This is something I cooked up after seeing The Hobbit- The Desolation of Smaug.

Hurt/Comfort, Romance and a tinge of tragedy for your enjoyment.

Ghosts

Sometimes at night, Thranduil swore he could hear her weeping. High above in her tower room, he was so sure she was crying his name. That was a disturbing thought. Sometimes, Thranduil echoed her loneliness. He would wander aimless as a lost soul, lonely as a solitary cloud through their old nursery and look at the cribs all covered up with sheets. He never found the courage to throw off the covers and breathe life back into their dreams. He remembered the blood and the cries, and turned away quickly from the memories.

Thranduil was cold in his throne room. Early Autumn had bought a steady northern breeze, colder than any he'd felt in recent years. His world was thick with ghosts. Memories of a time when life had been different, not so serious, not so stark. There were no shadows around the corners, no uncertainty. Now he felt as if the world was teetering on the edge of a change so great it would throw his meager problems aside as if they were toys. It seemed safer to stay behind his borders and deal with the immediate.

Oncoming winter pushed icy fingers through the gauzy draped into his bedchamber and chilled the lightweight, silky sheets on which he lay. And a mortal chill went up his spine to remind him that the decisions of men might end his reign and his life, and he might die with the weight of these regrets. A sense of urgency gripped him, a moment of desolation in which he felt the weight and magnitude of his responsibility, in which it was as if there was not a soul in the world in whom he could confide. An immortal could not live without friends forever, and Thranduil's position had always been a difficult one to maintain. That steady northern breeze hinted at hard times.

She never came down from the tower. The rift grew wider as the years marched steadily by, and Thranduil found solace at the bottom of a bottle, and still his heart ached for something he didn't dare to name. He visited the nursery less and less, and the tower not at all. And so his eyes turned to those outside his lands to provide what elven women would not, and in his distraction he forgot to see where his heart truly lay.

000

Seti perched on the rail of the old barge as it glided between the monuments. Her low cut gown showed off the huge tits that could swallow a mans face. She was chewing on a walnut with her surprisingly good teeth, and smiling.

'So what's he like, then?'

'Who?' Bard wasn't really listening. The tavern wench had offered to help him with the heavy barrels for a few extra coins. He wasn't paying her to talk, and he had no intention of drowning them both over her prattle.

'The Elf King,' she said, like he was slow.

'He's a bastard,' Bard said. 'You've no idea.'

'Oh, what's he done?'

What's he done? Bard thought. I'd tell you, but if he found out, I'd lose my wages then my head.

'It's not what he's done,' Bard said. 'It's what he doesn't do. Quiet now, or we'll both be drowned by sundown.'

000

Bard guessed Thranduil's purpose in inviting him and the wench up to the throne. Seti on the other hand had fewer braincells firing. Thranduil paid well for his goods, and his money had bought Bard's girls their education, so he wasn't about to go defending a girl he barely knew. On the other hand, Bard had seen this happen before, and he didn't like to watch. Before or after. It upset him, as all mistreatment of men and women did.

The elf king wanted her. It was plain to see, though strange to watch Thranduil lusting so openly. Bard would have expected him to have a better poker face, but then again a King within his own realm didn't need to ask or pretend, and to a certain extent, didn't need to hide his intentions. Bard didn't blame him. Seti looked like an innocent blonde beauty with a heart shaped face and huge brown eyes, and thought she was the best archer Bard had ever seen outside of Elfkind, her tits were a massive distraction to any man with hot blood flowing in his veins. Laketown hadn't offered Seti the opportunities she needed.

Then Thranduil descended like a cloud of fine silks and flowing hair to get a better look at her (at least, Bard was fairly sure that was his game) and the bargeman felt an almost irrepressible urge to shelter her, to save her from the beast. Any man was a monster with wine in his belly, and this Elf was dangerous. Thranduil leaned down a little to smile beguilingly. And Seti, the poor little fool, tilted her head back to smile up at him, so he got a good view of her doe eyes and an even better look at her breasts. They were more noticeable than a bloke in the girls lavatories.

The words, Bard realised, were meaningless.

'I am most grateful to you and your fine bargeman for bringing me such lovely tastes from the south.'

Seti smile and said, 'He's not MY bargeman, your majesty.' Bard began to feel a bit uncomfortable then. A bit inadequate.

'Still unmarried then, Bard?' Thranduil turned to him, a tiny smile playing at the corners of his lips, implying the big elf was making fun, and so politely too that Bard was a bit out of his depth on the comeback. 'I should think a handsome man like you would not struggle for admirers?'

'Admirers no,' Bard said. 'But the ones who get their hands on me have to be different.'

'I must be different then,' Seti mumbled. Bard blushed. Thranduil's eyes narrowed and became hungry.

'There is no harm in being picky, bargeman. Just be sure you don't get too fussy, yes?' he turned away as his smile blossomed into a full, frightening grin at Bard's expense. 'Time waits for no man.'

'If that is all the King commands?' Bard had prickled. His wife was still fresh in his memory, and Thranduil was an obnoxious arsehole at the best of times.

'No, it isn't,' Thranduil said. Then he gazed past the buxom girl to the guard, who was still holding her bow and quiver at the gate. He gestured. 'Such fine weapons, where did you get them? Are they yours, Bard?'

'No,' the bargeman said. 'Hers.'

Thranduil feigned surprise. Bard noticed. Seti didn't seem to see past the obvious. He waved a hand to the elven guard who bought them up. When they were handed over he examined them carefully. he drew the bow strong back and plucked an arrow for better study.

'Interesting,' he said softly. 'They are well crafted, but by men. Elves make the finest bows in Middle Earth. There are none who can contend with our craftsmen,' he handed it to Seti. 'I assume you know how to use it?'

Seti hesitated. She knew the penalty for drawing a weapon in the Kings chamber. On the other hand, on a direct invitation it was very hard to say no. Thranduil moved to stand beside them. He pointed out of the high window to a bough some distance away.

'Do you see the birds nest?'

Seti looked along his finger.

'Yes, sire.'

'Hit it.'

Seti drew an arrow rather uncomfortably. But then she set the arrow to the string and with a last glance at the King, loosed it. When the nest tumbled from the bough, Thranduil actually laughed.

'Now. Bring me that nice fat crow for my dinner and I will reward you. I simply love to see aspiring talent.'

'I cannot, sire.'

'Pray tell me, why not?' his eyes carried a hint of danger, and a whisper of great amusement too. He was testing her. She was smart enough to work that out. 'Is it because the target moves?'

'No sire, I can hit it. But I can't bring it to you. I can't fly.'

Thranduil turned his head to look at Bard. He smiled. It was entirely predatory. Bard returned it tightly, uncomfortably.

'As quick witted as you are lovely. Shoot it for me then, and I will have a man retrieve it.'

So Seti did, and as the unsuspecting crow went falling toward the paths below, she lowered her bow. Thranduil leaned in.

'Excellent. Now the knot on the tree trunk. I will count to three.'

Before Seti could look for it, he was at two. Then by some small miracle her eyes found it, the one he was surely talking about. He had to be. It was the only knot that was noticeable enough. She loosed the arrow. It buried itself in the wood with a soft whump, all too apparent in the quiet, and she breathed a sigh of relief. It was dead center. A perfect shot.

Thranduil smiled.

'You did not learn that, my lady,' he smiled. 'A father can teach you to shoot, but talent is in your blood, as natural as the beating of your heart. Elves have perfected the bow. We are taught as soon as we can walk. Who was your teacher?'

'My father,' Seti said. 'When I first touched a bow it was like I'd been living just to shoot.'

'Talent then. A whisper of destiny. It gladdens my heart to find a daughter of men, with more about her than what is considered standard.'

'People say I'm odd, sire,' she smiled. 'I don't listen but that don't stop them saying it.'

'Odd you are but it is an oddness that should be encouraged,' he smiled. Then when Seti smiled, he leaned in to whisper to Bard. 'A gold piece for your silence, bargeman. I will see to it that it is a large order next time.'

Bard didn't know what to do. At least, morally speaking. He did what any sensible father would do. He thought of his girls, and that did it. He inclined his head, took the gold and made a quick exit.

'I hope I pleased you,' Seti said, very politely, because she sensed something had taken place where she couldn't hear. She was about to retreat when the King held out a hand towards her.

'I have not given you your reward. Come with me.'

Seti glanced at Bards retreating back, then she smiled sweetly and laid her bow down on a chair. At the doorway, a glass of red wine now in his hand, Thranduil gestured for her.

'My lady.'

'I'm no lady sir. Just a tavern girl.'

Thranduil, not missing a beat, unleashed a devastatingly sexy smile that made Seti go weak and warm. Suddenly she felt as if her hopes were coming true. At first she hadn't been sure of his intentions, now they seemed utterly clear.

'Then my eyes are liars.'

000

Seti followed him into a large room, where fine net fabric was strung from the high arched windows. It stirred in the late afternoon breeze, and it afforded a little protection and a bit of extra warmth. She could a long bank of trees, a canopy stretching down to the lake. In the distance, Laketown was a dark splotch under the mountain.

'Ooh, sire, what a view,' she breathed. 'I bet you can see the stars better than anyone.'

Thranduil poured a glass of wine and offered it to her. 'The stars have ever been a sight I am pleased to see. you will find now view better, than from this tower.'

When Seti took it with a brush of his fingers he said; 'I'll wager this is a finer vintage than any you have tasted.'

'I don't know,' she smiled doubtfully, 'I've had some fucking good wine.'

Thranduil didn't seem remotely bothered by the vulgarity. He leaned down.

'What's the harm in a taste?' he murmured. 'Then again I suppose you never know how dangerous it can be, until it touches your lips.'

'My lips haven't tasted fine wine in a while, I'll grant you,' Seti peered up at him, and Thranduil's smiles melted into a clear and ravenous hunger. She sipped it like the finest pint of mead. Thranduil's brows knitted together. He bent low and laid his hands on top of hers and slowed her down before she could drink herself to sleep. He wanted her awake. At least for now. He smiled, sweetly. They loved that. They always, always fell for his smile, his power, his hair. He wasn't bothered which bit did it for her, just so long as the doing took place. And soon. He was hungry.

'Time is your friend,' he laughed lightly. 'The lives of men pass by so quickly that they forget to savour each moment.'

Seti smiled. 'Savour the wine you mean.'

'The moment is the wine,' his hands were so warm and strong. Seti was melting. When he let go he left the tingly memory of his touch behind. He moved away to look up at the oncoming night.

The wine burned pleasantly all the way down and settled like nectar in her belly. He was right. It was better than anything she'd had before.

'Wow,' she muttered.

'Yes I know,' he said. He wasn't even looking at her. Seti made a note never to whisper near him, he could obviously hear very well. 'Isn't it divine. This is how the bargeman makes so much money out of me. Perhaps you should call him your own. He would not struggle to provide.'

'So long as the wine keeps flowing,' Seti went a bit closer. 'He isn't my type.'

'Ah,' Thranduil smiled. 'Another suitor is it?'

'No,' she shook her head so that her pretty hairs bounced. 'Noone actually. Customers ain't lovers, sire. Just money.'

'But you'd like a lover,' he looked down at her.

'Course I would. A husband too. But till then lovers will do.'

In the corner of the room, a very large, very powerful looking bow and a quiver of arrows were propped up by the expansive window. She gazed lustfully past the kings shapely backside, to where they sat, inviting her almost as sweetly as Thranduil himself. Perhaps if she played her cards right, he'd let her play. Perhaps.

Then Thranduil said, quite darkly; 'Sex is not caring. I understand. What do you think of the wine?'

'Pretty smell, sire,' she said. 'Warm, soft, I'd say it was the finest southern grapes and many years bottled. Perfect. Makes your mouth water.'

'Mmm,' Thranduil nodded. So she was a wine critic too, in her way. He wasn't sure what aroused him more, her simple way or her obvious delight in his attentions.

He turned. His hair brushed his elbows. He crossed the room slowly and lowered himself to sit beside her. Seti took the chance and feigned a greater drunkenness than a single glass of wine would ever achieve.

'This is great wine. I feel a bit woozy,' she giggled.

Thranduil moved as slick as an eel, and as she swayed he caught her on his shoulder and wrapped an eager arm around her waist. She could feel his fingers, barely restrained on her hip.

'You are not used to drink. Unusual, for a tavern maid.'

'They don't pay me to drink it, sire. They pay me to serve it. And I got better things to do with my pay than drink it away.'

'Odder still,' he murmured near her ear. 'I am old. I have seen so much of the worlds of men and elves that I am almost bored of their rules and expectations. I would find nothing more pleasing than that which is unusual.'

Seti may have been a bit dim, but she could see a compliment where one was offered. She smiled beguilingly and let her fingers wander onto his knee.

'I always wanted to see more of the Elves, sire.'

Thranduil breathed in quickly, so softly that Seti nearly missed it. Not quite. He didn't move a muscle except to press closer into her hand, and she spread her fingers right behind his knee and gave him a little squeeze. Sure enough his hand tightened, his arm too, and then the horny Elven King put his lips near her hair. Seti could feel her heart racing.

'I am an excellent teacher.'

'Me father always said I was quick to learn,' she grinned.

Thranduil pressed closer, so warm that Seti was sure her back was going to catch on fire. Then he whispered, lustfully; 'Sit on my lap.'

She did so, eagerly, giving her bottom a little wiggle under the guise of getting comfortable and sure enough she felt a prominent bulge poking her in the arse. His breathing wasn't so quiet any more, and she was certain she could have popped him between the eyes in the dark. Neither was hers though. Thranduil's long, fair fingers brushed her hair off her neck and she heard herself gasping and making all sorts of lovely little noises when he kissed her neck gently, slowly, and with a hunger she rarely met from paying clients. He pulled her down more firmly, pressing his bulge into her, and his fingers found her laces and began to tug them loose.

Thranduil's gaze sank to where those magnificent tits waited, trussed up by her dress. He was a patient man, and an even more patient king. Tonight he felt that self control slipping. He was so hungry. It had been nearly a year since the last one, and his wife was in no shape to provide. This was nothing next to the merry dance an elven woman could take a man. Humans were typically pliant and easy to tempt with no more than a few well placed gestures and some lies. He got the feeling this one was used to all that. He also sensed that wasn't why she was responding to him.

'Ooh, I feel a bit drunk-' she giggled.

'I'll take good care of you,' he promised, in a voice thick with need. His white fingers made short work of her laces and he slid a ravenous hand inside her down to squeeze her breast. She was so warm and soft, and her tits were firmer than he'd imagined.

'Forgive me,' he breathed, near her ear.

Seti squirmed, as eager to get the gown off as he was to remove it.

'Don't ask me now,' she said breathlessly. 'Ask me later.'

'I'll ask you twice. Once when I'm finished with you, and once when you are finished with me,' the last carried a hint of predatory intent. Enough to make Seti want to melt. She loved strong men, and this one was as powerful as they came.

'Don't you have a wife, my lord?' she cast a little glance up at him. She was surprised, actually, how hungry he looked. Through the haze of oncoming drunkenness, Seti realised he wore the look of a man who didn't get this very often, who'd been waiting.

'Oh. She. She who plagues,' he said, clearly unhappy with some close, personal situation.

'Poor sire,' she pursed her lips. Then she twisted and kissed the corner of his mouth softly. Thranduil surrendered. It had been a long time since anyone had made him feel like that. He let her lean in and kiss him softly, let her into his mouth where she played hungrily with his tongue, and only pulled away to give him space to free both her breasts at once.

His last conquest had been a girl of fifteen. His guards had caught her on the borderlands, cold and wet. She had been all too easy to get out of her clothes, being pretty but of no special magnificence. Thranduil had been certain she was glad to be bedded at last, and bedded he did, thoroughly. It was a particularly lovely surprise to discover she was a virgin. This one was no virgin, and he found her experience was turning him on far more than the doe-eyed confusion of the girl whose name he'd forgotten. He'd sent her back to her homeland, riding somewhat awkwardly with her pockets full of silver and her mind conspicuously empty. She wouldn't tell. That was the important thing.

Now his new toy was leaning over him, rubbing gently over his aching cock, making him gasp every time she touched his throat or played with his hair. Her mouth tasted of the wine, her skin tasted unique. The hand he'd buried under her skirt found a nice, fat thigh, which perversely turned him on so much he didn't want to wait one second longer to have her.

Thranduil had long since eradicated guilt over his secret sex life from his mind. His wife, after all, was not herself these days, and it would be somewhat unfair to have her with child again, after the last time. It was the pregnancy that had damaged her mind, and Thranduil was quite happy to keep using and abusing that excuse so that he got his variety and she kept out of his hair. How he wanted to slip his hand between this ones legs.

Seti made quick work of his overcoat, long and heavy though it was. He was eager to pull the rest off, and it was cast onto the floor without a care so that he could wrap his arms around her and take her mouth eagerly. Less persuasion felt good. He made a mental note to hunt more actively in future and to look for women who might have experience. Then the girl found his laces. He glimpsed a tiny smile, but it was gone by the time she wrapped her lips around him and began to suck.

Thranduil was surprised when he felt control slipping. He wanted more than it was safe to want. There was always the disturbing possibility that she might walk away with a child in her belly, and he did not need that haunting him. Neither, he suspected, would Seti be too pleased to find she was to be mother to a half breed. He should have stopped at a suck, he should have restrained himself to using his fingers and watching her cry his name. He was pretty sure he could make her scream. But it wasn't a suck or a few minutes inside her body he wanted, he wanted to fuck her. It was something in her eyes. Then she raised her head to look at him, all self indulgence and self satisfaction and he understood. She enjoyed the power she had over him, and for once Thranduil decided not to fight. He could lie to himself in the morning, even pretend it had never happened. Why was a woman drunk on power such a turn on? Over confident, he thought. Sound technique with a man that I am going to beat, and she will walk away like the last one. Bow legged and dazed and I will commit her to memory, then pretend I've forgotten.

Then she tugged her underclothes aside and his fingers found her sweet, wet spot and the swollen, delicious flesh around it. His steel blue eyes clouded over, and the hands that had been nothing but gentle tightened, threateningly, on her hips. She was teasing him, and it felt good. And the great elf King was so desperate for it that she was sure she could push her luck tonight, at least until he got inside her. It was always the same, once they got their dick wet, they were helpless.

Thranduil laid back, happily, and Seti followed, straddling his hips and his skilled hand. Then he withdrew it and tugged the remaining laces down her back. Seti helped him with unsteady hands, and tossed the gown and its skirts onto the floor. When she glanced down, the elven King was gazing at her ample backside with eyes like blue fire, full of lust, full of hunger.

Then urgently, Thranduil rolled her over with very little effort. He stood back with his clothes hanging open. The robe came off. It hissed to the ground and pooled like liquid silver, and Thranduil reached for the crown on his head. It put it on the bedpost, and his blue eyes narrowed.

Seti smirked. So the Elf King knew he was sexy, did he? Seti had never imagined he'd be like this. She'd envisioned elves as serious and reserved, and he was definitely both, but there was a layer to him that suggested he could also be playful, and dangerous, and human. So she pulled her last little bit of lace off and tossed it at his face. He caught it with a lightning quick grab and deflected it away. Then his bare skin touched hers.

He kissed her, and it trailed into a moan. His hair was so long that it spilled off his shoulders and tickled her throat, and without the crown it was prone to getting so artfully messed that she was compelled to run both her hands through it. Apparently, Thranduil enjoyed that, because a moment later he moved the hand, grabbed her arse, and slid into her body unhesitatingly. Seti made a loud noise of pleasure, so loud that Thranduil kissed her to silence her, and began to move so slowly and with such practised ease, Seti was now certain he'd been all around the kingdoms of elves and men.

He kept his eyes open. Seti had been with quite a few men, and she liked best the ones who liked to watch her, who liked to be watched. Maybe it was Thranduil's confidence that made the difference. The Elf King wasn't the type to bury his head in the sand, and he didn't seem afraid to look her in the eye. He didn't seem inclined to pretend this wasn't happening. Somehow that made Seti ache for something she felt she hadn't had enough of recently. A real connection. Somebody to care about. She doubted she'd get that with the Elf king, but it made her dream of more than customers and tavern brawls.

He was strong, she could feel it in how easily he moved above her. A wiry sort of strength made on years of exercise. Apparently, Thranduil hadn't retreated to Mirkwood and relaxed into old age, for which she was very grateful. She realized she was moaning, and making little noises that she hadn't tried to devise. And her elven lover was deliciously flushed, and as deep inside her as it was possible to get, then his tongue began to mimic what he doing down below and she shuddered beneath him. If he hadn't been kissing her she might have made enough noise to prove his misbehavior to everyone in Mirkwood, but orgasm crept up on her, took her by surprise, and left her drained and exhausted, sleepy and wet.

He was so busy watching her orgasm that his own just happened. Not just because her mouth had this habit of forming the most inviting little 'O' of surprise and pleasure, every time he filled her, but because her body seemed intent to cause him as much pleasure as possible. The muscles inside her rippled and squeezed, and betrayed genuine pleasure. Their slippery end was as delicious as the seduction. For some reason Thranduil did not pull away from her right away. Usually women he had tempted to bed were quickly tempted to leave. For this one, he let the time run on without worrying. Just so that he could seize a moment that he had not expected to have.

She looked him in the eye and kissed him quite sweetly on the mouth, so sweetly that he was compelled to open it again just to get another taste. Weirdly sad to pull out of her, and suddenly, as he reached for his overcoat, too cold for comfort. In his chest a funny hole had yawned open, filling him with an aching he hadn't felt since the early days of his marriage.

The pretty, plump thing in his bed turned to watch him with wide, brown eyes. How vulnerable she looked then, and Thranduil did not need to be a gifted seer to divine her true emotions. She didn't want to leave, and if he was honest, he did not wish to send her home until the morning. His pale hand closed around the robe and he almost, almost picked it up. But then Seti took a gamble and wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his jaw gently. He couldn't have explained to an inquiry why on Middle Earth he let that robe go, but it slipped from his fingers like liquid starlight and landed on the floor. And his hand found the throw he'd put over the seat the night before.

She was warmer than a little pie, her short, shapely legs all curvy and fair. There was a little round belly to take in his hand and squeeze, and why he found that so arousing he couldn't say. And then the breasts he could have used for a pillow. And more there was willingness to be close, and he realized with a horrible, internal crunch that nothing had been traded here, no agreement had been made. Whatever they had done together was more natural than that. Half of him wanted to back away.

The other half compelled him to stay, to face the fear that had been growing in his mind. The fear that he would end up alone that had lead him to avoid his wife. Was that it? Did he fear Haliel's death? That was silly, an elf could not die of a mental sickness. But, argued a little voice, she could become insane. She could become less than the woman he loved, and had loved for nearly three thousand years.

Perhaps, he thought, as he gazed at the back of Seti's head, he'd become lonely and disillusioned, and sought company in the inanimate, in the liquid. Whatever the feeling was, it hit him with the force of a runaway horse, right in the chest and made him ache. That night he slept beside the girl, just to calm his raging nerves and to stop his hands from shaking. Hoping that her warmth and willingness to shelter his suddenly delicate heart would give him the strength he needed to visit her again.

He felt as if his heart had been torn out. But it was an old wound, and there was no way to heal it except to find his courage, which had been buried at the bottom of a bottle, which Seti had dug out of him. Which he would have to thank her for. Somehow.

000

Bard had steeled himself for the worst. Actually, standing by the boat he was nervous, not for his barrels, not for his trade with Thranduil. For the girl he'd bought here. He felt like a smuggler all over again, he felt like an accessory to a crime. Sure enough, later than was really polite, Seti came wandering down the long steps looking more than a bit dazed, and very happy. Bard felt his anger at the injustice rise up like the dragon inside the mountain. How could Thranduil be so cold? But this was Thranduil, and cold was something he did very well.

Bard was sure he saw Seti wobble a bit, and he was so certain that whatever had been in her mind had been erased of all knowingness and awareness by Thranduil's herbal cocktail. The same one he fed to all the girls he bedded. Bard felt disgust rise up his gullet. Then Seti drew level with him and smiled.

'Bard.'

'You're alright?' he stared at her in utter shock.

'No, I'm better than alright,' Seti murmured, and she bought what she'd been carrying from behind her back. It was a bow, and Bard knew he'd seen it before, in the throne chamber upstairs. He stared at it.

'He didn't.'

'He did,' she grinned. 'Now let them laugh when I go to the tournament!'

'They'll laugh,' Bard glanced upward to where he was sure he saw a flash of white hair and a small, indulgent smile. 'But you'll prove them wrong.'

000

Thranduil's time as King had prepared him for a thousand challenges. There was not a chance to speak in public, nor a diplomatic mission he could not accept. Nobody could intimidate him, and he had shown himself through his own hard work to be a fair leader, if not a little moody at times. He was respected, and it was his personal success that had made it that way. But knocking on this secret upstairs door was the hardest thing he had done since asking for Haliel's hand.

There was no answer. Nor did he expect one, for his wife had been locked away for three years, and she had not spoken a word for all of it. He opened the door with a shaking hand and went inside on legs that nearly refused to support him. What would she think of him? If she had any brains left to think with. He would be hated by no one more than her. He had made enemies during his rule, but men should never make enemies of those closest to them. He had broken a cardinal rule.

Her hair spilled like silk over the pillows. She was curled up on her side, wearing a fine gown that was only half buttoned up. She was breathing so shallowly that she had to be asleep. Thranduil had not seen her face in so long. He had not come to visit and she had not found the strength to move. Now he regretted it with such pain that he clutched his heart. He'd felt this before, long ago when he had a phase of intense spirituality. Energy clearing had lead him into strange forms of meditation, which had flushed him with intense emotions. Happiness, anger, guilt. This feeling was guilt, and it hurt. He leaned over her, laid a hand on her shoulder. He didn't dare shake her awake. She looked so thin he was afraid he'd hurt her.

'Love?' he whispered softly, in Elvish. She stirred, and for a moment she was as peaceful as the lake, undisturbed and unspoiled, if a little unresponsive. Then she opened her eyes and gazed up at him. They widened suddenly, then she hid her face in the pillows and began to cry. That hurt, so much that he nearly, nearly fled, if he could have just found the strength in his legs to rise, he might have done.

Courage was hard to come by when the fault was his own. Perhaps it would have been kinder to leave her be. Then he spotted something in her hand, hidden under the covers. He leaned over her body, trying not to feel the wracking sobs or hear the little breaths peculiar to her grief. How she'd cried at first, when their son had been placed in her arms, as lifeless as a doll. Thranduil couldn't have explained it. The healer couldn't either. Up until a day before the birth there had been not a whisper of trouble. Over and over he'd asked himself why. Why the Old Gods had taken the child and not his father. More than once he'd wished he could swap. But by then it was too late. If the child had lived just a day, he would have been safe. An elf was only vulnerable twice in his life, during birth and during battle. How he'd prayed for a day with his son.

Thranduil had tried to hide from it, but you couldn't hide from a grieving mother. Everywhere she went she took the pain with her, and at first he'd tried to comfort her, until she'd begun to recoil from his touch. Spending more and more time alone, refusing to see him, until he life had become this one lonely room, and she was bitter and unresponsive, and then at length; silent. Now he could see it for what it was, and he cursed the fact it had taken a girl from Laketown to teach him.

When she stopped weeping and looked at him, he found cold tears tracking down his face and wondered when they had begun to leak out. It wasn't like him. The silence grew heavy, the explanations urgent. He tried to find his voice but it was hard, when her familiar eyes were gazing back at him, as if they felt they'd strayed into a cruel dream.

Thranduil tried to say what he wanted to say, but it came out as her name chocked and silly, and completely not the way he'd hoped to be. If he needed to be strong enough for both of them then he was failing, they'd fall together. Except it wasn't going that way. He was falling alone, like a lonely star. Hoping there would be somebody around to catch him.

'I closed my heart to you,' he finally managed to say, while his hand cupped her cheek and tried to draw her closer. She fought him, weakly but persistently, avoiding his affection. 'I didn't understand. Listen to me,' he breathed, near her forehead. Strength won out and he pulled her close, into an embrace that made her choke out a little curse. So horrible a sound that he nearly let her go, nearly respected her obvious desire to be alone, to mourn alone, to live without him. He found her face with both hands and looked into her eyes, though they were reluctant to open there was a breath of life returning to them. 'I did not see. I was blind. Forgive me. I beg you.'

The hand that had been hidden came out holding the babies blanket and what strength he thought he had shattered like glass, and spread so wide that Thranduil was sure he'd never put himself back together. It wrapped around his neck. She even smelled the same. An oasis of memory, some good, some better, some so awfully sad that he wished elves could die of grief. He was crying, he could feel it. Not delicately either, not the gentle rolling tears of those overcome with controllable emotions. This was more like the ragged sobs of a bereaved father. If he had more pride me might have been ashamed. And his wife had shed so many tears he was certain she'd have none left, but from somewhere she found a reserve of fluid, enough to mark the transition back to friendship, back to understanding. Back to hope.

A very long time later, after quite a few meals had been delivered to their room, Thranduil managed to get her, wrapped in a thick blanket, down into the throne room. It had been so long since she'd walked there that he had to hold her all the way to the seat, and she was so frightened that she wouldn't let go of his hand. Whatever his men thought of it, Thranduil seated her in his lap like a child, and wrapped her in his arms, and whispered in her ear. Now and then, she began to say his name, and before long, he convinced her to eat. It was a very long time before she let go of the blanket.

Later still, when his wife had recovered enough to feed herself and sit alone, and had begun to say a bit more to him than 'Thranduil' and 'Don't go,' he received word from one of his eagle eyes spies, that a tournament had been held at the foot of Erebor, and that a golden haired woman had won with a most remarkable bow. When questioned on who had given it to her, she had lied smoothly that she won it in a bet, and Thranduil considered his trust well placed indeed. His debt however, perhaps not as settled as he'd first thought.

END