Shadow of Mirkwood

Flares

They left me for dead, I guess they'll never learn. 
Every time I break there's just more pain to burn.

A simple oh was everything Lytharial could pronounce at that moment; she wasn't good with words such as "my condolences" and "I am sorry". 

          "I-" she started, but words were trapped inside her throat. 

Somehow, words stung her vocal cords, making her throat sore as if she hadn't drunk water in ages. In reality, she had her last sip of water yesterday. 

        "Don't", Legolas lowered his gaze, slowly breathing, closing his eyelids, and soon rising them. 

The cold rays of the young moon reflected into his ice-blue eyes, giving them an even colder look. Lytharial shivered. She knew this kind of voice, this kind of look in his eyes.  And she hated herself because she wasn't able to help him. She was never able to help anyone anyway... 

     "Should we-" she stuttered, "should we go? We are needed, Legolas".

His eyes, lowered moments ago were now tracing the mountains around him. He felt hatred but could do nothing about it at the moment. He shook his head, trying to focus on the future.

    "Yes," he gulped, clenching his fists and fingers, making them crack, "Yes, we should go immediately."

As the steely hooves of their horse pounded against the rugged terrain, the Lonely Mountain loomed in the distance like ancient sentinels guarding the secrets of Middle-earth. The air, crisp and tinged with the scent of pine, carried the promise of an impending adventure. Legolas, his gaze fixed on the winding path ahead, navigated the horse with a quiet determination that betrayed the weight of his thoughts.

Lytharial, seated behind him, felt the rhythmic rise and fall of the horse beneath her. The journey through Gundabad had left her weary, her wounds pulsating with each beat of her heart. The silence enveloped them like a comforting cloak, punctuated only by the sounds of nature and the rhythmic cadence of their swift journey.

Legolas, breaking the quietude that hung between them, spoke in a voice as mellifluous as the elvish hymns that graced the ancient woods of Lothlórien. 

     "We are nearing the heart of the Misty Mountains, Lytharial. The air here holds the tales of a bygone era, where stone giants danced in the shadows and eagles soared on the breath of the mountain winds."

Lytharial, despite the ache in her body, found herself enchanted by Legolas's words. 

     "It is a realm steeped in history," she replied, her voice a gentle breeze in the mountain air. "I have heard tales of the great halls of Khazad-dûm and the hidden realms where dwarven kings once ruled. The Misty Mountains stand as witnesses to the eons that have passed."

Legolas nodded, his silver-blond hair catching the sunlight filtering through the ancient boughs.

      "And within these peaks lies the key to our quest, the hidden doorway to the heart of the mountain. We must tread cautiously, for the path ahead is fraught with challenges."

The horse, guided by Legolas's skilled hands, ascended the slopes with an effortless grace. Lytharial, her gaze drawn to the majestic peaks that pierced the heavens, couldn't help but marvel at the beauty that surrounded them despite the perils they faced.

     "Legolas," she began, her voice soft as a mountain stream, "why do you think the dwarves sought refuge in the heart of these towering peaks? What secrets do the Misty Mountains hold that could turn the tide of our quest?"