Burn Again

Chapter Ten

The dreams didn't stop.

They continued to torment Thranduil, coming to him night after night, full moon or not. Each morning he awoke exhausted, reluctant to face the realm, and wishing for nothing more than a deep, peaceful sleep. The headaches followed him through his days and dulled his concentration. Dark shadows started appearing under his eyes. His appetite dwindled until he spent most meal times pushing his food around the plate.

Melderion observed silently from a distance. His King was showing signs of deep distress, and he felt powerless to help. Unless he spoke of what troubled him, there was nothing he could do other than prompt him to eat whenever he felt he could do so without fear of punishment.

Assana had noticed the change in him also, and made a point of seeking out the Prince to voice her concerns.

"I understand, Lady Assana," he told her. "But I cannot speak of whatever ails him. He has spoken to me in confidence, and I would never break that. However, I too can see a large difference in him, and it is not good."

"I would never ask you to break a confidence, be it your father's or anyone else's," she assured him. "But my heart truly aches to see the King suffer like this. He is not himself, and I cannot help but notice that he has been different since the orc attack on the village."

Baby blue eyes looked into grey ones. "This is no secret," he admitted. "I am at a loss, my Lady. I do not know what to suggest."

The healer pursed her mouth thoughtfully. "Have him come to me for a sleep tonic," she advised after a few moments. "He is beyond exhausted, and a tonic may help him have the rest that he so badly needs. Perhaps he will tell me what troubles him and I may be able to help him."

"This type of behaviour is known as meddling," a deep voice said, making both elves jump in fright.

They turned to see Thranduil standing behind them, his arms folded across his chest.

"I would have presumed – albeit wrongly – that both of you had been assigned to your tasks for the day," he continued, taking slow, deliberate steps towards them. "And yet I find you here, both gossiping and speculating about the health of your King." One eyebrow lifted.

"My Lord-" Assana began, but he held one hand up.

"Return to your duties," he said coldly.

"Of course, my Lord," she said, and left with a deep, apologetic bow.

His icy gaze turned towards his son. "I assure you, ion, there is nothing wrong with my health, or my state of mind."

The Prince held his gaze for a few seconds, before shaking his head. "I am sorry, Father, but I do not believe you," he snapped. "Day after day I am seeing you sink deeper into a state of melancholy. You hardly eat, you are beyond the borders of tired, and you do not interact like before. This change has become more prominent since the elves left to return to their village, and I know it has to do with what we spoke of previously."

Thranduil's jaw clenched and his nostrils flared in anger. "You will not speak of-"

"Yes, I will! Because I and others are watching you struggle from one day to the next and not one of us knows how to help you!" Legolas butted in angrily. "We need our King, we need your direction." He paused. "I need my father."

Thranduil blinked, taken aback by his son's words. His eyes lowered slowly towards the floor, and he turned away slightly. A heavy silence hung between the pair for several long moments. "I do you an injustice," he said softly.