I turned back to the messenger. "Okay, let's go."

We both took off at a brisk jog, hers more relaxed—in a tense professional manner, mine more anxious. Bees ran through my veins.

I knew what the king wanted to talk about. But couldn't he have waited until later in the morning? Or not at all. Preferably the latter.

I silently berated myself. If Legolas and I were to convince the King into allowing us soldiers—or at the very least supplies and healers—In order to save Middle-Earth, I'd have to do everything in my power I could do. Even if it means talking about things I'd rather not think about.

I tugged at my sleeves.

Sweat had started to bead on my skin by the time we reached the King's Halls, the palace guards swiftly letting us pass.

Inside the cool corridors, the envoy slowed to a walk. No jogging allowed, it seems. Although, I do hope they allow sweaty pigs—for that's what I have turned out to be. At the moment, anyway.

The eyes of fancy-armored guards slid smoothly as we passed by them, hands not quite in an alert position, nor wariness in the eyes. I wasn't entirely sure that was a good thing or not.

Biting my lip, I tried to stifle my ever-rising anxiety. Ever since I could remember, the King of the Woodland realm had terrified me. Until yesterday, in the garden. But most of that fear still remained. Enough so, that I wished to be back home in the too tense silence of unwanted questions.

And then we came to a slow before a set of small double doors, deep mahogany carved to be in the image of magnificent trees.

"I take my leave here, hiril vuin," the elleth-messenger said, bowing deep, fist over heart, with her blonde braid reaching down. It made me think of Sunnwyn, that braid, and in turn, Sunngifu and her newborn. I immediately shut out the thought.

"Hannon le—for leading me here, I mean." I inclined my head.

A small smile touched her lips before she left me alone—in front of those doors.

Breathing in, I pushed on that heavy wood and passed the threshold.

It wasn't a study, not even a business meeting-like place, but a relatively small (for a palace) dining space. I knew by the small table, but by no means tiny, and the... air to the place that this was not the official dining hall. Perhaps just a smaller one meant for family and guests. The ceiling expanded above, wider at the top than here at the bottom. A ledge must've been carved up there, for greenery spilled over the edges, filling the small dining hall with earthy scents. Light also spilled in through tiny slits up high, hidden by the plants. There had to be mirrors up there, for the small amount of light entering became as bright as a full-fledged sun.

A 'counter' like table, several of them actually, occupied some of the spaces against the wall. A few held wine, others dining necessities. A door stood solemnly at the back—one that had to lead to the kitchen. I inferred that this small dining room had to be close to the actual dining hall. And the table, big enough to hold a small gathering sat centered, ornate chairs—all identical—gathered around the wooden structure.

King Thranduil sat in a chair, which was perch at the side of the oval table—not at the head, I noticed with surprise. Even though I had already had a clear sweep of the room, I glanced at every single chair. No Legolas.

He wasn't invited. Most likely didn't even know this interrogation would be taking place. So, he wouldn't be able to save me, to give me a scapegoat.

And then I really took in the room I was in. What it's used for. Breakfast, we might be eating breakfast.

Surprisingly, the King didn't already have food in front of him. Maybe he got tired of waiting and already ate.

He motioned with his hand, "please. Sit."

Stiffly, almost frozen, I did. Across from him. The sheer regality hit me hard. I had to hold my breath.

Finally, a small bit of sense slammed into me. "Thank you, nin Aran," I said quickly.

He gave me a nod.

"I had my preferred breakfast prepared, I do hope it fits your suiting," he said deeply. At the words, the kitchen door opened and a servant, balancing two trays, walked gracefully through.

The servant gave the King his food and silverware first, me second. But as she reached in the pocket of her apron, I said, "no knife. Please."

Nodding, but with a creased brow, she obliged.

The king swallowed a few bites of the simple meal, followed by sips of water, before speaking. I noticed for the first time that he didn't have on his woodland crown.

"I've heard of the trails that have befallen you. I wish to hear them from your own mouth."

I opened my mouth so I could beg to go home, or talk about something else, but instead I said, "where would you like me to start."

"The beginning."

I gulped, anxiety stirring nausea in my stomach. I set the fork down, thankful I hadn't eaten anything yet, then picked it back up so my hands would have something to twiddle with.

I began slowly with Lothlorien, about learning of my heritage and witnessing Erlathan's death. Then to Frodo and Boromir's death. I quickly mentioned being captured by Saruman and having Sauron invade my mind. Thranduil had glanced at where I had tugged on my sleeve. A fleeting mention of a darkness and a not-Legolas. And then Rohan and Helms deep and our journey back.

Mentally, I gave myself a high-five for getting through it all. For being able to mention Saruman to the King.

"This darkness. Where does it originate from?" He took another bite of deliciously made food. The King seemed careful; as if this information was vital.

I gulped and gazed at my hands and the silver fork. Then, forced myself, hard it was, to meet the King's eyes.

"I once thought that it may have come from me. But I think it may have come from Sauron--as if he planted it in me. When speaking with... Sauron... he made comments about the darkness that leads me to believe it is not of me." I couldn't look at him as I spoke. The fork had become warm in my clammy hands, my breathing not altogether normal.

Thranduil looked thoughtful, then responded. "How does the darkness feel when it's summoned?"

I blinked. "Cool, inky. Like evil."

A touch of a smile graced his lips. He waved a hand. "Not what I meant, child. Does it respond to you? Does it feel like it's resisting you?"

Oh.

Then I thought about it, looking down at my wrists as if dark wisps moved around them. "I guess it feels like it resists against what I want it to do. It's not like my light. I can summon that, and although it's difficult to wield, it feels like a part of me. But the darkness feels... separate." I blinked again.

I looked up at him, surprised. "It's not part of me."

"Yes," he smiled. "I believe so too." The King continued to eat.

"And Saruman," he began. I tensed. "Is he still living?"

"Yes," I breathed. I hated voicing the fact. Hated it. More than anything, I wanted Saruman gone from this earth. For him to see justice. For justice to judge him guilty.

Thranduil nodded, taking a sip of water. The servant came in again and took the King's plate but left my untouched one.

"After witnessing your spectacle yesterday, I spoke to my son about your... visions."

I gulped again. I wanted to leave.

"My son tells me you've had a vision of a war to come, is this true?" The King studied me with those piercing eyes that could drill a hole in stone.

I bristled. "What your son says is true." I struggled to keep the venom out of my voice.

Thranduil kept studying me. "I did not mean it in that way, child. I only wish for your confirmation."

Moving back in my seat, I said, "yes."

"And what was in such vision?"

I struggled not to close my eyes, to visualize the images, the future, vividly. "Armies of Middle-Earth fighting against Sauron's servants on a vast plain... lots of death." I shuddered at the memory of war. The sounds. The smells.

"And were there elves?"

My eyes snapped to his. "Not many."

"But enough?"

I breathed deeply. "I did not see the final outcome."

Again, the King looked only thoughtful. Thranduil stared at a spot on the wall, near my head, and twisted a silver ring around his index finger. Then it struck me—I had seen that ring on Ellelote. His wife.

The words were shoved up my throat, but I them back. If Ellelote wants him to know of her survival—and daughter—she'll tell him herself. If only her memories would return enough that she'd know she wouldn't be scorned. I sighed.

"Very well, Tree-Shade. I shall send reinforcements." He stroked his chin, still deep in thought.

My eyes bulged. "Really?!" I mentally slapped myself.

The King's cold eyes turned on me. "Do you doubt my words?"

"O-of course not, Aran nin," I stuttered. "But why?" I again silently berated myself, but I was too deep in now to stop. Might as well plunge in fully. "Why agree to help now when just yesterday you were adamant?"

"I see the light in you, Lumornel, and I know you will do whatever it takes to minimize death. I also care greatly for this forest and those who live within its borders. If this is the step I must take to ensure their safety, then it will be done."

"... It sounds as if you've made of your mind already. As if yesterday you knew your conclusion..."

Thranduil laughed, loudly. "That may be true!"

I furrowed my brows in confusion but gave a smile.

Biting my tongue, I pushed away my sheepishness. "Does Legolas know?"

He shook his pale blonde head, smiling. "No, he does not. You are free of me now, if you wish. Go and tell my son for me, will you?"

I nodded enthusiastically, almost stumbling as I quickly rose from the chair. "Yes, Aran nin."

"Before you leave so quickly," Thranduil announced, making sit once more with a frown. "I'd like to talk about my son."

My heart dropped to somewhere around my knees, my mouth suddenly dry.

"It is plain to me that you both have feelings for each other, feelings of admiration and possibly more." Oh Valar help me. His hand rose slightly, "but that is not for me to inquire about."

I gulped, the dry sides of my throat almost sticking.

"And I know that you are a mortal, whereas my son is not."

Yes, yes, I know. I know.

"But he will only love once, as that is the way of us elves. And he has not been truly happy in a long time."

What.

"So, I ask you as a father--not as a king--to take care of him and continue to make him happy."

I stared at the King in shock, my heart thumping wildly.

Did he just give me his blessing?

I suppose so.

*********

"Oft hope is born when all is forlorn,"

J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King

Translations:

Aran nin—my King

So Thursday I'm going to a burn party (probably) where some of my friends and I are gonna burn all our homework from the school year... wooooooooo!

Anyways... I'm becoming a bit unmotivated to write and I'm getting behind on my chapters for this story and its really stressing me out and making me not want to write. Because writing would start to become work and I really don't want that. So... there may be a week when you all don't get an update. Sorry, I just want to be writing at my best for you guys--and that's when I'm not stressing over getting the next chapters written.

Thank you to all those who have stuck with me this long, even if you weren't here from the total beginning. It really means a lot that I've even gotten this far--and it's all because of you guys!

Okay, I'm rambling on. I'm gonna go now.

Baiiiiiiii

Novaer mellyn
~awatin~