Red on the snow. Foul smell of orc blood from his own sword was making his nose wrinkle up. Or was it tears that rolled out his eyes uncontrollably?
Thranduil stood on the bloodied clearing, paralyzed. His mind vaguely registered elves around him who checked on the wounded, who hurried around looking, trying to find...
But his eyes were drawn to one place only. Her face. Her eyes opened wide that looked in horror towards the forest, her outstretched hand.
The snow slowly fell, white flakes landed on her skin but didn't melt.
And he couldn't move. Will left his body as he both longed to be near her and dreaded touching the forever cold now skin.
He didn't know how long he stood there until someone touched his hand, the one that didn't clutch a useless sword like the other hand did. Someone put a small, warm, and trembling body onto his arm. Only that woke him.
Thranduil looked down into the terrified eyes of his tiny son. His heart broke once more.
The sword fell out of his other hand with a clank as he pulled the elfling closer to himself, wrapped his arms around him as tight as he could without hurting the child, as if that could somehow shield him from the pain of that day.
As he carried Legolas away, Thranduil recalled a day just a year ago. Comforting memory was slowly turning into a painful one, as many others did. Even centuries later, when her face would became blurry in his mind's eye and he still could remember her smell but stopped feeling her warmth, they hurt.
The snow was slowly falling in light flakes that day. There was barely any wind, so they danced in the air before landing on branches or ground. There was enough snow on the ground to reach a baby's knee, but never enough to drown even a bit of Thranduil's boot. A matter of balance.
He put their son on the snow, let him touch it. She laughed when Legolas squeaked at the prickling touch of something as cold to his tiny hand.
Did she only watch that day?
Legolas fumbled. He still was not sure on his legs even on the wooden floor of their rooms. And here the snow was slowly pulling him in however the child tried to fight it. Thranduil kept a steady hand around his little torso to make sure his son would not fall facefirst towards the ground, but he let him sink in.
The balance was unreachable for their tiny son yet. There was something endearing in how he tried to walk but got frustrated with every step that pulled him knee-deep into the cold. Thranduil picked him briefly to put him onto the surface again, but a second later Legolas' feet drowned again.
Thranduil looked up at her face, smiling. In the memory she smiled too, he was sure. But from that day on he could only remember the terrified look and bloodless skin. A memory of how he was too late.