The Unforgiven { Legolas x OC - LotR Fanfiction}

76. The end of all Evil

It was a bitter winter afternoon, the sky streaked in hues of fire and gold as the sun began its descent. The gathering place faced the breathtaking sunset, casting a surreal glow over the landscape. From the ends of each aisle, jasmine-scented candles swayed gently on bare tree branches, their flames flickering against the growing dusk. The decorations stretched from the grand halls to the farthest corners of Mirkwood, like a silent celebration twisted by an unseen hand.

White leaves, dampened just enough not to crack beneath footfalls, lined the aisle in a delicate carpet of ivory. A strange stillness hung in the air as the trio stood frozen, staring in astonishment. Ethir reached instinctively for Legolas's hand, gripping it tightly as if the warmth could ward off the foreboding sense that had crept over them.

Without a word, they rushed forward toward the King's throne.

"I hope your father hasn't surrendered to Alaesa's madness," Ethir murmured, still clutching Legolas's hand. He shot her a brief glance, his silence more telling than any answer.

Behind them, Gimli's gruff voice cut through the quiet. "You heard the elf. The King and Queen, he said..." His gaze drifted to the floral arrangements and candlelit boughs. "Bah. All this beauty only makes the rot underneath more obvious."

They reached the throne room at last. The familiar sight of the Elvenking's towering seat should have been a comfort, but what they saw was anything but.

Thranduil sat unmoving, his mouth drawn in a grim, unnatural line. No greeting. No spark of recognition. Only silence. His hand lifted slowly in a gesture of welcome, almost mechanical. His eyes, once sharp with wisdom and pride, were vacant—cold and distant.

"Ada..." Legolas stepped forward, his voice laced with urgency. "Are we too late?"

Even when his mother had passed, Legolas had not seen his father in such a hollow state. The once-proud Elvenking now moved like a puppet, limbs responding with unnatural stiffness. His eyes locked on them, yet seemed to look through them.

It took several agonizing seconds before the fog in his gaze began to clear.

"Legolas..." he finally breathed, as though surfacing from a long, dreamless slumber. He stood abruptly, jolted into awareness by some unseen force. "Why have you returned?" His tone was flat but strong, the voice of a ruler trying to reclaim himself. "I commanded you to stay away from Mirkwood."

"We return to aid Mirkwood—and its King!" Legolas countered, stepping forward with resolve. His stare was unyielding, daring Thranduil to see the truth. "We found the answers you were seeking."

Thranduil studied his son, and slowly, recognition blossomed behind his eyes. The fog began to lift, piece by piece, replaced with dawning clarity and a flicker of hope.

"You sought them... and you found them," Thranduil said at last, his voice low. A glimmer of pride crept into his expression, rekindling the warmth that had long been buried beneath layers of shadow. "Alaesa no longer holds power over me."

Legolas nodded. "She cannot hurt us anymore. Her spell is broken."

As he began to recount the events that had led to this moment, Ethir and Gimli stepped back, giving space to the father and son. The air was beginning to shift, the poison dispelled—but peace was short-lived.

From the southern entrance, Alaesa emerged like a phantom from a nightmare. Her stride was confident, but her eyes betrayed confusion—perhaps even fear. Thranduil already knew the truth, every betrayal, every deceit. He had also been told of the cost: his only granddaughter's immortality was lost.

The King of stone and wood had returned.

Wrath surged through Thranduil's veins like wildfire. His eyes locked on Alaesa, deadly calm, his hand resting against the hilt of his sword.