When Bard saw the Elvenqueen for the first time, he could not find even a trace of warrior in her and thought perhaps there was none.
When she took off the horse, assisted by her husband – and Bard could swear he did not catch how Thranduil suddenly left the place alongside Gandalf and appeared close to her – the difference from the image of her he built on a few words from Legolas became even more striking. Hardly tall, with her head barely reaching Thranduil's shoulder, she was all soft manners and quiet politeness. She leaned on Thranduil's arm while Bard was introduced to her and seemed reluctant to part from her husband even for a second.
"King Bard of Dale," she said. Dark brown eyes looked kindly, and Bard thought that of all her features only lips did not fit into her face. They had to be full, even plump, but instead they were dry and dark red as though she bit them too often and too hard till they bled.
"My lady," he said in return, chasing image of blood away. There was too much blood already. "My kingdom is not in existence yet to the glory of old, but I am glad to welcome you here."
"It shall be restored to its former prosperity," she answered and slowly entered the tent.
She mostly did not partake in their discussion of battle plans and strategic placements, content to lean back in high chair and listen to their suggestions and insults, sipping water from the golden glass and smiling to Legolas. One particularly biting comment from Thranduil to Gandalf made her snicker quietly.
"Gandalf, your wisdom often makes you hard to understand," she said then, moving closer to the table to check the maps. Her fingers traced the outlines of the mountain on the top map and stopped when Thranduil covered them with his own, half-shadowing both their hands in the wide sleeve of his robe. "Or have you perhaps lingered too long with the dwarves?"
There was no malice in her words, but Bard felt still his brows go up.
"My lady Narwen," retorted Gandalf, uneasy expression on his face, "I am merely pointing to the dangers of you being in such discord with the dwarves when darkness is not so far away."
"Darkness?" Thranduil exchanged quick glances with the queen, and Bard knew it was a performance well and many times staged. "Seems you really speak from your experience of traveling in caves of dwarves where light is truly lacking... both for their mines and minds."
That earned a hearty cough from Legolas. Definitely a family, Bard thought.
"Stubborn as ever, both of you," muttered Gandalf in exasperation and said louder, "but you would not come with a good part of your army unless you were anticipating something dark may be encountered."
"Merely a precaution."
"And you think I would believe that, king Thranduil?"
The queen smiled.
"Mirkwood has long been fighting ugly creatures…"
"And we don't mean dwarves at this point", added Thranduil.
"… but there is always a possibility that something dark may be encountered, as you said. But not on that scale you imply."
"And this is not the good part of our army, don't fool yourself about that."
"Just a third," finished Legolas in dignified manner which obviously has cost him some effort. Bard could relate.
"Wine?" asked Thranduil and replenished Bard's glass.
They had continued on and off the same path, Gandalf giving his polished hints at something dark looming ahead and king Thranduil cutting him off with long-practiced precision. Bard gave his remarks in between, each time wondering whether he has been, against his will and knowledge, assigned the role of the only adult person in that conversation or just a spectator who was unlucky enough to have his interest in that seemingly endless play. He would rather decide to continue talks with dwarves until they were tired or Thorin came to his senses, but that was not an option for the king Thranduil.
Perhaps, yet. The queen did not seem eager to the idea of attacking dwarves outright.
She reclined in her chair again, leaning to the left where Legolas was sitting, and exchanged words with him now and then. They were different enough, Legolas all light and quick in his movements even when sitting, fair in his looks and shining light armour. His mother sat in that chair as if she's been tired to be on her feet. The lock of dark hair, slightly curly, fell to her cheek, making her skin look even more translucent – not in the way of the radiant glow her son had, but as she has seldom seen sun. Her small fingers now laid enveloped in her son's larger hand, and her mithril chainmail seemed redundant – more a decoration of state, not a statement for battle.
Bard noticed small satisfied looks Thranduil gave them which obviously annoyed Gandalf even more. Strangely, he thought, the wizard has been talking of a shadow, ancient forces and even mentioned Dol-Guldur a few times, but never...
"You don't seem to understand," said Gandalf louder than before, forcedly, like plunging into cold water, "darkness is already coming. Orcs of Gundabad are marching."
Maps on the table rustled as the queen gripped at them.
"Are you certain?" asked Thranduil. His voice at once sounded rusty.
"Are you certain?" echoed Bard, fear rising in him. That was... worse than Smaug, in some way. They were beasts even among the orcs, if one cared to distinguish.
"Birds told me. Now you understand? They will be here in no time, and you are persisting in that petty squabble of yours with dwarves!"
"Do not think so low of us," murmured the queen quietly, her face a frozen mask. Legolas rushed out of the tent at his father's nod; Bard turned to Thranduil.
"What shall you do?" he asked.
The queen answered instead, as Thranduil sought for words, clutching at the collar of his robes as they were suddenly too tight for him to breathe.
"We fight till all of them choke in their own blood," she said softly.