#Battle of Dagorlad

[acornsandoaktrees]

Oropher’s death at the Battle of Dagorlad, circa SA. 3434

yeah.. lineage is a big deal with Sylvans after Dagorlad i think. your immortality lives on in generations.

[ladywithaquill]

A Young King Returns from War

Part 8 of The Birth of A King series is on AO3 for reading.

[savage-kult-of-gorthaur]

"...HE WROUGHT HIMSELF A NEW GUISE, AN IMAGE OF HATRED AND MALICE MADE VISIBLE..."

PIC INFO: Spotlight on an illustration of Sauron, the Dark Lord and Enemy of the Free Peoples of Middle-earth, as he appeared during the Battle of Dagorlad in Peter Jackson's "Lord of the Rings" film trilogy (2001-2003). Artist unknown.

"...his spirit arose out of the deep and passed as a shadow and a black wind over the sea, and came back to Middle-earth and to Mordor that was his home. There he took up again his great Ring in Barad-dûr, and dwelt there, dark and silent, until he wrought himself a new guise, an image of malice and hatred made visible; and the Eye of Sauron the Terrible few could endure."

-- "QUENTA SILMARILLION," "Akallabêth," written by J.R.R. Tolkien, published 1977

Sources: www.pinterest.com/pin/488218415837584309 & www.henneth-annun.net/events_view.cfm?evid=1060.

[sesamenom]

handful of reverse gondolin doodles, this time featuring lomion, tyelpe, and baby gil!

[swordoaths]

@legionscall​ sent:  [ COVER ]:   sender lunges forward to throw their body over the receiver and shield them from harm during a fight /  for Thranduil from Lark

    What to an heir is accession in the midst of battle? A bloodied crown passed unto the son whilst slain kin stare blankly, seeing nothing. There was no funeral procession and no coronation procession. Only continued duty that demanded no time for grief. Thranduil stood with a longsword in each hand, head raised in defiance to what his eyes beheld. And it was there in his gaze that living memory endured--- filled with horrors and loss of home and kin. There also in his gaze was the disbelief that death came yet again, now leaving none else save the new Elvenking. Eyes widened, but not yet breaking from the sight of his father slumped lifeless amidst their kin (the kin who accepted them as their own long ago). More than two thirds of their own surrounded the former King in eternal guard. Thranduil took one step back. Too soon had his father led the charge-- too soon had they gone to their deaths.  But no more. 

    “Call them back,” came his first command as Elvenking. “All who survive shall return to the main host, ere we go to slaughter.” The Captain who stood beside his new King blew the horn, calling what was left of the host from the Woodland Realm. Cut off from the others of their Alliance, Thranduil turned to face the enemy to give his kin a chance at escape. “Lead them away,” he commanded the Captain ere he raised his swords. “Gwao hi!”

   Swift and seamless were the Elvenking’s blows, for such skill with the blade had long been with him. Swiping left, then right, then crossing both and releasing out, his blades found the weak points in the foul creatures’ armor to deliver mortal blows. He remained--- he endured--- to cut down the enemy whilst his kin were able to slip free from a fate he would not allow them to face. 

     For some time, Thranduil prevailed, yet the enemy seemed not to dwindle. Suddenly, the hook of one Orc blade caught one of the Elvenking’s swords, thrusting it from his grasp. If the blade made noise when it thudded to the ground, he heard it not, for Thranduil heard only the clang from his remaining sword serving as a block between the Orc blade and his face. He stepped forward swiftly, using force to push the contender back into its own line to meet the blade of another Orc. Vengeful eyes gazed upon the Orc as its final breaths were guttural and blood-choked. Upon its death, Thranduil stepped back, sword at the ready. Enraged, the others descended upon the Elvenking, knocking him to the ground. The fall caused his final sword to slip from his grasp, settling upon the ground mere inches beyond reach.

     He was alone, or so it seemed. Fallen upon his back, the Elvenking stared up at a line of foul faces that relished in the prospect of yet another death.

    But there was another from their alliance, and Lark gave rise to her presence in one fell swoop--- throwing herself upon him as a shield. He had not the time to question her reasons, for her selflessness gave them extra time--- precious few seconds for them to survive this yet. The line of Orcs stumbled back in half a moment’s confusion, granting Thranduil opportunity to reach for his sword. He looked at her, eyes full of conviction that no more Elvish blood would be spilt this day. Thranduil would not allow it. “Come, rise and shield me no more! Our blades together shall grant both of us a path through.”

[sillylotrpolls]

Today's poll inspired by this post by @taleasoldastime-andspace, who was watching knife-making competition show Forged in Fire and asked the obvious lotr-related question, and @fistfuloflightning.

In the book, Narsil is broken into two shards (or possibly, only two large shards were recovered). In the movie, Narsil is shown in about five or six pieces. You can headcanon however many shards you like for your answer.

From Tolkien Gateway:

Elendil carried Narsil in the Battle of Dagorlad where it shone with the light of the Sun and Moon, and then in the Siege of Barad-dûr; but Sauron killed him and the sword broke into two pieces under him as he fell, and its light was extinguished. Elendil's son Isildur took up the sword and used its shard to cut the One Ring from the hand of Sauron. Isildur took the shards home with him. Shortly before Isildur was killed in the second year of the Third Age in the Disaster of the Gladden Fields, the shards were rescued by Ohtar, esquire of Isildur. He took them to Rivendell, where Isildur's youngest son Valandil was fostered, but Elrond foretold that it wouldn't be reforged until the One Ring was found again and Sauron returned.

From The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring: Part 2: Chapter 3: The Ring Goes South:

The Sword of Elendil was forged anew by Elvish smiths, and on its blade was traced a device of seven stars set between the crescent Moon and the rayed Sun, and about them was written many runes; for Aragorn son of Arathorn was going to war upon the marches of Mordor. Very bright was that sword when it was made whole again; the light of the sun shone redly in it, and the light of the moon shone cold, and its edge was hard and keen. And Aragorn gave it a new name and called it Andúril, Flame of the West.

[artanis-draws]

I somehow imagined Oropher just before the battle of Dagorlad, rising bis sword and encouraging his soldiers with a rousing battle cry, not knowing that it would be his last fight… Cuio vae, Oropher!

I also liked the idea of Thranduil wearing the silver crown in honour of his father on the battlefields in the future ❤️

[thranduilswifesblog]

Oropher giving a pep talk : when you had a bad day, give up, go home, and sleep. Fuck it. Try again tomorrow, not every bad day can become a good day, some days are fucked and cannot be unfucked. When you have a day that is fucked beyond repair, that is the universe speaking to you, sending you a messege,listen to the universe, go home. Save your energy. Tomorrow is another day, for now just fucking chill

Elrond : ...

Gil Galad : ...

Thranduil : ...

The entire army ready for the final battle in dagorlad :....

Sauron :....

Gil Galad : BITCH!?-

[sotwk]

According to the lay known as “The Fall of Gil-Galad”, upon this elven-king’s death, he was “the last whose realm was fair and free, between the Mountains and the Sea”.

…say what now? Excuse me, dear Middle-earth minstrels, but you seem to have forgotten about THIS GUY:

King Thranduil Oropherion is the Sindarin counterpart of the “High King of the Noldor”, and therefore comparable to the renowned High King Gil-Galad, but is sadly not given the same amount of recognition in stories and songs.

Allow me the honor of “singing” the ways Thranduil is very similar to Gil-Galad:

(1) Both were born in the First Age, and as young elves witnessed the destruction of the cities they lived in: Thranduil in Doriath and Gil-Galad in the Havens of the Falas. They were exposed to war and bloodshed at an early age and experienced living as refugees.

(2) Both survived and possibly participated in the War of Wrath. (You know, that really terrible, bloody, decades-long war that literally broke the world--that war.) According to certain interpretations of the film “The Hobbit: Desolation of Smaug”, Thranduil likely did fight in the War of Wrath, where he “faced the great serpents of the north”. Elven warriors of the First Age were incredibly fierce warriors out of necessity, and if Thranduil survived those great battles when he was about 150 years old, that makes him extra badass. 

(3) Both inherited their kingships from their forefathers. Gil-Galad’s claim to the Noldor throne (like his canon parentage) is a little murky, but he is related to Fingolfin whose line was pretty much wiped out, so only Elrond or Galadriel could have challenged his claim (which they didn’t). Thranduil’s claim is far more direct as the son of the first King of the Woodland Realm and ruler of the Silvan people.

(4) Both were warrior kings. Because canon stories of Thranduil are very sparse, we don’t know for sure which wars he did or didn’t participate in during the Second Age. What DID he do those 2,000+ years while his father was establishing and ruling the realm? Honing his warrior skills seems to be a fair hypothesis. How else would he have developed the deadly skills he exhibited at the Battle of Five Armies? How else would he have kept the foul creatures of Dol Goldur at bay without a magic ring? It’s very possible he’s seen more time on the battlefield than official historical accounts say. 

(5) Both fought at the Battle of Dagorlad, during the War of the Last Alliance. Gil-Galad fought hard and valiantly to the end at Mordor, slaying Sauron by his own spear. Because Oropher died at the first onslaught, it was likely that Thranduil had to exit the war early, either to bury his father and their slain soldiers, or because he himself was injured. There may have been enough time for him to rejoin the Alliance at the Siege of Barad-dûr, to avenge his father and salvage his family’s honor and pride. But Thranduil, whom people mistakenly dismiss as arrogant or proud, was a king who valued his people and the soldiers under his command. It would have been easy glory to join the Siege since by then the war had been all but won (and won by the blood of his people, might I add). Thranduil chose to stay with his kin and help them through the loss of their king and many loved ones, and to reassure them that they were in good hands with him as their new ruler. 

It’s a big, sad shame that Tolkien was not able to write more stories about Thranduil, his family, and the Mirkwood elves. Based on the theories we, his fans, are able to formulate about him, it seems he may have been the most successful, even most benevolent, Elven ruler of them all. He will just have to get his glory and renown in the “songs” and “lays” of our headcanons and fanfics. 

Looking for more Thranduil content?

Introduction to SotWK

My Headcanon Masterlist 

My Fanfiction Masterlist

Thank you for your support and interest!

[edennill]

During his lifetime, Isildur had always been hailed as a hero. It started very early, that, with the theft of the sapling, and this was never forgotten. And later, after his death, legend added to legend; his prowess in battle, the bravery of his youth, the kingship he wielded, merging into one foundational myth. The Isildur who had once lived might have been glad rather than embarrassed at the statues and songs, but he might have wondered at the long lasting of legend. He might have felt unease at how his failures were all but forgotten. But the dead do not worry about their legacies, though they might know of them.

Near the end of the Third Age, one of his failures was brought out from the depths of history, and suddenly, learned men begun to wonder and rewrite their histories. They did not forget the White Tree, they did not forget the Dagorlad, but the tale they now told became a cautionary tragedy of pride. Not merciless, pitying rather, in most of their mouths, but with the center of weight firmly fixed on that one decision no mortal man could have avoided.

They never painted Isildur as he was, child of the land of mortal dreams that turned to nightmares before his eyes, almost rashly daring youth, leader and king in exile, and all the same man. One who could be obnoxiously proud, but who would have overcome this fault had he not had the misfortune to find the Ring; one who sought to amend this at last -- and who would not have, likely, succeeded in giving the Ring up, but who died with the wish to do so. One who, unlike other characters of legend, regretted the dragging of his own into his mistakes; one who had a lucky end and died terribly, and ignobly, and well. But a king must resign himself to becoming a legend, and he was a king who was a man.

[nerdcousin]

My fav Thranduil headncanon I’ve written so far

TW: this is dark as fuck

During the Battle of Dagorlad many people died, among them King Oropher of the Greenwood, Thranduils father.

I imagine that he was fighting against the orcs and he was hit from behind with a spear through the gut, and fell to the ground still alive. At this point many of the goblins have fallen and thus there are many riderless wargs on the the battle field. They see an elf on the ground, wounded, and unable to run or fight back.

They tear into Oropher, not caring that he is still alive because he can’t defend himself, he is powerless, all he can do is scream until his heart finally, finally gives out.

And all the while Thranduil is there, he is close enough to see his father being eaten alive, close enough to hear him scream but always too far away. Orcs are swarming him, he is tired, he is wounded but all he can think of is that he has to get there, he has to save his father but he can’t.

He fights and he fights, and more orcs keep coming. His father has stoped screaming a long time ago. He can barely see him, but he knows when he gets there he’ll only find a mangled, bloody corps, features torn beyond recognition and silver hair trod into pools of his own blood, but he has to get there, because if he can get there then it will all be alright. He’ll realise it’s not his father, or that he somehow managed to get away. Thranduil knows he’ll realise that, because his father can’t be dead, he has to be alive.

He is eventually dragged away by his own soldiers, they’re screaming at him: “It’s pointless, he’s dead!” But he can’t be dead, he isn’t, Thranduil knows that.

Days pass and they’re all calling him King, but he isn’t King, he is the prince, his father is the king.

And then finally someone finds Orophers body in the marshes, only recognised by the scratched and dirty circlet that’s still clinging to his head. He is brought back, and his body washed, and when someone gets a hold of Thranduil he is convinced that his father is back. They will all stop calling him king, and see that his fathers is still here because he can’t be dead.

He steps into the tent, and only when he sees his father there, body covered with a sheet, -not linen, they ran out months ago; it’s an old cloak someone found- skin grey, hair dull and brittle, eyes unseeing, tooth and claw marks even on his face, only then does it really sink in. His father really is dead. He can’t deine it anymore.

Days later he is still hasn’t cried, because maybe if he doesn’t show just how much it hurts, maybe it will stop hurting.

Weeks later he still barely speaks.

Months later, the war over, he still barely eats.

Years later he still wakes up screaming almost every night.

Decades later he still wishes he had died instead. His armes, his thighs, his entire body is covered in little jagged lines, because he thinks he deserves the pain, and his wife isn’t there anymore to tell him otherwise. Instead, she is another on the long list of people he wasn’t good enough to save.

Sometimes he thinks he should just slash his wrists and be done with it.

He drinks and works more than he should, he eats and sleeps less than he should.

He wants to change but he can’t, he can’t stop working at night and he can’t go to sleep because he would rather be exhausted than relive everything again.

He can’t stop drinking, because the alcohol makes him forget, even if just a tiny bit.

He can’t stop hating himself and he can’t stop cutting because he deserves it.

He can’t eat because what right does he have to be alive when so many others died?

He can’t stop thinking that he should be dead because it’s true.

Then the Dragon comes.

Yes, they defeated the beast but he is disfigured, a freak, a cripple. Blind in one eye and forced to hide behind a glamour so he wouldn’t go mad with pain.

He buries it all deep down, because someone has the lead his people, and he is the one who has to do it, however unworthy he may be.

He barely talks to his son anymore, and when he does, he never shows how much he loves him. He prays the boy would hate him, because he knows he can’t hold on forever, and he doesn’t want Legolas to get hurt in the same way he did.

But he is also selfish. He wishes that if he pretends not to love him, maybe he would stop loving him, too. He knows if something happened to that child, he would not survive it.

The same darkness that took his father and his wife is gathering again, and his son is fighting on the front lines. His people need him, and his sense of duty is the only thing keeping him alive.

He never stopped loving his son, and if Legolas died, so would he and his people would be leaderless and fall.

He couldn’t keep his son away from the battle field, so he kept pretending not to care, and every time his little leaf set out he prayed that he would come back.

Thousands of years and another terrible war later, and the guilt still eats him up.

With Sauron defeated he can leave Middle Earth behind, and go in search of Valinor, and seek if his loved ones might be found there, and if not, he could finally lay down his defences and die of his broken heart in peace.

[aspenrockymountainhigh]

THE DEATH OF OROPHER

(The War of the Last Alliance, Battle of Dagorlad, S.A. 3434)

“Despite the desire of the Silvan Elves to meddle as little as might be in the affairs of the Noldor and Sindar, or of any other peoples, Dwarves, Men, or Orcs, Oropher had the wisdom to foresee that peace would not return unless Sauron was overcome. [Oropher] therefore assembled a great army of his now numerous people, and joining with the lesser army of Malgalad of Lórien he led the host of the Silvan Elves to battle. The Silvan Elves were hardy and valiant, but ill-equipped with armour or weapons in comparison with the Eldar of the West; also they were independent, and not disposed to place themselves under the supreme command of Gil-galad. Their losses were thus more grievous than they need have been, even in that terrible war. Malgalad and more than half his following perished in the great battle of the Dagorlad, being cut off from the main host and driven into the Dead Marshes. Oropher was slain in the first assault upon Mordor, rushing forward at the head of his most doughty warriors before Gil-galad had given the signal for the advance. Thranduil his son survived, but when the war ended and Sauron was slain (as it seemed) he led back home barely a third of the army that had marched to war.”

~~Unfinished Tales, The Sindarin Princes of the Silvan Elves

Art by ChicotFP

[savage-kult-of-gorthaur]

"...AND BY SLOW ARTS OF CRUELTY WERE CORRUPTED AND ENSLAVED; AND THUS DID MELKOR BREED THE HIDEOUS RACE OF THE ORCS..."

PIC(S) INFO: Spotlight on the many different types of orcs and orc makeup effects by Weta Workshop, all orc makeup iterations featured here can be found in Peter Jackson's first installment of the "The Lord of the Rings" film trilogy, "The Fellowship of the Ring" (2001). New Line Cinema.

"But of those unhappy ones who were ensnared by Melkor little is known of a certainty... Yet this is held true by the wise of Eressëa, that all those of the Quendi who came into the hands of Melkor, ere Utumno was broken, were put there in prison, and by slow arts of cruelty were corrupted and enslaved; and thus did Melkor breed the hideous race of the Orcs in eny and mockery of the Elves, of whom they were afterwards the bitterest foes. For the Orcs had life and multiplied after the manner of the Children of Ilúvatar... And deep in their dark hearts the Orcs loathed the Master whom they served in fear, the maker only of their misery..."

-- "The Silmarillion," "Quenta Silmarillion, III -- Of the Coming of the Elves and the Captivity of Melkor," written by J.R.R. Tolkien

Sources: www.henneth-annun.net/bios_view.cfm?scid=126, Pinterest, Twitter, IMDb, Reddit, various, etc...

[velvet4510]

Please share your headcanon of how they met. :)

[buffyfan145]

This is mostly me making an educated guess-wish so I know very well that it may not come true but I'm still putting it out into the world anyway for there might be a chance it does 🤭

S2 covers with the Fall Of Eregion and may, most likely, end with the forging of the One. Or it may happen next season. So, in S3, we may get to see the beginning of the Black Years with Sauron expanding his dominion over Middle Earth, creating the Nazgûl, the retreating of the Elves and, because of the show's compressed timeline, ends with his defeat at the hands of the Numenoreans. S4 covers his time as Zigûr in Numenor and its subsequent fall whereas S5 will deal with the arrival of the Faithful, the establishment of Arnor and Gondor, the formation of the Last Alliance culminating with the Battle Of Dagorlad and the siege of Barad-dûr.

Now, this is where the guessing ends and my wishful thinking begins: Galadriel will remain with Sauron for most of S3. I started thinking of it after I came across the theory of them ending up in each other's company at the end of S2. Charlie did say that Sauron will never stop trying to get Galadriel to join him so he might do that in the next season, tempting her when she is with him though we know she won't join him for real. In the end, she might escape either by herself or with the Stranger (who may or may not be Gandalf)'s help and reunite with Celeborn. S4 will have her reconciling with Celeborn, finding Lothlórien, etc. But we will have plenty of shipping content by then and, if we are lucky, then who knows the mental bond between Haladriel might continue until the very end of the show when the ring is parted from him. Most of this is motivated by the continued emphasis on their connection, the foundation of which was laid in the very beginning, and only encouraged by the team.

Let's see what the future has in store. I am prepared for all outcomes but I would like to be proven right for a change.

That's a really great theory!!! 😀 It fits with what I've been thinking too and other fans, including non-shippers think as season 3 should be his "King of Men" season and we find out who the 9 are including the Witch King of Angmar. I actually think he won't make the One Ring till the end of season 3 and due to whatever happens that season, and of course the shipper part of me thinks that losing her again adds to him creating it. Like I've said in other posts we got to see the whole season 2 to get a clearer grasp of what could be coming and we could be wrong, but there's still a chance.

[lady-of-imladris]

CHAPTER 9 - SOMEWHERE IN THE HAZE

Synopsis: Preparations for the imminent battle are made, but when they arrive at Dol Guldur, complications arise.

Word count: 2.1k

Pairings: Thranduil/OC

Warnings: Violence

Additional tags: it's getting angsty over here!

Link to the chapter overview

Lmao sorry I forgot to post this yesterday but what a lucky coincidence because I can now say: HAPPY BIRTHDAY @fenharel-enaste ! You live too far away for me to give you a physical gift so I dedicate this chapter to you my lovely friend <3

It turned into something bigger Somewhere in the haze, got a sense I'd been betrayed Your finger on my hair pin triggers - The Great War (Taylor Swift)

The messengers from Imladris and Lothlorien returned fast and with news that was better than the King and Queen had dared to hope. Elrond, Celebrían, Celeborn and Galadriel were on their way. With their armies. Ana could have wept for joy that they would not need to face this threat alone. She had gone over their potential strategies again and again and again, consulting old maps of Amon Lanc, reports from scouting parties, reimmersing herself in battle strategies employed by their enemy. Thranduil was in awe. He had known for quite some time that his wife had been the mind behind some of their most successful assaults on Mordor during the Dagor Dagorlad, but seeing her in action was something entirely different.

The other four elven leaders arrived two days before the agreed-upon date of the attack for some last preparations. In Celebrían’s case, it entailed wrangling the twins, as well as Legolas, Elrond was examining the body of the elven soldier who had been turned into an orc and killed by Queen Anarríma. Celeborn, Galadriel, Ana and Thranduil busied themselves with the upcoming battle. The Lord of Lorien was beaming with pride. His daughter’s strategy was perfect. Their first evening together was celebrated with a family dinner full of laughter and joy. Legolas was beyond excited to have his cousins around and they spent the better part of the evening chasing each other around the halls.

The night before the battle looked different. Everyone was silent and withdrew to their private quarters immediately after dinner. Ana and Thranduil tucked Legolas into bed together that night, wanting to spend every last second with their son. “Nana, Ada?” the little elf asked hesitantly. “Yes, my little leaf?” The Queen sat down on the bed. “Why do you have to go?” Anarríma choked back her tears, and Thranduil sighed deeply. She felt his nails digging into her shoulders. He took over. “Ion-nin, that is a very complicated thing to explain, but we are doing this to protect our people. As King and Queen that is our duty. You will understand it one day.”

When Legolas had finally fallen asleep, Thranduil and Anarríma went to bed, lying next to each other, staring at the ceiling. Her hand found his. “Whatever happens tomorrow-” “Don’t.” Thranduil could not bear to hear it. They would outnumber the orcs. They would win. They had to. “Whatever happens tomorrow,” she tried again, “I love you.” “Please stop,” his voice was shaking. ‘Whatever happens tomorrow, I love you, my son.’ Those had been Oropher’s words the night before his death. The Elvenking was afraid. He could not bear to lose her. His Queen, his wife, the mother of his child.

Neither of them wanted to sleep, so they spent the night exchanging kisses and softly whispered words of love, chatting about entirely unimportant matters. It did not matter what they talked about, they just talked. Anarríma laid her head on her husband’s chest, letting Thranduil play with her hair and enjoying the vibrations of his chest caused by his voice as he told her of his childhood in Doriath, the first time he and Celeborn got drunk, of the day Celeborn first saw Galadriel and knew that he loved her, of Lúthien Tinúviel and her mortal lover, and many other things. In return, she told him about the few memories she had of Gondolin, of her happy childhood in Lorien, the time of the war against Sauron before they met and the battles they had never talked about before. The night passed too quickly.

They got up again before the sun had fully risen, eating a quick breakfast before getting ready for another war. Breakfast was quiet, no one knew what to say, so they just sat in uncomfortable silence. The Queen would have given anything to spend this morning with the soldiers instead. She found her mind going back to the mornings before important battles during the war against Sauron, sitting on the floor of a large tent together with her father and his soldiers, the tension so high it could have cut Mithril, until one of them, an elf who had fought in the War of Wrath made a joke. Anarríma could not recall the joke, but she would always remember the relief she felt when the tent filled with laughter. One look over at her father, who was sitting across from her told her that in his mind, he was there as well.

Fastening the straps of her bracers felt a bit like meeting an old friend and catching up, the Queen realized to her horror. She had not worn a full set of armour since the war. Thranduil was lounging comfortably on a chaise. She had promised to let him braid her hair for her and he was holding her to that promise. Ana smiled to herself as she sat down on the floor in front of him. Thranduil was horrible when it came to braiding hair. It always took him an insane amount of time and the braids often looked messy, even when he did it on her. With his own hair, the King was even more hopeless, hence he kept it loose. Anarríma winced slightly when his fingers tugged on a strand of hair a bit too harshly.

“Goheno nin,” Thranduil chuckled nervously, “and thank you. For putting up with me.” Ana reached up to put her hand on his thigh. “You are getting better at this. Give it another millennium or two.” The King grinned smugly. “Well, I think I did a pretty decent job this time.” Ana got up and walked to the mirror. Decent was an understatement. The two braids over her ears looked perfect and felt secure, as did the long fishtail braid he had created with the rest of her hair. “Thranduil!” Ana turned around and threw her arms around his neck. “How?” “I’ve been secretly practising on our son,” he admitted. Ana hid her laughter. “Thranduil, how could you? The poor child!” “Don’t worry,” he held up his hand in defence, “I bribed him with sweets and he was a very willing test subject.” Ana shook her head in disbelief. “We should finish getting dressed.”

“There’s one last thing missing,” Thranduil said, when Ana stood there, in her full armour, all her weapons secured. She looked at him expectantly as he set a box down on her vanity, taking off the lid to reveal the crown of dragon scales, gleaming in the candlelight like thousands of stars. “I killed a dragon for you, Ana. Let this serve as a reminder that whatever beast we encounter today, I will slay for you as well.” She bowed slightly, letting him put the crown on her head. Ana needn’t have bowed, Thranduil was much taller than her anyway, but at that moment, it felt right to bow to him. He might be her husband, but he was also her King.

Soldiers, servants and courtiers alike bowed and curtsied deeply as their King and Queen walked by, armed and ready for battle. Many had risen early to say their goodbyes, Celebrían among them. “I never understood how you can be comfortable in such a thing.” The Lady of Imladris gestured all over her sister’s ornate armour. Anarríma rolled her eyes. “It’s not designed for comfort, Brí, it’s supposed to protect me.” “By Eru, I hope it does,” Celebrían murmured and hugged her sister tightly.

“Shall we?” Galadriel and Celeborn emerged, armed to their teeth. Try as she might, the Lady of Imladris could not tell who of the four bore the most weapons, each of them carrying multiple blades openly. “Elrond is waiting outside already. Come back to me. All of you,” Celebrían instructed, hugging each of them for a moment longer than expected. “After all,” she continued, “my daughter will need her grandparents and aunt and uncle.” Ana could not believe it. Her sister was pregnant. Again. After a moment of shock, they congratulated her and Galadriel scolded her for dropping such big news on them when they were already running late, but Celebrían merely laughed and sent them off.

The armies advanced through the forest quietly and efficiently. It was almost muscle memory for all of them. Every single soldier who joined them had also fought in the Dagor Dagorlad. None had been keen to fight in another battle, but in the end, all of them had volunteered to keep their kingdoms safe. The journey was smooth and they effortlessly took out any orc scouting troops they came close to. Ana had predicted their general locations almost flawlessly. The armies got into position, surrounding Dol Guldur, remaining hidden in the trees. The King and Queen were no fools. They were well aware that the orcs knew of their coming. The only thing left to do was lure them out.

They looked every bit the warriors they were as they walked over the bridge. Thranduil offered Anarríma his arm as if he were escorting her to a ball. She gracefully accepted. They were halfway across the bridge when the enemy appeared before them. Three orcs, each looking more cruel than the other. “Do you have a death wish, elves?” one of them snarled. “We come to negotiate the terms of surrender,” Thranduil offered politely. The sound of laughter carried far into the forest. “Giving up your forest so easily, elfling?” Thranduil felt Ana’s grip on his arm tighten. His wife was angry. “Get out of this forest or by Eru, I swear we will destroy you.” Thranduil had never heard his wife speak like this. If he were the orc, he would run.

The orc grinned maliciously. “Do you really think we are not prepared? Do you really think we don’t know that you brought the Witch of Loríen and the Half-Elf with you? Maybe you should be the ones to run.” Thranduil shrugged. “I guess that concludes negotiations.” He raised his arm, signalling to his army. The three orcs fell to the ground, dead. The archers of Lasgalen were renowned for their skill. Their army advanced and the orcs started appearing out of nowhere. The King and Queen shared one last look before letting go of each other and drawing their swords. And then there was chaos.

Thranduil and Ana stayed together as long as possible but ended up being driven apart. Thranduil remained where the fighting was thickest, while Ana took her forces to more remote locations, watchtowers, dungeons, hidden passageways to try and drive the enemy towards them. She caught a glimpse of Thranduil when she looked out of a window, dead orcs littering the ground surrounding him. Galadriel and Celeborn had joined him. Galadriel met her daughter’s eyes for just a moment before refocusing her attention on the fighting.

Anarríma continued her raid of the ruins, rounding corner after corner at breakneck speed. She had reached the most remote part of Dol Guldur. The Queen was on her own now, she had left her soldiers behind to deal with the orcs. Something spurred her on, telling her to climb the tower. Her feet were moving of their own volition, carrying her up and up and up the winding staircase. The thought of returning to her soldiers crossed her mind, but was swiftly replaced by the compulsion to climb the stairs. As she walked by another window, she thought that she should go back outside and fight side by side with Thranduil, but when she was about to turn around and walk back down, she could not. Dread filled her entire body as she realized that there was only one way she could go. Up. She took a deep breath and walked up the last flight of stairs, sword clutched tightly and ready to strike as she entered the room at the top of the tower.

“Queen of Lasgalen,” a whisper arose around her. “At last, you have come to me.” She whipped around, trying to locate the source, but she was alone. Trap, it was a trap. She never should have come here. Ana sprinted towards the exit but was blocked by a wall of black smoke. “No escape. Not for you.” The voice was taunting her. “Show yourself, coward,” she demanded, willing her voice to be steady. “As you wish.” The black smoke took shape. It stood before there, towering over her, sword drawn, but Anarríma could feel that it did not need a blade. Whatever the being before her was, it could kill her with half a thought. It was merely toying with its prey.

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