Ever Dream

Dream of Me

Steps ran softly on a hidden path winding in midst of the dark trunks of trees. Those trees were those of the vast forest in Rhovanion, or the Wilderland. And those steps were the ones of an elf. The elf was clad mostly in deep forest green, yet his trousers bore the shine of silver. The elf was all alone and occasionally stopped to listen to the creatures of the woods and the wind whispering in the canopy. The night was falling and pulling away the golden rays of the Sun.

For a Man it would have probably been difficult to quickly judge if the elf was a male or a female. The figure was slim and on its back ran down luscious blonde hair shining in silver when the light was right. The skin of the elf was light and lacking any imperfection. It was almost like a doll of porcelain, though those making such comparison could not have been more wrong. The elves were resilient; they survived wounds that would have taken the lives of Men.

The elf stopped abruptly at the sound of wood cracking. Something heavy (heavier than an elf, all the same), something non-elven was delving the woods. Even though the forest was falling asleep and the light was fading, the elf could see well. The cause of the cracking was coming closer; it was headed right where the elf had stopped to listen.

Little did the elf know that the thing in the woods had seen him, too. The figure moved in the shadows of the trees and drew closer. It came from the north, from the Black Mountains. The elf was certain of this. For one reason or another the elf was unable to see the features of this thing disturbing the peace of the forest. What he could see, though, was the shape; it manifested a shape of a Man, though the elf was certain, even from the distance, that this was larger than a regular man.

The figure stopped and those two stared at each other like a prey and a beast. Another poor assumption of the elves was that they were fearless. That was definitely not true. Dread was creeping up the elf's spine. All the sudden there was a flash of blood red and the world grew pitch black in a blink of an eye.

x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x

A gasp of panic broke the sleepy silence as the elf woke up in his own chambers, his own safe bed. The elf sat up slowly, pushing away the off-white blanket that was embroidered in the fashion of his kin. He rested his feet against the floor, allowing his toes to bathe in the sunlight that managed to creep in.

It was just a nightmare.

Even if it had been a mere nightmare, it was not the first time it had disturbed his sleep. It followed the same pattern: he was in the woods in the waking of the night, there was this man-shaped ... thing and a flash of red. The elf had not mentioned a word to those wiser than him – his parents. He had reasoned he could not, for their hearts were already shadowed by a tragedy.

It was a tragedy that was not to be mentioned. He had heard the story once. It was that he had had an older sister, Deiliavas, who had perished. A child was always a blessing for the elves, but due to the passing of his sister, he was now the most precious thing in the eyes of his parents. The elves were not in the habit of heavily controlling their children, but his parents were protective. His father was the most suspicious person he had met.

The elf was very young for his kin. He had just passed his fiftieth birthday and even though his physical appearance was that of an adult, his mind was still maturing. It took up to a hundred years that an elf could be fully considered an adult.

As the elf got out of bed and changed his nightwear into day-time clothing, the figure of the nightmare was haunting him. There was something really human about it and then again not. Maybe it was a shape-shifter? Or a wraith? It was certainly not an elf nor an orc. Nor did it seem like a common man. Was it trying to tell him something? Maybe warn him?

The thoughts swirled in the elf's mind, confusing him shortly. He came to think that if the figure was there to warn him, it would have probably appeared to his father too, for he was the King. There he came into a dead end once more. If it was only his own nightmare, his own night terror, it could upset his father, and probably more so his mother, for she would hear of it.

The elf left his chambers still indecisive whether to share his thoughts with his parents or not. His mind was made up fast at the sight of his mother. He would not bring the topic up himself.

The Queen was a fair lady. Her hair shone gold and her eyes were as blue as the Midsummer sky. She smiled often, but there was always some melancholy in her eyes.

"Ion nîn," she chanted. She ran her long fingers down her son's jawline trying her best to read his eyes.

"Nana," he replied.

"Is there in your heart something I should know of?"

"Nana," he sighed. "Our borders are well protected, and the troops serving adar keep a close eye on every direction. What could harrow me in these chambers?"

"At times the most dreadful wraiths are those haunting our minds, not our bodies," the Queen insisted.

"There was no dream, but a nightmare for me last night, naneth," the elf confessed. "I was freed from it with the light of the morning. It is gone into shadows from whence it came."

"Thranduil."

The elf let out a soft sigh.

"I saw a figure in the woods. A man-shaped shadow, yet it was not a man. All the sudden there was a flash of blood red and then... then I woke up to the morning."

The Queen's eyes opened wider.

"Nana, it was only a nightmare," Thranduil attempted to reassure his mother.

"I need to talk to your adar," the Queen said and left in haste.

Confusion filled Thranduil'sheart once again. Had his father had the same nightmare? Or was this creaturesomething familiar to his mother?