Chapter 2
Thranduil was greeted in sleep by only nightmares. They were almost all just snippets of sound and images: goblins dancing and cackling, swirling into darkness before a different scene played. The longest took place in the dungeons, with every light out except the candle Thranduil held in his unsteady hand. Every step he took echoed loudly through the halls, which shivered in the light. He took a step around a corner and a strangled scream escaped his throat. Bodies of elves and dwarves and men hung from the ceiling, swaying ever so slightly. As Thranduil cautiously neared, he realized that he recognized most of the faces. Thorin Oakenshield was there, blood trailing down his lip. Kili hung beside his relative, terror frozen on his face. Thranduil took another step and came face to face with his wife. Her face was in a scream, she was caked with blood, her hair matted, gaping slashes covered her body. She looked as she did in Thranduil's worst nightmares...Thranduil opened his eyes to the wood ceiling of his bedroom. No bodies hung there.
Thranduil opted to eat breakfast alone, not ready to confront anyone after his dreams. He couldn't figure them out. It was not uncommon for him to have nightmares, and many of them featured the twisted body of his dead friends and family. But this had been different, more nuanced and realistic. He wasn't ready to believe in dream messages or anything of that sort, but it seemed there was something infecting his mind. He took a stubborn bite of eggs and tried to push the negativity out with a deep sigh.
There was a knocking on his door. He almost choked on his food as the sound pulled him out of his thoughts. "Yes?" he grumbled, rather moodily.
"Are you alright?" the voice was sweet and quiet.
"I'm fine, Sigrid," Thranduil responded with more enthusiasm. He was alright, or at least he had no reason not to be.
Sigrid paused, and Thranduil bit the inside of his cheeks, silently hoping for her to leave. "Well, I'm sure Bard is, too," she finally responded, before a light shuffling signified her departure.
But, as the days went on, Thranduil became less and less comfortable with his partner's absence. Four days later, still three days before Bard was meant to return, he decided to try and get his mind off it by going hunting. A young elk awaited him in the stables. Although still young and therefore smaller and less magnificent than his sire, the elk who had served Thranduil for so many years, he had his father's good looks and strong will. Thranduil placed a gentle hand on the creature's snout. He had decided to name it Tinu, meaning star, because of the fawn's glittery eyes and silvery fur that reminded him of the bright orbs. Thranduil mounted Tinu easily and led him out into the woods.
Hunting was hard in Mirkwood; nearly impossible, in fact. Even if an animal was around, they were hard to spot, and many weren't fair game as many of the animals who ventured into the dark forest were lost offspring or mothers. Today however, Thranduil was lucky, perhaps because of the slow lessening of darkness in the wood. Before long, he spotted a rabbit's nose peeking out from the undergrowth. He gave a tug on Tinu's reins and the elk halted instantly. The only noise was the breeze blowing through the trees. The rabbit noticed the silence, too and swiveled its ears forward in caution. Thranduil quietly but swiftly loaded his bow and aimed. He did not release it, instead surveying his target closely. No chest hair was missing, which indicated the rabbit was not pregnant, and its nose was clean, showing it had not been digging a nest. Thranduil took a final breath, and released the arrow. The rabbit was dead before it could make a noise, pierced through the head.
Thranduil hadn't always been the type to pay close attention to his prey. He had always been of the opinion that animals live, and then they die, and it didn't really matter how long they lived, or how they died. He didn't care if a rabbit had kits who would starve without their mother, because to an elf the five years those kits might live was as quick as the arrow that pierced the mother's heart.
Bard had changed that. Thranduil remembered the first time he had gone hunting with his partner, a month after they had started dating. Bard wasn't really a hunting master...in fact he was absolutely atrocious at it. Bard seemed to think this was because the only animals in Laketown were fish, and that therefore he had no experience. As the man was famous for shooting a dragon in a tiny chink of it's armor, Thranduil suspected it was more likely the bowman's short attention span and annoying soft spot were the culprit. That soft spot had become clear when, towards the end of the day, a young buck appeared in the trees. Thranduil had already caught something that day, and there would certainly be no consequences if the buck got away, so he let Bard have it. Bard nodded and loaded his bow. Then the deer turned its head to look at them. Thranduil glanced at Bard, who still wasn't shooting. The deer decided it wasn't safe, and ran off, flashing a bright white tail in what Thranduil interpreted as mockery.
"Why didn't you shoot?" Thranduil had asked with a hiss to his voice.
Bard shrugged, his eyes still on the point where the buck had disappeared. "Sometimes you have to let one go," he shifted his eyes back to Thranduil. "Well, I do. Choose your battles, I suppose. Sometimes, that is the only difference between a hero and a villain."
This confused Thranduil more than answered him. "We are hunting, not saving the world. Come on, we ought to get back."
He had thought more about Bard's response after that. He eventually decided his partner had meant that heroes had to kill, but they did not always kill. Perhaps Bard hadn't been thinking of the deer, but of himself.
So, as Thranduil picked up the dead rabbit, he was respectful and gentle pulling the arrow out. Thranduil's heart had turned to stone long ago, but Bard always found the chink in the armor.
