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Four hundred years ago...

Narylfiel had quickly become very adept at listening. For example, right now with her ear pressed to her bedroom door, she knew exactly how many steps it took for Thranduil's guards to clear the hallway. She waited a beat and then stuck her head outside her door. All was clear. She looked back in her room, at Bun, her stuffed rabbit, who sat tucked against her pillows. He regarded her with a serious expression.

"You stay here and keep watch," she advised him. Then she crept out of her room and tip-toed down the hall, careful not to make a sound as she passed by her sister's and Legolas' bedroom. She stopped in front of the king's bedroom door, looked both ways down the hall, and then coolly tried the door handle, sliding into the room with ease.

Her eyes could not have been wider as she surveyed the room. It was just all so...kingly. The furnishings, the décor, the fabrics and wall hangings-they all fit Thranduil's style perfectly, Narylfiel decided approvingly. The fireplace could have easily roasted a wild boar, and across the room, the wide four-poster bed dominated the space. All of the dark wooden furniture gleamed in the candlelight, like it had been polished to a high shine as a point of pride. Narylfiel moved closer to the bed for a closer look. The posts on the bed, she realized, had been carved to look like trees growing straight up and then branching off to form a canopy. It suited him. Wild, but elegant, just like him. She reached out a small finger and touched the silken coverlet that looked green and silvery at the same time. Soft.

Her curiosity getting the better of her, Narylfiel wandered farther into the king's suite, drawn to the small portrait on the far wall. It was a sketch of Legolas, she realized, when he was an elfling. It was extremely well done, shaded in some sort of dark pencil. In the drawing, Legolas sat across a tree branch, with one leg dangling over the side, his mouth caught in a laugh. Not far from Legolas' picture, there was a sketch of an elf she had never seen before drawn in the same style; he looked familiar though. In his portrait, the elf leaned over a table with maps on it, a serious expression on his face as he pointed to something. Narylfiel looked closer. Oh, she thought sadly, this elf must be Thranduil's father; she had noticed in the picture that he wore the same big ring on his finger that the king always wore. A few more drawings of similar make, of subjects like the beeches by the front gate and one of a Great Elk, hung in the room; there were no portraits of Thranduil's queen, Narylfiel observed. Perhaps the reminder of her absence made him too gloomy.

She followed the far wall to the back of Thranduil's suite. Peeking inside one of the doors, she saw a well-appointed bathing chamber, and inside the opposite set of doors, an enormous closet. Narylfiel bit her lip. She really wanted to explore that closet...but perhaps she had already trespassed enough. She could imagine the king's expression if she were caught sneaking inside his closet! She silently shut the doors and made her way back toward the main part of his room.

Before Narylfiel left, she noted that there were two handsome, high back chairs across from the fire, and that struck her as a little sad. Poor Thranduil. Did he sit by the fire and stare at that empty chair, wishing for company? Narylfiel thought that he must feel rather lonely in this great big room all by himself.

She eased herself out of the king's suite and was back in her own chambers in less than a minute. Bun greeted her with his usual enigmatic expression.

Narylfiel promised herself that she would return again some time soon, to look some more at the intriguing drawings in the king's room, to explore inside his very interesting closet.

She made a few more trips during that first year of her stay at the palace. Narylfiel had always been a very curious elfling, and there was no one who captured her interest more than King Thranduil. She always hoped that she might learn a little more of him in each visit, but his room was always exactly as she found it on the first day. Even so, Narylfiel made a little mental list of all the new facts she had uncovered in her snooping:

1. Servants or not, Thranduil was extremely neat, she decided. He never left clothes on the floor. Even his hairbrush was pristine.

2. He loved beautiful things. This was a guess, but it made sense.

3. Thranduil liked to read poetry. Narylfiel had found three different poetry tomes on four different trips into his room. Once she had found a book about the healing arts.

On Narylfiel's last little trip into the king's room, she made a discovery that overshadowed all the others. Late one evening, she heard the guards come down the hall for their king. Galadhor was with them. She could hear their voices from her door, open just a crack, and then a few moments later, Thranduil swept down the hall with them. Narylfiel watched them leave and briefly debated whether or not she should go for a look. She might get caught. What if Thranduil returned quickly? But there was also the lure of seeing his room after he had just been interrupted! Curiosity won out, and Narylfiel snuck down the hall to see what she could see. Only a quick peek, she promised herself.

This one occasion was the only time she ever saw anything out of place in King Thranduil's room. There was a robe draped over one of his chairs by the fireplace, and on the ottoman, a tray with a half full glass of wine, but what really caught Narylfiel's attention was the leather bound book carelessly left open on the chair. A nubby pencil rested on the page. The lines were too slight to tell the nature of his subject. It could be a map, a diagram, a plan for something...or a sketch. Narylfiel's eyes wandered over to the far wall, where she first saw the portrait of young Legolas. Her breath caught. She dropped the pencil and hurried over for a closer inspection. Newly framed on the wall hung another sketch, and this one, of her likeness. Narylfiel's lips curved up. The Narylfiel in the drawing was seated on the straw floor of the stables, cradling the baby elk's head on her lap; her eyes were downcast but her mouth was smiling.

The king had a picture of her in his room. With his family. He considered her a part of his family. Her heart suddenly felt very full and more than just happy...

...until she backed out of the room and ran straight into Galadhor. As he steered her firmly back into her own room, he politely informed her that the king was a very private person, and if she cared for him, then she would allow him his much needed personal space.

"You won't tell him, will you?" She pleaded with wide brown eyes.

"No, I will not," said Galadhor sternly, "but you must promise never to go snooping in King Thranduil's room again." His eyes softened. He always had an enormous soft-spot for elflings. Legolas had been spoiled rotten. He crouched down to her eye level. "Narylfiel, King Thranduil gives so much of himself for our kingdom. He works tirelessly to keep our home safe with his strength and magic; he is always there for when any little crisis presents itself, or healer needs his input, or the Forest Guards want to report an occurrence on the borders. He may rule all of the Woodland Realm, but I think he has very little that he can call truly his-and his room is one of those things. Don't you think he deserves that small freedom?"

Narylfiel stared back at him and nodded solemnly. Galadhor patted her on the head fondly then, and she slipped back inside her own room.

The king had made a picture of her and hung it on his wall. Thranduil was...artistic. She never mentioned his drawing talent to him, and she never ventured back inside the king's bedroom.

But she thought about it-him drawing, alone in his room, sitting in front of the fire in one of those high back chairs. She wondered what else he drew.

As Narylfiel grew older and her love for Thranduil developed into something much deeper and infinitely more tender, she wondered if he still made sketches. If he ever drew another picture of her. If he thought her beautiful enough to sketch now.

She never asked, but she wondered.

. . . . .

Yule, 3018:

Narylfiel was too tired to think very clearly; she had reached that stage of being so tired and a little bit giddy that it becomes hard to think straight. Her mind was full of wonder and love. Only hours earlier, she and Thranduil had exchanged vows under the stars, in the snow. Her eyes started to fill just thinking, just in remembrance of the way he had looked at her, like she was really saving him and not the other way around. His dark blue eyes had been expressive, vulnerable, full of hope. She had loved him for so many years; it still didn't seem possible now that he was hers, that he returned her feelings.

And if Elfir had not interrupted, Thranduil might have been with her right now: claiming her, making their bond between them, loving her long into the night.

Instead her husband-was he really?-had gone with his warriors to investigate the breach of the front gate.

Narylfiel sighed and sat down on the edge of her bed, her fingers playing with the silken bedcovers. She wondered when he would return. He had said 'soon,' but what did that really mean? Thranduil had never been particularly time-oriented. She wondered what he would say if he came back and she was waiting for him in bed...with nothing on? She grinned a little to herself.

Slowly Narylfiel stood and reached around to loosen the ties on the back of her gown. It would have been more fun to have Thranduil help her with it, but she supposed there would be time enough for that later. She let the dress slide off her shoulders and stepped out of it, careful enough to hang it over the top of her armoire drawer. She sat down and appraised herself in the mirror while she untwisted her hair, teased out the small intricate braids. She still looked pale and a little tired too, but her eyes shone brighter than they had before the feast. Thranduil loved her.

Her fingers went to loosen the front ties on her shift, and despite herself, she shivered. Perhaps waiting for Thranduil in the bed with nothing on was not the most sensible idea. Her eyes drifted to her linen drawer, and a most welcome notion occurred to her. Oh, Thranduil was going to love this.
. . . . .

Thranduil knew he could not stay with Narylfiel, not with the breach in his realm's defenses, but Valar knew he wanted to, more than anything. Instead of dwelling on what might have been if he had stayed with her, what he could have been doing at that very moment-because that was a sure path to frustration, if there ever was one-Thranduil made himself listen to Elfir's summary of the incident.

"We had our usual retinue of guards posted, my lord. Barathion had even added the two extra guards per your suggestion at the front of the main path, considering our dwarven...guests. All six guards were found unconscious, but alive," Elfir told him as they walked briskly to the Front Gate.

"And the doors themselves?" Thranduil asked, referring to the Front Gate, which was the only true entrance into his halls, and was protected by an ancient elven magic bound to the blood and will of the king.

"They were left wide open, without any obvious sign of a forced entry," Elfir said.

As they turned the corner, Thranduil's mouth tightened into a straight line. He did not know exactly what he had been expecting to find at the Front Gate, but it wasn't the sight of five of his guards slumped against the wall, with one of them starting to stir. The front doors were perfectly in tact, sealed shut. Thranduil stepped carefully past the guards' sprawled out figures and approached the gate, placed his hand upon one of its strong carved panels. The door's magic hummed under his palm. It was subtle, but he could feel some sort of remnant, like a kind of residue of decidedly non-elven magic left behind. The king swallowed thickly as he ran through a very short list of names in his mind of the few people who would be powerful enough to incapacitate six of his guards and command the doors to open.

Thranduil lifted his palm from the door and strode over to Drethor, the guard who had just woken up. The guard took a slow sip of water brought to him by Hûredhiel, who had been summoned to see about the guards' health.

"I've the worst taste in my mouth," complained Drethor to Hûredhiel, "all woolly and bitter." Then Drethor noticed his king and tried to get to his feet, then winced.

Hûredhiel gently pushed him back down. "Careful, now. You hit your head, Drethor," she said and then prompted her king with a knowing look.

Thranduil waved his hand. "Stay seated, Drethor."

Drethor bowed his head and then winced again. "Your Majesty, please-is the palace safe, was anyone hurt?" His voice was full of woe and shame.

"We do not know what the intruders' aim was, but for now, we have no reports of victims or damage," Thranduil said with a measured look at Drethor. He had served loyally for years, and for many of those, had kept watch over the Front Gate without incident. "Tell me, what do you remember last?"

Drethor took another slow sip, closed his eyes. "We were all in high spirits, my lord. We could hear the music from the feast, and some of us planned on splitting shifts so we could go later. Then, slowly not much at first, I noticed this mist, just creeping down the hall, seeping under the Front Gate." He opened his eyes and looked down fearfully toward the doors. "Then everything turned hazy, dark like-like a black shadow."

If Drethor's description disturbed Thranduil, the king tried not to show it. Instead he arched an eyebrow at Elfir and his captain, Barathion, who had just come up from the lower halls. "Black shadow...I have heard that before, long ago."

Thranduil ordered the remainder of the unconscious guards and Drethor to be removed to the healing ward, and he swept past them with Elfir and Barathion by his side. "Open the doors," Thranduil commanded the newly arrived sentinels standing watch.

The Elvenking passed through the Gate and into the darkness. The snow still fell sleepily, enough to cover any tracks. The bridge and wood beyond were softly white, innocent enough. The beeches and stream were silent, and inside, Thranduil's heart churned.

"My lord," Barathion began, "we found no trace of intruders in the lower halls. None."

Thranduil looked at him sharply, but his voice was low, controlled. "Check them again, Captain. Send the order that any prisoners should be left alive. I want them for questioning." The king turned and left the darkness and cold of the wood. The red torch-light flickered as he passed. "Seal the gates!" he commanded and the great doors closed behind their king with a clang.

Thranduil headed for his throne room. "Elfir, send Althirn to collect our dwarven guests and bring them here. And I want Hûredhiel to report on the status of the six guards."

"My lord, the dwarves-" Elfir said.

Thranduil interrupted. "Yes, the dwarves, the only known prisoners to escape my realm without my leave? Bring them to me."

Elfir bowed his head. "Of course, Your Majesty."
. . . . .
Thranduil saw Hûredhiel first. All of the guards had since woken up, but none remembered seeing anything differently from Drethor's account. Some of them complained that their heads felt fuzzy or they couldn't remember anything at all.

"Is there any known medicine or brew that could work so efficiently as to knock out six guards?" Thranduil asked Hûredhiel, his eyes narrowing. "Were they drugged?"

Hûredhiel nodded grimly. "From what I can tell, yes. They were drugged. I could not tell you how or when."

Thranduil watched her appraisingly. "What makes you think so?"

"They all described the same bitter taste in their mouths, like their tongues felt woolly. Their eyes were dilated, their pulses unusually low." Hûredhiel said.

With a sigh, the Elvenking descended from his throne and came to stand close to her. The move was not an intimidation tactic. What he was about to say, he wanted kept between them. "Could they have been drugged through something they ate or drank?" he asked quietly.

Hûredhiel knew at once what he was asking, and the suggestion alone sickened her to