The next six days pass in the same manner. You share the breakfast with the Elvenking, your conversations always easy and captivating. You are often joined by the prince, and you feel your friendship budding, though you have not had a chance to spend any time together previously. He is surprisingly un-Elvish in his interests, and you have a long discussion regarding the renowned Dwarven art of forgery. You tell the stories of your younger nephew by marriage and his talent for archery, the noble pursuit Legolas shares interest in. You might also be slightly enjoying the well-hidden jealousy that clouds the prince's brow.
That day during your usual walk with the King, you two start one of those conversations when two people pretend they are talking hypothetically but they both know precisely what lies beneath the surface of their words. "I am happy that Dulindil could be of assistance to you, hiril vuin," you have accepted the moniker by now, "After all one can hardly predict what a child of two races would go through. Unless one has already observed two." He smiles slightly. You stroke your stomach. "But it must be hard and rare for people of two races to reach such concord as you have with the King Under the mountain for such child to even arrive into this world. Especially when one in the pair is a Dwarf."
You hide a small smile. "Can you imagine, my lord, how much such couple would have to endure if the other one was an Elf?" He looks at your from the corner of his eye. You feign innocence. "Such relationships would probably do not last." "Well," you pick up a fern twig from the ground and twirl it in your fingers, "If their bond is strong enough, they will overcome all possible obstacles and will be together."
He stops and looks at the distance, at his realm. "And if one of them has a duty before her Kingdom?" "Can not her position be filled by other when she leaves her Kingdom to be with her beloved?" You think of the copper hair of Tauriel, the Captain of Border Guard of Mirkwood, mixing with the dark curls of your younger nephew. They were not very discreet during your previous official visit to Mirkwood.
Suddenly the Elvenking's grows cold and distant. "And if it cannot be filled by anyone but her? If she cannot leave her home and be with the man whose heart she possesses?" You understand he is not speaking of Tauriel and Kili anymore, and you wonder if he is harbouring some romantic interest for an unattainable woman himself. You frown. Elves are known to love once, marry for life and never take another spouse even in the widowhood. And yet you think you see a shadow of longing in King Thranduil's eyes.
You stay silent, out of respect for his momentary loss of control, and soon he turns to you, with a warm grateful smile on his lips, obviously having reigned his calm. You continue your walk, herbs being a much safer topic.
After your walks you repose in your chambers and spend the rest of the day in the large library you were given access to. For you it is the best of gifts, and sometimes a maid has to come and remind you to change for dinner. You share yet another meal with the King, and then you repose.
And then every night you wake up, weeping and shaking. If your screams are not loud enough for the King to know you are awake, you try to suppress the cries, hiding your face into the pillow. But the Elven senses are so much sharper than those of Men, and soon enough your are pressed into the ample body of the Elvenking. His long arms are wrapped around your frame. Long slender fingers are stroking your hair, and you take shuddering breaths. You never return his embrace, but you welcome it. His powerful build, strong arms and even breathing calm you down. You would hate for anyone else to find out about your nightmares. He takes them away and never mentions them during the day.
Sometimes he stays, sitting on the edge of your bed, your conversation quiet and unhurried, your older children and the unborn son the most common topic. He tells you of the changes in your son and his magic that he senses, and you close your eyes and allow the sleep to envelop you again. Nightmares never return after that.
On the seventh day of your stay in Mirwood you are reading in the library, when the door opens and the King comes in. His face is reserved and his hands are locked behind his back. You have learnt to recognise it as a sign of disquietude for him. "My lord?" You close the book and turn on the settee you are sitting on to look at him. He gestures on the seat near you, and you nod. He lowers his long body on it.
Everything in his house is too tall for you. When you walk near him, your eyes are on the height of his sternum, below the intricate clasp on his collar, or you have to lift your face to meet his icy gaze. The chairs and beds are high, you have to climb on them rather gracelessly. Even the presumably low settee you are occupying right now, does not allow your feet touch the ground. He on the other hand stretches his long powerful legs in the middle of the reading area.
"I have sought you, hiril vuin, to talk to you about your nightmares," his tone is soft but you flinch. You feel ashamed, never before have you been incapable of reigning your emotions thusly. You also feel like you are a bothersome guest, and you do not wish to express ingratitude towards your gracious host. You lower head. "Forgive me, my Lord, I regret all the disturbance I have caused you..."
A slender pale hand suddenly picks up yours. "Filegethiel," his voice is magnetic, and almost against your will you lift your eyes at him, "Allow me to help you. Confide in me." The second palm is immobile on the silk of the seat and you feel grateful. Any more contact and you would have felt trapped, dominated, but his slight coldness and his reserve make you feel calm, safe, inviolable.
"I see the kidnappers, how they dragged me to the ruins, how they brought me to their leader, and..." You voice wavers but you will yourself to speak calmly, "He did not have time to assault me, but I believe that was his intention." The long fingers wrapped around yours twitch, but his face remains passive. It makes it so much easier to talk, and you press his fingers gratefully. "He knew all about me, my name and my titles, the names of my children…" You close your eyes. "I felt vulnerable... and with no magic I was. And then he made remarks..." You say it and then stop yourself. There is no need to make the King feel as indignified as you were. "What remarks?"
You chew on your lips, a long forgotten habit from your young years. Queens do not bite their bottom lips when they are distraught. "Among other things he hinted that they are rumours of my marital infidelity. And he insinuated that I would not consider his proposition that insulting and revolting since such are my habits..." You leave the fact that the bandit accused you of having a liaison with both the Lord of Rivendell and the King of Woodland Realm unspoken.
The King gets up on his feet and walks to a wall. His back is turned to you, wide shoulders and strikingly narrow waist tense. "Was he insinuating that the mentioned infidelity was the point of your visit to Rivendell?" You are surprised by his question. "Among other things, yes, but I assure, my Lord…"
"Stop," his tone is sharp, and you hike up your brows, "I would feel offended if you felt you had to disprove such treacherous lie to me, Lady Filegethiel." He turns around and his expression seems momentarily pained.
He sits near you again, and you stretch your hand to him. He takes it in both his hands and lowers his lips to your knuckles. "Forgive me for my emotional response, but I felt we know each other enough to understand that I would never have believed such falsehood."
You nod and smile to him. "My lady, you need to address your fears, your nightmares, you have to understand what brings them," you frown, "If not for yourself, then for your child. You need rest, and you need peace. So think about it, honourable Lady Filegethiel, what frightened you so much in Framsburg?"