Art credit: The Lost Aquarian.

Big Thanks to Everybody who Commented or Voted for the previous chapter: clarinetgirl96, YvaineRoss , northern_nights, natalia_vegas, Emmybeth1999, NettleGoblinshimmer, TiedinRed , Lostgirl2794, eyrn_Tuile_Numen12, princesswithashotgun, RacquelIrish, dreamer0, toffee3326, rottingbells3189 , Elf_and_an_agent, Lotr_elves_tolkien , love_live_read_books, e_Silmarwen_elf, _Dreamyn_, rose5607, lilyhb , debisrum, tolkienfan00, 365daysoffeels, OliviaSmith115, Tammyt70, wild_flower15, havecouragebkind, IliahOrpilla, Sapphire36, unkaufkat, niepoprawneslowa, GG-Dreamer, The_Midnight_Fangirl, wannabeyournasty, civ246094.

And the extra-Fine people who added Kingsfoil to their reading lists: yvaineRoss, sarcasticslytherin , PennyThayle4466, sosialisten, earwen_eledhwen, TiedinRed, JRockMiku, MariRS2286, Emyjanae, colettemariev.

. . . . . .

Three thousand years ago...

Thranduil cut a straight path through the trees, hurdling fallen logs, dodging branches. He neither stopped, nor slowed. The prince of the Green Wood was desperate to put distance between his father and himself.

It was not that he was running away, he told himself. He wasn't. He just did not want to be under the same roof as his father. He could not breathe there; he felt too constrained, like all of the king's expectations had piled up on him into an insurmountable weight.

His father had spoken to him of choices, even though it was clear to Thranduil that as a prince, he had none. He never had. King Oropher had made that abundantly clear to Thranduil this evening.

And part of him could not help but wonder how things would have been different if his mother was still alive. Thranduil knew his father loved him, but he also recognized that Oropher had crafted a certain distance between who he was as a father and who he was as the king of the Woodland Realm.

...Tonight after a painfully long dinner with his father's advisors and court, his father had walked with Thranduil back to their chambers. They had laughed together over Lord Filron's purple spangled robes. By the time the prince reached his room, however, his father-nay, the king-asked if they might discuss an important matter.

Of course, Thranduil had consented. Only later would he wish that he had feigned indigestion and avoided hearing his father's request.

Adar wanted him to marry. War was coming, he explained, and it was time to secure the Realm's line of succession. Thranduil laughed when his father first brought up the idea, but one look told him the king was very serious.

His father's closest advisor and most powerful ally, Turwë had a lovely daughter, who was of age...

With his heart pounding right out of his chest, Thranduil slowed his pace to a jog. He swept the hair from his eyes and wandered toward the gurgling sounds of a nearby brook. When he found its source, he knelt down amid the round stones and ferns. Cupping his hands, he splashed some water onto his burning cheeks.

Elarien, Turwë's daughter, was very beautiful, with long waves of white-gold hair and dusky grey eyes. Thranduil had always thought her lovely, graceful, good. Truth be told, he did not know her very well. He certainly did not love her...but maybe it was meant to be this way. His father saw something he did not. His father wanted the best for him, but also the best for his kingdom. This alliance would bring together two powerful houses.

Thranduil splashed some more water onto his cheeks, sat back on his heels and sighed.

He did not want this. He did not want to have to think about responsibility or honor and sacrifice. Truth be told, he was sick of hearing about his duties as prince. He knew he should help his father and be a support to him, but right now, all Thranduil wanted was to be alone.

He would much rather hunt or stroll through the forest and listen to the trees. He definitely would prefer to be out on guard duty or training with his friends.

...His father had sternly sat him down and told him the most ridiculous allegory about an arrow and a hart.

Thranduil wished he would have fled the room right then...but he had not. He had sat there, like a good son should, and listened dutifully.

"The hart," Oropher explained with his hands folded behind his back, "led all the forest with his strength and power; yet for all his wisdom and might, the hart understood that inherent sacrifice ruled his fate. At any time, he might have to give his life to the hunter's bow so that others could live from the nourishment of his meat or the warmth of his hide."

Thranduil stiffened in his chair, but said nothing.

Oropher continued on, pleased by his son's quiet deference, "At the same time, the forest also lived under the dominion of the hunter's arrow. The arrow was sleek and powerful, as swift as the running wind. The arrow knew that his flight also came at terrible cost-one of cruelty and pain; his chosen path often brought suffering to others."

The prince swallowed, the sweet wine from dinner now bitter in the back of his throat. Resentment thickened in his heart.

Oropher carefully appraised his son, not fully liking what he saw flickering in the prince's eyes. "Thranduil, one day you may rule this realm in my absence. You cannot always make decisions based on your personal feelings or what you think you may want. Sometimes you have to be like the hart-a role which requires strength and personal sacrifice."

He paused and went to his son's side, placed a hand on his shoulder. "Son, war threatens our doorstep. Gil-galad musters his armies, and I would have the commitment of all the lords' banners before we march. Turwë asks only that our houses be united through your marriage to his daughter."

The arrow or the hart. Thranduil saw the little story for what it really was-a veiled warning from his father that duty and kingdom would always come first. Duty and kingdom...

Thranduil stood up and let his eyes follow the merry little brook's path as it curled around the trees and ferns, and not for the first time, nor the last, Thranduil wished that he was not the prince of the Woodland Realm. If he ever had a son, he would never tell him such an insipid story, Thranduil vowed. He sighed and then began his way back toward his father's halls. Arrow or the hart. Thranduil knew which his father expected him to be and hated it.

Once, just for once, Thranduil wished he could be like any other elf, free to live in these woods under his own volition, make choices and mistakes as any of the other guards. He wanted to be able to catch a young maiden's eye at the fire circle and know that she liked him for who he was, and not for his title or wealth.

The prince cast his eyes up to the sky and briefly admired the orange streaks through the clouds from the rising sun. He blankly plucked at the ends of his hair while he stared upward, past the trees, wondering if there would ever come a time when he would feel free. It wouldn't be today. Thranduil supposed he had postponed the inevitable long enough. He turned to take the long road to his father's halls. He did not look back.

. . . . . . .

December 1, 3018:

Narylfiel woke up to the feeling of a heavy arm tucked around her waist, and her mind immediately went to that first morning in Dale when she had woken up to find Thranduil in bed with her, holding her; he had spoken of their healing bond and her dream, and then everything had changed between them. If being so close to him then had been a wonderful feeling, it was even more so now, in Narylfiel's own bed. He must have come to her last night when she had already fallen asleep. Her heart soared at the idea of him needing her, wanting her enough even to come to her on his own.

Narylfiel twisted ever so slightly, just enough that she could see him behind her.

Thranduil was still asleep, with his head on her pillow, and just for a moment or two, Narylfiel allowed herself to stare at him up close. He was so beautiful, and even sweet looking, right now when he was at peace. Narylfiel longed to reach over and outline his lips with her fingers, to trace the thin white line that crossed from below his ear and down his neck. She was sure it was a scar from some old battle, and she cringed to think about how it might have happened. Forgetting herself, she leaned over and pressed her lips to his.

She felt him stir and then smile against her mouth. His arms closed around her and pulled her into him. He was so warm, and Narylfiel flushed at the feeling of his body against hers, his chest, his arms holding her tightly.

"Good morning," he told her softly, easing his hold on her to permit himself the freedom of combing his fingers through her hair and then angling her head toward his for a slow, sleepy kiss.

"Good morning, Thranduil," Narylfiel said and added, "This was a nice way to wake up." She rather hoped she was not grinning like a complete fool, but if she was, she could hardly help it! Waking up like this-well, it was more like dreaming than being awake; except she was actually awake, staring at King Thranduil, golden headed and completely delicious, spooning beside her. He had shared her pillow.

Thranduil stretched a little and grinned at her. "I loathe the idea of returning to my own chambers alone."

"You're always welcome here," Narylfiel told him hopefully, leaning her head against his shoulder.

"Of course, I'm welcome; these are my halls," Thranduil joked and then the playful light in his eyes darkened as he trailed a lazy path down from the thin sleeve of her nightgown to her bare arm. "I want to take you to my chambers, Narylfiel. I want to you in my bed."

"I'm free tonight," she said, her pulse quickening at his words combined with the action of his warm fingertips sliding down her skin.

Thranduil pushed a hand through his hair and pulled her closer, kissed her temple. "That would not be...very prudent. I would not want to give the council any opportunity to criticize our union or for them to discredit you by saying you were just another elleth the king fancied.

Narylfiel sat up a little and frowned. She straightened up enough so she could meet his eyes. Although her little heart hurt at the idea of other ellyth or even Thranduil's first wife, she had to know: "Were there other ellyth?" she heard herself ask, dreading the answer.

"Yes," Thranduil answered honestly, meeting her eyes.

Narylfiel looked down and then forced herself to meet his eyes again. "Recently?"

"No," he told her. "But after Elarien left, I harbored a small hope that I would have another chance. I did have relationships with a few ellyth, but these were always very discreet...and disappointing."

At this point, Narylfiel managed a nod. She oddly felt like crying at the thought of Thranduil being with someone else, loving someone else, and she knew it was slightly ridiculous. He was so much older than her, and lonely, and probably had these relationships before she was even born. Still, it stung.

"They weren't you, Narylfiel," he told her softly. "I never felt for them what I feel for you." He tipped her chin up and kissed her lips. "I want you to know that I never brought anyone to the my chambers after the queen left. I never wanted to. Until now." He met her eyes and eased his fingers through her hair again. "Until I felt what our bond could be like that night in Dale. The warmth and the force of it, Narylfiel, I've never felt anything like it."

Narylfiel felt her ears grow warm. "Thranduil," she said, her voice hitching, "you know that I've never..."

"I know," he said and covered her lips with his own. His body leaned into hers, and he pulled her close to his chest. "I am glad," he whispered, his lips close to her ear. "I do not like to share." With his arms folded around her, they stayed together that way for just a little while longer before Thranduil supposed the chambermaids would start making their rounds.

Reluctantly, he let go of her, and Narylfiel sat up. She absently rubbed her chest over her heart, already feeling a twinge from the loss of him. Thranduil noticed, of course, and frowned.

"I want you to go to see Hûredhiel first thing this morning, Narylfiel," Thranduil said firmly. Before she could even open her mouth to protest, he added, "I trust her. She knows about the bond. She knows about us. It would make me feel better to have a second opinion."

Narylfiel nodded, albeit reluctantly. "If it would ease your mind."

"It would." Thranduil paused to trail his fingers over her long hair. "Meanwhile, I will be meeting with the Elder Council."

Narylfiel grimaced. "Oh, well, that is a good idea, I guess."

Thranduil smirked. "Let me worry about them, naurenniel. We have much to discuss of the recent events in Dale. As for our betrothal-I can be very persuasive, I assure you."

"Don't I know it..." muttered Narylfiel as she got up from the bed, slipped on her robe. She followed Thranduil to the door, and then peeked into the hall, just to make sure no one spied the Elvenking leaving her chambers looking disheveled. No need to start any untoward rumors just yet.

"The hall is empty," she told him. "I will see you later?" She really wished he could just stay with her.

He nodded. "The council meeting might last for several hours. It is very likely to run past lunchtime," Thranduil guessed and frowned a little as he noticed her worried expression. "Join me for tea later? Maybe with some dinner?"

"I will arrange it," Narylfiel promised, and her king smiled a devious smile as a thought occurred to him.

"Although after the council meeting, I might rather have some wine..."

Narylfiel laughed then and attempted to shoo him out the door, but not before he pulled her into his arms and left a scorching kiss upon her lips.

. . . . . . .

Narylfiel took her time getting dressed. She could hardly concentrate on what she was doing. Her mind was full of Thranduil and the unexpected surprise of finding him in her bed this morning. And even though she reminded herself not to think twice about it, she kept going back to Thranduil's open admission of taking lovers in the past. Narylfiel was sure he would tell her their names if she pressed him-he had always been candid with her-but she was not sure if she really wanted to know. So, she tried not to think about it as she finished brushing out her hair, and she tried not to think about it as she sent a request down to the kitchens for the king's tea.

Still, though...a couple of names kept surfacing in her mind, ellyth whom she knew favored or had long admired the king. The worst part of it was that all of the ladies that kept coming to mind were all stunningly beautiful, all courtly and gifted, graceful and elegant. None of them were grubby little forest guards. Well, former forest guards, Narylfiel reminded herself and quirked an eyebrow at her reflection in her dresser mirror as she grabbed a handful of clothing and stuffed it into the laundry basket, realizing with a growing horror that Thranduil had seen her room looking so...unkempt. She resolved to pick up some more when she came back from seeing Hûredhiel, just in case her king decided to pay her another visit. She would find a better dress too, and spend some time arranging her hair! She would be the epitome of grace and elegance when she met with the king for tea later this afternoon.

The door was open to Hûredhiel's healing room when Narylfiel arrived, and the lovely healer greeted her from inside the room.

"Lady Narylfiel," she said, a soft smile on her lips. "I am glad to see you this morning." The healer pulled her long hair into a low messy bun and guided her young patient to the consulting table at the rear of the room. Then she glanced thoughtfully at the open door. "Just a moment, please," she excused herself and firmly shut the door.

"I am very sorry to hear about your troubles lately," Hûredhiel said, her eyes sympathetic.

"How are you feeling?"

Narylfiel hesitated. Service in the Forest Guard had ingrained in her to be tough, to be strong and uncomplaining. "I'm still a little weak, a little cold at times."

"I see." Hûredhiel's eyes were sympathetic as she jotted some notes in a small leather bound journal. Then she reached over and felt Narylfiel's forehead. "The king is very concerned about your well-being, Narylfiel," she said kindly, her mouth curving up. "I would like to examine your wound, if you do not mind."

"It's hardly a wound," Narylfiel stated as she moved over to the little cot in the room. "It's more like a scratch really. It's frustrating to think such a little thing could be so dangerous, so worrisome." She sat down and loosened her shirt from her long dark skirt.

Hûredhiel sat down next to her on a stool