Mirkwood has gone through terrible times before but none was as bad as this. Thranduil was in such a bad state that once help came from Lorien, with Celeborn as lead, he fainted out of exhaustion. Besides, many have given their lives for the safety of the kingdom. 

Faervel had a huge wound on his left side, one that was still bleeding by the time the orcs were slaughtered. He was weakened particularly by a blow on his head, which installed fear in every elf in the army, especially his son. Nonetheless, granted to a higher power, he was still alive and he was walking through the corpses of young warriors who have died during the siege. Many of them were wood elves but some were from Lothlorien. He felt his heart break even more when he passed the body of his best archer Tudor who was ambushed at the front gate. He and a few others tried to keep the gates closed but no magic could stand against the power of evil.

"He was a great elf. He will be remembered for his bravery, just like the others." Was Gweluven's soft voice coming from a foot away. 

Faervel sighed and noticed one swordsman that was still fighting for his life. He had been stabbed several times and he looked very tired. 

"Maerdor will live, although his will has been broken." Gweluven commented approaching the mighty commander. "I expect that many of the survivors will leave for Valinor soon. Some may not be able to deal with the aftermath and for some, time has come."

"How is the king?" Faervel asked after a pause.

Gweluven sighed heavily and grabbed a hand through his long platinum blond hair. 

"He has numerous wounds and he won't be able to walk without a cane for a few weeks. But it is his mental state that truly worries me. He was traumatized more than any of us. I don't know how he will react from now on." 

"He'll be alright. He suffered enough even without this siege and he moved on. He's stronger than you think." Faervel said certain of his opinion. 

However, Thranduil was in a very meek position. He was in his room, looking out the window as the sun set over the forest. It smelled of blood, sweat, and death in every corner of his precious Halls and it was all on him. He was too proud to ask for help earlier and now his people were suffering. What was even more heartbreaking was the silence. He couldn't help but feel like a part of him has died, and not just because he was mentally and physically tired. 

He closed his eyes and expected to see and feel something, anything, but it was just empty. He was just numb. 

Gweluven was tending to a warrior who lost his arm in battle when he heard the neighing of a horse. He was just outside, trying to enter but the guards flocked around him. In the end, Maerdor walked to him and pat him gently. 

"Where did you come from?" He asked but the horse was on constant alert. It seemed like he wanted to show him something, get his attention to something but nobody knew what exactly. The horse himself was very agitated. 

"I believe I had seen him before, but I cannot recall where," Faervel commented looking very closely at him. 

"Isn't it Asfaloth? I heard legends about him. But what is the horse of  Lord Glorfindel doing here at this time?" A Lothlorien warrior asked as some of them approached to see what was happening. "Should we call for lord Celeborn? He's in the healing rooms." 

"No need. Dorondir! Follow the horse and see what is going on. I have a dreadful feeling." Faervel ordered the warrior who nodded and followed the horse on foot because Asfaloth wouldn't allow Dorondir to get on his back. 

It was only for a few minutes until the warrior had a familiar feeling. He was sure that he had wandered into the forest before, his aim to find a person but he actually found more. His heart beat faster in anticipation and soon enough he realized that he was back to where it has all begun. 

Right there, in the middle of a worn-out patch of land, was the dead body of an evil creature and just a few feet from that was the same elleth that he had brought into the kingdom before. Dorondir sighed and approached her warily. He frowned when he noticed the Morgul blade just a few feet away and gasped when he saw her wound. 

"She's dead. Nobody can survive being stabbed with that weapon." He whispered but Asfaloth shook his head and urged the elf to tend to her.  "She did wake up last time, I guess." He mumbled as he gently carried her and put her on Asfaloth's back. 

The walk back was even worse. Dorondir couldn't help but question Mistril's motif to be in Mirkwood. Maybe she was sent by Elrond or maybe by...Sauron. No, that was foolish. She was badly wounded. 

Whatever Thranduil was thinking in his room, it was all erased when Faervel barged inside with a worried look. The king couldn't help but imagine that it was another attack from Dol Guldur. It was worse.

"Sire, lady Mistril was found in the forest. Her wounds are so bad that she is believed to be dead." The warrior announced. "And, my king, Gweluven noticed that her dark marks are gone. That means the evil is also gone." 

But Thranduil had a knot in his stomach. If the marks were gone then there was a real chance that Mistril was not going to return from the dead for a second time. It made the king nauseous and he actually vomited blood. It was just as bad as if terrible news of Legolas reached him.

As soon as Gweluven had Mistril lying on a made-up bed, he knew that it was not going to be easy. She had been in the forest for a few hours unlike last time but her wounds were inflicted by a blade that cut deep into the soul, not just the flesh. He asked for herbs and for Hinnorbes who was talented with healing potions but it still wasn't enough. The only thing they could do was clean her up and just wait.

"Will she wake up?" Miluinir asked his teacher, feeling disheartened. 

"Only the Valar knows." 

The answer, however, came from an older and wiser elf, a healer of the body and soul. Celeborn approached Gweluven and sighed heavily.

"She looks peaceful. Maybe it is better if she doesn't." Miluinir mumbled getting a strong punch in the ribs from Hinnorbes.

"How can you say that when you know how deeply our king would be hurt by her death?" She scolded him and looked like she was ready to grab him by his ear as if he were a child.

Celeborn watched Mistril's lifeless body and couldn't help but pity her. She was just a young elleth when darkness filled her city and then she had no choice but to surrender to anger and loneliness. Even if she woke up, there was only disappointment awaiting her. If Galadriel was correct, Celeborn could only hope that Manwe took mercy and kept Mistril in his halls.

"Move her into my room."

All the healers turned to look as the Elvenking walked towards them. He was another pitiful sight: he had a bandage around his head through which you could still see the blood from a wound that almost deafened him, you could still see the marks of the fingers of an orc that grabbed his cheeks, among other marks on his neck or arms. One of his eyes was swollen and the biggest problem was with a hip wound that forced him to use a crutch to move. Although he suffered many internal injuries, he was still walking around helping wherever he could. If there was ever any doubt about Thranduil's love and dedication for his people, he was constantly proving them wrong. 

"But sir, is it alright to move her?" Miluinir asked glancing from his master to his king. "What if she doesn't wake up?"

"She will. The Valar sent her back to be punished and it hasn't happened yet." He said sounding a lot more certain than he actually was.

For the whole time Mistril was in a deep slumber, Thranduil kept himself busy with his own people. Many wood elves had already decided to leave as soon as possible for Valinor. When Celeborn found the king, he seemed to be looking over his land with sorrow and yet there was still strength in his posture. 

"What should I do now?" He asked already sensing the presence of the wise elf. 

"I believe you already know. The danger has passed and calmness will return to the forest step by step. I will delegate a group to aid your people in going back to a normal way of living but I am afraid we both know they will forever be scarred by what happened here." Celeborn replied, thinking that he should only give his opinion and encouragement rather than offer his direct counsel. 

"I appreciate this sympathetic speech but I do not speak of Mirkwood." The Elvenking said, his voice growing more genuine. Celeborn wasn't surprised seeing how the other subject was hanging onto him just as much as Thranduil was hanging onto her. But he never showed his interest as honestly as Mistril did. 

"Whether she wakes up or not, you need to move on. Mistril cannot follow you into Valinor nor is she allowed to enter the Halls of Manos. She is stuck here." Celeborn emphasized the last sentence with a strict tone. 

"I'm not leaving anytime soon." 

"But you will, eventually. You cannot remain in Middle-earth, Thranduil. The age of elves has passed and a new age of men has come. You cannot live among them." It seemed like Celeborn really wanted the wood elf to understand that he couldn't ignore the reality of his situation. Thranduil, even in his wounded state, was still very stubborn.

"But she will have to."

Although the Elvenking did not like Celeborn's opinion it did not mean that he didn't thoroughly think about it. Every night he would return to his room and silently watch over Mistril as she lied in his bed, unmoving and not breathing. Sometimes he would lean in and inspect if there was any change while other times he wouldn't be able to be around her because it made him think about death. Gweluven was coming three times a day to check on her but Mistril was still unresponsive. Days passed like that but the wood elves were quick in getting back on their feet. The Lothlorien army left and Celeborn gave Thranduil a knowing look. 

It was around the time Legolas arrived home, after the most incredible adventure he has ever been on, that changes happened. Thranduil couldn't help but hug his son and express emotions that he had not before, all because of the recent traumatic events. 

"What happened, father?" Legolas asked seeing how his home was not the same. "Gandalf has spoken to me before about the dangers around Mirkwood but the people...and you. Something more has taken place here."

"Come, Legolas. Let's speak in my office." 

For the whole way, Legolas couldn't help but feel like his home has changed. It wasn't just how it looked but how the atmosphere made his heart ache with nostalgia. For them to get to their destination, they had to walk past Thranduil's room. Legolas felt this sudden knot in his stomach and stopped. Something was amiss and a force far greater than anything he has felt during his adventure made him turn the knob and enter his father's bedroom. His eyes widened and he froze in his spot. 

"Mistril! What happened to you?"

Thranduil was expecting to have a crying son, or even worse, one who would spend most of his days doing exactly what the Elvenking himself has done. But what he was not prepared for was to hear her voice.

"I...died." She replied in a hoarse voice. Her eyes were still getting used to the bright light that was coming in from the window when a figure approached her and stopped in such a way that the light made him gleam. "Did you...save me?"

"No. But I believe you helped in saving Mirkwood. You defeated the Nazgul in charge of Dol Guldur." Thranduil explained in a very calm voice.

Although he seemed like her awakening did not matter much, the Elvenking was truly happy to look into those green eyes of hers. 

A sudden flash of memories came upon Mistril and she flinched at the pain. But the satisfaction of having killed Khamul returned and she suddenly remembered one detail that followed the fight.

"The marks...I have no marks." She whispered, feeling overwhelmed by the relief she felt. She looked up and noticed Legolas smiling at her with tearful eyes. "You're alive. We're...free. I'm free." She said finally understanding that with Sauron destroyed she could finally have a normal life and the Shadow of Angmar will become just a bad memory.