This pain. The pain in my chest, ripping my heart to shreds mercilessly. What is this terrible feeling? The feeling of absolute pain and agony.

"Thranduil, gi melin." (Thranduil, I love you) Her voice was weak, like the sound of a dying person.

"Don't say anything. Just keep still," Thranduil whispered, grabbing the cold hand with his blood stained ones, as if hoping to pass the heat from his body to her. "Help will come soon. You'll be alright. Don't you remember your promise of how you are going to be by my side forever?" He could barely recognise his own voice, it sounded like a broken man – fragile and scared.

He licked his lips anxiously, as he stared into those dim blue eyes – eyes that were once so full of light.

"Goheno nin." (Forgive me) She simply smiled back gently, her eyes full of love and sorrow.

"No, you'll be fine.," Thranduil whispered as panic surged up inside him. He's losing her, he knew. "Don't leave me. Please." His voice cracked at the last word and his view blurred with unshed tears.

She coughed again, her chest heaving as drops of blood spilled onto the ground. She tightened her grip around Thranduil's hand, her lips moved soundlessly. She wanted to say something but she was too weak. Desperate, Thranduil leaned in close, trying to catch to her words. "What did you say?"

Thranduil heard the faintest whisper of "Namárië…" (Farewell…) and then her grip loosened and her hand fell limply to the ground. The last of the light in those blue eyes was extinguished. When he looked into those blank eyes, it was like staring into an endless dark abyss where one could never see the light.

"No," Thranduil mumbled, shaking his head like he was in a trance. This could not be happening. It simply could not! Pain such as he had never felt before ripped across his whole body, blinding him.

"Hîr vuin!" (My Lord!) A loud faraway cry sounded somewhere behind him, like a distinct echo. Low footsteps pattered, coming to a halt beside him.

"My Lord, are you alright?" Elron gasped, rushing to his side. There was a sharp intake of breath from Elron when he saw the lifeless figure beside Thranduil. "Hiril vuin…" (My Lady…) his voice choked.

"Kill them," Thranduil whispered in a deadly whisper through clenched teeth.

"What?"

"KILL THOSE ORCS!" Thranduil shouted with all his might. The loud inhuman roar soared through the skies, echoing around the barren wasteland – chilling the heart of all those who heard it.

"My Lord, you're badly wounded," Elron spoke up quietly.

Thranduil looked down at the huge gash on his chest – blood was streaming out from his wound but Thranduil paid no attention to the wound.

The sun was slowly settling in the West, dyeing the clouds and skies in shades of crimson – the same shade as the blood flowing on the grounds. A forlorn smile appeared on Thranduil's face as he gave a loud hoarse laugh.

Can someone save me from this pain in my chest? If this is love, I don't want it. Thranduil stood up as tears spilled down his face uncontrollably, his body shaking. He tried to take a step forward but his legs gave way and he fell down to the ground, feeling the coarse ground scraped against his skin.

"My Lord!" Elron shouted urgently.

He felt Elron's hands shaking him, urging him to wake up but his body felt so heavy. He could barely hear Elron's shouts now. He slowly closed his eyes, hoping that the darkness would wash over him so he would stop feeling the pain in his chest, smothering the last of light in his body so he could rejoin his loved ones.

xxxx

His thoughts wandered over to the day at Gundabad as his mind always did. Would it have been easier if he had died in the battlefield along with her? But he was played by fate for he recovered from his wounds. Many a times he had thought to end his own life, to end the suffering he felt but he had always refrain from doing so at the last minute – at the thought of his son, Legolas.

She would never forgave him if she knew that he leave Legolas all alone in this world.

"My Lord?"

"What?" Thranduil asked, annoyed at being disturbed. He was sitting on his throne with his head bowed, his fingers covering his face, trying to subdue the pounding in his head.

"Legolas wants to see you, My Lord," the guard replied.

Legolas – pain seared up inside him once more as an image of a beautiful face with cheerful blue eyes framed by long blond hair flashed across his mind. "Thranduil… Thranduil!" The sweet melody that sounded like the crystalline flow of pure spring water rang in his head. His hands balled up into fists, drawing blood with his nails as he tried to banish the image from his mind. He will never see or hear her voice ever again.

He breathed in deeply, trying to grab his mind on what was happening now. He couldn't see Legolas now. He couldn't bear to look at Legolas when he looked so much like… so much like her.

"No," Thranduil replied monotonously.

The guard looked surprise. "What did you say, My Lord?"

"I said no! Ask him to go away!" Thranduil roared.

"But My Lord, it had been years since Legolas last talked to you, he–"

Thranduil stood up, his crimson cloak swirled around him. As he descended down from the towards the guard with a grim smile on his face, the guard quietened when he saw Thranduil's expression.

"Did I ask for your input?" Thranduil asked in a deadly whisper, circling around the guard like a serpent waiting to attack its pretty.

"N–No, My Lord." The guard trembled.

His face twisted into a semblance of a smile and then his eyes narrowed and fire danced across the steely ice-blue eyes. "Then go! Before I ask them to throw your dead body out!" Thranduil roared. The guard immediately bowed down and retreated hastily out from the throne room without another word.

Thranduil sat back down on his throne, the pounding in his head grew louder. He knew that it was wrong to isolate Legolas. But what other choice did he had? He heaved a sigh, hoping that the constant throbbing in his head would died away.

xxxx

The wine was dulling all his senses. The view in front of him swam and the chatter of the crowd was dimmed to a low buzz. It was Mereth e-nGilith night, the Feast of Starlight and as King of Mirkwood, he had an obligation to attend the party and celebrate with the others.

He drew himself to full height and nodded with a tight lip smile at those who smiled or greeted him – an attempt to show that he cared for his subordinates. But actually he could not hear or focus on anything – everything was a blur to him. It was all a pretence to show everyone that he was the king everyone looked up to, the king who had total control over everything including his emotions.

When he saw the huge wooden doors of the banquet room, he breathed out in relief. Finally, the night was almost over. Now he could retreat to his room in peace and drown his sorrows with endless glasses of wine.

A smirk appeared on his lips when he glanced at the blood-like liquid – wine. Such a powerful remedy for the constant ache in his chest. The smirk on his face widened when he stepped out from the Banquet room, one hand nursing a glass of wine.

He swayed as he walked towards his bedroom, missing a step and nearly fell down. He reached out one hand unsteadily to the wall to balance himself. Wine sloped from the side of his glass, spilling a pool of red by his feet.

A low smirk twisted upon his face. Look at him. He looked just like a drunk person – him who was supposed to be the King of Mirkwood.

He pushed the doors opened and walked stumblingly into his bedroom. When he raised his head, his breath caught in his throat and his heart stopped beating for a second. A slender figure with long blond hair was sitting on his bed.

"Melethril?"(Lover?) Thranduil muttered, his tongue felt thick and heavy.

The elegant figure stood up, staring back at him with an anxious expression. "Ada, are you drunk?"

His heart sank like a heavy stone when he heard the voice. That voice, it sounded nothing like her sweet tinkling melody. And she would never called him ada. He let out a hoarse, dry cackle that echoed across the bedchamber – it sounded fake and unreal. How could he be so naive? She was gone. He will never see her again. Never. Again.

"Ada?" Legolas's beautiful face came into focus.

Thranduil blinked, suddenly realising that Legolas was standing within touching distance. When did it happened?

"Are you alright?" Legolas's brows were furrowed. Somehow it seemed more beautiful when his face was twisted in pain and anxiety.

Thranduil reached out a hand shakily, trailing the outline of his cheekbones with the back of his hand. Legolas's eyes widened slightly at the gesture, but he stood there like a perfectly sculpted statue breathed to life.

Thranduil raised his gaze, studying the soft-rose like petals lips, the sharp, refined nose and those clear sky-blue eyes – eyes that were so much like her. Legolas had grown up so fast. Without him realising it, each day, Legolas's features had become more refined, sharper and beautiful. Each day, he grew more to resemble her.

"You look so beautiful," Thranduil murmured, sliding his fingers down to Legolas's lips, fingering the sweet rose buds.

Doubt crept into those azure eyes, clouding the clear blue sky.

Don't do it! A voice spoke up in the back of his mind despite the misty haze surrounding him. Are you crazy? He is not her! He is your son!

What are you waiting for? Haven't you been wanting to hold her again? So what if he was your son?

"Ada?" Legolas bit down his bottom lip, his eyes wide and imploring. Thranduil saw his lips moved but his voice was drowned out by the adrenaline rushing through his ears.

Thranduil bent forward, cupping the angelic face with his hands and then he crushed those soft petals with his lips. Legolas was completely taken by surprise. He could barely react as Thranduil attacked his lips voraciously, drinking in his saliva and exploring the cavern of his warm mouth with his tongue. Legolas tasted like the cool, clean spring water that flowed in the mountains – tasty and refreshing.

Thranduil wrapped his arms around Legolas's slim waist and pushed him backward. Legolas's eyes widened with horror when he found himself falling down on the bed, one hand raised in front of him as if acting as a shield.

Thranduil climbed onto the bed, his dark shadow towering above Legolas. He had lost complete control over his actions, at that moment, he only knew that he wanted to take Legolas as his own.

"Ada?" Legolas whimpered, retreating backwards on the bed, trembling with fear. "Man ceril?" (What are you doing?)

Thranduil didn't reply, he unhooked his cloak and let it fell to the ground with a slither, his hands now skilfully unbuttoning his shirt.

"Ada, daro!" (Father, stop!) Legolas pleaded, his voice choked. His expression turned to dread when he found himself hitting something hard behind – he had bumped into the headboard.

He turned around, gaping in fear. "Please," Legolas sobbed, a tear slid down his face, cutting across the flawless cheek like a dagger. Thranduil reached out and wiped away the tear with surprising tenderness.

"Av-'osto," (Don't be afraid) Thranduil whispered. Flames of hope flickered across Legolas's eyes. Had Thranduil perhaps came to his senses? But the hope died when he saw the wild, demonic look in Thranduil's eyes.

Thranduil sneered as he closed in upon Legolas, cutting off the last of light in Legolas's sight. "NO!" Legolas screamed as Thranduil tore his clothes, ripping apart his shirt to rags and tossed them to the floor. The coldness of the night was frigid to his skin but the cold he felt came from his heart. Legolas stifled a sob when he felt something warm slipped beneath his underside.

"Please bear with the pain for a little while," Lord Thranduil murmured. Legolas barely had time to process those words when a sharp gutting pain pierced across him, tearing him in half. His body was heating up – pain seared across his body like a burning fire. It was a drastic contrast to the cold he felt. The skin of his insides were ripped apart – hot liquid seeped out, lubricating his insides, dulling the fire slightly.

"It hurts!" Legolas wept, clawing at Thranduil, trying to push him away but Thranduil grabbed his hands in a steely grip and pinned them to his sides.

"Please stop!" Legolas cried out, tears streamed down his pretty face.

Thranduil showed no sign that he heard his pleas nor did he slow down. Sobs racked Legolas's lithe body as he clawed the bedsheets beneath him. Legolas gasped, trying to breath through the pain. Fear had paralysed him and terror gripped at his windpipes, choking him and cutting off his air supply.

Thranduil took him over and over again. There seemed to be no rhythmic pattern, just a wild, frenzy pounding of flesh against flesh.

Legolas gritted his teeth, racking his brains for thoughts that could lessen the pain. Don't think about this. Think about something else that makes you happy – like when you explored the forest and saw the stars that lit up the whole sky. He gasped as Thranduil ram him hard from behind, cutting in through his thoughts. White spots appeared in his view and his chest heaved as he struggled to breathe. He tried to refocus his gaze but his consciousness was slowly slipping away.

Before the darkness fully engulfed him, he dimly heard a sob and the gentle whisper of Thranduil's voice – "Gi melin." (I love you.) He had never heard his father spoke in such way before – his voice was soft, gentle and there was so much love in them that it pricked his heart in a way he didn't understand.

To be continue…

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