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They now believe the dragons are gone. Queen Daenerys Targaryen was murdered by the man she loved most, with her daughter Rhaenyra witnessing the whole ordeal. The little Princess mounted her mother's dragon and fled King's Landing...
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IT WAS ALL A MISTAKE. That thought echoed through Thranduil's mind over and over again, the mantra became louder and louder each second. The screams of fighting soldiers and the clanging of steel were still raging in the background, though for the Elven King they were now a dull and distant noise for his mind was elsewhere. Scattered along the streets in the ruins of Dale Thranduil observed the slain bodies of elven soldiers, laying in pools of their own blood with blank expressions on their faces, completely gone from the world.
His mind flashes with pictures from the Last Alliance, one of the greatest battles Thranduil had ever fought in, where he in the end had been forced to see his own father Oropher fall. Now today, as he observed these fallen soldiers he was brought back in time. Thranduil knew many of the fallen soldiers by name, many of them were younger than himself, so he had seen them grow. Now that life and future they might have envisioned had been snatched away from them in the most cruel way imaginable. Thranduil couldn't help but to put the blame on his own shoulders, it was he who had decided they should leave their own grounds and march on the mountain and it was he who had given the order to join the battle...
The distant roar of a dragon reached Thranduil's sensitive ears, and he looked up into the sky in time to see Drogon pass overhead, flying out over the plain before the mountain. At least Rhaenyra remained somewhat safe at the moment, and soon his people would be too.
Feren, a high ranking guard, came running towards Thranduil with a tight grip on his bow, looking dishevelled from battle.
Thranduil couldn't tear his eyes away from the bodies of elves littering Dale, and he spoke with a monotone voice as he told Feren his command, "Recall the troops."
As Feren blew the horn, Thranduil's heart sank deeper into his chest than before, the grip he had held on his sword slagging. All he could see was blood and death, and the sight of fallen soldiers before him felt endless, and he was only brought back to reality by Feren cautiously speaking his name. A retinue of still living soldiers had gathered and awaited his command for them to leave and travel back home to the safety behind their walls.
The King nodded and led them through the streets of Dale. Men, women and the occasional child laid completely unmoving in the streets, bleeding heavily from wounds inflicted on them by the foul smelling orcs. The only thing now able to soothe Thranduil's mind was the fact that he passed several dead orcs on his way.
As he rounded a corner Thranduil heard a screeching orc and saw that the thing was running straight at him. With only a sneer on his lips and without blinking Thranduil swung his sword, decapitating the creature and continued walking as if he had just been bothered by a mere fly. However, what made him stop completely was the female red-headed elf standing in his way.
"You will go no further!" Tauriel uttered in angry elvish, "You will not turn away, not this time."
"Get out of my way." Thranduil forced out, angry to see her standing there. Tauriel couldn't possibly understand his motives, she didn't know what it was like to be a ruler and care for an entire people and then see so many of them die as a result of a choice you had made.
