#servantofthesecretfire

The Wizard paused in sipping his tea as he judged some slight sorrow came to the fore in the Elf-prince’s manner. It was gone in the next moment, and he was glad to bring some measure of relief; but it troubled him. Though he would never voice it, he worried more for the realm of Mirkwood than for many other lands.

Gondor and Rohan were splintered and weakened, but he had never known Men to give up once they were so well dug into a fighting stance. Galadriel and Elrond each held a Ring like the one upon his own hand, and Cirdan was so far to the west that he would have more time than any should danger sweep through Middle-earth.

But Thranduil kept his own council and relied upon his own strength and that of his people, and he was canny enough that even Gandalf did not care to push matters too far in dealings with him. It was a fool indeed who thought wood-elves less wise simply because their wisdom was differentfrom that of the Noldor. 

The idea that something was amiss with the Lord of Mirkwood was greatly disconcerting, and apparently not only for the wizard, to judge by Legolas’s hollow smile.

"I would not put it past you, young one, to discover a firework that worked without fire! But such is not among my tasks. Do you tire of knifework and arrows?" This latter was accompanied by a soft lilt and a look that was clearly teasing.

A laugh escaped him and he shook his head. "Of course not! I do not think I could ever tire of archery!" He leaned back against the trunk of a tree, pulling his knees up to his chest. "But I think father wishes I would, just for a little while. He wants me to settle and to marry, you know. All he talks about is grandchildren. And I— am not so sure about that."

He hadn't done enough adventuring yet. The farthest he'd ever been was to Imladris, and it wasn't a trip he was allowed to take often, not with the forest becoming ever darker and more foul. Something was amiss and he knew it. The spiders were more and more bold, even encroaching upon the elvish roads. More and more dead orc were found dead and floating in the streams his people had enchanted. There were stirrings in the south.

Mairon did his best to avoid sleep, for with rest came the dreams. Dreaming was a dangerous business for one so often haunted by the memories of a previous life, so filled with anger and pain, but exhaustion had left him with little other choice.

The vision came quickly. He'd braced his mind in anticipation, but the initial flurry of color shocked him. Normally he feared water, as he had feared the giant wave that had led to one of his deaths, but he found himself drawn to the reef, calmly watching the fish flit about.

Then the colors began to fade. Life seemed to crumble before his eyes, and he tried to back away with a muffled scream. Even in this strange vision destruction still haunted him.

But then...

He found himself frozen, watching the pink spots grow, as if sparking new hope through the ashes. Something urged him to look down at himself, and there he saw more of the same, growing within himself.

That is absolutely awful and I am so sorry you are dealing with this. Like holy shit, seriously? You poor thing!