Brightest Stars | Love of Royals: Book I

XXXI: Stronghold

The goodbyes were hard; the journey is harder.  I could plainly tell that as Elidir held Marieth in his arms and kissed her forehead, Thranduil was fighting himself not to do the same, if not more, to me.  As much I longed and am longing to feel him close to me again, displaying affection would only act as a hindrance to our mission.  He knows that as much as I do.

Now we have a different battle to fight, one which affects all who walk under the rustling canopy of Mirkwood. It is only by Thranduil's expert knowledge of the correct route that we are able to make it through the forest, which is rank with deception, heavy with illusion and a most uncomfortable place to ride through. My horse seems to be the most jumpy of the lot, but since all the horses are tethered to Thranduil's (surprisingly calm) elk, they are unable to bolt.

Thranduil and I have barely spoken since we departed. None of the five of us have really had anything to say that we deemed worth saying. We are, in fact, so occupied by trying to keep our steeds under control, it is only Thranduil who is able to watch for incoming spiders. I am fortunate enough to have not met one of those personally, though I have seen the havoc they can wreak.

He who resides permanently in my thoughts is riding just in front of me, his posture impeccable, his hair cascading down his back; those locks, however, are deprived of their usual glow while we are trapped under the impenetrable shade of Mirkwood. It is not a darkness as such, but more of a shadow, a shroud that was laid over the forest as it began to wither and die. It is a draining force, obliterating not just light but sense, strength, direction... and of course, it banishes hope.

I can still hear the screams echoing inside my head, from the vision I had instigated through my own panic. What a pathetic way for me to be of use to the company. I have said nothing of it yet, despite the prospect of breaking down in Thranduil's arms to tell him everything seeming all too appealing at this point. He wouldn't listen to me now. I know full well that he's got his own demons eating at him from the inside—lost memories trying to claw their way to the surface. If I tried to help him defeat them, he would almost certainly push me away.

There is no other who I could tell.  Not even Gelya knows about all my powers, and neither does Tauriel.  Did Menelion ever experience powers like these?  Did any Star?  The more I muse, the more I feel like some kind of freak.

Oh, Thranduil.  I wish you could hear me.

Perhaps it all seems worse when the thick trunks, looming branches and the air itself are closing in like a noose tightening around a neck. I wonder how it affects the others in my company... Thranduil most of all.  When we're this far from the small haven of thr Woodland Realm, it feels as though the creatures of our nightmares could be lurking around every corner.

***

It is late afternoon when the first mountains begin to emerge from the thick cloud overhead, and my stomach lurches. Wreathed in mist, Mount Gundabad comes rising above the other northern peaks like their very own dark lord, the crown jewel of the Misty Mountains, bearing down on the surrounding plains with unspoken authority. The great orc stronghold juts out from the rock, its pointed edges and towers cleaving the fog. Somewhere in there is an innocent, helpless child, and I'm out here internally panicking as usual.

The quietness of the place is particularly disconcerting, considering I had been hearing screams in my vision. The only sound is the soft tapping of hooves on the rocky ground as we approach the fortress through the gathering mist. It accumulates so quickly I can feel the mist droplets begin to settle on my skin, and yet the dark shape of our destination is still visible. It's as if Gundabad wants us to get there—it's been waiting for us.