NOTE: I owe a big thank you to dreamgoneby not only for the kind review, but for letting me know there was a mixup with Chapter Five! It has since been taken care of, so please, check it out; it provides the full story of Thranduil and his wife, which you might find useful.

Thank you, EVERYONE, for the warm reception I have recieved in !

Chapter Seven

Ruins of Dale; 27th of November 2941 T.A.

Bard rested his hands on the cool stone of the wall overlooking the valley between Dale and Erebor. His fingerless gloves aided some in keeping his hands warm, but he always preferred to get the genuine feel of what he touched.

He observed all the Elves and Men, digging in the night. Torches had been strategically placed to aid their ability to see. There were trenches, where the dead of Laketown, had been wrapped up in the linen that Thranduil had provided, and reverently laid to rest, once they were identified. The digging and burials were taking place around the clock, to get them finished before the funeral ceremonies. The Elves' gravesite was larger, tragically; their immortal lives cut short by the Battle. It was to the left of the Laketown site, and there were more Elves than Men going about this grim work. He was glad to see that each must have offered help to the other, as they, shovels in hand, dug side by side in this heartbreaking job. He didn't know if there had been female Elves among the soldiers, but if what he had been told about Tauriel was true, there probably were. No matter - they all deserved as much honor as could be given. He made a mental note to have Percy to rotate the schedules to give some off for the men who were dealing with the dead, once the task was finished.

The lists of the Laketown dead were as complete as Percy and his men could make them. The unidentified bodies, marred by their burns from the Dragon, were matched as much as possible with the list of those missing. It wasn't completely successful, and there were names among the missing that simply couldn't be found; men, women, and children.

Bard made another mental note to ask if the Dwarves could fashion an additional stone memorial to be erected near the burial site, for the missing. Those families needed to have a place to come to: to lie flowers, pray, or just feel closer to the other families who were suffering the same fate.

Bard was counted among those who did not lose a loved one, and he was more grateful to Ulmo and all the Valar, than he would ever be able to express, but he hurt deeply for others who must face loss. So many others were mourning their dead and missing, the latter being especially painful, as their fate was not completely certain. The shores of the Lake will continue to be patrolled, to search for bodies as well as usable detritus that might wash up on the beaches.

There will be no searching the waters of Laketown, though. The decree was made, that no one was permitted to go back into Laketown for any reason, until Bard could be sure of the stability of all the structures still there. At any rate, there won't be time for that until after their first winter was over - their focus must be on the living. At this point, Bard had no idea of what to do about Laketown, but there would be time in the future to make plans.

"I see you are also not abed, Dragonslayer." The deep, resonating voice was unmistakable, as was the tall, blond figure that appeared beside him.

"Please, don't call me that."

"Why should I not call you Dragonslayer?" You are among the very few in Middle Earth who could claim this honor. Are you not entitled to this?"

"Some would say so, but I wish they wouldn't. I might have killed Smaug, but I wasn't thinking of saving the city. I was only thinking of saving my children. It doesn't seem right to be called something like that, when I was so terrified." He didn't want to admit that the very thought of that that wretched face from atop the bell tower, still frightened him. Especially after the dream he just had.

"Facing great danger to protect your loved ones is nothing that should cause you disappointment, Bard. In saving your children, you saved many others. That was no accident. It was meant to be so, I think."

"How can you say something like that! Just look out there. You mean the Valar orchestrated all this? They wanted the Dragon to kill so many, just to get me back to Dale? That all this death and destruction was part of their plan?" Bard became angry at this notion. "Let me tell you, if all this had to come about so I could be King of Dale, then I refuse!" Looking at those large, mass graves, it was impossible to see how the Valor could have wanted death and mourning. He meant what he told the Elf: if all this wretchedness was what they truly wished for, then Bard wanted nothing more to do with it, or them.

"Of course, they did not, Bard, and I do understand your anger." Thranduil said, gently. "I do not believe those graves are any part of the will of the Valar. They are not to blame in this. Neither Smaug, nor the Orcs pay any homage to the Valor. Their kind were turned into servants of Morgoth Bauglir.

Bard looked at him, surprised. "He turned them into Dragons and Orcs? I thought he created them."

"Yes, he did, and no, he cannot. He took other beings and, using sorcery and flame, manipulated them into the Dragons that cursed Middle Earth, as he also did with the Orcs. Did you know that, originally, Orcs came from Elves that Morgoth had captured? He didn't have the power to create a species from nothing, but he used his power to distort and corrupt them into those vile, hateful creatures, then bred them. Make no mistake: we all hate Orcs. We should hate them. An Orc, must be killed; there is no viable way to reason with them or turn them. But we Elves always try to remember and pity those who were originally captured during that Age.

"But I digress, Bard. None of those creatures that we faced on the Battlefield pay homage to the Valor; their only purpose is to destroy all that we hold dear. However, we Men, Elves, and even Dwarves do. And by our belief, the Valar can aid us into turning that evil into a better, higher purpose. All we must do is decide to look to them, and listen, when they guide us."

Bard looked at Thranduil intently, considering his words.

"My Adar rejected the notion that everything happens for a reason. It is a lie. Many, many terrible things do not happen for a reason. Senseless tragedy, war, famine, fire, do not come from Eru, our Creator, nor do they come from any of the Valar. But, as Ada would tell me, the Valar can bring purpose into everything that happens, even if it comes from evil. Many times, our own motives do not seem to come from their guidance, but through us, they work to fight the evils of Middle Earth in whatever means they are able. Oftentimes, in unexpected ways."

Bard pondered this for a moment. "It's hard to reconcile all this, when I see all those dead being buried out there. All the sorrow…"

"That is very difficult, I agree." Thranduil continued. "But we believe the Valar will care for those who died; death is never one's ultimate fate. We Elves go to the Halls of Mandos, while the race of Man goes where Eru himself will not reveal, but we are sure is a good place. The Valar did not cause anyone to die from all that has occurred here, but they will always take care of our dead. I hope that can ease you a little."

It didn't.

Some of his people were still dead, and as wise as Thranduil's words were, it couldn't bring them back. It still hurt. "I can hardly bear it." Bard's choked, eyes filled with tears. "If I could have…" He paused, "I saved my own children, Thranduil, but so many other children are dead, Thranduil. Children died, and the grief of those parents..." Bard stopped, and closed his eyes, trying to chase away the memories that came into his mind. "I think the images of their bodies, floating in the water will never, ever leave me. Just hours before, they were innocent and happy, playing with each other and with their toys, and now… Oh, Valar…" His voice broke. "There…was a baby, Thranduil. There was a tiny burnt, baby floating in the Lake. And…I couldn't save…"

A hand was placed on top of Bard's, squeezing gently. "You did not fail them," the Elf said. "Everything I know of you, Bard, convinces me that you gave your very best efforts. You gave your utmost. Please keep in mind that none of you would be alive now if you hadn't tried so hard." Bard's head hung low, eyes squeezed shut as he tried to banish that image from his mind, knowing he never would quite succeed. He realized at that moment, that it would haunt him till his dying day. Thranduil's touch was a comfort, but it would never be enough to stop that pain of it… He heard the Elf continue speaking.

"I know, as a King, what it is like to feel inadequate against so many evil forces that seek to destroy us. If my ability were as strong as my will, none of my people would have ever been taken from my Realm. It is my greatest sorrow that I cannot accomplish this. We, both of us, will never be able to protect our people from every tragedy. All we can do is try our best."

"I know this in my head. I truly do. I know what you say is true." Bard whispered. "But I can't convince my heart." Unconsciously, he placed his hand on his chest. "I'll always remember those children…"

"I am so very sorry, Bard," Thranduil said quietly, and squeezed his hand again. There was nothing more to say. There were no words that could truly comfort.

A tear rolled down Bard's cheek. He had never grieved about all this since the Desolation. He had been angry; his ruined sword from the other night can attest to that, but that only served to keep the heartache at bay. He had never allowed the grief to come; there was always, always so much to be done, someone who wanted him, somewhere he had to be... Bard tried to take a deep breath, and did his best to pull himself together, to push it away once more, but it was becoming a losing battle. And this upset him even more, because he did not want to be seen crying up here, in front of the whole bloody city! He looked over to Thranduil with pleading eyes; unable to speak.

When Thranduil stepped up next to Bard at the and put his hands on the Eastern Parapet, he followed Bard's gaze and saw the work being done. The sadness of it pierced his heart. The markers of his dead had already been sadly sent back to his Realm. In a selfish way, Thranduil was relieved to not be there, to witness the initial grief and hear the cries of the mourning.

When he had first returned as King, after struggling with his father's death, he barely managed to make it through his first task in the Woodland Realm: facing his people with so few of their loved ones remaining, and officiating at the ceremonies to honor the dead. There would be another ceremony upon his return this time as well, and he was dreading it. Thranduil always felt the heavy weight of guilt when he ordered his soldiers into battle, knowing that some would be going to their deaths. He dreaded listening to the songs, and the sounds of mourning. That sadness would never leave him, nor should it for any good King, for that matter. That pain kept a King humbled enough to always consider carefully everything he would ask of his people.

Although there are some who refused to believe it, Thranduil Oropherion would never place his elves into real danger for such a personal reason. Many outsiders saw Thranduil as cold, heartless, and selfish. Considering his emotional retreat, and his reluctance to treat with the bigger world, he could understand that reputation, but it simply wasn't so.

When he first brought his Army to Dale, it was solely to retrieving his wife's necklace, yes, but he never anticipated such a violent Battle. He thanked the Valar they were all there, but it was never his intention to risk the precious lives of his people.

Before he gave the order to move out, he and Feren met, and Thranduil explained his reasons, to which his Commander agreed. Their relationship was such that, if Feren thought that the lives of his Army was being needlessly risked, he would never hesitate to say so. It was his Commander's job to protect his Army. Thranduil had the power to order it without Feren's consent, of course, but he was never so arrogant or foolish to do so.

Thranduil had known there was only a handful of Dwarves in that mountain, and the size of his Army was only meant as a method to intimidate them. He had been so sure that there would be little to no bloodshed.

Another important reason for bringing so many was simply a military exercise. It had been centuries since they had been assembled and maneuvered on such a grand scale. Any opportunity to keep up such training would only serve to their benefit. The retrieval of the heirlooms of his House was a good excuse to sharpen their skills.

The fact remained, however, was that he had wanted that necklace badly; it was the last gift he had given to his wife, and it belonged to him, and to his son.

~o0o~

Several decades after Erebor was established, and trade relations between the Kingdoms of the North were good, Thranduil had taken the necklace to King Thror and made arrangements to have it repaired, as they were much more adept working mithril than his Elven smiths. He had originally had it made in Moria, just before it fell, so there had been nowhere to take it to have it fixed, before this. A fee agreement was reached, and it was left to be reworked. At that time, there was something off about King Thror. He could sense it, and his foresight told him that something terrible could happen to the Northern Kingdoms, if the Dwarven king didn't exercise extreme caution.

He had sent several missives to the King Under the Mountain, warning Thror several times that all that wealth, and the constant effort to amass even more, could attract the horrific creatures of Morgoth. But to no avail. The Sickness had overtaken the King Under the Mountain, and there was nothing to be done.

When he was refused the necklace, the Dwarves repaired for him, it was the last straw. He turned, with his entourage, left the Kingdom of Erebor and never looked back, furious.

When the Dragon did come, as Thranduil was afraid it would, Thranduil immediately sent as much aide to the people of Dale as possible. It pained him to learn of Girion's death, along with most of his family. Only a small grandson had survived, and he was to be fostered by relatives. Dale was destroyed, and uninhabitable.

He came to the Dwarves as well, to offer aide with food and supplies that were left after the people of Dale were helped. Thranduil didn't feel remorseful about this. These Men were the priority, as they were innocent in all of this, and did nothing to bring this destruction upon them.

Thorin didn't see it that way. The Dwarf, angered from grief and starting to show signs of the Gold Sickness himself, demanded that he bring his Elven Army to the gates of Erebor and destroy Smaug immediately.

The mere mention of fighting the Dragon caused a visceral reaction in the Elvenking. Thranduil immediately paused the meeting, and after giving his officers a command, left to take a few minutes to recover, until his heart and breathing returned to normal. He, more than almost anyone else in the History of Middle Earth, knew intimately what was involved with such a task. He had lived for months in torture from the pain of it, with permanent scars to remind him. He flatly refused. Not only would he never risk going through that again, he wouldn't even consider putting his people in such danger.

Thorin, as Thranduil had expected, was furious, and many harsh words were exchanged between them. The Dwarf refused to see this as anything other than abandonment. Thranduil argued with the Dwarf for what seemed hours, trying to convince him of the futility of trying to kill Smaug. He tried to tell him about the Sickness that took his Grandfather, and warned him that he was showing signs as well.

Thorin told the Elf what exactly he could do with his measly offers of help, they would leave and get to the Blue Mountains without any assistance from these "faithless Elves" and that hoped that Thranduil would meet his end by a large log being placed in somewhere unmentionable. At this the Elvenking stalked out the room, and he and his guard left.

What Thorin had never knew, was that during that meeting, the Wood Elves were already busy distributing the medicine, food and blankets to the Dwarves, and Thranduil had been purposely continuing the argument with Thorin to buy them more time. Just because their King was mad, didn't mean that his people should suffer needlessly. The Dwarves, desperate, hungry and cold, took the help that was offered and, for a fleeting time, reconsidered their suspicion and prejudice against the Eves. Sadly, it didn't last. Thranduil had immediately written to Elrond, telling him of Smaug's arrival, as well as the Sickness he suspected in Thror's grandson. Hopefully Elrond could help prevent Thorin from returning.

~o0o~

His mind turned back to the subject at hand. Again, so many were being made to pay the price for the Gold Sickness of the Dwarves. It made him angry, but even he had to see that something like the Sickness caused madness, and all came from it was madness as well. The real source of all this evil was the Sauron himself and his minions.

Then he had a revelation: perhaps he was meant to come with his entire Army, and the Dwarven Army from the Iron Hills were meant to come, as well. What would have happened if they had not been there, when the Were-Worms first burst up out of the ground, and the swarms of Orcs appeared? Sauron had been planning that attack long before Thorin reached Erebor. Could the Valar, having seen this, orchestrate it so that the three Armies, as well as the Eagles, would be waiting for them?

When Bard started speaking of all losses of his people, the despair and guilt within the Bowman was palpable, and he completely understood it. The two spoke a bit about the purposes of the Valar, but it brought no comfort to him. Bard had such a heavy, heavy burden on his shoulders, made worse by never having the time, nor the training, for it.

When Bard looked to Thranduil, silently begging him for help, it was clear to Thranduil that he was quickly losing his equanimity, and needed some privacy and protection from things for a little while. He knew all too well what this was like, and would give it to him.

"Come, Bard." Thranduil leaned in to whisper to him. "I think we could both use a quiet drink, don't you? Here." He put his arm around Bard's shoulder. "Come with me." He turned the Bowman around and gave both his and the Bowman's guard some instructions in his language. Daeron left, and the Elvenking's guards escorted them rapidly through the streets and into the warmth of Thranduil's tent. Galion had done well to keep the lamps lit, as the light will be a source of comfort.

He had intended to sit Bard down at the table and pour him a large drink, but before he had the chance, the Man turned and crumpled into the Elvenking's arms, knees buckling, and started to weep in earnest, holding on to Thranduil for dear life. He caught Bard, as he collapsed, and held him tightly, stroking his back, as he pressed his face to the Elf's chest, and sobbed as if he would never be able to stop.

The Man needed to let down; to find release. So much had happened to him in such a short number of days, and so many were looking to him for survival. He was so weary, burdened, and he felt isolated in this new role thrust upon him. Thranduil knew exactly how he felt. You will not do this all alone, Thranduil silently promised him. He continued with his ministrations, his arms around him, rubbing his hand up and down Bard's back, all the while, uttering words of comfort in Sindarin. "Nîr lle nesta-uva fëa, mellon nîn. Thenin lle, Bard. Thel lle pul-beleg maer aran. Thel lle."

While he was holding Bard so close, his warm body holding on so tightly, with his arms around Thranduil's waist, the Elf reflected that it had been many centuries since he himself had known physical comfort of any kind. Since Mírelen had been killed, almost no one even touched him. He had held others at bay, keeping himself locked away. His words of reassurance to Bard were correct: These tears will heal his spirit, just as his own tears shed on Ravenhill had begun to wash away his pain.

After a long time, Bard started to calm down. There were only single chairs in the meeting area, and Bard was still leaning heavily into him, so Thranduil gently led him through the entrance to the sleeping area. He urged Bard to remove his coat, giving him some assistance as the man was still trying to gain his composure. He helped him off with his boots, and urged him over to sit against the headboard.

Like Galion had done for him earlier, Thranduil went out to the meeting area and grabbed two goblets and the wine decanter, and returned, putting them on the bedside table. He poured generous helpings into the chalices, removed his cloak, then sat down on the edge of the bed to remove his boots. Before he positioned himself beside Bard, he went into the bathing area, wet a cloth and handed it to Bard to wipe his face. Bard took it gratefully, and soothed his eyes with it, and blew his nose.

Handing over a cup wine, he said, "Here, drink this, it will help." Bard took the glass and took a sip, his breath still coming in gasps. As he calmed, he kept drinking, and finished it. He handed it to Thranduil, who gave him a large refill.

"It's funny, I can't seem to catch my breath tonight. This is the second time someone has had to calm me down before I pass out."

"Oh?"

"Aye, I had the worst nightmare, and your guards saw to me. I was almost afraid to go back to sleep - that's why you found me up on the rampart."

"I am not surprised. With all you have seen and done, no one could be unscathed. Many of my soldiers are afflicted with such nightmares." Thranduil hesitated, then said, "I must confess something to you, Bard. The same reason brought me to the Tower, as well." He didn't feel at ease sharing things like this, but perhaps the Bowman would find comfort in it.

"You too? I'm sorry. I didn't know that's why you were there." Bard was feeling guilty. "I really shouldn't be dumping my woes on you; not when you've got your own to deal with. I should go..." Bard started to move to get up.

"Peace, Bard. It is fine. In fact, I was rather glad to see you. It would seem that misery loves company." Thranduil pulled him back into place as he took a long drink.

"You may be right about that. I admit, I was happy to see you, too. It's been a horrid night, all the way around, so I guess we wretches best get through it together. Better than being alone." A thought struck Bard. "My children…"

"Do not worry - your children are taken care of. I sent your guard to notify Tauriel, and she will stay with them. She will get them up in the morning, if need be. I thought you you might not want them to see you like this."

Bard gave a sigh of relief, and sat back again. "No mistake about that. I don't want anyone to see me like this."

"Which is why I had the guards in front of us, and we moved as quickly as possible to give you some privacy. I, too, detest the idea of losing my composure publicly."

"Thank you for that. I mean it."

"You are most welcome, Bowman. You may stay here as long as you need. You have the distinct look of one who was weeping, and I am sure you are not in the mood to be asked for an explanation."

"That's very observant." Bard gave a small laugh, his breathing finally becoming normal.

They sat for some time, relaxing and drinking. Thranduil wanted to distract him, so he told him of how the Elves think about the stars, and how the Valar they favor was Elbereth, and Yavanna, who ruled over the trees. Bard seemed fascinated and told him what he was taught about them, but the people of Laketown had an affection for Ulmo, the Valar of the seas. It was pleasant to chat about nothing important, for a change. The distraction seemed to work, because Bard was visibly relaxed, his breathing was more even. He thanked Thranduil again for his kindness to him.

"I can't remember when I had someone look after me like this. Usually I'm always the one taking care of everybody. Especially my family. I've had to, since my wife died."

"I am truly sorry for your loss." Thrandiul truly was. He remembered Bard mentioning it when they had their interview near the river, several years ago.

"Thank you. I heard your wife died long ago, and I was sorry to hear about that."

They both sat in silence for several minutes, drinking and thinking.

"What was her name? Bard was curious, and the question was spoken without thinking, which, by the look on Thranduil's face, he had realized too late. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be asking things like that."

Thranduil paused. When was the last he spoke of his wife? He closed his eyes.

Looking up, Bard saw this, and apologized again, looking to change the subject, but he shook his head.

"No, it is fine; I was just thinking how long it has been since I spoke her name." Thranduil marveled.

"Can you tell me when that was?"

A sigh. "Since she died."

"Really?" He was curious, but not judgmental. "Is this tradition amongst the Elves?"

"It would be convenient for me to say yes, but, no, it is not. That is to say, how we handle our grief varies among my people, just as it does yours. However, you must understand that grief for an Elf is different than for Men."

"How?"

"I don't know how much you know about my people, but Elves oftentimes handle their grief in a…dissimilar way." Thranduil paused. "But that is a talk for another time, I think. What do you know about Elves?"

"I know almost nothing about your kind, but I would like to learn more. I think, as King, it would be helpful to learn as much as I can about the you and the Dwarves."

"You are correct in this idea; Girion had made it his business to learn about every culture that would affect his Kingdom."

"Before this," Bard continued, "I only met you that one time, and I would meet up with your men, when they would pick up your barrels, and even then, they didn't say much. I think only one knew Westron so the languages were a problem. Otherwise, that's it. You Elves have pretty much kept yourselves to yourselves. You always have."

Thranduil gave Bard a wry smile. "Not always. Before the Dragon came, there was much commerce between our races. I made the trip to Dale on many an occasion, and King Girion was a good host. He was a good man and I can see a lot of him in you. You look very much like him."

"Daeron just said something to me about him. I know you all are immortal beings, but I have to admit, it's hard to get my mind around you knowing him. Or being in this city when it was at its best. It boggles my mind." He held up his cup and gave a short laugh. "It's not hard to boggle my mind, drinking this stuff! But it's good for what ails me, I can tell you that." He held it out for Thranduil to refill, which he did. He poured one for himself, as well, and they drank for a couple of minutes.

"I do remember Dale," Thranduil reflected. "I remember this land before Garon the Founder came, before the Lonely Mountain was fashioned into the Dwarven city of Erebor, as well. Immortality is a difficult concept to grasp for a Man such as yourself, I know this. But please, Bard, I do not want it to make you uncomfortable. It is just who we are."

He looked over at the Bowman thoughtfully. He had come to really enjoy the camaraderie with the King of Dale. It was filling some of emptiness he had lived with, for far too long. Was it just camaraderie? All he knew was that it felt good to be sitting beside him like this, and sitting together on his bed, brought other thoughts to his mind…

Thranduil hesitated a bit, then said what was on his mind. "I know you and I are very different, but I do not want that to stop us…from being friends." Nervously, he pretended to be interested in the wine in his cup.

"I don't think it will, Thranduil." Bard spoke softly, turning his head toward him.

Thranduil looked into Bard's eyes, so like the colors of his forest; deep and captivating. Bard looked back at him; penetrating the Elf's gaze, each searching the other, for answers to unasked questions.

Then Bard turned his shoulders toward him and slowly lifted his hand to the Elf's cheek. Thranduil closed his eyes, leaning into the touch, then opened them to meet Bard's again.

They sat very still for several moments, then Bard slowly, slowly leaned in to him, his eyes taking in the details of his face. The Elvenking watched, as Bard's gaze lingered intensely at his lips. Thranduil's heart started to pound, hard; he brought his hand to Bard's chest and felt the same rapid heartbeat in the Bowman. Their noses met, and gently rubbed together, and their eyes closed, breathing faster. Lips nuzzled his, back and forth slowly, and so softly it tickled, sending a thrill through him. Oh, Stars, this is so…, he couldn't finish the thought, because then Bard was kissing him, and all he could do was feel.

Taking a deep breath through his nose. Thranduil leaned into the kiss, and more life flowed through him. He blindly placed his goblet on the bedside table, then his hand moved to stroke Bard's black hair, running his fingers through his curls. Bard moaned, deepened the kiss, his tongue moving against his teeth, seeking entrance, which was granted eagerly. With a small whimper, Thranduil opened his mouth wider to take him in, feeling sensations all over his body, especially in his lower belly. They shifted towards each other, kissing harder and harder, seeking, finding, feeling. Oh, it was wonderful.

They broke apart, panting, foreheads pressed together, eyes closed and mouths open. Thranduil took Bard's cup, placed it next to its mate, and turned back to him, kissing his forehead, nuzzling his nose, and then brought his mouth to Bard's once again, reveling in the taste of him. Reveling in the feel of this warm, strong body next to him. Reveling in the slow opening of a heart that had been closed for years upon years upon years.

Bard was kissing the ancient King of the Woodland realm, and he could hardly believe it.

It didn't seem real. It couldn't be real, but it was Thranduil's body under his hands, it was his icy blonde hair that ran through Bard's fingers, it was his arms, his hands, his fingers stroking Bard's hair, and his mouth, that magnificent mouth, was exploring Bard's with a passion was matching his own. Parts of Bard, both inside and out, that he thought were long-since dead, were coming to life again. He moaned into the Elf's mouth, and it only seemed to excite them further.

Oh, bloody fuck… With a loud, deep grunt, he grasped Thranduil with both arms, and pulled them down onto the bed, lying flat, with Bard's body straddling his. He grabbed Thranduil's wrists and placed them over his head, holding them, and planted his lips back on the Elf with a new determination, mouths parted. He heard Thranduil moan again; a sweet sound that send jolts of desire through him. He began to nibble on the Elf's earlobe, then slowly ran his tongue along the outside, up, up until he reached the pointed tip, and-

"A, Ma" Thranduil gasped, and Bard could feel the Elf's hardening member underneath his clothes. He thrust his hips against Thranduil's with a low groan, eyes closed. He nipped the tip of his pointed ear again, and the Elf's body curled upwards, with a delighted yelp, I'm going to have to remember this one, he smiled to himself, still playing with the Elf's ear, who responded by wrapping one of his long, long, legs around him, pulling him down hard, as they moved against each other.

Thranduil's hands broke free and took Bard's face in them, found his mouth again, and kissed Bard like he had never been kissed in his entire life. It was deep, hard, and glorious. He moaned deeply, his eyes closed tighter to wallow in all that this kiss was bringing him. He opened his mouth wider to take in even more, reaching for more, as their tongues danced together; as their hips danced together.

The kiss eventually ended, and Thranduil's light grey eyes met his own, searching, intense, as if he was trying to give Bard his soul, wanting Bard to take it and lovingly bring it back into the light. He found that he was silently asking the Elvenking to do the same for him. Bard looked down at him, full of wonder and desire. It's been so long since he felt this way. He was rock hard, and was loving the sensation of rocking against Thranduil, making them both want each other more.

Not since Mattie died had he held someone like this. Or felt like this. He wanted so badly to lose all control and give Thranduil everything they both wanted, everything his own body was screaming for. He lowered his head to kiss Thranduil once more, wanting to stay forever in this world that was only them. He loved the feel of this Elf, his warmth, hands on Bard's body. Everything felt perfect. He let his heart fly and his body respond. He wanted this to last forever. He wanted to rip their clothes off and be with him in every way possible. Valar it felt so good…

Unwanted, and unbidden, thoughts of his children came to the forefront of his mind.

Oh, shitshit!

Bard, reluctantly, raised his head and broke apart from that splendid mouth. He pressed their forehead's together, mouths open, breathing heavily into the other's air, for several moments. He rubbed their noses together and smiled. "You are so beautiful."

"As are you, Meleth nîn." Thranduil smiled softly up at him, stroking the back of his hand over his cheek, and tracing the lines of his throat. Bard closed his eyes, breathing deeply, and let his senses take it all in. He took the Elf's hand in his, and gave its palm a long kiss. He looked down into Thranduil's eyes, at his lips, no - better not do that, and back up to look into that sea of light grey. Then he forced himself to do what every cell in his body was begging him not to.

"I want you. I do. You have no clue how much I want this. But…this…can't be just about loneliness and too much wine, Thranduil. This should be done right. I've got my children to think on, and Dale, and…well, everything. I want this to be the right thing for both of us, because I would never…" He tried to find the right words. "I can't let this be an impulsive mistake, because we were reckless, and rushed into things. I'm so sorry." With a frustrated groan, and several curses, Bard rolled off the Elf, laying on his side to face him, head propped up on his elbow.

Thranduil seemed to be joining Bard in his suffering; he could see him trying to control his breathing, disappointment on his face. Then, the Elf rolled on his side to face Bard, and softly laid his hand on his jaw, and ran his thumb softly across his lips. "I also want you, and it is very difficult to end this," he whispered. "But you are right; we must."

Thranduil spoke in a soft, baritone voice, that vibrated in his body, and Bard couldn't help but feel another wave of desire, and his loins protested once more at being so rudely forced to abandon its pursuit. Oh, Valar, I want this Elf. I want him…

He knew it was right to stop; he hated that fact, but it was true, nonetheless. Thranduil was as frustrated as he was, but he turned to face Bard, and tried to reassure him.

"I understand, Bard. Please believe me. As much as it pains me to admit. This is too important. You know very little about Elves, and what something like this means to my kind. There are complications that I need to consider as well. I do not want anything but what is good for both of us and our people. I think we both need be cautious and careful."

Giving Thranduil a chaste kiss on his lips and a small kiss on his nose, Bard rolled flat onto his back again and tried to calm his body and his heart down, and turn his mind to other things besides the desirable, stunning Elf beside him. He noticed that Thranduil was attempting to do the same, on his back, staring up at the roof of his tent.

If anyone from Laketown doubts my devotion after this, I'm going to knock their fucking teeth in, he groaned to himself.

"Would you like some more wine?" Thranduil turned to face him.

"I would." He turned back towards the Elf with a grin. "But only if you promise not to get me drunk and take advantage of me."

"You have my solemn word, I will do no such thing. But you cannot prevent me from thinking about it." Thranduil's wide smile was beautiful, showing his white, perfect teeth. Bard had never seen him like this, and if it were possible for him to be even more stunning, he accomplished it.

They both moved to the top of the bed to sit side-by-side again, and Thranduil poured them each another cupful, and handed his to him.

Bard was enjoying the feel of this mattress, and the warm body beside him; he leaned over and placed another kiss on the side of Thranduil's neck, behind his ear. He couldn't help himself.

"I thought we agreed that we were going to proceed carefully, Bowman."

"I am, I am! It's your fault you know. Just…stop sitting there, being so gorgeous. You're making things tough, and you're doing it on purpose! If you would just chop off all this beautiful hair and stop smelling so damned good…"

A genuine belly-laugh came from the Elf, this time. Again, something that Bard had never seen. Again, his cock twitched, punishing him for his foolishness. Shit. That was not helping.

"And how do you know that I am not having the same dilemma Bowman?" Thranduil jabbed Bard with his elbow.

"Well, if it's anything like my struggle, then I truly pity you." Bard held out his goblet to salute him, and drank the entire contents.

Thranduil's eyes blinked open. The light outside was illuminating the walls of his tent. Noises of the morning's bustle could be heard. Slowly, he became more aware of his surroundings. He was lying on his side, facing the tent wall, but he wasn't wearing his usual nightshirt; he was still wearing his tunic and leggings. There was something different. His back was delightfully warm, and something enveloped him. He also heard soft snoring-

Bard was cuddled up behind him, also fully clothed, his arm wrapped around the Elvenking's middle, breathing softly into the back of his neck. And it felt perfect.

He smiled to himself, thinking of all that occurred last night. He had truly never intended for things to happen as they did; he had no thought of taking advantage of Bard when he took him back to sit down in the bed. There was no suitable furniture in his meeting area that could accommodate the two men, so he brought him in here, thinking that Bard could just relax and rest after he had calmed down, before he would leave to go back to his tent.

That doesn't mean to say he didn't wishit to happen. Ever since he rode into Dale and saw Bard, he knew there was something that stirred him. He still wasn't quite sure what it all meant. But it would seem, to Thranduil's delight, that Bard had been stirred by something as well.

Thranduil pulled the arm tighter around him and sighed. He had never been held by someone like this; to sleep so, in such a protective embrace. He had slept alone, felt alone, was alone for so long he had completely forgotten what it could be like. He lay like this, for a while, eyes closed, luxuriating in the warmth and comfort, wishing he never had to get up.

As much as it displeased him to admit, Bard was right about proceeding with caution. As Kings, everything they did would affect other people, particularly Bard's children. He was delighted that Bard wanted to take things in careful steps. It showed Thranduil that he was thinking seriously about the two of them. If the Man was only looking for physical gratification, he wouldn't have stopped himself. He also could have found release with someone else for a night or two, but Thranduil didn't think so.

His senses told him Bard was the same as he was; alone, lonely, but also needing his heart to be involved in anything he did. Elves were like that. Bard had no idea of what sex actually means to an Elf, and he didn't wish to put pressure on Bard about it now. It had nothing to do with the fact that Bard was a man. Elves have never had stigmas attached to the gender of prospective mate, as was seen in other places of Middle Earth. They did not gossip about other's private lives, either.

A stirring behind him. Then a small snort (which was adorable), then he felt Bard stretch himself awake, moving the arm from Thranduil's waist to finish his stretch, then raise himself up on his elbows. Thranduil's body ached in protest as the warmth of the Bowman's body left his back. The Elf rolled over and moved up to sit. He found himself suddenly feeling vulnerable; the urge to retreat inside himself, like he always did, was instinctual.

What if Bard felt differently, now that he had a good night's sleep? What if it was just the wine? What if he regrets it?

He looked down at his hands, suddenly finding them interesting.

"Good morning," said a sleepy voice.

Thranduil looked over to see his face. Bard was smiling up at him, from his elbows, then rubbed one of his eyes. He gave a cautious smile back. "Good morning, how did you sleep?"

"Like a log. That wine is pretty potent stuff."

"It can be. I'm used to it, but sometimes it affects me too." Thranduil still wasn't sure, and he couldn't stop his anxiety

Bard laughed, and sat up, facing the Elvenking. He leaned over, kissed the Elf on his temple, then his cheek, and stroked his hair. "Look at you!" He laughed, "I didn't know your hair could get so messy!" He teased.

Thranduil could have kissed him, he was so relieved. So, putting his hand around the back of Bard's neck and drawing him close, that's exactly what he did.

"I would like to point out that yours is just as messy," he gave Bard a wry smile.

"I don't doubt it. It's like taming a beast, most mornings. I wish mine was straight, like yours."

"Do not ever wish that. I like your hair the way it is. I like the wildness of it. You should keep it this way."

"I will, so long as you keep yours that way. I've never seen you with a hair out of place!"

"Well then, it seems we will always be caring for our hair as normal, because I will never be seen looking like this."

"I'm shocked," Bard deadpanned. Then he rubbed his forehead and temples.

"Do you have a headache from the wine?"

"I do, actually. Don't worry about it, though. I've had much worse in my younger days, and I've lived to tell the tale."

"Here, let me. Close your eyes." Thranduil placed a hand on Bard's forehead, and closing his eyes, said a few sentences in Quenya. As he was repeating them, his skin took on an ethereal aspect, and the light from his hand rested on Bard where he was touching him. When he was finished, the Bowman's eyes opened, and he was faced with a wide-eyed stare of astonishment.

"It's gone! I knew elves did that, but I've never seen it. Sigrid told me about Tauriel healing that Dwarf on my kitchen table. You had this glow about you, like she did." Bard marveled.

"You are welcome."

After planting a loud smack against his cheek, Bard moved to get up. "Come on, then, we've got a lot to take care of today, so we'd better get started, I suppose. I need a wash, and to visit the necessary. I'm very hungry, too. But first things first; I need to rinse out my mouth with some water. After all that fancy booze last night, it feels like a rag was stuffed in it."

Thranduil smiled at him. "I hope you don't mind, but I also made an attempt to heal your morning breath, but alas, to no avail." It really wasn't that bad, but he couldn't resist.

"What makes you think your breath isn't just as bad?"

"Because I am an Elf, of course." Thranduil raised an eyebrow.

"Are you always going to use that as an excuse?" Bard regarded him, raising his own eyebrow.

"That is my plan."

His reply was a pillow smacked in his face.

NOTES:

Sindarin Phrases:

Nîr lle nesta-uva fëa, mellon nin – Your tears will heal your spirit, my friend.

Thenin lle. – You are strong.

Thel lle pul-beleg maer aran. - You will be a mighty King, Bard.

Thel lle, gweston – You will, I promise.

"A, Ma" - Oh, yes!