Disclaimer: I don't own, though I certainly wish I did. But alas, Vincent belongs to Square Enix and all others belong to whomever Tolkien's stuff belongs to.
Warning: grammar, angst, m/m relationship, reference to MPreg and shameless butchering of canon
AN: This piece is a Christmas gift for Naurring at LJ.
There was a bright fire illuminating the Hall of Tales, laughter floated in the air and the spicy scent of cinnamon, clove and pine. All of Mirkwood's fair elves were here to celebrate together, there were swirling, gold and silver-embroidered velvets and smiling faces everywhere, or mostly everywhere.
In the merry crowd, no one paid attention to the lone traveller sitting in a corner and staring ahead of himself with sorrow and hopeless longing in his unusual crimson eyes. He sighed and lowered his head, chin almost touching his chest, long raven hair obscuring his face from the soft light of the fireplace.
"Vincent Valentine, was it?" The voice was melodic, yet powerful like the lullaby of waterfalls on rocks, and the black head was lifted up slowly to look at the man who decided to intrude on his solitude. Seeing the regal figure standing before him, dressed in a midnight blue robe highlighting his azure eyes and carefully arranged golden locks, the crimson eyes swiftly travelled back to the floor in an act of reverent greeting.
"My Lord."
Thranduil smiled, then gestured at the bench his guest was sitting on gracefully.
"May I?"
Vincent didn't understand why the King would need permission to sit down in his own hall, but just nodded, preparing himself for the continuation of the unpleasant talk they had a few hours ago when he asked for Thranduil's hospitality for the night, not willing to reveal his destination or his origins to the short-tempered ruler.
But to his outmost surprise, the elf sighed a little (and Vincent couldn't help but think that the sound was like the spring wind whispering among sweet-scented lilies,) and spoke words the gunman never expected to hear.
"I apologise for my impatiance today. I got a little carried away and stepped over my boundaries. My father wouldn't be pleased with me," Thranduil added with a wry chuckle, and Vincent's head shot up to stare into those wise blue eyes that had seen even more winters than his in disbelief. He didn't really know what to say, and Thranduil went on speaking.
"You must understand that these are dark times, and I am responsible to protect the people of my realm from any harm that would come their way if it's in my power to do so. Your appearance before my gates on this special day was a bit… unnerving."
"You had every right to behave like you did. I am a creature of the darkness, unworthy of your kindness. I honestly didn't expect you to grant my wish."
"Why the bitter words, Vincent Valentine?" The King asked tilting his head a little to the side, and the raven haired man knew his interest was genuine. Therefore he forced out an answer he might hadn't done otherwise; his voice was smooth, but rich with underlying emotion.
"I've been to many places, some so far away they never even heard of the fair elvenkind, and I've travelled many roads with the knowledge that a horrid creature like me is rarely welcomed."
"You might carry a part of the darkness with you, but I can feel no evil in you or your intentions towards my people." Thranduil looked into the beautiful crimson eyes and felt his heart aching with gentle sorrow for this mournful stranger. "Don't feel compelled to leave tomorrow as you originally intended. You can stay here as long as you wish. My house is open to all in need of shelter."
"My presence between the walls of these marvelous halls are a burden you are not supposed to carry, my Lord." Though the gunman declined the offer, the King could see the gratitude and reluctance in his eyes.
Standing up, he offered his narrow hand to Vincent. "I have something to show you."
After a moment of hesitation, the smaller man accepted and followed his host to the winter garden of the palace, eyes opening wide in awe at the bewitching sight. Despite the cold weather outside, every plant was in bloom here, wild reds and soft yellows, pure white and tender blue adorned the thousand shades of green.
The King led him to a small pond that got fresh water through a silver stream that managed to delve it's way through the solid rock. Almost exactly in the middle of the pond was a small island, not larger than the two palms of a man, and on this tiny piece of earth grew a flower so magnificient it took Vincent's breath away.
Thranduil reached out to reverently touch one frail black petal laced with crimson and silver, remembering the hardships he suffered to acquire the most valued ornament of his garden.
"A black orchid from the woods of the east, a place that had forgotten it's own name over the ages and now is only referred to as the Forest of the Forgotten City. The botanists say it only lives in darkness; that light, be it from the sun or the moon kills it. But since no plant can live in the dark, it is bound to decay slowly shortly after it's flower blooms."
The King looked at Vincent and their eyes met, sapphire with ruby.
"Here, granted it's own place, separated from the others but still among them, this one flower continues to live and cherish everyone who sees it's splendour."
Vincent nodded and turned his gaze back to the orchid. He reached out, gloved fingers caressing one petal and he shivered with the touch.
"Maybe we should go back to the fireplace." The King offered, and Vincent let Thranduil leed him back to the hall. But as they stepped into the room lit with warm, welcoming lights, they were greeted by a cheering crowd chanting "Kiss under the mistletoe", and as they looked up, they could see that they were indeed standing under a few small sprigs of mistletoe tied to the ceiling by a long red and gold ribbon. A few sprigs of mistletoe that weren't there ten minutes ago when they left.
"Well, it seems we've been tricked, Vincent Valentine." Thranduil smiled at him apologetically, but with a hint of mischief. "I'm afraid, I can't break this ancient tradition."
When the words finally sunk in, Vincent blushed despite himself, but before he could've protested, Thranduil's lips descended gently on his. This should've been all, a small peck for the sake of tradition, but Vincent found himself pushing closer to the beautiful golden haired elf who took the incentive and pulled him into his chest, deepening the kiss when Vincent's lips opened up to his probing tongue.
When they finally broke away, the crowd cheered even louder and Vincent gasped for air, staring dumbstruck into sapphire eyes.
"Maybe you should consider staying a little longer, after all." Thranduil smiled.
- - -
The golden-haired elf holds up his masterfully crafted bow; a tense moment of concentration as the sapphire eyes focus and calculate, then the arrow is released, sweeping through the dewy morning air like a swallow over water. It hits the target exactly at it's center. In the blink of an eye, another one follows. Then a third and a fourth and a fifth, all of them cutting the previous one in half.
The beautiful elf lowers his weapon with contentment, and all those watching his small display let out a breath they didn't notice they were holding. The young archer looks at his uninvited audience and smiles, seeking blue eyes very much similar to his own.
Thranduil nods to his son with outmost pride, returning the smile with his own.
"I only wish your mother saw it too."
The clear blue eyes shift to the gate of the Great Hall then to Thranduil and back to the gate again, the smile even brighter than before; and when the the King follows the gaze he can see a swirl of black and red disappearing inside.