Chapter one: Weddings.

Iona had seen a lot in her long years of life. She had seen a white stag gallop threw the tree's of the Greenwood, seen the Princes grow from Elfling to the beginnings of wiser men, seen the stars sparkle so close that her long pale fingers could almost reach out and capture one...but she had never yet met an equal when it came to Fanrell and his endless litany of childish complaints about having his hair braided.

"Ah! Valar! You're pulling my hair out!" Screeched the snow haired young Elf as the maid dutifully tugged the next lock of hair into it's home between it's brothers.

"If you do not cease your constant twitching I shall personally nail you to this chair!" The older elf snapped irritably. That seemed to do the trick and by the reflection of the young male's face in the mirror he was too busy weighing up the likelihood of her carrying out that threat to do much twitching. He seemed to find it more than plausible and held still with nothing more than a dark mutter of:

"I swear you are a torture Master."

Iona silently continued her assault on the males white hair, pulling out diamond and silver pins, that had been fashioned to resemble snowflakes, and sliding them home. In all her years she had never quite met anyone with white hair like the ward of the King. She remembered the day that Thanduil had first delivered him into her care., small and ragged and covered from head to foot in mud, hair nothing more than a dirty black and full of twigs and leaves. It was only after getting him into a hot bath and cleaning him more than three times that she found his hair to be the colour of moonlight. It had been many years since that day.

"Iona...do you need more light?"

The older elf looked into the mirror to see Fanrel giving her a strange look and only then realised that her eyes had filled up with the beginnings of tears. She was quick to give one of the stands of hair and particularly sharp tug which in turn produced a yelp and a distraction.

"Don't you be worrying about my sight, young man you have greater concerns today, think on them." She said as she fixed the last of the small braids into their right places and stepping back. "Now stand up and turn around let me look at you."

There was a scarping of the chair and the younger Elf stood as ordered and looked at her with a lifted eyebrow and arms outstretched. He was wearing a silver robes of velvet decorated down one side with white thread in the pattern of frosted leaves almost sweeping to the floor, white leggings beneath and white leather boots to the knee hidden from sight. Everything was themed to frost or snow.

"My little Thorn has truly become a flower." Iona said with a little pride.

"Flowers don't grow in winter." Fanrell said with a slight smirk in the corner of his mouth. Iona rolled her eyes and and took the young man's chin between thumb and pointer in a strong grip.

"You will brush your hair every night, back and sides, one hundred strokes, no excuses." the older elf said sternly "I do not care what anyone says you will bathe in some fashion at least once a day, mountains are filthy. You will take a brisk walk for your health somewhere in the open air, you will write home at least 4 times a month or may the light of the stars fade to nothing if I will not march into that mountain and clip you around the ear until you see stars-" She was cut off by a hug, the Ward of the Greenwood escaped her grip on his chin and wrapped his arms around the closest thing to a Mother he had ever known and held tightly.

"Thank you Iona. For everything. I am going to miss you." He said softly before standing back and giving her one of his most winning smiles. A knock at the door had Iona back to her usual stern self in no time and she hurried over to answer the door. Legolas, young Prince of the Greenwood was standing on the other side and after standing back and allowing him to enter the room the older Elf excused herself quietly to make packing arrangements.

The blond elf stood there for a moment looking over his adoptive brother slowly. It was odd not seeing him in his patrol clothing with his bow and other assortment of death-bringers. He looked like the Prince of Winter, lost in the wrong season. All pale skin and snowy hair, Iona had outdone herself in making him look completely different to his natural self, she should be proud.

"You look like snowdrift." Legolas said abruptly "A very pretty snowdrift." he corrected himself.

"Never call me 'pretty' ever again." was the curt reply he got before more silence. It seemed to stretch between them for a while, like a gaping abyss...until Fanrell lost the game of control and started laughing, closely followed by his Princely companion. They walked forward and embrace in a familiar hug for a moment before making their way to the bed and sitting down. Fanrell launched himself on it in a way that would have had Iona screeching about wrinkles in his clothing.

"So...in a few minuets you are going to be a Dwarvish bride." Legolas commented.

"Like hell I am!" Fanrell snorted "I don't have the facial hair for that." That was certainly true "Have you seen him?"

"Your beloved? Oh yes he's in the hall right now standing there like a stunted granite statue." The Prince said. It was met with silence for a short while, then:

"And?"

"And what?" Legolas said with a straight face, he had to duck swiftly to avoid a pale hand trying to clip him round the back of the head "My, Fanrell! How very unladylike like of you." That comment found him diving off the bed to avoid the hand now in a fist.

"You are lucky that Iona hid all my daggers." Fanrell sniffed. "Now tell me more about him."

"What more is there to say?" Legolas asked shrugging his shoulders "He's short, broad and hairy, just like every other dwarf."

Fanrell huffed and pulled a face, brushing a little fluff from one of his blankets off his silver sleeve. "You could have had the decency to lie to me about that at least."

"Would you like me to lie to you?" The Prince said, cautiously sitting back down on the bed an arms length from his brother.

A short silence to consider if it would help, then "Yes."

"Alright then." Legolas cleared his throat and his voice took on a more poetic note "He's tall for a dwarf, he has shapely cheekbones, a firm, muscular body and skin as smooth as a flower petal. His complication is that of milk and honey and he seems as strong in character, yet soft too, capable of great kindness and love." Legolas said with a hand to his chest like he was serenading a lover.

There was a short pause as that vision hung in the air. "I change my mind. You can't lie for all the gold under the dwarfs mountain." Fanrell said with a raised eyebrow.

Before Legolas could retort to that insult on his pride the door opened without a knock and the king of the Greenwood himself, Thanduil, strode inside, striking, water blue gaze settling on his ward and his young son like a waterfall, washing the mirth from the room. Legolas looked to his adoptive brother and put a hand on his shoulder, and with one last smile he vanished, leaving the room and shutting the door behind him with a light click.

Fanrell stood slowly and brushed himself off letting the weight of the fabric drag the slight creases out as gravity took it's hold. The silence that stretched was not the comfortable silence of brothers sharing each others company but of a child and it's father. Whatever else Thanduil had been to Fanrell he had been his only father figure. Teaching him, steering him, favouring him, to some extent raising him as his own, among his own children. If anyone commanded his loyalty it was the King.

"Iona has outdone herself...you look pleasing, more so, in fact, than I had expected." Thanduil said in that slow manner in which he was accustomed to speaking. The elf never rushed his words for anyone. "I might even go as far as saying Lordly." He crossed the room to stand in front of his ward. "Are you ready?"

Fanrell nodded slowly. Much debate inside his own mind had had him laying awake at night thinking about what he was doing, was he throwing his life away? Was it right of the King to ask him this? To make him nothing more than a thing to be traded for metals and jewels and footsoldiers? In the end he had decided that yes, he was...because if the King had not found him that day, had not brought him back to his people and become his carer then he would, without doubt, be a corpse by now.

Thanduil nodded solemnly. "Then it is time, Fanrell." he extended a hand silently, and with a slow exhale Fanrell's hand was laid on top and together they walked to the door.

The wedding was small, and not just because half of the party where dwarves. Legolas and a few of the higher elves where present to witness, Iona stood at the back watching silently as the boy she had always considered her son stood before both the King under the Mountain and the King of the Greenwood, facing his soon to be husband, Prince Thorin, son of Thrain.

In front of the witnesses of both races they swore that they would take no other lovers, lend each other strength in times of weakness, Share in each others triumphs and failures and love each other to the end of their lives. It was as simple as that, one moment, one promise disguised as many and two people that had moments ago been free to choose where their hearts belonged were tied together forever, as were the houses they represented.

No kisses where exchanged, no affections, only rings, Thorin's was a broad band of gold with the elvish form of his name and the name of his partner, Fanrell's was more delicate and made of silver the band thick enough only to hold his name in runes, along with Thorin's comfortably. There was applause when the ceremony ended, though it seemed enthusiastic enough none present could fail to hear the strain in the voices and the hesitation in the clapping of hands.

"To the chamber, Let us sign this treaty now our peoples are joined." Thror boomed as his iron boots thumped along the ground heading to the meeting room he and the dwarves had been waiting before the wedding.

As was customary between newly-weds Thorin offered his arm to Fanrell, who was apparently taking the bridal roll in this wedding, much to his internal irritation. He played along however, laying his slim long fingered hand over the top and lacing his thin digits with the firm, thicker fingers of his husband. Now holding hands they made their way towards the meeting chamber, as stiff as wooden puppets.

The chamber was already ringing with the voices of the council of both kings. There where two empty seats next to eachother and after pulling one of them out for Fanrell, Thorin took his own seat. The elf sat down slightly more heavily than he probably should have if he had been paying attention to his role, but as far as he was aware his polite and delicate act was over the moment the contract was signed.

The snowy haired young Elf took the opportunity to discreetly get a better look at his husband, threw the ceremony he had been concentrating so much on his prompting that he had never really paid much attention to his intended. Thorin was actually rather handsome for a dwarf. Yes he still had a lot of facial hair, not something that Fanrell found attractive to be honest, however unlike most of his race, Thorin's beard was short and well groomed. He had nice long dark hair with slight waves threw it, unlike his own straight white locks, and the most astonishing blue eyes that Fanrell had ever seen of any race. They were like a lake, deep and cool and refreshing. It could have been a lot worse I suppose... he thought to himself calmly.

The treaty had been laid out on the large stone table for both parties to look over. Though the main portion of the treaty had already been laid out and agreed to, there was always room for minor improvements. Some small matters and a few wording errors had been added and corrected by the elves who where now re-reading the parchment in order to asses the little parts added by the dwarves. The King's ice blue eyes where currently running over the words and numbers on display for him, it wasn't until he got right near the bottom of the treaty that his eyes widened slightly, such a small change in his expression but a thousand warning bells tolled in the gathered elves. Fanrell's gaze swiftly found Thror's face across the table and watched as he smiled a little smugly.

"This was not here the last time." The King of the Greenwood said pointing to the accused sentence with a long pale finger, much like a bug that was due a squashing. Nothing in his posture gave away that he was ill-pleased, with the exception of that single pointing digit.

"It was added," The Dwarven King said simply "as insurance of your aid in times of trouble. I noticed a slight wording error in one of the clauses pertaining to it. 'Aid shall be rendered when members of both races share a mutual enemy where elves and dwarves are in immediate danger from a shared threat.' it is just there," the dwarfs own thick finger poked at the parchment. "We simply thought it easier to add in something to cover it up. Far easier than sending it back to be reworded, best not to waste a King's valuable time."

The King's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, any soft edges vanishing replaced by sharp angles. Seems that wherever this clause was it something that foiled his very careful wording. The Dwarf had not missed a thing it seemed. "Fanrell." He said without breaking his stride in the slightest. "Come here."

The white haired elf stood as commanded and walked, or more to the point swept, over to his adoptive father in silence, this did not bode well. The Kings finger now lay under the offending clause and he laid that ice-fall gaze on his Ward.

"If you would be so kind...as to read this aloud." He said slowly, eyes never leaving the younger elf's face.

Sharing a half worried glance with his blond haired brother he cast his eyes to the parchment and started to read, realisation dawning with every syllable.

"The bride of Thorin son of Thrain, son of Thror shall be escorted by armed guard when outside of the great halls of the Kingdom of Erebor at all times. Extended trips of a day or more must be granted by permission of the King under the Mountain, for the brides own safety."

Thranduil had to sign. He couldn't back out of the agreement or risk an incident by openly proclaiming why the clause was out of the question. The Elf King had played with fire and for once he had been burned, in trying to ensure that without direct danger to the elves he need not dispatch his army to defend the dwarves he had sealed Fanrell's prison doors. Dwarves where meticulous about contracts after all. How could have thought to trick them?

He looked up and straight back into that gaze of frigid cold. It didn't say sorry, it didn't ask for forgiveness. It simply said goodbye, he was still going to sign and Fanrell was going to pay the price. He nodded curtly, stiff as an oak branch and turned his head again, unable to meet the gaze of his brother, he saw the King under the Mountain with a proud look on his face. It was a look that made the white haired elf want to drive something sharp threw it. The dwarf next to Thror seemed less proud of the victory, his grey two pronged beard swaying slightly as he shook his head a little. Finally his eyes settled on his husband, blue eyes simply looking at him without much emotion all.

Fanrell closed his eyes for a moment before walked steadily to the seat he had been occupying before he had read that life altering line. He folded his hands in his lap, eyes looking directly ahead, he sat stiff as stone. The rest of the signing was soon over, he never moved, never stirred from his silent sentential next to his husband. When it was over the dwarves all rose and headed to the door, Thorin once again offered his hand to his new partner but this time it was coldly refused. The silver clad elf stood "Thank you for the offer of assistance, my Lord, but I am alright. I shall see you at the caravan when we ride home." And that was all before he strode from the room.

Sitting on his pony by the gate Thorin tapped his fingers on the saddle in boredom. The rest of his posture was just as lordly as it had been at the wedding but this one little show of irritation was enough to tip off Balin that the Prince was still young and not so stoic as he seemed.

"Is something wrong, Laddie?" The older dwarf asked leaning in a little bit to keep their conversation private from the milling elves and the other members of the dwarvish company that where pulling themselves into saddles.

"Nothing is wrong. Where is that Elf?" Thorin muttered turning his head to look around and see if his husband was in the crowd.

"Thorin lad, you might want to go a little easy on the boy, after all he's loosing a lot more than just his freedom with this Marriage." Balin said with a meaningful look to the younger dwarf. This match was hard for both young men involved, both of them so young and with so little preparation for a life of partnership, especially when they where strangers. Balin had advised against this way of cementing their alliance, but the King had been adamant that he wanted assurances more than ink scratches on a bit of parchment.

Thorin nodded a little but still seemed displeased by the whole thing. The older dwarf gave a little sigh, seeing that there was still work to be done here and tried again to wriggle out the problem currently plaguing his Prince.

"Is there something else that is on your mind?"

The question was not blocked as before but rather diverted "Where is he going to sleep?" This had been question the Prince since they had told him he was being married to the Ward of the Greenwood. Other than being told he was to be wed very little information had actually been given t him and he was under the impression that his other duties as a Prince where more pressing than asking questions about something he had little interest in.

Balin suddenly looked a little flustered, and cleared his throat a little. Had he known how little had actually been explained to the Prince about arranged marriages then he would have taken the young dwarf aside and explained it to him long before now.

"He will sleep where all other brides sleep, Thorin..." Balin said as if explaining something very troubling to someone very volatile. Thorin just started at him with blue eyes, it was a stare that spoke volumes without the assistance of the mouth and it quite plainly yelled "You're joking!"

It was at that moment a dapple grey horse was brought from the back of the train to stand towering next to Thorin's pony. Both dwarfs sat up in their respective saddles and a much less grandly dressed Fanrell, now in greens and browns of the forest, walked up next to the beast and gracefully pulled himself into the saddle and looked down at his husband with a somber face, his blue eyes looked slightly puffy and pink around the edges to Balin but soon they where turned away from the dwarves as though they where nothing but backdrop and the moved off to linger on a few in the crowd and the royal family that where ready to send them on their way.

Balin sighed as he watched Thorin bite his tongue only because an outburst would bring shame on his father and grandfather. Balin couldn't blame him for his anger, that elvish winter gaze had held nothing but barley concealed contempt for those it landed on. This marriage was going to be like a storm and more than just the unhappy couple where going to have to weather it's gales.

The room was a mess, there was shredded silver silk everywhere, hanging from the bed, chairs and tables. There was water on the floor and the silver pitcher that sat by the bed was flung halfway across the room, a chest was flung open and the contents now nothing more than a mess of rumpled and screwed up fabric. The silver pins where haphazardly laying on the dressing table, a long scratch on the polished mirror where one of the cut diamonds had been dragged across it. In the centre of this whirlwind's aftermath was Iona. She had to take a few moments to compose herself before she started to clean up the devastation left in the Wards wake.

She pulled the torn silk ribbons off their hanging places and silently dumped them by the door in an unruly pile. She had heard too late the account of what had happened in the council chamber and in a last hope of seeing her son she had made her way to the gate, because that's what he was, her son. He might have been Ward of the King but she had raised him, fed him, held him when he scraped his knee and given him a good slap on the back of the head when he got too full of himself.

She was too late, the last of the well wishers had been drifting away and the horses where already small shapes away in the distance followed by the cart that was laden with the Fanrell's luggage. Only Legolas was left standing and watching the riders and the cart passing around the corner and away from sight. Iona stood beside him and even after they had gone they stood for a little longer.

"He shredded his wedding clothes." Iona said stiffly "I don't think he took it well."

Legolas turned away and headed off along the bridge without a word.