Chapter 1

The halls of Mirkwood were alive with sound. Thranduil hadn't been greeted by so many joyous creatures since the days of the Greenwood forests. He walked along the heavily lit halls, his steps lighter than usual. It was today a year since the defeat of the orcs in the Battle of the Five Armies. Thranduil had decided to host a party in his palace, hoping to bring new life to it. It seemed his plan had worked. Elves, dwarves, men, all laughed in his halls. All except one man, who was soon to leave on a trip to the Iron hills to deliver gifts for their help in the battle, and therefore could not come to the celebration. Thranduil was off to visit Bard now, to wish him farewell. He came to the front exit, which was lit from a pale glow of sunshine that had managed to find its way through the trees, and spotted a she-elf. She stood perfectly still, facing the open doors.

"I am surprised you have not joined in with the festivities," he told her lightly, continuing forward.

She stayed silent, and as Thranduil neared her and spotted her flowing auburn hair, he realized why. "Tauriel," he murmured.

"How is it," she said, her voice scraggly. "How is it that I knew that dwarf for so little time and yet a year later I think of him still?"

Thranduil tensed, unsure of what to do. Comforting was not his expertise. He stepped forward so that he stood directly at her side. Her face was a book unwritten, blank and non-present.

Losing your loved one was something everyone feared. Thranduil more than most, as he had felt that pain before. "He was worth it, though." He knew this was true, and yet he felt himself asking: Was his lover? Was Bard worth the pain of loss?

"Of course," said Tauriel. Her lips turned downwards, but in anger rather than sadness. "It is insanity, to still be moping about because of him. I need to move on."

The words struck Thranduil like an arrow piercing his heart. "If there is one thing I have learned in all this time it's that moving on and forgetting are entirely separate matters." He could see his wife, gently resting her head on his shoulder. He could almost hear her whispering "I love you", and the words floating effortlessly off Thranduil's tongue: "I love you, too."

"Just because you remember someone, and still grieve for them, does not mean you have not moved on," he said, speaking as much to himself as to Tauriel. "I have seen you happy, flirting with young elves…you have moved on."

A silence stretched between them. Then Tauriel left without a word.

Thranduil rode on a horse of Rohan, which Bard would take to the Iron Hills. Of course this horse was not as fast as a maera, but she was still significantly speedier than the average ride. Bard was in a bit of a frenzy when Thranduil arrived, making the elf feel a little uncomfortable and unwelcome. It was Sigrid who opened the door, her hair uncombed. "Sorry, my father's trying to get some stuff together. Da!" she called behind her shoulder, "Thranduil's here!"

When you became the partner of Bard the Bowman you realized that planning was not his strong suite. He was, in fact, quite awful at being a king, although he was an inspiring one. When Bard finally emerged, several bags were slung across his shoulder and his cheeks were puffed out in a sigh. He smiled and hugged Thranduil, letting his head rest on the elf's shoulder for a moment. "I'll miss you."

That felt nice, to be missed. "As will I, although I will like being liberated from the smell."

"Not all of us have magical hygiene-maintenance abilities," Bard responded, chuckling. Sometimes Thranduil was astounded by the equality between them, he was no better than Bard, no more powerful. That was rare for Thranduil, but he wished it were not. The last few minutes before Bard set out passed in a blur. There was hugging, and advice, and "stay safe"s and then it was time. Bard went up on his tiptoes to reach Thranduil's lips and wrapped his hands around the elf. Thranduil caressed his partner's cheek, trying to memorize the shape of it. He spotted Tilda pulling a disgusted face at her brother and sister, Sigrid nudging her to stop. The couple broke apart, and then Bard was off with a "Goodbye!", back-lit by the setting sun. It would be a long time before Thranduil saw him again.

The celebrations were dwindling down when he arrived back in Mirkwood, many who had to travel had left before dark. He retired to his room almost as soon as he got back, going over paper-work and organizing kingly duties for a while before going to bed. However, sleep did not come. He remained in a middle-ground between wakefulness and dreams for what must have been hours.

Thranduil hadn't liked the idea of his partner traveling by himself to the Iron Hills. The original plan had been for a relatively large party to go with him, but Bard stubbornly insisted on going alone, saying it would save time and supplies.

Everyone seemed to think all evil, and certainly all goblins and orcs, had perished in the Battle of Five Armies. But Thranduil suspected, was almost certain, that evil was very much still alive. He was almost positive there were small groups of goblins or orcs out there...in hiding, waiting for someone to take a wrong step. He flipped onto his back and massaged his head with the palm of his hands. "Go to sleep," he murmured to himself.

He was normally able to go into a meditative-like state with a blank mind, but his thoughts of Bard being torn apart by hidden evil stayed in his mind and followed him into his dreams.