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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Anna had not been to Thranduil's chambers since the day of her arrival in Mirkwood but the images of what had happened that day were as vivid in her mind as if it just had been yesterday. Maybe having come here was not such a good idea after all, this felt all of a sudden too intimate for the purpose of her visit. Her eyes wandered around the room, halting at the bench and her heart skipped a beat when she remembered the moment Thranduil had been so close to her and had captured her heart in the most unexpected way.
And then her eyes were drawn to him, as he stood beside one of the tables pouring wine in two glasses, his back turned to her. His heavy brocade cloak of silver and orange was loosely draped around his shoulders and shimmered iridescently beneath the candlelight. A long robe of ash grey slid in and out of view as he moved, the sleek perfection of his silver blonde hair enveloping his shoulders and gracefully flowing down to the middle of his back.
The heavy silence was finally broken when he turned around to greet her: "Good evening, my dear. Please, do come closer. What a pleasant surprise after today's trouble with the dwarves. I imagine word has spread through the palace?"
"Yes, my lord it has."
Thranduil sighed: "Most unpleasant and annoying indeed."
She blushed, not quite sure as how to go on, but luckily Thranduil's conversational skills would come to the rescue.
"To what do I owe this pleasure of you visiting me?" He raised his eyebrows in curiosity, but when he saw her troubled face, the familiar crease on his forehead deepened. "You do not look well. Is something the matter?"
"I am afraid I am not feeling all too well, my lord."
"Nothing too serious I hope." There was concern in his eyes. "Was that why you were absent from last night's feast? Your presence was dearly missed."
"Yes, I am sorry, but I was trying to get some rest, because yesterday —," She hesitated. "There is something that I need to tell you."
"Go ahead. But first, please do sit down." He pointed at the comfortably cushioned half-round bench in one of the alcoves that was illuminated by an overhanging lantern and had a small table in front of it.
She shuffled to her appointed seat, keeping her eyes on the floor, barely being able to look at him as he approached her with two glasses of wine in his hands. How on earth would she be able to confess to Thranduil what she had done, when all she wanted to do was just sink into his arms and forget all her worries?
He handed her one glass and took a seat beside her indicating that he expected her to drink with him. She was only able to take one sip, although the wine was delicious, but her throat was clogging up. When she put her glass down on the table his penetrating gaze sent her blood rushing through her veins like a tempest and she was glad for the abundance of cushions around her, providing her with a sense of security in her inner turmoil.
