Three hundred years ago...

"I recommend Narylfiel for placement in the Forest Guard, Father," Legolas said and pushed forward his list of candidates for the king's approval.

Thranduil looked up from his desk, clearly surprised. "I thought you said she would not be ready for placement until next year."

"That was last year," Legolas said patiently. "In all fairness, she has become one of our best new recruits. Whatever she lacks in strength, she makes up for in tenacity."

The king reached for his royal seal and a stick of dark green sealing wax. He would mark each commission thus, recognizing and honoring the new warrior's commitment to serve the kingdom. He marked the first four without a second thought, but when he reached Narylfiel's, his hand faltered.

He sat the seal down while Legolas eyed his hesitance with a certain degree of impatience. Thranduil neatly placed her commission to the side while he finished stamping the others. Once finished, he slid hers before him again but did not move to pick up the sealing wax. Instead, he rolled the seal back and forth in his open palm and asked his son, "Legolas, is she truly ready to serve?"

"I would never have recommended her service if she had not been up to the task," said the prince with an aggrieved look.

"I trust your judgment, of course, son," the king said, but he made no motion to pick up the seal. After a thoughtful pause, he added, "Narylfiel is still very young, impetuous."

"Father, do not-" Legolas stopped himself and tried a different approach. "I know that you care about her deeply. We all do. Thaliniel has her own doubts as well, but we both believe that Narylfiel should have the opportunity to prove herself."

Thranduil nodded reluctantly. "I know she is capable. I have watched her on the practice field myself, yet I find myself hesitant to let her go in harm's way."

Softly smiling, Legolas rolled the sealing wax to his father. "If you remember, you were the same way with me."

"I cannot help but want to protect those that I love," acknowledged Thranduil, his eyes unapologetic. He knew he tended to be over-protective, especially with Legolas. He had kept his own son from joining the guard for four hundred years, and that respite had only ended after Legolas ran away from home, coincidentally meeting Thaliniel, and of course, her sister.

"Narylfiel is extremely fortunate to have the king of the Woodland Realm looking out for her best interests," Legolas pointed out, "even if she may not always see it that way."

The king met his son's eyes and smiled wryly. They both knew Legolas spoke of himself.

Thranduil took the sealing wax, heated the stick over the candle on his desk and dripped the wax onto the parchment. He quickly pressed his royal seal into the wax, before he could think better of it.

"Keep her close, son. Keep her safe," advised Thranduil, and Legolas nodded his agreement and then left with the commissions to be awarded in the induction and oath ceremonies to take place later that week.

With Legolas gone, Thranduil's smile faded. He could not imagine how dull the palace would become when she eventually left. Over the years, he had become accustomed to her bright smile teasing him not to take himself too seriously, her sense of fun and humor-her companionship.

"She makes me feel young again," Thranduil realized aloud, to no one but himself. Then he rose from his desk, poured himself a very full glass of a particularly dark red wine, and left his study, taking the wine with him on the way. He would go to the shooting range and work out some of his frustration. Yes, that was the very thing!

And if a certain young Forest Guard initiate happened to be there, well, that was just a happy coincidence.
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November, 3018

Thranduil had left a long time ago, and even though Narylfiel had assured him she was on her way to bed, she felt too empty and useless to do anything. After she watched him go, Narylfiel did not have the energy to leave, so she stayed on the settee, staring at the cold remnants of coals on the hearth. She curled up on one end; she could still smell his lingering scent on the cushions, on her own clothes. She squeezed her eyes shut. She would find no rest here, no rest in these early hours of the dawn.

What was she doing? What was she doing with him? Torturing herself, Narylfiel mused, and why did she ever say anything to him about the Yule kiss? She shook her head at herself and walked numbly toward the door when her eyes spied a scrap of parchment by the door.

It was a note, one from Lord Elrond, asking that Thranduil send a messenger to deliver the enclosed letter to Dain of Erebor. Without thinking, Narylfiel scanned the contents of the letter; Elrond was sure that Sauron planned to move his forces in Dol Guldur to take control of the Rhovanion. Thranduil needed to act quickly to rally the forces between elves, men, and dwarves; they would need a strong alliance to stem Sauron's forces in the East.

Narylfiel's hand shook as she held the note-the king must have missed it, or dropped it in his haste to read Legolas' letter. From what she gathered in Elrond's message to the king, an attack was imminent. War was coming.

As she stood there sort of half-trembling from the realization that they had been right about the orcs attacking and the certainty of war, Thranduil breezed in through the doorway, giving her a sharp look.

"Narylfiel, I thought you said you were going to bed," he said sternly. He purposefully headed toward the chair where he had left his robe and crown and picked them up, folding the robe over his arm. He gently placed the crown back on his head as though it pained him to do so.

"I was on my way," Narylfiel protested weakly, "but then I found this letter from Elrond for you by the door."

Thranduil became very still, and for some instinctual reason, Narylfiel's hair rose on the back of her neck.

"Elrond..." Thranduil repeated quietly. He pursed his lips.

Now, Narylfiel always knew the Elvenking had a horrible temper, one of legend in other elven realms. Most times, he did a remarkable job of maintaining an affable, pleasant demeanor, and in spite of some very difficult circumstances too! But every once in a while, she had been privy to seeing Thranduil lose his temper, and the resulting tumult had been intimidating, frightening.

So when Thranduil pounced on the letter and tore it from her hands, Narylfiel let him have it.

Eyes flashing, the king then read the note, right before he crumpled it up and shot it into the fireplace.

"Thranduil!" Narylfiel exclaimed. "It seemed like Elrond-"

He turned on her. "Do not speak his name to me! That so-called Lord of Imladris, who thinks he can impose himself on me, on my kingdom, on my only son and heir?"

"I can understand that you are upset with him," Narylfiel began soothingly, "but his concerns seemed valid, Thranduil!"

"His concerns!" scoffed the king, crossing his arms and scowling. "I care not for his concerns. He is a meddlesome interloper, always has been! He would use my kingdom, our people, as a shield to protect his precious Imladris."

"But Thranduil-all those people in Dale, in Erebor! Should we not warn them?"

"I have risked enough of my blood on Elrond's foolish schemes and errands," he retorted.

Now, here is a fine example of how it is never good to try and talk logic to someone who has lost all sense and decency to anger and frustration. At this point, Narylfiel should have just left Thranduil alone and walked away. She would have had much better fortune convincing him of her point after he had a chance to cool his temper.

Unfortunately, Narylfiel did not leave the room. Instead, she steeled her gaze at him and said resolutely, "I will deliver the message, Thranduil. Send me."

The king narrowed his eyes at her. "I would not send you, Narylfiel, not if you were the last guard in Mirkwood."

She huffed indignantly. "I am one of the better and lighter riders in your stable, your highness. You have said so yourself!"

"That is immaterial at the moment, because no rider is leaving these halls," the elvenking snapped at her. "Do not argue with me, Narylfiel," he warned her.

"Someone must," she declared firmly. "You are just being stubborn about Elrond! Why will you not see reason?"

"You are still my subject, Narylfiel," he reminded her, scathingly. "And right now you are acting like a petulant child. You know nothing of the politics between my kingdom and Elrond's."

"I would rather be considered a child than one so ancient that he has lost touch with the living world around him, Your Majesty!" she fired back, incensed. "You are worse than the dwarves-hiding out in your palace, caring for no one's troubles save your own."

Thranduil's eyes widened at the insult, and somehow Narylfiel let her own temper get the better of her. All the times he had hurt her, unintentionally or not, tore in her heart like a reopened wound. She just could not stop herself.

"At least Legolas has integrity! At least he cares enough about others to try and help!" she added, the horrid words pouring from her lips before she could stop herself.

The king's mouth opened and for a second, she could see the full measure of hurt in his eyes, but that was only for a moment. He drew himself up and pointed a regal finger at her. "You are not going anywhere. You will never go. You can stay here until you...grow up!"

"I- I cannot stay here with you anymore," she cried, angrily throwing her hands up. "I cannot take being around you another day!"

Thranduil took two steps toward her and leaned in, eyes glinting dangerously. "Why, Narylfiel? I thought you longed for my company and were even jealous of my kisses."

She flinched, backed away from him, hissed, "Don't flatter yourself. I would sooner kiss an orc."

An indefinable muscle ticked in his jaw. "That can be arranged," he seethed.

For the first time in their argument, her eyes began to glisten. He gave her one long look and then swept haughtily from the room.

"I hate him," she muttered, just to herself. Then she cut her eyes to the fireplace where Thranduil had chunked Elrond's letter. Narylfiel drew a quick breath to steady herself, and then she knelt down at the hearth and pulled the parchment from the cold ashes. She dusted off her fingers on her clothes and stared at the letter in her hand.

She would deliver the message herself, regardless of the consequences.
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Author's note: Ouch. I'll admit that fight hurt a little to have to write. As always, I would love to hear your comments! Please Vote, Comment, and Follow!

Is anyone ready to take sides in the Thranduil vs. Narylfiel argument? The Elvenking is not used to having someone actually argue back...

Thranduil: #ElvenKingIsAlwaysRight