Thranduil glared at his crown has he unceremoniously threw it off his head. That muzzle of twisted sticks and dried leaves; he felt more trapped than a man in the hands of a warg when it sat upon his head. No, constricted it.

Is there no more pleasure to be found in that wretched wrack of responsibility? he asked in the confines of his own mind. The question was not directed toward the inanimate head gear, nor even himself. Perhaps Valar? he thought with a wry chuckle. Many times he considered they'd forsaken him. Then he would reprimand himself, remembering their steady hand over he and his kingdom during unsettled times.

With a drawn out and overly dramatic sigh (much like the King's personality), Thranduil sought to find rest in his most comfortable chair by his desk, with a tall glass of carefully aged wine in his hand. Thoughts of stuffy politics and boring tasks seemed to bounce off the walls of his skull, forming a head ache that even his wine was not formidable enough to face. He groaned audibly in frustration at their constant reign over his thoughts. Was it too much to ask for a bit of quiet? And as if to mock his plea for rest, a rap on his study door made him flinch.

"Come in, if you must.." He muttered the latter part defiantly under his breath. But however unsettled or frayed his nerves were, all traces of irritation left him as immediately as she slipped into the room. She bowed her head respectfully, her dirtied blonde hair slipping from her shoulders to her chest as her chin dipped lower.

"My King, I came to check on you. Your hurried quit from the council meeting concerned me." Her voice, clear and concise, yet reverent and fearing, filled his elven ears with a sound he thought similar to a songbird's. He crossed his legs comfortably, swirling the contents of his wine glass. He wouldn't have her seeing him distraught, he decided.

"Do not heed formalities in our private time, Amaniel. You know how that displeases me." He said in his most regal tone. The smallest hint of a smile graced her petal pink lips as she clicked the door shut behind her and seemed to float into the room. He eyed her feet diligently, wondering to himself if they might secretly hover only a half inch above the floor.

"I assure you I'm quite fine. I simply grew bored of the old councilmen's babble. The end to that meeting was a very welcome escape, I admit." He chuckled, setting his white crystal goblet down gingerly, all the while beckoning the elleth with a wave of his hand. She came to stand before him in his handsomely crafted chair, her eyes giving away her all knowing intuition.

"Thranduil," she smiled, her voice understanding and comforting. "You needn't be secretive with me. It only worries me that much more." She said. The ElvenKing allowed a crease between his brows as he frowned. His facade had been eluded, he despaired. Never could he hide from her. He wouldn't tell her the truth though; that all he wished for in his long and endless life was freedom. Freedom from his chain to the foot of the throne. And certainly not of his longing, his unquenched desire for the she elf before him. Amaniel had long been at his side, providing companionship even his most trusted advisers never achieved. She knew him better than anyone, excluding his son of course. Thranduil sighed in despair.

"Amaniel, you know me far too well. I'm tired. Truly, I only want rest from this shadow of war." he massaged the bridge of his nose fervently.

Amaniel studied him closely. His silvery blonde hair, so immaculately straight cascaded over his shoulders and back. An ever so faint ridge in his hair told tales of the crown that usually nestled his head. She noted that said crown lay carelessly tossed onto the ottoman before the fire. Then her gaze returned to him, his blemishless skin that never creased, never wrinkled. She wondered to herself, how in all his years as King, especially with the temper he bore, did he not have even the finest line on his forehead. She assessed his dark, naturally groomed brows that glistened with the smallest frosty white on the hair's tips. Then his pale lips which currently formed a thin line of blatant discomfort.

"I understand, Thranduil. I too have grown weary of this unsettlement." She frowned, seating herself at his feet. He looked down at her, as a king should. Her ocean blue eyes seemed to cover her entire face as she looked up at him, simply hoping to offer him comfort. The king allowed his thoughts to travel to the many times she simply sat at his feet in silence, offering him the company she thought he needed. She was right. He felt lonely, in the strongest sense of the word. Legolas had joined the fellowship and left Mirkwood to defend his home, and Thranduil couldn't deny him that, as much as he wanted to. His son was loyal, to an extent that the king admired. He knew he would return, or die serving his people. Now all that was left to the king were stuffy council meetings, and Amaniel.

Amaniel. Looking at her perched by his feet, all he wanted was to scoop her into his lap and be close to her. He didn't want his title to stand between them any longer, as he'd clearly expressed to the elleth. She heeded his words, to a certain extent. She would address him as Thranduil, but she dared not touch him, unless of course he asked. Her elegant fingers ached at the thought of feeling his silken hair combing through them. She bid herself not to dwell on these thoughts though, as a fervently red blush would creep up her neck, to the very tips of her ears. This is what happened as Thranduil gazed at her.

He couldn't help the sly grin that spread across his face.

"What troubles you?" He asked smoothly, attempting to hide the amusement in his voice.

"That is a question I'm sure we've both grown bored of hearing." She countered, willing the rosiness away from her cheeks. Thranduil's eyes narrowed mischievously, feeling urged to press on.

"Stand up, or you'll dirty your lovely dress." He commanded, pulling her to her feet with a steady hand. His next move was nearly bold enough to shock himself, but he pulled her onto his newly uncrossed knee, balancing her there.

"My Lord, I can go find a chair." She muttered, not meeting his eyes.

"Nonsense, this is fine."

Amaniel nearly couldn't contain herself. She wanted to squeal and cry with glee, but of course she did not. Her king had pulled her onto his knee, and did not seem the slightest flustered. As she would expect from the ever collected ruler. She strove to show equal maturity and control.

The king, however his outward appearance would seem, was a near mess inside. He wanted to crush her in his arms, feel her soft lips under his. Would she deny me? he asked himself. Worse he thought, perhaps she would only go along for his sake.

When he looked up from his thoughts, their eyes met. It seemed a bridge had been built, between their two gazes, and perhaps, even a call that war was upon them would not break them away from each other. Amaniel couldn't help herself, and neither could the king, for they began leaning forward, tentatively, with hesitance.

Like the Wizardry of Gandalf the Great, the elleth would've described it. Their lips met in a lock that took the air from Thranduil's lungs, and he himself had never before felt so vulnerable, yet strong. The bond between them heightened, so much that they could both feel the heat where their bodies met.

Seconds passed and they reluctantly separated, though both the elves shared peaceful looks of contentment. Thranduil smiled, ensnaring her small hand in his own.

"You, lovely elleth, seem to have entranced me." He smiled, the words smoothly rolling off his tongue.

"My apologies," she murmured. Despite her words, she leaned in again, unable to resist him.

"Keep me under your spell. I willingly surrender." He smirked. Perhaps, sometimes, one may find freedom in confinement.