I watch with my heart racing as a guard leads Ferdir's small host down the passageway, their tall shadows on the walls. I do not ask permission to enter Thranduil's chambers, nor am I stopped. The room is brightly lit for once. I allow a moment for my eyes to adjust.
Standing with his taut back facing me, he appears to be focused on an unfurled map on the trestle table. The large chamber is so quiet I can hear him breathe. My steps echo on the stone floor as I approach.
"There is no time for talk, Rîneth."
His gaze is still fixed downwards, his back turned. How does he know it is me? Perhaps he expected me to come, predicting I would try to nose in. I dip my head, feeling foolish again.
"You plan to leave in the morning?"
It is a question I already know the answer to, but it is the only one I can conjure. I clasp my hands in front of me.
"Yes," he says. "I must go now and ready the army. They are not yet prepared for battle, but there is little choice now."
It seems to me there is a choice, but I hold my tongue. I have been the one pushing him to act, to even be willing to help our kin in other lands. It was easy then to speak of the need to fight, but now that the time has arrived, it dawns on me how much there is to lose.
"I shall ride with you. In battle I would be useless, but a healer will be needed for the injured."
I do not know what I am saying, only that I wish to go, and cannot contemplate the idea of being left behind.
For the first time since entering the room, he turns to look at me. I brace myself for a rebuke at my hastily-spoken words, but his eyes are soft. He releases his palm resting on the table and approaches me.
"Our kin of the Golden Wood are the most skilled healers in Middle-earth, Rîneth. I need you here, to look after our people."
"How should I look after them? What would you have me do?"
He wraps his hand around my wrist. "Care for them, see to their needs. Your empathy is your greatest strength. If the battle goes ill, you will help your father rule the realm. Until Legolas returns."
"If the battle goes ill?" I step back, and pull my hand from his grip. I feel immediate regret. "You will return victorious, as ever. Why are you saying this?"
"Rîneth."
"I do not understand. Where is your confidence, your faith? Must I now have the faith you so obviously lack? I shall not listen to you. I--"
"You will do as I say." His voice turns hard. "It is my command."
I look at him defiantly, my eyes blazing, my emotions whirling in an overwhelming haze I cannot see the end of. I feel a sudden urge to seize the branched crown from his head and cast it into the fire. For everything it signifies. I have never hated it until now.
"It is easy for you to give commands, for you to put me in my place. You are King. You are Thranduil Oropherion. You are not to be questioned, never to be rebuked." My eyes smart. "You will go to battle while I am to stay here, without even a promise of your return, and I can do nothing about it."
"If you believe leaving my people behind, you behind, is easy, then you are a fool." He looks away, his jaw the sharp edge of a rock. "This is what happens in war. This is what happens in an alliance. This is what you wished for, is it not?"
"I..." My voice falters. "I wished for safety. Peace, most of all..."
"It comes at a high price."
I furiously wipe at my eyes. "If you go to Lórien, you will take your army with you. We will be defenseless. We would not withstand a sudden attack."
"Ferdir believes Dol Guldur's entire force is there. But I plan to leave a portion of my army. You will be well protected."
"Then you will not have enough soldiers. This plan is folly, Thranduil. When I had suggested an alliance, I had expected..."
"...for us to be the ones in need of aid," he finishes. "But we are not the only people vulnerable to Sauron's stronghold. This attack is one nobody had predicted, but it does not surprise me. Nothing surprises me."
Of course not. He has been alive since the First Age, before Middle-earth's history was written. Is there anything he has not seen?
"It would be wrong to deny helping our neighbors in their hour of need," he continues. "I need not ask if you agree."
In the past I would have been glad to hear him say it. But now it is a bitter drink I cannot swallow. I turn my gaze to the green and gold tapestry on the wall, the one depicting Doriath in springtime, its happy motif a strange contrast to the starkness of his chamber, and the harsh realities of war.
I look at him, my eyes beseeching. "If you would allow me to accompany you--"
"No."
"I promise I would not be a burden. I would keep to the wounded, and--"
"No!" he yells in a lion's roar, and strides towards me. He grabs my chin and hovers over my face, his breath hot on my skin, his cold eyes boring into mine. "Listen to me carefully, or I shall lock you in your chambers and order the guards to not release you. I am your king, and you will obey me. You will stay here, in this cavern keep, until my return. You will not attempt to accompany me or sneak out to join the soldiers. If I see you, or even hear a rumor of you, if the orcs do not tear you apart, upon our return I will lock you in a cell and throw away the key."
I am trembling. Hot tears slide down my face before I can prevent them, before I know they are coming.
"Do you understand me?"
"I understand I have never seen you more hateful."
He lets go of me, but his eyes hold mine, keeping me captured. Within them is an ocean storm, welling up with what looks like surfacing waves, or tears, but I shall never believe it.
"An orc messenger once took pleasure in describing how they destroyed my wife's body, how they tore her to a thousand pieces before casting her into the fire. If you believe me hateful, so be it, but I will not allow you to have the same fate."
His pained gaze moves to the wall behind me, as if reliving the memory, then meets mine again. "It would kill me."
I cannot speak. I have forgotten how.
He reaches out his thumb and wipes a tear from my face. "Do not come for me again, Rîneth."
And then he is gone.