Autumn 2941, Third Age:

Failure left such a bitter taste in his mouth.

It was late, far later than the Elven King was known to stay on his enormous carven throne, now cast into a pool of darkness in the cavernous hall. If the king's antlered broach on his chest did not occasionally reflect the lamplight, then he would have easily been mistaken for the shadows.

"I missed them?" Narylfiel's voice betrayed her disappointment. She had never seen a dwarf before. It was just one more let down that she was going to have to let go.

"They may have escaped," the king admitted crossly.

"That's impossible!" she exclaimed and frowned.

"Apparently not," the king bit off his words. Narylfiel could not make his expression out very clearly because of the shadows, but even so, this might have been the angriest that she had ever seen her king.

"Tell me about what happened?" Narylfiel asked, looking up at the throne, hoping he would come down to her.

Thranduil uncrossed his legs and then crossed them again. He muttered something that Narylfiel could not quite make out.

Now, many a wise elf would have turned and discreetly left the king to his own dark mood at this point, but Narylfiel had never counted herself among the very wise. Instead, she climbed the stairs ascending to the king's enormous antlered throne and plopped down at the top step at his feet.

He scowled at her. She could see his face clearly now and the way his eyebrows seemed to curve into a singular frustrated line, but she remained undaunted.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asked sharply.

"Well, I'm pretty hungry, having just come back from the southern border, but I wanted to spend some time with you," she told him, ignoring his pique.

"So you're just going to sit there?" asked the king. His eyes glittered coolly in the dark.

"With you, your majesty," she replied simply and gazed up at him. She knew he was angry, and his temper honestly frightened her from time to time. But they were also friends, and she could not in good conscience leave him stewing over the dwarves' escape all night.

"I might stay here all night," he countered, smoothing out an invisible crease from his tunic.

"Then I shall as well," Narylfiel said agreeably.

"I could order the guards to carry you to the dungeons," the king warned her.

"Apparently," she said, borrowing his own word from earlier, and smiled sweetly up at him, "they're not that secure."

Thranduil pursed his lips at her remark. Of course he was not going to laugh, even if it was funny; instead, he let out an exasperated sigh. "Fine," he said. "But only because I can't have you fainting off the steps from lack of nourishment."

He stood and then helped her to her feet. "I really despise those greedy little miners," he told her as they walked down to the kitchens. "They honestly believe they're better than the elves, Narylfiel." He snorted and pushed open the door to the dining room. "Delusional."

"Where do you think they went?"

"Oh, I have no doubt that they want to return to Erebor," Thranduil said tiredly as pulled out a chair for her and took his usual seat at the table. "This whole mess will end in a bloodbath, Narylfiel. Our people are not the only ones with claim to the treasure in that mountain. If the dragon does not kill them first, then..."

"Then what, Thranduil?" Her voice sounded small and lost in the tall-ceilinged room.

"Then I do not know," he told her and did not speak of it again that evening, but in his prideful heart, Thranduil already knew exactly what he would do. He would not leave their insult unanswered; he had heard that other races deemed the elves of the Woodland Realm 'more dangerous and less wise.' Well, he would show them exactly how dangerous they could be.
. . . . . . . . . . . . .
November 3018, Third Age:

After Thranduil excused himself to make some arrangements for their travel, the kindly old woman returned to Narylfiel's bedside with her clothes, cleaned and mended. Narylfiel took them gratefully and accepted the woman's help in getting dressed.

"Your young man, err elf, seems set on getting you this medicine," she observed to Narylfiel with a sly smile. "He has been most attentive to you."

"He is too kind," Narylfiel allowed as she gingerly leaned over to pull on her boots.

"Here now, let me help you with that," Mara insisted. "I still don't know why he insists on dragging you up to that mountain with him. Poor thing, you've been so ill."

Narylfiel placed a calming hand on the older lady's fretful ones. "The dwarves may have the medicine that can fight the poison; my friend hopes to draw the rest out once the medicine weakens the poison's hold over me." She shrugged. "Elven medicine, I don't really understand much about it either."

Mara nodded and pulled a small comb from her apron pocket. "If you don't mind, my lady, I thought I might..."

"Yes, of course! Please do," Narylfiel encouraged and turned around. Mara admiringly drew the comb through the long shining strands. "Your hair is lovely. Such a warm color."

Narylfiel colored a little as she recalled earlier in the afternoon, waking in Thranduil's arms, hearing him admit that he would consider changing the boundaries of their relationship! She did not even know what to call it. Had he agreed to be her suitor? The word seemed painfully inadequate to suggest what he offered, encompassed. To be lovers? Narylfiel blushed some more. She was thankful that Mara stood behind her and could not see her reddening cheeks. Thranduil had run his hands over and through her hair, smoothed it away from her face and eyes. Those hands-and this time bearing no rings, no king's crest-just long, attentive fingers that soothed her, had combed through her hair, toying with its ends, half-braiding and unbraiding the strands as his eyes searched hers. He had been so tender, so gentle and loving. Narylfiel had been sure that he was going to lean in right then and kiss her, just like in her dream...

...but he had not. Did not. Kiss her. Not even one tiny little peck. Instead, he told her that they were going to have to go on a little excursion to get her some medicine and he excused himself. She watched him leave her bed and drank in the sight of his long, lean torso-those shoulders!-and narrow hips hugged by soft leggings. Narylfiel had really only wanted to do two things in that moment: first, to weep from the loss of him; second, to vow to get him back into her bed under any sort of circumstance or design.

"My lady?" Mara tapped her on the shoulder.

"Oh!" Narylfiel stopped daydreaming. "I am sorry. Did you say something?"

Mara smiled at her kindly. "I asked if I could pack you and his lordship some food for the trip." She patted Narylfiel's knee. "Why don't you come down to the kitchen with me, my dear? It would do you good to get up and around a little bit."

Mara wasted no time in installing Narylfiel at the small green table by the back window and bringing her a mug of steaming broth, hot off the stove. She sat down across from the elleth and picked up her basket of mending, working a little while she kept a watchful eye on how much broth her patient drank. She asked curiously about Narylfiel's family; would they not be worried about her? To which Narylfiel replied that they would not worry about her knowing that she was in good hands. Thranduil would never let anything happen to her.

Mara cleared her throat. "Thranduil," she repeated. "This is your handsome companion's name?"

Narylfiel bit her lip. "It's a very common elven name." She was pretty sure that Thranduil wanted to keep a low profile. They had not discussed it, but she could guess.

The old woman nodded shrewdly. "This house belongs to an elven lord named Thranduil. I was thinking he might be their king, the same one the old duffers spin yarns about in all the stories about the burning of Laketown and the great battle," she said.

"Well..." Narylfiel's voice trailed away, and she took a slow sip of broth to stall.

"I am Thranduil, the Elven King of the Woodland Realm," Thranduil confirmed, coming up behind them from the front room, placing both his hands on Narylfiel's shoulders. "I am sure you can understand why I would prefer to remain anonymous."

Mara instantly dropped her head down in a bow. "Yes, your majesty," she exclaimed reverently and dared to look up, her eyes darting from Narylfiel to the tall elf lord filling up the room. Her mouth curled into a toothy smile. "My family owes you much, my lord, for your continued generosity over the years."

Thranduil dismissed the statement with a wave. "You and your husband have served many of my people faithfully for years, Mara."

"And your majesty, I am sorry that I made you undress in front of me earlier," the old woman apologized. She met Narylfiel's eyes and mouthed "Not sorry at all" to her behind her hand and winked.

"If you would please excuse us," Thranduil asked the old woman, and he took the seat across from Narylfiel at the table.

He waited until the woman closed the door behind her and then took Narylfiel's hand in his. It was still cold, but a definite improvement.

"Narylfiel," he said at last, "do you think you can ride?"

She bristled. "Of course I can ride! I feel much better."

The king shook his head woefully. "Narylfiel, it cannot last; not with the poison still in your system."

"But why would I feel better now? And not worse?" Narylfiel did not understand.

"Because I am helping sustain you through our bond," Thranduil explained softly, lacing his fingers through hers. "The closer we are, the more effective it is." He paused, looked down at the worn tabletop. "Even when I left to go to the apothecary shop, you practically went into shock. No, I do not dare leave you here."

"What if you get the medicine?" Narylfiel heard herself ask, and she concentrated on the feeling of his hand holding hers, the press of his warm palm against her own.

"Then the medicine strengthens your blood, enough so that I can finish the bond-healing." Thranduil's eyes drifted to the small kitchen window. They needed to leave soon.

"And then you would sever our bond?" Narylfiel had to know. As much as she did not like being injured, she did not relish the thought of losing him that way.

"I would, Narylfiel," he told her. "It is not a healthy connection, for either us." This sort of bond was never meant to be long-term.

She nodded but did not speak, and her eyes lingered on their hands intertwined on the green tabletop.

"Narylfiel, look at me," Thranduil commanded, but his voice was soft. "If I heal you and can sever the bond, it will not change anything about how I feel or how you feel." He squeezed her hand a little, made sure she met his eyes before he added, "And there are other and more pleasurable ways of forging a lasting bond."

He pulled her to her feet and guided her out the front door to their horse, purposefully denying her a chance to respond, other than hearing her catch her breath at that last teasing statement and feeling the shot of desire that thrummed straight through their bond.

Thranduil had procured a decent mount, strong enough to carry him and Narylfiel up the river to the main entrance of the mountain. It was no Giant Elk or even comparable to an elven bred steed, but the horse was a good-natured fellow and had sturdy, sure feet that knew the way to Erebor. Thranduil considered himself fortunate to find any mount on such short notice and told Narylfiel so.

She rode with him, one of his arms wrapped snugly around her waist. They both wore their cloaks pulled up, and the snow continued to fall, dusting them white as they traveled through the night, stopping only briefly to let their horse rest. Even then, Narylfiel noticed that her king took care to stay within arm's reach of her at all times; he continually checked her temperature, asked if she needed an extra blanket, made sure her hands were warm enough.

As they neared the mountain, Thranduil's mood grew increasingly grim and he wished that certain past misdeeds would not hinder him from being able to get the much-needed blood grass for Narylfiel.

The first guard commanded them to halt. He and the others patrolling the road to the main gate wore handsome fur hoods and gold glinted at their buckles. Their eyes were sharp and fierce, their beards, long and immaculately braided. Narylfiel, who had never met any dwarves before, was suitably impressed.

"Do not look for a warm welcome," Thranduil told her quietly, adding, "and let me do the talking."

The dwarf hissed and reached for his sword. "Elves..." Two of the other guards fitted arrows to their bows.

"We come with a message from Lord Elrond of Rivendell for King Dain," Thranduil announced.

"Well, hand it to me, and I'll see that he gets it." The dwarf's eyes narrowed and his fingers did not leave his hilt.

"I must deliver this message personally," Thranduil replied archly. "Or has the hospitality of the dwarves diminished that they leave weary travelers standing in the cold?"

Adjusting his fur lined hood, the dwarf snorted. "Better than the hospitality of the elves whose king throws weary travelers in his dungeon, or so I've been told."

Thranduil stiffened at the insult but said nothing.

The dwarf turned and went briefly to consult with his fellow guards on the matter.

"He did not recognize you," Narylfiel whispered to her king.

"No, but once we are inside and remove our cloaks, there will be others who will," he predicted. "King Dain will."

"What's to keep them from throwing you in their dungeons?" she asked quietly. "I do not like how vulnerable we are."

"Nor do I," Thranduil said softly in her ear. "But unlike Thorin Oakenshield, I have an entire army that can ride to our rescue, and King Dain knows it. No, he will be more diplomatic , although I am sure the idea will be encouraged by more than a few of his counselors."

A pair of dwarf guards returned and announced that they would escort the elves to the main doors of the mountain, made seemingly impregnable by what must have been years of Dwarven stonework and masonry. Even Thranduil noted aloud to Narylfiel that the dwarves had clearly not been idle in the years following the Battle of Five Armies, such was the advanced skill displayed in the ingenuity and artistic precision of the new main gate.

Once the elven couple had been delivered inside, their horse seen to by some dwarven lads, and ushered into the main hall, Thranduil removed his hood and instructed Narylfiel to do the same.

There were more than just a few surprised gasps as the Elven King strode proudly up to the throne, where King Dain sat and a few of his advisors and counselors looked on from the side.

"I come with a message on behalf of Imladris and the Woodland Realm," Thranduil announced, his eyes just as glittering and formidable as if he had come in his finest robes and crown, surrounded by the most elite of his Royal Guard, instead of the reality, in which he was a little travel-stained and muddy looking.

"Well met, King Thranduil." Dain's eyes crinkled under his bushy eyebrows, and the dwarf stroked his beard thoughtfully. "What brings the Elven King to Erebor in such bad weather, unannounced and unheralded?"

"War once made allies of dwarves and elves many years ago," Thranduil told him, "and now war is upon us once again." Reaching into his cloak, the Elven King produced the missive from Lord Elrond and passed it off to one of Dain's advisors, a disgruntled looking dwarf that Thranduil recognized as one of Thorin's original company.

The dwarf took the missive up to Dain to read, and in a loud whisper, suggested, "I don't know that we should trust him, Dain! He's dangerous and clearly up to something!"

"Peace, Bofur," Dain intoned and unfolded the letter to read, but some of the other dwarves standing beside the throne began to grumble and point at the Elven King.

Up to this point, Narylfiel had remained silent, standing just a little behind her king, but she could not stand idly by and hear her king defamed.

"It was my fault," she blurted out to the dwarf named Bofur.

"Narylfiel," warned Thranduil, but she moved around him.

"Miss?" Bofur was surprised to hear the she-elf speak. In fact, he had not even realized she had been standing behind the king until she had piped up, looking straight at him.

Narylfiel's words spilled out in a rush. "King Thranduil does not have any secret designs or intrigues planned I assure you! He's only here because I acted very foolishly and left his halls without his permission, thinking I could deliver the message from Lord Elrond! Only then the king heard that orcs had broken through our southern border and I was in danger, so he rode in haste to rescue me, and he did." She turned for a second to beam at Thranduil, whose mouth had straightened into a hard line at this point.

Dain and Bofur exchanged amused looks. In truth, it was rather humorous to see a lovely and earnest she-elf jumping to her lord's defense, not that he needed her help in the slightest.

Dain's nose twitched, and he tilted his head ever so slightly as he took time to study the pair before him. "Is this story true, King Thranduil?" he asked seriously, but his eyes were merry.

Thranduil shot Narylfiel a dark look. "Unfortunately, yes."

At this admission, Dain let out a hearty chuckle. "Women!" he exclaimed. "Bless 'em! There's no accounting for what notions they get into their heads." Then he fixed his gaze at Narylfiel and told her solemnly, "You should consider yourself very fortunate, young lady."

Narylfiel nodded and lowered her eyes. She knew more than he the exact truth of those words.

Then the King under the Mountain clapped his hands together. "I would like to discuss the news you have delivered, King Thranduil, but the hour grows late," he said and directed a little smile at Narylfiel. "Your young lady could do with a goodnight's rest, I'd wager." Dain turned to give directions to some of his staff to provide for the needs of his elven guests.

"She was poisoned," Thranduil interrupted, his voice hard like the edge of dwarven masonry. A careless observer might have guessed that the Elven King was extremely angry at this turn of events, but Dain was shrewd and caught the way the other king's eyes softened as he glanced at her. No, not angry-distressed and anxious perhaps. It was a side of the usually polished Elven king that few ever beheld.

"Poisoned?" asked Dain, sharing a worried look with Bofur.

Thranduil frowned as he recalled how he had struggled to draw out the dark sinuous liquid from Narylfiel's wound. "The orcs have improved their craft it seems," he said bitterly.

The dwarf king's brows furrowed into a deep crease. "Bofur, see this young lady to the healer's ward."

Bofur nodded and gallantly offered his arm to Narylfiel. Unsure, she glanced up at Thranduil, who nodded his permission for her to go.

Bofur lightly patted her arm as he steered her away. "Sneaking out of your King's halls and getting attacked by orcs and being poisoned? Sounds like you have had quite the adventure, my lady."

Narylfiel shrugged, still unsure on how to