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 skies were a washed out blue with the smell of upcoming snowfall in the air and a thin layer of frost donned the ruins of Dale a fleeting veil of serenity when Thranduil pushed the curtains aside to step out into the clear winter morning. He took a deep breath and the crisp air greeted him with a reviving freshness that was like a promise of new life in the barren wasteland. His heavy cloak cascaded elegantly from his shoulders, nearly hiding the grey robe beneath from view. His bejewelled fingers rested languidly on the hilts of his swords, which were sheathed in their scabbards on either side of his hips, and the silver circlet crowned the sleek perfection of his hair. His gaze was drawn from the endless skies above to Silvermane, who pawed the ground, raising clouds of icy crystals up in the air. Delicate wisps of smoke curled up from her nostrils as she welcomed her rider. She had been given a saddle and brindle in the lightest grey, a perfect match for her silvery mane and the saddle-bags had been diligently filled with provisions to last him for several days. He was glad that at this early hour the area outside the tent was deserted save for the guards as he wished to depart quietly and undisturbed. With a friendly ruffle he greeted the horse and then he reached for the reins, mounted Silvermane in one graceful swing and was on his way, leaving behind the city and the Mountain.
He began his journey with a rare but comfortable lightness in his heart. Having been able to reconcile with his son filled him with a warmth he seemed to have lost centuries ago and he was more than glad to have torn down the ice that had separated them for far too long. And although a disciplinary talk with Tauriel would be in order once she returned to Mirkwood with Legolas, he felt decidedly relieved to have his head of guard back in his service. Despite her hot-headedness she was undoubtedly one of the most loyal additions to his court and her friendship with his son was a bond not to be underestimated.
His path led him from Dale back to the Long Lake, where the signs of destruction were only haphazardly hidden beneath some lonely patches of snow. Some Men and Elves had stayed behind to save what they could and to rebuild what was possible before the frost would render all labour futile. He passed them in a steady gallop and soon the restless surface of the lake was but a dolefully murmuring elegy behind him. Grey and bleak was the path that lay ahead, dried up lichen crawling over scattered rocks and windswept hassocks strewn erratically in between. The nascent gusts of winter wind tore at his cloak and the silken strands of his hair. And before long the last remnants of blue above were obscured by heavy clouds and icy snowflakes shrouded horse and rider in a tireless dance of flurries as the Elvenking sped on, a tall figure in ghostly white.
He had not realised how much he had longed for the welcoming embrace of his forest until he saw the familiar borders dawning vaguely on the horizon, the sea of grey and brown clothed in its wintry raiment stretching out in the distance. Not a living soul crossed their path and the few wild beasts roaming the lands for what meagre prey they might find maintained a respectful distance. Some valiant ones craned their furry necks to get a glimpse of the Elvenking rushing past them only to quickly return to their laborious task of securing for themselves a rather frugal meal before they might end up on the dinner plate of those bolder predators that hunted under the veil of darkness. Thranduil urged Silvermane on to break into a full gallop, wishing to turn his back on those desolate lands before nightfall.
