Queen of the Woodland Realm [Thranduil]

Chapter 23: White

Author's Note: Can you believe it's almost been a year since this story has been posted? It's crazy!! And even crazier is that we're almost done. This chapter is the last chapter in the story before an epilogue. Thank you so much for sticking it out with me this long, and for waiting so ridiculously long for updates. Your comments are what keep me writing in moments of no inspiration, so THANK YOU!! ^.^ 

I hope you enjoy this update, and be sure to comment and vote if you do!! <3

~~~

I can tell you now, Mr. Baggins, I do not really remember the rest of the tale. Everything comes to me in flashes of silver, blue and white. But my husband remembers all too well the day I was brought back to the Woodland Realm...

__________________________________

Thranduil had searched for a full year.

He had sent out search parties, and when they had returned empty-handed, he had gone out himself. They had turned every pebble in Greenwood upside down, had ransacked every village. They had gone beyond Greenwood, to the edges of the map, where Dol Gulder lay. They had asked, looked, and asked again. And in all those searches, not one had brought Anona back to him.

Legolas had grown into the sensitive yet ruthless warrior prince that she had always hoped he would become. He lead patrols, held training sessions in the archery fields, and gave the guards their new posts. He was gentle yet firm with his students, as any good teacher would be, and when they would hit a target in its center; the corner of his mouth would quirk slightly. But he never smiled—not like he did when his mother was in the Realm.

Kelda: his daughter, his joy. Thranduil understood now why they had taken Anona from him. But why would they take Kelda, an infant, who did not know right from wrong? She had no information—if anything, Legolas had more knowledge than his sister. Thranduil had barely gotten to see her before she was snatched away from him.

They carried on; grief locked into their hearts like a cruel knife, believing that they were gone, dead, and would never return. That was, until Dalyor, Legolas's most trusted friend and a member of the Woodland Guard, came forward with news.

"My King," he stooped into a bow. "The pale Orc requests and audience with you."

Legolas, who stood at the foot of the throne, looked up at his father, surprise clearly etched into his features. He knew it would not be wise to speak, however, so he remained silent.

Thranduil leaned forward, his eyes betraying only half of the anger he felt. "Say that again."

His voice cut through the air like a sharpened dagger, cold as ice. Dalyor paled. "He says...he says he requests an audience with you."

"The King of the Woodland Realm does not give his time so willingly to disgusting creatures of darkness," the king said. "You know this, and would have told this to them, Dalyor. What exactly do they have that is of interest to me?"

Dalyor's grey eyes filled with tears, and they spilled down his cheeks as he looked at the king. "The queen," he said.

It was so quiet that it might have just been a whisper. Thranduil's eyes widened, the only indication that he had heard it. On the floor, Legolas grew impossibly pale. He looked up at the throne, where his father sat rigid, his hands trembling on his lap.

"Father—" Legolas's voice broke.

Thranduil descended the throne in a flourish of maroon silks, and put his hand on his son's shoulder. Something unspoken passed between them. "Send them in," the king said, his eyes never leaving Legolas's.