"Da, this is getting ridiculous," Sigrid huffed.

She had been seated outside of Bard's bedroom door for the best part of an hour and was 'helping' him dress for his impending date with Thranduil. She was certainly trying to help, anyway, but Bard was now on his sixth outfit change and, at this point, she felt no amount of reassurance would make a difference.

"Da, honestly, the last shirt was fine…"

"No, it didn't look right with the trousers," came a muffled reply through the door, "Do you think I should go back to that shirt and change the trousers?"

"Do whatever you want, Da, but try to hurry up. It's half past six,"

"What!" Bard threw the door open, standing in his socks, a half buttoned shirt and dress trousers with two ties slung loosely around his neck, "How can it be that late already?" he stressed.

'How indeed,' thought Sigrid, struggling not to roll her eyes.

"It's fine, Da. You've enough time to finish getting ready. Just put on the blue shirt. Keep the black trousers and put on some shoes. Don't bother with a tie but wear the black suit jacket," she reiterated what she'd been trying to tell him for the last forty minutes.

"Right, blue shirt… right…," he muttered to himself, hastily retreating into his room.

She sighed and shook her head. It was so odd seeing her father so flustered when he normally kept such a cool head. She couldn't help but find it endearing, though. After all, she only ever wanted him to be happy and if Thranduil brought him happiness then she was very pleased for him. She knew that he worried what they would think, particularly Tilda, but he really had nothing to worry about. All three of them liked Thranduil very much - Tilda was practically obsessed - and she and Bain both understood that their father was taking a big step in entering into a relationship again. He needed their support and he had it unquestioningly.

"Is he still in there?" Bain asked, appearing at the top of the stairs.

"Mmhmm," she nodded, "Though I think he's finally settled on what to wear. He should be nearly finished getting dressed now… I hope,"

Bain laughed and rolled his eyes.

"Do you think it's safe to go in? I just want to talk to him about something,"

"Yeah, on you go. Just try to make it quick. He's running late as it is," Sigrid smiled, "I'm off to check on Tilda,"

As she headed back downstairs, Bain knocked on the door.

"Da? Can I come in?"

"Yeah! One second...give me a minute…" there was a bang and some shuffling, "Ow! God! Right, hang on, I'm coming…"

The door swung open and Bard, who was rubbing his knee, beckoned him in.

"You okay?" Bain asked, stifling a giggle.

"Yeah... I swear that dresser wasn't so close to the door before!" he joked, straightening up, "So, what can I do for you, Bain?"

"Well," he began, looking for the right words, "I just wanted to talk to you about tonight, Da," he moved to sit on the edge of Bard's bed, "I just… I think it's really great that you're doing this...y'know, this date and everything. Me and Sig, we... what I'm trying to say is…. we just really want you to be happy… and, seriously, I think Mum… Mum would be proud of you…"

Bard was speechless.

He had expected at least some opposition to his relationship with Thranduil - opposition that he would completely understand. He was terrified that they would think he was trying to replace their mother, that he no longer missed her or that he simply didn't care what they thought. To hear such encouraging and heartfelt support from his son had him a little damp about the eyes.

Clearing his throat, he grasped Bain in a hug.

"Thank you, son. Really, that means… well, it means a lot," he said.

Pulling back and nodding stiffly, attempting to maintain as much fatherly composure as possible, he patted Bain on the shoulder.

"No problem, Da," he mumbled, exhibiting his own attempt at appearing masculine after a hug from his father, "Anyway, it's nearly seven-"

"Yeah, I'd best get downstairs," Bard agreed, grabbing his suit jacket and briefly checking his reflection in the mirror.

'Not too shabby,' he thought as he swept back a stray strand of hair. He knew that, no matter what he did, he would still appear secondary to Thranduil's natural impeccable style but, he had to admit, he was looking just a little dashing.

He was just beginning to descend the stairs to thank Sigrid for her suggestion of the blue shirt when, like an indoor hurricane, Tilda flew at him.

"Da! Da, you look just like you're from Beauty in the Beast!" she jumped up and hugged him round the waist.

Bard laughed and hugged her saying,

"Not when he's got all those curls and ribbons in his hair though, right?"

"No, Da!" she giggled, "That'd be silly!"

He was about to tickle her when she suddenly remembered something.

"Oh! Da, the pretty man is downstairs!"

The pretty man? Oh, God! Thranduil!

He quickly ushered Tilda back down the stairs and, trying to appear as composed as humanly possible, he followed her.

The sight that met him nearly melted his pounding heart. Seated at his kitchen table and deep in conversation with Bain was his date for the night. His astoundingly beautiful date for the night. Bard found himself confronted with visual proof of his earlier statement; no matter how he dressed, he would always pale in comparison to Thranduil's effortless beauty.

Dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit and a burgundy red silk shirt, he was outfitted not much more formally than Bard however he still managed to appear utterly breathtaking. His hair was tied back in a loose ponytail with a black ribbon. Even though he was always so effortlessly flawless in his manner of dress, that hinted at a special effort having been made - a thought that made Bard feel both rather pleased with himself and exceptionally lucky.

When he saw Bard enter the room, Thranduil's eyes lit up as he took him in. In his eyes Bard was always strikingly handsome in his own rugged way but, seeing him so meticulously groomed, he found himself swept off his feet.

"Bard!" he breathed, attempting to keep his cool in front of the children, "You look… magnificent,"

Bard tried to fight the blush, he really did. Sigrid's stifled giggling certainly didn't help.

"Well," he cleared his throat, "You're not so bad yourself,"

Thranduil flashed him a grin.

A moment of pregnant silence passed in the room and Sigrid began to feel enough was enough.

"Well, we shouldn't keep you two," she said, standing up to usher them towards the door, "I'm sure you've got lots of wonderful things planned for this evening that you need to be getting on to,"

"But-"

"No, no, Da. Don't you worry about us! Off you pop. Got everything? Good. Have a great night. We love you. Bye!"

And, with that, she closed the door on them.

Bard and his grinning date stood in a moment of stunned silence before, with a chuckle, Thranduil turned to him,

"Well, I shall take that as my cue to escort you to the car, if I may,"

"You may," Bard answered with a laugh of his own. His daughter, though she may have some rather unusual ways of showing it, truly did support their happiness and it warmed his heart to know it. He suspected that Thranduil now knew that too.

Once again opening the passenger side door to allow Bard to enter, Thranduil tried to suppress his jubilation. True, Bard had ridden in his car many times, but to now be driving him to their first date, well, were he younger and more fanciful, he would have said it gave him butterflies.

As he climbed into the driver's side and reversed out of the driveway he was aware of, but not at all surprised by, the nerves that were rapidly building inside of him. God, he thought to himself, how long had it been since he had done this? It had been nearly fifteen years since his wife's death and, though it had taken the same stretch of time for him to be able to even contemplate pursuing a relationship again, he felt that, for Bard, he would have waited much longer.

"So," Bard broke the silence, "Are you going to tell me where you're taking me?"

Thranduil glanced over and smiled at him.

"No, I don't think I will," he said slyly, "Though, given a little thought, I think you might be able to guess,"

Cryptic, thought Bard.

Throughout the course of the car ride, Bard's mind came up with a variety of possibilities ranging from a trip to the cinema to a Viennese masquerade ball. The difficulty lay in pinpointing where, between a simple evening out to a ridiculously extravagant event,

Thranduil would decide to operate.

He did venture the masquerade ball as a joke but, upon Thranduil's nonchalant reply of "if that's something you would enjoy then, of course, it can be arranged" he decided that it was best to keep his guesses to himself.

He noticed, as Thranduil drove, that they had entered a part of town that he didn't know. It was nowhere that he would ever have had reason to frequent, given its designer boutiques, luxury apartments, high class eateries and general affluence.

He was not, therefore, expecting Thranduil to pull over the car when he did.

"Where are we?" he asked, nervously glancing around at his surroundings.

"Here," was Thranduil's impish reply.

He walked around to the passenger door and offered Bard his hand as he climbed out.

They were parked outside the entrance of one of the most beautiful building Bard had ever seen. Yes, it had stunning architecture with its marble and its intricate masonry, but the real beauty, as Bard perceived, was that it alone, of all the other buildings nearby, was adorned with climbing ivy, white roses and baby's breath. It was the perfect combination of elegant sophistication and wild beauty. He loved it.

"Oh my goodness," he breathed, entranced, "What is this place?"

Thranduil beamed as he looked down at his awestruck face.

"Somewhere that reminded me of you. This is the restaurant I mentioned to you a few days ago," he explained, "Do you like it?"

"Do you need to ask?" Bard joked, a smile splitting his face.

"I'm so pleased," Thranduil laughed, before offering Bard his arm, "Shall we?"

Bard nodded eagerly and, as the climbed the marble steps and entered the foyer, they were met by a maitre d' in a black tuxedo.

"Good evening, gentlemen," he greeted, "Welcome to The Carrock. My name is Dori. May I ask if you have a reservation?"

"Yes," Thranduil stated, "It will be under Oropherion,"

"Oh, of course!" Dori smiled, immediately recognising the booking, "Certainly, sir. Everything has been arranged. If you would like to follow me, I will escort you to your table,"

"Thank you," Thranduil nodded.

As they followed Dori, Bard noticed that he was not leading them into the main dining area, but rather up a carpeted marble staircase.

"What does he mean 'everything has been arranged',?" Bard whispered to Thranduil.

"You'll see," was his reply.

As they reached their destination, Bard almost lost all capacity to breathe.

Dori had lead them out onto an intimate private balcony, framed by all the ivy and roses from the building's front. It was lit by three high candelabras and, in the warm Autumn evening, there was not a breeze to disturb them. There was a table set out for two, dressed with white lined and fine silver. The gentle sounds of the music of the restaurant's live quartet floated up from the floor below.

Never, in all his years, had Bard been so touched.

"My god!" he gasped, for some reason feeling a little emotional, though not willing to admit it.

"How do you like it now?" Thranduil whispered to him.

"Oh, Thranduil… it's unbelieveable!" Bard looked up at him with shining eyes.

Thranduil grinned and allowed himself a little self satisfaction. He had done rather well.

"May I seat you, Sir?" Dori asked Bard, displaying the look of someone who was extremely proud of his arrangements.

He pulled out a plush chair and, once both guests were seated, offered them a leather bound wine list.

"May I take your order, Sir?" he asked.

"A bottle of your oldest Dorwinion, thank you," Thranduil answered, knowing from the look on Bard's face that he was a little lost.

"An excellent choice, Sir. I will bring it alongside the entrees," Dori bowed respectfully and exited the balcony.

"No menu?" Bard asked, curious and entirely suspicious of Thranduil's plans.

"No, but you'll see why," Thranduil avoided explanation with a smile, "So, my dear Bard, I hope this pleases you…that I have not made you uncomfortable in any way,"

Bard almost laughed at the notion that any of this could possibly have upset him but, hearing Thranduil's term of endearment and the sincerity in his words, he could not help but extend a hand and take Thranduil's in his own.

"Thranduil, this… you…" he stopped, trying to formulate his words, a let his thumb run across Thranduil's knuckles, "I do not know how to repay you for this. This... this is…" he sniffed a little, aware of his emerging emotions, "No one has ever done anything like this for me,"

It never failed to touch Thranduil, how very grateful Bard was for every kindness shown to him and how modest his was in his expectations. Truly, Thranduil had never felt so lucky to have the affection of anyone. Bard was nothing less than an angel and deserved to be treated as such.

"Then please," he replied, looking into Bard's eyes, "allow me to do more for you. Please allow me to express my… deep affection for you in all the ways I can,"

Bard would be lying if he said he did not allow a tear to fall. Thranduil was a fantasy. He was entirely impossible and shockingly real. He was a fairytale and a whirlwind and Bard wanted nothing more than to be swept away by him.

He was about to try to concoct a reply when Dori returned bearing a silver tray.

"A bottle of '79 Dorwinion, Sir," he said, setting the bottle upon the table. He then placed a plate down in front of each of them.

On each plate was a very extravagant, miniaturized version on the food Thranduil had provided for them at the picnic. Bard had to wonder if this was on purpose or merely a happy coincidence.

He thanked Dori, who had just finished filling their glasses, and took a bite. He was instantly transported back to that beautiful afternoon with Thranduil, Legolas and his children. As well as being utterly delicious, the food couldn't possibly fail to delight him when it conjured such a happy memory.

Whether it's resemblance to the picnic had been coincidental or not, he did not have to wait long to learn. When their main course arrived it was apparent that Thranduil had had a hand in choosing their courses very specifically. He was presented with venison and honeyed vegetables - the first meal he had ever shared with Thranduil, on his first visit to the manor.

He had to admit it, he was impressed with his attention to detail. He would certainly have been impressed by any dish presented to him from such an exquisite restaurant but, to have such personal meaning represented in each course, he would have to thank Thranduil for that.

Desert proved to be another delight. A hot chocolate pudding with lashings of whipped cream and melted marshmallow. One of his fondest memories to date was of that hot chocolate shared with Thranduil, that night at the cafe. To know that Thranduil also thought it worthy of remembrance warmed his heart.

Throughout the entire meal, they had talked, laughed, smiled held hands gently across the table. Despite being in such elegant surroundings, Bard was struck by how relaxed and at ease he felt, purely because of Thranduil's company. Were he not in the middle of a rather spectacular date with his stunning new romantic partner, he would have thought he was enjoying dinner with his best friend. Perhaps Thranduil could be both? he thought, very pleased by the prospect.

Bard was far too busy with his daydreaming to notice the he had, once again, managed to smear his face with the whipped cream from his dessert. In truth, he only noticed that something was wrong when he heard Thranduil chuckling from across the table.

"What?" he raised an eyebrow, smiling at Thranduil's sudden amusement.

"My dear Bard," Thranduil grinned, "I'm afraid you are making a habit out of this…"

Before Bard had the time to wonder what on earth he was talking about, Thranduil stood and walked around the table to kneel beside him. He was so tall that, on bended knee, he was the same height as Bard was when seated. He reached forward and gently cupped Bard's jaw before leaning forward suddenly and capturing the left corner of Bard's mouth in a kiss. Bard gasped at the sudden contact and was about to turn his head to reciprocate when he felt the smooth warmth of Thranduil's tongue gently lick at his upper lip. The feeling alone made him gasp and he was partially glad when Thranduil pulled away, as he was sure he would have been too startled to do anything in return.

Then he realised. Whipped cream.

He felt like groaning; partly from embarrassment and, he noticed with a jolt, and partly due to sheer arousal. Mentally, he chided himself. Now was neither the time nor the place to allow… urges to become apparent.

Thranduil, however, looked positively lustful. He had to take a moment to recollect himself so that he wouldn't frighten Bard. He had absolutely no intention of rushing anything with this wonderful man and he would ensure that he kept his feeling in check but, god, if his lips weren't like silk.

Aware that his actions were extremely forward, he sought to defuse the situation.

"Bard," he began, clearing his throat to remove the husky tone that had entered his voice, "Bard, I would like to show you something,"

He stood and extended his hand for Bard to take. He did and Thranduil escorted him to stand at the edge of the balcony, looking out into the beautiful, now darkened, city. Though the lights of the various buildings would normal blot out all other light, it was a remarkably clear night and the cloudless blackened sky shone with a plethora of stars.

"I love to look at them. The stars," Thranduil said, a warmth in his tone, "It's like looking into the past. Like being able to see memories in front of you… and it reminds me, especially on the darkest nights, that there is always beauty around you, if you look for it…"

Bard smiled broadly at Thranduil's speech. The stars were clearly very important and special to him; it was almost intimate to stand and observe them together. He had recently grown to understand that, though Thranduil may be imposing and haughty at first appearance, he had an incredible depth to him and it was a privilege to be shown it.

"They are beautiful," he responded, glancing backward at him, "I wish I knew more about them. Will you show me?"

Thranduil's returning smile shone in his eyes.

"Of course," he nodded.

He moved to stand directly behind Bard, and ever so gently, placed one hand on Bard's waist - an unconscious effort to stop him from leaning too far over the balcony's edge. He leaned forward slightly, so that he could speak very softly next to Bard's ear.

"Do you see those three stars?" he breathed, "They make up Orion's Belt. If you follow them you can map out the rest of his figure. You see? There's his shield and and his club… and that 'W' shape? That is Cassiopeia. A little further up is Ursa Minor, the Little Bear and… you see the brightest one there? That's Polaris, the North Star…"

He continued to show Bard the constellations, talking about their mythology, their stories, and Bard was entranced. He had always thought that the stars were beautiful in a distant sort of way but, listening to Thranduil's passionate storytelling, he felt as though he were looking up into a fantastical realm.

He, in turn, asked questions. He asked about the stories behind the various characters, about how to find the Big Dipper, how to use Polaris to navigate and anything else that he could think of. Thranduil continued to answer every query with enthusiasm until, as Bard was in the middle of inquiring how to tell the difference between Ursa Major and Ursa Minor when he felt the softest graze of lips at his neck.

He fumbled his speech, completely taken by surprise. He stopped entirely when they brushed his skin again, a little firmer and lingered for a moment. When they retreated, Bard silently turned and was met by Thranduil's enamored gazed.

"I am sorry," he breathed, his voice taking on a deeper tone, "I did not mean to startle you…"

"No! No," Bard quieted him, "Don't apologise! I-I mean... I…," his eyes wandered to the tantalisingly exposed column of Thranduil's neck. He could see him swallow in anticipation. The sight was beyond enticing, "I've been wanting to… to do that too…"

His voice turned to a whisper. Thranduil barely had time to register his own trepidation when the silk of his collar was pushed aside and Bard's velveteen lips captured the tender skin of his throat.

Both were instantly engulfed in a flurry of sensations. Bard's neatly groomed mustache gently scratched at Thranduil's sensitive skin which sent sparks down his spine. From this position he could breath in the scent of Bard's hair and the feeling of utter closeness that this gave him made his eyelids flutter closed. Bard, basking in Thranduil's musky, intoxicating scent, relished in this new, intimate position. Throwing caution to the wind, he kissed gently in a line downwards until he reach the most sensitive area of creamy skin and allowed his tongue to lap gently before grazing him with his teeth. He felt like he had been drugged, he was so entranced.

"Ah! B-Bard!" Thranduil gave a strangled cry and gripped at Bard's waist to steady himself.

Thinking that he was in pain, Bard detached himself immediately and stared wildly into Thranduil's eyes, searching for any sign of distress. He was about to open his mouth and spout a mass of panicked apologies, when Thranduil's lips insistently covered his own.

He found himself pressed against the balcony's edge, two strong arms grasping at his back, ensuring that he couldn't possibly fall. He clung to the front of Thranduil's shirt, both out of instinct and out of a desperate need to allow not a single inch of space between them. His heart thundered triumphantly as he heard the muffled sound of a pleasurable moan leave Thranduil's lips.

Those arms that were holding him began to wander and grasp instantly at his shoulders, his neck, his hair, his waist. In return, Bard allowed his own hands to delve into that luxurious river of silver hair, massaging gently with his fingers and being instantly rewarded with a whimper of delight.

It was his turn, however, to gasp when Thranduil's tongue swept the length of his bottom lip. He was immediately granted entrance and moaned aloud with joy as he, once again, tasted the sweetness of Thranduil's passion-filled kisses.

He was clearly not alone in his euphoria as he suddenly became very aware of the pressing of Thranduil's groin against his own, as they leant on the balcony's edge. He found himself both entirely shocked and completely exhilarated to feel the heat and hardness meeting his own. He could do nothing to stop his body instinctively pressing back, yearning for more pleasurable contact.

The kiss broke.

Bard, once again, panicked. He had surely overstepped the mark now. Entirely ashamed he said nothing. However, he would not have had the opportunity to finish as Thranduil, panting heavily, leaned his forehead against his own.

"Oh Bard! My glorious Bard!," he gasped, "You… I cannot describe… you feel… you taste... my god, Bard!"

"Thranduil… are you sure… is this okay? I didn't-"

"Okay?" was his incredulous response, "Bard, I am spellbound! How can I begin to tell you what this means to me? What this makes me feel?"

He pressed a lingering kiss to Bard's brow before pulling back and looking him intently in the eye.

"Bard… is this what you want?" he asked, suddenly perfectly serious.

He had thought that, when the time came, this question might be intensely difficult to answer but now he found that the words left his mouth without pause.

"Yes," he nodded, complete in his certainty.

"Then, if you wish, would you accompany me back to the manor?" Thranduil asked, his voice low, "It is not yet late and I would not be parted from you so soon… of course, if you wish to return home I will take you without-"

"No!" Bard stopped him, knowing that Thranduil was attempting to reassure him and was keen to show his admirable intentions but he was not in the mood for nobility now, "No, I'd love to go back to the manor. Truly, Thranduil, I would,"

Thranduil's delighted grin answered his surety and, offering his arm to Bard, he bent to whisper in his ear,

"Then allow me to escort you to the car, my dearest one,"

Bard truly believed he had never descended a staircase so quickly in all his life.