"Thranduil—" Elellótë, Thranduil's beloved, starts but Thranduil shushes her as he pulls her through the dark, and eerily quiet, halls.

"Come on, dear. We must hurry!" Despite the enemies fort being empty, Thranduil is filled with fear. It's not like the Orcs to just leave their prisoners unguarded. Just three days ago when Thranduil, his wife, and several soldiers were on their way to visit a fellow ally to talk about the safety of Middle Earth, they were ambushed and Elellótë was taken prisoner by an evil heard of ferocious Orcs.

Now, after the three days, Thranduil has found his wife in an abandoned Orc fort. Their running footsteps echoed through the halls and more than once Elellótë, in her weakened state, tripped over her feet. Because of this Thranduil kept a steady but firm hand on her elbow and coaxed her to go on.

The pungent smell of Orcs filled these halls and things were strewn across the floors as if the Orcs had left in a hurry. And that is why Thranduil was afraid, Orcs are proud creatures, always looking for trouble and they almost never run away from a fight. They thirst for blood.

And yes, Elellótë was afraid, but not as much as Thranduil. All she wanted was Thranduil by her side, that was of course as long as it wouldn't put him in danger. She knew that no other could match his terrific fighting skills, but all the same, they were both in danger. And nothing could change what was about to happen.

"Thranduil..."Elellótë breathed, "Thranduil! Listen to me! I overheard the Orcs talking, there's—"

Thranduil stopped suddenly, making Elellótë stop, and his electric blue eyes searched her gray-blue ones framed by lush black eyelashes. He was so glad to have her back, three days was too long to be separated from each other. And at that moment her beauty and love consumed him.

He pulled her close with arms around her small waist and smashed his lips into her soft ones, her silver hair tickled his hands. He gripped her tight. They're bodies pressed up against each other, there bodies wanting more but not able to get it. Not even a single sheet a paper could fit in between them.

Thranduil loved her more than anything. She was his Star. He was naturally a cold person, he didn't show emotion or let it in. Ever since his father, Oropher, died he closed himself to all other things. But his wife changed that. She was his light in a dark world, brought happiness to him when no one else could. She even gave him more of herself to him, a son.

But Thranduil knew that if they wanted to see their son again they would have to leave. And soon.

Something rocked the building. An earthquake perhaps? Thranduil and Elellótë steadied themselves.

He pulled back and put a hand on the side of her face gently, "Come, My Love. We must go now."

She bit her lip, only making Thranduil want to kiss her more, and nodded. They began to run again and soon enough large dark red doors came into view.

Thranduil pushed one open and cold air ran through their hair and made the dirt in the hall float away.

But when the door opened they heard the screams of men, of Mirkwood soldiers.

Thranduil and his wife stood in the door, their view partially blocked by the fortress. Thranduil searched the land that he could see and caught one of the soldier's eyes.

The soldier's eyes only told him pure fear, "dragon!" The soldier screamed and ran around frantically.

Thranduil whipped his head around to look at his wife, making his hair swoosh in the air. They both looked at each other and both of them showed fear. They could not stay in the fort, the dragon may burn it down with its breath, and if they were still in the building they would not survive. And who would take care of their little leaf then?

So they did the only thing that they could do; they ran out onto the snow-covered ground. When they turned around to face the Orc Fort they saw a mighty black dragon standing on the fortress they were just in.

The dragon, later to become known as Barahir, roared. It became clear to Thranduil now, the Orcs had fled because of the dragon. They had somehow known that this terrible one was coming.

Thranduil, as there King, ordered them all to run. They wouldn't stand a chance against this fire lord.

They ran alongside the building, the small narrow area right by a dangerous cliff, opened up to a larger snow filled plain.

This time when the dragon roared, fire came out between its teeth. The fire went straight out and up into the air like a column.

Barahir shot out his magnificent wings and jumped from the building, the weight of it jumping crushed a tower.

He landed before them all, blocking there escape route. The whoosh from the wings blew all their long hair back.

Barahir's deep voice rumbled the ground, "don't leave now. The fun is about to begin." The dragon showed a gruesome smile. You could still see some red flesh between his teeth from his last meal.

Thranduil, desperate to get his beautiful and weak wife to safety, tried to get out of the situation, "let us pass and we won't bother you." He knew it would be useless, but he still had to try.

"Oh, now why would I want to do that?" The dragon snarled. The dragon lunged forward, snapping his teeth right where Thranduil was, for Thranduil had spun out of the way, taking Elellótë with him.

The black beast roared and swung his head while spewing flames. Several soldiers caught fire. A nasty battle cry was heard from up the hill where the borders of a forest lay.

The soldiers, Thranduil and his wife, and even Barahir, the dragon, turned to look. A small army of Orcs started to race down the hill, raising their swords above their heads.

The Mirkwood soldiers split up; some slaying Orcs, others helplessly fighting the dragon. Thranduil, however; was fighting both Orc and dragon. He tried to keep his wife out of the way of the dragon, but he knew that she could slay Orcs just fine. Thranduil swung his two swords this way and that, slicing an Orc up the chest.

His ears could pick up the stumbling sound of Orc feet behind him, he swung around and used his swords like a pair of scissors, chopping off an Orc head. Blood splattered his cheek. Elellótë ducked under a sword aiming for her head and she sliced the orc's feet. Thranduil finished him off by impaling the Orc from behind in the chest.

He gave his wife a look and together they ran underneath the dragon's belly to avoid being burnt to death.

The black beast stumbled and lowered his head to the ground, sweeping the surrounding area with fire. Thranduil and Elellótë didn't even try to cut through the dragon's scales, for they knew it was useless. A dragons scales is the best kind of armor, nothing could impale it. That is unless you have a black arrow. But unfortunately, they do not.

When they exited from underneath the beast an Orc jumped on Elellótë. Thranduil cried out and ran to her with his sword out. But he got there too late.

A Mirkwood soldier had thrown his dagger from a couple of yards away and it pierced through the orc's skull, killing it instantly. Thranduil ran to his wife as she brushed her blood-spattered fighting dress.

He put both of his hands on her cheeks, checking her over.

"I am not injured, Thranduil. Do not worry about things that you should not worry about." She gripped her sword tight in her hand and smiled. She was a tough elf and always cared about others, that was one of the things Thranduil loved about her.

He kissed her lips once and swung his sword to the side, killing an upcoming Orc.

He gripped the Mirkwood dagger embedded in the orcs head that had died and threw it back at his soldier, his own way of saying thank-you. The soldier smiled at this small deed and caught the dagger smoothly.

Thranduil turned around to see that he was surrounded by orcs. It was kind of unfair. For them.

He cut through them with ease. With some using his swords, with others killing them with a blow to the head with the butt of the swords. Soon, the Orc numbers surrounding him dwindled.

His eyes searched the fighting for his wife. But he could not find that beautiful head of blonde hair and those enchanting orbs of gray-blue.

"Thranduil!" He swung around at the sound of Elellótë's voice.

But instead of being greeted with her face he was greeted with great, hot flames of fire. The dragons fiery breath hit him from the side, burning the side of his face. He cried out in pain. And he fell spinning to his knee's.

Through the fire, he could hear the sound of a battle cry and he saw a body jump in between him and the searing hot flames. He was almost great-full for the stopping of the fire. But when the fire stopped coming out of the dragon's mouth completely, he saw a body falling to the ground. It fell as gracefully as a dying person could.

He cried out and lunged forward to catch his wife's body. Her small frame fit perfectly in his arms, almost as if they were made for each other. As he looked down at his wife's badly burnt body, a hot breeze blew back his hair. The filthy beast was killing others, but at that moment he did not care. He only cared about his wife who looked into his eyes.

Her eyes moved around rapidly and she opened her mouth. Thranduil moved her hair aside and he strokes the side of her face as he cradled her, " shhh shhh, it's going to be okay," he began to rock her and almost to himself he said, "everything is going to be all right." His voice broke.

Hot tears streamed down his face, deep down he knew that she would not survive but be would not give up hope.

He looked deeply into her eyes, not daring to look away. And he began to mutter all the healing spells he could remember. Which was not a lot, I might add.

But her burns were too bad and he found little comfort that he had eased her pain. He wanted her healed, but it could not be that way. This was fate... And nothing can change fate.

Elellótë spoke softly, "Thrandy. Thranduil." He opened his eyes and stopped muttering healing spells.

"Thranduil," she repeated in a weak, soft voice. "I love you." She closed her eyes as a single tear rolled down her burnt cheek.

Thranduil shook her, "No! No, open your eyes!"

"Open your eyes, Star Flower. Stay with me..." He bowed his head and sorrow poured from his eyes. If she died, then he wanted to die too, "I'm not leaving you, my Star Flower. I'll go with you if I must."

He opened his eyes when her small, dainty hand was placed on his cheek, "Live. If not for me, then for our son."

Her hand fell from his cheek and her eyes fluttered closed as the life was taken from her body.

He clutched her hands as a scream fell from his lips. This was no ordinary scream either, no, this scream held all of his pain. If you heard this scream, it would surely break you. For he loved his soul mate with all his heart, all his mind, with all his body and soul. Now just imagine what he felt when she was ripped from this world.

His scream stopped everyone in their tracks. His elf hears and the heat he could feel from behind told him that the curse-ed dragon was behind him.

It took all of him, but he managed to leap up from the body of his beloved and he turned to see Barahir smiling at him, enjoying his pain.

But the smile was wiped from his face when Thranduil, filled with deadly anguish, ran, no, charged at the dragon.

Now, this next moment will be known to all others, for what he did was incredible.

Powered by his anger at the dragon and anguish, Thranduil jumped onto the dragon, clutching onto the slick scales and scaling the side of the dragon.

He grabbed a horn and thrust himself on top of the dragon's head and unsheathed his sword. The dragon writhed, trying to get the elf off its head, but you must remember that elves have great balance, so Thranduil stayed steady. Again, he knew that no blade could pierce a dragon's scales so with a battle cry, that rung out through the battlefield, he stabbed his sword through both of the dragon's eyes.

The dragon screamed in pain and stumbled. Thranduil slid down the tail of the beast and began to run to his wife's side again. However, Barahir kept stumbling, closer and closer to the edge of the Great Cliff. And that was where Elellótë's body lay.

Thranduil ran, but all he could do in the end was graze her forehead with his fingertips before the dragon fell over the side of the cliff, taking Elellótë with him.

"No!" Thranduil cried out. He lay on his chest from where he dived on the ground, trying to get to her. "No..." His hand that touched her forehead was still outstretched.

But the pain came back and darkness took him as he rolled onto his back.

••••••••

Thranduil was in and out of consciousness. In Rivendale, that is. Thing is, you see, is that The King of Mirkwood was on his way to meet an ally. No, not Elrond. But Elrond was on his way to meet with this ally also.

Elrond was on his way to meet this ally when he heard about Elellótë being taken prisoner. At this point, the incident with the dragon hadn't happened yet.

Elrond is good friends with Thranduil, so as soon as he heard about it he decided to help, that's just the kind of elf he is.

So by the time the incident with the dragon did come around, Elrond was there. He was there just moments after Elellótë was thrown off the cliff.

He had put him on a horse with him and brought him to Rivendell to heal. Every day that Thranduil was unconscious, Elrond worked his healing spells on him. But nothing could fix the brute of the wound.

Elrond could do nothing about the side of his face. On the right side of his face, the fire had melted the skin, showing muscle and tissue. His left eye has been left blind and now it's just a white-blue orb, not even close to looking normal.

Every time someone unwrapped the bandage around that side of his face, they shivered.

Elrond would not be able to heal his face but he could put a spell on it to look normal. But he could not do that until Thranduil was awake and strong enough to hold the Unseen power to him.

And the soldiers that fought during the Battle of Barahir will be haunted by Thranduil's scream forever.

When Thranduil was awake it wasn't for very long, I don't think he even knew he was awake. But when he was awake he would either moan or whisper, "Elellótë...." He would rarely ask for his son, Legolas, but everyone agreed that they wouldn't allow Legolas to know what happened until Thranduil was fully awake and able to keep the Unseen power upon his face (and at this time Legolas was very young).

Also, they wanted Thranduil to heal before he saw his son, not from the external wounds, but from the internal ones—the wounds of a broken heart. But Thranduil would never heal, all he could do was push it back and endure.

When Thranduil finally came to actual consciousness he called for his wife. At first, it started as a whisper but when the memories of a week ago came to him, he started yelling her name. It was heart-breaking.

Thranduil threw the blankets off himself, exposing the bandages on his chest, and he got off the bed. Only to fall to the ground from weak legs. Tears streamed down his face as Elrond and a few other elves ran into the room.

"Thranduil!" Elrond ran to his side and put an arm around him, trying to help him up. "Thranduil, you're too weak to be up. Go and rest in bed," Elrond said strongly.

But Thranduil shrugged him off and tried standing, he cleared his dry throat, "where is my wife?" Thranduil spoke with his chin up, trying to stand tall but he knew what happened. But he hoped that it was all a dream. He swore he could've felt a whisper of his wife...

When he got no answer, he stormed right up to Elrond's face and yelled,"where is my wife!"

Elrond's eyes showed sorrow but nonetheless he looked right back into Thranduil's eyes, "She has passed on," he said simply.

Thranduil straightened his back but his lip quivered, "no. No! You're lying!" Thranduil walked over to the sill for the hole in the wall, that worked like a window (so we'll just call it a window), and swiped his arm across it, knocking over all the tinkerings. The elves in the room flinched but Thranduil turned around seething.

"You're lying! I know you are!" Spit flew from his mouth and then he said softly, almost like a child, "I know you are..."

Thranduil looked at Elrond with sad eyes... Oh, so sad eyes. Elrond has always kind of been like a brother, for Thranduil never had one.

"Elellótë...." The word fell from Thranduil's lips and his face crumpled. Elrond took a step forward as Thranduil spun around and buried his face in Elrond's shoulder.

Silently, all the other elves left as Thranduil sobbed into his brother-like friend's shoulder. Elrond was taken aback at first, Thranduil rarely shows emotion (unless, of course, Elellótë is around), but he slowly put a hand on his back.

"Take it away. Take away this pain, please." Thranduil pleaded. Elrond said nothing. But if he could take away his pain, he wouldn't, okay, only a little pain. But Elrond wouldn't take away the pain because he didn't want Thranduil to forget about her, about Elellótë.

It then became clear to him that Elrond wouldn't answer.

"Wh-why does it hurt so mu-much?" Thranduil sobbed.

Elrond sighed for his friend, "because it was real." Thranduil sobbed harder. Of course, Thranduil knew that their love had been real, it was too real to be true. He didn't think anyone could love so much.

Over the next four days, all the King of Mirkwood had done was cry in bed. He didn't talk, he didn't eat, he didn't drink. Until the fifth day came, then he was silent. When someone talked to him, he wouldn't answer. The only thing letting people know that his voice still worked was in the night when they could hear him saying, "Star Flower, come back to me."

Soon no one could sleep in the nearby rooms, for they all knew what the name, Elellótë, meant: starflower.

•••••••••

A week later all they could get in Thranduil was elven bread and wine. Lots of wine. Elrond was able to start a conversation but when it came to Elellótë or anything that would remind Thranduil of her, he shut up. No words could be pried from him.

Elrond had taught Thranduil how to use the concealing 'magic' on his face and he was now strong enough to keep it on, but when he slept the magic went away until Thranduil is able to put it back up.

That is until he gets back to his normal state, then the magic will stay even in sleep.

They decided that it was time for Thranduil to go home to his kingdom and son. Everyone felt for Thranduil and his son, who still doesn't know what had happened to his Nana.

When the day came, Thranduil walked into his halls, the halls of his home: Mirkwood. Everyone bowed to him as he passed and he asked a servant for wine. He showed no emotion, no evidence that he lost his beloved. Ever since then Thranduil never lost his stone cold exterior in public, the only rare moments when he did showed raw emotion was when he was in the sealed doors of his chambers. 

He had the sheets changed, he could not look at the bedding that his wife had once laid on. But the necklace that he had made for her, he put on the dresser, the only thing of hers that he sees every day. At the Battle of Barahir, right before she fell from the cliff,  the necklace made from pure diamonds, somehow fell off from around her neck. Elrond had given it to him when he was healing.

Sometimes Thranduil stands right were the necklace rests and gazes down at it. He had it made it so that it looked like it was made from stars, it twinkled whenever a beam of light hit it, perfect for his Star Flower. It was a miracle the Orcs hadn't taken it. Thranduil's fingers grazed the jewels.

Anyways... This happened several days after he came home. Let's go back in time to when he first came to Mirkwood after he lost his wife:

Thranduil leaned against his balcony railing. The balcony was, again, just an open, carved out hole in the wall, the railing carved out of stone since the rest of his elven halls were carved out of the mountain too. 

He looked out and into the setting sun, staring right at it since the brightness does not bother his elf eyes. Well eye, but he still kept up the magic, he always kept the magic up. The setting sun turned the sky red and orange, like fire, and he was reminded of the dragon's fire. His wife's death replayed in his mind, from the moment she sacrificed herself to the moment when she fell from the cliff in the dragon's grasp.

His hands tightened on the railing as the grief started to take him. He grabbed his chalice full of Mirkwood wine that rested on a small, intricate carved, side table. A bottle of the same substance rested next to the cup. He looked at his reflection in the liquid and swirled it around. His set the cup to his lips and downed it.

He heard a small, quiet knock on his door. He ignored it, his servants would go away if he didn't answer, so he was surprised when he heard the door open.

 "Ada?" Said a small voice, the voice of little Legolas. At the time he was sixteen, but you must remember that elves mature at around age eighty-five to one hundred. So really, his mind and body were like a human six year old's. 

"Ada! You are home!" Legolas pushed the door open further and ran to his Father, which he hasn't seen for several months. But that's not much for an elf, but still, he was young. And every young princeling needs their father.

Legolas hugged his father's legs and Thranduil was taken aback, but he should know better, Legolas is his son after all. 

Young Legolas unstuck his head from his fathers cloak and looked up with big eyes, even so young he could tell that something was wrong. "Ada?" He asked again.

Thranduil looked down at his son and saw the uncanny resemblance between Legolas and Elellótë. They had the same grey-blue eyes, same face, same beauty. The only things Legolas had from his father was his hair color and the same color eyebrows, though they were not as thick as his fathers.

Thranduil had to swallow a lump in the back of his throat. 

Legolas then realized something, "where's Nana?" Legolas missed his mother, she always read to him before he went to bed and always, always, always told him, "you're my little star, I love you more than anything. Remember that." Legolas would always nod back as he looked into his mother's eyes.

Thranduil looked away from his son and over to the tops of the trees that were turning all colors of fall.

"Ada! I want to see Nana. I miss her." Legolas stomped a foot, like the little child he is. Thranduil still ignored him.

Legolas went to the door of his parent's chambers and stuck his head out, "Nana! Nana, where are you?!"

Legolas was about to call out to her again but Thranduil stopped him, "Legolas! Stop! She's not here! She's never going to be here!" Thranduil had turned from the balcony, his eyes were wide, pleading in a way with his son to stop, just stop.

Legolas turned to his Ada, "what do you mean she's not here?" His bottom lip quivered, "she has to be here!" Legolas turned towards the hall again, "Nana—!"

"She's not going to answer you, Legolas! She dead!" Legolas's father yelled, "she's dead..." He whispered.

He hadn't yet actually said those words aloud, he did not want to believe it. 

Legolas ran to  Thranduil, "no! You're lying!" He cried. He wrapped his arms around Ada's legs and sobbed, "you're lying!"

Thranduil broke then, he broke because he had said that his wife was dead aloud and hearing his sons cries, Thranduil fell to his knees with Legolas and they both cried together.

That had happened around 2,600 years ago. Yes, the pain has dulled a bit, but they started to live normally. Thranduil is still king and still has a love for the strongest wine and Legolas has matured and is skilled with archery. 

But there are always those moments when they remember her. Now we resume our story to the present; 2,600 years after her death....

Thank you Wattpadians and Middle Earth fanatics for clicking on my story to read! Please give me a review, I need to know what you think so I can improve as a writer!