"You did not Break Me, I am still Fighting for Peace." - Sia

Mordor 3441 S.A. - The Battle Encampment of the Alliance

"Okay...that's it...one step at a time."

Thranduil glowered viciously at the unintentionally patronizing youth in his presence. Galion was not to blame for his behaviour, it was what was expected - all these soft encouraging words to disguise the horrendous truth of his situation.

"Now, maybe we should put some slippers on?" Galion considered aloud, and Thranduil did not conceal his aggravated sigh. Slippers...he had never worn slippers in his life!

"No! No, Galion, just find my boots and for the love of Eru...arugh...find me something to lean on!"

Thranduil whined and staggered painfully forward to grip the back of the nearest chair. He had no idea how long he had been off his feet but he was sure it had run into weeks. His head throbbed and felt several times heavier now than it had when he was lying flat! Everything hurt to move, especially his abdomen, any slight twist or jolt felt like a hundred knives were cutting into him at once. Which was a shame...considering one required the use of one's body to remain standing upright!

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Galion mumbled, as he diligently retrieved Thranduil's boots and helped him ease into them. The young elf ducked his head when the Prince's eyes turned on him with icy determination, and instead of correcting himself the ellon silently went about lacing up the battle worn boots.

"I want to see him," Thranduil answered flatly, and pressed a quivering hand to his chest, the sting of grief still very much evident. "I want to say farewell...I want to be there when they bury him."

"Well, it may not be my place, but my lord you are very weak," Galion carefully pointed out the obvious as he stood to his feet and kept his gaze firmly diverted from Thranduil's thunderous glare; "I worry that this will take its toll on you."

"It already has," Thranduil breathed out steadily, his voice faltering slightly as he felt the icy thread of fear constrict around his heart. What little composure he had left seemed to threaten to fall away at the memory of his Adar's death, but he held it in place and vowed to do so by whatever means necessary.

"It is not my place," Galion reiterated again, as he slid warm robes over Thranduil's shoulders, and offered him the remains of an oak spear. "It's not much, but we do not have any proper staffs or canes. I believe this was one of the King's."

Thranduil gripped the wooden length of the glorified stick in his weak and trembling hands. The iron spear tip had been removed, and he easily spied the elvish runes carved onto the side. The words spoke of Doriath and the blessings of strength to its soldiers' - the script was so familiar to him, yet he had never truly known the place his parents had called home. His father had made it real, and Thranduil held a great deal of respect for the pieces of armoury and jewels his people had brought with them from the ruins of their ancestry home. This spear was certainly one of those pieces, and with a little attention and restoration it would make a suitable staff. Valar only knew he would need use of one with this cursed wound slowing him down!

"Are you ready my lord?" Galion queried worriedly, as he watched Thranduil's faraway expression. The Prince broke his gaze on his newly acquired staff, and blinked robotically at the young elf. He was not entirely sure how to answer that question - was he ready? No, no he was not prepared to take his father's place, to lead his people home, and rebuild such broken lives. He was not ready to part with his beloved Ada, he was not ready to receive his crown or his ring, and he certainly was not ready to bury him! But he was dressed, and he was able to move;

"I am ready."

With a nod Galion held back the curtain of his tent, and bowed slightly for his Prince, who would most likely return his unofficial King. Thranduil swallowed the hard lump that stubbornly stuck in his throat, but carefully trained his gaze away from the elf and out into the dull evening air. There was of course a sea of faces awaiting him, and he would be a coward if he could not face his warriors, for some had fared much worse than he and still managed to stand and wait on his presence. Gripping his father's old spear he took a few unsure steps forward and winced in pain. Scowling down at the well bandaged wound, he clenched his jaw determinedly and held his forearm across his stomach, before limping forward again. He would not falter because of a stab wound!

He made it out of the tent, and gave himself a congratulatory nod for not passing out with the agony. It really wasn't so bad, if he didn't attempt to breathe, or move too much. The crowd began to cheer, some even fell to their knees, and some even sang their happiness at seeing him alive. The sheer energy of their joy was what made Thranduil stumble slightly, the tears gathered in his right eye, but he swiftly wiped them away. He would not show emotion yet; he couldn't afford to open his heart up to such hurt just yet for it was all too fresh.

Squaring his shoulders, and taking a settling breath, Thranduil began the arduous task of slowly moving through the crowds of his people. It would not be easy to look into their eyes and know that he had failed to truly protect them, to know that they would never be freed completely from evil and darkness. He could only offer them his life now. For his life pledged as their King was the only way he could think of ensuring their protection, the only way he could be certain no further harm would come to them. Under his watch there would be no more unnecessary bloodshed, he would not be tricked or coerced into concerning himself with the lives and lands outside of his own again.

As he reached the end of the crowds, Thranduil found he stood gazing upon three familiar faces. One he was most relieved to see, but the other two he could happily disfigure! Aradan was quick to see the flash of anger spread across his friends face, and so he stepped forward first;

"My lord Celeborn and my lord Amroth wished to be here to farewell the King," Aradan spoke quietly and gave Thranduil a meaningful look. "It is their right as Sindar lords, they share blood...they are your kin."

"We may share blood, but that is all," Thranduil gruffly answered, but bowed his head in respect regardless; "My Adar would be honoured at your presence."

"But you would not?" Amroth glared defiantly at his peer. "Your words seem...false...you do not say what you truly feel."

"You would know all about that...wouldn't you mellon?" Thranduil chuckled darkly, and ignored the look of guilt that flitted across the younger King's face. "I trust your King has won his war Lord Celeborn, your wife will be most satisfied with the outcome. Pity Gil-galad will not be around to celebrate it with you all."

"No one is satisfied Thranduil, and we all mourn each and every loss!" Celeborn spoke firmly his eyes dancing challengingly at the young elf that was widely known for his temper, and utter dislike for his Noldor cousins; "You would do well to remember you are not the only one to have lost much in this war! Both Oropher and Gil-galad fought and died so that you may have the privilege to walk freely and in peace here today!"

"Freely!" Thranduil spat, and pushed himself intimidatingly into the elder elf's space; "Do not speak to me of freedom. The freedom you have won is false, it will never last! My Adar and Gil-galad gave their lives so that those who could challenge Sauron would do so...and you failed...we all failed...I failed. There will be no peace, do not be so foolish as to believe so!"

Angrily Thranduil retracted his stance and leaned heavily on his staff, an agonized look settling over his contorted and wrathful features. Amroth opened his mouth to offer some sort of apology but none came, for there was nothing to say. Celeborn merely put a hand on the other King's shoulder and shook his head sadly.

"There is no comfort I can offer you my lord Thranduil," Celeborn murmured softly, and bowed his head; "There are no words that can be uttered that will fix this rift between us. I pray that time, and displays of good will between our lands will gradually heal these hurts."

"I will remember my heritage Lord Celeborn; I am not without honour," Thranduil answered with a weary sigh, as Aradan came to stand by him to offer him someone to lean into; "Those of my kin are always welcome within my lands, as long as they bear no evil or ill will towards my people. But, the North of Greenwood is my realm, and only mine...I will not tolerate further interference from outside influences. We will no longer be pawns to play in Noldor games of war...I would be grateful if you would remind your wife, and Lord Elrond of this. The lives of the Silvan people have already been wasted away for their gains...I cannot allow anymore."

"We shall respect your need for peace my lord," Celeborn muttered evenly, but his jaw twitched visibly, giving away his irritation with Oropher's stubborn son. He had often believed Oropher to be incredibly firm in his ways; the silver haired King was both strong willed and extremely determined in his rule...but Thranduil? Now there was one who was vastly more stubborn and unyielding in his causes than any living elf lord Celeborn had come across in many long years. Indeed, the Silvan people would be well cared for under Thranduil's rule, but to what cost?

Thranduil turned coldly on the Sindar lords and, using Aradan as his anchor, he limped determinedly towards the tent where his Adar slept. His face contorted visibly at the use of such a term to describe his father's state. Sleeping conveyed a sense of peace and restfulness...Oropher was dead. His spirit did not dwell on these shores, it had departed, what was left was just an empty shell; A shell that would rot and decay and pass away into nothing more than dust, forgotten by the ages of the world.

Such was the way of the world and of the passing of time. It was something that an immortal became accustomed too, but Oropher was not just an insignificant flicker of a flame of life. To Thranduil he was an enduring fire that burned slow and long into the dark, maintaining its life even when the elements rained down upon it. His life's flame was one he could draw near to, and receive comfort and light from, even in his coldest and darkest moments. He was, and always would be his beloved Ada, and there was nothing that could prepare him for the sight he was confronted with when he entered that damned tent.

The still form of his father lay outstretched and unmoving on cold stone. His skin was grey and drawn; it looked like ashen limestone, as if with one touch it would disintegrate. That shock of silver hair, that physically gleamed, seemed to look like grey straw. To Thranduil's shock his father's eyes were closed...they had never been closed. With a sudden surge of grief, the shaken prince realized that his father would never look at him again. He would never see those bright and intelligent eyes pierce him and hold him to attention. Never again would he feel the need to divulge his secrets with one displeased glance of his angered father, and what was worse, he would never see the warmth in his father's eyes when he did something pleasing.

"Ada," Thranduil gave a strangled sob, and staggered to his father's side. Uselessly he waved his hand over his father's chest, as if willing his heart to beat at least just once more. "Ada..."

There was a deep line drawn across his father's neck but from the work the healers had performed on it, it looked like nothing more than just another battle scar - but he knew better. The sight of it caused an overwhelming memory to consume Thranduil, and for a split second it was as if he relived the horrific death all over again. He staggered forward, and could scarcely contain the involuntary heave of his chest, as his already sensitive stomach threatened to expel its meagre lining.

"Thranduil?" Aradan questioned anxiously, as his eyes swept over his friend, who was about one minute away from breaking at the seams. "Thranduil, you do not need to see this."

He was well aware that there were others in the private tent and in any other circumstances Thranduil would have held himself together a little better...but not now.

With an anguished cry the prince threw himself over his father's chest, and allowed his heart to feel the pain that he had worked so hard to conceal. It was an incredible all-consuming anguish, and the usually guarded elf quite literally felt his spirit tear apart. The violence of Thranduil's outburst was so unexpected and so out of character for him, that onlookers actually recoiled in panic. It was only Aradan that was not too timid to attempt to reach the devastated ellon in his sorrow.

"Thranduil...easy now...it is alright," The captain struggled to pull at his friend with only one useful arm, but in this moment the notoriously strong elf was easily manipulated - like a leaf blown in the lightest of breezes. Crashing into Aradan's chest, Thranduil brokenly raged out his anguished shrieks and shook violently from the shock of seeing the evidence of his dead father before him. He had not been ready...he could never have been ready for this...he would always be haunted by this.

"Send for Elrond," Celeborn uttered quietly to Amroth, his face drawn in great pity for the young ellon that was clearly a shattered mess. "Tell him to bring a sedative...a strong one. The child needs to rest."

"Get out Celeborn!" Thranduil growled bitterly from his position curled into his Captain's chest; "Get out, and do not dare speak of me as though I am no more than a misguided elfling. I need no healer; I need none of your pity. GET OUT! All of you just...leave me be... Leave me with him."

There was a heartbeat of almost silence, the only sound being the broken cries of Thranduil as he clung uselessly to Oropher's cold hand. Aradan felt the grief roll off his friend, the turmoil emanating from his feä was disturbing and yet to be expected. How else was one supposed to let go of their parent? Just because he was a prince meant that he had to have some kind of decorum in these circumstances...hardly...it was sin to expect anymore of him. Sighing angrily the young captain twisted his head to scowl at the onlookers;

"Would you defy a King's orders? My lord has asked for peace to grieve...leave him be!"

With Aradan's firm words the small crowd dispersed, leaving them both to the stillness of Oropher's final resting place. The captain considered that maybe those orders stretched to him also, but the firm grip Thranduil had on his shoulder gave evidence to the fact that he was not ready to be left completely alone. Smiling sadly he wrapped his only arm around his dearest friend, and allowed him the time to shed each and every one of his tears. He needed too, it would help in the long run, it was good to deal with the horror.

In the silent understanding of his friend, Thranduil fought through the stages of his grief. His mind flipped so quickly from terrible sorrow to murderous blood lust that the emotions often left him confused and frustrated. His only way of verbalizing was to growl out long and low ugly tears, or uttering fierce curses to the traitorous powers. Yes he knew his words were close to blasphemous but it was all in misplaced grief, as time passed the curses soon turned to weak pleas for forgiveness, and courage to let go of his father. Eventually his emotions subsided and reason entered his countenance, enough so that Aradan felt it was safe to speak;

"Thranduil...mellon nin...you must let him go."

Thranduil stirred slowly, and eyed his friend from his position slumped against the cold stone of the "bed" his father lay upon on. Weakly he glanced to the lifeless form of the elf that no longer resided with him, and then back at his mutilated friend. Aradan smiled wearily for him and clutched the stump of his arm, wincing slightly from the pain. It was the look of the frailty about the living elf that gave Thranduil the sharp and sudden jolt he needed.

His closest friend and captain - the once strong and celebrated Silvan elf of his woodland people - was reduced to little more than a weak shell. War had taken everything from Aradan, everything but his pride and his loyalty to his people and his King...but what had his King done to aid him in his time of need? With a disgusted snarl Thranduil struggled onto his feet and glowered angrily at the farthest wall of the tent. His people lay about him in tatters; broken, injured, exhausted, haunted people, and what had he done for them? He had hid in his tent mulling over his grief and his pain, too frightened to step outside and claim his birthright. To worried that he could not be his father, that he did not have the strength or understanding to be that benevolent King. His Ada would be most displeased with his selfish behaviour!

"Thranduil, are you well?" Aradan queried worriedly again, slowly pulling himself to his feet so he could level his friend with a concerned gaze. "If this is too soon all you need do is say, you have been through so much."

"I am fine," Thranduil answered him sharply, and allowed his gaze to sweep his Adar's still form one last time before turning icily on his Captain; "Set his body afire, burn our dead...I will not have their flesh left to rot in this barren wasteland."

"Are you sure...it is not normal protocol," Aradan yelped slightly, he was aware that the Eldar tended to prefer to bury their dead. A funeral pyre was often considered heathen...and of those less cultured.

"I am sure!" Thranduil hissed and with splintering anger in his eyes, he strode from the tent, leaning heavily on his spear in his determination not to falter.

He wanted no memory of this place; he wanted no marked grave to remember his father. He wished only for the bodies of his kin to be burned, and their ashes thrown to the winds, for if he could not bring them home to Greenwood he would not leave them in this cesspit to rot! He wanted the memories of this place to be forever burned from his mind, for he would never set foot in these cursed lands again and nor would any of kin. He was done with it all!

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A/N: Guys! You are so awesome! Thank you all so much for all the support with this story.  I literally love all of your comments and it's very encouraging. Believe it or not I'm quite insecure about this story so each and every happy smiley comment is just great.  So please don't stop and I'll do my best to keep writing for you all.