He dreamed of heat.

He dreamed of passion.

He dreamed of the one who had brought light to his life and joy to his heart.

He dreamed of holding them in his arms once again.

He dreamed of love.

The quiet tears fell only at night when no one but Ithil above could bear witness to his weakness. He felt like an outsider in his own body, an intruder in his own mind. Yet he continued on, surviving the pain both inside and out, and he continued fighting every day. Every sunrise weighed on his heart as, piece by piece the fight drained him, cracking the façade of strength he had so carefully crafted. With every sunset, he felt the energy drain from his body as he lay, prone on his bed, feeling the emptiness of the room around him, sleep eluding him night after night, the coldness of the linen burning his skin.

Every night as he lay there, his fingers brushed the side of his face, where the imprint of his father's hand still tingled, or the bruise on his arm where thin fingers had bitten into skin. He wished fervently for the pain to leave him, to subside and fade away, but each wish he made, was a wish unanswered. He longed for soft fingers to smooth each smarting blow; pined for gentle words to placate his the raging emotions that tormented his heart unerringly. All these things he had had, but he had pushed them away, allowed his hardening heart to override the love he felt for his friend, for his bed partner. When his hand had connected with Erestor's soft cheek that last night, he had felt the blow deep within his own heart and he had known that love so understanding and pure would elude him for many years to come. He had not seen him leave the following day; his father had prevented anyone from seeing the Noldo party depart from the woods. Thranduil remembered his father's almost celebratory attitude throughout the day. He had ordered a lavish dinner to be served, had drawn him into a tight embrace and called him an adult. He had seated him by his side throughout the meal and for the first time, had talked jubilantly and glowingly about his son. Thranduil had sat, silent for almost the entire meal, too scared to break his father's good humour and too pained to trust his tongue to not betray him. He had gone to bed late that night, but had lain awake, streaming, silent tears his only company. With each glassy, saline bead that slid down both delicate, high cheekbones, he remembered a caress, a touch, a whispered word and any time sleep had hinted at drawing him in, the betrayed brown eyes had haunted him, infecting any thought that dared cross his mind. He tried to reach out, to grasp the dream and pull it into reality. He longed to feel the warm breath against his skin, murmured reassurances lilting into his ears, lulling him to the safety of sleep.

Each day that he had lived through after that had seemed the length of two. As the long days had turned to long months, he had felt his emotions leave him and his heart harden. The words of his father, which at one time had seemed cruel and malicious, no longer cut him. The stinging slaps and brutal blows dealt out with a heavy hand each day no longer hurt him. He could feel the humanity draining from his soul and it scared him that he no longer feared losing it.

As the long years continued, Thranduil gradually grew into his princely role. He sat by his father's side, emotionless and unfeeling at every action he witnessed, both cruel and kind, the milky skin of his face unmarked by any expression, the intonation of his voice even and his authority unchallenged. He saw nothing of the disappointment in those around him, the craving they had for the return of the exuberant, compassionate, Prince. He heard nothing of their cries as they prayed for the cruelty to leave their Kingdom and for the love to return to it. Even after the death of the King, and the ascension of the Prince to the throne, still all their prayers went unheeded and their desires unnoticed. Even the wedding of their lamented prince bought little joy to the dark forest of Mirkwood. The elegant young Elf that now stood by his side knew better than to disagree with him. She was of royal blood; she knew her place and her duty. Whilst his voice raged long at those beneath him, it never fell upon her; his hands only touched her gently, his words only lilted through her ears softly.

He felt no love for her in his heart, but then, he felt no emotion for anyone. He felt no emotion for the two daughters she bore him, not even disappointment at the lack of an heir.

Then the day came when she bore him an heir, a young son and once again, his heart felt life sparking within it. For the longest time, he did not know how to reconcile his feelings with his past, but slowly, a small corner of his long-frozen heart melted to make a home for his son. He could refuse little the blue eyes asked of him, the trust in them was so great. But he could not answer their questions, could not soothe the pains that came into the young heart. When they turned on him, pained and grieving, he could do nothing to ease it, and once again, he knew the bitter taste of pain. As he held the slender fair hand in his own, and farewelled the fading spirit of his fair wife, he cried tears of sorrow, not for his loss but for the loss of his children. For the loss of the one true parent they had had.

Once again, his nights grew long and his sleep troubled as he sought answers to unknown questions. Once again tears stained his cheeks and longing plagued his heart. He had thought himself free, he had thought his heart too cold, but his mind had needed only one reminder to draw memories of the handsome face and ebony hair to its fore. That face alone could unfreeze his heart, that face alone could bring the joy back to his life, that face alone could save his bitter heart from itself. Each night he cursed his weakness, cursed the haunting caresses in his dreams, yet all the time, longed for more, longed to bring those dreams back to reality.

He dreamed of heat.

He dreamed of passion.

He dreamed of the one who had brought light to his life and joy to his heart.

He dreamed of holding them in his arms once again.

He dreamed of love.

TBC...