Chapter 10

The day when Daenerys was to leave Thranduil's Halls came at last. Luineth and Istuives came forth to bid her farewell, as she was now standing by the bridge. These ellith had been her truest friends during all those months she had spent here, and they were sad to see her go. But the dragons were another matter entirely, and no elf was displeased to see them removed from their home.

The Elvenking himself strode out of the gates then, leading his great elk. He glanced about. There was Daenerys, dressed in hues of light blue, with her silver hair done in fine braids, radiant and beautiful as ever, but her eyes betrayed her sorrow. A large cart awaited at the side, and upon it was an iron cage. The three dragons were locked inside it, and they had barely enough space to move and breathe. Four more elves dressed in a guard's attire were already mounted and awaited departure. They would escort Daenerys to her new home. The King walked up to her, and gave her a small smile.

"Daenerys…"

"My lord", she responded, noticing how his eyes caught and reflected the light of the sun.

"It is time we went. My wish is to accompany you to your dwelling, and make sure you are settled there, and that all your needs are cared for", he told her, and in his tone she could sense some edginess.

"I will be alright. I only wish my dragons did not have to travel caged thus. They are suffering, confined in such a narrow space", she complained.

He glanced at the beasts, which snorted with irritation. "It will be for no more than a day. Talk to them, soothe them, tell them to be patient. And then they can have all the freedom they want", he said.

"Will they?" Daenerys doubted it. The guards would be watching her day and night, and she had been instructed that she would be allowed to take out only one dragon at a time. She and her beasts might be removed from the Halls, but they would not be too far off, in case she wished to cause them harm.

Thranduil sighed, and answered her not. Instead, he motioned for the entourage to start off. Daenerys mounted her horse, and followed the guards. Beside her rode the King, while the dragon-cart lagged behind, pulled by strong but slow oxen. Once again I am driven from a place I have come to call home. How much longer must I live thus? Daenerys wondered bitterly. A sense of forlornness overwhelmed her, and she made to look back at the great cavernous Halls, as they rode across the forest river, but she stopped herself. I must never look back. If I look back, I am lost, she reminded herself, and steeled her resolve. To take her mind off of such treacherous thoughts, she turned her eyes to the King, who rode with a frown and a solemn look was upon him. Clearly, he was no less unhappy than she was.

"Hîr nín", she called to him, and he looked at her. "What troubles you?"

He gazed ahead again, patting lightly the neck of his elk. "I spoke to my son about you the other day. It seems he is of one mind with my councilors. The presence of the dragons has made everyone restless. And I can understand that. I only wish my people trusted me more… but not few are those who dislike me of late, and even consider me half-mad", he murmured gloomily.

"Why would you say so?" she asked him with genuine concern.

He glanced briefly at her. The light of the morning made her eyes gleam like precious amethysts. "The discontent began shortly after the death of my Queen, when I became colder, stricter, and chose to be isolated and withdrawn from the world. But that displeasure, although existent, was not voiced openly. They feared my wrath, I suppose, and understood my pain. But the sentiment was stirred anew when I took you in. They thought me mad to house and feed dragons – dragons, of all things living! Dragonfire nearly destroyed the host of the Valar, dragonfire left me half-burned, dragonfire…" his voice trailed off, while his fingers clutched the reins nervously.

She remembered the councilors mentioning some disfigurement, and now Thranduil himself spoke about being half-burned… But no scars were visible to her. Perhaps it is the exemplary healing capacity of the elves, she thought. "I am sorry you have faced such opposition on my behalf. You should have told me sooner, and I should have left sooner", she said.

"I have walked on this world for far too long…" he murmured, as if he had not heard her words at all. "Perhaps my judgement is clouded."

"It is not", she firmly said, causing him to look at her. "You were not wrong to trust me, and I mean to show you my gratitude. I mean to prove it, in any way I can."

He smiled faintly, but remained silent. They rode south through the forest, on a trail narrow and on uneven ground. The rains of the past days had turned the soil into treacherous mud. Roots protruded from the ground, causing the mounts to misstep often, and branches hang low from the dark trees, hindering their sight. The woods grew denser and a sense of foreboding was about the farther south they went. Daenerys shivered, and held on her horse's reins tightly. She was an excellent rider, having resided with the Dothraki for long, and the difficult ride through the woods did not scare her. What scared her was the forest itself, and for the first time she felt the darkness looming over her from all sides. It was as if a sickness plagued the place, seeping cunningly into every growing thing, tainting it and poisoning it. Shadows crept behind bush and leaf, and whispers flowed in the wind, speaking words in nameless tongues. The light that reached the riders was scarce and dim, and though it was high noon, the woods were dark and grey, and an unnatural chill permeated the air. No birds sang, no winter-flowers bloomed. Everything seemed still and dead, as if frozen in time and place by some greater dark force.

Daenerys glanced at Thranduil. He rode on, his brow set in a deep frown, and his eyes fixed ahead. He looked cold as a statue himself, not unlike his forest. "My lord?" she called to him quietly, and he glanced at her. "The forest is too dark here…" she murmured.

He nodded. "It is as I told you. The long arm of the Enemy has swept through it, depraving it of its beauty and innocence. Now it is bleak, and evil lurks in what once were the greenest trees in all of Middle-Earth. Ride close to me, and fear not. Where the elves tread, foul creatures dare not lightly go."

His voice had been steady and calm, and she placed her trust in him. She looked backwards to where the cart was following. The dragonlings were quiet, looking around them with questioning eyes. They dislike the forest as much as I do, their mother thought. Then she led her mount closer to the King. "The forest around your Halls was not so dark and ominous."

"The power of the elves is stronger there. The creatures of darkness dare not come so close to our abode. But the closer to Dol Guldur we go, the lesser becomes our power, and that of the Dark Lord increases. The woods there are black and barren. Clouds hang heavy always above the fortress, and there is ash and death in the air. Wraiths and evil spirits haunt the place, bearers of the will of Sauron", he described.

Daenerys looked around and nodded. "Tell me about the place I am to live in now", she asked of him.

"An old elven house has been prepared for you. It is half-built in the hillside, and there are large caverns for your dragons to dwell and grow undisturbed. The house has a hearth, and its walls are thick. You shall not lack warmth or protection."

"Protection?"

"You shall have guards stationed there. They will see that no harm comes to you", he replied.

"You mean they will make sure my dragons and I will not seek to harm anyone", she remarked pointedly.

He gave her a stern look. "Be it as it may."

"I pledged you my allegiance", she reminded him.

"I do not forget. And I know you will not seek to harm anyone. The guards have instructions to protect you. I trust you will not feed them to the dragons", he told her with a half-smile.

Laughter escaped her lips, attracting the attention of the other elves. They gave her weird looks. She was being exiled, of a sort. How could she laugh?

"Hush", Thranduil told her. "We best keep quiet here. We never know who might be listening, and the Enemy has many spies in all forms."

"He sounds like a regular King of my world", she commented in bitter jest.

"Is that world of yours really so terrible? I wonder why you wish so fervently to return…"

"Because it is my world. It is where I belong, and where it is my birthright to rule. Would you lightheartedly abandon your own home, even though it might be dark and dangerous?" she challenged him.

He looked at her, and in his eyes she saw all the sorrow of the world. "I have abandoned my home thrice, for thrice it was taken from me. Doriath, Lindon, Amon Lanc. Do you know where Amon Lanc is, Daenerys?" Her puzzled look prompted him to speak on. "It is what we now call Dol Guldur. That fortress up there, black and horrible as it looks today, was once my father's home, and from there he ruled peacefully for a time."

"It must hurt terribly to see your own home defiled by evil…" she mused.

"It does", he simply said, and looked into her eyes. She looked back at him, feeling for his sorrow.

"I know what it means to be chased from your own home, to be forced to seek refuge elsewhere. This has been my life since I was a small child. Hunted by the Usurper's assassins, I was dragged from one place to another, never finding peace. I intend to stop running. I intend to take back what it mine", she said in a low but determined tone.

"If there is a way for you to return to your world, I vow to do everything within my power to find it for you", he told her, and his eyes glowed with tenderness and devotion.

All she wanted then was to reach for him, to take his hand in hers, to feel his soothing touch. But she could not do that. All she could give him now was a smile and a nod, in hopes he could read her thoughts. A familiar light washed over her then, and she embraced the sensation wholly. She knew then he understood what she meant to tell him but could not, and her smile widened. "Thank you", she whispered to him from her heart.

He looked into her eyes for a long moment, unwilling to break the connection. But finally he did, and turned to the retinue. "We shall make camp for the night, for the day is waning", he announced. "We shall reach your new home by tomorrow morning", he told Daenerys, and helped her dismount. In truth, she was perfectly capable of dismounting on her own, but she took advantage of the chance to be closer to him. He took her by the waist, and she placed her hands on his shoulders to steady herself as he lifted her from the saddle. Her weight was nothing to him, and she felt light as a feather in his arms. She held onto him as he gently placed her on her feet, and for a moment his hands lingered on her hips. His eyes were stormy with restrained passion, but he forced himself to disentangle from her. The loss of his touch left her with a feeling of desolation, but she did nothing to prevent him from leaving her. The guards were watching; they were not alone. And even if they were, they both knew very well that there was no future for them. Whatever feelings they might have were doomed to die.

The elves lit a fire and erected three tents. Two larger ones, one for the King and the other for themselves, and a third smaller one for Daenerys. A pot was placed on the fire, and one of the elves took to preparing broth for dinner. Another tended to the mounts, while the rest two took to patrolling the area.

Daenerys went to the dragon-cage. At once her dragons extended their long necks and reached for her fingers. "My poor sweetlings…" she murmured to them lovingly in High Valyrian. "Such proud creatures you are. Will you ever forgive me for the misfortune I have brought unto you? You ought to roam the skies free and strong, not be confined like rats in a cage." A tear rolled down her cheek. Drogon yowled, sensing his mother's distress. "Hush, Drogon. We must be quiet here", she instructed him, stroking him between the eyes. He was pacified, and lowered his head upon his curled tail. "Are you hungry, Rhaegal?" she asked the green dragon, who looked restless. "I will soon bring you food", she promised. He tried to flap his wings in response, only to bump against Viserion, who shrieked menacingly at his brother. "Quiet, quiet now. What did I tell you?" she scolded the pale dragon and he recoiled.

"They are hungry, I imagine", a voice spoke to her from behind, and she turned to see the King. He came and stood beside her. "There, I brought you some slabs of meat to feed them", he told her and passed her a leather sack with cuts of raw meat in it.

"Can we unlock them?"

"It would be unwise now. They might fly off and cause unrest in the woods. We must not attract attention", he replied.

She nodded gloomily, but in understanding. "Be a little more patient, my beautiful little miracles. Soon you will be out of this cage, but it cannot be tonight", she told them. "Feed now", she said and held a piece of meat in front of Drogon's nose. He let out a small flame, roasting the meat, but her hand remained unharmed. Then he took the food form her finger with a gentleness Thranduil thought impossible for such a creature. He watched her in awe as she repeated the process with the rest of the meat, feeding all of her dragons.

"How can it be that the fire does not harm you…" he wondered. "The flames were small, but I could feel their heat, even from a distance".

She turned to him with bright eyes. "I am Targaryen, the blood of the dragon. Fire cannot harm a dragon."

"Yes… And I have seen you touch the flames before, but every time it is a marvel to behold. I wish I had your gift…" he muttered.

She looked at him, and he seemed grim. "You said you were half-burned by dragonfire…" she started, unsure of how to touch upon this subject, for she knew not how he might react.

And true enough, uneasiness crept in his gaze. "I was", he admitted, avoiding her eyes. "Dragonfire nearly killed me... But I was doomed to live."

"Doomed?" she wondered at his choice of word.

"For a long time, it felt like doom. The pain of my burned left side was unbearable. I wished for death to deliver me night and day, but it would not come. I spent endless weeks in agony, unable to sleep, or eat, or even breathe properly", he said, opening his heart to her. He knew not what strange feeling pushed him to tell Daenerys of all this, yet he did, and his heart felt a little lighter for that.

"But you are healed now. I see no scars", she deduced, watching him closely.

"Oh, but there are scars, deep and terrible…" he whispered. "This face you see… is not real", he confessed in a broken tone, and looked at her.

She studied his face, his features. They seemed perfect as ever to her. "What do you mean?"

"Would you care to see my true face? It is a horrid sight, though, ugly, forever bearing the mark of my past." His gaze flickered, as he awaited her response.

Fear took hold of her. What could he possibly mean? But she would not cower now. "I would", she told him, never removing her eyes from his.

He took a shaky breath. If he showed her his true from, he risked losing her. She might look at him with disgust and fear, she might walk away from him, she might… But something in his heart urged him to trust her. And so he did, and he removed the façade of beauty that covered the scars on the left side of his face and body. And those scars were revealed to her.

Daenerys watched the beauty of his face fade, and its place took long scars, reaching from ear to cheek and extending down his neck, disappearing underneath his collar. Skin and muscle had become one contracted, stiff and inflexible mass, while his left eye was milky-white and blind. Her brow trembled, and compassion filled her gaze. But she moved not from her place, and kept looking at him with sorrow.

"Please, do not look at me with pity", he asked of her, and turned his face away, hiding his injured side from her sight, his lips now drawn into a thin line and his brow furrowed. He hated inducing the pity of others, and that was the main reason he had chosen to put a glamor over his scars. He cared little to seem beautiful, but he cared much not to be seen as weak and pitiful.

She shook her head. "No, not pity. Do not turn your face from me", she demanded in a voice firm but gentle. Reluctantly he obeyed, and she saw his scars again. But this time her gaze did not flicker. Instead, she lifted her hand and touched his deformed cheek. He shivered, and closed his eyes. "You have every right to abhor dragons. Their fire ruined you. But I promise you that dragonfire will save you, too."

She dropped her hand, daring not to linger much, lest she cause him discomfort. He sighed, glad that she accepted him as he was, but missing her touch already. But he did not allow his sorrow to show. "Thank you for seeing beneath the surface. It means a lot to me", he told her.

Daenerys smiled, and took his left hand. It was also scarred, the skin dry and taut over the tendons and bones. Her smile slowly faded then, and she asked him, "How far do these scars extend?"

"All of the left side of my body. Face and shoulder, arm and hip and leg. All of it a bitter ruin of skin and sinew", he replied in plain words, frank and clear as the sun on a summer day.

"And you bore your pain alone?"

"No… I was very young when this happened, and I had my parents to care for me. Had it not been for their love, I would have certainly given myself unto death. For the knowledge that my beauty had been ruined devastated me. It may sound trivial to you, and I care little for my beauty today, but at the time everything look different to me. The pain of my injuries combined with my despair made my days an endless torment. I thought there would be no future for me, so unsightly was my visage… And physical perfection is celebrated by the elves. My thoughts were to abandon life, and I yearned for death to take me… But my parents' tireless care and constant presence by my side gave me the will and the strength to live. My father would sing to me of my bravery to face a dragon on my own, and my mother would soothe my fears, when I spent the nights crying like a babe in her arms, although I was a child no more. The ache on the left side of my body stole away my sleep, and took years to subside… For a human would have perished from injuries such as mine. But elves are far more durable, and we can overcome grievous wounds, unless we forsake life, and grief consumes us. But my fate was to live on, and forever to bear the mark of my past", he explained in a low and defeated tone.

She took his right hand as well, holding them both now. "Death seems so compelling and sweet at times. I do not know what bound me to life after I lost my son and my husband. Perhaps it was the hope that their deaths could pay for life for my dragons. And with that crazy thought I climbed onto Drogo's pyre and laid the eggs beside him, and allowed the flames to take us all. I was not wrong, for I woke with three dragon hatchlings in my arms. You see, Thranduil, no death is in vain, and life is a precious gift, and it is not given lightly, or to be wasted and thrown away", she told him, and warmth emanated from her body, and her fingers caressed his with utmost tenderness.

He looked at her and marveled. "Such wisdom coming from one so young, and yet here I stand with all my countless years, and I am not half as wise as you", he uttered.

"Wisdom comes naturally to women, for all our life is pain and sacrifice", she replied.

He freed his good hand and lightly touched her braid. "It need not always be so, my Queen of the Seven Kingdoms."

She spontaneously smiled at his unexpected comment, and Drogon snorted from within the cage, reminding them of the dragons' presence. "Perhaps one day it will not", she murmured, turning from Thranduil to stroke the black dragon's nose.

The King then brought back the glamor upon his scars and straightened his back. "I shall walk back to the fire now. Dinner must be ready. Join me whenever you wish", he told her.

She looked at him and nodded, and then he left.

The night had fallen for good, when Thranduil heard the front sheet of his tent rustling open. He sprang to his feet and peered into the darkness. "Who walks there?" he demanded, reaching for his sword.

But then the dim candlelight revealed the face of Daenerys. "I do", she said.

"So bold of you to walk into my tent at such an hour", he commented, hasting to tie the cord of his robes around his waist.

"It is", she admitted, and came to stand before him. A glance to the back informed her that the King traveled with little luxury, for there was no bed, but only furs and sheets on the ground. A lone candle on a flat rock provided the room with flickering light, and on a wooden tripod hung the Elvenking's armor and cloak.

He gazed down at her, and the fire in her eyes flustered him. "What do you want?" he asked in a nearly hissing voice.

"I could not sleep. How could I, knowing that come tomorrow you and I will be sundered?" She stepped closer still, her body only a breath away from his. "I had to see you."

"Daenerys…" he sighed, inhaling her intoxicating scent. "This is a mistake", he protested, and yet his eyes wandered from her eyes to her lips, and lower still, to the gentle swell of her breasts beneath her tunic.

"Is it?" Her fingers went to the hollow of his throat, where his loose robes exposed his skin. She touched him lightly, tracing the line of his clavicle up to his shoulder. "I want to see your scars. I want to see you", she asked of him, and her eyes were burning with yearning for him, for all that he could give her.

He looked at her for a long moment, and then his hand went to the loose knot. One decisive tug at the cord and it fell apart, and his robes slid from his shoulders and pooled around his feet. He was stark naked beneath, but Daenerys was not embarrassed to gaze at his nudity. He slowly let the glamor fade, and once again the horrible scars appeared on his face. But now she could see them in all their horrid glory, for truly, as he had told her, they ran down the whole of his left side, stopping just below the knee. Gone was the strong curve of his shoulder, and tight skin covered his ribs. White scar tissue glistened along his long lower limb, but she noticed that the marks on his upper body were worse.

"It was towards the end of the War of Wrath… Morgoth, sensing his impending defeat, unleashed his most terrible servants from Angband. It was the first time that Middle-Earth saw the winged serpents scour the skies. When Ancalagon and his minions flew forth, the ground shook and tempests of fire and lightning accompanied their attack", he started solemnly. "I served in King Thingol's military at the time, a Lieutenant in his army. I stood with my soldiers, swords drawn in defiance, but in truth the blood was frozen in our veins. The dragon came from above", he narrated. "A beast huge as a tower, crimson-scaled and fork-tongued. My valiant warriors darted in front of me, taking the worst of the flames. I managed a deep gash in the beast's underbelly before I felt half of my body being set aflame. Blinding pain took me, and I felt my flesh melting on my bones. My skin on my chest boiled beneath my red-hot plate armor, and the metal stuck on it. I cannot tell you what a torture it had been to remove the armor from my body afterwards. All I remember is sizzling pain, and crippling fear", he sighed, and a tremble shook him, as the memories were now vivid in his mind.

Wordlessly she caressed his left shoulder, and felt him shiver. Her hand then softly glided down his arm, until she took his hand in hers. "You have trusted me with your truth."

"You should never have doubted my trust", he whispered to her in a voice thick with emotion.

She pulled him to her then, and wound her arms about him, drawing him into a tender embrace. He held her to his breast, and lowered his lips on her head, dropping a kiss on top of it. Her fingers traced his back, strong and healthy on the right side, scarred and ruined on the left. He was naked in her arms, vulnerable and exposed, without his glamor to hide him or his cold and detached manner, which she knew was his defense against the evils of the world. He was just a man – an ellon – in her arms, a man who had suffered a lot through his life, but was so afraid and even ashamed to seek comfort, acceptance, solace – love.

She drew a little back then, and lifted her eyes to his. One clear silver-blue eye looked back at her, and a blind white one stared blankly into the void. "I do not want you to feel sorry for me. I do not want you to pity me", he murmured.

"No." A small smile rose on her lips, and in her eyes he saw the kindest look he had ever seen. "You want me to love you."

His lips parted, and his heart skipped a beat. You want me to love you. How true it rang in his ears! How liberating, once spoken by her, the truth he had been denying for centuries. He wanted to be loved. Such plain and yet such powerful words.

And yet his words betrayed him. "I would never…"

"Hush. Speak not. I would rather you gave me what you since long owe me", she told him, and moved one hand to cup his cheek, her eyes dancing on his lips now.

Her touch set his skin ablaze with desire. How much longer would the dam that confined his feelings and his needs hold? Mirroring her move, his fingers grazed her chin, her jawline, her ear, falling to the back of her head. Slowly his face descended upon hers, and she eagerly reached for him, tiptoeing, for he was much taller than her. Her effort made him smile, and he put an arm around her, holding her close and steady. Her front was pressed against his, and desire pooled in her loins. His lips touched hers then, slow and tentative, but Daenerys was done being reluctant. Her mouth opened for his, inviting him to taste her. And then the dam of his feelings broke, and he gave in to her kiss with fervor, his tongue playing with hers, exploring, teasing, arousing. His arm around her back pressed her closer still, while the other held her face to his, fingers threading through silver tresses, while his mouth ravished hers, unable to get all he wanted, starving for her kiss and never sated.

She molded her body against his, digging her fingers into the skin of his back. As she traced the scars, she thought with sorrow that he probably felt nothing on the left side. Neither cold nor warmth, neither pain nor her arduous touch. Her hands traveled lower then, resting on his narrow hips. She longed to touch him further, but she worried not to upset him, for she knew that elves were not like men in the ways of love, and cherished and revered bodily union as something sacred. And so she refrained from touching him, although the persistent press of his manhood against her belly told her that he truly wanted her, body and soul.

He broke their kiss for air then, and rested his forehead against hers, holding her now by the shoulders. His heart was beating wildly in his chest. What am I doing? He reprimanded himself mentally for giving into his desire. "This is folly…" he muttered breathlessly.

"Thranduil…" she touched his cheek and forced him to look at her. "Denying the truth will not unmake it. What we feel… it is real."

She kissed him again then, more languidly this time, giving him time to adjust and accept it. He shivered once more in her arms as she kissed him, overwhelmed with his feelings for her. And his mouth was hers, his tongue eagerly twining with hers again, tasting her, kissing her with abandon. His hands dared glide over her hips, following the enticing curves of her body. Upwards they moved, and then downwards, repeating the motion a few times, as if he was mapping her shape and committing it to memory. His breath came more erratic then, as his hands slid to her backside, gently squeezing her flesh there. She gasped, and he squeezed her again, aroused further by her reaction.

She burned to touch him then, but she put all her will not to. It was all happening so fast; what if they regretted it afterwards? "Thranduil", she called to him, breaking their kiss. He looked at her in a daze. "We should stop."

His gaze cleared then, and he removed his hands from her hips. He took a small step back, disentangling himself from her. Chill air engulfed him, taking the place of her warmth. His chest and neck were flushed with lingering excitement, while his manhood stubbornly declared his yearning for her. A wave of shame drowned him then, and he hastened to retrieve his robes from the ground. "Yes", he muttered uneasily.

But she placed a hand on his shoulder as he stooped, noticing his discomfiture. He turned his eyes to her and rose to his height, holding the garment to his front. "What is this sudden notion of modesty, my proud King?" she teased him sweetly.

He smiled and cast his eyes low, feeling his anxiousness gradually dissipate. "I felt embarrassed under your gaze, when you told me to stop", he confessed.

"You need not be. Make no mistake, I desire you as much as you desire me… But I feared you might regret it afterwards, if we indeed lay together tonight", she told him. "Embarrassment is mine, for strolling audaciously into the King's tent in the dead of night."

Calmer now, he caressed her tresses. "I regret nothing." The glamor was back on his face, and he looked at her with gleaming eyes. "But I will not haste to have all of you at once. It is my promise to you that I will return to you in your new home."

She peered deep into his eyes and nodded. "And I will hold you to your promise."

At that she parted from him, and with one last look she turned and marched out of the tent. Thranduil lowered himself on his makeshift bed, though he much doubted that any sleep would come to him tonight, after what he had just tasted.