A/N: Facts regarding Thranduil's Queen are taken from the film, and not the book.
A/N#2: I'll be updating 'Thorin in Hogwarts' story tonight as well, so keep an eye on it, if you are into that kind of stuff :P
"I see King Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, in my dreams. He comes to me, and in my dreams he lives. I am to assist him in his passing into the Halls of Mandos." The words fell from her lips, clear and simple, her quest put into words for the first time. Once her voice was not heard anymore under the high arched ceiling of the chamber, she suddenly exhaled sharply, as if an enormous weight falling off her shoulders, and she sways. He was holding her hands and did not let her tilt. "I am to help him, but I do not know how..."
Silence rang in the room, their eyes locked, she could see emotions splash in his blue irises, flooding them, his perfect lips twitched, the previously calm expression wavered, and his eyes roamed her face. She withstood his scrutiny, she had nothing to hide or to fear, and all she felt was a sudden piercing relief from finally saying it outloud.
"Oh Eleirandir..." His voice wrapped around the moniker he gave her, the Dream Wanderer, and he tilted his head, studying her even more attentively now, having reigned his emotions. "What a burden for one person to carry." There was empathy in his tone, but there was no pity. He was watching her, still with a grain of the same curiosity, as if a novelty of sorts, but also with what she could not call anything other but admiration. "What a burden..." He once again repeated, and suddenly she realised how fatigued she was. She swayed again, and this time he carefully sat her down back on her chair. His cool fingers released hers, and he poured more wine into her goblet. She took a small sip, she was not fond of wines and meads, and after seeing it, he walked to the wall and poured some water into a crystal glass for her. She drank it greedily.
The repose it gained both of them seemed to becalm them. He once again filled his goblet and took his place across from the table.
"Lord Elrond is your best hope, my lady," he spoke, his tone almost indifferent now, and she nodded. "Mithrandir was a wiser choice, you were right, he had always been fond of the Dwarves. And of meddling in the natural order of things," Wren wondered if she indeed had detected an impish note in his last statement, and she hastily lifted her eyes at him. There was indeed a small smile hiding in the corners of his lips. "I was right, Filegethiel, you are a curiosity indeed… A dead Dwarven King in your mind, visiting you in your dreams... Do I conceive it right that you had not known him before his passing?"
"I had not. And neither do I possess any connection to Erebor or anything Dwarven. All this affair is..." Wren trailed away, not wishing to continue, but the frustration she had been feeling from the very beginning of these occurrences was now becoming obvious to her.
"A mistake?" The King finished for her, and she saw his eyes warm up. "Such happenstance cannot be a mistake, Filegethiel. If indeed he lingers in your dreams, there is a purpose in this. I sensed that purpose in you when you entered my forest, I sense it in you now." Wren nodded silently again, feeling overtaxed. "And still, I imagine it to be rather exhausting, after all King Thorin with all his merits is yet another Dwarf, with their carping temper and imperious overbearing nature..." Wren wondered whether she should argue and defend her dream companion, after all he was nothing but considerate and proper in his behaviour towards her. On the other hand, doing so she would not change the Elvenking's opinion of the Khazad, and at the same time she would disclose her fondness for the Dwarven King. She decided that no answer was better than yet another careless statement. She kept her eyes down, and then she heard a strange noise from him, a gasp or a moan. She lifted her eyes and saw him sitting, his eyes distant, his elegant hands clenched around his goblet and on the armrest of his chair.
"And yet," his tone was suddenly different from previous, no scorn, no mocking, and in astoundment she saw his eyes glimmer as if with unshed tears gathering in them, "To see those that have gone, to talk to them once more, to hear her voice..." Wren clenched her jaw, suppressing a gasp. She remembered the stories of his Queen, the mother of Prince Legolas, and the horrid destiny that had befallen her in the hands of Orcs of Gundabad. "How clear are you dreams, Filegethiel?" His magnetic voice dropped low, and she noticed pain and envy trembling in it.
"They are more than dreams, my lord, they are as corporeal as my waking time," she decided honesty was the best path, and he shifted his eyes at her.
"And I imagine they are time of seclusion for the two of you?"
"Yes, my lord, it is just an empty room and King Thorin is in it..." She was holding to the shreds of her control, keeping her voice even. The piercing blue eyes of King Thranduil roamed her face. She knew what he was looking for, but she was determined to hide her thoughts.
"I imagine Thorin Oakenshield hardly finds such circumstances favourable… An image of a beast in a cage comes to my mind..." The Elvenking was slowly regaining his composure. Even though externally he stayed calm through their conversation, Wren's own strained nerves made her more sensitive to her conversation companion's affected state, as much as he contained his emotions.
"King Thorin showed nothing but courteous manners and respect towards me," Wren's voice was flat, and King Thranduil imposing black eyebrows twitched.
"I imagine that is the answer your character suggests you give me, Filegethiel." Wren frowned slightly trying to decipher the meaning of his ambiguous statement, when he took another sip of his wine, and after a short pause he spoke. "I have given you a promise, honourable healer, and I will keep it. I have the ability to elevate your burden. There is a tree in my woods, its roots drink from the Enchanted River. In the dusk it tears aromatic sap, not much, enough for one drink of a draught, but once you partake it, the night will be dreamless." Wren's heart thrashed in her throat. "You seek peace, Filegethiel, you want to belong, and you never do. Such is your nature, and such is your curse and your gift. Was Dale your home?" His sudden question pushed her to answer less cautiously than she normally would.
"Yes, but it is no more..." Once the words escaped, she fully conceived their veracity. She would not be able to return to what she had had before, or hoped to have at least. She came to Dale looking for home, but now she was beginning to understand that Erebor was what drew her to come, and now however her quest was to end, there was no place for her in Dale.
"You can stay in my halls, Filegethiel. You will find peace here, you will be safe." The King grew silent allowing her to hear what he was offering. Peace and safety… The two things she had always thought she valued most. Wren had always been making safe choices in her life, no compromising positions, no circumstances that would tarnish her honour, she always had been determined to be honest with herself and others, as only such life in her mind could be lived peacefully. Peace of her mind had been what she had always striven to find and to preserve. "You will not be able to leave, the drink is to be cooked and partaken every evening, but you will have place here."
"What would a simple girl of Men do in the Halls of the Elvenking?" The question fell from her lips as if without her will. And then the Elvenking smiled to her widely, his eyes squinted momentarily in a sincere merriment.
"Once again, Filegethiel, you underestimate yourself. Once this quest is taken off your shoulders, you think there will be nothing of interest left in you. But the quest is you," he tilted his head and met her eyes, "Study my herbs, read in my library, work with my healers. There is a reason this quest was bestowed to you. You have the will, the determination, and the beauty inside to fulfill it. Even without it, you will make a wonderful conversation companion," light-hearted humour was laced into his tone, and he took a sip from his goblet. Wren's mind raced, her hands clammy. Her mind was suddenly flooded with the images of what her life could be, were she to accept his offer.
"Would you like some time to consider my offer, Filegethiel?"
"Yes, thank you, my lord." He accepted her ardent gratitude with a small nod.
"Would you like to return to your rooms, my lady?" He seemed already bored by their interaction, his eyes shifted onto the window, and she realised that perhaps it was her only chance in life to ask for what she asked next.
"Could I go to the Mirkwood library, my lord? I have heard so much of it… And I always think better among books..." It gained her a small smile, and another nod, this time a much more favourable one.
Wren was taken into the library, and once the door closed after the courtier who showed her in, she heavily sat on a low settee by the wall, in front of a large table littered with maps and parchments. The walls of the library rose around her, filigree, composed of branches and trunks, intertwined and breathing with mysterious, ancient life of the Greenwood the Great. The columns supporting the high arched ceiling were smooth, also made of the native trees, and altogether Wren realised that was the place where she could belong.
Rows and rows of shelves, crates of parchment rolls, maps, volumes and volumes, the library contained the endless wisdom she could get lost in, and then find herself and her belonging. And no dreams would come. And no quest would be upon her, no quest, hopeless and perilous. She had been humiliated, ignored, rejected, attacked and assaulted, and with all her heart she was certain it was nothing but the beginning. But it did not have to be, she could stay and then her journey would end here, in Mirkwood.