Characters: Thranduil, Fem!Reader || Words: 1,006 || Genre: romance, steam, fluff || Setting: council chambers, Woodland Realm veranda 

Of course the council meeting would be particularly long and scheduled in the evening on the anniversary of your birth. 

You would enjoy nothing more than to spend some extra time with your secret love tonight, the King himself. You would just enjoy a slight grin or gentle nod from him.

Though your family and friends wished you a wonderful day, complete with kisses and hugs, Thranduil has treated you as he normally does - in public, anyway. The two of you haven’t had a chance to be alone.

He’s offered formal greetings and casual questions leading up to the meeting about your duties, but nothing romantic or congratulatory. You actually don’t expect much in terms of a celebration, but a little recognition would be welcome.

“How is the progress on the latest transcriptions?”

You don’t realize you’ve been scribbling your birthday wishes on your meeting notes - a light dinner, candles, kisses, wine, watching the sunset - until you hear the word ‘transcriptions.’

That’s you, the King’s scribe. You’re up.

After clearing your throat, you give your report: “The transcription of several decrees is nearly complete, King Thranduil. And Prince Legolas has asked me to assist with the cataloging of the mass of newly forged weapons.” And by the way, it’s my birthday, meleth. I don’t expect much, but can you at least make eye contact with me? No one will know…

“Very good,” Thranduil says, not looking up from his parchment as he moves his quill quickly across it.

Two more reports later, the meeting ends. You overhear Thranduil mention something about having another meeting to go to, so you are the first to file out. If he is going to be busy all evening, you’re not going to let your special day slip away without some merriment.

You’re more than halfway down the corridor when a soft whoosh flutters behind you, the smell of star magnolia wafts around you. And then there is a hand on the back of your arm, Thranduil’s commanding body next to yours, taking you somewhere so swiftly it feels as if you’re spinning.

The next thing you know your back is pressed against a wall in an unlit nook, and Thranduil’s hands are on either side of your shoulders as his lips cover yours, tasting you with wild abandon. You bring your arms around him and pull him as close as you can. He leaves your mouth and slides down your neck, where he kisses and sucks on your warm skin. His breathing is heavy and hot, and he sighs your name as he continues pelting your neck, pulling the top of your tunic down and plunging into your cleavage. You moan, muffling it the best you can through closed lips.

“Now this is what I call a productive meeting,” you finally say, your fingers lacing through his silky hair. Thranduil gives you a final kiss between your breasts and rises, still panting. He gathers you to him and kisses the top of your head.

“May this be the most joyous of birthdays, my love.”

In an instant, you forget all his prior formality, inattentiveness, and the boring council meeting. This is all you really wanted.

Thranduil steps back and without a word, takes your hand again. He presses on the back wall of the nook, and it gives to his touch, opening to a wide stone veranda, covered by a large white canopy. You’ve never come from this secret passageway before, and as Thranduil guides you out, you are completely amazed by the view.

There are hundreds of lit candles of all sizes, some in small votives, some in lanterns, some on the ledge, some on the ground lining the perimeter.

At the center of the scene is a small stone table, topped with a plate of succulent greens, fruit, bread and cheese plates, a carafe of wine, two silver goblets, and what appears to be a letter, wrapped in off-white silk. One of the two metal chairs is adorned with a bouquet of lilies, which Thranduil picks up and hands you.

“I hope you are pleased,” he says.

“Oh, Thranduil, it’s…it’s so much more than I ever would have imagined! And here I thought you were going to let this day come and go with no fanfare.” You bring your nose to the tips of the buds, smiling up at your King as you take in their lovely scent.

“Fanfare?” He seems surprised. “You have never struck me as one who delights in such a thing.”

“I delight in it from you.” With your free hand, you graze your fingertips down the fabric-covered buttons of his robe, from collarbone to navel.

“We should dine and drink before there’s any more fanfare.” His face is so stoic, but you can see him squirm through his shell.

You place the flowers on the table and both of you sit, relaxed and almost giddy at the absence of any hint of royal business. Dinner is perfect, the conversation is engaging, and the air is crisp.

“What is this?” you ask, the sheen of the red silk wrap catching your eye.

“Something I think of when….” He stops and looks off into the distance.

Suddenly he scoots his chair back and stands, extending his hand to help you up. You take the letter before you leave the table, and he leads you to the high ledge, where he stands behind you, arms around your waist, and bends down so his chin rests on your right shoulder.

The sun begins its descent, bursting the pale blue sky in auburn and plum. 

“Last but not least,” he whispers.

You gaze on the sunset in awe of it and most of all, of Thranduil. How did he know this - everything - was what you envisioned as the perfect birthday?

You remember the letter in your hands, and carefully open it. 

There is more than a letter. A brilliant diamond ring is in the center.

Just before the sun fades, Thranduil kisses your shoulder as you glance at the parchment.