I am there early, before the sun begins its ascent, when the world is dark and still. The guards are my only company, one whom I recognize as a fresh-faced Narunir. He does not remark on my presence, nor do I offer a reason. I know Thranduil will arrive at any moment, ever punctual, with the first sign of sun.

I place my hand on the bridge railing, and a cold mist from the river sprays my face and removes the last vestiges of sleep. Breathing in the early spring air, I listen to the rushing water. There is a certain peace in mornings not found elsewhere.

I am finished guessing his reasons for taking me along, having done enough the night before, at first with Gwendes, then later in my bed when sleep refused me. There seems no obvious explanation, and my friend uncharacteristically suggested I stop overthinking it. If Gwendes knows of my true feelings for the King, she has not mentioned it. For that I am grateful.

He did not give instructions for proper attire for the journey, but I assume my wool traveling cloak and riding boots are adequate. I gathered freshly-made bread from the kitchens and a bottle of Dorwinion wine from the cellars for sustenance.

The finches begin to chirp in their morning ritual, and the surviving oak trees make an interesting play of shadows as the first hint of light touches the sky. Thranduil strides through the doors on cue. His branched crown is adorned with white woodland flowers of springtime, and he wears a silver velvet cloak clasped with an elk brooch.

Glancing down at my cloak, I notice part of the fabric frays at the hem from overuse. I look like a raft-elf.

"Where are we going?"

"When will you learn to trust me?"

His teasing smile could be a trick of the dusky light, but I am not convinced. "I learned to trust you long ago, my lord. But I would like to know if my attire is suitable for our destination. I am now having doubts..."

"That is nothing new." He makes a quick assessment of me from my boots to the top of my curls. "Green suits your hair. It will do."

"It will do," I repeat, bemused. "I am not sure if I should thank you..."

"You are welcome."

Nay, his teasing is no trick of the light. I feel a whoosh of warmth at his smile, and quickly look away so the feeling will leave. "Why are you dressed in your finest robes?"

"Because it is a good day, and I feel like wearing them. Are you ready?"

"I suppose, though your cryptic behavior is setting me on edge. But I did say I trusted you, so I must hold to my word."

"Good."

With a swish of his cloak he starts across the bridge, the growing light of dawn throwing a rosy cast on his pale hair. I follow closely behind. Why does he insist on keeping me in the dark, yet take pleasure in teasing me about it? Not only is it unnecessarily puzzling, it furthers my long-time suspicion that he has a flair for the dramatic.

"Did the horses survive the battle? I can ride on my own..."

"That will not be necessary."

I pause in my tracks at his loud whistle. Its sound is unusual, almost resembling a song, and even the finches give up their happy chirping to listen. Before I can ask, a massive beast the size of a house appears from the woods, galloping over the blackened remains of the village and straight towards us. I step backwards.

But the antlers become clearer as he approaches, as does the graceful stride and proud set of his head. The elk comes at us with full speed, hooves clopping against the cobblestone, then slows down and stops near the bridge.

"Gilroch! How did he survive? The stables burned..."

Thranduil approaches him and pats his large neck by way of greeting. The elk seems happy to see his master, giving a soft snort and nuzzling his hand. It is obvious from Thranduil's gentle manner he has a soft spot for the beast. I stand back and watch.

He looks at me over his shoulder. "I followed your suggestion. Do you remember it?"

"I remember being horrified at the smallness of his stable..." My mouth widens as the memory returns fully. "You set him free."

"I did."

I join them and glide my hand over Gilroch's coarse coat. The soft rosy dawn is turning to a brighter yellow, bathing us in a pretty light where we stand under a patch of open sky. I am not sure which stuns me more: that he followed my suggestion, or admitted it to me.

"That was kind of you."

"Your intuition was sound. He remained loyal and came to me during the battle. Riding on him gave me an excellent vantage point for striking down the enemy."

I smile, and pointedly look at Gilroch's monstrous antlers. "I am sure he was happy to assist. Do you no longer have his saddle?"

"It was destroyed in the fire. But I do not believe it should be a problem for you."

I know he refers to when I was an elfling and rode ponies every day, adamantly refusing to sit on a saddle, even when the stablehands, and my father, insisted. Somewhere through the many years I adopted the Silvan trait of using it. But most Elves of the world prefer riding bareback.

"Of course not."

"Then we must leave now. The light grows steadily."

He climbs on the elk and pulls me up behind him. I have forgotten how much time has passed since I rode saddleless. It is a strange, unsettling feeling, especially as Gilroch is triple the size of any horse.

"Relax, or you will spook him."

I breathe in the crisp morning air and relax my legs, which are gripping Gilroch's sides too tightly. The elk gives a grateful grunt. I wrap my arms around Thranduil, fearing he will set off without warning like last time.

"Rîneth..."

"Yes?"

"My side still pains me. Perhaps not so tightly."

I instantly let go of him, unable to believe I forgot his wound. "I apologize. I--"

He reaches behind and takes my hands, directing them closer to his hips, and squeezes my fingers before letting go.

I open my mouth, but lose my voice as Gilroch jerks forward, starting at a decent pace down the main road, passing the blackened trees and flattened remains of our homeland. A lump grows in my throat at the sight. From such a high viewpoint the destruction appears even more horrific, more absolute.

It is still hard to fathom what has befallen us, and how much we have lost.

The scenery changes as Gilroch leads us southwards into the burgeoning green of spring. We are heading straight towards the dark heart of Mirkwood, home to orcs and other servants of Sauron. Though Sauron is dead, and the fortress of Dol Guldur destroyed, my heart's pace quickens at the uncertainty.

"Do we have reason to fear?"

"No. I have made sure of it."

It is true the forest appears lighter, both in appearance and in feeling. The road and forest floor are dappled in soft sunlight, and the ominous trees I remember from our last journey greet us like old friends as we pass. Their branches carry the first green sprigs of the season. There is a palpable warmth in the air, even though the breeze is cool on my face.

It is a beautiful day. It is a promise. The forest has returned to us, and though our small city must be rebuilt and restored, no longer will the dark shadow of Mirkwood surround it. The shadow has been lifted.

Feeling a burst of bravery at the thought, I lay my cheek against Thranduil's back and allow my mind to run as free as Gilroch.

It is easy to imagine possibilities, a future of life and light with my closest friend. I shut my eyes and the imaginings are as real as the endless forest. Being so close to him, it is easy to forget where reality ends and dreams begin. I breath in the familiar woodsy smell which clings to his robes.

I lift my head and sit straight again, the voice of reason quieting my mind. He loves me as a friend, as a sister. If only I could go back to before the realization of my feelings. I look upwards. The dim light of morning has turned into a bright sun, the sky a vast ocean.

We ride onwards without stopping and reach the heart and soul of the Wood. Tall, ancient oaks block out the sun for a distance, then thin out and give way to open fields of vivid green, dotted with wildflowers of pink and white and blue. I doubt this wealth of color and life existed a few days ago, when darkness still claimed the forest.

A variety of birds have found a home here again, long-tailed sparrows and blunt-crested skylarks with sturdy legs. A family of chestnut-coated rabbits scamper across a patch of grass leading to a small pond covered with water lilies. I have never seen the Greenwood so alive.

A sea of sunlit grass in the near distance catches my attention. The open field is the size of a small village, surrounded on all sides by beech trees. Gilroch halts suddenly.

"We are here," Thranduil says, and dismounts.

"Where is here?"

He lifts his arms to help me down. "You have met Lord Celeborn before."

"Yes, but it was long ago, even before my mother left. Why?"

"He will remember you." He reaches out his hand to remove a small twig from my hair. "We are here to meet with him."