The goodbyes were hard; the journey is harder.  I could plainly tell that as Elidir held Marieth in his arms and kissed her forehead, Thranduil was fighting himself not to do the same, if not more, to me.  As much I longed and am longing to feel him close to me again, displaying affection would only act as a hindrance to our mission.  He knows that as much as I do.

Now we have a different battle to fight, one which affects all who walk under the rustling canopy of Mirkwood. It is only by Thranduil's expert knowledge of the correct route that we are able to make it through the forest, which is rank with deception, heavy with illusion and a most uncomfortable place to ride through. My horse seems to be the most jumpy of the lot, but since all the horses are tethered to Thranduil's (surprisingly calm) elk, they are unable to bolt.

Thranduil and I have barely spoken since we departed. None of the five of us have really had anything to say that we deemed worth saying. We are, in fact, so occupied by trying to keep our steeds under control, it is only Thranduil who is able to watch for incoming spiders. I am fortunate enough to have not met one of those personally, though I have seen the havoc they can wreak.

He who resides permanently in my thoughts is riding just in front of me, his posture impeccable, his hair cascading down his back; those locks, however, are deprived of their usual glow while we are trapped under the impenetrable shade of Mirkwood. It is not a darkness as such, but more of a shadow, a shroud that was laid over the forest as it began to wither and die. It is a draining force, obliterating not just light but sense, strength, direction... and of course, it banishes hope.

I can still hear the screams echoing inside my head, from the vision I had instigated through my own panic. What a pathetic way for me to be of use to the company. I have said nothing of it yet, despite the prospect of breaking down in Thranduil's arms to tell him everything seeming all too appealing at this point. He wouldn't listen to me now. I know full well that he's got his own demons eating at him from the inside—lost memories trying to claw their way to the surface. If I tried to help him defeat them, he would almost certainly push me away.

There is no other who I could tell.  Not even Gelya knows about all my powers, and neither does Tauriel.  Did Menelion ever experience powers like these?  Did any Star?  The more I muse, the more I feel like some kind of freak.

Oh, Thranduil.  I wish you could hear me.

Perhaps it all seems worse when the thick trunks, looming branches and the air itself are closing in like a noose tightening around a neck. I wonder how it affects the others in my company... Thranduil most of all.  When we're this far from the small haven of thr Woodland Realm, it feels as though the creatures of our nightmares could be lurking around every corner.

***

It is late afternoon when the first mountains begin to emerge from the thick cloud overhead, and my stomach lurches. Wreathed in mist, Mount Gundabad comes rising above the other northern peaks like their very own dark lord, the crown jewel of the Misty Mountains, bearing down on the surrounding plains with unspoken authority. The great orc stronghold juts out from the rock, its pointed edges and towers cleaving the fog. Somewhere in there is an innocent, helpless child, and I'm out here internally panicking as usual.

The quietness of the place is particularly disconcerting, considering I had been hearing screams in my vision. The only sound is the soft tapping of hooves on the rocky ground as we approach the fortress through the gathering mist. It accumulates so quickly I can feel the mist droplets begin to settle on my skin, and yet the dark shape of our destination is still visible. It's as if Gundabad wants us to get there—it's been waiting for us.

'We must leave our mounts here and continue on foot,' Thranduil says in a low voice, dismounting his elk and continuing to avoid my eye contact as he has been doing since we departed. It is clear he thinks that cutting off his feelings from me is going to help him, but I cannot say whether he is right.

The remainder of the company dismount in silence and tie the horses and elk to a large boulder not far from the fortress. My fingers fumble clumsily with the rope for my horse, but Thranduil's strong hands are there within seconds to finish it for me. Still refraining from looking me in the eye, let alone speaking to me directly, he holds my hands within his for a moment as if to settle my obvious nerves. It is only when we feel Legolas's gaze on us that Thranduil releases my hands back into the cool, damp air.

'Do you remember the way in, aran nín?' asks Elidir, his voice displaying all the emotion his face has managed to hide, 'I do not.'

'I was unaware you had been here before.' Legolas gets there before his father, whose jaw clenches noticeably.

'I fought in your adar's army in the war we waged on these lands, and in many other battles since, arion nín,' Elidir answers solemnly, 'I was a young warrior who had not yet been touched by the horrors of war. I was among those who were trapped somewhere in the tallest tower, and only escaped by the sacrifice of Queen Ellerian.'

I confess I had no idea... no idea whatsoever that Elidir, my best friend's father, had been there on that day. But of course he was there—he must be in his third millennium by now. Not much older than Legolas, but old enough that he fought in a battle during which Legolas was but a small child.

Thranduil's immediate glower silences Elidir, and to my surprise, the King clears his throat. 'The sacrifice of my wife shall not be spoken of from this moment forth.'

There is a brief pause, in which Elidir, Tauriel and I heed his words; Legolas, however, prepares to speak again. 'She was not just your wife, she was my mother too,' he states sternly, facing down his father who dwarfs him by almost a head, 'and unlike you, I still love her after all this time. I have not acquired a replacement.' He spits this last word as though it were poison.

'What do you know of your mother and I?' snaps Thranduil, 'What do you know of Elena and I? Nothing.'

I take this opportunity to stare straight at the floor. I cannot bear to look at neither father nor son. This matter is out of my hands; it was never really in them at all.

'Because you told me nothing,' Legolas persists, 'I only know what I can plainly see, which is that my mother has no place in your life anymore.'

'Did you have to watch her die? Were you stood at the entrance to one of those rooms...' Thranduil growls, gesturing up to the towering fortress, 'trying to fight your way inside, while she was mangled and mutilated before your eyes? Did you hear her scream and cry out to the Valar to protect her son? Did you have her broken body hurled back at you, covering you in her blood, as her eyes rolled back and didn't... even... see you? Did you ever give her your heart, only to have her give it back?'

'Thranduil...' His name escapes my lips before I can stop it, and to my horror I find my eyes are beginning to burn. More than anything else from earth to sky, I want to run to him, embrace him, comfort him... but I know that I mustn't. And so does he.

'Save it. We have to find a way in.' He cuts me off, his deep voice rumbling through the mist-laden air and echoing over the unnerving silence of the orc stronghold. All the words I wish to say to him fall back inside me, complete with silent screams of agony, only to be replaced with a new query.

As we begin to walk, I whisper across to my best friend's father. 'Elidir?'

'Yes?' he replies softly, meeting my gaze with that pair of pure forest eyes, which are overflowing with sympathy.

I force the question off my tongue like it were some bad stew. 'You didn't... see her die, did you?'

'No, I did not. I saw her engage the orcs at first, but I was soon caught up in the fleeing crowd. I think it was only the King who saw it all.' Elidir glances warily at Thranduil, whose powerful, armoured back is the only view of him we have. He then lowers his voice to little more than a breath. 'No one else knows exactly how they killed her... and I don't think any of us really want to.'

I swallow down the urge to say that I do. Any pain that Thranduil bears, I want to have been there to bear it with him.

***

Elvish:
Aran nín = my King
Adar = father
Arion nín = my Prince