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Dear Readers, thank you once again for the incredible love and support you have shown Kingsfoil!

Here are some important dates from the final days of the War of the Ring that Tolkien gives readers in his LOTR appendices:

March, 3019:

15th - Battle under the Trees in Mirkwood and Lothlorien attacked.

17th - Brand and Dain are slain in battle against the Easterlings, and Bard and Thorin's forces retreat into the Mountain.

18th - The Host of the West (Aragorn & co.) leaves Minas Tirith to march on the Black Gate.

22nd - Third attack on Lothlorien. Celeborn's army crosses the Anduin to storm Dol Guldur.

25th - Sauron destroyed.

Four hundred years ago...

. -  .  -  .

Her sister was the worst. "The absolute worst," Narylfiel complained aloud to Legolas on their way out of his father's halls. Narylfiel pulled her hair into a sloppy braid as they walked. "If she gets onto me about my hair one more time! I know she's your wife, and you love her, but honestly, you are so lucky to have been an only child, Legolas."

The prince did not respond; they had reached the front gate, and both elves fell silent as they waited politely for the guards to open the door. Once they crossed out into the wide sunshine warming the bridge, Legolas spoke: "I envy you and your sister. Even with the occasional misunderstanding, you are both blessed to have one another."

Narylfiel stopped beside him, instantly regretting her words. "Oh, Legolas. I am sorry."

He turned where he stood, his eyes reminding her so much of his father's, dark wells of blue tinged with unnamed sorrow. Legolas only shrugged then with a wan smile. "Don't be, Narylfiel. It is hardly your fault."

"Did you ever..." she hesitated, but then Legolas answered for her, guessing her intent.

"I asked once when I was young," he said. "My father overheard my prayers to the Valar. I had spent the better part of a year asking for a baby sister."

"What did he say?"

"He didn't want to talk about it," he told her, "but I think he would have loved to have more children. I used to watch him on Feast Days, and he always planned surprises for the elflings of the kingdom."

Narylfiel thought for a moment as they resumed their walk into the forest and then slipped her smaller hand into his larger one. "Legolas," she said shyly. "I think the Valar did hear your prayers."

"Oh?" he enquired.

"For a little sister," she clarified and waited.

"Narylfiel," he began, a smile playing on his lips as he watched her walk beside him, matching him stride for stride, her hand in his. "I think they did too."

. -  .  -  .

March 16th, 3019

The king and queen of the Woodland Realm both slept, dozing off and on and then off again. The bed was not the softest, nor the linens the finest, and the sharp tang of smoke still hung in the air, but Thranduil and Narylfiel both slept better than they had since parted. For her, it was the comfort afforded by the feel of his arm curled protectively over her stomach; for him, it was the softness of her hair against his cheek. Even when Thranduil woke later and half-contemplated rising to check in with how Beriadan's efforts at clearing the forest progressed, he could not bring himself to leave her. Instead, he traced lazy circles on her hip, palming the warmth between the blanket and her skin.

He did not want to leave her.

Only on the other side of the canvas walls of their tent, Thranduil could hear Galion organizing groups to aid in the clean up of the forest and the battlefield. Reluctantly, he untangled his legs from Narylfiel's and slowly drew his arm away from where it had been draped across her side—

—until a hand clamped firmly around his wrist. "Where do you think you are going?" Narylfiel asked him in a firm voice, though a yawn punctuated her words.

Thranduil turned to meet her eyes. "There is much work that must be done today, naurenniel," he told her. "They will require the king's assistance."

She tightened her grip on his wrist. "I require the king's assistance right now," she said with a gentle tug on his arm.

He smiled then and kissed her. Thranduil could not name for you the feeling that welled up inside him when she said she needed him, just an intense sort of gladness that she was there and well and that she wished he might stay with her. It was the feeling of being wanted, needed. And he craved it, needed it in the same way leaves do when they turn toward the warmth of the sun. The beautiful thing was that Narylfiel gave him that feeling so freely, without pretense or guile.

"You stay here," he instructed her, "rest."

"But—"

"You're exhausted, dear one. I will have some food brought to you. Besides," Thranduil added slyly, "you are no longer eating or resting for one, Narylfiel."

Narylfiel shared his smile then, her hand drifting down to pat her stomach. "I suppose not," she agreed. Thranduil still reeled over the novelty of it all. His beautiful young wife, pregnant with his babe. As if the Valar had decided that the impending all-out war with Sauron was not enough drama for him to deal with in his life, he thought wryly. But even so, it was a tremendous blessing. Unlooked for to be sure, but tremendous.

"Let me take care of you," he said, drawing the blanket up over her, tucking it around her.

Narylfiel nestled into his pillow and yawned. "You have always taken care of me," she corrected him.

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "But not in the husband caring for his pregnant wife sort of way," he said. "Stay here. Please, Narylfiel. Don't even think about trying to help out today."

Only seconds after Thranduil rose and pulled on his long grey tunic, he heard a soft snore. She was exhausted and rightfully so. He did not begrudge her the extra rest and only hoped it would help fade the circles from under her eyes, ease the pallor on her skin, help her heal. At the door to the tent, he paused, his eyes drawn to the slender outline of her body curved beneath the blanket. She was here, was safe. It was enough for now, Thranduil decided and stepped out into the grey morning.

Dawn had brought a heavy dew, beading the blackened branches in constellations, and fog curled up like lingering spirits from the low-lying places of the wood. Thranduil walked the length of the camp and then down to the field where the battle began. Warriors worked shifts through the night to clear the dead, but much labor still remained. Thranduil gave orders for the current shift to stop and break fast. He watched them wearily leave their shovels and the damp quiet of the field, saying little to each other as they returned to camp. Thranduil watched them go, then turned, and walked down to the field, passing scrap metal piles of orcish blades and helms. Impatient dead waited by discarded biers, but the Elvenking passed them wordlessly. Here his own fallen warriors had already been collected and carefully lifted onto wagons to return home for funeral arrangements.

"King Thranduil!" A voice called his name from the edge of the wood. Captain Beriadan. He waved a parchment in his hand, and Thranduil left his brooding and followed his captain back to camp.

A letter arrived from their western neighbor.

Celeborn's news did not surprise the Elvenking. Lothlorien too had been attacked, but the Galadhrim held off the assault on their eastern border.

In its arrogance, Dol Guldur had not only come for the Woodland Realm but also thought to test the strength of the Golden Wood. The enemy had failed in both counts.

Yet Celeborn feared these attacks would not be Sauron's last play for their realms. Sauron was merely biding his time until he could leverage his forces from another front to launch a final assault. Celeborn feared that the enemy's end game was to raze both their forests to the ground, and as Thranduil eyed the smoking remains of his southern border, he could not help but agree that Celeborn might be right on that count.

Folding the message, Thranduil tucked it into his belt and then rubbed his temple. The air was damp, and the sky, overcast. The surviving trees, darkened by the fire, ringed the camp like injured sentinels, and—

"Bad news?"

Thranduil turned and narrowed his eyes. "You are supposed to be resting."

Narylfiel shrugged sheepishly. "I did for a bit, but then I heard everyone moving around outside, and I thought the fresh air might help.

Thranduil glanced up at the ash filtering down from the scorched tops of the trees. "Oh, yes, Narylfiel. All this fresh air. Have you even eaten?"

She help up an apple with a delicate bite in the side of it. "Breakfast to go," she countered and tugged on her tunic. "Galion brought me some fresh clothes. He wouldn't say what he did with the old ones, only gave me a dark look when I asked."

Thranduil folded his arms disapprovingly.

"What is it going to take to see you return to our tent and rest?" he asked flatly.

"Was it very ill news in the message, Thranduil?" Narylfiel asked, artfully avoiding his question.

"Narylfiel!" Thranduil pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yes, and no," he said after a moment. He put one arm around her and then after thinking better of it, went ahead and handed her the folded parchment.

"Bleak," she said after scanning the letter's contents, "But at least their front held, and ours held. The enemy lost on both attempts, so that must count for something."

"Walk with me then," he said resignedly, "if you are so determined to undermine the will of your king, then at least stay by my side where I can keep a proper eye on you.'

She beamed and fell into step beside him.

Neither Thranduil nor Narylfiel saw any sign of it, but as they made their way through camp, the elves they passed by exchanged pleased glances with one other, relieved to no end to see their queen returned safely to their lord's side.

Even with the battle won, the atmosphere in camp was hardly buoyant. The aftermath of any battle is grim, but it seemed to Thranduil a pallor hung over the forest. The light from the east was strained and weak; a shadow veiled the sun.

"So much damage," Narylfiel murmured, with a glance up to Thranduil's profile.

His jaw tightened. "It's always hard to see the toll fighting takes on the land, Narylfiel." He stopped to lift a fallen branch away from the base of a tree.

But Narylfiel picked her way past the tree and branch, past Thranduil, her gaze fixed on the glimpse of the battlefield afforded through a narrow gap between the trees.

The battlefield, pockmarked and blackened, still smoked and steamed in the gray morning light. So many dead still littered the field, even with a good number of the king's guard out there to clear the bodies of their fallen comrades. What had been a scene of two armies proudly charging forth, helms bright, banners caught high in the wind, the cry of their horns bugling over the stamp of eager feet, was now silent.

"Narylfiel." Thranduil caught her wrist. "You don't have to see this."

She looked down at his hand holding her wrist and then slid her arm free, only to take his hand into her own, lacing her fingers through his. "I know," Narylfiel told him quietly. "I just want to be doing something, anything..." her voice trailed away as her eyes scanned the battlefield.

With her hand in his, Thranduil led Narylfiel away. "I know you do," he said. "You have never been one for inactivity, but you hardly need to be down on the field helping move dead bodies."

"No, I suppose not," she agreed half-heartedly.

He gathered her into his arms and held her for a moment. "We won, Narylfiel, and you are safe. Our child is safe. No one will think poorly of you for resting after the ordeal you've been through."

"Have we won, Thranduil?" Narylfiel murmured the question into his tunic and then pulled away, just enough to meet his eyes. "If this is victory, then why do I feel so anxious? This battle—what if it's only thunder before the storm? What if—"

"You are right," Thranduil interrupted. "But your part in this tale is over, Narylfiel. It has to be. I need to know you are safe, that you are well." He sighed then and reluctantly added. "I plan on taking the fight to Dol Guldur."

"When?" The word hung sharply in the cold air.

"As soon as we arrange for the burial of our dead and the transport of the wounded," he told her. "I will leave a small contingent here to oversee the clearing of the burned out parts of the wood. The rest of the army will leave for Dol Guldur."

She looked away, her eyes burning. "Why now? Dol Guldur has been a problem for years and now you have to go fix it? As soon as I tell you I'm carrying your child, you get the urge to march out of here?"

Thranduil gently guided her chin back to face him. She wiped angrily at her eyes and tugged free from his arms. Her eyes found the battlefield once more, line after line of the fallen, and then she turned and walked away.

"Narylfiel!" Thranduil called after her. "Where are you going?"

"To our tent," she shot back at him. "That's what you want, right? Go plan your siege." She did not stop, nor did she look back.

If she had, she surely would have noticed the abject hurt in her king's eyes.

. -  .  -  .

Later in the afternoon, Melui rapped lightly on the wooden support pole by the door of the tent. "Narylfiel?" she called.

"Only you would try to knock on a tent door," Narylfiel tried to jest, but it only came out flat-sounding to her ears.

Melui's head peeked in past the door.

Narylfiel cleared her throat. "Bold move, Melui. What if the king and I had been having a romantic moment?"

"I somehow doubt it since he just sent me to fetch you."

Narylfiel made an impolite sound. "Oh, really," she intoned. "His majesty wants to see me."

"Is this the same elf you could not wait to see only two days ago?" Melui asked as parted the tent flaps and stepped inside.

"Well, now I've seen him," she said crossly and picked at the loops on the blanket across her lap.

"Have you been crying?" Melui asked, her eyes narrowing.

"No..." said Narylfiel, "maybe...a little." Her eyes started to well up again just thinking of it. "Did you know the king planned on marching to Dol Guldur?"

Melui crossed the tent to her queen; the expression in her friend's eyes had been one of pure grief. "I heard." She placed a comforting hand on Narylfiel's shoulder, and then thinking better of it, sat down next to her wrapped her arm around her shoulders. "Is this what has you so upset? Your king leaving?"

Narylfiel nodded, looking dangerously close to tears again.

"I am sorry, Narylfiel. I would have come by sooner, if I had known you were alone and...well, I could have kept you company."

Narylfiel let out a jagged breath and then absently rubbed her stomach. "I honestly don't know what came over me, Melui. One minute I'm staring at the battlefield—rows after rows of bodies—and then he's telling me he's leaving to go to Dol Guldur. It just made me so angry and hurt." She pushed off the bed and stood.

Melui rose slowly. "Do you want me to tell him you're feeling indisposed and can't come at the moment?"

Narylfiel considered it briefly. "No," she said, strengthening her resolve, "I'll go to him. Where is he?"

"He's at the healers' tent."

"The healers' tent," repeated Narylfiel grimly. "If he thinks I am going to stay there for one second..."

"I'll walk over there with you," Melui offered.

The healers had set up a long line of tents in a system that served to move the most severely injured to the first three tents, and then moderately wounded warriors would be sent to the next three, finally the last three tents were for minor injuries, and that was where Melui steered her young queen. "The king has not been hurt, has he?" Narylfiel whispered as they neared the closest entrance.

"What? No! The king is not hurt," Melui told her firmly after seeing the sheen of tears well up in her friend's eyes.

Narylfiel swiped at her eyes. "Ugh. I can't help myself. They've been doing this all day." She dabbed at the corner of her eye with her sleeve.

Melui could only nod understandingly. "Do you want me to come in with you?"

Narylfiel took a deep breath for composure. "Yes," she said, taking extra care to keep her voice even, "thank you, Melui."

So the pair of them entered the tent, and when they did so, the king's back was to the door. He was hunched, if such an undignified word could even be applied to the Elvenking, over one of the work tables, his gray tunic glistening in the light streaming through the door, his long blonde hair hastily tied back.

"Thranduil?" Narylfiel asked from the doorway.

"One moment," he called out distractedly.

The all too familiar prick of tears stung her eyes, and Narylfiel might have left then and there if not for Melui standing behind her.

A dark-haired elf, one of the younger healers, entered from the door on the opposite side of the tent, with a mortar and pestle in his hands. He handed it to Thranduil who critically eyed its contents.

"That will do," the king said, taking the bowl and pouring some of its contents into his palm. "Narylfiel, come closer."

"If you think I am going to let you put that noxious stuff on me, you are sorely mistaken," she told him, instantly regretting her tone once she saw the horrified look on the healer's face as his mouth dropped open and his eyes flitted to the king. Thranduil straightened slowly. The healer backed out the door, hastily pulling the tent flaps closed behind him.

"If you would come closer," Thranduil ground out the words, "I could show you what the noxious stuff is for."

Narylfiel huffed and then marched over to him. "Thranduil, really, I—" and then he stepped aside, and she saw a young elk calf curled upon the table, shaking under the calming hand of the king.

"Shh." Thranduil prompted her, as he took the paste in his palm and gently coated the calf's burned leg and flank before wrapping it carefully with a neat bandage.

He ran a soothing hand across the elk's back, whispering to him as he did so, promising him the worst was over, and in that moment, Narylfiel forgot to be angry at her husband.

"He's beautiful," she breathed, taking in his sleek gray coat and warm brown eyes, fringed with long dark lashes. "And just a baby, too. Wherever did you find him?"

"He was hiding under some fallen timbers down in a low lying crevasse. We found him after we cleared the brush out." Thranduil's eyes met hers. "He's in no shape to be on his own, and we haven't found his mother yet. He'll need someone to take care of him."

Narylfiel's hand shot up immediately, and then feeling foolish, she tucked both hands behind her back. "I could do it," she offered, attempting to sound nonchalant.

Thranduil's eyes twinkled then. "I was hoping you might say that."

"Will you help me bring him back to our tent?"

"Of course." Thranduil began to roll down his sleeves, while Narylfiel cautiously held out her hand for the calf to smell. "Listen, Narylfiel, about earlier—"

"I should not have left like that," Narylfiel said suddenly, looking up at

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