"Have I done something wrong?" Himelon's inquiry was accented by a tilt of his head and few steps toward Thranduil, "Is it not better to send it home rather than kill it?" Thranduil himself had taken a few steps backward and darkened his glare as the raven haired elf moved forward. As he looked at the other male he saw neither the hurt on his face nor the way the moonlight seemed to bend around Himelon. All he could think of were the battlefields of Mordor and the orcs that rode those creatures. His hand sought out his sword which was not on his hip and the force of Thranduil's fierce glare had caused Himelon to take half a step backward.
"By what black magic did you speak to it?" Thranduil's question had been accented by his physical recoiling away from the other. The more Thranduil thought about the possibilities for how Himelon could have been so calm around the beast, the more he thought about the potential meanings of his hair. There was a black shade dwelling in the other's mind and his hair was as black as raven's feathers. Thranduil had initially assumed Himelon's hair color was a unique trait and nothing more but now he found himself wondering. He wondered if the raven hair could have a meaning like the Sindarin light hair. The lighter the hair the stronger the Sindar elf's light and connection to the Valar. Could the opposite also be applied to Sindar elves? The darker the hair the less light the elf had? That thought brought up the puzzle as to why Thranduil had dreamt of Himelon with his raven hair when the scene of the dream had been Valinor. Thranduil was confused and frightened as to how Himelon could have been so calm around the snarling warg and as to why he had even wanted to save it.
"By the same black magic our kin speak to horses!" Himelon's response had been snapped and forceful as he took another few steps forward, "Do you fear your Silvan subjects when they speak to wolves or deer? It is no different!" Himelon was annoyed now. Thranduil had practically accused him of using black speech to talk to the warg and the raven haired elf couldn't fathom why a woodland King would prefer to kill an animal if it could be persuaded to leave peacefully. Thranduil on the other hand was shock and startled by the raven haired male's sudden outburst. It was true that there was much evidence supporting the fact that Himelon would indeed not be a creature of shadow, but there was enough that Thranduil did not know or understand about the other to sow the seeds of doubt that had motivated his words and actions.
"How am I to be certain?" Thranduil's words came from his lips as a soft sigh while his fierce glare gave way to a softer more troubled expression, "How am I to be certain you did not command that creature the way orcs do?" Thranduil's concern was valid and his intentions were good. In the end he would protect his people even if it hurt himself or the ones he loved. It was his duty as king. What happened next was something Thranduil had never expected. He might have anticipated an argument or even a demand as to what he wanted from the other, but not this. Himelon's gaze had fallen and a soft sigh had left his lips as he rolled up his sleeves and grabbed a vine from a nearby briar patch and wrapped it tightly around his right arm.
"I tell you the truth," the raven haired elf spoke slowly and in a dialect of elvish forgotten to most but understood by all, "I did not speak to the warg by means of any dark force past, present, or yet to exist. Do you accept this truth?" With each word the briars had dug deeper and deeper into Himelon's arm until his moonlight skin was stained crimson and a small pool of blood had accumulated where his arm had been outstretched.
"Yes," Thranduil's reply had come as more of a breathy whisper than a confident reply. Thranduil knew as well as anyone that lying in that ancient tongue was impossible. The Elven King was both amazed and troubled by how Himelon knew such a dialect and disturbed that he had chosen to shed his own blood as proof on top of speaking in ancient elvish. One or the other would have been more than enough! Feeling a shiver run down his spine Thranduil continued to watch as Himelon removed the briars from his arm and let a gentle smile slip over his face as he moved back over to lean on Thranduil's shoulder again.
"Good," the raven haired elf nearly cooed as he nuzzled the starlight haired elf's shoulder, "Because I'm going to need you to take me to the healing chambers. I've forgotten where they are." Thranduil felt a small laugh building up in the back of his throat again. It was a terrible and yet sweet laugh to him. He felt relieved that Himelon hadn't used black magic and also disgusted at himself for even suspecting the one he loved would do something like that. Now Himelon was hurt and bleeding when Thranduil had brought him out here to show him his forest and so that they could gaze at the stars together.
"Then I will carry you," Thranduil's cooed words had been in sync with him scooping the raven haired elf up and moving rather quickly through the forest back to the main path. He successfully drew a surprised squeal from Himelon's lips and felt his own smile grow at feeling the raven haired male's arm wrap tightly around his neck.
"Don't you dare drop me," Himelon had half-seriously laughed as he buried his face into the crook of Thranduil's neck. A part of him really like being carried like this while another part was very embarrassed seeing as how he could have easily walked. None the less Himelon didn't complain. In truth the shocked and concerned expressions on the surprising number of elves still celebrating when they returned to the palace was infinitely more amusing than any reaction them walking in side by side might have gotten.