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Fire was all around him, and fire was all he could see. Its bright red light had swallowed all what once was around him, like a sea of heat that consumed everything, turning it all to ashes. He tried to take a deep breath but instead of fresh air, all his lungs recived was sulphur, burning him on the inside. He could hear the screams and cries of death of his people. He could feel the heat of the fire upon his skin, burning it, turning what once was white porcelain into a black and pink mess. He smelled his own flesh burning, roasting. He heard his own screeches of pain, and he tried to clench his jaw to stop them.
The creature would not have his screams. He had taken his pride already but it would not have his fear. He raised his bow and pointed randomly at the very heart of the flames, the fire licking his arms like a wild beast, hungry for that flesh of his.
He stood there, tall as he was, ellegant despite his wounds, waiting for something that seemed to never come…
But it came. The flames opened like a curtain, revealing a line of sharp and monstruous teeth, harder than the finest steel. And those eyes… those eyes would haunt his dreams forever more after that encounter, two balls of fire that shone in the middle of that sea of flames like the most terrible of the calamities. And those eyes saw him. He stared at those eyes and they stared back at him.
There was a growl. The dragon’s face rose high, high above him. His fingers shaked slightly when the arrow slipped between them and flew towards the creature’s neck, but it was like a fly that tries to bite a tree. The bow fell from the elf king’s hands, and he raised his arms, trying to protect himself from the wrath of the creature.
There was more light and more heat all around him. He could feel himself spinning and spinning down into a spiral of pure fire. He screamed and closed his eyes. He could feel as if every fiber of his being was stripped of his body. He could only pray, pray for it to be over, to be over soon so he could go back home to the fresh woods, to his realm, to where he belonged… But the flames attacked his flesh, his pale, beautiful flesh, a fierce and shapeless animal greedy and hungry. And he screamed. And he yelled.
And when he thought that inferno would never end, it suddenly stopped, just as suddenly as it had began.
But when he opened his eyes, all he could see was darkness, pure and absolute. The world was gone.
....................................................................
The soft sound of steps had not gone unnoticed by the keen ears of the elven king that rose from his fine bed like furious silver wave, his fingers curling around the garnished hilt of a dagger. Even in the deepest of his dreams and nightmares reality was never erased, never blurred, never gone. He had learned to rest while he did not, to forget about the world while having it always in his mind. He had got used to darkness, and for those who live in the darkness, even the lightest of the sounds is like the loudest of the drums.
His eyes that did not see but shadows stared at the point where that soft noise had come from, his thick eyebrows furrowed menacingly.
"Is that the way you welcome me into your chambers, ada?” his son’s voice asked.
Shame filled his heart but did not show in his face. He could not even recognize his own son. That was his curse, a curse from which he had learned the world outside the Mirkwood was a place it was better to stay away from. He was only safe in his realm, where he knew every rock, every stair, every guard and every hidden corner, a place where there was no room for chaos. A place where he could move as if an infinite darkness had never swallowed the whole world.
Thranduil’s grip on the dagger softened. “I was not expecting you at such a late hour. The moonlight is bathing the treetops and the spiders have come out of their nests to start the hunt. And here you are…” his last words were almost a faded whisper. He stood up, as tall as he was and with studied elegance and reached for his silken dressing gown in the darkness. There it was, right where it should, no room for mistake.
"I did not mean to disturb your sleep, ada" Legolas said, and Thranduil’s eyes stared into the void, right where his son’s eyes should be. What was he like by now? Was he anything like he had imagined? Sometimes, when the nightmares about dragonfire allowed him to dream about kinder things, he imagined how it would be to stare at his son again, to see his face.
He could not help but wondering if his son’s eyes saw the true nature that hid in his, if Legolas could see the darkness that veiled them. “You could never” his voice sounded almost warm, filled with some kind of familiarity only night can bring to a king’s voice. “Even the wind wakes me up when it blows too hard”
There was a move. Thranduil was sure his son was nodding. “I know. We live dangerous times…”
"We always do" the elven king’s voice returned to its authoritarian tone for a moment. "The world is never safe. Darkness lurks in every corner. Only here we are safe. The Mirkwood is our home and our dominions. You must never forget that. Once you step out of the shadow of the forest, you will be in danger"
"So you have taught me, ada" Legolas released a sigh. Maybe he had lowered his gaze. Maybe he was still staring at him defiantly. Thranduil could not know. It was like if a dragon’s claw clutched his chest. They were so close, yet they were miles away from each other.
He raised his pale hand and cupped his son’s face. “What troubles you? Tell me” he asked.
His son’s breath was slow, calmed and constant like the flow of a paceful river. Thranduil felt it in the palm of his hand as he spoke. “You, ada. Your silence worries me. The fact you have closed yourself in this palace worries me. All the time you spend alone. All the things you keep to yourself. All the thoughts that trouble you.”
The elven king smiled lightly as he caressed with his thumb his son’s cheekbones. They were prominent, like his. That was the only way he could see his son: touch was sight for him, the only light that could shine in the darkness.
"One day i will open my mind for you, Legolas. One day. When the time is right." he allowed himself to lower his chin slightly, to look less regal for a moment, to be a father instead of being a king. "But that time is not tonight. When different winds blow from the Lonely Mountain. When the air does not smell like ashes but like hope. Then, then i will explain everything to you, my son."
The king moved his hand slowly away from the prince’s face and turned around, walking towards a mirror that hung beautifully on the wall. In it, he watched his face without seeing and he knew his skin was as perfect and pale as the first day and his hair was as silver as the moonlight. And he knew it was like that day, the day that haunted his every dream and nightmare had never happened.
But it had happened truly. Light had become darkness and heat had become cold. His eyes were empty of life and his face was like a rotten trunk.
His son remained silent for some time. Thranduil waited, his veiled eyes staring at the shadow of that useless mirror.
"Again ada, I am sorry I disturbed you at such a late hour” Legolas finally said, and he could sense him move his head slightly, bowing it, his hair, probably as silverly beautiful as his - he liked to imagine it still was this way - brushing against his face and his clothes.
"Never. You do never disturb me Legolas." he said as he turned to give him a last and empty gaze.
Did he smile back at him? Was there a sad look on his son’s eyes? Thranduil’s jaw clenched slightly. He would never know. All those years of practice, of hearing what was unheard by others, of listening with care were worth nothing because he still could not tell if his son’s eyes were wells of sadness or orbs full of happiness and gratitude. He turned his face around to stare at the mirror again. It was easier to face the void than something so dear and so unknown.
"Goodnight then, ada. May you rest well.” he heard Legolas say before leaving.
Only when his son’s steps had faded in the distance, Thranduil allowed a single tear to roll down his face. And it burned like fire.