It took Tamuril a few seconds to realise that she was crying, and even longer to realise that Thranduil was cradling her face in his hands and watching her eyes rather intently as she snapped back to the moment.
The opening to the King's tent was then suddenly flung open, the guards drawn by Tamuril's screams and concerned for their king. Thranduil lifted a hand without taking his gaze from Tamuril's face, signalling that it was alright. Though they did briefly hesitate, they turned and left dutifully all the same.
Tamuril was taking deep, shuddering breaths, unable to calm herself down or rid her mind of the image from the nightmare. The picture in her mind blended together in a similar way it did in the dream. In her mind's eye she saw Haldir leaning in to kiss her, his beautiful face alight with joy, but his perfect skin soon melted away as the image morphed with the imaginings her brain had conjured up, bloody and broken.
"Shhh. Thuia." Breathe. Thranduil soothed, from his place beside her, needing her to come fully back to the present moment quicker than she was.
Many a night - after the death of his wife, after the subsequent wiping out of the Gundabad orcs, after the kiss of the dragon's breath, after his father's fall, and after a good many others things - Thranduil had found himself plagued by the nightmares. The violent, bloody, gruesome, grief-enduced nightmares. Sometimes he found that he still was, and maybe that was why he took such little interest in true, deep rest. He did not want to be caught by it - it was outwith his control and caused him to feel weak. Regardless, he recognised it in the distressed girl sitting before him, and he wished that he could make it go away.
He had been unable to find much rest himself, though some part of him had been pleased when he heard the peredhel's breathing grow softer from across the room as the arms of sleep took her and the anxiety he'd been able to feel emanating off her had ebbed away. He figured that it was their argument that had her feeling such a way - or maybe she was just intimidated by a king. He didn't know and, truthfully, he didn't particularly care.
Still, much like it had in Rivendell when he had stood on the other side of the door listening to her cry, his heart had gone out to her.
"Look at me." He murmured, but when she seemed not to hear him his tone became a little harder. "Tamuril! Look at me."
Finally, she focused again, blinking her full attention back to his face. A fresh tear fell from her eye and without much thought he brushed it away with his thumb as he looked back at her.
"Th-Thranduil...?" Her voice was quiet as she suddenly realised what had happened.
He ignored the lack of any titles, simply nodding. "Yes." He continued to softly caress her face, watching her carefully. "You're alright now."
As she sat there, focusing on him as he brushed his thumbs over her tears and then dropped his hands to her own, those same thumbs ghosting over the backs of her hands, Tamuril continued to calm down. Her breathing became less shallow and ragged. Her mind started to clear. Her tears dried up.
Soon, she had enough clarity to feel embarrassment. Here she had the King on his knees beside her, drying her tears and tending her as though she were an elfling!
"My King, I... my apologies." She murmured, her tongue feeling heavy in her mouth as she forced the words out.
His mouth briefly pulled into another, small smile before he pulled his hands away and stood in one fluid motion. If she had the wits about her to feel shame and embarrassment then he knew that she was recovered enough for him to take his leave of her.
"Do not apologise for things over which you have no control." He said simply, moving away from her and back over to where he had been lying in rest before she disturbed him.
Tamuril watched him go, feeling unsure and still a little shaky, but also grateful. It had helped - having him there like that. His touch had been grounding in a way. Sometimes, after those dreams, she would be out of sorts for days. She felt much calmer even now as she sat there, minutes later.
She sighed, the sound regaining his attention for a moment but when he saw no fresh distress he returned his attention back to his own thoughts.
"I dreamed about Haldir." She said softly then, and he once more lifted his gaze.
He looked at her for a few quiet seconds and then he nodded. "Yes." That much had not been difficult to ascertain.
Tamuril frowned. "Do you..." She quickly shook her head, pressing her lips together to prevent anything further coming out.
Thranduil frowned ever so slightly, looking at her closely for a long while as he waited for her to finish. She didn't and Thranduil did not ask, instead simply looking away and allowing silence to fall over the tent once more.
A while later, the sky outside began to lighten.
"Feren!" He called and in immediately he rushed, casting a glance at Tamuril that she was quick to turn from out of sheer embarrassment. His expression said more than words could. The whole camp must have heard her!
"We will depart within the hour." Thranduil told Feren, who nodded, as eager to be home as his King was.
Tamuril was riding next to Nessa in the middle of the caravan, quiet since they had set off, but not altogether depressed. Nessa found this quite curious, for usually after a nightmare that had her actually screaming aloud Tamuril would be overly distraught for days. Still, Nessa held her tongue, deciding not to draw attention to it in case she made it worse.
Despite Tamuril's embarrassment, nobody was looking at her anymore. Indeed, only a couple of stares had been sent her way after trailing out of the tent behind Thranduil and the attention she had drawn was soon swiftly moved to fix upon their king as he bid them all to continue on the final leg of their journey. Truthfully, all the elves here knew of Tamuril's situation and they did not really judge her for it. Many had seen their own loved ones succumb to their grief after various losses in battles and, so, they had some experience with the melancholy so deep it could kill and Tamuril, as far as melancholic elves went, was not quite as 'bad' as a lot of them had seen before. One or two wondered if it was due to her peredhel nature but they didn't dwell on it for very long.
As time passed and she left the nightmare behind her, Tamuril found herself beginning to relax. The mood of the wood elves around her, too, had lightened considerably due to the fact they were coming closer to their home. Their home without the shadow of the enemy lying heavily upon it as it had for so many thousands of years. The Battle Under The Trees had cost them, of course it had, but the darkness that had dwelled within Dol Goldur was no more and Sauron was vanquished. Mirkwood, formerly the Greenwood, was now Eryn Lasgalen, the Wood of Greenleaves, and they could all finally breathe the fully free air again.
There was much to grieve but there was also much to be grateful for.
As they finally neared the wood itself, the elves who called this place home began to lighten even further. It was a palpable feeling that seemed to spread over the whole group and, soon, a soft chant-like song had been taken up.
"Lasgalen!" "Lasgalen!" "Eglerio Lasgalen!" "Eglerio Aran Thranduil!"
Praise Lasgalen! Praise King Thranduil!
Eventually, as Nessa beside her, the joyful cries of the wood elves was too much to ignore and Tamuril's voice rose just a little to join theirs. They seemed to welcome it and, somehow, she found herself feeling oddly at ease as she did so, as she rejoiced with these elves who had finally regained their home, in it's truest form, after all of this darkness.
Tamuril cast her gaze ahead, to the front of the group, where Thranduil sat straight and proud atop his war elk. Just before they all set foot into the wood, he turned his head just a little to scan over his people, full of emotion. Tamuril watched and she could have sworn that he paused his scan when he found her in his peripheral vision, and that the slightest smile had tugged at the corners of his mouth.