Halls of the King -
The Woodland
Realm

The afternoon sun flooded through the gardens and into the subdued corridors of the Healing Halls.  A beautiful chorus of song birds twittered and cheeped filling the space with a calming sound, the happy song, and warm colours a sharp contrast to the isolation that seemed to follow the ElvenKing around like a tormenting spectre.

Thranduil had paused to peer into the golden light from the edge of his wife's abandoned clinic. He couldn't exactly recall what had brought him to this place but he mostly believed it was just to feel close to her.

The space had not been touched since she had last worked in it, evident by the clay bowls and part mixed dregs of concoctions that had been left behind.

Her books and journals had been left open at certain pages and he had read them, trying to savour the last words she had thought, or just to attempt to get lost in her chaotic thoughts as he followed her scrawled notes.  There were personal touches too; a heavy woollen shawl had been cast off and he unashamedly picked it up and buried his face in the material, filling his nose with her scent. She had such a complex scent, floral but also spicy, a herbal tang, smells that clung to her from working with plants and fumbling about in the gardens crafting artistic things.

Thranduil was not sure if being here was a wise decision; if it was just a masochistic attempt at torturing himself, or if it actually helped his heart.

He shook his head at that thought - nothing helped his heart.

Six long weeks had passed since the incident at the old fortress and in that time he felt he had fallen apart at the seams several times. In fact, Thranduil was certain that the healers did not object to him temporarily living in the Healing wing because it was simply convenient for them to be on hand when he predictably snapped. It was their duty to ensure their King remained fully coherent and well cared for, although he was doing his best to give them a daily challenge. Personally he felt that his needs were secondary to Clara's, and on more than one occasion during the day he would vehemently remind the weary healers of that fact.

Clara's condition had been grave when they made it back home, although his memories were fuzzy of that time. His own injuries and exhaustion had caught up with him and he had been put into a forced sleep. Thranduil was later told it was because he was delirious and refusing to let go of his mate and had to be forcefully separated from her. He wasn't exactly ashamed of his actions but he did feel a level of regret. His delirium could have cost Clara more pain and that thought alone forced him to attempt to hold onto what was left of his mind as best he was able.

By the time Thranduil had surfaced, and his mind seemed to be within his own control, he was able to be reunited with his wife...his unconscious wife.

The healers had stabilised her condition but not without a struggle. Many nights slipped by when they thought she might pass, her body too physically damaged for her shattered spirit to hold together, and on each of those nights Thranduil had never left her side. Their bond still existed, he could feel some broken memory of it, but the sickness of her spirit had muddled everything and she appeared entirely unresponsive to his presence. It was that knowledge that utterly destroyed him, for in her time of greatest need he could be of no use to her.

Clara never woke up, not since the moment of her brief clarity before she was thrown by the orc scum, and this was what tortured Thranduil's heart the most. The thought that those would be her last memories; all the horror and cruelty of their world would be what she would have felt. It didn't seem right, it didn't seem fair at all, surely she deserved so much better? So she had never saved a battle with heroic deeds, or became some kind of strange, magic, wielding, Valar blessed creature, or a divine entity that healed the land...she meant so much more than all of that!

To Thranduil she had fought the battles that waged within their home, uniting friends and family with her quirky traits, and expending all her strength to fight for the culture and prosperity of her adopted people. She may not have been some Valar sent creature who brought strange tidings and trouble to their land, instead she brought a beautiful soul that lit up their home and filled the lives of those around her with love and encouragement, a light that could have only been gifted by the creator of life itself. She loved fiercely, and to Thranduil, and to her people, she was beloved and cherished because, for quite simply, she had loved and cherished them first and foremost.

She might not have been useful to the greater world but Clara was absolutely needed and required for everything she was right here, in her own home, with her own people, with her own family, and all the beauty she had created. She was special in her own quiet way and in her own right, and if anyone dared question Thranduil on that belief they probably would have met their end at his hand. He truly believed she was meant to exist, even if it was just to be the joy and light in their darkening world - a simple, gracious, truth, from their Creator that mercy and love was always within reach, no matter the obstacles, no matter the evil deeds, and all the horror that made it nearly impossible to believe in. She was the proof, there was life to be had, and a simple joy to be had in living...or at least that was what he believed.

The truth of these thoughts had never preyed more on Thranduil's mind than they had in these last weeks spent at her bedside. He watched as those who knew her flocked to be with her, the grief evident on their faces, as they knelt by her bedside and begged her to keep fighting to come back. Each soul having their own little tale to tell on how they personally knew their Queen; she had delivered their baby, she had offered them counsel, she had been kind to a servant, she had shown mercy when she did not have to. A pattern had emerged, there were no grand tales simply stories of one soul to another, a trait that he soon learned stretched beyond just his own realm.

Three weeks after the event, Glorfindel retuned with Lord Elrond, and with him his devastated wife. Celebrian was kinsfolk, and her upbringing in Lorien and with the Silvan of the southern woods of their brethren put her in good standing with his people, thus Thranduil could not turn her away. He had been slightly shocked at how badly the Lady of Imladris took the news of Clara's condition. She had brought every medicine and tonic she had at her disposal, and it appeared her husband's skill was something she was willingly offering up whether he consented or not - after all, the last time Thranduil and Elrond had spoke nothing but ill words had been shared. This appeared to mean little to Celebrian, for it appeared that although political channels had broken down between the two rulers it had continued to flourish between their wives.

The tension between Elrond and Thranduil was tangible but mercifully Elrond was a noble ellon, and morally he was more than willing to do his best for Clara, so long as Thranduil kept his temper in check. Frankly Thranduil felt he was in no position to refuse help, in fact, presently he would have travelled in search of those cowardly dwarves - who had fled at the first sniff of trouble - if he discovered they held some kind of antidote which could revive Clara.

His anger flared at the thought of the damn creatures that, in his mind, were a factor that played into the horrible set of events that led to Clara's captivity. The group of dwarves, that Clara had agreed to welcome in his absence, had been tracked down by a band of his own mercenaries and their attitude was not at all pleasing to the already angry King.

After being attacked by orcs and their group scattered into the forest, the dwarf scum had taken offence and decided not to warn the elves of the danger they had witnessed. Once they had gathered up the surviving members of their company they had left, snubbing their elven hosts and having the audacity to claim the elves had left them unwarned and unprotected. Thranduil was livid and more than offended when he had eventually been made aware of the situation, not least because the dwarves chief clan leaders were demanding an apology from the ElvenKing!

Thranduil was more than happy to ignore their whining, and he considered it entirely mercifully of him to not retaliate with an accusation that their refusal to pass on intelligence put his people in terrible danger. In any normal circumstance he probably would have hounded the dwarves for their ignorance, but all he truly cared about was his wife, and for as far as he was concerned the dwarves could stew in their pathetic caves...he had no interest in their hurt feelings.

Thranduil gave an angry growl as he thumped the nearest wall with his fist, the reality of his situation returning all too quickly. He was a King and soon he would have to return to his duties and deal with the fallout of these past events. For now he was satisfied that his counsellors were working on his behalf but they wouldn't be so obliging forever. If Clara remained as she was - unconscious and stable - they would push him to return, because honestly what would change during the length of a counsel meeting or hearing? It didn't seem to matter that Thranduil could barely spend an hour away from his wife's side for fear he would miss the slightest change in her breathing.

Just with the thought of Clara's current state filling his mind he decided it best to return to her. The servants would be changing her for bed and fixing any dressings. He liked to be present for those things, he liked to care for her as much as he could on his own.

Quickly he exited Clara's little study, bringing with him her woollen shawl, thinking that perhaps the familiar scent of her oils and herbs would be a comfort to her. It was only a short distance back to the private room which was cordoned off to treat the Queen. But even before Thranduil reached the guarded room he was already aware of hushed activity and a serious tone emanating from the spacious chamber.

Cautiously he pushed open the slightly ajar door and stepped inside. Immediately his eyes trained on the strained discussion unfolding between Elrond, his wife, and the ever present thorn in his side - Glorfindel.

"What are you doing here?" Thranduil snapped, "what is he doing here?" he asked again, not bothering on waiting for a response as he addressed a guard. "This is not a viewing gallery, my wife is critically ill, any visitations are strictly at my discretion!"

"Your daughter gave permission for me to be here," Glorfindel answered stiffly, his eyes flashing to the far side of the room where Celairiel sat at her Naneth's bedside, with her little brother in her arms, singing sadly to them both. Thranduil flexed his fingers, curling them into a fist as he worked on reining in his temper.

"Peace Thranduil," Celebrian murmured as she stretched her hand to pat her peer's arm. "Glorfindel is here for you, or at least for what he believes is best for your family, do not be so harsh on him."

"Yes," Elrond cut off sharply, "and he is protected by the citizenship of my realm and as such he is my subject, you will not treat him unfairly just because of petty jealousy."

"Do not pretend to speak of things you know nothing of, Elrond," Thranduil snarled as he turned away from the trio, "I have not the energy for this exchange...leave me be."

"Thranduil, we need to discuss Clara's wellbeing," Elrond spoke up as gently as he could, the statement causing Thranduil to freeze and a shiver of anxiety to run through him. He had been expecting this, but that did not mean he was prepared for it.

"Elrond," Celebrian's tone was warning, "leave him be, give him more time, such a decision does not need to be made tonight."

"If at all, I still feel that this is not the answer," Glorfindel interjected swiftly, his words alerting Thranduil that the upstart was entirely against whatever Elrond had suggested, and as much as it irked him to admit, he liked the aggravation this caused the visiting lord.

"Nevertheless," Elrond held up his hand to pacify the two sets of accusing eyes that seemed to wish he would keep his thoughts to himself. "It is my duty, as a healer, to be honest and open with Thranduil so he can be best informed to make the right decision for Clara."

"It may not be the right decision; it is, after all, just your opinion," Glorfindel grumbled, and Thranduil peered with open curiosity at the obvious discontent the elf had - he had not expected that.

"Thranduil may we speak privately," Elrond gestured to beyond the door, giving his friend a sidelong agitated glance.

Thranduil heaved a sigh but nodded reluctantly in agreement anyway, it was probably best to get this out of the way as quickly as possible - it was not going to be easy to hear.

The two elven nobles exited the room and walked in strained silence for quite some time. On several occasions Thranduil considered expressing his impatience, but each time he glanced up at Elrond he found him struggling with his private thoughts, and this only worried the King more. Whatever Elrond wanted to share with him was obviously distressing, and if that was the case then Thranduil was happy to string along the length of their walk together.

Eventually Elrond paused at one of the many entrance points into Clara's healing gardens. Thranduil fidgeted anxiously with the nail of his thumb, mostly focusing on not biting it - it really was a terrible habit for a King to have.

Elrond remained painfully silent, taking his time to look out over the garden that he and Clara - well, mostly Clara - had created together in the early years of their union. The visiting dignitary seemed to be appreciating the artistic flare and talent involved in the garden's creation. Thranduil gave a small smile despite himself, he always knew her talents would be the envy of the more artistically inclined Noldor folk, and it gave him a little swell of pride to have that confirmed.

"Thranduil, this is not easy for me to discuss with you," Elrond began carefully, his hands clasping in front of him as he lowered his gaze. "Not least because you and I certainly view the world very differently and your lowered opinion of me, and the company I keep, leaves me inclined to think I may only damage our friendship further."

"I would not worry," Thranduil answered dryly as he drew himself straighter, his hands folding behind his back, his eyes fixed on the elf lord. "I would not exactly call our attachment to one another friendly...I tolerate you...but I also respect you Elrond. I know you do not make decisions lightly, nor would you risk harming any goodwill between our realms by offending me, so, please, speak freely. It is not like you could make this situation any worse than it already is."

"Always so forthright," Elrond gave a half-hearted chuckle, "your father was more subtle, you truly are your mother's son."

"So people say," Thranduil answered flatly, not impressed by the deflecting tactics being employed, "Elrond, I am weary, please do not drag this out...I cannot bear it."

"Ai, so be it," Elrond replied glumly as he lifted his gaze to the horizon for a moment before meeting the ElvenKing's renowned intimidating gaze. "Thranduil, I cannot revive Clara," he spoke plainly and watched the elf's face harden then pale considerably before him. There was no point in attempting to sugar coat the seriousness of the situation, so he continued; "she has not fully awakened, and the longer she remains in this traumatised state the more I fear she will never regain full consciousness. Thranduil, you need to consider what is best for her, what would be wise for both you and your children."

"What..." Thranduil choked on the words, clearing his throat and attempting to swallow the hard lump that clogged his voice as he tried again, "what are you suggesting?'

"I am suggesting she leaves these shores," Elrond sighed heavily, knowing full well exactly how badly Thranduil would take this suggestion. "It can be arranged, and your Mother already dwells in the undying lands. Clara would be safe there, cared for in love, and the healing benefits that would have on her spirit and mind would be unparalleled. It is my fear that if she stays here she will gradually fade, either physically or spiritually, and do you want to see her fail before your eyes? Do you want you children to bear witness to that?"

"You cannot know that would be her fate!" Thranduil snapped as he backed away from the famed healer vigorously shaking his head. "If she were born elven, if she was normal, then I could rationalise your opinion but she is not like us...you cannot know that she would thrive in a strange and distant shore without her family!"

"I know this is upsetting Thranduil, truly I do, but I have exhausted every avenue. I would not suggest this if I knew of another way," Elrond pleaded and stepped toward the suddenly wrathful King, with his arms opened in a peaceful and sympathetic gesture. "I firmly believe it would be healing, and the separation would only be temporary, you would see her again."

"Centuries from now!" Thranduil barked, tears gathering in his eye as he spun away from the elf, determined not to let himself down by snapping in front of this tactless fool. "I cannot live with my heart torn in two. I cannot be a King without my Queen! My people have lived without that figure for longer than they should. My children will not grow up without knowing their mother, without having her guidance. Ferion is just an infant, what kind of father would I be if I sent his mother away? And Legolas, tell me Elrond, explain to me how I could look my son in the eye and tell him that I made the decision to take a maternal figure from him, again. I won't do it...it isn't right!"

"I know how it must sound to you," Elrond treaded carefully, "I know the misfortune you have suffered but this is not a failure on your part. This is a terrible accident, but you must not allow your own selfish desires and pains cloud what is best for your wife and your family. In the long run, letting go of Clara, may be the biggest blessing...it may not seem that way, bu-."

"No!" Thranduil's response boomed throughout the garden, echoing around the empty pavilion and startling Elrond to silence. Carefully Thranduil eased the tremor in his hands as he addressed his peer with a slightly more calm and collected voice. "My head tells me that your words are sound, from a place of truth, but my heart, Elrond, my heart guides me in ways that you - with all your wisdom - will never understand. I will never stop fighting for her, this is our life, it was a gift and I firmly hold to that belief."

Turning on his heels Thranduil left the slightly dumbfounded Healer to his musings and returned to be at Clara's bedside. Angrily he ordered all but his two youngest children from the room, and took to caring for his wife by himself, without help from any servants. He would not entertain Elrond's suggestion, he would not split his family apart, not for a small chance that a foreign land would somehow be the key to her survival. She would wake up, he had to believe that, he just had to figure out how?

Clara lay staring vacantly on the bed as he gently bathed and redressed the wounds on her hands and feet. Her eyes were open and she could be encouraged to drink or be spoon fed, but for the most part she remained unconscious to the world around her. She neither spoke nor moved, no life or spark of dreams filled her dead eyes, it was all just hallow emptiness. Still, Thranduil tried to act as if she was as present in the room as her physical form was. He talked to her and he had Ferion sit on his lap and read to his Naneth, coaxing him to show his beloved Nana how smart he was by reading aloud all by himself. Celairiel brushed her mother's short hair, though it was growing out slowly, all the lengths seemed to be evening out so her hair sat neatly just above her shoulders. She laced dumloth blooms around the crown of her Nana's head, and made little braids so they sat in place.

"You always look beautiful with flowers in your hair Nana," Celairiel chimed as she carefully slipped the last one in place. "When you get better I am going to make you a crown of paper flowers, so they will not ever fade, and you can wear it whenever you like."

"That is a thoughtful gesture," Thranduil spoke up quietly.  Ferion had nestled into his chest and was contemplating sleep, so a whispering voice was preferred. "Perhaps it is something you and your brothers can do together...hmm?"

"It is perhaps something Ferion and I can do together," Celairiel sighed heavily, her shoulders sagging, "Legolas still will not come visit Nana."

Thranduil frowned and glanced away towards the doorway in thought. Legolas had taken the whole situation much too hard and far to personally. His injuries were significant enough that he was kept on bed rest for a number of weeks, but he had been discharged the week before last and he had went straight to his own chambers.

Thranduil had split himself four ways since they all retuned home. He sat with Celairiel as she fought night terrors and relived the nightmares of the demon she faced in the woods, his daughter couldn't sleep without him present. He constantly had Ferion in tow, the little one needed to not fear his Naneth in her current condition and the only way that was achieved was by constantly guiding him in interacting with her, making things as normal as possible given their situation, and of course keeping everyone close. Legolas, however, did not want to be close.

The boy kept himself away purposefully, and no matter how Thranduil begged he could not get his son to come and be with his Nana. After a little probing and patience Legolas finally broke down and wept, and in his fragile state he admitted to feeling nothing, and he was jealous of his siblings. Celairiel and Ferion had their bonds with their mother, though like Thranduil they both innately registered something was wrong, their mother wasn't responding to their calls. Legolas had no such bond, no way of reaching for his Naneth, no physical birth connection. He felt utterly useless and pointless, and he did not want to sit with her and know he could do absolutely nothing to rescue her. If her own blood children could not help then he certainly had nothing to offer.

He had allowed his son the distance, it was a trauma he felt acutely, after all he had been the one to save her from certain death...and still it wasn't enough. Thranduil knew instinctively that is was all a matter of failure from Legolas' perspective, and he knew Clara and his son had a very special bond, something precious and not defined. What made Legolas stay away from his mother was not just feeling helpless, but feeling like a failure, and the fear that that very special bond was gone.

Rising to his feet, Thranduil motioned that he was going to put Ferion to bed, and Celairiel nodded. She was content to stay with her Naneth, besides Ollie usually visited in the evenings to sit with her dearest friend, and the young princess enjoyed listening to the many stories the elleth would tell of her Nana in her younger days. It kept her mother alive and vibrant in her memory, and gave her hope that one of these days she would wake up and reprimand Ollie for telling the story wrong.

Thranduil kissed his daughter's cheek, and slipped out quietly. He was supposed to take some rest himself when Ferion slept, but he never could find any peace without Clara at his side so he usually spent the evening's thinking much too deeply. Tonight, though, he decided to take a walk and likely visit his eldest son - perhaps they could ease each other's troubles.

Ordering a servant to stay with his youngest, Thranduil left the Healing Halls and returned to his empty home. He felt it hallow and lifeless without the noise and general interruptions of their daily lives before this horrendous event.

Yes, he knew Clara and he had not exactly been on great terms but they still co-existed quite happily. His heart ached in his chest as he passed the fireplace where he had wrestled her to the ground the night before she made her arrangements to leave. He recalled all to clearly how she promised to come back to him on her return, and how his heart soared at the anticipation of reuniting their love. He had spent the following weeks making plans and making sure everything would be perfect for her return. He had made her several new gowns, and sent for her favourite paints, as well as going a little over the top in redecorating their bed chamber. He wanted everything to be fresh and new; a crisp, clean, start. All the cobwebs from his past would be dusted down and he would fill their home with the positive memories of their time together. They would enjoy each other, as they used to, as was always intended for them.

Sadly, the happy reunion was not to play out that way, and it did no good to think over what never happened. He was just grateful, in this moment, that she was alive and that the scenario did not play out much worse.

Legolas was resting in his own bedchamber when Thranduil eventually found his way to him. The young elf eased up into a sitting position, wincing a little at the ache from his cracked ribs, as his father entered. Thranduil gestured for him to relax as he came to perch on the edge of his bed.

"What's wrong?" Legolas gasped, his eyes growing wide and panicked, "...is...is it Nana?"

"No, no, it is alright ion nin," Thranduil soothed, stretching out to pat his shoulder, "I just came to see you."

"Oh," Legolas relaxed, his shoulders sagging with relief, "well, I am still here, and I can't really go very far so there is no need to worry...I won't be getting into any trouble."

"Ah, but I do worry," Thranduil gave a soft chuckle, peeking up at his son with an endearing look. "it is my job Legolas, to worry over you, do you not know that by now?"

"I expected that you would worry less the older I got," he sniggered and cocked his head to the side to eye his father suspiciously, "you do realise you don't have to keep coming here every day, it is alright, I want you to stay with Nana and my brother and sister...it is only right."

"It is not right," Thranduil replied and reached for his child's hand, "I know I deserve your distance, I know I let you down when it came to heeding your concerns, and I know you think me harsh...and truthfully I am...but do not stay away from your siblings because of our misunderstandings."

"Ada," Legolas groaned weakly, "please, I do not want to argue about this again. I am not ready to see Nana...I can't...not yet."

"I know," Thranduil interrupted his son and stretched out his hands in a peaceful gesture. "I am not here to force you to do anything, but I am here to attempt to be your Adar, and do the right thing...which I clearly struggle to do at the best of times."

Legolas gave a soft snort and shook his head, a small smirk tugging at the edge of his lips.

"You are not that bad, Ada," he murmured, "you were always there when I needed you, and even if you made a complete shambles at handling a situation, you always had Nana helping you fix it...you definitely got a lot better when you met her."

Thranduil gave a spluttering laugh, a mixture of tears and humour, as he raked a hand through his hair and nodded his head at his son's accurate depiction of his questionable early parenting skills. He could cringe at the slew of mistakes he made and all the stupid thoughts and ideas he came up with, it was a damn miracle that his son had survived under his care.

"Legolas," Thranduil began seriously, deciding it was best to be open with boy, he was technically no more a child but a young ellon. A young warrior that had acted above and beyond his years with enviable intuition, and frankly the true reason Clara still lived. Thranduil was unsure if what he felt was pride for his son or disgust at his ignorance over the boy's courage. Still, as Legolas stared anxiously at his father's use of his name, Thranduil felt it harder than ever to deliver the harsh news of his Naneth, but he had to do it.

"Elrond has suggested that I send your Naneth away, that I arrange for her to sail West, because he feels there is nothing more that we can do here." He brokenly admitted to the discussion with the Imladris lord, already tasting the disbelief radiating off his son and they sound of his sharp inhale at the suggestion. "Nothing seems to revive her, my bond with her is too weak, the presence of your siblings makes no difference. He believes the nature of the undying lands to the West and the presence of the Valar will mend her broken spirit."

"What did you tell him?" Legolas blurted out, sitting up straight on the bed and reaching to grip his father's arm tightly, tears springing to his eyes. "Adar, please tell me you refused him! Please do not tell me you would let them take her away?"

"I told him that I could not knowingly look my son in the eye and tell him I sent his mother away," Thranduil answered honestly as he held his son's gaze. "I cannot make that decision Legolas, or at least I will not unless it was the very last option I had and it was something you, and your siblings, agreed too. We are a family, all of us Legolas, and I think you should at least consider coming to see your Naneth. Do you think if it where the other way around that she would shy away from being with you because you shared no natural bond?"

Legolas grew silent with this question and dropped his gaze mournfully. Thranduil caught his chin between his thumb and forefinger and pulled his eyes upward to meet his own; "Legolas, you and your Naneth share a very special connection, something I have never been able to rival, something precious and beyond the natural. I often teased her that she cared more for you than she did for me, and she never corrected me on that...and I never wanted her too. I know you think it folly to try, but trust me when I say that I have never witnessed it before and I do not think it is something easily broken."

"But," Legolas sucked in a sharp breath as he wrestled with his emotions, "I am not her child, there is nothing connecting us. What if she never recognises me? What if she forgets all about me? I couldn't bear that, Ada."

"And what if you are exactly who she is waiting to hear from?" Thranduil offered the suggestion and let it sink. "Just like you patiently waited on a Naneth as a child, maybe Clara is patiently waiting for you to bring her back again?"

"That is just a childish and comforting thought," Legolas grumbled and pulled away from his father to glare into the distance. "I said my prayers Ada, I begged Eru to let me save her, and my prayer obviously never reached His ears...if it had, Nana would be fine."

"I promised I wouldn't force you to do anything," Thranduil replied sadly as he stood up from the bed, his piece had been said and he couldn't think of any other argument to persuade his son to hold onto his faith. "Just promise me you will consider what I told you," Thranduil pushed, but Legolas merely gave a curt nod.

Turning to leave, he paused at the door - another thought occurring to him.

"Legolas, sometimes prayers are not answered in the way we imagine them...remember that."

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A/N:  All the feels!!!!
So many feels...why do I do this to myself?
So, my friends, what do you think Legolas should do?  What would you do?  And of course - please Vote, comment, and share.

So, the song for this chapter is actually one I'm excited to share. I used it quite a bit to develop Thranduil's psyche, for I just believe it is entirely poetic and ethereal in its depth. It's truly an 'immortals song' and genderless. And, I believe, it captures the real heart of the coming events of these chapters.
Media: All I Need - Within Temptation.