The Ties That Bind

Chapter Two

Snow fell, lightly at first, but it wasn't long before fat white flakes swirled past the coach's windows. With a low sigh, Thorin settled back against the thick velvet seat cushion. "I don't recall Mirkwood being this far. It feels as if we've been in this coach for weeks instead of days."

"Patience, Thorin. We're traveling in the snow. The last time we made this trek, winter hadn't settled in yet."

He bit back a sigh. His stomach was in knots unlike any he'd ever felt and he wondered, for about the fiftieth time since they'd departed Erebor, if he was making a terrible mistake.

Normally, it took roughly three days, give or take an hour, to go from Erebor to the Elvenking's Halls. But this trek seemed to be taking so much longer, indeed. True, the weather didn't help, but it was the fact that he'd rather just be cozily ensconced beneath the Lonely Mountain than on his way to be married. Somehow, he never thought he'd dread his own wedding day.

"We should be there soon," Dís went on, reaching out to catch the edge of the curtain. "I hope. I rather dislike traveling in this weather."

"I told you this was not a good idea."

She shot him a look. "Are you going to be this grouchy the entire time we're here? Because that will make for a memorable wedding, and not in the good way."

He leaned his head back against the soft cushion. "No, I won't be the grouchy. I just... I have a bad feeling about this, is all."

"Why?"

"Mirkwood has never made me comfortable," he told her, waiting for her to sit back away from the window once more. "And it has little to do with how Thranduíl thought nothing of tossing us into his dungeon. It's this place... it wreaks havoc on my mind."

"Havoc?"

He nodded slowly, trying to find the best way to describe the effects of the enchanted forests of Mirkwood on him and the others the last time they passed through. "It's rather like having too much mead, only the thoughts are far darker and far more persuasive. And I know there are enchantments in the water, but I think it's more than that. This place... I'd rather not be here."

"Why, Thorin," Dís leaned forward to cover his hand with hers, "I don't think I've ever seen you so apprehensive of a place before. You weren't like this when we were here for Kíli's wedding."

"I think it was because it was his wedding and not mine."

She smiled. "Baby."

Despite his dark mood, Thorin couldn't help but laugh. "I know, I know. But in all honesty, this is not my favorite place and I don't have the luxury of knowing I won't ever have to return once we leave."

"Perhaps Thranduíl will share Mirkwood's secrets with you."

"Why do I think that won't be his wedding gift to us."

"Probably not."

The coach rocked around a curve and the heavy feeling dissipated some. A few minutes later and they were rolling up to the Mirkwood stables, and as he alit from the coach, Thorin glanced up. Snow filtered through the canopy of interwoven tree branches from the towering trees that made up the forest. In the distance, the soft rush of water reached his ears. Water he knew was heavily enchanted and to be avoided at all costs.

Dís tucked her arm through his as the second coach rocked in behind them and drew to a halt. Dwalin and his brother Balin climbed out, with the former groaning as he bowed his back and stretched both arms overhead. Balin, nearly a head and a half shorter than his younger brother, strolled toward them. "I thought this trek would never end."