My first foray into the world of Tolkien. I hope you enjoy this oneshot that focuses on what I thought about for the character of Thranduil. I know he is quite different in the movies than he is in the book, and he will also be quite different here. All elvish translations will be at the end of the piece!

No beta and written at 3 in the morning. Please forgive any mistakes!

Disclaimer: I do not own LOTR or The Hobbit.

He remembered his father, starkly against the haze of eternal summer that was childhood. He remembered midnight walks held in the safety of strong arms as constellations were drawn by a finger against the inky night as a deep voice whispered their names in reverence. He remembered the awe and raw joy he felt when he learned of the stars and the love he felt from forever on for the night sky.

His naneth was gentle, beautiful. She sang to him when he was sad or scared, played with him when he was lonely. She was the guiding light that he followed, and he loved her. He loved both of his parents, very much.

As he grew there were friends and happiness and so many good memories that they blurred together as he aged into one long good time. All was as it should have been.

He became an adult, Thranduil the crown prince of the Greenwood, the great realm of his ada's founding. And then he met her.

When his eyes first met her's, so green it was as if he were watching the leaves fall in the forest, he was lost. She was all that mattered, all that had ever mattered, and all that ever would. They were wed several summers after, and she carefully planted the two trees that would merge into one in the royal gardens.

He loved her, hopelessly and completely. Like the moon he basked in her light, for she was the sun. Her smile was the warmth that kept the chill at bay, her love was all he required to carry on. And they were so happy together, completed by the eternal presence of his father and mother.

But the eternal summers came to an abrupt end. War was here and the people of Middle Earth were dying by the thousands.

So they marched.

The people of the Greenwood were proud, and they followed their chosen king with loyalty that outshone every other. And in the last stand he followed the banner of his king, his ada, safe with the knowledge that he would not falter. The king would not fall.

But the Nazgul cries reached them before the signal, and the orcs were closing in, cutting them off from the others, and the signal still did not come. And in the face of his ada, Thranduil saw fear.

There was only one option, and the people of the Mighty Greenwood charged. They charged to their doom and to their death, but they refused to let death simply come take them. Thranduil followed his ada into battle, one last time, and said goodbye to the wife he knew would be waiting for him in vain. But he hoped that perhaps when his ada returned with the news of his valiant fall, she would not despair.

He wasn't paying attention. He had faltered, and the king was shoving him out of the way as the ring wraith's sword fell upon the space the crown prince had once occupied.

The sword ripped through the king of Greenwood, Oropher the Great, his father, and he watched the light diminish in his eyes. Thranduil felt pain for the first time.

A searing, ripping, tearing, breaking pain that consumed him and reduced him to nothing more than a child. A child who had lost his ada.

He didn't recall clearly what had happened, but he knew he had made it safely back to the camp, the battle over but far from won. A third of the Greenwood people would be returning, his ada not among them. There wasn't even a body to take back, Oropher was forever lost to the marshes, he let the grief consume him.

He wept brokenly for what felt like years, screamed for a decade, and begged for it not to be true. And then he sat in silence, nothing more than stone, and tried to remember why he should stay.

His naneth would be devastated, he could barely think of the pain she would feel. Would she blame him? Oropher had died in his stead, it was his fault.

But he thought of his wife, the light of his world, and resolved to endure. He shouldered the burden, and clung to life fiercely. He would remain for those that had been left behind. He would not crumble.

They named him king, and he took his people home. There would be no more war for the Greenwood elves.

When he returned, they were waiting for him, and his sadness betrayed the news before it was said. His naneth collapsed, and he held her tightly, whispering apologies over and over and begged for her forgiveness.

His wife held him that night as he wept once more, but the burden was lighter surrounded by the familiarity of home and in the arms of the one he loved.

His naneth didn't blame him, and he felt relief at her happiness to have her son with her, ion nin she called him in those moments. Over time they healed and their sadness dulled, an ache that would never leave but became manageable.

His beloved bore a son, his own titta lass, and he announced the arrival of the babe with joy and much celebration. The kingdom rejoiced in the birth of the little leaf, and of the hope his arrival signaled. The kingdom would grow once more, the Greenwood would not fade.

He would never quite remember what happened. He could recall his naneth lingering until the birth of the little one, but she set sail soon after. He remembered that it hurt very much when she left, but it was a bittersweet pain. He knew she would heal now that she returned to the distant land of his people.

He could recall at one point visiting the Lonely Mountain to deliver the finest materials, gathered with his own hands, and the stones that would be his gift to his wife, his hiril vuin. Thror himself agreed to craft the piece, and the two kings were able to smile and laugh with one another.

And then everything was wrong.

The serpents of the north descended upon them relentlessly, burning and breaking whatever they came across and destroying everything.

She was fighting, alongside him where it was always supposed to be. And he felt secure in the knowledge that this time he would not fail, he would not lose her.

But he did.

He didn't understand why, why it had to happen in the exact same way.

She pushed him, and the dragon fire consumed her, nearly taking him as well. But it was nothing compared to the shattering of who he was. For without her, he was nothing. He remembered the screaming, the sound of his soul fracturing into irreparable pieces.

He remembered killing the dragon, and any other that was foolish enough to stumble into his path.

Thranduil was reborn in ashes.

He returned home, with only one purpose in life, the little leaf that was so fragile, so precious. Her little leaf. Her ion.

When he arrived, he realized abruptly that he was not prepared for a barely walking and talking child with too big blue eyes asking calmly when naneth would be home.

He remained strong as he held the boy in his arms, softly trying to explain that she would not be coming home. She would never be home again. He was tender and kind and tried to fill the empty spaces in the little one with his own love, but he knew he could never completely replace her. He couldn't be both ada and naneth.

That night when the little one had cried himself to sleep Thranduil held him tightly in his arms, weeping while smoothing the boy's hair with long fingers. He did not cry in front of the boy, he wouldn't show him that his ada was just as broken. He needed to be strong for both of them.

In the days of their grief they were never separated. The others fancied his kin, his people to be the wildest of all the elven races. It showed when he would snap and snarl like a wounded animal at any who tried to take the boy from him.

The little leaf was sheltered in the steady arms of his ada, comforted by the warm chest and steadily beating heart as the midnight walks were repeated, names of stars whispered still in reverence, but one that was diminished by pain. The most important lesson remained, ada would not leave, ada would never leave.

The little one was all he had left in this world, the only thing that mattered.

Her ion, her son. Their little fragile leaf.

And for now, his ion only had him. So for that reason, he endured.

Fortifications rose across the kingdom seemingly overnight, all to protect the precious life that grew in the safety of his ada's watchful gaze.

He would protect the little one at all costs. No matter what, her ion would live.

Months slipped by before a messenger brought news of the Lonely Mountain, news from the King. Thror had finished the necklace.

He traveled to Erebor, a small passenger tucked safely in front of him as the steed he had known for many years carried them faithfully. The little one protested being left near the front gates, kept under the watchful eyes of the many guards who surrounded him, but the distress of separation was mollified by the curious dwarf children flocking to see the strange visitors.

Thranduil, King of the Greenwood, approached the throne of the King Under the Mountain with cold dignity. He softened in an effort to honor the friendship and kindness he shared with Thror, and bowed as he would to a treasured friend.

But it struck him again that she was gone. The thought liked to crush him when he least expected it, but he ruthlessly held a firm, proud image in the face of the sons of Durin.

Someone brought forth the chest and the lid was opened, his breath was stolen away, for there was the necklace he had designed just for her.

The one he would have gifted to her with the help of the little one playing near the gates. They would have bound it around her neck together, laughing as it settled against her collarbones and the little one tried to tickle her.

She would have swept them both up into a fierce embrace that still somehow managed to be soft, and he would have kissed her lightly.

They would have been so happy.

He hadn't realized he had been reaching for it, for her, until the box snapped closed. And he felt a fury rise within him at the fool-king who dared keep her just out of reach.

He crushed the pain he felt at Thror's betrayal, ripped apart the hurt that accompanied the king's smug look at the moment of weakness that had passed through the elven king's features.

Thror had to have known about her. The mourning songs could be heard clearly from the shrouded kingdom of Greenwood. Thror knew. And yet he laughed at Thranduil's agony.

He left without a word, cold fury sustaining him, keeping him standing. He would not break. The King of Greenwood vowed that all would come to see that the Mighty Kingdom would never break.

After he returned to the safety of his trees, he penned a letter advising Thror to recognize the madness and obsession that had overtaken him. There would be a dragon lured by the riches of the mountain. There was no doubt of that.

When the dragon came, he marched with his armies to the aid of the one who had tossed aside his friendship. For what?

He owed Thror nothing. He owed none of them elvish blood spent in a desperate battle against a fire drake drawn by their own greed.

How many would he loose in the battle to reclaim the mountain for a traitorous ally? How many husbands and wives would know the pain of losing the other as he knew? How many mothers and fathers?

Would he return? Or would there be a child-king reigning over the Woodland Realm by this very eve?

He would not subject his people to the torment he had suffered. He would not submit them to dragon fire once more. He had felt it's wrath and ruin.

No more.

He turned his back as the grandson of his once great ally, his once dear friend, screamed for him to help them, save them. For a moment, he felt a dull ache of shame and guilt before the overwhelming fear swept it away.

He returned to her son.

The little leaf grew into a strong right hand for his father, and always he knew that he was loved, treasured, by his naneth. Thranduil was certain to remind his ion that he had been so loved.

As he watched the soon to be matured elf warrior practice with his bow he felt pride, fierce and warm, and turned to share it with her. But she wasn't there.

The shadows grew by the hour, and forced them back farther and farther into the realm his ada had built. Mirkwood they called it now. No longer was it the steadfast kingdom of the Mighty Greenwood. No, now his people lived in shadows and hid from the dark things that crept through the trees.

When the dwarves entered his kingdom at the behest and quick departure of Mithrandir, he knew. His guard watched with keen eyes from the shadows that had so consumed their home and forced them further and further into their caves.

The grandson was dropped into his lap, and opportunity dangled in front of him. He would let the would-be King pass through unharmed and welcomed, if he would agree to return what belonged to him. The jewels of pure starlight given to Thranduil by his father, and made into the jewel that would have declared his love to all who looked upon it as it rested against his wife's neck.

He could have her again, if only a shadow. A shadow was enough, if only to be able to show her son what she had meant to his ada.

He felt his calm mask slip as soon as the accusations of cowardice began to fall from Thorin's snarl.

He didn't quite remember crowding the dwarf but he could hear the venom in his own voice as he corrected the child in his skewed thinking. And Thorin Oakenshield was nothing more than that to Thranduil Oropherion, a child.

He had felt fear in the face of Nazgul cries, the agonizing kiss of dragon fire, watched those he loved fall time and time again. He had watched her burn until there was nothing left but ashes as he stood by helpless to save her. He couldn't save her. He couldn't save his father.

The fear and pain twisted his features to reflect what lay within his mangled and broken soul and he felt disgust that the wretch would see him this way. The flicker of awe and terror that flashed in Thorin's eyes almost made the slip worth it, but he had still witnessed his weakness.

He was no coward, he knew what pain followed in the path of flames and war. There was nothing in Erebor but death.

He retreated to his throne, holding himself in rigid regality and wisdom. He would not break at the will of a would-be King.

He sent him away to the cells with the rest of his people.

When they escaped he was furious, but not so much that he would risk his own to collect the strays. The orcs would hunt them down if they could, it was no concern of his as long as both were away from his realm.

Until it was suddenly his every concern as the filth in his throne room, his seat of power, spoke of the coming days that were to be so like what he had experienced in his youth. Everything that could take her ion away from him.

War and death and things that should be foreign to the fair folk of Middle Earth that instead were oh so familiar. Nazgul and orcs, and monsters of whatever conjuring the One could create.

He would not subject the little leaf to the horrors that haunted his waking dreams.

But the little leaf was not a little leaf anymore, fully matured and rearing to go after the elleth he considered as close as kin. The one he had chosen as his sister.

The one thing Thranduil had left to hold precious had abandoned him, and he felt fear.

Fear descended into fury.

When his army marched once more for Erebor, he could not ignore the suffering of the Men of the Lake. He aided them, and hid his charity behind a mask of greed. It was better to be feared by these Men of what would be Dale, better to gain their respect rather than gratitude.

In all truth, he favored Bard Dragonslayer over many of the men he had met in his long, ongoing life.

He had truly kept a small hope that Thorin Oakenshield was not his grandfather, but it was a vain hope. He marched on the mountain under the false pretenses of reclaiming what was his, but the dragon had not been cleared completely. It was his duty to eliminate it.

As the Iron Hills dwarves came cresting over the hillside, a flicker of annoyance turned quickly into the dropping sensation of terror. The orcs had come, and it was time to decide.

Would he abandon the Men of Dale, the Sons of Durin and give the invading monsters so valuable a position? Would he flee once more?

No.

He stood firm and destroyed all notions of cowardliness as his people reigned down death upon the invaders. It was his soldiers that kept the mountain safe, not the sons of Durin.

He received word amidst the fighting that the Prince of Mirkwood had entered the fray in the city. He rode as fast as possible, never once glancing back at the mountain that held the treasure he so dearly craved.

There were more important things.

Within the walls of the city there was naught but death. The lifeless bodies of his people strewn about among the enemies they had felled. But there was so much death, so much ruin. He wondered for a moment how many would return, and desired nothing more than to find the little leaf and drag him, kicking and screaming if need be, back to the safety of their halls.

Tauriel reminded him of the mad dwarf king, spouting nonsense like a child about abandoning those who did not matter. What did he care of dwarves when Legolas could be laying amongst the dead. She accused him of being empty of love, and fury filled him.

The child in front of him knew nothing. All he had was love, it was all he was. Love for the one thing he had left in this world. A desperate love and hope to protect the last remnant of the one he had lost. All he had left was her son.

So he shouted at her, his entire being screaming with rage as she pitifully told him that she knew what love was. She knew nothing. The fear in her eyes told him that she was not ready to die for the feeling she held in her heart. She wasn't ready to lay down everything for the one who held her heart. Tauriel was not Thranduil.

And then her son was there, proclaiming that he would have to kill her ion to harm the stupid girl. How could he ever do such a thing?

It would be no different if Legolas had told him that to get to Tauriel, Thranduil would have to rip out his very being and crush it into the dirt. How could the boy not know that he was the reason the King of Mirkwood was so desperate to retreat to safety.

How had he failed in making it clear that his entire existence was based around the simple requirement that Legolas must live.

They finished the battle and he slaughtered those that dared to cross him. There was naught but cold burning rage in the Elvenking's eyes.

After it had ended, rage gave way to desperation. A hot and thick feeling that curled tightly like a spring, ready to snap and shatter what remained of him. He searched the dead with fearful eyes and hoped against hope that the little one had survived.

He found him unharmed and the relief almost made him drop to his knees and sob with gladness. Sheer strength of will kept him upright.

And finally he realized his mistake too late. He had built a prison around the boy, trapped him in safety and distanced himself too much. Now there was a gulf between them and steel bars locking them in. He had to let him go. And so he did, as any loving ada would do.

Surprisingly he did not feel pain. Instead he felt the all encompassing love for the Green Leaf that would surely make their people proud.

He had to let the child know, one last time, just how much he was loved. But the words were caught somewhere deep within him and instead he found himself telling the boy that his naneth had loved him, more than anything. More than life.

When all he really wanted to say was that he, Thranduil, loved the little leaf more than anything. More than life.

But he couldn't.

Love was tempered when he met with the utterly devastated expression of the favored elf of his guard.

He knew the pose and expression well, he had experienced it too many times in one life. She asked him what it hurt so much, begged him to take away the pain. But he couldn't and he knew why.

"Because it was real."

It hurt that this child who he had sheltered since her tender years after losing her parents would feel and understand the pain he knew. It was then that he decided to take her in once more. He would be there for this child, this iell that he could protect while the princeling was away.

Gently, he held her as they took the fallen prince away, and solidly he stood by her at the funerals of the Sons of Durin.

With a sense of peace that he had not known in such a long time, he laid Orcrist on the grave of Thorin Oakenshield, as well as the gleaming Arkenstone. Thorin would be the last true King Under the Mountain, Daín's pride be damned.

Thranduil would not admit to the small amount of pleasure he felt at the new king's annoyance at his insistance that the stone be laid to rest with Thorin. But he would admit to the sadness he felt at the dwarrow's passing.

He and Tauriel returned to the Woodland Realm with a newfound understanding. As the years fled the captain and the king found themselves tempted to fall into despair, but instead as they fell backwards they were met with each other, and helped hold the other up. Thranduil protected his iell, and she in return made sure he continued.

When the creature was brought into his care shortly after the return of the little leaf, he found that there was suddenly not enough time.

Gollum escaped and he was forced to send the prince of Mirkwood to inform Elrond's council. There simply was not enough time to tell the boy everything he had practiced carefully with Tauriel's help.

Instead they were caught up once more in war and the bitter defense of their home. No one could say where exactly the Prince of the Woodland Realm was, and everyday grew more and more grim. He feared for the little leaf caught in the hurricane that was Middle Earth.

And then it was over. They had won.

Word reached him of a King crowned to rule over men, the same King that he had sent the little leaf to find all those years ago.

Word also found them that a party of men, elves, hobbits, and a dwarf were approaching the newly named Forest of the Greenleaves.

Forest of the Greenleaves. He had renamed the realm of his father in honor of the one that he lived for. The one he would die for without a thought.

When the Nine Walkers reached the halls that had once been so consumed in shadows, Thranduil welcomed them with more joy than his people were used to seeing, but welcomed nonetheless.

The Crown Prince of the Woodland Realm approached the throne with muted trepidation, and a stab of pain shot through Thranduil's heart. The boy still did not know, it appeared, how much he meant to his ada.

But to his eternal surprise, Legolas swept him into a tight embrace. It was the way of men, dwarves, and everything decidedly not elvish, but he had never been happier. He was frozen for only a moment as something whispered that the last person to hold him in such a way had been her.

But then he recovered and as Legolas was pulling away with hopes dashed, Thranduil held his son tighter than he imagined possible. For a moment there was fear of hurting the weary prince, but it was not so.

Father and son stood together, finally understanding what the other meant, and a proud she-elf watched with a joy she had not felt in decades.

"Sevog i veleth nin, ion nin," he said softly to the child he held.

The celebration that night was held underneath the sky, the stars shining brightly and the wine flowing like water. It was quietly that the dwarf approached him, and informed him that once Thranduil Oropherion had locked up a dwarrow named Gloin whilst he traveled in the company of a would-be King.

Delicately, the dwarf presented him with a chest that was once so familiar. Without waiting to see the reaction of the elf, Gimli took his leave.

Thranduil opened the chest slowly and beheld what was once a dream. A dream that he and his loved ones had all lived together and no one had to suffer loss. There had been no death, no pain, just love.

A dream where a father and son had not struggled for what seemed an eternity to understand that they wanted the same thing.

Gently, Thranduil took the necklace of his own design from the chest and hooked it slipped it out of sight, into the pocket at his breast. There it lay lightly, a slight weight of longing and loss that would never truly leave, but would be lessened by those around him.

Thranduil Oropherion, lover of a maiden of starlight, King of the Woodland Realm, child of the Mighty Greenwood, Monarch of Mirkwood, now called King of the Greenleaves, and father to one little leaf looked out among the revelers and found the child he had once cradled so gently dancing with the captain he named iell.

His son laughed exuberantly as he and Tauriel whirled about, and Thranduil smiled. For the first time, in a very long time, he had everything he could want.

His son, his daughter, friends, and his home.

In the future he would sail for the undying lands and reunite with his mother. In the future he would live out forever with his son and his chosen love. In the future he would sit with his daughter under the stars and together they would remember the ones they had lost.

In the future there was nothing but joy and peace.

But now he watched the celebrations around him. And Thranduil was truly happy.

I had a lot of feelings about Thranduil. Elvish translations:

Ada- Informal Father (Dad or Daddy)

Naneth - Informal Mother (Mom or Mommy)

Titta lass - Little leaf

Hiril vuin - Beloved lady

Mithrandir - Grey Pilgrim or Wanderer

Ion nin - My son

Iell - Daughter

Sevog i veleth nin, ion nin - You have my love, my son