A shadow lies on Thranduil and his forest, and only a power stronger than the darkness of old can save them.
Grief and loss have turned him into a king with a heart of ice, and if he is ever to find redemption, the chains of guilt and remorse holdin...
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The heavy stone doors of Thranduil's palace swung open wide, the crisp morning air greeting the king's face as he emerged from the darkness and strode out into the open, his bearing proud and unyielding, a tall figure towering over everyone else and impeccable to look upon, a true king in every way. His perfectly composed appearance would not reveal the emotional tempest that raged beneath this shining armour of his. His jaw clenched a little too tight, his lips firmly pressed together, it all could simply pass as utmost determination of a leader who was mentally preparing himself to go to war. Only the slightest flicker of sorrow in his eyes gave away that beneath all that self-restraint there was an anxious heart desperately fighting its own battle.
He knew that what he had set out to do was the right thing, head for the Mountain and reclaim his wife's memento. In fact it was his only choice. He owed her that much and he knew that he would not be at peace until he had fulfilled this last duty. Only then would he ever truly be worthy of forgiveness. Maybe then he would finally find it in his heart to forgive himself for not having been there when his wife had needed him the most.
The door to his redemption had been timidly pushed open when he had granted Anna a glimpse into this black pit of grief that resided in the deepest corners of his heart. It had since then been left ajar and a small ray of hope shone through the narrow crack of the otherwise perfectly polished and virtually impenetrable shell that sealed away his emotions. Her heartfelt words had eased his tormented soul, bringing him just one small step closer to making peace with what he dragged along with him as his failures of his past.
An endlessly long past that still stretched ever unending into an unknown future.
°°°°°°°°°°
The hint of a smile flickered across his face when his eyes were drawn to the elk, his loyal companion for so many years, waiting patiently for him in the early morning mist. Thranduil's cloak swayed softly around him as he crossed the terrace, his gait determined and his thoughts now focused on getting his army in motion. He did not look back again, his mind set on the Mountain and his heart longing for the gems of his beloved wife.
His warriors filed in organised rows through the gate behind him, an endless stream of archers and spearmen pouring out into the open and filling the quiet forest with a bustling noise rarely heard these days. Armours were adjusted, weapons inspected, provisions loaded, making sure that the elvish host would not only reach the Mountain and recover the Queen's necklace, but also fight a battle if needed and hopefully come out of it victorious and then make it back with as little losses and as much treasures as possible.
Thranduil gave his elk an encouraging pat as he reached for the reins when Feren, who was overseeing the final preparations, approached the king with a courteous nod: "My lord, everything shall be ready as soon as you wish to give the order to set out."
"Very well," said Thranduil, giving a last securing tug to his elk's saddle, "the sooner the better, for I wish to make haste. The message of Smaug's death now surely travels swiftly, so we must be swifter still."
