Upon entering his chambers, Thranduil removed his sword belt and threw it unceremoniously into one corner the large room. He couldn't care less. His mind was elsewhere, back at Dagorlad, back where dread and fear had reigned. The same dread that now clutched his heart so strongly he couldn't breathe anymore. "I can't do this again! I can't go through this a second time!", he told himself, leaning heavily on a sideboard.

Before he saw it, he felt the soft caress on his left cheek. He flinched slightly as he always did, when something touched him where he couldn't see, because of his blinded left eye. Even though he knew exactly who had touched him and that this person meant no harm, but old habits die hard and he had never been able to switch of his warrior reflexes, that had saved his life countless times. And who could understand that better than the only person who dared to touch the ugly side of his being, the manifestation of the darkness, the shadow of bitterness and unscrupulousness that had taken residence inside of him a long time ago, when he had seen his men massacred and die a slow and painful, senseless death.

Not even his wife had dared to touch him, where nothing but raw tendons were left, not even when the illusion he created was so strong, that it felt like touching healthy flesh and skin. He had seen it in her eyes, the repulsion, the disgust. It had shattered his self-confidence and boosted his vanity. He had been known as one of the fairest elves of Middle Earth and he still would be in the future. He became who he was now, a lone and bitter elf, but he wasn't going to change that. Life was a lot easier with less people around that could potentially inflict heartache. Even his son he kept at arm's length, never letting him in on his thoughts, never showing him his real self, his scared inner being and his scared face, out of fear of taking him down with him, when the time finally came when he would drown in the darkness that was within him. So he had learned to wield a sword with only half his field of vision, learned how to reach out for things without the perception of depth, he had learned to cope with his disability but not with his vanity, for like his wife he couldn't face his real appearance, never had and never would, because he loathed the ugliness of it, the unelfishness of it.

But he felt that now he was nearing his limit. He was tired, tired of fighting off the threats to his kingdom, which never ceased but increased the more they fought them. This fight for his kingdom, for his people, or what was left of them drained him of all his energy, left him with little reserve for what was to come, for what the orc had predicted, for a second Dagorlad. He had been there once and although he was now in his chambers, a part of him was at Dagorlad, now and always, would always be there and never leave, not even when he sailed. And he had no energy left to reign in his inner darkness. Every day he felt his control slip away a little more, felt his conscience being repressed by his rage, his lust for revenge and desperation.

"I didn't expect you.", he said, when he turned around to face his visitor, looking directly into the grey eyes of the Lord of Imladris.

"I felt your despair."

"There is nothing new about me being in despair, Elrond. Even you couldn't have missed that after so long a time."

Elrond smiled, not taking the bait. "I felt it growing stronger."

"Well, it never shrank once."

"There is always a first time for everything."

"I admire your optimism, but there won't be a first time for me."

"Maybe it's not optimism but foresight."

"Then Peredhel, I fear your ability of foresight is weakening."

"Does it trouble you again?" It was a quick change of topic, but Thranduil had no trouble following Elronds line of thoughts. He knew perfectly well to what Elrond was referring. He shook his head.

"No, but I lost my temper and showed it to Thorin Oakenshield."

Elrond looked surprised. "So they made it to Mirkwood."

"You knew they were coming?"

Elrond nodded. "Mithrandir brought them to Imladris not long ago. I deciphered the map they had with them, a map of Erebor."

"We captured them in the forest, but they escaped." A fact that made Thranduil still furious beyond words, but was diminished by the fear the orc's speech had installed in his chest.

"We captured an orc." He turned away before going on. "He was talking about his master serving the One."

And Elrond knew at once what the Elvenking in front of him feared. "Radagast found something in Dol Guldur. He gave it to Mithrandir to take it to the White Council. It was a Morgul blade forged for the Witchking of Angmar. He was telling us about a necromancer, who's taken residence in Dol Gul-"

"This is not just about some necromancer!", Thranduil cut in.

"Thranduil, we have lived in peace for over four hundred years…!"

Thranduil snorted and he felt a headache coming.

"Don't tell me about peace! You might have lived in peace, while we are run over by dark creatures. Peace…"

He laughed a bitter laugh.

"I can't even remember what it feels like to live in peace. So stop talking about peace with me. The elves of Imladris and the elves of Lorien know nothing about what is going on in Middle Earth. You in your sanctuaries, sheltered from the rest of the world, hiding behind your rings of power. You know nothing about the death we have to face here every day of our lives, the fear I suffer of losing my son, finding him in the woods, sliced open, beheaded, tortured, looking at me with his empty eyes, accusing me of letting them down, leading them into a war we couldn't win, causing their deaths because I was too proud to be selfish, because I –"

"Thranduil!", Elrond exclaimed, stopping his line of thoughts, bringing him back into his chambers in Mirkwood. "You were in that dark place again, weren't you?"

Thranduil turned away from Elrond trying to let it look casually by reaching for a carafe on a nearby sideboard, when he was indeed trying to hide the fact that he had indeed lost control over his mind again. He loathed, when he lost control, when his thoughts slipped his control, wandered freely. He poured himself a glass of wine, moving slowly to buy himself more time to compose himself.

"The orc said death is upon us.", he tried to change the topic, back to the dangers that lay in the future, not in the past. "The flames of war are upon us."

Flames eating skin and flesh away, leaving nothing but bones, death and despair behind, like they did with him. Thranduil closed his eyes, feeling the painful caress of the flames on his cheek again, burning away not only flesh but also his care for other people, making room for his selfish pride.

"I don't have a ring of power to fall back on…", he said quietly.

"I can't go through this again, Elrond… I simply can't! I can't go there again! I don't think I have this much strength in me to go down this path again. I'm going to lose what little is left of me in the progress."

Elrond touched his forehead and Thranduil heart his soft voice filling his head. "Don't go there, mellon nin. Stay with me. Lasto beth nîn, tolo dan nan galad."

And suddenly he could feel the wind… blowing through the valley of Imladris, slightly foaming the waters of the Bruinen, blowing over the highest summits of the Misty Mountains, stirring up freshly fallen snow into twisters, blowing over the vast lands of Rohan, caressing the blades of grass and blowing through the dark depth of the Mirkwood forest, playing with the leaves of the trees that were his home. He felt the energy flowing into his body, felt the dread letting go of his tortured heart and the peace of the blue sky seeping into his body, repressing the ever present memories of dead warriors watching him with their empty eyes from below out of the cold and clear waters of the swamps of Dagorlad, mocking him and his own survival of the war, for he had lead them there as their new king, sending them to their deaths, for nothing. The One Ring still existed and so did Sauron. He was certain of it, felt it in is tormented heart. He was still out there, waiting and preparing to seize power again, to bring death and torture about them all. But now at least he was freed of these dark thoughts. His mind was filled with the beauty of Middle Earth's nature and he felt the strong connection to it once again. He felt himself breathing freely again, taking in the fresh and earthy smell of the forest and its inhabitants surrounding him. His mind again in the here and now more than it had been in the last few weeks, since Elrond's last visit, since the last time Elrond had touched him with Vilya. He took his time, enjoying these feelings a little longer, getting new energy from them for what lay ahead, because he knew they wouldn't last long. And when he opened his eyes again, Elrond was still there waiting patiently for him, smiling. Their eyes met and Elrond's smile faltered just a little.

"When I look into your eyes I always feel like being back there in front of Mordor, fearing for my king's and kin's lives." Then why are you ever looking at me, when I only remind you of the worst days of your life?

"I never left." I 'm still there, armed and bleeding, standing among the corpses.

"I know, but I am going to take you home."

Thranduil turned away, shaking his head. "That's to no avail. Not even the birth of my son could bring me back from the fields of Dagorlad."

"We will see, mellon nin."

Mellon nin… Thranduil couldn't recall the time and place when someone had last clled him a friend. He had always been a king and a father but not a friend. Until he went to Elrond to seek help, swallowing his pride and his hatred for the Peredhel. The last person in Middle Earth who would consider him a friend… at least that was what he had thought. It wasn't often that he was proven to be so wrong.

It had been a time, when the ever present pain in his jaw had intensified, driving him to the brink of madness. Legolas hadn't been fully grown yet and even if he could only be a distant father, we wouldn't have left his son so early in life. For he knew of the dreads that came with losing a father especially during a time when becoming a king was an especially hard task, as it had been for him in the middle of a raging war and as it would have been for young Legolas during a time, when dark shadows infested Mirkwood Forest. And he was the only parent Legolas had left.

It had been a decision born out of pure desperation to go to the abhorred Peredhel and ask for his healing advice, a decision he had only made for his son, a son who would never know how deeply loved he was by his father.

"King Thranduil."

Elrond bowed his head slightly, demonstrating respect for the King of the Woodland Realm, while Thranduil just watched the Peredhel he so loathed. He himself didn't bow his head. He was a king, the Peredhel a mere Lord, ranging below him. He would never bow to him, no matter what his family tree said about his noble inheritance.

"What brings you here? We didn't expect you."

Thranduil was unimpressed by the politeness, by the show the Peredhel put on, when he knew how much the Peredhel must hate him because of what had been.

"How could you? I didn't send a messenger.", Thranduil replied coldly, his patience wearing thin, because of this useless exchange of pleasantries, while the pain in his cheek grew from day to day. So he gritted his teeth and swallowed his pride.

"I came to you for a consultation.", he grinded out.

He saw the surprise on the Peredhel's face and for the first time it occurred to him that the Peredhel might refuse to help him. Deep down that scared him. This might be his only change, Legolas' only change. He didn't know how long he could still endure the pain without going insane.

"A consultation? What about?", the Peredhel asked, already looking for signs of an illness or a wound.

Thranduil turned to his guards and sent them away. Nobody would see his real face, nobody but the Peredhel. When he turned back to the Lord of Imladris, he was still waiting patiently for Thranduil to go on. But Thranduil decided that he wouldn't tell the Peredhel. He would let him see his real face, his ugliness without a warning. To see the Peredhel's shocked face would at least be a small victory on the day he came crawling to this abhorred half-elven. Their eyes met and Thranduil chose that moment to let go of the illusion covering the missing part of the left side of his face and his clouded, dead eye. But instead of being shocked the Peredhel didn't even flinch. Without hesitation he came over, stopping right in front of Thranduil.

"A dragon's fire.", was all he said before taking a closer look.

And then suddenly he felt the soft touch of the Peredhel's fingers on his chin turning his head slightly to have a better look. He flinched, taking a step back and looking dumbfounded at the Peredhel. No one had touched his face in hundreds of years. For hundreds of years he hadn't felt the soft touch of another being on his face and the sensation, the mere experience of something so banal yet lost to him caught him off guard.

"Did my touch hurt you?"

Thranduil shook his head, while trying to regain his composure, fighting for it.

"No."

Elrond looked at him with his penetrating storm grey eyes.

"Is it sensitive to the touch?"

And again he was rendered speechless.

"I… I don't know. I haven't touched it…" … in centuries, he finished the sentence in his mind.

This consultation was slipping out of his control and he hated that fact. He had to get back in control.

"It doesn't matter. It hurts whether I'm awake or asleep and the pain is worsening. I need something against the pain!" His voice was stable again, hard and demanding, back to normal. But the Peredhel remained unimpressed and sighed.

"What?" Thranduil's impatience grew by the second.

"I'm afraid I can't help you. The wound is too old, to deep and inflicted by dragon fire… Maybe if the wound had been tended to properly at the beginning there would be a chance but I'm afraid it's too late for that. A dragon fire is a strong magic weapon."

Thranduil felt the panic rise in his chest. The Peredhel had been his only chance, the best healer in all of Middle Earth. He hadn't thought about not getting any help here in Imladris. He had envisioned himself returning to Mirkwood without pain, had fantasized about it… but now… what about Legolas?

"There has to be something you can do!"

But Elrond shook his head.

"Maybe you sailing to th-"

"I'm not going to sail to these damned Undying Lands! My place is here with my people, with my son! I'm not going to take the easy way out!", he practically screamed.

And the damned Peredhel's only answer was a sign, followed by a long pause. The he took a deep breath.

"I see."

He raised his head, meeting Thranduil's ice blue eyes with his storm grey ones.

"I'm willing to try something on you, but there is no guaranty that it is going to work."

"Do it!", Thranduil answered without thinking it over.

He was willing to risk nearly everything. Elrond nodded and rolled the right sleeve of his robe up, while coming over to Thranduil again. The Elvenking watched his every step till the Peredhel stopped right in front of him. The Peredhel raised his right hand to Thranduil's scared cheek and then Thranduil saw it, the golden ring with the blue sapphire… Vilya. He could feel the pulsating power, where the ring was close to his face. When Elrond laid his hand on Thranduil's injured cheek , a pleasant cold radiated from the Peredhel's hand into his burning, throbbing wound, soothing the pain almost immediately and Thranduil con't hold back the sigh of relief that left his mouth, when he felt nearly free of pain for the first time in one century.

When he found his way back to reality, Elrond was still standing in his chambers. And again he was smiling. Sometimes Thranduil thought that the Peredhel was smiling too much on his account.

"You were lost in memories. Not the evil kind I suppose."

Thranduil nodded. "No indeed, not entirely bad memories."

"Very well then. I hope I could ease your despair for the time being, mellon nin."

"Your visit was quite welcome."

This was all the thank the Peredhel would get from the Elvenking and he knew it. For Thranduil was a king scarcely giving his thanks to anyone, so the Peredhel knew that Thranduil was already making concessions.

"Farewell for now, vigorous spring."

"It is just a name, peredhel."

"It might just be a name but it hasn't been bestowed upon you for nothing."

The Peredhel smiled but Thranduil chose not to reply. Instead he just watched the Peredhel disappear in front of him. Just don't take wait too long till your next visit, he thought to himself, for he would never admit it aloud, but he always looked forward to talking to the peredhel. With him he could talk about topics he couldn't discuss with the people inside his kingdom. He was their king, their leader and because of that he had to be distant, he had to make decisions free of personal preference but decision that where the best for his people as a whole. He couldn't let them in on his thoughts, his decisions as a king, even though this meant that he would be a lone ruler.

Elrond on the other hand didn't belong to his people. With him he could talk about his thoughts and decisions without having to fear for his reputation. As the time progressed the regular meetings to ease the pain in his jaw which went along with polite political talk progressed to more frequent meetings which were not only about the ease of the pain but more about talking and exchanging thoughts not only on politics but on past and present experiences as well. Elrond had been there like him, fighting on the battle plain of Dagorlad, experiencing the same losses and physical and mental scars. With him he could speak about the dark thoughts lurking within him because of what he had experienced. He knew that Elrond wouldn't be shocked or disgusted by his tormented state of mind, because Elrond could relate. Elrond accepted his bad tempers, his passive aggressiveness and cruelties, his vanity and his aloofness. For Elrond knew, that while some elves had overcome most of their traumatic experiences of the Ring War, had had the strength to fully recover from their physical and psychic wounds, had learned to live with what they had experienced, there were others, like Thranduil himself, had never been able to overcome the traumatic events. His soul would be dark and twisted till the end of time. There was no escape for him, only dilution but no deliverance…never.