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He felt a little dizzy. Thranduil was not sure why. Perhaps it was hunger. Or the pain dozens of fists and feet had inflicted on him. Maybe a mixture of both. Probably both.

Ozorne gestured and the elves gripping Thranduil's arms dragged him forward. Ignoring his dizziness, Thranduil searched for the one thing that mattered more then where the elves were taking him: his son.

Legolas tottered between two elves, blinking to shake off dizziness. As Ozorne walked into more familiar walls and Thranduil collected more of himself with each step, he realized Ozorne walked toward the caves under the palace.

"Where are we going?" Legolas moaned.

"We go to make known the new Queen of Mirkwood," Ozorne said. "Today is a day to rejoice."

"No one will accept you as the Queen."

"Oh, but they will, little prince. Your father's blessing is all I need."

Legolas looked at his father and wandered how Thranduil could let this happen. He could not bless a woman as corrupt as Ozorne, much less let her take the crown. Legolas tried to imagine Mirkwood with Ozorne as Queen and failed. All he saw were fields of broken trees.

The knife at Thranduil's throat stopped the angry advance of the guards at the doors to the caves. The door rose to the ceiling, split down the middle and the floor before it lit by torches. At Ozorne's gesture, the guards opened the door, containing their protective impulses with difficulty.

The great expanse of caverns were buried deep underground, where the thickest and strongest of the trees around the palace reached their roots, circling the caves in a protective embrace while their limbs and leafy tops stretched into the palace and upward to the sun. Though the space stretched into gloom lit by torches and crystal lights, it was packed with elves and bedding, tables and chairs.

A hush fell over the elves as Ozorne guided Thranduil to the small raised platform at the head of the main cavern. Her guards ringed the former elf king though Legolas sat down on the edge of the platform and leaned against Thranduil's leg.

An elf brought Ozorne a crown on a pillow of red satin.

"Oropher's crown," Thranduil said softly.

"This," Ozorne said. "Is the crown of Mirkwood. The crown your rightful ruler will wear. Thranduil ignored his heritage and discarded his crown for a wrapping of twigs when this should have bowed his brow.

"As you may know, Thranduil steps aside in deference to me. We are here today to celebrate my coronation and receive Thranduil's blessings for the future."

Thranduil's eyebrow twitched. His eyes fell on Onyx as the elf stepped from the sidelines of the cavern with a line of armored elves behind him. Harune and Elrond lingered behind him.

"Let it be known," Ozorne declared, meeting Onyx's eyes. "Your desire to protect is admirable. But Thranduil will walk away with his life only if no advances upon me or my people are taken."

Onyx's lips snarled but he held up a hand and his men lowered their spears.

"Thranduil!" Landion cried, pushing past Harune with worried eyes.

Thranduil heard the agony in his brother's voice and his heart twanged. He knew, as Ozorne knew but refused to acknowledge, the future rested with the people of Mirkwood. He turned to the sea of silent eyes before him and spoke with the confidence he had hidden in his heart.

"People of Mirkwood, I know I have led you into this time troubled with grief and hardships. I know you have given up homes and safety to pay for my mistake. And I will gladly step aside if you wish to be led out of this disaster by someone else, be it Ozorne or one of you. Unlike my father, I am not attached to the idea my blood must occupy the throne. I wish to see Mirkwood governed by a person with a good heart and the intentions of the people in mind. None of you are unfit to be King or Queen because of your birth; you are all worthy of the throne."

Ozorne held up the crown. "There are no questions to ask or elections to make. Your leader is defined by this crown; the lifeblood of Mirkwood."

Thranduil turned to her, the fear gone from his eyes and his brow dark with anger. He tore the crown from her hands. "This does not define a leader! This is nothing but a dinky piece of worthless metal!"

He hurled the gold disk into the crowd and heard it strike the floor and bounce into a corner. Ozorne gasped. "How dare you show such disrespect? The crown is the heritage of this forest; the history of our people!"

"Perhaps that is what it means to you," Thranduil said. "But there is a reason I chose not to wear it. A crown does not define a leader; it is the person wearing it that defines the crown."

"You spout fungal rot," Ozorne snarled.

"I offer my apologies to all of you for the mistake that costs us the life of many trees and homes. Mirkwood is my home and I share your pain. We all make mistakes in life," Thranduil said. "Yours affect the lives of those closest to you. But because I am king, mine affect us all. Most of us are parents and we know what it is like to guide young lives into adulthood; to teach them to grow and follow their hearts. I may be a king but I am also a father and perhaps Ozorne is right in her saying that I cannot be a good King because I am a father. I tell you the truth when I say I will always be a father first and a king second."

Legolas hunched his shoulders as the shadow of one of Ozorne's guard fell over him and tightened his fingers on the hem of Thranduil's torn robe. A tear dripped off his cheek and splashed onto his knee.

"I grieve when elves die," Thranduil said. "I do not ignore the realities of life because I live in a palace. I understand and value the ideals of work but I also strive to make sure all of you who provide for your families have ample time to spend with your mates and children. King Oropher created laws and rules that made your lives difficult and worrisome. I have spent years insuring those of you who grow food and protect the forest have the same privileges and rights of those who think themselves better because of noble birth.

"I do not want to build this forest on anger and impatience. I do not want to see the generations of elves to come raised in households where parents are constantly working or discipline evokes fear. Hurt children built kingdoms from blood and ashes.

"I cannot abandon my son to the hands of a dozen nursemaids and nannies, as my father did with me. If you do not want a king who is also a father, make your voices heard. I respect your opinions and I will gladly step aside to any of you who know you can and will lead Mirkwood with as much love and guidance as a parent gives their child."

A murmur of voices rose and fell. Standing behind Harune, Elrond wondered if he gave such a choice to his people what their answer would be. He watched the torchlight and worried over Thranduil's haggard face as he acknowledged his people would likely replace him.

An elf stepped forward. "My lord—"

"He is not your lord," Ozorne said, her voice colder then a cave in winter.

The elf ignored her. "My lord, I grew up an orphan in the northern healing ward, with only the healers to guide me. When I was six, I spent a year with a family and I burned down their barn by forgetting to blow out a lantern one night. I did not want to return to the healing ward and I loved the family I was with but I could not find the words to ask for forgiveness or explain the accident because I was afraid they would not listen. So I asked myself what you would do.

"The barn was rebuilt by a community of people that I asked for help after I put aside my pride. A week later, my parents adopted me. I know it sounds like a little thing but it meant a lot to have a king I could look to for answers and think about without feeling inferior. It means a lot to have a king who is a friend, if only in mind. I married a woman King Oropher would have regarded as far above me. But because of you, those social labels are gone. And my daughter is friends with as many children of woodcutters and cooks as she is with the children of council members and captains."

Legolas glanced up as a young girl waved from the crowd.

Ozorne smiled as a woman came forward. "Thranduil, your mistakes broke my child's arm. And there is nothing worst for any parent then seeing their child hurt. But despite that, and the loss of my garden, I am willing to see Mirkwood heal because it will be with you at the helm. My garden and my child's arm will mend."

The far wall blurred and Thranduil fought to focus on the cheery face of an elfling, banishing the onslaught of dizziness by feeling Legolas's arm hugging his leg.

"My nanas told me I did not have to bow to you if I did not want to," the boy said. "And when I see you in the forest, I do not bow. Sometimes I wave."

Thranduil smiled. "I always wave back."

"I might bow one day," the elfling said. "But it is nice to have a choice. I take archery lessons with hundreds of other elflings and I know the prince. But even though he is a prince, he is also like the rest of us and we are all friends."

The first elf to speak stepped forward with the discarded crown in his hands. "My lord, I know I speak for us all when I say it is because you are a father first we want you to be our king. None of us desire the throne. Please keep it and do what you have been doing so well for centuries for years to come."

If that is not the true signs of a King, I do not what is!

Thank you ever so much for reading; I simply love reading your thoughts and suggestions at the end of each chapter.

Respectfully in acknowledgement of Veteran's Day . . .