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Yule, 3017:

Thranduil thought he might just be a little drunk. He had kept up with every single toast made to him, right before he had pulled Narylfiel out to dance. She should be dancing more, he thought with a scowl as he careened out of the Great Hall in need of some fresh air. She loved to dance, and he was not entirely sure why more of the young elves did not ask her. Perhaps they were afraid of Legolas. He smirked. He had heard of the incident from when she had first joined the guard and Legolas had bloodied a few of their noses when he heard them talking about her.

Thranduil leaned up against the doorframe and adjusted his winter crown, careful not to dislodge any of the berries. His head felt a little hazy, probably just from the crowded room, he assured himself. He would return in a few minutes. He closed his eyes for just a second until a peal of laughter had him straightening, peering down the hall.

"King Thranduil!" the voice exclaimed. "Apparently I was not the only one who found the Great Hall to be stuffy." It was Rubawen, a black-headed elleth in his court who was always laughing, always merry. "Come join me over here and see what I have discovered!" she giggled.

Thranduil pushed off the wall. "Lady Rubawen," he said, trying to sound instructive. "There is nothing in these halls that I would not already know of."

"Oh? I am not so sure," she said. More giggles.

Thranduil joined her side, looked around curiously. "I don't see—"

The king was cut off mid-sentence when Lady Rubawen threw her arms around his neck and planted her lips against his. Rare was it for the Elvenking ever to be caught off his guard, but in this instance, Thranduil was completely taken unawares. Truth be told, Rubawen was a very passionate elleth and an extremely good kisser.

"Look, my king, mistletoe," she chimed, drawing his eye up to the stone arch above them and kissing him again on the cheek. Rubawen then whispered in his ear a very suggestive request involving her quarters and several more bottles of wine.

Thranduil disentangled himself from her. He politely refused her request. There had been times when he might have availed himself of an opportunity to feel the warmth and pleasure of a night with a beautiful maiden like Rubawen, but such trysts had long lost their allure; they only made him yearn for something beyond his grasp. He bade Rubawen goodnight and watched her return to the party.

Thranduil glared at the offending mistletoe hanging over his head. Miserable stuff, he thought, and whose idea had it been to put it there in the first place? Narylfiel's, of course. She had been quite adamant about its inclusion this year. It will be fun, she said. Except it only succeeded in making Thranduil feel rather gloomy.

His heart no longer in the party spirit, the Elvenking decided not to return to the feast. He thought about the domed rock high above his halls, where one could climb to the very top and see the forest for miles. The stars hung so close over head. Thranduil's eyes drifted back to the doors to the Great Hall, where he could see the dancing and merry-making still going strong. He wondered if Narylfiel could be persuaded to join him. The forest would be beautiful tonight, all frosted white and silver from the morning's snow, and he knew how much she loved the stars.

King Thranduil returned to the Hall looking for his friend, only Narylfiel was nowhere to be found. After a while of fruitless searching, he gave up and left the Hall, taking the winding path and stairs up to the top of his halls. He shed his crown at the high gate and continued on. The cold night air stung his cheeks as he pushed the heavy outer door open and let himself out into the inky darkness. In front of him, he could see the forest stretching out for miles, the recent snow fall dusting the trees brilliant white in the moonlight.

Thranduil's eyes turned upward to the sky, to the stars. Still beautiful, warm and promising, they glittered on as they had for all his long years. He briefly wondered should he have taken Rubawen up on her very generous offer and then laughed to himself. No. He was lonely, but not for her companionship. He gazed out to the horizon and thanked the Valar for the continued safety of his kingdom, for the generosity and loyalty of his people. He did not ask for anything for himself, even if he did still harbor a secret hope that one day things might be different, that one day there would be a Yule celebration in which he could bring his beloved out to see the long stretch of crystalline tree tops under the endless expanse of the night sky.

One day.

Thranduil stared at the stars for a long time that night.

. . . . .

Yule, 3018:

It was already quite late when Thranduil knocked on Narylfiel's door to pick her up for the Yule feast. The door opened only slightly and she poked her head out and grinned at him. "You look very...kingly tonight," she settled on the word as she observed him, and he did. Thranduil had chosen to wear his dark gray tunic, almost charcoal in its hue, and the darkness of the cloth edged with silvery thread made his eyes seem even more brilliantly blue.

"I'll be out in just a moment," Narylfiel told him and promptly shut the door in his face.

Seconds later she emerged, giving her skirt a swish for Thranduil as she did so. She had color in her cheeks, and her eyes glowed. Narylfiel loved a good party, and the king had insisted that she take a long nap after lunch to rest up for the evening's festivities.

Thranduil took her hands in his and held her at arm length while he studied her for a moment. "You look stunning," he said and drew her in closer to him. "Very queenly," he whispered next to her ear and he pressed a soft kiss against her cheek and then to her lips. Her mouth softened against his. Then he kissed her again, deeply this time, and his heart squeezed in his chest into something foreign and a little dangerous, like he would consume her if he could; his blood pounded, all fire and need coupled with his fear of losing her. He backed her against her door, hip to hip, his hands pulling her into him, her arms wrapping around his shoulders.

He broke off their kiss first and smoothed down the hair around her face. "I love you, Narylfiel," he said, meeting her eyes. It felt like he was making up for lost time.

"Thranduil," she said and leaned into him, resting her head against his chest and shoulder. "I love you too. I—" and she stopped short and reached up, kissing his cheek instead.

"What?" He eyed her curiously. "You can tell me."

She shook her head. "It's still a novelty, you know. Us. You loving me," she said and shook her head, the corners of her mouth turning up.

Thranduil grinned a little then. "Do you need more proof? I could kiss you again," he said, his hands reaching for her waist.

She swatted them away. "You don't worry at all that we are moving too fast?"

Thranduil shook his head and offered his arm. "Naurenniel, we are announcing our engagement at the feast and I'd wager that half the kingdom already knows, thanks to that miserable dwarf."

"I am a little afraid that everything will change after tonight," she confessed, her soft brown eyes meeting his.

"Indeed it will," said the king. "But such change is not always unwelcome. Look at me," he commanded, even though she already was. "I am glad of it, Narylfiel. I have spent my whole long life looking for you. I'm not about to give you up, timing be damned."

Narylfiel looked thoughtful, although she did not say anything else. Together they left the privacy of her doorway and made their way down to the entrance of the Great Hall, where Galadhor met them and said he would announce the king's entrance as the majority of the other attendees had arrived.

Two of the Royal Guard framed the doorway, ready to open the heavy beechwood doors as soon as they heard Galadhor quiet the crowd for his announcement.

Thranduil patted Narylfiel on the hand amusedly. He could tell something was bothering her. Nerves, probably.

He could hear Galadhor's voice boom out over the crowd. "Welcome, subjects of the Woodland Realm!"

Just then, Narylfiel tugged on his hand and blurted out, "Hûredhiel told me we need to forego tradition and bond as soon as possible!"

Thranduil's mouth fell open.

Galadhor proudly announced, "All rise and hail His Royal Highness King Thranduil and Lady Narylfiel."

The two guards swung the heavy doors open, and Thranduil's mouth snapped shut. He swept Narylfiel into the room, greeting old friends, council members, courtiers and warriors along the way, but he could hardly attend to what he said to any of them. Narylfiel drew his eye the entire time, and he kept replaying what she had just told him. Hûredhiel thought they should not wait. Hûredhiel believed they should bond as soon as possible...and how long had Narylfiel been privy to this opinion? And why the need for urgency now? He swallowed thickly at the realization which attended that particular line of thought. Thranduil led her to the dais where the head table gleamed before all in attendance. Once there, he waited for the room to quiet and he addressed his subjects:

"Yule is for remembrance, for giving thanks to the Valar for our many blessings. This year we have much to remember. Our borders have been tested and many brave warriors have given their lives protecting our lands, our people. The forest is growing darker, the enemy stronger, but even so, we still have much to be thankful for. The Valar have blessed us with strength in ranks, with loyalty and heart that cannot be broken by any evil. We can still fight. We will fight, and we will not give up. I look out at the faces in this room and know that we will endure. We are the Woodland Realm, are we not?"

Warriors, courtiers, scribes—elves from every station, Sindar or Silvan—all broke into a thunderous cheer, all standing, clapping, some saluting, and some hugging their loved ones tightly.

Thranduil took this moment to look at Narylfiel. "We will talk about this later," he mouthed to her.

Many of those in the crowd watched the exchange, saw the king's face soften as he looked upon the young lady beside him. They whispered to one another as King Thranduil pulled out the seat for Lady Narylfiel and wondered if the rumors might be true: that their longtime king, known for his prowess in battle as a warrior, recognized as a fair but stern ruler with a fierce temper when provoked, might have fallen for the young sister of Prince Legolas' wife. To many, such a thing seemed hardly feasible. King Thranduil had been married once already to a beautiful and noble elleth...but there it was in every glance he stole and the undeniably tender way he leaned over to whisper in the elleth's ear.

"You look beautiful," he murmured as he spooned a sizable helping of stewed greens onto her plate.

"Are you angry?" she said under her breath while lifting her cup to her lips.

Thranduil turned his head to answer a question from Lord Rivenion who sat two seats down.

He resisted the urge to take her hand when he turned back. Instead, he accepted the basket of hot rolls being passed down the table. He selected two and placed one on her plate. "Why didn't you tell me?" he said quietly.

"I don't know," Narylfiel answered, picking up the roll and tearing off a piece.

The head cook, Ernil, proudly brought forth a large platter of the finest cuts of smoked venison, which Thranduil expertly carved.

"You have outdone yourself tonight," Thranduil told him, and Ernil beamed.

"Thank you, Your Grace," he said and then smiled at Narylfiel who had been a regular in the kitchen since she was an elfling. "You could not have chosen a finer menu, my lady."

Thranduil served an enormous slice of venison onto her plate. "Lady Narylfiel organized most of tonight's festivities. She has exceeded all expectations once again," the king said to Ernil.

"It is good that she has returned from the Forest Guard. I always worried for her when she was out on the border," Ernil said and hefted the platter up off the table and continued to serve the other guests.

Thranduil leaned toward Narylfiel after the head cook left. "We are fixing this tonight, " he whispered in her ear.

Narylfiel blushed. "And you wonder why I didn't tell you earlier?" She took a rather large gulp of her wine.

Thranduil lay down his knife. "It's your health, your life." His eyes darkened until he remembered the many elves paying attention to the head table. He attempted a smile. "We'll talk later."

"It's your life too," Narylfiel dabbed at her mouth with her napkin and bravely met his eyes. "I didn't want you to feel trapped."

"Trapped?" the king repeated and then laughed loudly enough to draw more than half the eyes of the room. "I should welcome such a trap."

Then music began to play merrily from the corner where the court musicians had set up their various harps and instruments, and Galadhor stood up in his role as announcer and declared, "Now begins the time for giving gifts! For Yule is for giving thanks and honoring friends, new and old!"

Narylfiel pushed back her chair and stood after retrieving a lovely wrapped box from under her chair. "I will return shortly," she murmured to her king. "You may want to watch." She lightly stepped down from the dais and made her way through the sea of tables, occasionally stopping to greet a friend or two. She headed toward the dwarves' table, Thranduil realized. He cut his eyes to Rivenion, and the elder smiled smugly.

The dwarves found out that evening that they were quite mistaken about the habits of woodland elves. These were not the tame elves from Rivendell who played on gentle harps and sang solemn laments in the Hall of Fire under Lord Elrond's watchful eye. No, indeed. Woodland elves were merry, their faces bright as they passed goblets of wine around every table. Woodland elves were lively-dancing, harping, singing—the king's great hall echoed with their shouts and laughter, and the quick-stepping beat of the melodies that spilled from the room echoed through the Elvenking's palace. No, these elves were decidedly different from those they encountered so long ago in the Hidden Valley. These elves were...quite wild.

Bofur felt quite relieved when he saw Lady Narylfiel draw near, a finely wrapped gift in her hand.

"I came to wish you a happy Yule," she announced to the dwarves at the table, her eyes merry. "And how are you finding our festivities so far?"

"It's quite the celebration!" Bofur exclaimed before Thorin cut him off.

"I think you'll find that the dwarves of Erebor certainly can appreciate a good party," the dwarf prince said licking his lips as he sat down his goblet of wine. "Some elf traditions are not so bad after all!"

"I am glad to hear you say it," Narylfiel said, "for I ask you to join in another tradition—the giving of gifts to new friends."

Thorin hesitantly accepted the gift and sat it down in front of him. He eyed the shining paper as if he did not hardly know what to make of such a gesture. "Thank you, my lady."

"Open it," she said and nodded encouragingly. "It's tradition!"

Thorin briefly eyed Dwalin next to him, and the older dwarf nudged him. "It just seems a shame to ruin this pretty paper..."

"Nonsense!" Narylfiel laughed.

Thorin reluctantly took up the crimson bow and tugged it off, sliding the paper onto the table next to his plate. He stared at his gift; no words came.

"It's a hat," Narylfiel told him, picking up the curiosity from the table and settling it upon poor Thorin's head. It's a traditional Yule gift among elves. We call it a 'mellon merethien carab' in our language, basically a feasting hat."

Bofur peered curiously at the knit creation perching atop Prince Thorin's head. "Are those antlers?"

"Yes, of course!" Narylfiel beamed at him. "It's supposed to be a Great Elk. Prince Thorin, you honor our friendship by wearing my feasting hat this evening."

Thorin shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "But I have nothing to give you in return, my lady."

Narylfiel smiled then. Truly she did look lovely that evening. "Then I would have your friendship, Prince Thorin." She bowed to them then and turned to leave. "I hope to see you all dancing later," she called over her shoulder.

Thorin reached up to pull the offending garment off, and Dwalin stopped his hand. "Oh, no," he said to his prince. "You were the one who just had to stay for the feast. You're wearing that hat."

Dori eyed it curiously. 'You know, I think it looks like a tea cozy."

Narylfiel triumphantly made her way back to the head table, grinning to herself as she did so. She schooled her face into a more serious expression as she sat down. It would not do for the dwarves to see her be too gleeful over the very silly gift that the dwarf prince now sulkily wore.

Rivenion stopped her as she passed by. "Well played, my dear," he told her.

"Why, thank you! Queen lesson one," she said with a wink. "Know your friends and enemies. I do pay attention every once in a while."

Thranduil waited until she had sat back down, and he refilled her wine. "Is that my Great Elk tea cozy?" he asked, stifling laughter.

"Hush," Narylfiel told him. "I was working under short notice."

Thranduil sipped his wine. He glanced across the room once more in the dwarves' direction. "I liked that tea cozy. I'm not sure I want the dwarf to have it."

Narylfiel snorted. "Please. We both know it's hideous."

"You made it for me." Thranduil tried to look miffed.

"I'll make you another one," she vowed.

"I'll be looking forward to it," the king said and pushed his plate away, standing as he did so. He signaled the musicians to trill a few bright notes to catch his guest's attention.

"What are you doing?" Narylfiel asked, setting down her fork to look up at him.

Thranduil glanced down at her, his eyes as bright as she could ever remember seeing them. "Dear one, you are not the only one who has a gift to give," he told her gently. He faced the room and waited for it to quiet down. "Doubtless many of you may have already heard word of this—" he smiled broadly and waited for the crowd's hum of anticipation to dissipate. He reached for Narylfiel's hand and pulled her up from her seat to stand next to him, and he kept her hand warmly in his.

"The Valar have blessed me this year indeed. Tonight before kin and kingdom, I ask Lady Narylfiel to become my wife, my queen. I would marry this time for love, " he said and met Narylfiel's eyes, "to someone whose strength and loyalty have made her my longtime friend and confidante." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring, a ring with a shining gem so bright that Narylfiel was sure Thranduil must have plucked it from the night sky, and slid it onto her finger. "Marry me, my naurenniel?" he asked softly, the guests forgotten. It was just the pair of them, and Thranduil's eyes lovingly searched hers.

Stunned, she nodded her head. He smiled. She smiled. Her cheeks flamed to a lovely pink hue, and then she impulsively kissed him to the collective gasps and subsequent roar of all those in attendance.

. . . . .

Author's note: Well, there it is. Seemed like a good place to stop

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