Thranduil grasped her hand, leading her towards the table. He took the time to look at her, from her shoes - well hidden underneath the long fabric - to the dress, a soft silvery blue material that seemed to bring out the red in her hair. He saw she was tall, long legs he had observed in his chambers, but her torso was equally as long, making her waist narrow and her hips alluring, sensual, feminine. He frowned at his own train of thought, he was not attracted to this human child. Her chest swelled with each breath, her full bosom made more evident in the corset, but covered nicely by the set of cloth that now blocked his view of what he had seen earlier. Thranduil could smell the remnants of the bath on her skin, and something else, her own smell, that reminded him of peaches. He was pleased that she was very pretty clean, her red hair a flame that marked her place in the world, contrasted with her pale skin and green eyes, in the candle light they glowed like gems, however trapped in the darkness. Mourena said nothing, she not impressed by his previous behaviour, remaining fully aware of her own powerlessness.
"Wait here," Thranduil drawled, "I will move the chair out for you to sit."
"Forgive me for seeming ignorant," Mourena started, trying to repress the urge to laugh. "But how am I to eat, whatever it is I smell?" She heard the chair being moved back, her question not deterring her host. Her mouth was watering at the smell of the meat, the smell of fresh bread, or something similar. She felt a hand on her lower back, pressing her forward, causing Mourena to turn her head towards the king, breathing in the tapestry of smells. As she moved towards the chair, Thranduil saw her wince as she moved her shoulder, seeing the edge of a bruise on her flesh. A slight twinge of guilt ran through his mind as he moved the chair, helping her sit without falling over. Normally, he would sit at the end of a long table surrounded by fellow elves and toasting, enjoying watching everyone else dance – but tonight he bore no such desire. He sat down, the girl's features indicated surprise and possible shock as her heard place himself to sit next to her. A servant appeared and cut meat, served fruits and wine and lembas to the two before retreating.
Grasping her goblet, Thranduil spoke. "Hold out your hands." The girl did so, as she felt the form of goblet in her hands she brought it high as a toast was offered somewhere outside, and aided by her host, they toasted - bringing the cup to her lips slowly, aware of Thranduil watching her, she imaged much as a predator stalked its prey. She tasted the wine, it was well made, nothing she had ever known compared. Mourena admitted to herself that she had never know wine or alcohol, her father forbade her consume it, making this somewhat dangerous and disobedient. She swallowed, unsure of where to place the item, and continued to drink slowly. She felt heat in her face and she smiled into the goblet, looking into the darkness as to where to put it, as she outstretched one hand to find a place she felt the warmth of his hand as he removed the goblet from her.
"Thank you." Mourena said, shutting her eyes as she felt a rush in her head. Thranduil smiled, his eyes sparkling as he continued to cut her meal in silence. Her face had gone red, and the elven King watched her as the wine made its mark. The girl bit her bottom lip and fidgeted, a technique used to conceal her hungry and inability to obtain her desire.
"Open your lips." Thranduil commanded, and the girl turned her head in his direction, obviously confused. He touched her chin gently, bringing it to the right angle to receive the piece of bread he placed between her lips. Her left hand came to her lips, covering her lips as she chewed the lembas, a slow smile spreading on her face as she started to laugh. Thranduil released her chin, sitting back in his chair, unamused. "What part of this do you find entertaining?"
"I am sorry." Mourena responded, covering her mouth as she could not suppress her laughter. "But the thought of an elvish King hand feeding me... it is too fantastic, it cannot be real." Thranduil watched her, a smile forming on his lips as he thought about her logic, her laughter unsettling some part in his heart, until he too joined in. Mourena's breathe caught at the laugh, it was deep and unaided, like it had not been uttered in an age. They both gradually stopped, the odd chuckle arose out them both as Mourena tried to speak again. "Please, I cannot allow you to feed me in such a way, it is too ridiculous."
"Are we not, in some small way, ridiculous?" He responded, picking up a section of meat and again telling her to open her lips. She giggled, but obeyed, enjoying the food in the small doses as he continued to feed her, despite ongoing protests.
"When are you going to eat?" Mourena asked, after swallowing and taking another drink of wine, with her host's help.
"Who has said I have not been?" He drawled, and she smiled again - no doubt aided by the wine - and shook her head.
"You never answer a question forthright." Mourena said, before taking a fig that was placed in her lips. She turned her head toward a sound outside, cheering and music. She chewed slowly, ignoring the ravenous demands of her stomach. She heard a chair move and she brought her head back towards her host, as her own chair moved backwards. She stood, assuming that being the point and felt his hand on hers.
Thranduil lead her onto a small balcony, so she could fully hear the music below. His kin were dancing, drinking and cheering the dancing on. The girl touched his arm, turning her head toward him and back towards the music as if unsure of what she was hearing. "Why do you not join in with your kin?" Mourena asked, listening intently, a smile and a laugh escaped her lips before he could answer.
"What answer could be more amusing than my own?" He drawled, moving towards her, putting a hand around her waist and holding her hand fast as he took proper form. The girl understood, to an extent, moving within his hold to the music below, which was to her relief rather slow.
"It occurred to me that you may respond by saying you were too old for such parties." Mourena blushed, ducking her head as she fought back a laugh, and Thranduil clenched his jaw, for his answer had been along those lines. They danced slowly, Mourena aware of their closeness as they moved around the small space. When the dance ended, she clapped softly, touching her forehead as she became dizzy.
Thranduil held her elbow fast, aware he had allowed her to consume too much wine for a creature so small and young – and human. Her hand touched his own, and she made a face filled with loneliness. "You have advantage over me," She said softly, "You have seen my face, while I am unable to do so." Thranduil watched her, as she turned her head back towards the music. Grasping her hands softly, he brought them to his face. Mourena gasped softly, understanding what he was offering her.
Her hands moved gently, timidly at first, then with more strength of conviction as she felt every contour of his face. She felt his ears and smiled, her fingers lingering on the tips before running along his jawline. His lips were straight, full and tender and she moved away from that particular area slowly, more slowly than she should have. Mourena had closed her eyes, while the picture formed in her mind, and as her fingers touched the top of his head she smiled, feeling the silk white treads under the touch. She stepped forward, their faces not so far apart, and the girl rose on her toes, running her fingers through his hair. "It is long." She whispered, her hands running once more through his hair before resting on his shoulders, since she could reach no farther.
Thranduil watched her, their noses only centimetres away from one another if she only turned. The girl seemed to have guessed this, for she stopped moving, turning her head slightly toward him, until their noses touched and a breath held, captured within her lungs. His own hand touched her hair, the soft and silky mane of a caged lioness, and he; the lion tamer. Or possibly the fool who walked too close to the cage. His other hand touched her jawline, and Mourena could see the image that had been the cause of many heart tremors. She let out the breath, swaying slightly as the wine worked its way further into her system. Instantly, the king held her face to him, her head resting on his shoulder – as if it was meant to.
"Father," A voice spoke, an elf entering through the door. In her mind flashed an image that struck her. Like the tall, albeit dangerous and temperamental, creature next to her; this elf was different. In her mind, he was tall — as tall as his father if not more — with a wide jawline and shoulders that carried the weight of the kingdom; if not the world. Eyes of the darkest, stormy, grey seemed to bore their way into her mind. Within those orbs lay a determination that mirrored the elf beside in more ways than one. Even in her mind she could feel the physical power within his muscles - within his mind. "Why do you not-" The voice stopped, the face in her head gave his father was a mixture of surprise and contempt. "-join us below."
Thranduil's eyes narrowed, a cold chill entering Mourena's body as she stepped back. She touched her head, smiling and blushing, bowing her head slightly to the newcomer - wherever he was.
"So this is what you were so busy with." The voice spoke again softly. Savagely. He was clearly not impressed.
"Legolas," Thranduil drawled, taking on a dangerous tone stepping towards his son as Mourena leaned against the balcony edge. She had heard this name in passing, when whispers had been believed not to be overheard.
"A half a barrel of wine?" Legolas asked, looking at which goblets had lingering liquid in them. "Too much perhaps." he growled, looking at his father's companion. "I wonder how that happened." The silence that followed deafening as it was oppressive, as if a dark spirit has entered the room, now sitting on her shoulders.
With a few strides the tall, regal elf Prince reached Mourena, taking her hand as confusion rushing to her features. "You must forgive my father, he does not often drink with human kind, and the wine is strong." Offering no reply, Mourena remained mute as Legolas pulled her closer. "Allow me." he whispered, easing her forward; walking her back into the room. She knew, rather than assumed, they were headed for the door.
