You guys, this chapter is the LONGEST yet...and so fluffy, like seriously the fluffiest. I just couldn't stop myself. 🤦‍♀️

- - - - - -

Three hundred years ago...

Legolas knew he was in trouble before he ever received the official summons from Galadhor. He'd known it as soon as he heard the satisfying crack at the end of his fist and the subsequent howl from Eorn; he'd known what the consequences would be before he ever threw the first punch, before he ever saw the mix of stunned and horrified faces of the other guards in the barracks bunk room. Now he had a meeting with the king-—not his father, mind you-—the king and commander of the Woodland armies.

When he entered his father's study, Captain Beriadan and the king stood waiting, their faces solemn.

"Prince Legolas, I have called this meeting with the king to issue you a formal reprimand," Captain Beriadan said. "You stand accused of fighting in the guards' barracks. Two other guards were involved; they both claim that you attacked them without provocation. Do you have anything to say in your defense?"

Legolas stood straight and resolute as he met the king's eyes. "No, Captain Beriadan. It happened as you say."

The Captain shared a look with the king and then spoke: "Prince Legolas, your service to this point has been honorable; however, I recommend to the king that your record reflect that you have been disciplined on this day, with the understanding that any further disciplinary action will result in loss of rank or even dismissal from the guard."

"Yes, Captain." Legolas said quietly.

King Thranduil to this point had watched without comment, his eyes cool. "Thank you, Captain. Legolas, a word before you go."

With a sinking feeling, Legolas watched the captain leave and braced himself for what his father would say.

He did not have to wait long. As soon as the door shut behind the captain, the Elvenking turned on his son.

"Really, Legolas? Fighting in the barracks? You're the prince of the realm. What did you think you were going to prove?" Thranduil folded his arms in disapproval.

"Father, I wasn't trying to prove anything," Legolas replied quietly.

Thranduil inclined his head as he studied his son. "Beriadan tells me that you stormed into the barracks, yelling for the two other elves to come out and when they did..." he glanced down at the report the captain left "...you broke both their noses." He looked up, met his son's eyes, and pure steel was in his voice. "Why?"

Legolas' mouth drew into a thin line. "The other guards, Drethor and Eorn, They had been running their mouths for weeks about Narylfiel, ever since she joined the guard—during training, while sparring, talking about how they couldn't wait to get into the ring with her, bragging about how they were going to teach her some moves." Legolas finished with a huff.

"While inappropriate, I don't know that those comments necessitate the level of violence in your reaction," the king concluded.

"Father, yesterday I overheard them talking about how they were going to ask her to the next fire circle, because wouldn't it be fun to claim they had been with the princess' sister," Legolas said through clenched teeth. "I admit, I lost my temper...but I would do it again."

A muscle ticced in Thranduil's jaw. "Legolas," he said and stopped himself. "You just went into the barracks and punched the pair of them in the face?"

Legolas shrugged sheepishly.

"As captain-in-training aren't you in charge of making the schedules? Why punch them in the face when you could simply reassign them away from Narylfiel?"

"I—I didn't think of that."

"Sit down, Legolas," Thranduil told him and took his own seat behind his large beechwood desk. He pushed the guards' schedule ledger toward his son.

"You cannot punch every guard who looks at Narylfiel or even those who say something about her," Thranduil concluded tiredly. "She is lovely, charming, and part of our royal family; of course, she will garner attention wherever she serves on the guard."

The prince flipped through the ledger and smiled for the first time since entering the king's study. "There," he said pointing at the book, "Eorn and Drethor could be transferred to the southern rim for a month."

Thranduil leaned over and studied the page. "One month?" he asked and picked up his pen from the blotter with a wicked glint in his eyes. "Let's make it three."

Legolas met his father's eyes and smiled again. "Thank you, Father, for understanding. Narylfiel is like a sister to me, and I want everyone to know that I would protect her honor like my own blood."

"And I would expect no less from you," Thranduil agreed, "but Legolas—no more beating people up. One day Narylfiel may not wish for you to scare away her potential suitors."

-  -  -  -  -  -

September 22, 3019

"Legolas, if we stop now, we'll easily be able to make it to your father's halls in the morning." Thaliniel shot her husband a pleading look. She was as ready as he was for the comforts of home, but shadows already started to lengthen down their path through the woods.

Legolas patted her leg where he walked beside her as she rode Arod. "I know these paths well, Thaliniel. We could be climbing into our own bed in three, maybe four hours, with the added bonus of absolutely no one having time to prepare any kind of welcome party to greet us."

Sleeping in her own bed did sound undeniably appealing, but she was exhausted. Her back ached, her legs ached, everything ached. "How much longer did you say?" she asked.

"Three hours, Thaliniel," he promised. We'll take the scouting path that leads straight up to the main gate."

She hmmphed. "You say that like I should know where it is."

Legolas smiled then. "You do." He reached up for her hand. "It runs right by the clearing where they build the bonfire for the fire circles."

Thaliniel colored prettily and lightly squeezed his hand in hers. "Hmm. Fire circles, you say? I seem to recall going to one of those once. Lead on then."

"We'll be there in no time. Won't they be surprised?" Legolas grinned and picked up his pace.

- - - - - -

Thranduil propped his feet up on the ottoman across from Narylfiel. Since their return from Erebor, the couple had taken to spending the long summer nights lazily in their quarters, with the skylights thrown open so the royal couple might listen to the early evening birdsong and catch the occasional glimpse of stars when they weren't out tending to the forest itself.

Even though the autumn days were still warm, the nights could be chilly enough. Tonight the king looked up amusedly from his sketch pad as his wife fussed with the light blanket on her lap across from him. She kicked it off and then picked up her current project, which resembled a string of misshapen knots more than anything else.

"What did you say you were working on?" he asked nonchalantly. One had to tread carefully when inquiring about Narylfiel's projects. He could almost never tell what the thing actually was supposed to be.

Narylfiel held it up crookedly and beamed at him. "It's a surprise," she said.

"Something for the baby?" he guessed.

She tsked at him. "Not telling. You'll just have to wait and be surprised."

"I always am," Thranduil told her as he pulled his long hair back from where it had been hanging in his eyes and twisted it up into a messy knot on the back of his head, securing it with one of his extra pencils. He studied his sketch for a minute and then reached for his pencil.

"You know," he said conversationally, "I expect Legolas will be home soon."

Narylfiel looked up, brows furrowed in concentration over her misshapen little project. "And Thaliniel too," she added. "I will be glad to see them."

Thranduil murmured his agreement and then reached for his glass of wine on the end table. He took a thoughtful sip and then cleared his throat. "Narylfiel," he said carefully, "have you given thought to how we should impart our news to them?"

Narylfiel groaned. "You mean in a way that does not leave Thaliniel hysterical or Legolas reaching for his knives?"

Thranduil appeared to consider these options. "We could simply tell them the truth. It is possible, dear one, that they would both be happy for us."

Narylfiel snorted and pointed her yarn hook at her husband. "That seems like a rather naive outlook, don't you think? And here I was thinking I was the young optimistic one in the relationship..."

"Oh, I see what you're saying," Thranduil chuckled. "Are you implying I am usually the old jaded one?"

Narylfiel smiled pertly. "Well, I didn't want to say it, but..." Thranduil laughed at her insinuation, and she sat down her project, pleased to have him laughing with her. "But seriously, Thranduil. Do you not remember the time your son bloodied the noses of the guards who mentioned asking me to a fire circle? He's always been the protective sort."

"True," Thranduil mused, "I remember him arranging the schedules to give the pair of those fellows a three month stint on the southern rim."

Narylfiel blushed and covered her cheeks with her hands. "How embarrassing. No wonder I never had any other suitors or invitations."

Thranduil folded the cover of his sketchbook shut. Narylfiel glimpsed a sliver of the page before it shut, and she smiled to herself. Thranduil had been drawing her. Again. He pushed the ottoman away with his feet and then stood, pulling the pencil from the knot of his hair, letting the strands fall down his shoulders with a self-satisfied sigh.

"Legolas may have requested their schedule changed," he told her, "but I was the one who signed off on their transfer." He closed the distance between them and took the odd shaped yarn mass from her lap, carefully set it aside, and pulled her to her feet.

"Figures," Narylfiel said darkly, narrowing her eyes. "You saboteur. And I still haven't been to a fire circle."

Thranduil rubbed a lazy circle on the top of her hand. "You've already snared the best-looking elf in the woods," he teased. "What need have you of fire circles?"

"I'm naturally curious," she told him. "I'm told it's one of my most endearing qualities."

Thranduil released her hand and walked toward the closet. "All right then." He swung the door open and rifled through a few of her autumn gowns.

Narylfiel trailed behind him. "What are you doing?" She attempted to peer around his shoulder.

"This one," he said, pulling a nephredil cream and golden gown from its hanger and handing it to her. "If we are going to a fire circle, we might as well look the part. Get dressed."

Narylfiel took the gown, simple and filmy in her hands and stared after him as he left the closet. "Are you even invited?"

Thranduil stopped. "Dearest," he said with a mischievous look over his shoulder, "I am always invited."

So it was that two hours and some odd number of glasses of wine later, the Elvenking sprawled elegantly in a decadent chair brought out especially for the occasion, mind you, amid the festivities of a particularly boisterous fire circle. To his right sat his lovely queen, and to the left, the queen's elk calf tried to sneak morsels from the king's plate. Perhaps it was the moon—fuller and brighter, hanging perfectly over the trees on a star-blown night-—or perhaps it had more to do with the three barrels of Dorwinion the king brought down for the occasion or perhaps it was because the king and queen were there or maybe it was because after all the sadness and loss of the war, the people of the Woodland Realm wanted to cut loose, wanted to celebrate the beauty of their wood still standing, or perhaps it was a combination of all of the aforementioned, but this fire circle was more of a celebration, more of a free-spirited revel than any fire circle had been in a very long time.

Long tables had been brought out to the clearing in the trees, and the feasting folk sung freely, drank even more freely, laughed and passed threnchers of food.

A fire circle, Narylfiel decided, was basically a party.

A wild one.

Music boomed through the woods. The king had brought out the court musicians to swell the ranks of the usual three or four who played. When the usual band told the court musicians to join them if they thought they could keep up...well, the royal musicians saw it as a challenge. The result was wonderfully loud, beautiful and inspired.

The bonfire shot sparks higher than the tops of the trees. And when the elves tired of drinking and feasting, they began to dance, with each other or around the bonfire, and it did not take Narylfiel long to notice that these were not the usual kinds of dances performed at the formal affairs of the king's court.

"Thranduil," Narylfiel said leaning over from her own chair, "what exactly are they doing out there?"

Galion, who had just been topping off His Majesty's glass, pressed his lips together in a not-so discreet attempt not to laugh. The Elvenking nodded his thanks and studied the fine dark liquid before taking an appreciative sip. "How about I show you?" he asked, raising one of his wonderfully expressive dark brows in an invitation.

Narylfiel leaned forward. "Wait a minute..." she craned her neck. "Is that—is that Melui I see down there by the fire?"

Thranduil looked smug. "She's here with Dorwil. I noticed the pair of them ten minutes ago. I was wondering how long it would take you to spot them."

Narylfiel's eyes widened. "Well, he's clearly feeling much improved."

"Clearly," agreed Thranduil, setting his glass of wine to the side. "Come. Let us go see what they have to say for themselves."

- - - - - -

Legolas stopped on the path ahead, his frame going rigid.

"What is it?" Thaliniel whispered. "Spiders?"

He shook his head. "No, no, nothing like that." Legolas turned and his eyes were bright, even in the gloom of the dark forest. "Do you smell that?"

"I told you not to eat any of those mushrooms the hobbits packed," Thaliniel said, wrinkling her nose.

Her husband laughed and then adopted a hurt expression. "Oh, my wife. You wound me. That is not a very nice thing to imply about the prince of the realm."

Thaliniel grinned. "Anyone who has spent more than a few hours with the 'prince of the realm' would know the truth—and the whole way home you kept trying to blame it on Gimli!"

"Or the hobbits," Legolas said. "Easy targets, the lot of them. You have never met any two gassier people than Merry or Pippin."

Thaliniel grimaced. "Now I'm sorry to have brought it up."

"I meant the smoke, Thaliniel. Do you smell it? It's a campfire...or perhaps a bonfire." He cast a look up to the tree canopy, so thick it hid any sight of the stars or moon. "I do believe tonight is supposed to be a full moon."

Thaliniel slid off Arod's back. "Do you think they're having a fire circle?"

Legolas reached for her in the darkness and pulled her in close for a warm kiss. "Let's go find out."

- - - - - -

By the time Narylfiel and Thranduil reached the dancing by the bonfire, Melui and Dorwil were nowhere to be seen. Unfortunately, one of the downsides to being king of the realm was that it was nigh impossible to walk anywhere without being stopped three or even ten times to be greeted by well-wishers.

"Well, that's disappointing," Narylfiel said when neither she nor Thranduil could spot the pair of their guards. "Where do you suppose they got off to?"

Thranduil leaned in and whispered his suspicions into her ear.

"Does that actually happen at these things?" she gasped. "Really?"

"Really," Thranduil said, his eyes merry. "Ask your sister and Legolas about it."

"You don't mean—"

"Oh, but I do," Thranduil said with a wicked grin. "Now let's see about some dancing."

His queen stepped closer, twined her arms around his neck. "Show me."

And he did.

- - - - - -

Legolas wondered if perhaps he should have listened to Thaliniel's advice and not eaten those mushrooms after all. The music from the fire circle was loud, louder than he remembered. Between the music and the smoke, his head pounded. Even so it was his people and a party, and the sound of their shouts and laughter had him catching Thaliniel's hand in his.

"Dance with me?" The light of the fire bathed her face golden warm.

Thaliniel loosened the clasp to her cloak, draped it over Arod's back. "I thought you'd never ask."

Hand in hand, the couple walked from the edge of the clearing to the bonfire, an enormous one, so bright and hot that it flamed up easily to the height of two elves. Now Legolas and Thaliniel joined in the dancing, giving little thought to the idea of someone recognizing them or making a fuss over their arrival. Truly, all of the elves remaining at the fire circle were so caught up in their own dance partners that they scarcely heeded another couple joining in the dance—that is all of the elves except one.

One particular elf straightened where he stood, shook off the haze of the wine—he should never had accepted that last cup!—and peered again at the twisting circles of dancers around the fire. He easily spotted his king and queen; Thranduil had Narylfiel wrapped tightly in both his arms as they swayed together by the fire. He seemed to be whispering something in her ear, and then he kissed her, first on her mouth, then down her neck, and...Galion looked away.

"This could mean a fair bit of trouble," he told the elk by the king's chair. Mithren looked up from where he had been licking Thranduil's plate clean and seemed to agree.

Galion's eyes swept the fire circles again. The glare from the fire made it infinitely more difficult to discern everyone's faces, but there, there on the outer edge, plain as anything, Prince Legolas danced with his princess. And this time Galion was sure it was him, not just one cup of Dorwinion too many making him see things.

The king and queen were on the opposite side of the fire for now, but oh! If the music picked up and the dancers began to move again...Legolas and Thaliniel would run straight into the king—Galion looked in Thranduil's direction again—whose only focus at the moment seemed to be instructing his queen in the ways of fire circle dances..

Galion looked from Legolas and Thaliniel to Thranduil and Narylfiel. Which couple should he intercept? Should he warn the king? Surely His Grace would not want this to be the way his son found