The third time he saw her, he stayed.

Sometimes when he grew bored of the trivial matters of his kingdom, he ventured beyond his borders under disguise. Not too far beyond, of course, just far enough to get a taste of something different. It had been only ten years since Dis's disappearance and though he was still hesitant, he no longer executed everyone who came into his kingdom. The first three years he'd spent frantically searching for the dwarf woman to the point where his son began t worry t his father was obsessed. The next seven were spent calmly shifting through records of travel and sightings by those who wandered through Mirkwood. Despite his best efforts, he could not find someone who was in the business of not being found. He didn't know why it bothered him so much that she'd just disappeared without a trace, but he would always remember the way she'd spat at him, the hatred in her eyes as she spoke of his cowardice. Still, the intent of tonight was not to think about the lost princess. It was to gather information of the nearby world.

Thranduil entered the tavern confidently, his disguise hiding any signs of elf from those around him. It was a small bit of magic really, a trifle, but with a tiny nudge, the mind could be convinced to trick itself endlessly. Currently, he appeared as a ranger of the north, scruffy and not all that tall, what little hair he had hanging in dirty blonde waves to the base on his neck. He'd worn this visage before, and the barkeep knew him. He shot the man a smile as he entered and took a seat at a table by himself. The owner waved back at him and called the name of a wench to go serve him. He hated the alcohol of men, but he had to keep up appearances and if every other human in the bar was drinking it, then so would he. He heard two sets of footsteps approaching his table, one a few beats behind the other and he looked up only to be met with a sight he never expected: Dís stood before him, dressed as a bar maid, her burns carefully wrapped and hidden, save for those on her face. There was a dwarfling clinging to her skirts, her hair a golden as the precious metals that Erebor was once known for. He was large for a dwarf child and there was no doubt in his mind that her mother had lain with a human. False green eyes traveled back up toward the face of the dwarven woman, now eyeing him with thinly veiled impatience.

"Are you going to ask for some ale or not? I've got others to tend to 'sides you, sir." She spoke the word sir as if it were an insult of the highest order. Thranduil knew he was acting daft but he couldn't stop staring at her. The child who'd played the harp had grown into a woman. An angry, poor woman, but a woman none the less.

Time dragged slowly on for elves. It took nearly two millennia for them to fully mature into adulthood and then they virtually stopped aging. The legends said they were immortal, and so far that had proved true. Those who weren't taken by illness or war seemed to live on indefnitely. Dwarves were so different. Three centuries and their lives were over, out in the blink of an eye. They were fragile, short-lived little creatures who were there one day and gone the next. They grew so fast. She couldn't have been more than eighty-five and yet here she was, fully-grown with a bairn at her skirts. His eyes drifted toward the scars on her neck and lower jaw. They'd faded somewhat, but it took centuries for dragon burns to heal. His were minor in comparison to her's and they still weren't completely scarred over. Her jaw muscle clenched and his attention snapped back up to her eyes. "Sir, I'd appreciate it if you'd order some ale and get the hell out. I don' appreciate bein' stared at." She was faking an accent in the common speech. He looked up to answer her, but was distracted once more by the child tugging at the hilt of his sword. "Vali, don't touch him."

"Amad, why does he have a sword?"

"I don't know, love, ask him. I've other tables to tend to." The former princess left, perfectly content to leave her daughter with a total stranger. The child blinked up at him, hazel eyes wide with curiosity. She tugged at his hilt once more and he lightly lifted her hands off of it.

"Children shouldn't play with swords."

"My amad lets me practice with her's." Thranduil snorted.

"Your amad is very brave." The dwarfling, Vali, frowned slightly.

"You know her?" His jaw clenched and her looked away from her, wishing she'd stop asking him questions.

"No."

"Liar." The Elven-King started and looked down at the girl who was staring up at him with the same look of irritation her mother had given him nearly sixty-five years before in the halls of Erebor.

"Pardon me?"

"I called you a liar. You do know her. You looked at her like she'd been away for a long time and showed up unexpectedly." Thranduil grumbled something about her being a rude little girl, snatched up his cloak and left the tavern, the gaze of Vali following after him. He made his way along the elven road back toward Mirkwood. He had to learn to control his facial expressions. The child could have revealed him. Even still, he knew the knowledge that he could be found out wouldn't stop him from going back and seeing Dis again.