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Thank you and HUGS to everyone who voted for or commented on the last chapter: princesswithashotgun , RacquelIrish , EvenstarOfHerPeople , karlie-korn, NettleGoblinshimmer , jennyjennlief, TiedinRed , Elf_and_an_agent , CJ_Callahan90 , The_Midnight_Fangirl , Havecouragebkind , LilyBlondie , natalia_vegas , _Dreamyn_ , marabatzion, 365daysoffeels , earwen_eledhwen , e_Silmarwen_elf , OliviaSmith115, rose5607 , sosialisten , caranguren, love_live_read_books , dreamer0, krhoades11, Tammyt70 , epicredpenn, wannabeyournasty, Sapphire36 , Little_Baby_Girl, YvaineRoss, BeyondTheForest, debisrum, toffee3326, Wild_flower15 , shadowspinner, featheryfrenzy, emmybeth1999, and pawlacat.

And thank you to all the people who added Kingsfoil to their reading lists!! AprilPlarisan, KarinaFalkDanielsen, EvenstarOfHerPeople , HayleyFarnham , marabatzion, delEanz, Arabian1, Sierra_Laufeyson , kris2305, JUUTOU, krhoades11, drucilla1395 , and Eyrn_Tuile_Numen12.

We are coming up to some big moments in this story, and as always I value your support and feedback!

. . . . .

Three thousand years ago...

The candles had burnt out hours ago, and the fire on the hearth had long since guttered into ash. Thranduil sat alone in his room. He was king now. They had put a crown on his head and pronounced it before all of the kingdom.

He just did not think that he could do this.

Elarien had been there with him. At one point she had threaded her fingers through his and gave them a timid squeeze. But that moment had vanished as quickly as it had come, and Thranduil could not be sure if was real or if he might have imagined it all in the first place.

He did not want to be king.

He had never wanted it.

Yet hours and one spiky crown later, here he was. In his father's chambers. My chambers, he corrected himself.

He withdrew farther into the high back chair, so that if anyone looked, they might guess that it was just a shadow, not the king himself. He felt like a shadow. Everything in the room reminded him of his father, and none of it, of himself. In a few hours, he would be expected to hold court, hear petitions. His kingdom had suffered much loss from the battle, and they would need a strong king to cobble the remains together, to see their losses through and ensure their survival.

In just a few more hours.

For now, he could lurk in his father's chair, pretend to be a shadow. For a few more hours, he could mourn the loss of his last family member. He could grieve.

When the sun rose, he would have to be Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm. He would have to take all his petty wants and fears and lay them aside. He would have to pretend to have the same strength and formidable mien as his father. He needed to be focused and engaged. He honestly did not know if he had it in him.

There was a small part of Thranduil that briefly considered running away from it all, but that as only a very small part of him. As much as Thranduil feared and loathed the idea of being king, he loved the Woodland Realm. He loved its wide, deep hollows, its tall beeches, and the way the trees sighed together in the wind; and he loved its people, especially the wild and fierce sylvan elves, who had pledged their loyalty to his father so many years ago. He loved his father. And he would provide for his people to the best of his ability and make the Greenwood great again, if he could. He owed them that much at least.

. . . . .

Yule, 3018:

Long tables filled the room, and each was strewn with bright goblets and dark green fir fronds with red berries that glistened in the light of several fat, jolly looking white candles which marched down the middle of the table like eager sentinels.

Over all this, King Thranduil presided. From his view at the head table, he surveyed the Great Hall with a sense of self-pleased satisfaction. Now his uncommonly good mood could be attributed to the lovely elleth beside him, whose fingers were still wrapped in his, but it could also be from his sighting of the dwarves across the room, one of whom still wore a very silly hat, it could have been derived from the bright and lively music and the shouts and laughter of the many elves dancing, or perhaps it was a combination of all these at once. Even with the darkness threatening his kingdom, with so many losses on the border recently, even now, his people still found cause to celebrate and be thankful, and Thranduil was grateful that he had decided to go ahead and have the feast, despite their difficult times. It was exactly what they all needed. A bright moment to light the darkness ahead of them all.

He eyed the elleth next to him, briefly admired the way his ring glistened on her finger. It stirred up all sorts of uncomfortable feelings inside him, a desire to protect and possess. He really considered leaving the feast right now, pulling her with him, out through the main doors down the long halls of his palace and to his quarters, where he would keep her all night. His grip on her hand tightened. She smiled up at him.

Instead of doing all those things, Thranduil pushed his chair back and stood. "Would you honor me with a dance?"

Narylfiel grinned a little. "Of course, your Majesty," she said as she folded her napkin and placed it on the table. "The honor is all mine." She accepted his offered arm, and he led her down to the already crowded floor, where many couples merrily danced to the lilting melody played.

Thranduil then took her hand in his and then pulled her in, perhaps a little too close for some of the onlooking matrons' comfort, but he cared little for their censure that night. He only saw his beloved, and the way her cheeks flushed when he put his other hand on her waist.

"Let me know if you start feeling tired," he told her and kissed her cheek, "or need to rest."

"This is where I want to be," she said and leaned her head against his shoulder.

More than several pairs of eyes followed the king and his betrothed that night. For many, seeing their king lovingly dancing with Narylfiel proved a difficult image to reconcile with what they knew of him, his past, what they understood about his stern ways, his fierce reputation. But there he was...dancing, laughing, stopping to brush a stray hair from her eyes, lifting her hand to his lips, tightening his grip on her waist to lift her into the air when the music called for it.

One of the older elleth, Lady Almea remarked to her circle of friends that she could hardly believe it. "She surely must have bewitched him," she observed aloud.

Beside her, Rivenion laughed. It was the sort of laugh that was the perfect blend of belittlement and scorn. "You know nothing of our king if you say so," he said drily. "It's obvious that he loves her."

Almea drew herself up and eyed the pair across the room. "It's not obvious to me," she said.

Rivenion took a slow sip of his wine, all the while watching his king dance with Narylfiel. "Then you either don't know King Thranduil at all, or you have never loved." On that note, he set his cup down and left.

Lady Almea might have laughed off his comment, but her eyes narrowed at the pair on the floor, watching the young elleth who clearly captivated her king.

Meanwhile, the elven feast turned merry-making continued to astonish the party of four dwarves on the other side of the room. Bofur and Dori watched the elvish dancing and singing with wide eyes while Thorin sat beside them scowling, the tea cozy hat still perched atop his head at the most ridiculous angle. Dwalin folded his arms and said nothing, save for the occasional grumble about how thankful he was that the majority of the elves gave their table a wide berth.

Dwalin's comfort proved to be short-lived, however, for just as the Elvenking led Lady Narylfiel out for their first dance, a petite and dark-headed elleth approached the dwarves' table.

"Quel undome," she said, smiling a friendly smile, and her dark eyes were ringed with impossibly long lashes. "That is 'Good Evening' in our language," she told them. "My name is Melui, and I invite you all to join us in the next group dance."

Thorin immediately shook his head 'no,' but Dwalin's quick hand on his shoulder put a stop to that.

"Prince Thorin would love too," Dwalin gruffly said.

"Aye, and we would too," chimed in Bofur. He loved dancing, of any kind.

Melui leaned down, a twinkle in her eye as she met Dwalin's gaze. "And what about you, sir? Would you dance as well?"

Thorin's eyes shifted to Dwalin as he stood, adjusted his hat so the antlers would stop flopping over into his eyes. "Oh, yes," the dwarf prince answered for his companion. "Dwalin just loves dancing."

Melui extended her hand to him. "Wonderful!" she exclaimed as Dwalin stood, unsmiling. "I know that my king would be very pleased to see his guests enjoying themselves."

She ushered them all to the middle of the room, where a large circle was already forming. Narylfiel had just finished her dance with King Thranduil, who noticed the dwarves' confusion as some elleths handed the stocky guests evergreen fronds from a large basket. Dwalin stared at his tree branch, holding it away from his body with two fingers, as if he expected it to bite him.

"This is your doing, I'd wager?" Thranduil asked in a low voice. Narylfiel only smiled, and the king tried to hide his amusement as he left her side to return to the head table. Thranduil opted not to participate in the group dance. Waving greenery and skipping around a circle was really not his preferred form of dancing. He reclined gracefully in his chair and smiled in the dwarves' direction. Just because he did not choose to dance himself did not mean he couldn't enjoy watching others dance...and he planned to enjoy every second of seeing Prince Thorin dance the Yenearsira Salk, a traditional Silvan dance in which the ellon, or in this case dwarves, pranced around a circle while their partners clapped in time to the music and tried to pull off bits of greenery from the branch held by the ellon they favored most.

As the music began to play, the dwarves shuffled around the circle, sandwiched between several pairs of young and eager ellyn who enthusiastically waved their fronds toward the maidens in the circle. It soon became clear to Thranduil that the ellyth were having a competition among themselves to see how much they could pluck from the dwarves' hands. He almost felt sorry for them. Almost.

Thranduil stood when the dance ended, intent on reclaiming Narylfiel's attention for the next couple's dance. He tapped on her shoulder, and then smiled at the collection of fronds in her hands. He took them from her and placed them into the basket held by one of the younger ladies. "I am sorry, but you'll just have to tell your dwarven friends that you are already spoken for," he told her silkily, placing a kiss on her hand.

Narylfiel laughed, turning her head to see the dwarves in question surrounded by several curious ellyth. "I believe I've given them enough cause for excitement this evening," she said and then met his eyes. "What about you, though? Have you had enough excitement?" she asked teasingly.

Thranduil chuckled, and his eyes darkened as he pulled her closer. "No, naurenniel," he said only loud enough for her to hear. "Our excitement is far from over."

Much later the Elvenking led a pink-cheeked and slightly breathless Narylfiel from the Great Hall. He paused briefly at the archway festooned with mistletoe. "Shall we?" he asked her.

"We definitely must," she agreed, and her Elvenking swept her under the arch, his arms going tightly around her waist.

And then as quickly as the kiss began, the Elvenking ended it, tucking her arm under his and leading her through the palace, up to the High Gate, where they could access the outer door to the domed rock high above Thranduil's halls.

Narylfiel had been though the High Gate before, first with Legolas and her sister, but then later with Thranduil, and the view never failed to astonish. It was not merely the elevation, but what the view afforded-a wide glimpse above the treetops, clear to the Misty Mountains toward the west and the Lonely Mountain and Long Lake in the East. The snow had begun to fall again, softly, and the cold night air burned in her chest.

Thranduil drew her in close with her back to his chest, put his arms around her, so they could both still watch the snow dust the tree tops.. "Now," he said, "let's talk."

He did not have to go into any more detail, and Narylfiel felt her ears grow hot. "Hûredhiel fears that I am fading, that the poison has damaged my feä." The last word came out as a whisper.

Thranduil's arms tightened around her, and he did not speak right away. When he finally did, his words sounded unsure, hesitant even. "But she believes you can still bond," he said slowly.

Narylfiel nodded. "For now. At least that's what she thinks."

Gently, Thranduil guided her around to face him. He took her hand in his and marveled for a moment at how the snowflakes shone against her dark hair, like stars caught in night sky. "Narylfiel, you mentioned earlier that you did not tell me this out of fear, but I would have no such fear from you-not you, who has always lived so fearlessly. I love you, and I want you. I would hope those reasons alone would be enough to convince you to become my wife, my bondmate. But there is one more thing that I would have you know," Thranduil said, tracing her cheek with his thumb. "We would bond, and Valar willing, it would be enough to heal you...but I hope that it will save me too." He looked down as he told her this and then shyly met her eyes. "For my heart had grown weary in despair and loneliness."

"Thranduil," Narylfiel murmured his name. This was her Elvenking, her fearless warrior, but right now he was just Thranduil, vulnerable and, how she loved him best, hopeful. "Tonight?" she asked, tilting her face up to his. "Yes. Of course, yes," she said.

Thranduil grinned broadly and kissed the top of her head. "I do not want to wait for formal ceremonies or feasts or any of those things," he said and gestured to the forest and night sky. "I would claim you as my own before all of Arda and the Valar, right here," he told her, his eyes shining. "Right now, Narylfiel."

Her eyes trailed over the snow still softly falling, the white-fringed treetops and dark sky stretching endlessly over the mountains to the far horizon. She met his eyes and seriously felt like tears might come at any moment. "All I have ever wanted was you, Thranduil."

Then he took both her hands in his and asked for Eru's blessing of their union, and both made vows, the like of which have never been heard by mortal ears, except to say that they spoke of love and unending devotion that would not be broken by time or death.

And when they had finished, Thranduil closed the silence between them, his lips on her lips, and suddenly the cold did not feel so cold any longer. The snow fell quietly all around them, like the slow descent of the stars themselves, but Thranduil cared not for any of these things, save the elleth in his arms.

The sound of the outer door latch clanging broke the silence. Thranduil reluctantly let go of Narylfiel and waited as Elfir stepped into the snow. His face was grim as he apologized for interrupting anything.

"My lord," he said grimly. "I need to escort you and Lady Narylfiel inside at once. We must hurry. There has been a breach in our security. The Front Entrance has been found open."

"The guards?" Thranduil asked, his voice sharp, worried.

"Unconscious," Elfir said. "Come, Your Majesty. We must get you to safety. We don't know how many intruders there might be or what their aim is."

Thranduil and Narylfiel followed Elfir into the dimly lit hall, and Narylfiel noticed that even when Thranduil stopped to seal the door, the Royal Guard's hand never strayed from the hilt of his sword. Narylfiel wished for her knives at that moment, but her dress, as lovely as it was, did not provide for weapon carrying of any sort. After the High Gate was closed and locked, Thranduil reached down and pulled a long, thin knife from his boot.

Elfir nodded his approval, but Narylfiel only shook her head. "Really, Thranduil? To the Feast?"

Thranduil smiled mirthlessly. "And now I need it." Then he eyed Narylfiel. "We need to move quickly-" he began.

"I can run," she insisted. "I can, Thranduil. If I get winded or can't keep up, I'll tell you."

Elfir gestured to the open hall and stairs. "Let's go."

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