Chapter Six
Ayla had dreamt of something that had confused her the night before her planned outing into Dale with Thranduil. In her dream Thranduil was with her but she could not see his face clearly. She would only get flashes of white, sharp canines meant to bite into her skin and a brief few seconds of darkened predatory eyes that sent a shiver of alarm down her spine instead of excitement. She instinctively knew it was Thranduil even though she felt no connection to him, which was strange because he is her Fated, yet something was off…
She was afraid as she watched his shadowed face descend upon her.
Why was she afraid? Did she not love him? Had he not shown her anything short of kindness and patience?
Does she even love him?
Is what she had felt not love?
What if…
When she woke that morning to the music of birds twittering and trilling their early greetings Ayla felt a pit had settled in her stomach. What did it mean? Why would her dreams allude to her needing to be wary of her prince? Why would she doubt her feelings so suddenly after such a dream? Unless…her dreams had never led her astray from the truth. Her Gift had always been accurate, especially when it came to something life altering, such as when her mother had died, or when her father had given her to his enemy.
A spark of anger ignited within her at the memory. Once upon a time she had been so ashamed of being so angry towards her father, until Mairon had shown her that she was within her rights to feel such an emotion. Her father and brothers, her kin, had willingly sacrificed her. And Mairon… he had helped her through her anger and shame. He had done nothing short of encouraging her to bloom into the woman she was meant to be and somehow around Thranduil, her old habits were returning. They were muddying the woman she was as the timid, weak version of herself was slowly climbing out of the mire of her past, whispering doubts and fears. Undoing everything Mairon had done to bring her out of her shell of what Western society believed omega's to be.
He did so much for her over the years.
And she betrayed him by running away…but he had killed their son…right?
She had witnessed it.
Her baby's beautiful essence absorbed into a singular ring of power.
Power fueled by theirhertheir son's soul.
Yet, she had not felt his death…his soul had not been destroyed.
Had she overreacted?
Dread and guilt had made its home within her chest. Hindsight often was cruelly clearer and now she was beginning to question her brazen choices. Was it too late? No! She couldn't think like that. She had found her Fated. Thranduil is her Fated. Mairon is not. Mairon—the Dark Lord—he is the villain. He has always been, and always will be, the villain! So why does her heart weep with longing?
When she had gotten ready with the help of Kwenthrith she kept her worries to herself, not wanting to spoil the day of finally seeing the city.
Yet the worry niggled at the back of her mind.
She stared into the mirror at her reflection, tracing her fingers over her mating mark. Was I wrong this whole time? she wondered as she continued to stare at her reflection and noticed how the background darkened until it was all black. She gasped softly when she saw a shadowed figure approach the glass, as if coming up right behind her, yet she dared not move. Her wide eyes transfixed upon the figure as his imposing form loomed large.
Her heart was pounding in her chest as the shadows leeched away to reveal Mairon. His beauty was still captivating even in a vision as his dark eyes appeared to be looking into her own.
Her lips parted, sucking in a slow breath, her tongue prepared to speak when he raised a hand to halt her. In his other, he held up an orb in his large palm and Ayla immediately recognized it as a Palantir. She had seen it many times upon its cushioned pedestal within the library, but rarely gave it much attention, never having a need for its use, unlike her mate. But seeing it in his hand she knew that he could see her, that he had been watching her, spying on her in the company of another man—another alpha. Ayla should be horrified by this realization, yet, strangely, even foolishly, she was happy.
Then she remembered what he had done to their son. Her gaze fixed itself onto the golden ring on his right index finger and the pain in her heart returned as she placed her hands upon her chest.
Sauron lifted his right hand to show her the ring, letting her see the glow of their son's soul, gently pulsing to the fluttering beat of an infant's heartbeat. Ayla's eyes widened again as she looked up at her mate and he only gave her a single nod before vanishing, returning the mirror's reflection back to normal.
She blinked, her heart still racing as a new realization came upon her.
She truly had been foolish.
But what to do? Thranduil is her Fated, yet this sudden surge of desire to flee the Woodland Realm in favor of Mordor was overwhelming. But what if it really were a trick? A ploy? No, her mate is many things, but he would never stoop so low as to trick her so cruelly. From what little she knew about the powers of a Palantir, it took great effort of focus for it to work accurately, especially when piercing through the veil of elven magic. He would not waste his powers on something as cheap as trickery.
Then realization struck her—if he knew where she was, who she was with, then surely, he would send one of his riders or a small army to come for her. Possibly wage war against the elves. As horrifying of a prospect as that was Ayla strangely felt giddy at the idea of being the reason behind the start of such an event.
"Don't be silly." she quietly chided herself, pausing when she recalled that dark, ominous dream.
xxxxx
The alley was still as Ayla gasped, her gaze locking with that of her elder brother, Isildur. The years had changed him, but his eyes still held the same flicker of anger and confusion. His hands, though roughened from battle, trembled as they gripped her arm with barely contained fury.
"Brother," Ayla's voice was hushed, the shock apparent on her face. She never imagined she would see him here, in the City of Dale, far from the lands of Gondor.
Isildur's grip tightened as he scanned her, as if struggling to believe she was truly standing before him. "You shouldn't be here." His voice was laced with frustration and anger. He didn't release her but also didn't draw her in for an embrace. "How are you here? What happened?"
Ayla's mind raced. What could she possibly say? How could she explain her abandonment of the West, her flight from Sauron's dominion, and the tangled feelings that now swirled within her heart? She couldn't admit to her growing doubts or the strange pull she still felt toward Mairon. Not to him. "Please, let me explain," she began, her voice cracking under the weight of her guilt.
But Isildur's eyes hardened. "You're the reason the treaty between Gondor and Mordor has been shattered." His voice was low, each word a crushing blow. "You caused this. Innocents—our people—are dying every day. Soldiers, families... their blood stains the earth because of your selfishness. Because of you, our people are starving, desperate, and suffering."
Ayla shook her head in disbelief. Mairon wouldn't—but then again, he did decimate an entire tribe of dark elves for kidnapping and hurting her. It should not come as a surprise to her to hear that he would go as far as break a peace treaty to get her back. Was it because he loved her or because he needed her powers of foresight? The doubt within her chest squeezed painfully between her ribs as guilt flooded her mind. Her old self whispering into her ear of how disappointed her mother would be were she still alive.
Ayla's head bowed in submission, whatever remained of her self-respect was ready to be crushed under the boot of oppression. In the eyes of alphas, an omega like her was equal to property. Her thoughts spiraled, but there was no time to dwell. Thranduil's voice rang out from behind her, sharp and filled with authority. "Ayla!" He stormed toward them, the tension palpable. His guards were just behind him, but their presence felt unnecessary as the Elven prince took command of the alley with his sheer will.
Isildur's head whipped toward Thranduil, his stance immediately defensive. "Leave, elf. This does not concern you."
"Unhand my mate, filth." Thranduil snarled, his long legs closing the distance between them in a flash. Isildur tensed as Thranduil's dominant aura filled the narrow space between them, but Ayla quickly stepped between the two alphas, her body acting as a fragile barrier.
"No! Please, don't hurt him," she pleaded, her hand outstretched toward Thranduil as she positioned herself protectively between him and her brother. "My lord, he is my brother."
Thranduil's eyes widened as he looked up at the other alpha, taking in the familiar sigil of Gondor on the chest plate. He recalled Ayla mentioning that she had two older brothers, but she had not gone further to elaborate, and he was left to fill in the gaps alone. He had simply labeled her family as villains in his mind for giving her away to a cruel alpha who had mistreated her. Yet she had placed herself between them like a shield. Why?
Did she not despise the family who abandoned her?
"Ayla, you will leave with me at once." Isildur said, his voice firm. He stepped forward and took her by the arm, pulling her toward him. "You have to return. Gondor needs you." But before he could move, Thranduil's hand shot out, gripping Isildur's wrist with a ferocity that made his intentions clear.
"She belongs to me now." Thranduil's voice was dangerously low, his alpha dominance leaking through every syllable. Isildur bristled but didn't release her arm.
"You are the one who is in the wrong, elf! How dare you lay hands upon an omega that does not belong to you." Isildur said venomously.
"Ayla is mine." Thranduil snarled dangerously, flashing his sharp canines at Isildur. "Blood kin or not, I will not hesitate to cut off the hand that touches her."
"Whatever intentions you have towards my sister ceases here. She must return and assume her duties or else Gondor will be plunged into darkness." Isildur said, stepping closer to Thranduil. "The Dark Lord's armies are already at our gate, do not think your kind will be spared by acting neutral. His unnatural army will destroy us all if you do not willingly release his omega."
Ayla's breath hitched at Isildur's words, her heart clenching painfully. The armies… already marching? Thranduil's grip on her tightened, his protective instincts flaring at the threat.
"Ayla, do you wish to go with him?" Thranduil asked, his voice steady but cold. The question hit her harder than she expected. For a brief moment, her heart lurched. Returning to Mairon meant facing the truth about their son, confronting her past... it also meant peace for her people.
But she couldn't go back. Not now.
"No," she whispered, a wave of determination rushing through her. She turned back to her brother, her eyes darkening with the weight of her decision. "I am not a pawn to be moved between kingdoms." Before either Thranduil or Isildur could react, Ayla raised her hand, gripping Isildur's forearm tightly. Her Gift flowed through her, subtle yet potent as always. Isildur's eyes clouded as her vision took hold.
The world around him blurred, and he found himself on a battlefield, his sword heavy with the blood of comrades and enemies alike. The One Ring, glinting in the moonlight, called to him, its power intoxicating. But as he reached for it, darkness overtook him. His body contorted, broken, the corruption of the Ring spreading through his veins like a poison. He saw his face, hollow and twisted, no longer human but a wraith consumed by greed and power.
The vision shattered as Ayla released him. Isildur stumbled back, horror etched across his features. "What… what have you done?"
"I showed you your fate," Ayla said quietly, her voice resolute. "It's the future you will face if you continue on this path."
Isildur trembled, still reeling from the vision. He looked at her with newfound fear, understanding dawning on his face. Her power had grown—she was no longer the meek little sister he once knew. Thranduil stood frozen in place. He had witnessed something beyond his comprehension. The omega he believed he was protecting had just wielded a power he hadn't even known she possessed. Her true identity—the daughter of Elendil—was now glaringly clear. The weight of her heritage, her power, and the secrets she had kept hit him all at once.
"Ayla…" His voice wavered as he spoke, "You… you are the daughter of Elendil?"
Ayla's shoulders sagged, a small weight of her past fully revealed. "Yes," she said quietly, "I am the daughter of Elendil, the princess of Gondor. I kept it from you because your father, King Oropher, made sure I did."
Thranduil's eyes widened. "My father…?"
"He blackmailed me," Ayla continued, her voice steadier now. "He threatened to send me back if I ever told you the truth."
Thranduil's world spun. He had always known his father was ruthless, but to have forced Ayla into silence? To have manipulated her like this? Anger and confusion warred within him.
"You…" He struggled to find words, his voice a mix of betrayal and sorrow. "Why didn't you tell me?"
Ayla met his gaze, her expression softening, though her resolve never wavered. "Because I was afraid. Afraid of what would happen if you knew who I really was. But I'm not afraid anymore." She stepped closer, her aura no longer timid or docile but one of quiet strength. "I am more than just an omega, Thranduil. And I will not hide anymore."
The weight of her words hung heavy between them. Thranduil, for the first time in his life, was faced with a version of Ayla he never expected—a woman who didn't fit the image of the docile omega he had been raised to believe in. He was left grappling with the depth of her power and her identity, questioning everything he thought he knew about the role she was meant to play in his life.
And Ayla… Ayla was no longer waiting for someone to save her.
She was becoming her own savior.
Isildur's face twisted in disbelief as Ayla stepped away from him, her hand still tingling with the power she had unleashed in his mind. His eyes, now haunted by the vision of his grim fate, flickered between anger and fear. He couldn't reconcile this fierce woman before him with the sister he had known.
"You would show me such things? Turn your back on your blood?" he spat, rising to his feet, his hand hovering dangerously close to the hilt of his sword.
Ayla straightened, the soft breeze of Dale stirring her cloak, her turquoise eyes holding his with an intensity that matched the storm inside her. "I showed you the truth, Isildur. What you choose to do with it is your decision."
"You're a traitor, Ayla!" he growled, finally drawing his sword. The steel glinted in the late afternoon light, sharp and deadly. "You turned your back on your family, your kingdom."
Without hesitation, Ayla stepped forward, her gaze unwavering. "I've been abandoned by my family before, Isildur. I won't let it happen again."
Isildur lunged at her, his movements quick and powerful, the years of battle experience evident in the way he wielded his blade. But Ayla was faster, a flicker of movement as she sidestepped his attack, her reflexes sharpened by years of training under the Dark Lord's Generals' harsh discipline. She swiftly took the daggers from one of the elven guards, wielding them with skillful ease.
The clash of metal echoed in the alley as Isildur's sword met her crossed blades, sparks flying between them. Ayla pushed back, her feet finding perfect balance as she spun around, her body moving with the grace of a seasoned warrior. The basic training she had received from her older brothers who were humoring their baby sister and her lessons with the Dark Lord's generals melded into a fluid dance of skill and precision. Isildur barely kept pace, his strikes growing more desperate as he realized he was fighting a version of his sister he had never anticipated.
"Where did you—?" He barely managed to speak between strikes, his voice breathless with both effort and surprise.
Ayla parried his blows effortlessly, her mind focused and sharp. She wasn't just defending herself; she was proving a point. "I am not the fragile girl you left behind. I am no longer the pawn you all thought I was."
She dodged a wild swing, moving behind Isildur with the swiftness of a shadow. Before he could turn, Ayla struck, the hilt of her dagger colliding with his ribs through the gap in his armor, striking a solid blow, and knocking the wind from his lungs. Isildur stumbled, his sword hand faltering, and Ayla kicked his weapon from his grip. The sword clattered to the ground, a sharp sound of defeat ringing through the alley.
Panting, Isildur fell to one knee, clutching his side as he looked up at his sister in disbelief. Ayla held her ground, her chest heaving with the exertion but her eyes calm and steady.
"This… this isn't you," Isildur rasped, his voice tinged with bitterness and pain. "What has he done to you?"
Ayla lowered her daggers to her sides. "He helped me become who I was meant to be," she said softly, her words filled with a quiet conviction that left Isildur stunned. "He did what none of you ever did."
Thranduil stood at the entrance of the alley, his gaze fixed on Ayla, struggling to reconcile this fierce warrior before him with the omega he thought he knew. His thoughts raced, swirling with questions and confusion.
Ayla turned to Thranduil, her gaze softening. "He won't be back," she said with finality. Her brother, defeated and humiliated, rose slowly, his face a mix of pain and betrayal.
"You've doomed us all," Isildur muttered, staggering backward, clutching his ribs as he retreated. "May the gods have mercy on your soul."
He disappeared into the shadows of the city, his defeat weighing heavily in the air.
Ayla stood there for a moment longer, her breath slowing, her heart still pounding from the fight. She turned back to Thranduil, her eyes filled with a mixture of defiance and sorrow. "This is who I am," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath, though it carried the weight of truth. "Not the timid girl you clearly hoped I would be."
Thranduil stepped forward, his confusion and anger melting into something more complex—admiration tinged with uncertainty. He had seen her powers, her strength, and her independence in a new light. The woman before him was not the omega he had been raised to expect, nor the timid soul he had first brought into his realm.
"You're not what I thought," Thranduil finally said, his voice soft but carrying a note of respect. "And I think I've been wrong about many things."
Ayla's heart tightened at his words, her hand still gripping the hilt of her dagger. "We've both been wrong."
And with that, the weight of the battle between them was finally settled. But the greater war, both outside and within their hearts, had only just begun.
xxxxx
As they rode back to Mirkwood, Ayla could feel the tension growing between her and Thranduil. His normally calm demeanor had been replaced by a heavy silence that made her stomach churn. She kept her gaze forward, trying to focus on the swaying trees rather than the palpable discomfort radiating from the prince beside her. The confrontation with Isildur had been emotionally draining, and she could feel her brother's parting words gnawing at her, reminding her that her blood ties to Gondor could never truly be severed.
When they finally arrived back at the Woodland Realm, Ayla dismounted first, her feet barely touching the ground before Thranduil followed. He was composed, but the subtle clenching of his jaw and the tightness in his movements betrayed his emotions. His piercing gaze lingered on her before he broke the silence.
"Ayla, we need to talk." His voice was calm, but it lacked the warmth she had come to expect.
Ayla nodded, already anticipating where this conversation was heading.
They retreated to Ayla's private chambers, a quiet space away from the prying eyes of the court. Once inside, Ayla turned to face him, her expression unreadable. She had come a long way from the timid omega she once was, but now she felt the weight of her past pressing down on her, and there was no escape.
"You should have told me," Thranduil said after a long pause, his voice low. "About your powers. About your past."
Ayla's breath hitched, her heart hammering in her chest. She had known this moment would come, but nothing could have prepared her for the intensity in his eyes.
"I wanted to tell you," she said softly, her fingers trembling slightly as she clasped them together. "But your father—"
"My father blackmailed you," Thranduil interrupted, his eyes narrowing. "I know. But you should have trusted me."
Ayla met his gaze, her own eyes filling with a mixture of guilt and defiance. "How could I trust you? I barely trusted myself after what happened in Mordor."
"Mordor," Thranduil echoed, the name tasting bitter on his tongue. "You've lived a life I couldn't have imagined. I won't pretend to understand it all, but what I do know is that your power, your foresight… it could be invaluable to this realm. To my people."
There was a shift in his tone, one that made Ayla's blood run cold. It was subtle, but she could feel the change. He wasn't talking about her as his mate anymore—he was talking about her as an asset. A tool.
Ayla took a step back, the distance between them feeling vaster than ever. "Is that all I am to you now? A means to an end? Someone you can use to protect your kingdom?"
Thranduil hesitated, and for a moment, Ayla saw the flicker of doubt cross his face. But it was gone just as quickly as it had appeared.
"You're more than that," he said, his voice softening. "But your powers… they could help us. Your brother, for all his fault, was right. We are on the brink of war, Ayla. If you could use your gift to foresee what's coming, to protect us from the darkness threatening to swallow us whole—"
Ayla's eyes flashed with anger, cutting him off sharply. "No. I am not some weapon to be wielded. I am not your puppet."
Her words hung heavy in the air, and Thranduil's gaze darkened. He opened his mouth to respond, but then closed it again, his expression unreadable. His silence was louder than any argument they could have had.
Without another word, Thranduil turned and stormed out of the room, leaving Ayla standing there, her heart heavy with the realization that her life in the Woodland Realm was about to change drastically.
xxxxx
Thranduil stormed through the halls of the Woodland Realm, his mind racing. When he reached his father's private chambers, he pushed the doors open with force, startling the Elvenking from his reading.
"Thranduil," Oropher greeted, his voice calm but cautious. "What troubles you?"
Thranduil's eyes burned with fury. "You blackmailed her. You forced her to keep her powers and her past from me."
Oropher leaned back in his chair, unperturbed by his son's anger. "It was necessary."
"Necessary?" Thranduil snarled. "You played a dangerous game with her. She's been through enough already, and now she's questioning everything—questioning me."
"She would have left," Oropher replied coolly, rising to his feet. "And if she had, her powers would have been lost to us. Do you not see the bigger picture, Thranduil? That omega's gift is beyond precious. The foresight she possesses could mean the difference between survival and annihilation for our people."
Thranduil's anger flared again, but deep down, he knew his father was right. He hated the way Oropher had manipulated the situation, but now, knowing the extent of Ayla's abilities, he couldn't shake the thought that her powers could indeed be the key to their survival.
"We need her," Oropher continued, his voice growing serious. "With the darkness spreading across Middle Earth, we cannot afford to lose an asset like her. She belongs here, under our protection."
Thranduil clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white. He loathed how easily his father could reduce everything to cold calculations. But the reality was clear. Ayla's powers were invaluable and keeping her within the Woodland Realm was not just a matter of sentiment—it was a matter of survival.
After a long silence, Thranduil finally spoke. "You're right. She must stay."
Oropher smiled, his cold eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "I knew you'd see reason, my son. Ayla's powers will protect us all, if only we can control them."
Thranduil's heart felt heavy as he nodded in agreement. But as he turned to leave, a dark thought crept into his mind. He had to ensure that Ayla never discovered the truth about his change of heart. For now, she would remain his mate. But her powers… her foresight would serve the kingdom. Whether she liked it or not.