A/N:

Hello readers! Thanks for stopping by. Quick notes before you start:

1. BOTFA spoilers (kind of...), for anybody who hasn't seen the movie yet.
2. I took the liberty of naming the Queen. I felt weird about naming her but referring to her as "her" and "she" the entire time was weirder.
3. I dreamcast her on my tumblr (accentchuate), feel free to take a look.

Reviews are candy!

The war at Erebor was over. He had retrieved what he desired from the dwarves, what was lost in the depths of the mountain for an age. He returned to Mirkwood with the jewels, but he and what remained of his army returned with loss heavy on their minds. It had not been a battle easily won.

There was not only loss with death that he felt - he felt true loss. The loss of something he could have held onto but let slip through his fingers. The captain of his guard left her post and departed Mirkwood in grief of a loved one. His son refused to return to Mirkwood because of his father's actions and treatment of others. As far as he knew, his son rode north to the Dunedain.

For the first time in a long time, he was truly alone.

He sat on his throne in his great Elven hall. The space was silent; quiet for even an Elven kingdom. Leaves occasionally fell from the high trees, floating softly down and landing noiselessly.

He loathed silence like this - the kind of silence that stirred thoughts, memories. As he listened to the silence, these thoughts filled his mind.

Words said that should not have been said.

Decisions made that should not have been made.

Things done that should not have been done.

He stood quickly, startled at where his mind was taking him. He could feel his heart pound in his chest - an unfamiliar, uncomfortable feeling. A mortal feeling. With a swiftness that could only belong to an elf, he swept out of the great hall and into the thick forest bordering the Elvenking's halls. Nobody followed him. He could not reminisce here.

As he continued forward, his gait slowed. He knew where he was going but at the same time was hesitant to arrive.

Through the thicket of trees he stepped into a small glen. An overgrown willow tree stood in the centre, its locks swaying gently in the breeze. It towered over a field of yellow honeysuckle below. In the dusk light, the tree looked greyish-lilac. The area was beautiful but hauntingly so; nothing moved, nothing made noise. The area was so serene yet so shadowed by overgrowth that it gave a distinct feeling of an ancient happiness that turned to sorrow.

He breathed deeply, the sweet scent of honeysuckle filling his lungs.

He was hesitant, still. He had not visited this place for a very long time. He knew what memories lay here in waiting, forged what felt like a lifetime ago. He wondered if he was ready to revisit them.

He was compelled to step forward and he did. Instantly, he was consumed by a memory that rose as a vision before him - a vision that he desperately wished were real.

A younger version of himself stood in the same field of yellow honeysuckle. He could not help but notice that this younger version of himself looked much happier, much more relaxed than he did now. However, it was not his younger self that he focused on but the female elf kneeling in the field. She faced away from both him and his younger self, engrossed in a book. Her free hand played lazily with her curled, silvery blonde hair adorned with honeysuckle buds.

At the sight of her, his heart tightened in his chest. The feeling of longing was overwhelming as he exhaled a sigh of anguish. How badly he desired to be living in this moment again. At the same time, he was afraid. He had not looked upon her face in an age. He was afraid of what it would do to him, to see her again. He instinctively shut his eyes, hoping that the vision would blink away, that he wouldn't have to see her face, that he wouldn't have to-

"My Lord?"

Her voice. He could not help but open his eyes. He watched as she stood, ran towards the younger version of himself, and threw herself into his arms.

"You have returned!" she exclaimed joyously. Her voice was sweet and clear as a bell - just as he remembered it to be.

The young Thranduil laughed - a sound he had not heard in a very long time. "I have."

"And you are not hurt?" She surveyed him. "I dared to be worried about you, how silly of me." She grinned at him. "I missed you."

"And I, you." He leaned forwards and their lips met. As he watched the memory, he could have sworn he felt a tingle on his own lips.

"You have missed nothing here, I assure you," she said as soon as they parted, taking his hand and pulling him to where she sat earlier. "With this war, we have been cautious to celebrate anything at all." She went to sit again, but the young Thranduil stopped her. "What is it?"

The young Thranduil reached into his robe and pulled out a small package wrapped in soft leather. He presented it to her, and she looked down at it with confusion. She raised her gaze to meet his.

"My Lord, what is this all about? I-"

"Please. Open it. It is for you."

With slight hesitation, she unfolded the flaps of leather and revealed the same jewels that his present self had just retrieved from Erebor. She gasped at the sight of them.

"Thranduil, you cannot-"

"You may not sway me from giving you this gift," the young Thranduil spoke. "This is yours to keep."

"You cannot give me this, it is too much-"

The young Thranduil raised a hand to silence her. "When I saw this, I could think only of you."

She did not speak now. Her eyes were fixed on his, a look on her face as though she were fighting herself on some subject. Her forehead creased as she raised a hand and brushed the side of the young Thranduil's face.

"You know you cannot do this," she said quietly. "Your father told you so. I am not-"

"Not what?" was the fierce reply. The younger version of himself took her hand that brushed his cheek. "Not worthy? He is gone, Laerwen. He is gone."

"And you would not honor his wishes?"

"Not if they were to stand in the way of my own." He held the shining necklace in his palm, its casing fallen away. "You will wear this. It is yours." He fastened it around her neck with no objection. As he let it hang, she touched it gently. A smile spread across her face as she relented.

"It is truly magnificent."

"These gems are made from pure starlight." The young Thranduil touched her chin. "Though, you have a light all your own that shines brighter than any gem or star."

She smiled at him. "My Lord Thranduil, I thank you for this great honor and most wonderful gift. I am most undeserving." She bowed to him.

The young Thranduil shook his head. "I will not be your Lord any longer. I will be your King." With a smile, he added, "And you shall be my Queen. If you would have me."

With a moment's pause, she grinned and threw her arms around him. As the young Thranduil embraced her in return, she laughed and held him tighter. Her eyes, squinting with joy, gazed in the direction of the present Thranduil and for a single second their eyes met. He knew that such an occurrence was impossible, but he still felt as though she had looked directly at him, piercing him with her stare.

The moment was over as soon as it had begun. The memory faded from his view and suddenly Thranduil was left in the present, in an empty field of honeysuckle, very much alone.

If he had not been an Elf, he was sure he would have fallen apart. Even then, he still felt a tightness in his throat and chest that he could only associate with tears. His heart hurt with an aching pain that he had avoided for a very long time.

He never spoke of Laerwen, not even to his son. He wished that he could but he could live another two thousand years and still feel as though her death had happened only the day before. The pain was as fresh as it ever was. Now, he looked back at this neglect with regret; his son never truly knew his mother the way he should have, and it had been his responsibility to share this with his son. Legolas never knew his mother as a person, as a grown being, and now he believed his son never would.

Legolas was his mother's son. He remembered once wondering where Legolas had gotten his independence and his need to rebel, to be wild. It now seemed almost ridiculous to wonder as it was so clearly inherited from his mother. She, too, had been wild, with her waved hair and love of getting lost. She enjoyed battling with both knives and wits, both of which she bested himself at on multiple occasions. She was kind and open-hearted, with a love of all types of beings and a curiosity of the world beyond the forest of Greenwood. Her death was as sudden as it was devastating, and yet… he could not honestly say that he expected her to depart any other way. Free-spirited and courageous, he always knew she would die the way she wanted to - taking on a new adventure.

Thranduil lingered in the field of honeysuckle for a very long time, thinking of the past and of his family, both living and gone. The sun set long before he rose from where he knelt. He left the glen with sorrow and yearning heavy on his heart.

Upon returning to the Elven halls, he descended into his private chambers. He had placed the jewels retrieved from Erebor in wardrobe where he kept his fine rings and crowns. He immediately dismissed the elf waiting on him and entered his wardrobe to gaze upon the jewels again, which lay bathed in moonlight upon a fine bed of silk.

They shone as brightly as they did when he first found them those many years ago. He touched them and they glimmered in the light of the moon, just as the stars in the night sky did. He smiled sadly.

"My shining star." He closed his eyes, fighting the hot tears and terrible sadness that welled inside of him. "May your soul stay evergreen."