The Wanderer

Chapter Twelve

 "You two should wait here. I do not think the dwarf would take it kindly if two elves showed up at his doorstep," Bard said to us once we reached the edge of the bridge right outside town. I nodded to him and stopped where I was, Thranduil doing the same.

There was an awkward silence between the two of us, neither one willing to speak first. His words from earlier still rang in my head, and I was surprised to find a genuine not to what he had said. I had never expected Thranduil, king of Mirkwood, to ever be so open with me. He had always hidden his pain from the world, and I hardly blamed him; his past held more misfortune than most. In a way, he reminded me of his son, though I suppose Legolas was a bit more friendly.

My thoughts turned to Legolas's hopefully safe journey to Gundabas with Tauriel. I had no doubt that the two of them could handle themselves, but the road was treacherous and the end even more so. Great horrors had taken place in that fortress, including the deaths of many good elves. It would hurt the most for Legolas, for his mother had died in that fortress. I knew her. Not well, I must confess, but I knew her to be a great elf, queen, mother and wife. It saddened me greatly at the news of her passing, but my sorrow increased when I saw what it did to Thranduil. He had truly loved that woman, as I had seen in years past, and she was the best part of him.

I snuck a glance at Thranduil, who was staring after Bard with a blank expression. Despite my mistrust for the elf because of some of his actions, I couldn't help but be in awe over how much he cares for the well-being of his people. Sure, this did cause him to turn down those in need, like the dwarves, but his actions were for his people, mostly. I still didn't agree with Tauriel's banishment.

When I had first met the elven king, he had been different, incredibly different. His smile was more often seen, due to his wife at his side, and he was more willing to help others, but that had been long ago, almost 3,000  years. I hadn't even turned 300 yet when I ran off to fight dragons at the side of other elves. By his wife's insistence, both of them kept a careful eye on me and protected me on various occasions.

"Do you trust this man, Lady Farren?" Thranduil asked, referring to Bard. I had thought my opinion was of no worth to him, but I could be wrong. He has kept me around longer than most, and, on occasion, took my council.

"I do. His intentions are true, and he has a good heart," I answered him. The black horse I rode upon shuffled on the stone, and I could sense she was a little uneasy. Leaning down, I stroked the horse's mane, trying to calm her.

"Your horse is new to war," Thranduil commented. I nodded, distracted, though he was right, I could sense it in the horse's heart.

"What is her name?" My mind briefly wondered why he had brought a new horse not used to the intensity of battle, but I forgot the fact once Thranduil answered me.

"Nalya. Her mother died not two weeks ago battling the spiders of Mirkwood. Nalya has taken her place for the time being."

The black mare shifted around more at the mention of her mother. The elven connection to animals allowed many of the more temperamental animals to understand our words, horses included.

"Be calm, Mellon,"  I whispered to Nalya, stroking her mane.

With my comforting words, Nalya calmed down, though she was still nervous. Poor girl. Maybe there was something I could do for her, but not at this time. I settled for slowly rubbing her neck in calming circles.

"Your connection with animals has always been stronger than most," Thranduil commented, not looking to me but still watching from the corner of his eye. He was pretending to not care, but I could tell it bothered him that his own steads were more comfortable with me rather than him.