Stars of Varda - An Elven Love Story (Thranduil)

47. After the Battle

Thranduil soon left the confinement of his chambers to meet with his people. Though still weakened from the wound which temporarily sent his spirit from the earth, he was strong in mind, refusing to be kept from his duties as ruler. He ordered a host of his guards to scout the northern forest and search for the villagers still missing. Tauriel came upon them soon after departing, safe and in good health, and traveling home.

Mostly mothers and their children, they had found protection by keeping in tall trees during the long and dangerous nights of Mirkwood. Thranduil made an oath to rebuild the destroyed homes into stronger ones, and to restore the Greenwood fully. His promise was met with a grateful reception. But there was nothing which could replace lost loved ones, and no words to heal the hearts of those left behind.

Longing for fresh air and the sun's warm beam on my skin, I decide to leave the comfort of the cavern halls and face what has become of my homeland. It is time. I step through the entrance doors and am greeted with a heart-wrenching sight. The world is black.

The Forest River runs steadily under the bridge as it ever has, the treacherous waters dark and unchanged. But the once-beautiful woods beyond its bank are charred, devoid of any color.

Most homes are now ash, only remnants of others remaining. Craggy stumps stand in place of my favorite beech trees nestled by the river. A foul odor hangs in the air from the orc remains burned last night.

I slowly walk over the bridge and down the main road, and look upon what has become of the village with a terrible ache in my chest. Reaching the location of Gwendes' home, I walk around remains which give no indication there was a lively dwelling here only a few days ago.

Blackened jars and pots litter the ground, earthenware which surpass my own age by thousands of years. Though they had undoubtedly survived many times of hardship, they were no match for what befell them.

"I have visited many times," a small voice says behind me. "But the scene never changes."

Gwendes does not wear her usual open smile. Her hands are covered in ash, evidence she has been searching through the burnt remains. She looks like she has not slept since the night of the battle.

"Your brother's book...did it burn as well?"

I am not sure why I ask. I already know the answer.

"I searched everywhere for it, but it is dust now." She does not meet my eyes. "I still have his stories...they are written in my heart."

"I shall write another one."

She does not reply, but I know she is grateful by the way her mouth lifts into a half smile. Even half a smile is a strong contrast to our black surroundings, though its warmth does not lessen the chill.

"How is your father?"

"He is well," she says, her gaze directed to an unknown place beyond my shoulder. "He still cannot walk, but he will soon enough. It would not be so if he was a mortal man. Blessed are our people..."

The glimpse of optimism from Gwendes warms me. "Even our dead shall wait for our coming by Sea."

She nods. "They are not lost to us forever. Perhaps Lord Elros now realizes he escaped a fate worse than his death."

Despite the darkness of her humor, I cannot stifle a small chuckle. "I do feel for his betrothed, miserable as she is. Do you believe she really loved him?"

"I cannot say, but I have a suspicion not much time will pass before she finds his replacement. Lord Elros redeemed himself to us in the end. I am left thinking fondly of him."

"I as well. I hope he finds happiness in Aman."

Gwendes kneels and picks up a piece of broken pottery, and absently turns it over in her hands. "I heard your father shall say a few words at tonight's burial, as well as the King. Will you be there?"

"I shall."

My chest constricts as I think of how many bodies will be laid to rest, of how many of my kin have lost their husbands, wives, sons, daughters...I do not know the final death count. Part of me does not wish to know.

"Do you remember Sírdor?"

I kneel down beside her, feeling a rush of relief at the change of subject. "Of course I do. I saw him speaking to you after the battle, but I did not wish to interfere..."

"When I heard his voice again, I remembered how much I valued his friendship," she says. "I do not know how I had forgotten. After everything I put him through, he still maintains his kindness. He is a good person."

"I know," I say, and mean it.

"He..." She trails off hesitantly and searches my face, as though seeking my consent to continue.

"Tell me good news, mellon."

She exhales in relief. "He asked me...to marry him."

"What did you say?"

"I said yes."

I suddenly see the forest gloriously alive again, fresh sprigs on the high branches of the beech trees, and pink and white blossoms surrounding a vibrant wedding ceremony on Yestarë.

"I could not be happier for you, Gwendes. I know without any doubt you have made the right choice."

-----

March turns to April, and the lingering chill from winter gives way to a mild spring, bringing with it messengers from distant lands. The first comes from Lórien, giving tidings of their victory in the battles against the forces of Dol Guldur. After defeating them in their homeland, Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel led an assault on their evil hold. With Galadriel's power, Dol Guldur was finally destroyed, along with all wicked inhabitants in Mirkwood.

The second messenger comes from Dale, the city nearest the Lonely Mountain. The Dwarves of Erebor joined them in fighting a brutal battle against the Easterlings, the barbaric nomads from Rhûn. The Easterlings had planned to attack the Woodland Realm from the north, but the battle at the Lonely Mountain waylaid them. It thus prevented what would have been a certain end to my homeland.

The third and final messenger is from Gondor, at Legolas' bidding. It is the greatest news of all. The Halfling accomplished the impossible, destroying the One Ring in the fires of Mount Doom. Sauron and his black lands of Mordor are gone forevermore.

Now at the end of the Third Age, there is finally a promise of peace.

It is more than I had imagined, or hoped for. I expected more battles to come, more suffering, more death. But as my friend Mattie used to say, good always prevails, even if a little late. It makes us appreciate it all the more.

There is no grand celebration in our halls at Middle-earth's victory, the shadow hovering over the land a constant reminder of how much we have lost, and how long the road to recovery will be. Healing will be slow. There are those who are already making preparations for their journey to beyond the Sea.

Still, a glorious victory resides in my heart. It keeps me looking to the future. It gives me hope.