This is such a heartrending chapter; the Wood-elves have lived for so long with so much danger and distress. I completely (as you know!) share your view of the cultural and political rifts between the Greenwood, Rivendell and Lothlorien due to two of those realms having the protection of Rings and one not...
I also love, as ever, your lush description and particularly, in this chapter, the way you bring it to bear on the profound connectedness between the Wood-elves and the natural world around them:
Legolas breathed in, the smell of the forest, leaves and berries and the shady ferns and clear forest river...He felt Thranduil's song soar, its deep, mellowed notes like wine and moonlight and the forest glades and the crown of autumn berries he wore at the feasts.
Those notes reminiscent of the "season of mists and mellow-fruitfulness" are perfect for Thranduil.