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The tall, blond elf watched silently as the elf-maid poured dark red wine into the goblet in front of him. His mouth was set into a firm line and his dark eyes were troubled.

"So, are you ever going to tell me the reason for haste in your trip so far west?" Elrond asked with slight amusement.

Thranduil blinked. "I'd rather not. Be foolish to cause alarm over something that probably is nothing."

Elrond narrowed his eyes as he tried to read his ancient cousin. "You heard then?"

"Heard what?" Thranduil asked, chewing repetitively on food he couldn't bring himself to taste.

"Thorin," the brunette replied with a twinge of amusement in his voice. "Spies in the Prancing Pony in Bree said they saw him there alone."

"And?"

"He's traveling," Elrond continued. "Traveling east. Back to Erebor, I suppose."

Thranduil nodded slowly. "And the hobbit?"

Elrond shook his head. "Not with him."

"When was this?" Thranduil cleared his throat, swallowing a large gulp of wine.

"Two days ago. He should be passing by these areas in the next week or so."

The blond hummed quietly and continued eating. "I'll not be staying the night, Elrond. I must get back on the road. I'll travel easier at night."

"Easier?" Elrond nearly scoffed. "Thranduil, you must also know that orcs have been closing in on our borders. Even in the Trollshaws and Bree, they've been spotted. Traveling at night is certainly not easier."

Thranduil clenched his jaw. "I can't stay, Elrond."

"You never told me where you were headed," he reminded the other. "What place could possibly be so important?"

"You wouldn't understand," Thranduil replied quietly. "Hell, I don't even understand, but it has to be done. I better get going." He avoided Elrond's eyes as he stood and downed the last of the wine in the goblet.

Elrond stood as well. "Word travels fast from Erebor," he began again.

Thranduil heaved out a sigh and closed his eyes. "Pray tell, what've you heard now?"

"Prince Kili has fallen ill," Elrond stated. "Is that true?"

It was Thranduil's turn to scoff. "I thought you knew better than to listen to gossip," he smirked.

"Gossip?" Elrond countered, raising an eyebrow. "If it's only gossip, why're you in a hurry?"

Thranduil passed his cousin and headed for the gates. "Prince Kili is the last thing on my mind, old cousin," he called over his shoulder.

He refused to acknowledge Elrond who still wanted to pry information from him as he mounted his horse. Gathering the reins in his hands, he urged the horse forward and shot out from the grounds.

Elrond folded his arms with malcontent, watching the elf disappear into the darkness.

Thranduil cursed under his breath as the horse charged down the hills and plains. The pounding hooves were not at all silent, and he still had miles until he cleared the borders. He had to cross them before he drew unwanted creatures into his kin's realm.

The elves of Rivendell had given his horse food and water along with a healing spell; the horse wouldn't drop dead after this terrible run ended. His mouth formed a tight line again as he chided himself for wanting to continue at night.

He knew he could've been in a lavish room warmed by a fire in the hearth, lying down to proper sleep that he hadn't gotten in over three weeks. Rivendell had been his best shot at comfort in safety. Now, he was on the road and if the weather or conditions called for him to stop, he'd become prey to anything in the wild.

He whispered in elvish, and the horse increased its speed.

"If it's only gossip, why am I in such a hurry," he repeated his cousin's words in a mutter as the horse charged across a river.

He continued on for five miles before he slowed the horse down to a trot. "Quiet," he hissed at the clip-clop of the hooves. He steered the animal into the trees where he dismounted, tying the reins to a stable branch.

A group of cloaked men carrying intimidating weapons like a mace, a sickle, a speared mallet, and a large chunk of wood with a spiral of spiked metal around the end, stalked down the road Thranduil had once been on. Servants of Sauron - hunters, rangers, spies, and killers - no doubt looking for some pricey victim.

Thranduil listened.

"Ridamin down from Dunland, said 'e was there last night," the man carrying the speared mallet grunted. "Alone, even."

"Master's gonna put a price on that curly brunette's head," the one with the sickle chuckled. "I say we clip 'em in the night. Make it quick."

The burly man with the large chunk of wood shook his head. "Nah, we gotta set an example for the rest of 'em. Need a big production. Line 'em all up, bring the curly one out, bash 'em in."

"Talula, from the pub in Bywater, said there's a second curly one. A kid."

"Serves 'im right," one of the men cackled. "I agree with Neg-"

"Aye, got a better idea," the man countered with an evil gleam in his eyes.

The man with the mace clapped the other on the back. "Nah, before you start with your ideas that nearly got us no pay last time, let's check back with our payin' client."

Thranduil narrowed his eyes, keeping eye contact with the man carrying the slab of wood as the group continued down the road. Quiet curses left him and he waited until the men started whistling and disappeared into the darkness before he untied the horse.

He exited the thicket and stepped onto the road. "Let's try to be quiet this time," he muttered, mounting the horse again. He urged it forward.

He continued on down the road, keeping to the treeline as close as he could without startling the horse. His eyes and ears were open and listening for any other voices, noises, danger. He knew what the road to his destination would hold, but he hadn't expected it to last this far west.

It was a slight crack of old wood that startled him, and in the morning, he would open his eyes and greet a familiar face.