It was dark.
And cold.
It stunk abominably.
The stars were clouded.
And it was quiet.
Too quiet.

"The stars seem so far away." Bellethiel sat with her mother at her balcony and watched the stars.
She loved it to observe, to see how things change.
She hadn't cared much about the stars, for she had been more interested in nature.
But since she and Thranduil had spent some nights observing the stars and she had listened to the stories of old he had told her, she had found some interest in them.
"But they are not veiled anymore. Look, the east is clearing. It seems like the old darkness is vanishing."
Bellethiel peered into distance.
Her mother was right, the sky was slowly clearing.
"The war is over."

Slowly he looked around.
Carefully he walked some steps.
His legs and arms hurt and his shoulder felt misplaced.
Horror and desperation overcame him as he saw the battlefield.

She hadn't heard anything from him since she had last seen him.
She wondered if he even was still alive.
She took a deep breath feeling the cold evening air tickle her cheeks.

"Hîr-nîn Thranduil." The blond elf turned around carefully and saw his friend Rilion approach him. It took him a moment till the dizziness vanished.
"What happened? Where is my father?" He asked nervous and tried to read something in his friend's eyes.
"The king has been fatal wounded, mellon." His friend replied softly.
Thranduil straightened his shoulders trying to push the pain aside as he did so.
Without another word spoken the prince followed the brown haired elf to the camp.

"Come." Her mother looked at her softly and held out her hand.
"Do you think he is still alive, that he survived the war?" Bellethiel asked quietly as she walked to her mother.
"Three years and he is still on your mind?" Sairahiniel smiled.
"I keep pondering. I do not want to think about the fact that the war would have taken a dear friend from me." Bellethiel stopped and looked east.
"We will have to wait for the news from Lothlorien."

Thranduil once again felt the horror as he followed Rilion.
He stepped over countless corpses of men, orcs and elves.
He recognised the sylvan elves who had joined him and his father three years ago first to Rivendell and now into this battle.
He had got to know some of them and it gave him a hard time to see many of them lying under cadavers of at least one orc, their eyes filled with panic.
Their faces filled with pain.
He memorised every face.
None should be forgotten, none should have fallen for no reason.
Other elves, men and a few dwarfs walked over the battlefield looking for survivors.
It disgusted him to walk over the dead bodies and blood soaked soil.

"How many?" Rilion didn't reply and didn't dare to look at his friend.
"Rilion, how many?"
"Barely a third of those who came with us will return."
A deep sadness overcame Thranduil.
His people had fought bravely to protect their home but they had paid a high price for it.
"We are here." Rilion stopped in front of a tent.

„Adar." Thranduil whispered as he stepped beside the cot of his father.
"Thranduil ion-nîn. Let the healers look after your wounds. The king may not suffer from his wounds."
Thranduil bowed his head.
He knew what this meant.
He didn't have to look at the deep and long wound on his father's chest.
"I am proud of you my son. You will be a wiser and mightier king than I ever have been. I am very certain about it. The council will accept you without doubt. Do not let yourself be ruled by fear and horror of those things you have seen. Do not let your rational thoughts drown the voice of your heart." Oropher said softly as he took the hand of his son who was kneeling in the dirt.
"Never forget what has happened over the last years and make your own decisions but never let fear rule you." He paused and Thranduil thought he saw a small smile on the lips of his father.
"Promise me one thing. Do not let anybody tell you who you should be your queen. I know you already made your decision. Bellethiel will be a loyal companion and a wise but passionate counsellor." Shyly Thranduil looked at the floor.
"Farewell ion-nîn Thranduil, Ú-firo i laiss e-guil dhîn aran-nîn."

The wind beat her face and her hair flew in her eyes once again.
She loved to ride out on her own over the wide fields, the bow over her shoulders. It was one of the few moments when her mother allowed her to carry it.
She slowed her horse down as she neared the small bridge at the river which was used as border to the west.
Bellethiel descended from her horse and explored the grove nearby.
Light footed she climbed up a tree gazing afar.
A movement in the distance made her pause.
Tensed she waited before she climbed down again carefully to avoid to be seen.

Soon she heard the galloping hooves approaching the bridge.
"Am man oduledh hi? Man de?" She asked her bow ready as the rider stopped at the shore.
The stranger descended taking the reins of his horse and walked over the bridge.
"Who are you? What do you want?" Bellethiel repeated.
"I am looking for an old friend. It has been ten years since I last saw her in a Realm far away. I promised her to come and visit." She could hear him smile as he pulled down his hood.
"Thranduil." She said softly not believing that he stood in front of her.
"I thought. There never came a messenger. What about Rilion and Marilla? How is king Oropher?" She lowered her bow.
"Slowly Belle." He closed the distance between them.
"I have heard so much and nothing at all. Rumours and true stories." Carefully she stretched out her hand and let her fingers wander lightly over the scar at his neck.
"I will tell you everything you want to know." He smiled as she withdrew her hand and looked shyly away.
Bellethiel simply nodded and both mounted their horses.
None said a word.
Bellethiel looked at her companion once and a while just to ensure that he was still there.

The elvish translation

Hîr-nîn - my lord

adar - father

ion-nîn - my son

Ú-firo i laiss e-guil dhîn - May the leaves of your life never die

aran-nîn - my king

Am man oduledh hi? Man de? - Why are you here? Who are you?