I tried not to let Belegorn's ominous final words bother me. But I was distressed enough from the encounter in the study that I detailed the next patrol circuit to be on watch for the wayward prince and send word regularly to the palace of his well-being. But I was busy with overseeing the lumber sent to King Thrain in Erebor and confident in Belegorn's upbringing to worry for too long.

Reports began to filter in of the increasing darkness of Dol Guldur. When Belegorn and I had seen it, many years ago, the evil only resided within the walls and about a quarter-mile outwards into the forest. Now a circumference of three miles or more was affected, the animals turning feral and attacking viciously instead of reproducing and building homes. Only a few scouts were brave enough - or foolhardy, to examine the land nearby. One brought back a spider as tall as a man, dragging the carcass through the city and raising rear among its people before shouting at Thranduil for over an hour, accusing him of neglect. After that, I was detailed to send patrols of fighting men and women to keep the forest where our people dwelt free of the foul spiders.

Something better to hunt. I often found myself pondering these words, and I was stumped on the answer. Belegorn had hunted great wolves in Eriador, and there were few enough creatures I could think of that would be worth hunting and bring pride to my son. Balrogs? Ha - those were long gone. Orcs? He would have to travel far to find enough of those to satisfy him, and Thranduil assured me that Belegorn had not yet left the forest. In my curiosity and worry, I searched the dusty library for hours to find legends and stories of great creatures. If I were him (and I was slightly jealous at the thought), I would travel to Far Harad and hunt a múmakil, or risk nearing Mordor in search of beasts so fell that they had no name. There was little threat from Mordor anymore, as I learned from the small amounts of gossip that entered the forest, as well as from constant correspondence from Elrond.

So intent was I on finding the answer in far-off lands and places of legend that I ignored the enticements that might befall Belegorn from nearer to home. There was little prestigious prey to tempt him here - or so I thought.

That night Thranduil strode into our rooms, his brows pinched together and face creased with worry. I had been writing to Galadriel, but I put it away once I realized my husband's distress. "What is it?" I said, standing from my seat.

"Belegorn. He has left the forest."

"Ah," I said, not surprised at all. I fetched a bottle of wine from a nearby cupboard, uncorking it and passing it to him. He drank directly from the bottle, having collapsed into a seat near the fire. "Well?" I prompted. "To the south, or to west? Surely not the east, I cannot think of anything dangerous enough to draw him there."

"He left to the north, Caradel," Thranduil said quietly, not meeting my eyes. "And perhaps this has been long in coming, but I have discovered I have been in the wrong in the relationship between Belegorn and I."

I was torn between laughter and sympathy. The older voice in my head begged laughter, to tease him for admitting wrongness for the first time in his life. The other voice, which was by nature more feminine and caring, and which spoke of my great love for him, caused tendrils of warmth to crawl down my arms, and I placed my hand on his cheek in sympathy. "There is no fault," I said quietly. "Mistakes have been made by all. I certainly do not feel myself blameless."

"I should have seen it sooner," he said. "How much Belegorn is like you. You hate to be confine, and I knew from when he was young that he felt the same. And yet I kept him here, afraid that he would take off one day and never return, having gotten himself killed in some prideful, foolish mission. I suppose that is why he left."

"I believe it is," I said.

"Would you heed my words if I claimed that it was love that held him back? For all his absurdities - I love him so!" Thranduil's eyes were bright as they gazed into mine, and I grieved further for his troubles. "I lost my mother and my father, and I have always feared losing you. If I were to lose my son...I cannot even consider the anguish that would come of it. I regret what I have done, Caradel, and I wish him to return that I might make amends."

A surge of affection and satisfaction rocked through me. "Very good," I smiled. "I shall send a message by bird, if I can, and ask him to return."

His face slumped into misery. "That will not succeed. He is out of the forest."

"Surely he has not travelled so far," I said. "We would have known if he had left sooner."

"It is not when he left, but rather to where."

My interest piqued. "And where did he travel, my love, that one of your birds might not find him?"

"They could find him, technically."

"Well?" I was growing impatient. "What is the issue?"

"The birds will not travel to such a place. It is a death to all living things," His voice broke, and my normally stern husband, buried his face in his hands.

"Thranduil! Where did he go!" I pulled his hands away. "Tell me!"

He could not meet my eyes. "He went north. He is travelling, alone, to the Withered Heath."

I dropped his hands, and with my stomach sinking like a rock, I stood, numbly walking towards the window. The Withered Heath, what I considered to be the most dangerous place in the north. Where the great dragons breed. I had studied the location extensively in my youth, though I had not given it a thought for many years. In childhood fancy I had often wanted to explore there, perhaps find a dragon egg, hatch it, and raise it for my own. What would Belegorn be seeking at the Heath? There would be no prey for him, there were only dragons to be found.

Dragons. He was hunting dragon.

The spits and snarls of curses that flew from my mouth as I stamped out of the city were something to behold. In my rage, my mind was whirling and spinning, but I was not so blind that I did not see a few mothers place their hands over the ears of their children, shock written on their faces. But I did not care. I had my own child to rescue.

"Fool!" I hissed, kicking open the door of the stables before calling to my mare, trying to put some sweetness in my tone for her. "Bastard!" I resumed the cursing. "Low-life brigand!"

My mare eyed me warily, but I lept upon her and together we shot through the stone walkways of the city towards the gates. A cry went up, and the guards hastily opened the gates for us. Cowardly scum of the earth.

I was too angry to even call him my son. What right had he to put himself in such danger? Why did he think that he might throw away his living breath for some chance at glory? I had given him that breath, and I would be damned if he thought he had the right to extinguish it. Life was far too precious to waste it on trivialities! Pride, I was sure, was certainly trivial.

I had not noticed that I was followed through the city, but once we were in the forest Thranduil finally caught up with me, riding his own stallion. Our eyes met, and in his I saw the same determination that I felt. We were united by a common goal.

Find Belegorn.