father and his homeland, Legolas mounted his horse. Just as he set out upon the forest road though, he turned in his saddle and paused. Thranduil raised a hand in farewell, and Legolas did the same. Then the prince of the Woodland Realm urged his horse on and galloped away into the forest.

A flash of movement and red hair caught Thranduil's eye from the trees; Tauriel would see her oldest friend safely to the borders of the forest. They had their own private farewell to say. Thranduil smiled softly, his heart breaking at the seams with love and loss.

"I am sending our little leaf to you, Anthelísse." Thranduil whispered. "To you I entrust his keeping."

And then, his long robes trailing behind him, the king of the Woodland Realm returned to his throne. None know whether Thranduil ever did take ship from Middle-Earth to the Blessed Realm, for there are no records written of his departure. Did Thranduil ever muster the courage to face the Valar and account for his deed, in the hope of one day being reunited with his loved ones? Or did he remain, a silent guardian of ancient love and memory? The elves of the Greenwood grew ever stranger and wilder as the years passed, and their home became a place of great mystery. What became of the king, none can say. If Thranduil still dwells within his woodland halls or no, the forest certainly is not telling.

~ The End ~

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