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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Darkness exists to make light truly count. (Sleeping At Last: Uneven Odds)
Darkness was Anna's steady companion on the journey back to the palace, dense, thick and all encompassing. It was a different one than on that far away summer day when Thranduil had first brought her to his halls. This time there was no blindfold keeping her from taking in her surroundings. Not that she would have needed it anyway. The blackness of night hid paths and vegetation alike, the faint silver glow emanating from Thranduil the single source of light as they sped on through the endlessly repeating rows of trees. Sluggishly like tar the darkness waltzed through her veins and crawled into her mind, taking possession of her every thought and leaving her body a trembling leaf in the arms of the king. Salty tears trickled down her cheeks as the realisation sunk in of how close she had been to take death's cold hand. Thranduil had come to her rescue and pulled her back from the abyss, but the skulking shadows remained and threatened to drown her in their flood of terrifying visions. The horse's cantering beneath her and Thranduil's steadfast figure behind her were the only comfort in her state of dread. Feverish shivers ran through her body and if it hadn't been for the Elvenking's firm grip she might have slid off the saddle more than once. She drifted in and out of consciousness, shreds of reality and fragments of dreams mingling in her head until everything was but a hazy blur of indistinguishable sounds and distorted images.
Voracious gorges opening wide, hairy legs lunging at her, pincers clicking frantically and webs spinning around her limbs at relentless speed kept her a prisoner of the horror she so narrowly had escaped. And through it weaved themselves ghostly visions of a life she had thought long lost, sudden flashes of broken memories, eyes that searched for whom they could not find and hands that reached out but disappeared in the mist of time. And then there was the Elvenking's tender touch shining through it all like a ray of hope, the honest relief in his eyes when he finally held her in his arms alive warming her heart in a way she did not think possible.
Every single inch in her body was sore, her left shoulder reminding her with merciless consistency that she had recently been severely wounded and evaded death by just a hair. She sought to pull herself up, trying to relieve the pressure on her still aching injury, but her muscles would not obey her head's command and she only slumped back sideways, burying her face in the folds of Thranduil's robe in a rather unceremonious way. Had she been just a little less sick, she might have instinctively backed away from such sudden closeness, afraid of it being considered inappropriate. But she felt nauseous and dizzy, the fever coursing through her veins with relentless heat, and protocol was the last thing on her mind. She barely could think straight, the pain spreading now also from her lower back into every corner of her body. Sensing her clumsy attempt at getting into a more comfortable position Thranduil pulled her even closer until her head rested tightly against his chest, his arm wrapped securely around her waist.
"Just hold on a little more," he murmured into her hair. She could feel the taut muscles of his chest flexing beneath the softness of his brocade gown, his warmth and his enticing scent enveloping her, lulling her back into an uneasy sleep, uncountable hours of travelling still ahead.
