1999, Third Age...

Thranduil hurled a glass into the fireplace across the room, just for the satisfaction of hearing it smash against the bricks. It was not that he was just in a bad mood—he was in a terrible mood.

"Galion," he snarled, loud enough to send his butler skidding into the room.

"Your highness?" he said, and credit to him, Galion's voice hardly squeaked.

Thranduil narrowed his eyes at the butler. "Am I correct in hearing that one of our own has just returned?"

Galion looked cautiously behind him, and then at the open door, as if he hoped someone would come in and spare him the wrath of his king. "Yes, my lord," he said slowly. "Returned this morning."

Thranduil pursed his lips, strolled to the other side of his desk, where he picked up his long robe, woven to look like an autumn sunset, and pulled it on. His crown of leaves and berries followed, and thus attired to look every inch the Elvenking he was, Thranduil fixed his eyes upon Galion, really one of the few elves in his kingdom that he implicitly trusted.

"Walk with me, Galion," Thranduil told him and quit his study in a flash of burnished gold, like a fire meant to consume the hall and just as deadly.

Galion almost had to jog to keep up with his majesty's naturally long-legged pace. "Apparently, the Elder Council sent an emissary to the Lonely Mountain, sire," he said quietly, "to see if the rumors were true that dwarves had established a stronghold there."

Thranduil's jaw tightened, and his pace quickened, if that were even possible. Galion tried to remember if the king wore his sword today...

Finally, the Elvenking stopped, only right before the enormous beech doors marking the entrance to his throne room. His two guards made ready to open the way for their king, but he stilled them with a single wave of his hand as he waited for Galion to catch up. "I did not give them license to send any sort of emissary," he hissed.

How dare the Elder Council undermine his authority? How dare they presume to establish good relations with dwarves? Dwarves! Thranduil signalled to his guards, and on his command, they swung open the mighty doors, and their king stormed into the throne room.

"Bring this emissary to the throne room," he said coolly as he ascended to his throne, "and stop along the way and fetch Lord Filron." Thranduil knew exactly who was behind this little move. If Lord Filron sought to bring wretched dwarves into his schemes, then Thranduil certainly intended to put a stop to it.

The Elvenking despised being caught off-guard, but if someone asked him to put to name one thing that he possibly hated more than surprises? In a word, dwarves. Greedy little miners.

If that fool Lord Filron had sent an emissary to the dwarves, it would only be a matter of time before other friendly overtures would have to be made. Thranduil adjusted the rings on his fingers as he stared across the vast space of his hall. He would have to take care not to underestimate Filron's maneuvers. Dwarves, indeed.

It would be a dark day in Mandos before Thranduil ever willingly sought out good relations with dwarves.

-  .  -  .  -

March 7th, 3019, before dawn

Deliberately, Hüredhiel picked up Narylfiel's hand and slowly guided it to her lower abdomen. "Here, do you feel that?"

Narylfiel's eyes widened, her breath caught, slowed down, and then stopped completely. She looked to Melui for any sort of sign or comfort that she was misreading Hüredhiel's intent, but Melui just stared at the healer, open-mouthed.

"It was not the strain of your separation from Thranduil that you were feeling," Hüredhiel told her gently. "It was pressure from a new bond—Narylfiel, you are with child."

And she felt it, as surely as the pressure of Hüredhiel's hand on top of her own, the tiniest feather-tip brush against her feä, like the slightest flicker from a lantern of a friend well-beloved on his way to bring glad tidings. But surely it could not be...

"No," Narylfiel protested, looking down at her hand. "How could this be?"

Melui grinned broadly. "Well, Narylfiel. When two elves love each other very much—"

Narylfiel wanted to reach over and knock that grin right off of her friend's face, but she also found that she did not want to move her hand away from where Hüredhiel had shown her that curious little whisper against her bond with Thranduil. It was strange and impossible, and Narylfiel had never even considered such a thing—but in that moment, never had she wanted anything more.

She fixed her dark eyes on Hüredhiel. "Thranduil and I—we did not intend this—" She stopped herself, recalling with perfect clarity the night she had shared with Thranduil before he left.

"For most elven couples, bringing forth children is an act of will," Hüredhiel told her, "but Narylfiel, you and the king are not like most elven couples. He is a very powerful elven lord, of an ancient and noble line. And you—" she sucked in her breath as she realized something. "You have been ill, your body weakened by a poison meant to strip the light of the Eldar, making them as mortals..." Her voice trailed away.

Narylfiel bit her lip and searched her bond with Thranduil for that feather-light pressure, a soft murmur in the way her song threaded with his.

"Your body, your hroä, was weakened by the poison, considerably so, and we do not know how long it will take to regain your full strength—you know, mortal women cannot control when they conceive."

"Well, that has got to be pretty inconvenient," said Melui under her breath.

Narylfiel scowled at her. "Tell me about it! We are in the middle of a war here! This is terrible timing."

Hüredhiel patted her shoulder. "Regardless of timing, it is a wonderful blessing, your highness. I know our King has long desired more children."

More children. Legolas. Her stomach rolling, Narylfiel thought of Legolas. Thaliniel! Her sister was also expecting a child. She wished her sister were here right now, here to hold her hand and be glad with her, to rejoice in the news together.

And her eyes must have grown glassy, for Melui reached over and took her free hand, squeezed it reassuringly. "It is wonderful news, Narylfiel. Unexpected, perhaps, but a blessing from the Valar!"

Narylfiel nodded her head in agreement, her mind full of questions, things she wanted to say, but could not get the words to come out, and in the midst of it all, she felt the tiny feather-light brush against her bond, just a whisper, really. Her baby. Thranduil's baby. She carried Thranduil's child. She still could not believe it.

"I don't know what to do," was all she could manage. "I accidentally killed Lord Filron, and I just found out that I am with child..."

"For now, rest," advised Hüredhiel. "Your head injury is serious, Narylfiel, and I'm not convinced that you came by it accidentally."

Melui's eyes sharpened. "What do you mean?"

"Well," Hüredhiel moved back over to Narylfiel's side. "May I, your highness?" she asked and at the sign of Narylfiel's consent, the healer lifted the queen's hair away from the injury. "See the pattern the bruise makes? It reminds me of injuries I have seen from sword fights when someone gets struck by a pommel."

"You think the queen was attacked?"

Hüredhiel's voice was firm. "I don't know about attacked, but struck on the head by a narrow, blunt object? Yes."

Grim faced, Melui went at once to the door to the room, cracked it open. "Elfir, I want you to hear what Hüredhiel has to say."

Elfir came in, listened as the healer repeated her theory, his normally stoic expression changing from concerned to visibly alarmed "This worries me greatly," he said. "I cannot imagine Lord Filron striking the queen from behind, anymore than I can imagine her cutting his throat."

"There's more," Narylfiel said and blushed. "Elfir, I am pregnant. Hüredhiel realized it when she was checking me over."

Elfir looked from Hüredhiel, then to Melui, his eyes finally settling on Narylfiel. "You—you are sure of this?"

Narylfiel nodded. "Yes—" her voice broke off, "but the king does not know." She looked around the room entreatingly. "Should we risk sending a message?" She thought for a moment. "But it might be too risky to send someone now, and—"

"Your highness, your safety and your child's safety are our highest concern. For now, I do not think we should speak of your condition to anyone outside this room, save Dorwil. In the meantime, we will—"

A knock abruptly sounded on the door. "Your majesty?" A voice called on the other side.

Elfir was closest to the door and reached it first, opening it to reveal Dorwil.

Red faced and slightly out of breath, he came inside, bowed his head toward his queen. "Your majesty," he began, "It's Lord Filron's house. They have heard the news and are demanding answers." Dorwil stopped and looked at Elfir. "His son is at the front with our king, but his niece was at the stables. Lady Almea saw everything. She is making no secret about the fact that she blames the queen for her uncle's death. She and others are on their way here right now. They demand the queen speak with them."

"Then we will tell them that it is too late an hour to meet with her majesty, that she is resting," Elfir said. "It will be easy enough to turn them away until the morning."

Melui looked down at her queen, her friend. "Is that amenable to you, my lady?"

Narylfiel hesitated. Part of her wanted very much to go out there right now, let Lady Almea know that she would never have killed Lord Filron, it simply was not possible. But her head ferociously pounded, and she could not remember what happened. What if it had been an accident? Her knife was very sharp. Her knife.

"Melui, where is my knife?" Narylfiel asked, pushing herself up from the bed.

"Your knife?" Melui's eyes went to the door. "I seriously hope that you're not planning on going out there."

Elfir's eyes glinted. "I picked it up, your highness. But Lady Almea? She will be here, demanding answers, possibly making a scene."

"Let her know that I will receive her in the morning," Narylfiel concluded tiredly. "By then perhaps I will remember something."

Elfir and Dorwil both bowed respectfully and left the room, presumably to let Lady Almea know that the queen was not receiving guests in the early hours before dawn.

"I will accompany you in your meeting with Almea, if you wish it, Narylfiel," Hüredhiel offered.

Her patient nodded gratefully and leaned back against the headboard, wishing she could just pull the covers over her head and forget that any of this had happened. Thranduil had not even been away for more than a day, and already she felt like the kingdom was collapsing around her in his absence.

"I will stay here with you tonight," Melui decided, eyeing her friend's despondent expression, and she settled into one of the chairs by the fireplace. "Probably should not take my eyes off of you until the king returns," she added under her breath.

Narylfiel decided to ignore that last comment. "Thank you, Melui,"she said tiredly, "and thank you, Hüredhiel. I would greatly appreciate your company when meeting with Almea. I suspect it will not be pleasant."

"I could do no less for our King's beloved, Narylfiel," she said, her eyes warm. "Is there anyone else that you would want to be there with you? Because I have a feeling that Almea will not be coming alone. It might be wise to have a few of your own supporters there."

Head swimming, she could only really think of one person. Most of her close friends had all left with the Forest Guard to join the army in battle with Thranduil, and none of them were the lordly, powerful types. "Lord Rivenion," she said at last, "please tell him my troubles, and he will know what to do."

"Yes, my lady," the healer said, picking up the small bag she had brought with her that had been resting at the foot of the bed. "Your highness?" she asked, a slight smile playing on her lips as she gazed upon the queen.

"Yes, Lady Hüredhiel?"

"May I?" she asked, looking meaningfully at where Narylfiel's hand still rested on her lower abdomen.

It took Narylfiel a moment to register what Hüredhiel wanted. "Oh. Oh, of course," she agreed, and Hüredhiel carefully placed her hand over the queen's, waited and listened, directing her feä to feel for Narylfiel's.

Even as tired though she was, no matter how cloudy her head felt, Narylfiel could tell the moment that Hüredhiel could sense her baby's feä, for what could only be described as joy brightened the healer's face. She smiled, perhaps more brightly than Narylfiel had ever seen her smile.

"Undoubtedly, these are dark times, Narylfiel, but this—this is a wonderful gift from the Valar. Thranduil will be ecstatic when he finds out."

With that said, she picked up her bag again and headed out the door, leaving Narylfiel to wonder just exactly how her Elvenking would react when he heard the news.

-  .  -  .  -

With his scouts stealing ahead quietly and swiftly through the treetops, Thranduil and his army moved just as silently through the trees toward the Old Forest Road. The one detractor to all of their stealth was the unfortunate party of dwarves that moved with such racket and clamor that Thranduil was sure every orc in Dol Guldur knew they were coming.

He turned his head just enough to glimpse the lot of them, trudging alongside the company of his flawless Royal Guard. He knew their names now, the dwarves, for they had been his unhappy guests long enough during the harsh winter months while their prince healed from the effects of the poison. His guards never caught the culprit, who had somehow laced poison in a gift from his queen, a fact that sorely worried Thranduil. Now after much wheedling from Narylfiel who had befriended the lot of them, the king had promised Prince Thorin safe passage to the Forest Road with his company, for the dwarves were eager to return to their mountain. That, he could understand readily enough. War marched on their land as easily as it did his.

Thranduil absently rubbed his chest. He feared the effects their separation might have on their bond. Narylfiel. He hoped she fared well enough without him. Hopefully she—

The king's great elk Taurion stilled, and Thranduil signaled wordlessly for his troops to stop. Even the dwarves must have sensed the change in the woods, for they stopped their racket and reached quietly for their axes, readied their shields.

Cawing raucously, a flock of birds took flight from the trees overhead. Carrion birds, thought Thranduil too late, for as his eyes traced their flight into the foliage overhead, he spotted the body of one of his scouts, impaled high above, his body cruelly pinned to a branch by a dark blade.

"Orcs," he mouthed in anguish to his king.

And then the enemy attacked.

-  .  -  .  -

Author's note: Cliff hanger! Aack! But hey, big news in this chapter! Narylfiel - with a baby Thranduil on the way! Oh my! Boy or girl, what do you think? And more dwarfy goodness to come in the next chapter as well *wink, wink to my dwarf fans out there*

Thranduil: Ignoring dwarves like they're not even there AND looking fabulous at the same time?...#MySuperPower

Thanks again to everyone who has supported Kingsfoil, whether you've just joined us or have been along since the very beginning. Let me know what you think about the latest developments! How should Thranduil find out about the baby?

And how should Narylfiel handle the Lord Filron incident?!