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November 2941, Third Age:

Narylfiel looked up from her mending- another hole in the knee of her leggings!- to see her sister enter the sitting room, her face streaked with tears.

She was up at once, putting her arm around Thaliniel, and guiding her to sit down.

"What? What has happened?"

But her sister could hardly form a single word without the tears threatening to overflow.

"Thranduil..." Her sister's voice trembled.

"Thranduil..." Narylfiel prompted.

"He's moving the army out at dawn. The dragon is dead, and he wants to lay claim to the treasure in the mountain," the older sister sniffed, taking the proffered scrap of fabric from her sister to wipe her eyes.

"Why the tears then?" Narylfiel asked, wondering why she had not heard of this herself. After all, she was part of the Forest Guard, and not to mention, friends with the king! He had not mentioned a word of this plan to her when she saw him last evening after dinner! She narrowed her eyes but then made herself pay attention. Thaliniel had stopped sniffling and tried to explain.

"Beriadan's called up all the infantry, all the archers- and Legolas will go with them. The king wouldn't go to the trouble unless...he thought there was a chance his claim would be contested...unless he thought there might be a fight."

Suddenly Narylfiel understood and it was at this moment that Legolas rushed in. "Oh, good you found your sister," he said, relieved. He had already changed into his armor, and he looked a far cry from the awkward prince who had shown up at her father's vineyard so many years ago. His years of service in the Forest Guard had hardened him into a warrior who had seen and delivered much of death and battle. His face was resolute, and his eyes were grave. "I'm leaving tonight with the forward group to scout," he told Narylfiel. "You're to stay here with the home guard."

Then the prince led his wife into the corner to tell her a few last words. Narylfiel suddenly pretended to be very interested in her mending again to give them some privacy. Out of the corner of her eye she watched as the prince pulled her sister in for a long, passionate kiss; she averted her eyes again. She wished, she wished she had someone feel for her a fraction of how much she knew Legolas loved her sister.

Thranduil. Her stomach twisted as she realized. He would be leaving too.

She did not want him to go. She did not want Legolas to go either, of course, but Thranduil... If the dragon's treasure led the king and his army into a fight, Narylfiel understood the risk. No matter their great prowess or strength, any one of them could be killed. Her eyes drifted over to the scene unfolding in the corner where the prince and his princess were still saying their farewells. She needed to be here for her sister; Thaliniel had always been there for her. But it seemed as though Legolas was not in any hurry to leave. Perhaps Narylfiel could steal a few minutes away to see the king- just for a second or two- before he left.

She was out the door and hurrying down the hall before either of them noticed. She saw one of the Royal Guard further down the long corridor, waiting patiently outside the king's study. Elfir gave her a small smile when she approached, and he gestured for her to go inside, but Narylfiel hesitated. She peeked inside and saw the king leaning over his enormous desk with numerous lists spread before him.

"Go on," Elfir whispered kindly and nudged her. "He'll want to see you."

The king looked up, his long unbound hair framing his face, as she took a timid step into the room.

"I don't want you to go," she said quietly from the doorway.

Thranduil's mouth curved for a moment into an almost smile. "I cannot in good faith allow the works of our people to be lost in that mountain or to be claimed for some dark purpose."

She met his eyes from across the room. "You are worth more than any of those gems or jewels, my lord."

He set his pen down on the blotter next to the inkbottle and straightened. "As king, I would defend the heritage of our people, naurenniel. There are works in that mountain that the dwarves pillaged in the sack of Doriath long ago."

"I do not care about any old stones or necklaces," Narylfiel said and bit her lip, adding almost inaudibly, "I care about you."

The king's eyes drifted down to his neat lists of warriors, called up to service and sorted into ranks for battle, and when he looked up, she was gone. He moved around his desk to the doorway and watched her retreating form, already halfway down the hall.

"She does not understand," the king said quietly to his guard.

"No, my lord," agreed Elfir stoically, but his eyes were sympathetic as they watched Narylfiel's retreat. He had seen what the king had not- Narylfiel's eyes when she left. But it was not his place to give the king advice, so Elfir remained silent and kept watch.

The king stood beside him, his eyes following the elleth all the way down the hall until she turned and went into the sitting room. Then Thranduil returned to his desk and eyed the parchment lists of his troops, the sum of his armies.

His eyes drifted to the door where Narylfiel had been standing a minute ago. She did not want him to go.

He pushed a frustrated hand through his hair and then sank into his chair behind his desk. Picking up his glass of wine that he had poured earlier, but had left untouched, Thranduil held the comfortable weight of it in his hand, and stared at the dark red vintage. Through the glass, he could still make out the names of his warriors on the thick parchment. The wine's dark tint blotted out the rest from view. The king's throat tightened, and he sat the elegant glass down.

He had already called his reserves to leave for battle in the morning. He would not change his mind now; part of a king's duty was to make the difficult decisions.

. . . . . . . .

November 3018, Third Age:

Thranduil's throat tightened as he stared out the door from his balcony. The citadel and King's Hall were in the center of the city. All around, everywhere he looked were stonewalls, winding streets, thatched and tile rooftops, and smoking stovepipes. He knew he should not feel this way; after all, he lived underground, but here, he felt suffocated. It was this place, he decided, these walls. His memories from the battle were still too fresh, the cries of the goblins, the twisted, trampled bodies of his warriors lying ruined in the streets.

One look at Dale, and his guilt consumed him.

He hadn't allowed it to interfere last time when he had brought Narylfiel here, bleeding and grey. Her welfare had been his only concern. But now... he felt trapped.

His eyes searched past the walls to the dark line of green on the horizon when a muffled thump and a whirl of blue fabric collided onto his balcony.

Narylfiel. She popped up, caught her balance, and curtsied. "Surprise?" she said, her brown eyes anxiously searching his.

Thranduil pushed past her and stared at the distance from her room's window to his balcony and then the distance down to the courtyard below, a straight deadly drop more than just a few stories high. He swallowed hard, and the fear and anger must have shown in his eyes when he turned to her because Narylfiel bit her lip and took a small step back.

"Did you hurt yourself?" Thranduil inquired brusquely, pulling her to him to check her over, willing himself to calm down.

"Just my dignity," Narylfiel said and winced, "and maybe my backside."

"I can look that over too," Thranduil offered, his humor returning, as he smoothed her hair.

"Thranduil!" Scandalized, Narylfiel scooted away.

He pursed his lips. "What were you thinking? Even elf kind cannot survive a fall from this height!"

"I missed you," she said simply.

"You could not have waited until dinner time?" Thranduil continued, even though his heart warmed to hear her say that she wanted to be with him. He had missed her too. "Or used the doors?"

"Elfir and Dorwil are both out there," Narylfiel complained, glancing toward the inside of his room.

"I am pretty sure that Elfir and Dorwil have figured out by now that you like to visit me," Thranduil said flatly.

"I didn't think that Elfir would let me see you," she said plaintively. "He lectured me earlier on propriety."

"I know," Thranduil told her. "I asked him to."

"He did not like that I was so friendly with Prince Bard," Narylfiel continued on blithely until what he just said dawned on her. "Wait..." she said and her eyes narrowed a little. "You asked Elfir to talk to me earlier?"

"Yes," Thranduil said, folding his arms behind his back.

"Thranduil!" Narylfiel cried, stung by his admission. "Why would you do that?"

"You are part of my household, Narylfiel. I want your behavior to be a credit to your station, especially now that the guard has joined us," Thranduil told her, his melodic voice sharpening into his king's voice.

"But why would you not just talk to me yourself? Why Elfir?" Her voice rose a little as she gestured angrily toward his door.

"Keep your voice down," Thranduil warned, "unless you want Elfir to come in right now and find us together."

"I don't like being chastised by one of your guards for my behavior," Narylfiel ground out, her cheeks hot. "If you have something you want to tell me, I want to hear it from you."

Thranduil turned away, gathered his hair over his shoulder and entering his finely appointed room, took a seat on one of the small chairs by the hearth. He met her eyes and motioned for her to join him, making it clear that he would not say anything until she came in off the balcony and sat down.

The fire still burning in her eyes, Narylfiel plopped down across from him.

"I am still your king, Narylfiel," Thranduil cautioned her. "And I do not want you to give the elves in the guard any reasons to object to our union, to you."

"So you handed down a warning for Elfir to deliver to me?" Narylfiel folded her arms and added, "And you cannot see how that might upset me?"

"You embraced Prince Bard," Thranduil admitted quietly, "and you cannot see how that might upset me?" He stared at her coolly, crossed his legs and waited for her response.

Narylfiel let out an exasperated sigh. "He had just told me his wife died last spring, Thranduil. I felt horrible."

"He held onto your hand afterward," the Elvenking countered. "I did not like to see him claim such familiarity with you. After Legolas said-"

"After Legolas said what?" Narylfiel cut him off. "That Prince Bard is 'besotted' with me? Please!"

"Mind your voice, Narylfiel," Thranduil warned her in a harsh whisper, "unless you want Elfir to know that you are in my quarters."

"You apparently have no objection to Elfir being in the middle of our relationship," Narylfiel hissed and then raised her voice, "so he can just join us if he wants to!"

Thranduil gave her a dark look and then stood abruptly from his chair. "If you do not wish to be treated like a child, then I suggest you stop acting like one." He swept past her to the door in his room, opened it just barely, and spoke quietly with Elfir and Dorwil. Then he closed the door behind him and looked imperiously at the young elleth sitting defiantly across the room.

"Come here," he told her, his eyes so stern that his eyebrows drew into a single formidable line.

For just a moment, Narylfiel considered being difficult and refusing his request, but then she reluctantly stood and crossed the room.

"I do not wish to fight with you," he said carefully. "I have sent the guards away so that you may return to your room unseen, and we will talk about this after dinner. I will think about what you said, and I would hope that you would do the same."

Narylfiel's eyes burned, and she willed herself not to cry, not now. She was so upset with him, so frustrated.

"Yes, Thranduil." She managed to keep her voice even. He held the door open and she exited without another glance in his direction.

Once inside her own room, she launched herself onto her bed, heedless of wrinkling her dress and buried her face in one of the pillows. She thought if she could just cry, then she might feel better. Except the more she thought about their fight and his words, the angrier she became. Every time. Every single time she and Thranduil disagreed or even argued, and they both were stubborn and had tempers of their own, in almost every occasion, he reminded her that he was the king. Well, he was the king, but that did not mean he was innately right.

He had sent her away to her room like a disobedient child!

A loud thump and then a crash sounded on the other side of her wall. Narylfiel sat up and frowned, her eyes instantly drawn to the wall shared by the Elvenking's room. She absently rubbed her chest over her heart, where she used to feel her bond with him; only now, it felt horrible, like an open, gaping hole- raw and hurt, lacking from the something wonderful it only had for too short of a time.

She shivered. It was unnatural to feel the cold this way; she supposed it to be a lingering effect of the poison...or perhaps because she had left her window open.

Snow had begun to fall again, and a cold gust snapped at her curtains, frosted the panes of glass. Numbly she stood and wandered toward the window to close and lock it when a sudden movement outside caught her eye.

It was Thranduil. He had stalked onto the balcony and stood at the railing, his hands firmly planted on the railing, his eyes focused on something in the distance.

Narylfiel stared at him for a second, love and anger warring in her chest. He was perfectly still, his whole frame rigid, and already snow lined his arms and shoulders and glistened in his hair like a wintery circlet. He was ever the king, the Elvenking, and she could not help but wonder if he now regretted kissing her, or even making that original healer's bond with her in the first place.

A disappointed sigh escaped her lips before she could think better of it, and Thranduil's head snapped toward her. Narylfiel froze.

He did not say anything but stared at her, with a mixture of hurt and confusion lingering in his very expressive eyes, and the snow continued to fall and swirl between them.

Narylfiel held his gaze. She was not going to back down or apologize for losing her temper-she was in the right this time. She shivered again, breaking the spell between them, and Narylfiel rubbed her arms against the cold. Thranduil took one more long look at her and then stormed off the balcony.

Narylfiel was in the process of shutting and locking her window when someone knocked on her door. She hardly made it half way across the room when the doorknob rattled and Thranduil barged in.

"You could not wait five more seconds for me to answer the door, my lord?" Narylfiel asked, folding her arms.

"No, I could not," he answered her simply and crossed the room in less than three steps to her. Before she could protest or even knew what he was going to do, Thranduil caught Narylfiel in his arms and kissed her, his lips hot and insistent against her mouth, all heat and fire and conquest, his hands diving into her hair so his thumb could rub a warm pattern against the back of her neck before he wrapped his arms tightly around her.

"I don't want us to argue," he whispered fiercely and kissed her again. For a second, she forgot about their fight. This moment, this right here- his warm breath against her cheek and his hands running through her hair and down her back, pulling her into him, this was all she had wanted in the first place, and Narylfiel simply melted into his warmth, his embrace. She loved him, and when he held her and kissed her so, she could imagine that he might love her a little too.

"I thought you said we were going to talk more after dinner..." Her voice trailed away.

Thranduil shook his head. "At the window, you shivered- I saw you," he said and took hold of her hand, turning it over in his own. "You still feel the cold?" He pressed his hand to her forehead.

"A little," she confessed, and he did not need to hear any more. Thranduil protectively tightened his arms around her.

"The poison was strong enough to damage your hroä, so it might just take some time before you have your strength back," he told her and confessed, "I don't like seeing you hurt."

"It's just the cold, but-" Narylfiel said and hesitated.

"What?" the king pressed.

She blushed and ducked her head. "I miss having the bond with you. Even if it was from a short period of time, I can feel the absence of it-and it's horrible." She sighed and rubbed the empty feeling spot over her chest. "Do you know what I'm talking about? It sounds foolish."

"It's not foolish, Narylfiel," Thranduil said quietly. His eyes were pained. "And it's entirely my fault. The longer a healing bond is in place, the more difficult it is to remove. It's only supposed to be a temporary measure, and I let yours go on too long."

Reluctantly he let go of her and picked up a blanket from the foot of the bed, wrapping it around her shoulders. "For now, stay warm. Get some rest. We'll talk more after dinner."

She watched him go through long lashes as she adjusted the blanket around her shoulders. Her heart still pounded wildly in her chest, and his taste still lingered on her lips. She waited until he was almost out of her room to inform him, "I am still really upset with you, Thranduil. You can't just barge in and think a few kisses excuses what you did."

He turned, his hand on the doorknob. "I would imagine not,