#thranduilxoc

imagine || imagine || Words: 1510 || Characters: Thranduil, Young Legolas, Elfing Eril, mention of Young Tauriel || Setting: Mirkwood forest, Thranduil’s halls & gardens || Genre: angst, fluff, superfluff || for sincerelysinister || Note: Because I gave the Elfling a name with a significant meaning, I wrote this in third person. But if you prefer reading it in second person (Legolas/ThranduilxReader) skip below the handholding photo.

Eril

“Ion. Come here before you go.”

King Thranduil saw his son rush past his study, bow in hand, ready to enjoy his free time now that his intense daily sparring practice was over. 

Legolas backtracked to the open study door, where he saw his father standing behind his carved wooden desk. He walked around it and stood before Legolas.

“Exercise extreme caution if you venture more than a few leagues on your hunt today. I have received more word of mercenaries…”

“Easy kills,” Legolas murmured. He was quite young as Elves went, just creeping up on a century, but he was accurate and fast with his weapons.

“No. These thieves are more vicious than anyone else we’ve dealt with. And be on the lookout for one of Lothlorien’s guards, her human husband, and their child. They were due back from a task on Lord Celeborn’s behalf a month ago, and were to pass near our borders, but have not yet returned. I would presume they are dead.”

Legolas nodded and departed, his father’s somber words hovering over him like a raincloud, showering what was supposed to be a bright, carefree afternoon.

He was saddened as he thought of an entire family vanishing, dying at the hand of ruthless thieves. 

As he ventured deeper into the woods, he imagined every gruesome scenario that could have befallen them, and wondered who they left behind, who would mourn them.

He thought of this even as he took up his bow and aimed at a buck.

“Please don’t kill him,” a soft voice begged behind him.

Legolas jumped and turned around, still in position to loose an arrow.

But it was no enemy.

She was an Elfling, holding a bow that was much too big for her.

Her name was Eril, which meant “sunlight.”

‘I Never Looked Back’

“Why are you in our woods, alone, young one?” Legolas asked, lowering his bow. He hoped she would not say what he already knew was coming.

 Eril held her breath for a moment, trying to will the tears back, but they defied her.

“I’ve lost my parents. We were traveling back to our beautiful forest home, and some men cornered us. There was a fight… I grabbed my mother’s fallen bow and arrows, and ran as fast as I could, just as she and Father told me, and I never looked back.”

Eril couldn’t hold the tears anymore. Legolas immediately closed the distance between them and embraced her, running his hands down her cascading curls as she wept. 

“We will find them,” he promised when she pulled away to wipe her eyes. “Come with me back to my father’s halls. He’ll get a search party together.”

She nodded and smiled, looking up at him with reverence, then following his lead.

Legolas suddenly heard Eril’s stomach growl so loudly it hung in the air.

“Your hunger roars like a man’s!” he exclaimed, astonished.

“Of course! My father is a man.” Her voice broke, and she looked down and fiddled with her hands.

“You may have whatever you like at my home,” Thranduil said tenderly. “Let’s run!”

‘Enchanted’

After they thoroughly invaded the kitchens, giggling and sneaking about to avoid getting caught by the stern cooks, they went to the grand main hall, as Eril took in all the impressive carvings and statues.  

“Now I will take you to my father,” Legolas said, wiping the breadcrumbs from his mouth.

He held her hand again, and led her to the throne room.

Thranduil had descended from his high seat and was about to enjoy some time in his mineral pool when Legolas walked onto the platform with the stranger.

Thranduil seemed instantly mesmerized by Eril. Something deep and fascinating was running through his mind as Legolas explained how they’d met, and his promise to find her parents.

The King stepped forward and placed his hand under her chin. His icy eyes seem to smile at her.

“You are enchanted,” Thranduil said, his voice unwavering.

Eril shook her head, surprised.

“No, my lord, I am not.”

“It was not a question. You are enchanted, your skin kissed by the sun itself. There is nothing brighter, nothing warmer, nothing more influential that people of all races arrange their daily lives around. And it has favored you. There is no power outside of your reach.”

‘Stay Here’

Eril tossed the idea inside her head. Power? No one had ever said anything quite like that to her. She was unfamiliar with the Elves of this wood; maybe this kind of talk was normal for them.

Thranduil and Legolas hashed out the details of organizing a search party. Legolas offered to lead it, but both prince and king caught the frightened look in Eril’s eyes at the prospect of the Elfling leaving her side. 

“Tauriel will lead the search party,” Thranduil said, summoning a guard to deliver the message. Then he turned to Eril. 

“If we cannot locate your parents,” Thranduil said solemnly, “would it please you to stay here?”

“S-stay h-here?” She looked at Legolas, whose smile grew wider.

“Yes. Legolas has taken a liking to you, as have I. And having a sibling would be a good addition to his life.”

Eril was stunned. She tried to imagine a life without her parents, a life with these royals. It was both distressing and inviting. And it was all too much, too soon.

Thranduil saw her mixed emotions about it, and told her to take her time thinking about it. 

Legolas decided to change the subject.

“Why don’t you show me what you can do with that gigantic bow, Eril?  You owe me a buck.”

She smiled more brightly than she had all afternoon. They raced back outside, and before long she and Legolas were bounding through the forest, shooting at tree trunks and trying to split leaves right down their midribs. 

Legolas could not remember the last time he had so much fun, nor the last time he’d ever seen an elf with her deeply hued skin. She was, indeed, sun-kissed.

And he had never, ever lost archery games to anyone who wielded a bow that was not made for her. Eril’s mother had taught her well.

News

Within a few weeks’ time, Tauriel’s search party returned with the sad news of Eril’s parents.

Though Eril had long suspected they had been killed, getting confirmation did not make things any easier.

Legolas held her as she sobbed, sometimes for hours off and on, and Thranduil also offered a shoulder for her to cry on. 

“I would take this pain from you if I could, my sun-kissed princess,” he said.

She did not want the memorial to take place at home, in Lothlorien. She did not have the heart to return there. At Eril’s request, Thranduil held a low-key service at the Woodland Halls. 

“Your father said all power was within my reach,” Eril cried as Legolas sat with her on the tufted bench in her room after the ceremony.

“Yes,” he said, stroking her cheek.

“Then why did this happen?”

“Father once told me there is evil that even the greatest, purest power cannot stop. That is not the task of such power, not even the sun. You see, the light’s task is to always find what is hidden in the dark, and it will shine on vindication, for all to see, for all it loves. That is the power.”

Eril laced her fingers with his. 

“If that is true,” she said, “my parents will be avenged, as sure as my sun rises and sets.”

Princess Eril

The knock on Eril’s door several weeks later was accompanied by King Thranduil’s strong voice, announcing that the mercenaries had been caught. 

Eril lay on her bed, as she had done all morning, listening to the rain. She called for Thranduil to come in. He sat across from her on the bench, and explained that the plan had been to bring the bandits to proper justice, but they decided to try fighting their way out of the clutches of Thranduil’s guards, led by Legolas.

The mercenaries lost, of course.

Though Eril knew avenging her parents would not bring them back, Eril cried happy tears as she sat up on the bed. Thranduil patted her hand. 

“Ah, look,” Thranduil said, glancing out of her window, “the sun is finally shining again, Princess Eril. Would you like to accompany Legolas and me on a walk?”

‘Magical’

With the King on one side, and Legolas on the other, Eril was instantly comforted as she linked arms with them down a path that led to new garden that Thranduil had planted filled with yellow dahlias, just for her.

“…because they remind me of the enchanting power of the sun, and that reminds me of you,” he said.

All at once, Eril thought of everything she loved about Thranduil and Legolas, her parents, herself. She stopped walking and faced them, gently taking their hands. 

“Aran nin, you and Legolas are my family now. You have both been very good to me. I may not be enchanted, as you believe, but I have something much better than magic in my life: I have your love. I just want to be your daughter, and Legolas, I want to be your sister.”

“Nothing could be more magical to me than that.”

Photo credit: "Diversity and Unity" by Frerieke from The Hague, The Netherlands”

Princess Sunlight: Second Person (Reader) Perspective

No Enemy

“Ion. Come here before you go.”

King Thranduil saw his son rush past his study, bow in hand, ready to enjoy his free time now that his daily lessons were over.

Legolas backtracked to the open study door, where he saw his father standing behind his carved wooden desk. He walked around stood before Legolas.

“Exercise extreme caution if you venture more than a few leagues on your hunt today. I have received more word of mercenaries…”

“Easy kills,” Legolas murmured.

“No. These thieves are more vicious than anyone else we’ve dealt with. And be on the lookout for one of Lothlorien’s guards, her human husband, and their child. They were due back from a task on Lord Celeborn’s behalf a month ago, and were to pass near our borders, but have not yet returned. I would presume they are dead.”

Legolas nodded and departed, his father’s somber words hovering over him like a raincloud, showering what was supposed to be a bright, carefree afternoon.

He was saddened as he thought of an entire family vanishing, dying at the hand of ruthless thieves.

As he ventured deeper into the woods, he imagined every gruesome scenario that could have befallen them, and wondered who they left behind, who would mourn them.

He thought of this even as he took up his bow and aimed at a buck.

“Please don’t kill him,” you begged behind him.

Legolas jumped and turned around, still in position to loose an arrow.

But it was no enemy.

He saw that you were an Elfling, holding a bow that was much too big for you.

‘I Never Looked Back’

“Why are you in our woods, alone?” Legolas asked, lowering his bow. He hoped you would not say what he already knew was coming.

You held her breath for a moment, trying to will the tears back, but they defied you.

“I’ve lost my parents. We were traveling back to our beautiful forest home, and some men cornered us. There was a fight… I grabbed my mother’s fallen bow and arrows, and ran as fast as I could, just as she and Father told me, and I never looked back.”

You couldn’t hold the tears anymore. Legolas immediately closed the distance between you and embraced you, running his hands down your cascading curls as you wept.

“We will find them,” he promised when you pulled away to wipe your eyes. “Come with me back to my father’s halls. He’ll get a search party together.”

you nodded and smiled, looking up at him with reverence, then following his lead.

Legolas suddenly heard your stomach growl so loudly it hung in the air.

“Your hunger roars like a man’s!” he exclaimed, astonished.

“Of course! My father is a man.” Your voice broke, and you looked down and fiddled with your hands.

“You may have whatever you like at my home,” Thranduil said tenderly. “Let’s run!”

‘Enchanted’

After you thoroughly invaded the kitchens, giggling and sneaking about to avoid getting caught by the stern cooks, you both went to the grand main hall,. You took in all the impressive carvings and statues.  

“Now I will take you to my father,” Legolas said, wiping the breadcrumbs from his mouth.

He held your hand again, and led you to the throne room.

Thranduil had descended from his high seat and was about to enjoy some time in his mineral pool when Legolas walked onto the platform with you.

Thranduil seemed instantly mesmerized by you. Something deep and fascinating was running through his mind as Legolas explained how the two of you met, and his promise to find your parents.

The King stepped forward and placed his hand under your chin. His icy eyes seem to smile at you.

“You are enchanted,” Thranduil said, his voice unwavering.

You shook her head, surprised.

“No, my lord, I am not.”

“It was not a question. You are enchanted, your skin kissed by the sun itself. There is nothing brighter, nothing warmer, nothing more influential that people of all races arrange their daily lives around. And it has favored you. There is no power outside of your reach.”

‘Stay Here’

You tossed the idea inside her head. Power? No one had ever said anything quite like that to you. You were unfamiliar with the Elves of this wood; maybe this kind of talk was normal for them.

Thranduil and Legolas hashed out the details of organizing a search party. Legolas offered to lead it, but both prince and king caught the frightened look in your eyes at the prospect of the Elfling leaving your side.

“Tauriel will lead the search party,” Thranduil said, summoning a guard to deliver the message. Then he turned to you.

“If we cannot locate your parents,” Thranduil said solemnly, “would it please you to stay here?”

“S-stay h-here?” You looked at Legolas, whose smile grew wider.

“Yes. Legolas has taken a liking to you, as have I. And having a sibling would be a good addition to his life.”

You were stunned. You tried to imagine a life without your parents, a life with these royals. It was both distressing and inviting. And it was all too much, too soon.

Thranduil saw your mixed emotions about it, and told you to take your time thinking about it.

Legolas decided to change the subject.

“Why don’t you show me what you can do with that gigantic bow, Eril?  You owe me a buck.”

You smiled more brightly than you had all afternoon. You raced with Legolas back outside, and before long you were bounding through the forest, shooting at tree trunks and trying to split leaves right down their midribs.

Legolas could not remember the last time he had so much fun, nor the last time he’d ever seen an elf with your deeply hued skin. You were, indeed, sun-kissed.

And he had never, ever lost archery games to anyone who wielded a bow that was not made for her. Your mother had taught you well.

News

Within a few weeks’ time, Tauriel’s search party returned with the sad news of your parents.

Though you had long suspected they had been killed, getting confirmation did not make things any easier.

Legolas held you as she sobbed, sometimes for hours off and on, and Thranduil also offered a shoulder for you to cry on.

“I would take this pain from you if I could, my sun-kissed princess,” he said.

You did not want the memorial to take place at home, in Lothlorien. You did not have the heart to return there. At your request, Thranduil held a low-key service at the Woodland Halls.

“Your father said all power was within my reach,” you cried as Legolas sat with you on the tufted bench in your room after the ceremony.

“Yes,” he said, stroking your cheek.

“Then why did this happen?”

“Father once told me there is evil that the greatest, purest power can stop. That is not the task of such power, not even the sun. You see, the light’s task is to always find what is hidden in the dark, and it will shine on vindication, for all to see, for all it loves. That is the power.”

You laced your fingers with his.

“If that is true,” you said, “my parents will be avenged, as sure as my sun rises and sets.”

Princess

The knock on your door several weeks later was accompanied by King Thranduil’s strong voice, announcing that the mercenaries had been caught.

You lay on her bed, as you had done all morning, listening to the rain. You called for Thranduil to come in. He sat across from you on the bench, and explained that the plan had been to bring the bandits to proper justice, but they decided to try fighting their way out of the clutches of Thranduil’s guards, led by Legolas.

The mercenaries lost, of course.

Though you knew avenging your parents would not bring them back, you cried happy tears as you sat up on the bed. Thranduil patted your hand.

“Ah, look,” Thranduil said, glancing out of her window, “the sun is finally shining again. Would you like to accompany Legolas and me on a walk?”

‘Magical’

With the King on one side, and Legolas on the other, you were instantly comforted as you linked arms with them down a path that led to a new garden that Thranduil had his staff plant, filled with yellow dahlias, just for you.

“Because they remind me of the enchanting power of the sun, and that reminds me of you,” he said.

All at once, you thought of everything you loved about Thranduil and Legolas, your parents, yourself. You stopped walking and faced them, gently taking their hands.

“Aran nin, you and Legolas are my family now. You have both been very good to me. I may not be enchanted, as you believe, but I have something much better than magic in my life: I have your love. I just want to be your daughter, and Legolas, I want to be your sister.”

There was a rapid knock on the bedchamber door before Ciara could answer.

The first response that came to mind was ‘yes, of course she’s mortal,’ but as the ache in his face deepened, she wasn’t sure. About anything.

Thranduil went to the door, his eyes on Ciara the whole time until he opened it to a guard, one of the ones who walked her out to the lake.

“Please pardon the interruption, my Lord, but there is a search party here. For Aglar uin Gloss.” The guard spoke mostly in the common tongue for Ciara’s  benefit. He nodded at her respectfully and lifted the left corner his mouth into a smile.

“Is there a female among them?” Thranduil asked.

“Yes, my lord.”

“Does she…” It was physically painful for Thranduil to say the words. He released a long breath. “Does she resemble Queen Alyndiel?”

“Qu-qu..” The guard stuttered. Then he became completely quiet, though his mouth was still open.

“I was not close enough to tell, my lord,” he said at last. “Also, she is wearing a-”

“That will be all. Thank you.”

The guard left, occasionally glancing back to look at his somber King as he pondered the odd question.

Thranduil kept his hand and eyes on the latch for a moment as he closed the door.

“I’ll have my attendant fetch your clothes. They should be mended and cleaned by now,” he said.

As Ciara headed out, she purposefully brushed against his arm. He raised his head.

“I love you, Thranduil.”

It came from her mouth as quick as a jackrabbit and hid just as swiftly behind a tightly closed mouth and dewy eyes.

Thranduil reached out and squeezed her hand.

“I need a moment,” was all he opened the door to let her pass. 

The search party was waiting for Ciara on the platform before Thranduil’s empty throne.

The group consisted of her cousins Cuinn and Abbot, the best hunter in the village, Olin, an her friend, Lena.

“Are you alright?” everyone asked at once, circling her and looking her over.  

“Yes, I’m all right.”

“Cleaner, certainly,” Cuinn snorted, observing her sleeves.

“And more aromatic, definitely,” Abbot said, wrinkling his nose after a good few sniffs.

“What are you doing here?” Lena asked, looking around the halls suspiciously. “This doesn’t seem like a place you’d want to spend time in.”

“I got lost, looking for our flower.”

Lena slowly mouthed “oh,” but not quite understanding. Of course she wasn’t familiar with what it looked like.

“Wait, wait, wait. You got lost in this awful forest? You’re the best guide I know! How could you get lost? And then you were primped, pampered and covered in gems?” Cuinn asked, folding his arms, glaring at the expensive necklace.

In fact, they all were looking at the Glory of the Snow. It glistened in their eyes.

“This is a gift for our people,” Ciara explained. “Once sold, the proceeds will provide for us for many years.”

“A fancy gift from the Elvenking?” Cuinn clearly wasn’t buying this version of the story. “He’s never been hospitable to us before!”

“That’s because he didn’t know of our suffering before. You can’t help people if you don’t know their problems exist. It’s not as if we’ve ever come to him.”

“And why are you defending him?” Cuinn pulled no punches.

Just then, the same guard who brought the news of the search party approached Ciara and whispered in her ear that Thranduil wanted everyone but her and the other female to leave.

Cuinn, Abbot and Olin were sent to the front hall.

The king entered exactly five minutes later.

Ciara stood side-by-side with Lena, who kept her head low. Ciara took her hand and held it reassuringly, keeping her eyes on Thranduil.

He approached them both, standing nearly as closely as he had when he and Ciara came out of the rain.

“Hervess?”

It was a whisper. Somehow Ciara knew that he had called Lena ‘wife.’

“I don’t understand, my lord,” Lena said sheepishly.

Thranduil gasped at hearing her voice.

“Please show yourself.”

As Lena began to raise her head, Ciara had the urge to start running away, dragging Lena if she had to. Either Lena was his presumed dead wife, or someone who looked enough like her to haunt him for eternity. Maybe someone he could love for eternity.

And although she had told herself that loving him so fast was impossible and irrational, Ciara now wanted nothing more than to just have the chance to love him forever.

The moment Lena came face-to-face with Thranduil, tears came to his eyes and he pushed her covering back until it flowed to the ground.

For the first time that Ciara could remember, she saw Lena’s ears.

Pointed, Elven ears.

“Alyndiel! Hervessig! Melethrilig!” Thranduil cried as he embraced her.

Lena’s eyes froze as her husband held her close, sobbing into her shoulder. One by one, guards started gathering on the platform.

Lena kept her arms to her side, and nearly fell over from the emotion of it all - emotion she could not return, because she did not remember him.

                                   ~ STRONG AFFECTION ~

“Take me to your bed, Thranduil.”

He had asked Ciara to command from him what she wanted, and that was it. But it seemed she had also unwittingly commanded the heavens to open.

There had been no signs of coming rain - none of the typical clouds, no hints from the wind - but the showers came down as if on schedule.

Thranduil moved swiftly, grabbing her discarded robe, slipping her arms into the sleeves and cinching it securely with the belt before picking her up and gracefully running into the Woodland Realm’s halls.

He set Ciara lightly on her feet and stood before her, rubbing his hands up and down her covered arms, smoothing the plush lapel with his fingers, gazing at her damp hair and face with wonder, as if he were watching the sun rise for the first time.

Barely wet at all, he looked celestial. He glowed before her.

“Maybe that downpour was a sign that I should go,” she whispered as his fingers ran across the collar of the robe, taking time to feel the wet curls at the base of her neck peeking out.

“You believe in signs from the skies, but not in my love?” he asked.

Ciara surprised herself and threw her arms around his neck and lifted on her toes to kiss him, harder and with more flame than on the river bank, unable to stop herself from wanting him despite her returning good sense.

The thunder outside boomed with great force, rocking the sturdy walls around them, as she wound her fingers in his hair. With tight arms around her back he bolted her to him, bathing her in soft sighs.

Ciara only pulled away to breathe, and if there was a way she could have done so without breaking the kiss, she would have.

“Does that mean you’re staying?” he asked when his huffs slowed down, hope in his voice, his face near her

“It means I….I….” Ciara gulped, telling herself to let go and just say it, no matter how silly and impossible it seemed.

“It means I feel strong affection for you.”

                                 ~ EXTRAORDINARY EVENING ~

He grinned and laughed softly, moving his hands to the sides of her head, stroking her dripping hair. “Is it so hard to say?”

“It’s so hard to believe,” Ciara said. “Tonight, all of this - I don’t live this way.”

Thranduil’s perfectly smooth forehead wrinkled as he moved farther away from her face.

“Do you regret showing yourself to me?”

“No, that’s just it. I don’t regret any of this. But it’s not me. So what does that mean?”

Thranduil could see she was scared, and desperate for answers.

He came forward again and touched his lips gently to hers.

“Perhaps you feel strong affection for me now, in this extraordinary evening. Perhaps you won’t feel it tomorrow. Or perhaps you’ll feel it forever, as I will.”

Ciara lifted her right hand and touched the hard outline of his left cheekbone, seeing past the cool King, past the fair and confident charmer. She saw someone vulnerable, caring, and truthful.

Thranduil suggested going somewhere to talk and relax, maybe slow things down a bit.

An idea came to her.

“Show me more of your art,” she said.

His eyes dimmed slightly. A mix of amusement and hesitation came over his face as he pulled his bottom lip in at the right corner and bit it slightly.

“What is it?” Ciara asked.

“The only art of mine that you haven’t seen,” he said, “is in my bedchamber.”

                                                 ~ ALYNDIEL ~

She walked hand-in-hand with him to his room, which was simple, yet elegant, washed in gentle cream walls, soft silver on the fabrics, and aglow with lanterns and candles on stands. Sleek, low cushions with coordinating back rests adorned one corner.

The warmth from the flickering candles provided enough light for her to see the handful of landscapes, watercolor paintings of his son as a child, studies of his beloved elk, and sketches of a female profile that took up one quarter of a wall behind a folding screen.

“Is that your wife?” Ciara knew Queen Alyndiel had died long ago, but did not know the details, nor had she seen any likenesses of her.

He stood beside Ciara and looked down at her curious face, giving her a nod. Then he asked if she would feel more comfortable spending time with him somewhere else. She assured him she was fine.

“If I may ask, why did you draw her so far away, and only in profile?”

Thranduil looked completely ill at ease for the first time that night. How could he explain to the woman with whom he was absolutely spellbound that he had put his queen on such a high pedestal, he never felt he could accurately capture her glow, her inner beauty and strength?

How did it make sense that he had placed Ciara even higher, among the stars, but could draw her image with his eyes closed?

Seeing how difficult the question was for him to answer, Ciara touched his hand. “Tell me later,” she whispered. He leaned down to kiss her forehead, then took a step back while she took one forward to get a closer look at his painting of a young Legolas walking in a field.

When Ciara lifted her arm to touch the necklace, her robe, which had loosened during the walk to his bedchamber, slid off her shoulder.

In an instant, Thranduil’s arms were around Ciara securely, and she smiled to herself, thinking of the tall Elf coming down far enough to reach her waist. His mouth dove into her exposed shoulder, and he sounded just like he did on the bank, satisfying a deep hunger. Moaning, she closed her eyes, let her head fall back against him, and brought her hands atop his.

He moved from her shoulder up her neck, and whispered, “Will you have me, my lady?”

She was finally ready to tell him yes, she would have him, because yes, she loved that old Elf, and yes, she wanted to marry him and be with him from that night on, and yes it was strange and unwise but heaven help her, it was magic.

“Yes, Thranduil,” she sighed, as he slipped his right hand inside her robe and felt his way down until he was between her trembling thighs. Ciara cried out and began to move her hips to a slow rhythm, opening her eyes to watch him pleasure her.

Outside, the claps of thunder and flashes of lightning seemed to herald the end of the world. But they were both oblivious to nature’s fury.

Before she could get a glimpse of his hand on her, Ciara’s gaze fell on a small sketch, sandwiched between some of the larger ones of the elk, that she hadn’t noticed before.

“How do you know Lena?”

It was an unexpected question, indeed. But the face, outlined with a light, almost nervous touch of the pencil, had Ciara rapt. She knew that face.

Thranduil removed his hand from her and stopped his lovemaking. He followed where she was looking.

“That is my only attempt to draw a close view of Alyndiel. My wife.” He backed away.

Ciara clenched her jaw and imagined reaching into her mouth and pulling out her big, clumsy foot.

Nearly thirty incredibly awkward seconds passed. Ciara kept her eyes on the wall, not sure how to rekindle the fire or if she even should.

                                               ~QUESTIONS~

“Who is Lena?” Thranduil asked, sounding weary.

“She’s my friend,” Ciara said, turning around. She decided it might be less strange if they had a face-to-face conversation. “Your wife looked a lot like her. They could have been twins. Very beautiful.”

Thranduil tilted his head at her and blinked slowly a few times.

“My wife had no siblings...” His voice trailed off and he glanced at the sketch, but only for a second, as if he pained him to look too long.

“What is her given name?” he asked.

“Um, all I know is Lena.”

“What is her surname?”

“I don’t know.”

“How old is she?”

“Hm. Uh, I think she may be a few years older than-”

“Who are her people?”

“She has none. Not that I know of.”

“Did you grow up with her?”

“No...”

“How did you come to know her?”

“She just appeared among us one day a few months ago.”

“Where did she come from?”

“I don’t know.”

Everything Ciara told him was true. She didn’t know much about Lena, except that she was kind, lovely and generous. A self-proclaimed wanderer, she said she never quite felt at home anywhere.  She had nothing to offer about her past, though judging by the way she screamed for help during her occasional nightmares, she had left behind something horrific.

It was shortly after her arrival that the Glory of the Snow flower stopped growing.

A curtain of white-gold hair fell before her, and when Ciara realized how close Thranduil was to her again, she jumped.

“Describe her.” His voice became one with the thunder.

And then, all at once, the left side of his face began to fade and melt away as his breathing increased and his heart pounded against his chest.

                                                 ~ SLATE ~

Ciara brought her hands to her face. Her eyes became wild with shock.

As the sinew, muscles and his blinded left eye revealed themselves under his distress, she felt her own face contort under her fingers. Though Ciara hated to see him so riled, hated that whatever magic that kept his secret had betrayed him, she was not repulsed.

She did not feel scared for herself, but for him.

With a small gasp, Thranduil backed away and spun around. His back to her, he apologized quietly. He was trying to regain his composure, but feared that she would flee the room before he had a chance to become whole again.

Ciara stayed put.

“Please describe her.” He faced her, his chiseled features returned to normal.

Ciara scrambled for words, wanting to ask him about the scar instead, and then wanting to forget this entire conversation and rock him on that bed.

“She, uh, she looks like that.” She pointed to the sketch. “And she’s a little taller than I am, and her hair is, uh, medium brown with golden streaks. At least, I think so. The truth is, I’ve rarely seen her without her covering.”

Thranduil momentarily stopped his questioning. He seemed to be looking right through her.

“Is it the color of that vase, this covering she wears?” He gestured toward the object on an ornate alabaster table. Ciara took a brief look and immediately saw the similarities in hue.

Slate. Bluish-gray.

“Yes,” she answered.

Ciara did not like the new atmosphere in the room, the wall rising between them, and the idea that her friend, who should have been a complete stranger to him, had something to do with it. These were selfish thoughts, but honest ones.

Anguish carved every line and curve of Thranduil’s perfect face just as the storm quieted. The fierce rain reduced to a drizzle, and the thunder was replaced with sweet whistles of wind.

Thranduil put his hands on Ciara’s arms as he looked her square in the eye.

                                                   ~Aglar uin Gloss~

Thranduil wanted Ciara pampered in every way, completely relaxed and comfortable, before she fulfilled his wish. He assigned a small team of attendants to massage, coif, and nourish her.

There was another motive behind the long afternoon of special treatment.

Although she had agreed to don the lavish Glory of the Snow necklace in the nude, Thranduil knew it was a most odd request.  

If Ciara had any trepidation about it whatsoever, he wanted to give her time to voice it. He had a coachman and carriage at the ready, filled with the food he promised her village, that would take her back home as soon as she gave the word.

But she stayed.

Her back and leg muscles were rubbed and soothed by strong, skilled hands, her skin softened and purified in the steamy cavern streams surrounded by floating candles and hundreds of delicate lily pads, her hair washed and thoroughly brushed, her hands and feet painted.

The staff offered Ciara a wide choice of beverages, lembas, fruits and fine cheeses.

She declined the spirits in order to keep her wits about her. But she welcomed the fruit-infused sparkling water. Her stomach was too queasy for food.

While Ciara ertainly reveled in all the attention, her guard never came completely down.

She was especially aware of little things around the palace that seemed to pertain to her and the necklace, down to the diamond-encrusted snowflake-shaped pin in her hair and the thin, white flowing top and skirt trimmed in deep blue.

And although she didn’t speak the Elves’ language, she also picked up on a certain phrase that the attendants used repeatedly around her: Aglar uin gloss, shortened to just Aglar as the hours passed.

“Aglar means glory,” one of the Elf maidens explained in the King’s private healing and restoration chambers where she waited for Thranduil. “And Aglar uin gloss means-”

Ciara guessed the rest as soon as the timid Elf said the first word, and finished the phrase for her.

The attendant smiled, then pointed enthusiastically to one of the paintings on the art-filled wall.

“Aglar, you see?”

Ciara could hardly believe her eyes: a watercolor painting of her in the blue coat with snow falling around her; the inspiration for the elaborately designed gems hanging from her neck.

The wistful gaze that the artist had captured on her face drifted past the canvas, into the stately room.

And that wasn’t the only one.

Every other painting or sketch on the wall captured some aspect of that winter day that Thranduil first saw her - even the wagon she was hiding behind during the snowball fight with her friends, the tails of her coat peeking from underneath the large wheels.

“Who painted and drew these?” Ciara asked in awe.

The attendant came over and tucked one of her disobedient hairs back into place.

“King Thranduil.” She lowered her head and backed away, shyly looking at Ciara through her long lashes. “He loves his Aglar.”

                                        ~ “Close Your Eyes” ~

Ciara didn’t see or hear Thranduil give the order, but the murmurings were loud and clear: he wanted her attentive team to escort her to the lake.

Her lady-in-waiting first cloaked her in a plush white bathing robe and covered her polished feet with blue satin slippers. She linked arms with her and guided Ciara outside, into the still-bright late afternoon, while two others followed, carrying small wrought iron lit lanterns and a basket.

Ciara felt like a bride.

Taking advantage of the strong sunset, the staff worked quickly to spread out a white velvet blanket from the basket, and an oversized towel on top of it.  They set out a carafe of the infused water, a couple of goblets, and placed the pretty lanterns by the clear water’s edge.

Then they curtsied, bid Ciara farewell, and returned to the palace.

She stood staring at the water, not sure what to think or do next.

Still no Thranduil.

The call of the placid water helped distract her from thinking about being abandoned.

Looking over one shoulder, then the other, Ciara accepted her solitude, shed the robe and went in, still in her thin garb, the light from the sky’s great silver orb adding more sparkles to the necklace.

The tepid water was lapping and tickling at every part of her when she heard the quiet crunch of light-stepping feet on pebbles.

“There you are,” she said happily as Thranduil approached, looking ethereal in a long, thin bronze damask coat over coordinating tunic and trousers. “I thought you forgot about me.”

“Forgot?” He spoke it like a curse word. “I have remembered you every day since last December 22, at half past three o’clock in the afternoon.”

Ciara saw a faint grin curve at his lips as he folded his arms. “It was a Thursday, overcast, snowing. But it rained three hours later.”

“Quite an impressive memory you’ve got there.” That was putting it mildly!

Ciara’s shocked face made him smile. “I’ve actually been here for a few minutes. After you entered the water.”

He must have been quiet as a mouse. She hadn’t heard or seen anything.

“What have you been doing?” Ciara asked.

“Actually,” he said, taking a few more steps until he was at the edge of the blanket, “I was wondering what your name is.”

She told him before he could finish the sentence. He rocked back and forth on his heels and said it three times, liking it more and more each time.

Thranduil stared at Ciara’s still figure for a moment before adding, “I’ve also been wishing you would exit the water.”

She smiled and stroked the necklace.

“Close your eyes first.”

“The express purpose of me being here, Ciara, is to have my eyes on you.”

“Just for a moment, please. I am shy.”

That might normally be true, but not tonight. Her confidence was actually soaring at a delightful rate.

The King pursed his lips, puffed a huff, closed his eyes.

She walked out onto the bank, wiggled out of the soaked clothes clinging to her skin, and grabbed the towel, and patted herself lightly. She dropped the towel and walked around the blanket to him, treading carefully over the smooth river rock.

Thranduil’s chest rose and fell rapidly.

“May I open my eyes now?” he asked, his voice ragged.

“Not yet.”

He groaned, pushed and twisted his right foot into the ground.

A kingly tantrum.

                                        ~  “Let Me See You!” ~

“I may not meet your expectations, your majesty.”

He shook his head slowly to the right, then brought it back to center. “You will surpass them, my lady.”

Soaking in his words like sunlight, Ciara said, “First tell me what you were thinking when you painted and drew me.”

Thranduil gathered a deep breath. There was a part of him that wanted her to notice all the clues around the palace of how fascinated he was with her, and another part that felt like a silly, infatuated - though artistically gifted - lad.

“I was thinking that the color blue suits you.”

Ciara snickered, remembering the attendant’s words: He loves his Aglar.

“Honesty, your majesty.”

“You know what I was thinking about. Being with you.”

Ciara shifted her weight. Three simple words, in the lowest key of F, sent both fire and flood to her lower regions.

Ciara’s boldness also heated up.

“Tell me: what would you do to excite me, King Thranduil?”

“Let me see you!”

She didn’t answer. He understood that she was waiting for his truthful response to her question.

“My hands and mouth would explore you.” The lift and fall of his words was melodic. “I would be at your command. Please let me see you, my lady!”

He squirmed as she took one step, then another, and another, until she completed a full revolution around him and was facing him again.

And in that turn, the flame of her boldness became a wildfire.

“King Thranduil, if you were in my bed, you would not need to command anything from me. I would know everything you need and desire. I would know where to run my fingers, where to spend the most time on you. My mouth would guide me, my legs would hold you within me as you rocked and filled me. You would beg me to let you rest, but try as you might, you would enjoy no sleep. The great, wise and fair Thranduil would be completely mine.”

His mouth opened but released no sound. He was, for once, speechless - as was she. Ciara had never expressed such passion in her entire life.

“You have cast a spell,” he finally said.

She nearly answered, “I don’t believe in magic’ but she rather liked the idea of him thinking she possessed some supernatural power.

                                         ~ “Open Your Eyes” ~

“My lady, if you ask me, I will relinquish my immortality just to look at you now. Tell me to do it.”

A small, shocked cry fell from her lips.

“I don’t need your immortality,” Ciara answered quietly.

“I must look at you! Speak the words! Command me, my lady!”

The need in his throat made her gasp. She did not need to bed him or even touch him; he was already hers.

“Open your eyes, your majesty.”

Lifting his eyelids and unfolding his arms, Thranduil became as still as a marble statue as his eyes drank her in.

First he took a slow swallow of her entire frame, from the single rebellious wisp of hair to her polished feet.

He sipped her eagerly and excitedly back up her damp calves and thighs, stopping to take his longest drink at the spot marking the most elusive and sweetest riches of all.

Up his ardent eyes traveled, stopping to sip her breasts delicately, leisurely. His powerful gaze continued their journey to her neck, her chin, her lips.

Thranduil had reached Ciara, felt her, tasted her, without a single touch. And he continued to stare, his eyes filling, his bottom lip trembling.

“So,” she began nervously, “am I everything you-”

The king suddenly fell to his knees.

“Marry me!”

                                                ~ “Gin Melin” ~

Well, that broke the ice quite nicely. Ciara threw her head back and laughed.

“Marriage is a serious step, and I’ve only met you this afternoon.” She smoothed out the top folds in his robe. “Besides, I am no queen.”

“No, you are much higher than a queen.”

Something had changed in his voice. He sounded shaken, intoxicated. “You belong with the stars. You are only on loan to this world.”

His flattery almost had her joining him on the ground.  Up went her defenses again as Ciara painstakingly searched his face for any trace of insincerity or lechery.

Neither was there.

“I’m afraid it’s not me that enchants you,” Ciara said apologetically. “It’s the necklace.”

Thranduil wrinkled his brow and cocked his head. “What necklace?”

He looked so confused that she brought her hands to the jewels to make sure they were still there.

What necklace?! Thranduil was either mad, blind, or in denial. Or all three rolled into one: impossibly in love.

"Are you all right, old man?”

Thranduil cracked the widest brightest smile she thought he could ever give.

“I am an old Elf, through and through. And I am on the moon.”

Just then, an easterly breeze danced around Ciara. Shaking from the sudden chill, she crossed her arms across her chest and exchanged a look with Thranduil.

“You need only to speak it,” he said.

“Warm me, King Thranduil.”

He stood and wrapped his longing arms around her, creating a warm, safe refuge from the brief cold snap.

His fingers rested tenderly around Ciara’s waist, holding her as if he had just made love to her for hours on the blanket, as if she were indeed his queen, his world.

Ciara fully expected him to plea to let him make her his.

But he only placed one hand against the back of her neck and kissed the top of her head.

“Thank you,” he said, bringing the hand back to her waist.

Ciara pulled back and looked up at him.

“I not only saw perfection,” he said, “I embraced it.”

Her lips parted, but Ciara stopped short of speaking as something - whether it was swirling air or the king himself - began to sway, both of them caught like snares in the other’s eyes.

Did she dare ask him to kiss her? Did she forgo asking, and boldly cover her mouth on his?

Was she to be the sultry, self-assured shrew to whom he knelt and audaciously proposed marriage, or the demure paramour who hid her bare body against him for warmth and protection from a gust?

What was to become of this night after revealing herself in jewels, starlight, and nothing else?

“My turn to ask: what are you thinking about?” Thranduil whispered.

As self-confident and loquacious as she’d been, now Ciara couldn’t bring the words forth. She kept them in her heart and moved her head toward his.

As soon as her wet lips touched his mouth he welcomed her kiss as if he’d been waiting a millennium for it.

She took his left hand from her waist and cupped it her breast. Moaning in surprise, he broke the kiss to her lips and placed one on Ciara’s forehead, then leaned down and explored her with his mouth, just as he fantasized he would.

When Ciara cried out his name, he returned to her lips with a sweet,gasping urgency.

“I love-”

“Don’t.”

It pained Ciara to think of this even being remotely unreal, of him feeling any obligation to tell her something so deep, beautiful and impossible.

At the same time, though, she craved the words like sustenance.

“At least, don’t say it in the common tongue,” she said.

Thranduil brought his hands to either side of her face, holding her captive to his honesty.

“Gin melin, Aglarig,” he said - “I love you, my Glory” - over and over, between tender kisses.

“That cannot be!”

He chuckled. “I have never been at anyone’s mercy. Except yours.” He brushed his lips against her cheek. “Now tell me what cannot be.”  

Ciara grabbed at the damask fabric from his broad shoulders as his kisses trailed down the length of her neck, stopping just before he reached necklace.

“I must tell you.” Ciara could barely speak as Thranduil’s mouth dotted her neck back up and followed her jawline, left to right. “What’s on my mind, I must tell you…”

Breathless, Thranduil’s eyes met hers again.

“So, you were lost, or so you claim?”

King Thranduil sat on his throne, studying Ciara from on high.

After being caught by the King’s sentinels in the middle of Mirkwood, her shirt bulging with stolen fruits from his groves, she had been stripped of the wonderful bounty and brought before him to explain herself and face the consequences of entering his realm without permission.

After Ciara’s initial nervousness, she found herself staring at his overwhelming beauty, stirred to the very core by it. His eyes moved fluidly from her head to her bare feet. The silent exchange had gone on for well over thirty minutes, with an occasional inquiry or statement thrown in: “Those peaches and plums are for my wine”; “Where are your shoes?”; “Why did you wander so deeply into my realm?”

When Ciara didn’t answer the last question immediately, the guard to her left hit her back. Ciara growled.

“Do not touch her again,” Thranduil said to the guard, his voice deadly as poison. “Not one hair on her head.”

The guard retreated to the top of the stairs and clasped his hands behind his back. The guard to Ciara’s right took a cautionary step back.

Thranduil nodded for Ciara to continue.

“Yes, your majesty. I was hoping to find a flower called Glory of the Snow. It is highly regarded by my people, but has stopped growing in our region. I got lost in your forest looking for it.”

Thranduil was frozen, stunned as if Ciara had let out a secret of his.

“There is no such flower like that in this forest,” he finally said. “But this still does not explain why Ciara stole from my groves. I would appreciate your honesty in this matter.”

“My people are short on food.”

Thranduil rolled his eyes. “I’ve heard this tale before,” he muttered.

“Pardon me, my lord?”

“Never mind.”

“I am being honest,” Ciara said, then, after sneaking a glance at him, added, “and I would appreciate your candor as well.”

He lifted his chin and cocked his head. “In what regard?”

“Please tell me why you have detained a disoriented, unarmed thief - er, intruder - for so long?”

Thranduil stared at Ciara for a solid minute. Then in Sindarin, he motioned for the guards to leave, and he stood.

He reached for a tall marble box he’d had one of the guards fetch halfway through her interrogation. He had placed it on a low, ornate stand next to the throne and never gave it a second look until now.

Thranduil opened the box, revealing a necklace of brilliant gems on a stand - sapphires as deeply blue as the bluest sea, diamonds as icy as the snow crystals of winter.  It was the most exquisite jewelry Ciara had ever seen.

“Do you know what I call this?”

"Gorgeous," Ciara said, awestruck.

Thranduil grinned. “I named it Glory of the Snow, just like your precious flower. Do you know why I chose that name?”

"Uh-uh." She didn’t mean to sound like a child, but that’s how it came out.

"Because the first time I saw you, as my royal caravan came through your village, it was snowing, and you were wearing a dark blue coat."

Ciara remembered that day last year. It was the first snow of winter, and everyone in town was enjoying the newness and purity of it all.

“I had my jewelers interpret what I saw that day. They did a fine job, though nothing compares to the vision of you." Thranduil searched her face for a reaction; Ciara was still speechless. “It would please me very much to see you wear this.”

Ciara moved her gaze from the necklace to his equally hypnotic eyes.

He continued: “There is a peaceful lake just a short distance behind the halls. I would also be pleased to see you in that water, wearing this - tonight as the stars come out.”

Ciara couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

King Thranduil didn’t want to punish her for wandering around Mirkwood or stealing his ripe peaches.

He wanted to see her - naked?

Ciara wavered between being flattered and irate.

Irate won.

"Your majesty, I am a leader and an artisan, not a servant for your base desires, and not a concubine."

He smiled. “This, I know.”

He walked down from the throne slowly, eyes on Ciara the whole time, the necklace dangling precariously from his slender fingers.

Ciara trembled as he neared her, circled her. He stood behind her and lifted the necklace over her head. It blinded Ciara as it passed before her face, and Ciara shuddered as the cool gems tickled her neck and lay across her collarbone.

Thranduil took his time fastening the clasp, his fingers brushing the back of her neck more than they needed to, then he leaned in closer on her right.

“Is it true, you appreciate honesty?” he whispered in Ciara’s ear.

“Yes.” Ciara was amazed she could talk. His closeness and heat were making the room spin.

“Then appreciate this.”

He got so close, his lips brushed Ciara’s ear and his hair fell across her front, partially hiding the necklace. “I’ve wanted to see you in jewels, covered in starlight, and absolutely nothing else, since I first beheld you.”

He lightly touched the sapphires. “No, you are no concubine. And you belong to no one but herself. But in my immortal life, I only wish to see perfection with my own eyes.”

Ciara imagined what he was imagining. She saw herself relaxed in the water; the heavens above her, alive with a million tiny white stars for candles; his eyes brilliant in the partial darkness, hot with desire; and him approaching, slowly…

Suddenly, a voice from deep within reached her senses, reprimanding her for her thoughts.

Ciara broke free from the vision.

“And if I refuse?” she asked boldly.

Thranduil stepped from behind her and walked around her body until he was face-to-face with her.

“You are free to go whenever you wish, whether or not our desires are the same.”

All afternoon, Ciara had waited for the words ‘free to go.’

Truth was, she didn’t want to go.

“I also will have the fruit and other goods sent to your village. And you may keep the necklace,” he said.

"Should you sell it to a reputable buyer," he went on, gazing at the jewelry for what he sensed would be the last time, "your villagers will not want for food, shelter or clothing for three generations, and you will be able to pay the most gifted gardeners in Middle Earth to cultivate your flower. I hear the Shire is a good place to start."

Ciara opened her mouth in shock and wonder. The jewels he had so casually plucked from the case and placed around her neck were worth a fortune, and the only thing he seemed to care about was how Ciara would look in them in her birthday suit.

Ciara looked down at her feet, then back up to him.

"King Thranduil, I would prefer not," she said.

For several arduous seconds they stood facing each other, until, crestfallen, the king sighed, his sweet breath warm on her face. “I understand.” Thranduil turned to ascend his throne once more.