14

Chapter Twenty-Six

SUMMARY: A ghost from the recent past haunts Bard, and it causes trouble between he and Thranduil - no marriage is perfect, isn't it?

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Later, Thranduil gets a surprise visitor...

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Ruins of Dale; 24th of December, 2941 T.A.

The large bell hit Bard's head, yet again… Finally, he took his sword and cut the damned rope. He nocked his bow, aimed for Smaug and arrow after arrow flew, trying to fell the beast before he killed them all. At the very least, he was hoping to stall the Dragon, buying his people time to get out of the city…

He reached down, and quickly saw that this was his last arrow; his last chance… Saying a quick prayer to the Valar, again, he took aim. And again, the projectile bounced off the scales.

"Da!"

Bard turned behind him, and there was Bain! No! He was supposed to leave!

…He braced himself as he pulled on the bowstring… "Bain, look at me! You look at me…" He saw the missing scale and let the Black Arrow fly…

It missed! Enraged, Smaug roared, "You think you can kill me, Bowman? You dare to use your son to defeat me? He will die!"

The Dragon swooped his head down and grabbed Bain…

"Da! No!" Bain screamed. "Help me! Help me!"

"NO! NO! BAIN! STOP! PLEASE! Don't hurt my son!"

Smaug's mocking laugh sent chills through Bard. The Dragon's jaws clenched. Bain's eyes bugged out, his mouth opened wide in a silent scream, and as blood dripped from the Dragon's maw, the boy's eyes lost their focus and he grew limp.

Smaug chewed on the body of his son like it was a snack. Bard fell to his knees, covered his face and screamed in agony as the crunch of his precious boy's bones tore at his heart.

"I'm sorry, oh Gods, Bain; I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…"

Something grabbed him, and pulled him upright. Smaug had him in his claws, and his teeth, still dripping with the blood of his son, grew near and the foul stench of his breath made him retch.

"No! No!"

He struggled until one arm broke free, and swung at Smaug's head with all his might, His punch landed hard on the creature's jaw, and the Dragon jerked his head back.

"BARD! STOP! BARD!" Smaug shouted and grabbed at his wrists.

"GET AWAY FROM ME!" He wrestled himself free, and backed up. His feet slipped over the edge of the tower, and he fell down, down, toward the icy water, screaming his son's name.

"BARD! You must stop this! Wake up!"

The water was so icy, it felt like he hit his head on a solid surface. His wrists were caught again, and he screamed and struggled to get away...

He was pinned down, and couldn't move… And his son was dead…

"Bard! Please! It is all right…you are safe, Meleth nîn. You are safe; it is all right."

Bard opened his eyes. Long, white-blonde hair, hung around his face, and frightened, grey eyes searched his own.

"Bard? Please, Bard, wake up! You are having a nightmare. It is not real. Please!" The Elf was straddling him, holding his wrists over his head, to keep him from moving. "It was a dream. It was not real, you are safe. You are safe, Bard, and all is well." Thranduil's voice became less urgent, more soothing. "Look at me, Bard; you are in our bedroom, and and everyone is safe, do you understand me? It is me, Thranduil. I am your husband, and you are safe. We are in our bedroom, and the children are safe."

"Bain's not dead?" he croaked. "He's alive?"

"It was just a dream, Bard," he said in low soothing tones. "He is sleeping in his room, perfectly safe." Thranduil let go if his wrists, and pulled Bard up into a sitting position, still straddling his hips. He held Bard tightly, rubbing his back. "Shh…" He whispered. "Everyone is safe and in their beds. It was just a dream… You are here with me, and I love you."

"It was so real…" he moaned, rested his cheek and let the steady heartbeat of his husband calm him down.

"Let us get you back in bed, Meleth nîn."

Thranduil helped him to his feet, settled him against the headboard with a spare blanket over his shoulders. "You were having a nightmare as terrible as the ones I have, at times."

Bard wiped his eyes on the blanket, and leaned his head on the Elf's shoulders. "I dreamed about that fucking Dragon! I saw Smaug kill my son… Right in front of me. It was horrible! I was on the Bell Tower, like I was that night, except I missed. The Dragon grabbed Bain, and I watched him die, and I couldn't save him… Thranduil?" At the sudden change in the Elf's demeanor, Bard turned. "Thranduil?"

A curtain had fallen between them; the Elvenking stiffened, and wouldn't meet his eyes

"I'm sorry, love; I didn't mean to upset you…"

Thranduil turned to him, with a fake, masked smile, not meeting his eyes. "You were very upset, and perhaps you need to get your thoughts onto something else…"

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, Meleth nîn." He entwined their fingers. "Are you all right now?"

"I will be. What happened?" He nudged Thranduil with his shoulder.

"You were shouting, and I tried to wake you up, but you became agitated, and began to flail your arms and legs, so I tried to hold you down, to keep you from hurting yourself."

"How did I end up on the floor?"

"You broke free from my grip," Thranduil told him, "then you punched me, and fell off the bed. But please do not wor—"

"I WHAT?!" Bard yanked back the covers and got to his feet, and began to pace, back and forth, as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Shit, shit! I don't remember that. I'm so, so sorry…"

"Bard, it was not your fault."

"Of course, it's my fault!" He flopped into one of the stuffed chairs, and buried his face in his hands, wishing the earth could open up and swallow him. "Oh, gods…"

He had actually hit his own husband, and it made him shrivel with self-loathing.

"Bard, Meleth…" Thranduil came over and rested his hand on his back, but he jerked away.

"Please don't touch me," he whispered hoarsely.

"Why not?"

"Because… these fucking dreams have made me dangerous, that's why! What if this had happened back in the tent, and one of the kids tried to wake me up?" His voice broke. "I… I hit you; no wonder you're upset!"

"Bard! I am not upset!"

"You think I don't know you by now? I feel it, Thranduil! You've just…cut yourself off from me, and you and I both know it. And what's worse," he got up from his chair, "you're lying to me about it." He grabbed his heavy robe, and put it on, tying it at the waist. "I can't...be here. I need some air."

"Please do not leave. If you would come and sit down..."

"NO!" Bard closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. "Just… I need to… I don't know what I need, really, but I'm too upset to stay."

The stone floors were icy on his bare feet, as he tiptoed into Bain's room. The boy was lying on his stomach hugging his pillow with his mouth hanging open. Bard tenderly brushed his hair off of his brow and watched Bain sleep for a while, letting the horrifying images fade away in the presence of his living, breathing son. After adjusting his blankets, he kissed Bain's forehead, then went to check on the girls.

Tilda was facing the wall, with her covers kicked down again. The room was a bit chilly, so he put some more wood on their fire, and tucked her back in. He stepped over to Sigrid's bed, and kissed the part of her head visible under her quilts.

She turned over and squinted up at him. "Da?"

"Go back to sleep, darling." He smiled, and patted her cheek.

He went into his study, and after building up the fire, he sat in a chair, propped his feet up, and stared into the flames.

A soft knock at the door. "Come," he said.

"Da? Are you all right?" It was Sigrid, wrapped up in one of her blankets.

"It's nothing." He smiled at her. "You go on and get some sleep, yeah?"

But she came in the room and sat down on his lap. "Did you have a bad dream again?"

At the look he gave her, she smirked and said, "You always told me we should talk about it, right? It will help them to stop."

"I love you for that, but not this one, I'm afraid."

"About the Dragon, again?"

His eyes blinked open in surprise. "How did you know?"

"Sometimes you'd thrash around, and cry out. I started to get up and help you a few times, but you usually woke yourself up."

"You never said anything."

"And worry you more than you already were? You've been so busy, and then you got together with Thranduil, and I was hoping he might help."

"You're my daughter; I should be looking after you, not the other way around."

She leaned her head against his. "Even Da's need taken care of, sometimes. You should talk to Thranduil about this."

"He knows, darling."

"Then why are you in here?" Sigrid's eyes were concerned. "And why do you look so upset?"

"Oh, I'm just jittery from my dream, and needed a change of scenery to collect myself, that's all."

"Are you sure?"

"Sure, I'm sure." He pushed her off and they stood up. "You should be asleep, so let's get you tucked in."

"I'm not a little girl, Da."

"You want to make me feel better? Pretend you're still my little girl once in a while, so I don't feel so old."

He banked the fire, got his daughter settled, and he returned to their bedroom to find Thranduil, sitting and looking into the flames, with a sad, serious look on his face. Bard went to the table, poured them both some drinks, and, after giving one to his husband, sat down in the other chair.

After a lengthy silence, Thranduil quietly asked. "Where did you go?"

"I needed to look at my son for a while, then I tucked the girls in."

"Is that all? You were gone for quite some time, Bard."

"I sat in my study, and Sigrid came to keep me company." Bard sighed, and emptied his cup.

"Did you tell her what happened?"

"Of course, I didn't! She just told me what she noticed, and," he shot his husband a look, "she wanted to know why I wasn't talking about it with you."

"I am sorry, Bard."

"Why are you sorry? I'm the one who punched my own husband."

"Do you remember doing that in your dream?"

"I punched Smaug on the snout, when he tried to hold me down. Where did I get you?"

"On the jaw. But it is…"

"No! Thranduil, it isn't! A decent man does not hit his spouse; don't you understand?"

"Bard, you did not hit me, your dream did! It is not your fault. And you did not hurt me."

"Then why did you lie to me, Thranduil? How could I not think you were angry?"

The Elf leaned over, his elbows on his knees and swirled his drink. "I was afraid to tell you the truth."

"Which is?"

"I…have the same type of dreams."

"I know you do, love. That was the reason we met on the parapet that night."

"That is not what I meant, Meleth nîn. You said your dream was about Smaug."

"So? I don't see why that would make you mad."

"I was never angry at all, Bard!" The Elvenking glared at him. "Why can you not accept that! I am an Elf. I do not bruise easily. More to the point, I am intelligent enough to know that you were not yourself! Please allow me some credit!"

"Well I would, if you'd tell me what the fuck is wrong, Thranduil! And if you lie again and say, 'nothing,' so help me…"

The Elf sighed, "No; you are correct; I was not honest, but it was I who was ashamed. You are my husband, and should be able to tell me anything."

"What's the problem?"

"I am not like you, Bard." Thranduil said, very quietly.

"I know you're not, love." Then a thought occurred to him. "The night you and I got together, you couldn't tell me what happened to your face…"

Thranduil said nothing, but he took a careful breath.

"Galion had to tell your story, because—"

"Please!" the Elf closed his eyes.

"I'm so sorry; I should have realized. It's just that my Da always said talking about nightmares helps."

"Please do not apologize. I should have explained; but I am not strong about these things, like you."

"Oh, love. Come on; let's get you into bed." He set their drinks on the nightstand, took his Elf by the hand and after slipping his robe off his shoulders, he pulled back the covers and got settled, then joined him.

"There. That's better." He lifted his arm and put it around Thranduil, who rested his head on Bard's shoulder. "I want us to work this out. I can't go to sleep every night, afraid I'll beat my husband to a pulp; that's the problem I have. You need to find a way to face up to your memories, which is the problem you have."

"It would seem so." Thranduil sighed.

"One thing at a time: we both have nightmares and there's no preventing that, but I don't want to abuse you again. What do we do?"

"You did not abuse me, Bard."

"Yes, I did. And you must always tell me if it happens. I have to know, and I can't bear it when you lie, because I feel it when you do. So, promise me?"

"I promise."

"Sigrid told me I had bad dreams when we were in our tent, or in the shelter before. She'd hear me cry out, and rolling to and fro, but I woke myself up before she got to me." He looked down at his Elf. "When you suffer from this, what does Galion do?"

"He shakes me awake, but perhaps that would not work for you."

"I don't think so, either. So, how about this: if you find me having a nightmare, try not to touch me. Maybe just talk to me to try and wake me up."

"What if you roll off of the bed?"

"Maybe you could line up some pillows along the edge?"

Thranduil considered this. "That would be a solution."

"I think so too." Bard said, "I only hit you in the jaw, but what if I had punched the bad side of your face? I don't want the children to come near me either, so we're going to explain in general terms what needs to be done. So, let's try that, and if it doesn't work, we'll try something else."

He and his Elf kissed each other again, and snuggled back down. "There. That's the only problem I want to think on tonight. Everything else will wait until tomorrow. Let's get some sleep, yeah?"

His worries of staying awake the rest of the night were unfounded. Within minutes, they were deeply asleep, in a warm, loving embrace.

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25th of December, 2941 T.A.

The morning light seeped through the window, rousing the Elvenking from his sleep, and smiled at the warmth of his Bowman along his back and the protective arm over his side. Thranduil's eyes adjusted to the light, then focused on an unexpected object in front of him.

Brown hair and antlers. His brows furrowed for a second or two, until he woke up completely and grinned. Tilda's sweet little face was buried in her new stuffed Elk.

Thank the stars he was still wearing his night clothes! Normally, he and Bard would be naked, but during the night's upset, he had dressed to ward off the chill, and Bard must have forgotten to lock the door.

Behind him, Bard mumbled and stirred, and after snuggling in deeper, he softly snored into the back of the Elf's neck. Thranduil picked up the hand on his waist, kissed it, and entwined their fingers, as he watched his new daughter. Her cheeks were flushed with sleep, and her lashes were as black as her Da's. Her brown hair had more of a wave than her sister's and small, fine tendrils framed her face. Her eyes weren't like Bard's nor Sigrid's, yet they both had Bard's chin and mouth.

He was genuinely fond of all the children, but he had to admit Tilda tugged at his heartstrings the most. Sigrid and Bain were older, and spent much of their days pursuing their own interests, while this little one's biggest desire was to be cherished and protected, and he was her willing slave.

"Good morning, love." He heard a very sleepy voice behind him.

"Shh!" Thranduil whispered softly.

Bard raised his head, curious.

"We have a visitor." He pointed to the hair and antlers beside him, smiling proudly.

Bard pulled him closer to his chest, and propped his chin on Thranduil's shoulder, whispering, "She seems to like the Elk, doesn't she? I'm surprised Charlotte's not with her."

The Elf carefully pulled the blanket back a bit to see her better. "Look," he whispered. Charlotte was snuggled there too, in between Tilda and her Elk. He turned his head and grinned. "I only married you to be nearer to your children."

"I admire your self-sacrificing nature. That's the only reason I married you." Bard smirked back. "Looks like we're stuck with each other, then. When you spirit my children away, would you be so kind as to allow me to see them, occasionally?"

Thranduil rolled on his back and stroked the Bowman's cheek with his knuckles. "What I would prefer, is to spirit you all away to my Palace, and have you to myself forever." He ran his finger down the lines of Bard's throat.

"I want to take you into my forest next spring, and introduce you to my tree. It saved my life as an Elfling, and you have saved me as an adult. I think it only fitting you meet."

"I think you've got it wrong; we're only here because of you."

"Perhaps as a King, Bard, but you made my heart come alive again. Before I met you, I only existed; an endless death."

Bard bent his head and kissed his lips, softly. "I'll be right back." He had just pulled his robe on, when there was a stirring to Thranduil's left.

The Elf settled against the headboard, while Tilda fully woke and sat up, blinking.

"Good morning, Little Bean."

"Morning Da. Morning, Thrandool."

"I see you have been wandering at night. Did you sleep well, Tilda?" Thranduil asked the little one, as she rubbed her eyes and clutched her toys with the other arm.

She yawned. "I woke up, and I couldn't get back to sleep. So, I came here." She blinked up at him. "Was that all right?"

"Of course, Tithen pen. Your father tells me that he has to pull your blankets up frequently, because you like to run a race in your sleep."

Tilda rolled her eyes. "He always says that."

Bard smiled. "I'm sorry if I woke you, Beanie."

"I heard voices in the room with the table. I'm not used to this place, yet. It's so different."

"It sure is, and when the Castle's ready in a few years, we'll move again. And you get to spend the whole winter in Thranduil's Palace, so you'll have lots of fun."

The corners of her mouth turned down. "Do I have to go?"

Thranduil took her hand, "We need you to help us take care of the children, Tilda. You will all have lessons in our Main Dining Hall, and I need you to listen to them, and tell me if they are happy. I cannot do this, Hilda cannot do this, not even your sister or brother."

"Really?"

"It is true, hênig. Do you remember how we talked about the children who have no parents?"

"Uh huh."

"During your stay, your Auntie Hil will try to find them new parents. You could be a big help with this, but you must not tell anyone." He booped her nose. "This must be a secret."

"Why do I have to listen?"

"If you see, or hear anything that tells us the children are unhappy with the people Lady Hilda places them with, you must come and tell us right away."

"Okay, but why does it have to be secret?"

"If the children know you are helping us, they might not want to tell you what we need to know."

"Why not?"

"Well, because they might be afraid."

"Of what?"

"Many things. Perhaps they are afraid of disappointing anyone. Maybe they have a preference of one home over another, but do not want to hurt anyone's feelings. And maybe," he put his fingers under her chin, "they are having nightmares, and are feeling badly, like you do sometimes, but do not want to say. We need to know these things, to help them feel safe and loved again. Can you do this for your Da and me?"

The little girl considered this for a few moments, then nodded.

"Where will I stay?" Tilda asked Thranduil, while Bard got up and went into the necessary.

Thranduil used the blanket on their laps to map out the Royal Wing with his fingers, and where their apartment will be. "You will be right in between myself, and Lady Hilda. There are two doors: one leading out to the hall, and another that leads into my chambers. My study is here, right across the hall, and Galion's is there, right beside me. There will be guards, here, here, and here. You will all be busy, and your father will visit."

Tilda still didn't look convinced, so Thranduil changed the subject. "What are your plans for today?"

"Breakfast, then Tauriel will take me to the Children's Area, like every day. It's too cold to walk around outside anymore."

"All the more reason to stay in a nice, warm palace, do you not think?" He picked up her stuffed Elk. "I am glad you like him. Have you named him, yet?"

"What was the name of the Elk you had?" Tilda asked.

"His name was Bara-Maethor, which means "Fiery Warrior."

Tilda considered this. "I don't think I want to name something fighty."

"'Fighty?'"

"You know; about wars and swords and stuff. I don't like to think about it."

"I see the problem. Perhaps you could name him after something you like."

He kissed the top of her head, as his husband came back into the room, and met his gaze. Bard's eyes shone, and he placed a hand on his heart. Thranduil gave him a serene smile, as he covered his own.

"I know!"

"What do you know, Tithen pen?" He turned his head to look at their youngest child. "What is it?"

"What to name my Elk!"

"And that would be…?" He asked, as Bard walked back toward the bed.

"Daisy!"

Thranduil's brows shot up to his hairline, and there was a small snort from his left. "Tilda, I am afraid only male Elks have antlers. Females do not."

"Everybody knows that." She informed him, primly. "But I like daisies. You said to name him after something I like. So…"

"I did say that, yes. But—"

"And I don't like scary warrior names. My Elk doesn't like to fight, or do anything mean. He likes to eat grass, and pick flowers. His favorite flowers are daisies, just like me."

"I see."

"His name is Daisy," she said slowly and firmly, as if explaining to simpleton.

"'Daisy,' it is," Thranduil confirmed. "Now, your father and I need to wash and get dressed, and so do you, Tithen Pen. Give your Da a good morning kiss, and we shall see you at breakfast."

As Tilda kissed them both on the cheek, then scampered off, Bard sat down on the bed, smiling at the Elf. He didn't smile for long, because Thranduil grabbed him by the robe and imprisoned his mouth in a crushing, consuming kiss. Bard was helpless to do anything but respond in kind, as he put his hand on the back of the Elvenking's head to give as good as he got.

When they finally parted, Bard looked at him with the side of his mouth upturned. "It seems my little witch has placed a very powerful spell upon you, love. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Not a thing, Meleth nîn. If this is truly an enchantment, I never want to be released from it."

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Breakfast was a lively affair, with lots of chatter about plans for the day. Thranduil wanted to go over the lists of supplies that the city would need for the next shipment, so he arranged to meet with Bard and his Aides, along with Galion, first thing. Then Bard wanted to double-check the progress on repairs to the city walls; it needed to be finished as soon as possible, to better protect the city during the cold winter months.

Sigrid, of course, had her lessons with the Healers, and Bain had his lessons with his sword. During the afternoons, Galion was to meet with the two older children to begin to tutor them in their formal education. All of Bard's children had learned their letters and could read, thanks to Mattie and Hilda, but there was much more that the young Prince and Princesses would need to know. For now, they would focus on the basics. Reading, writing, and maths.

The more intense instruction would begin in the Woodland Realm. Thranduil wanted to get them started as soon as possible. "It will help them to adjust better in my Palace, if we start their daily routine now."

Thranduil was hesitant concerning another subject: how to approach Bard about his level of education without insulting him, or making him feel inadequate?

Finally, that night, he just asked him outright, while they were having wine in front of the fire.

"I'm a good reader, but there were only so many books to be had in Laketown. My Mam and Da taught me the basics in maths, to weigh fish and get paid. Mattie was a teacher back in Dorwinian, so she worked with me and brought books with her. The children were so young when she died, or they would be a lot better than they are now."

"How much writing have you done, Bard? As a King, your handwriting must not only be legible and accurate, but flowing and attractive. Impressions count, Meleth nîn. I wish it weren't so, but it is."

Bard to his credit, answered honestly. "Not much at all; paper and ink were hard to come by, and expensive. The Master didn't want anyone to get ideas above his station."

Thranduil took Bard's hand and said. "I only ask these questions, because we both want you to be prepared. This does not mean I do not think you brilliant. You are someone I greatly admire, and would do so, even if I didn't love you."

Bard's eyes fell to his lap. "I know. It's hard to admit, though."

"Think nothing of it; these are minor details, which will be corrected with speed before the winter is done. I do not doubt you will accomplish this, and I will help you. During the worst of the winter, there will be little to do, and you should use the time to increase your skills. I will have books sent from my library that you will need to read, plus a large amount of paper and ink for you to copy them, to practice your writing and spelling skills."

Bard winced and rubbed his forehead. "It's one thing to treat with Dwarves; especially with you beside me, but how in the world would I ever fit in with more sophisticated countries? They will think me crude and backward."

"Bard," Thranduil put his hand on his husband's knee. "You are the finest Man I have ever met, and considering my age, that is saying something! I have known many Kings, of all races, on Middle Earth, and you outshine them all. Book learning does not make up for governance, character, and strength. You excel at all of those. Do not forget that!"

A slow smile spread across Bard's face. "Well, I did manage to catch the eye of a certain snooty-faced Elvenking."

"Yes you did. So, listen to your snooty-faced Elvenking, when I tell you there is something special about you." Thranduil kissed him softly.

"And what is so special?" Bard brushed his knuckles over his cheek.

"Your excellent lovemaking skills," The Elf pulled him up to stand. "If I had my way, you would never leave my bed."

"So… Your plan is to have me between your sheets, reading, and writing, and counting on my fingers?" Well, if that's your idea of schooling, I'm all for it."

"Yes," Thranduil started licking and kissing each finger of Bard's hand, "along with some other things..."

"Well," Bard laughed softly, "if that's your idea of schooling, I'll be a very happy pupil."

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ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:

Bara-Maethor – Fiery Warrior, the name of the Elk that was killed in the Battle of the Five Armies.

Meleth nîn – My Love

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NOTES:

PTSD is very real, and it can cripple lives, but there is hope! It isn't just the victims that suffer, it's their families as well!

-For more information on PTSD nightmares, please check out this link. There are many others, a well as groups in VA hospitals everywhere: treating-flashbacks-nightmares-intrusive-memories/