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First Age in Menegroth:

Thranduil checked his swing, but it was too late. The force of the blow from his opponent knocked his sword from his fingertips.

Scowling, he picked up his blade, glanced up at the judges as he did so. They nodded just once, and he moved from the competition ring, picking his father's face from the crowd as he did so. Disappointed, Thranduil thought as he moved through small crowd of spectators, mostly family members gathered to watch their youngsters compete. Thranduil felt their eyes upon him as he passed by, felt their probable sympathy or disdain for the one picked by so many to win the entire tournament. Only he had not won. He had lost. He had been eliminated before the final round.

His father met him halfway.

"I am sorry, Adar," he said.

Lord Oropher looked back toward the ring. "Thranduil, you need not offer any apology...but you were not your best out there."

Thranduil adjusted the sword on his belt, forced himself to look up. "I know. I don't know what happened."

I do," he said and looked his son in the eyes. "You underestimated your competition. You were the natural favorite, as you should be, Thranduil. You're one of the best sword fighters in your age group. But," he said and paused, placing a hand on his son's shoulders, "you were not as prepared as you should have been."

"I won't make that mistake again," Thranduil vowed.

His father ruffled the hair on the top of his head, a gesture which Thranduil usually despised. He immediately smoothed his hair back down, and Oropher chuckled.

"I hope not, son," he said, looking back at the young warriors sparring. "I hope not."

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One Day after Yule, 3018:

Thranduil found Narylfiel in her room later and with an amused smile led her to his chambers under the watchful eyes of both Melui and Dorwil.

"As you doubtless have heard, Lady Narylfiel and I have married," Thranduil told them rather proudly with a soft look at Narylfiel that had Melui's heart melting all over again.

Then Thranduil instructed Dorwil to call for Galion and swiftly pulled the door shut behind him. He dumped his crown on the sideboard table by the door with an exaggerated sigh that Narylfiel was sure was for her benefit as he turned and looked at her.

"You know what?" Thranduil commented. "Sometimes I really hate people."

She tucked in her lip and pretended to look hurt by the statement.

"Not you," he said, pulling her into his arms with a kiss to the top of her head, "never you."

He held her for a moment, both enjoying the feeling of their bond between them, warm and full—content. She tilted her lips up and placed a lingering kiss on his jaw, right by his ear.

"I love you," he murmured to her, and then brought his lips to hers. Heat pooled between them, and Thranduil must have felt it too, for he kissed Narylfiel again, and this time with a little more urgency. And then she kissed him back and her mouth was on his, and his hands were in her hair and then pulling loose the ties to her dress and somehow in between the third and fourth kiss, the pair of them wound up stretched against each other on the bed and then under the covers. Narylfiel laughed just once and Thranduil could not help but join in, and then he pulled the covers over the both of them.

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A little while later, Thranduil lay beside Narylfiel, combing his fingers through her hair, dividing it into long sections and plaiting it. He pressed a slow kiss to her bare shoulder. "What were we talking about earlier?" he said amusedly.

Narylfiel rolled over to face him. "You hate people," she reminded him.

"Right," he agreed. "I do, especially the Elder Council. I am thinking I should send them on a very extended trip..." he was thoughtful for a moment, "to Mordor."

"Thranduil!" Narylfiel adopted a scandalized look.

"Well, maybe not all of them," he amended. "Just a few of the impertinent ones."

"What happened?" she asked softly.

"I'll spare you all the nasty details, but the basic idea is that Lord Filron, that insufferable pretender, is angling for the throne."

"Well," Narylfiel said slowly, "I'm sure you disabused him of the notion."

"I'd like to abuse him," Thranduil muttered under his breath.

She propped herself up on her elbow. "Seriously, though. What are you going to do?"

Thranduil threaded his fingers through hers. "I already have some ideas, just a few, to...assist Lord Filron in remembering his place in my court."

"You are so very helpful that way, your Majesty," Narylfiel said, matching his smirk.

They both chuckled together for a moment, and then Thranduil sobered. "It was suggested to me that Filron is not above using you to get to me, Narylfiel."

"I would like to see him try it," she countered darkly.

"I wouldn't," Thranduil said quickly. "I will not have you dragged into his schemes."

Narylfiel remembered the note in Melui's room. She said nothing, knowing that Thranduil would hear of it soon enough. Had Filron left that message as a threat?

Two soft taps on the door sounded, and Thranduil rose quickly, pulling his robe on as he went to the door. "That will be Galion," he guessed. "I have some last minute changes for dinner tonight." He glanced back at her. "And as much as I love you in your current state, you should get dressed. Go look in my—" he corrected himself "our closet."

Very much intrigued, Narylfiel rolled off the bed, improvised a blanket as a robe, and padded over to the closet. As much as she wanted to listen in on Thranduil's new plans for dinner, the lure of surprises in Thranduil's—their—closet was too much to resist. She drew open the door and nearly choked up. If she had not known Thranduil loved her before, she would have known the truth of his feelings now. Because only true love could have moved the Elvenking to have ordered his perfect closet rearranged, and an entire wall dedicated to lovely dresses for her. Some of them she recognized from her old wardrobe, but more than a few were new, soft with rich fabrics, glistening with silken thread or tiny gems stitched into decorative patterns along the seams. At the end of the row of dresses, a shelf with a velvet molded tray held several glittering necklaces, circlets, rings, nothing too heavy or too ornate, but delicate...beautiful. Narylfiel's hand stretched out almost on its own accord to touch the nearest circlet.

"Do you like it?" Thranduil's voice hummed near her ear, and Narylfiel jumped.

"Valar!" she swore and whipped around. "Since when can you sneak up on me?"

He pulled her into his arms. "Only because you were closet-struck, Narylfiel. I know the feeling well."

She snorted. Closet-struck. She had been sort of dumb-founded over it all. She leaned against him. "I am overcome by your generosity, Thranduil. Truly."

"I have always enjoyed giving you things, naurreniel," he told her tapping her nose gently with the end of his finger.

"I'm not sure what I expected, but I guess I thought that you would have my things moved into the queen's chambers," Narylfiel confessed. The former queen had her own suite of rooms, separate from Thranduil's. Their engagement, their marriage, everything had happened so quickly, Narylfiel had not really had much time to think about living arrangements, but if she had—well, the thought of moving into those rooms would have not sat well with her.

Thranduil pulled away from her then, held her at arm's length so he could meet her eyes. "If Elarien had her way," Thranduil said frankly of his first marriage, "her rooms would have been at the opposite end of the palace from mine. The difference is that I want you here, with me. In my room. In my bed. Every night."

Oh my, Narylfiel thought. Yes, please. But instead of jumping right back into his arms, she crooked an eyebrow. "Even sharing your closet space?"

"How else am I going to plan our coordinating wardrobes?" Thranduil said, his eyes merry as he selected one of the new dresses and handed it to her.

Narylfiel laughed then and took the garment from his hands. "Oh, no you don't!" she exclaimed. "We are not going to wear matching outfits!"

Thranduil tsked at her. "I said coordinating, not matching," he corrected her, "and maybe every once in a while?" He looked at her hopefully, and she had to remind herself that this was the same fierce king that she had seen dole out judgment and orders in the throne room. And here he was talking to her about coordinating wardrobes! It was a side of him that few ever saw, and she felt privileged to be one of those few, to be the one who knew that side of him and loved him, and was loved in return by him.

So of course, she ended up giving into his request—donning the new beautiful dove gray gown that just happened to coordinate (not match, mind you!) with Thranduil's tunic of darker gray.

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Thranduil's easy demeanor had completely vanished by the time the pair of them sat down for dinner that night in the dining hall. The king's eyes surveyed the room coolly, and Narylfiel almost felt sorry for Filron when he strode into the dining hall that evening. The lord had strolled in late, walking closely along with Lady Almea, deep in discussion over some matter, when the pair of them reached their usual table. It was near the front, close to the king's own table, where many of the heads of the highest households sat, including those privileged enough to have seats on the Elder Council.

Filron saw Lady Almea to her seat and then Narylfiel watched as he confusedly looked to his left, and then to his right. Narylfiel's eyes darted to the king sitting beside her, noticed that Thranduil looked on as well, his mouth set, his eyes unforgiving.

From her place at the king's table, Narylfiel watched the scene unfold. Filron, as everyone knew he was apt to do, had been one of the very last to arrive to dinner—and there were no more places left at the high table. Oh, no one had taken his place! All the usual elves were seated in their customary seats. It's just that Filron's place at the high table seemed to have completely vanished.

Filron sputtered, and then stopped one of the servers, gesturing angrily to his usual place at the high table, his usual favored seat that had disappeared. Tray in hand, the young ellon turned a bright shade of red, hardly knowing what to say to the irate lord, when Galion appeared at his elbow, and let the youth return to the kitchens.

Galion spoke in a low enough voice that Narylfiel could not hear what he said, but neither did she need to, for Lord Filron's reaction explained all.

He turned sharply and eyed the King's table with contempt. "It is a sign of the sorry state of things in this kingdom, a sign of where the king's loyalties lie," he said loudly enough for everyone to hear, "—when the head of the House Tirisul, loyal to this realm in service and purse, is turned away from the high table. King Thranduil has forgotten himself, has forgotten this realm and its people, now that he only has eyes for this Sylvan elf, who has completely bewitched him, first into betrothal and now into marriage!"

The other families and elves stirred at their tables, and a murmur fanned across the room, many uncomfortable with Filron's words, some waiting to see what he would do next, or nervously awaiting what their king might say.

Thranduil did not rise, nor did he shout. Instead, he lay down his salad fork. His eyes swept the room and flicked dismissively over Filron.

"Perhaps if the head of the House Tirisul showed up to dinner on time, then he would not have such difficulty in finding his seat," Thranduil drawled. Then his tone sharpened: "As for your unasked for opinion of my marriage to Lady Narylfiel, the new queen of the Woodland Realm, your comments were both slanderous and without merit."

Lord Filron opened his mouth, but Thranduil cut him off, rising to his feet as he addressed the room: "War is upon us, and we must unite, or we will fall. Our kingdom can ill afford the petty dissent of jealous lords."

From the corner of the room, several members of the Forest Guard, her friend Alassien among them, stood and called out "Hail, King Thranduil! Hail, Queen Narylfiel!" More members of the guard jumped to their feet and joined in the chant, saluting their sovereign and his new queen, who used to be one of their own.

Thranduil then offered his hand to his new queen, and she rose beside him, a soft gray counter to his dark robes. The room was on their feet then, none daring to sit while their king and queen stood before them, and while there were a few lords and ladies who did not join in the thunderous chant, there were many more who made no pretense about where their loyalties dwelt. From the highest ranking houses to the simplest Forest Guard, many swept forward to the king's table to offer their service or to pledge their loyalty to the new queen.

"Hail, King Thranduil! Hail, Queen Narylfiel!" the room chorused again and again, until the first course of dinner was quite forgotten, the soup grew cold, and the wine warm. In the midst of all these pledges and declarations, Lord Filron left the room in a huff, hardly noticed by anyone, save the king who smiled to himself and then called for his servants to bring out the Dorwinion for a round of toasts to his new queen.

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Author's note: Thank you for Reading! Please Comment, Vote, and Follow!

Narylfiel: That moment when all you can do is stare... #ClosetStruck

Thranduil: That moment when all you want to do is painfully disembowel someone... @Filron #Don'tMesswithMyBoo #FearTheElvenking