There is a freedom, in having all your choices stripped from you. He wonders if the reversal will be all at once, or he will send the Outsider and the others home and then die here, doubting-- two Thranduils at once, one living as though this never happened and another sent to the Halls of Mandos, petitioning them for action. He would like to pit his will against the Valar. He has no doubt that with the memories he now holds, and a better... appreciation of Galadriel, he might get far.

He is not afraid of pain, but neither does he seek it; he hopes death will be less painful than what he has endured so far.

"You were alone," he acknowledges, keeping her nestled in the relative safety he can provide.

But he can't offer any more than that. She's right, again, he would have handled the revelation poorly, the level of comfort someone like him was able to offer scant and ill-suited to Thedas. She is half-elven but she is not peredhil.

"I do not think she hated you," he says. Thranduil had seen all the things Guenevere had done for her daughter, a line drawn between 'beloved servant' and 'mother'. She had put up with Gwen's tantrums from love, not pay, not hunger.

He can imagine their children. He knows that they will be peredhel, but he lets himself consider the lot of every other marriage like theirs in Thedas, and-

"You were her child first, always."

He does not think of Legolas often anymore. Or-- he does, but he buries it. His son is elsewhere. His son is safe. His son is an elf, and if he was not, there would be distance between them. A lack of understanding, but Legolas would still be his son and beloved for that and that alone. It is all Thranduil would need.