Thranduil doesn't let me fall behind.  He keeps my hand encased tightly in his, with the other wielding his vast sword which reflects the fire flickering on my own.  I have never seen flames such as these before—flames the colour of ice.

I lose track of the twists and turns, of the corners and corridors and low ceilings of Gundabad, of the snaking paths down which we all run for our lives.  Inevitably, my leg begins to protest, but if I slow down even slightly I immediately find Thranduil's hand slipping from mine and pushing me gently in the back.  Orcs come spilling out of the doors alongside us, causing panicked cries from Eirwen, only to meet their ends on our blades.  I lash out with the burning weapon relentlessly, all the while counting names in my head.

That's for Thranduil.

That's for Gelya.

That's for Tauriel.

That's for Eirwen.

And so on and so on, until my brain can think of nothing but them, the reasons why I need to make it out of this place.  The reasons why I need to keep hold of Thranduil's hand and never let it go, even if all the might of the Valar tries to pull me away. 

The breath of fresh, misty air that meets my lungs is a strengthening force, along with the welcoming sight of daylight opening up around us as we break through the doors and out into the breeze.  I cannot see if any orcs are still on our tail, and I dare not look; I can only battle against the pain in my leg while being almost dragged across the rocky ground.  My legs finally start to give way beneath me, the flames on my sword abruptly extinguishing as I stumble forward.  Thranduil has me in his arms before I know it, and is carrying me exactly like he did on that day that seems a lifetime ago.  The first day I went outside in the Woodland Realm.

Gritting his teeth, Thranduil hoists me up onto my horse.  'Hold on,' he whispers, untying the horse before slapping it on its hindquarters and sending it hurtling away from the fortress with me astride it.  The wind rushing onto my face is cold but not unpleasant, bringing a strange sort of freedom as I put as much distance between myself and Gundabad as I can.

Once I'm far enough away from the orc stronghold that I feel relatively safe, I cast a glance over my shoulder.  Three more horses are galloping right behind me—Legolas, Tauriel, and Elidir with Eirwen—while the elk is thundering up to my left with its rider streaming his platinum hair behind him.  Thranduil takes the lead once again, but since we had no time to tether the animals together this time, I stick close to his side so our steeds are almost neck and neck. 

It soon becomes safe to slow down and settle at a easier pace, perfect for me to watch the mountains shrink into the distance and the mist illuminated by dusky light go soaring past me.  To my surprise, Legolas is the first to speak as he brings his horse level with mine.  Something in his sapphire eyes is almost ringing... guilt.

'Forgive me, Elena,' he says solemnly, 'I was wrong to treat you how I did.  My father deserves someone like you.'

I am almost taken aback at his sudden change of heart.  Nevertheless, I give the Prince a small smile.  'Thank you, my lord.  I understand that you must resent my presence more than anyone.  Just know that in no way am I trying to replace your mother.'

Legolas shakes his head.  'You don't need to say that.  I know what happened to her.  I know she was weak.'

'She was not,' I reply earnestly, 'she may not have been perfect, but no one truly is. She suffered, and I for one know how much of a fight she put up. She was valiant. Honourable. Undeserving of her fate.'

'I do not think that. She was weak, and so is her bloodline.'  Legolas looks away, his brilliant blue eyes shining as he gazes ahead through the ever-thinning mist.  I do not check to see how Thranduil is reacting.

'If she was really that weak, how could she have raised such a strong son?' I ask, causing him to look back at me.

Legolas pauses, taking in my words, before smiling.  'Hannon-lë, but I'm afraid I did inherit weakness from her. I failed to see that you were a good person. I failed to see that my father needs you—that we all need you.'

This time it's my turn to look away.  'You think that is my task?'

'I think your task involves us, in one way or another,' Legolas states after a moment of thought.

'I hope you are right. I have grown to be used to your ways, your kingdom, your people—and I am proud to stand alongside you. To fight alongside you, and do everything within my power to save you.'

'And we are proud to have you with us,' says Legolas kindly, 'you are one of us now, Elena.'

'You have even worn the uniform of the Guard,' Tauriel adds, smirking.

'And you saved my life!' says Eirwen, her usual chirpiness returning to her voice.

'And mine.' Thranduil's loving smile is what sends the tears springing into my eyes. 'To me, it matters not what you are. It is who you are that I love.'

I return his smile appreciatively, feeling the blush warming my cheeks despite the cool wind.  I cannot reply, for if I do, I will embarrass myself by weeping openly into my sleeve matted with orc blood.  I just hope that they all know the true magnitude of their words—a Star such as myself hardly deserves company like this.

***

Darkness falls as we ride on.  Elidir begins to sing a soft Sindarin lullaby to his daughter, and soon little Eirwen is fast asleep nestled against her father's chest, her golden head bobbing gently up and down with the trot of the horse. I speak to Thranduil about my powers and the unexpected display from my sword, at which he is impressed, to say the least.

After we escape the clawing tendrils of mist from the mountains and before the shadow of the Mirkwood canopy takes us, we have a short period of riding over open plain under an endless sweeping sky.  The deep, velvet blue rolls out above us like the surface of some great ocean, and the stars are all alight... but this time, as I stare, it doesn't beckon me.  I don't feel called home by the glittering infinity above my head, not even slightly.  My home is with the King of the Woodland Realm now. 

I could never return to my old life.  Too much has changed.

And I could certainly never leave while the words of my friends are resounding in my mind. I feel like somehow, I could... belong. Belong in the Woodland Realm, surrounded by those whom I love. I care not for the presence of unpleasant elves. They are nothing compared to the joys that I have been gifted with.

When the time comes for me to return (for come it will, sooner or later) I will put up such a fight that the sky itself will shake from my defiance. There will be no more years of watching and waiting, letting it all happen—I'm there now, I'm with them, I'm one of them. I will not sit among that legendary throng anymore. I will walk among the people who have taught me how to love, care, and defend myself.

And I will walk among them as their equal.

The ravenous darkness of nighttime Mirkwood consumes us as a spider would consume a fly. We are trapped in its labyrinthine depths, constantly plagued by small sounds echoing around our heads, one of which startles poor Eirwen out of her innocent slumber. Thranduil holds the course, letting us all follow directly behind the elk in a close line down the irregular paths. I know not to speak to him, for a single mistake could cost us our lives.

Catching me off guard, Thranduil brings his elk to a sudden halt. 'Listen...' he breathes into the heavy silence. I doubt for a moment whether he really heard anything, but the shrieks and growls that ensue proceed to crush my doubts beneath their iron fists.

'Orcs,' Legolas says sharply, confirming my suspicion. Then, narrowing his eyes, he squints through the darkness to where numerous scrabbling silhouettes can be seen amongst the trees, their heavy steps cracking the layer of twigs and decayed leaves underfoot.

'They must have come from Dol Guldur,' whispers Elidir, stroking his daughter's back protectively as she buries her face in his chest.

My heart falls abruptly into my stomach. 'This was his plan all along!  To lure me away and attack the Woodland Realm at the same time!'

'But we escaped.  He did not plan for that,' replies Thranduil calmly.

'Yes, but we still have a kingdom to defend.' I gesture in despair to the orcs massing ahead of us. 'Look at them, they're moving in to attack it!'

'There should be time to get in another way and warn the kingdom. We will defend our home tonight,' Thranduil says firmly, the smooth deepness of his voice reassurance in itself.

I do not comment on his statement. The King's son, on the other hand, clenches his fists around his reins and dares to defy his father. The second Legolas opens his mouth, I know this is not going to end well.

'It may not be my home anymore,' the Prince begins, 'I'd been meaning to tell you that I was going to leave earlier than we had agreed—'

'Legolas, I have had enough of negotiating with you,' Thranduil interrupts him, the edge of boredom in his tone only seeming to spur Legolas on.

'You cannot tie me down anymore,' he continues, 'you are the one who let me go to Imladris.'

Thranduil counters him immediately. 'If I had known how much you would be needed, I would not have let you.'

'I will stay until winter returns.  Then I will take my leave again.'

'Back to Imladris, I presume.'

'Yes.  I have not yet decided where to go from there.'

The King sighs deeply. 'I am not tying you down any longer. You are free to choose your own path.  But today, I need you fighting with us.'

'I will,' Legolas answers, 'of course I will. I merely wanted to warn you of my departure so to lessen the pain of Elena's.'

I almost smile to myself at this. Oh, if only he knew... if I have any say in it, I won't be going anywhere. And tonight is just another step along the way.

***