Laer o Faen

Ceritham sen

Third Age of Middle Earth - 2840

I ven uin i anirad lin

Thranduil looked up as the first feeling of unease passed across his awareness, already beginning to gather the letters and scrolls on which he had been working into a neat stack. Something told him he would not return to them that day. It was a strong feeling; a cold feeling that was accompanied, not by a sense of dread, but with the sadness of resignation. It was almost as if something he had long known would come to pass was beginning today, and even had he wanted to, there was little that he could do to stop it.

His own musings disturbed him. He was troubled by the thought that something might occur, something of a tragedy that he might be able to stop, but might not want to. He could not imagine anything that might befall his kingdom or his people that he would not wish to mitigate were it within his power.

Abruptly he came to his feet and began pacing the room.

"My Lord?" He turned to face Galion as his steward spoke. "Is something wrong?"

"The Watch," he asked, "Is it returned?"

Galion shook his head, and as Thranduil watched, put down his own quill and began to rise, and move toward the balcony doorway, to open the private office to the fresher air of the chamber beyond, as though he thought the air and the sounds of the waters cascading into the crystal filled cavern would soothe his king's mounting distress. Turning back to face Thranduil he finally answered.

"The Gate reports that none but your son's party has passed in or out since Tauriel left with the watch before your return." He shook his head again then moved to pour a small glass of deep red wine from a decanter beside the doorway, handing it to Thranduil as he continued. "They are long overdue and it is only due to Tauriel's habit of traveling far beyond our borders in pursuit of that which crosses her path that has prevented a second patrol being sent out in search of them."

Thranduil nodded, then closed his eyes and reached out with his senses. As he did his finger traced the circle of the crystal goblet's rim, moist with wine, a clear song, high in pitch began to fill the room, carrying, traveling, as did his soul, far beyond the stone walls of the fortress that was his haven, and the safety of his people.

** ** ** **

Her hand faltered in the pull of guiding the stitches through fabric, the sound – a single note – taking hold of her awareness, and drawing her suddenly deeper within. Her heart beat, loud and fast, her breathing came hot, heavy as the needle slipped from her fingers; the room spun, and her awareness raced through the thick green foliage of the forest surrounding the King's Halls.

...She ran at his side, hooves beat on moist loam, a sense of urgency, of search... a thread of light between them sweeping aside all in their path. Flowers unfurled at their passage, leaves budding onto tangled trees, cleansing sorrow, cleansing disease, shadow - searching...

The crystal clear note resonating in her mind shattered at the discordant howl of the hunting horn crying alarm, and Nieniriathlim jumped to her feet, her already racing heart pounding harder yet as she sought to get her bearings as further sounds of distress began to fill the air within the halls.

She had to go down. She knew she would be needed.

** ** ** **

He came to himself in the instant before the hunting horn sounded from the outlying woodland.

"Summon healers," he commanded, already starting for the doorway; feeling Galion at his back. "The watch returns and there are those among them wounded."