It would be a pleasant day if it weren't for the bitter news clouding in the air like an invisible mist. Everything would be running as normal if it weren't for the disappearance that has shaken the realm from top to bottom, and placed the enormous weight of managing the kingdom in Thranduil's absence on the shoulders of Feren and a few other trusted commanders. The Sindar lords have slunk back into their vast halls in the network of caves at the heart of the kingdom, several flights of stairs away from the chambers Thranduil and I call our own. It seems they will have no role in taking care of a kingdom that engaged in such a rash, futile mission.

For rash and futile it is, to some extent; we do not even know where little Eirwen has been taken, let alone what must be done to return her home. There are five of us setting out to rescue her: four esteemed warriors (for Elidir, too, has impressive strength and skill in battle) and a Star with a strange and unpredictable power she has no idea how to control. I had hoped that the power would not return, but I fear that it will have some part to play before the end.

Elidir has promptly forbidden any of his children from coming, no matter how much Laedion and Eranos plead.  Gelya seems to have grudgingly accepted that she would never be allowed to go with the minimal fighting ability that she has, while Nairelin, on the other hand, appears almost relieved that she doesn't have to venture out of her little bubble of comfort in the Woodland Realm. It is clear that Marieth fears for her husband, while he believes that he will return carrying their daughter alive and well in his arms within days. The rest of us have varying levels of confidence all considerably below his.

The mood is dark.  The armoury, complete with no windows and lit only by a few flickering lamps, is far too cheery a place for such an atmosphere as this.  In the hope that somehow I could shrink out of existence, I stay silent unless spoken to.

'They would not have taken her all the way to Mordor.  She is most likely to be in either one of these places...' Tauriel says as she fastens a set of daggers onto her belt, 'Dol Guldur or Gundabad.'

Thranduil, an armoured, brooding presence in the corner of the room, tenses noticeably at the mention of that accursed place. I know Tauriel is aware that Gundabad is where he lost his wife, but her gaze is directed sympathetically towards her friend Legolas, who has proceeded to distract himself by running his fingers along his bow.  Ultimately, I am surprised that Legolas volunteered for this when he knew I would be going, and even more surprised that he has not taken it upon himself to push me away yet.

Although I yearn to be nestled against Thranduil, it's proving increasingly difficult to attach a seemingly excessive amount of weapons to my person, and so I am fully occupied. The three ellons have finished arming themselves, down to the last knife strapped to Elidir's thigh and the last arrow in Legolas's quiver, while Tauriel and I are still attempting to fit the leather cuffs and sheaths onto ourselves. Arming an elleth appears infinitely more complicated than arming an ellon, and I fail to see why Tauriel has urged me to take it as far as her. Could I not have taken Thranduil's approach? He simply clad himself in dark grey armour—a sleek, lightweight set compared to his usual battle attire—and slipped nothing but his two favoured swords into their sheaths.

'Is there any way of knowing?' Elidir raises his eyebrows at me, almost with a glimmer of hope in his eyes, which reflect the fresh greens and earthy browns of a forest—perhaps the Greenwood of old, before it was transformed by dark powers into the Mirkwood we know today.

'I'm afraid not,' I reply sadly, finally winning the battle against the uncooperative leather belt I had been grappling with for five minutes. 'As I said, I have not slept, and therefore have had no indication of what is happening to Eirwen. I don't think I shall sleep again until we have rescued her and returned here.'

'You would be right to say so. We mustn't rest,' adds Legolas sternly.

Thranduil then rises, and strides across the armoury to assist me in my next endeavour: attaching the (in my opinion) surplus daggers to various locations on my person, a job which Tauriel has just finished performing by herself. Now is one of those times I wish that I was trained in such basic skills as this—light powers and dream visions are of no use to me at this moment.

I almost don't pay attention to how Thranduil will linger near to me each time he attaches one with graceful ease, softly touching my leather-clad body with his warm hands. I do notice, however, when he leans so close to my neck I can feel his lips burning to touch it, and let out a small breath so to warn him before he starts making his affections too obvious.

'We do not know if Eirwen has even reached one of the fortresses,' Legolas continues, 'if she was taken only a few hours ago, the orcs could still be on the road.'

'She wandered off at first light.  She must have gone to the very edge of the kingdom if the guards did not notice a breach made by the orcs.'  Elidir's voice cracks.  'We did not know she had gone until—until it was too late.'  The tall, dark ellon turns to the wall and shields his face in the shadows.  'If I had been there, she would not be gone.'

Tauriel slips her quiver of arrows over her shoulder and onto her back.  'If Eirwen was not taken, someone else would be, and we would still need to save them.'

Elidir doesn't reply.  I can feel Thranduil watching him with a cold gaze, regarding how his calm facade is crashing down—just like Thranduil's has done in the past.  The King says nothing, but I know that, like me, he is hoping that we do not have to watch Elidir endure a fate similar to what Thranduil suffered through for centuries.  That same kind of loss, in some ways not as deep as Thranduil's, but in other ways far worse.

I cannot let that happen.  I will not.

No one deserves that kind of pain, and although I cannot prevent every loss in the world, I know I can at least try to prevent this one.  Elidir can blame himself all he likes, but it is not him who Sauron wants to lure into his grasp—at the end of it all, this is my fault.

My fault... my fault...

The armoury is gone.  Thranduil, Elidir, Tauriel, Legolas... they're all gone.  I can see a forest; a vast expanse of trees; a blanket of dark textures illuminated from above by the high sun.  I don't know where my feet are—in fact, I don't even know where my whole body is—but it feels like I'm on the ground, despite my view being from high in the air. 

My vision jolts, and the forest below begins to move, to soar out from under me, to transform into new terrain.  The dense covering of trees begins to thin out, making room for open plains and eventually the roots of mountains—the Misty Mountains, no less.  These are familiar lands.  I know these woods and rivers and foothills, and it is this view of them that I have had for all the ages of the world. 

I could almost be home... but in my heart, I know I am not.

Then come the screams, the shrill, agonised screams, ripping through the air as though they were blades slicing a neck.  And now the fortress comes into view, protruding from among the snow-capped peaks with that dull, hulking shape that I have come to know: Gundabad.  Of course. It had to be there.

I cannot bear to think what has caused Eirwen to scream in such a manner that lacerates my very soul, but I believe it is best that her father does not hear it.  Yet, of all the places in Middle Earth they could have gone, it was to the exact fortress where Ellerian lost her life.  Gundabad is the one place which I had been hoping to avoid, and now the one place I need to go.

'Elena...'

There is no more fortress, no more mountains, no more high views; there is only Thranduil again, and the pressing dark and closeness of the armoury.  For a moment, my mind is fooled into thinking we are alone, in our room, and none of that was real... but then the lamplight glinting off his armour tells me otherwise. 

'Thranduil!' I begin breathlessly, finding that my words come out in short, sharp gasps, 'She's in Gundabad!  That's where they've taken her!'

Inevitably, a darkness blossoms in Thranduil's wide eyes, tainting the blue brilliance like a shadow over ice.  He tenses his jaw, and drops his gaze from mine, moving his head away from where it was close enough that I should like to embrace his lips with mine.  'You had another vision,' he finally says.

'While you were awake?' asks Legolas, raising one of the dark eyebrows he inherited from his father.

'Yes...' I confirm steadily, 'but that is the first time it has happened.  I think my emotions may have triggered it.'  With this last statement, I look directly at Thranduil, who once again shakes my gaze away. 

'Stars make no sense,' he mutters, almost to himself. 

He may not know it, but Thranduil could not be more right.

***