A/N: I'm a little disappointed that I haven't been able to beat my kickstarter oneshot (it's not in this story-it's another one-chapter thing called My Apologies, for anyone who doesn't know) but I gave it my bet shot, and I think I came pretty close in this one. Have some disagreement and tension, with some fluff at the end. Enjoy! Based on the suggestion by The Silver Queen.
"My lord, are you alright?"
The Elvenking of Mirkwood's dark eyebrows scrunched together, as he lounged sideways on his throne, fingertips to his lips and eyes closed. Tauriel stood at the base of the throne, waiting expectantly.
"Whether or not I am alright is none of your concern, Captain." The Sindarin Elf stated, opening his eyes to glare down at her. Tauriel raised an eyebrow.
"Well I am making it my concern." The Silvan Elf retorted. "What is troubling you?"
"Captain," Thranduil's tone made it clear that he was already approaching his wit's end, "I am your King. Your superior. That means that my business is not yours, and that you will not make it yours. You are dismissed."
Tauriel crossed her arms, stubbornly refusing to budge from her spot.
"My lord, up until now, I have always readily listened to your troubles, and you have listened to mine." She reminded him, glaring up at the Elvenking. "Why is this one so bothersome that you do not even speak to me about it?"
The Sindarin Elf swung his feet off the arm of his throne, stood, and leaped off the three-meter dais, landing gracefully in front of the She-Elf. As he straightened, Tauriel saw how stormy his crystalline eyes were. Thranduil stepped forwards, towering over the Silvan Elf.
"Captain Tauriel, I believe I told you that you are dismissed." He said, his voice barely above a growl. "It is in your best interest that you obey that order."
The Silvan Elf got ready to protest, then saw the tiniest curl of his lip, barely exposing his teeth, like an animal who had reached the very limit of its patience.
"As you wish." She gritted, before spinning around and storming away.
That evening, Tauriel decided to do something about her King's apparent bad mood. She went down to the kitchens after the evening meal had been served and most of the cooks had left, determined to make something to sate the Elvenking.
"Captain Tauriel," The laid-back head cook, Tsurim, greeted her. "What brings you to my humble kitchens at this hour? Need help with something?"
"No, thank you." Tauriel replied, leaning on the counter. "I'm making something for the King. He seems to be troubled lately, and I'm determined to get to the bottom of it."
Tsurim raised his eyebrows thoughtfully. "That so? Well, all I can say is be careful. Thranduil had get dangerous when he's worked up. But other than that, more power to you, Captain. If you need me, I'll be in the cellars."
Tauriel smiled fondly as the brown-haired cook puttered off towards the cellars. He would likely spend the remainder of the evening chatting with Welrush the cellarkeeper, and enjoying a beaker or two of nutbrown ale.
The Silvan Elf moved about the now-empty kitchens, gathering her needed supplies—two large mugs, half a dozen potatoes, an assortment of vegetables and spices, and some partridge meat, and set to work.
Tauriel heated the stove and put on a small pan of water, then peeled and boiled the potatoes, mashing them into a pulp. In a separate pan she melted some butter, and added in the partridge meat and the vegetables, frying the lot. The Silvan Elf added the mix to the potatoes, stirred it, and cautiously tried it. To her pleasant surprise, it didn't taste as bad as she had thought it would.
Encouraged, Tauriel alternately stirred the mix and added in various spices, including a bit of garlic, some parsley, and a pinch of black pepper with salt.
Once she was through, Tauriel was quite pleased with herself. She didn't cook often, and this was only the second or third time she had tried making soup of any kind in her life.
The rust-haired Elf poured the thick soupy mix into the two mugs, then placed them on a small tray to take to the Elvenking.
As she padded through the halls with her tray, Tauriel hoped desperately that she would be able to find out what was troubling her King, and console him on it.
Finally, she reached the Elvenking's chambers, and knocked softly.
"Yes, what is it?" Came the response. Tauriel entered, and saw Thranduil lounging on the bed in almost the exact manner he had been on his throne earlier that day. His eyes were closed, but opened when he heard her footsteps. His gaze darkened as he saw her.
"Captain—" He began, but Tauriel cut him off.
"My lord, I want to help you. I did not see you at dinner this evening, and you have been out of sorts all recently. I made you some soup that I hope you will take."
Thranduil's expression was still hard, but he just growled in resignation and beckoned her in.
"While I appreciate this gesture, Captain," He told her, taking Tauriel's offered mug, "You cannot help me now. It is simply a spell—it will pass."
Tauriel could tell he was lying, but she wasn't about to let the matter go.
"My lord, you have been increasingly anxious and withdrawn over the past seven or eight days." She said, taking a sip of her soup. "Unless there is something amiss about this particular day, I do not think you would do such a thing under normal circumstances."
Thranduil started to say something, but thought better of it. He simply shook his head slightly and took a draught of soup, ignoring its hotness.
"Captain Tauriel, you have an unsurpassed talent for stubbornness." He told her. "However, as I have already stated to you multiple times, this is not your concern, and you cannot help."
"And as I told you," Tauriel shot back, "I am making it my concern, and I wish to help."
The Elvenking's knuckles turned white on the handle of the mug, his jaw clenching as irritation started to turn to anger. He set his mug on the side table, and sat up.
"Captain Tauriel," He said, his voice carefully controlled, "What day is today?"
"The twenty-third day of summer, lord," Tauriel replied.
"Correct." Thranduil said, getting to his feet. "And according to the history of the Woodland Elves, what happened to mark this particular day?"
Tauriel wracked her brain for an answer, as the silver-haired Elf walked in a slow circle around her expectantly.
"I do not know, lord." She admitted at last. Thranduil halted in front of her, a small storm brewing in his blue eyes.
"Of course you would not," He agreed. "It was several centuries before you were born."
He moved around her to take another sip of soup, and didn't seem inclined to speak further.
"What happened, then?" Tauriel demanded, irritated now. If he knew, why wasn't he telling her?
The Elvenking set down his mug, and turned to glare at her.
"Today marks the cleansing of Mount Gundabad in the Second Age." He told her. "To you, that means nothing. But for me, it was the day my world ended."
Cold reality finally hit Tauriel as she saw the brightness in Thranduil's eyes.
"Oh, Thranduil…" She murmured, setting her mug on the table and wrapping her arms around his broad chest. She pressed her cheek against the whiteness of his tunic, whispering, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
The Elvenking clutched the Silvan Elf tightly to him as though she were his lifeline, burying his face in the crook of her neck and allowing grief to wash over him like a tidal wave.
"For a time, I had hoped it would get easier as the centuries passed," He breathed, voice hitching slightly, "But I was wrong. Each year, I feel the pain as clearly as I did that day."
Tauriel kept her arms wrapped around him as he trembled silently, all his grief and anxiety escaping and being replaced by the warmth of the She-Elf. To her mild surprise, she felt wetness on her shoulder, but didn't loosen her grip.
After several minutes, Thranduil managed to scrape up some control of himself. He stepped back slightly, though his eyes were still bright and his cheek damp.
"I apologize for my behavior, mela." He said, voice slightly rasping. "Before, I had Legolas to console with, but now that I do not, I allowed my grief to be expelled in anger. I am sorry."
"It is no issue, lord," Tauriel managed a smile. "I was the same after Dale. I will always be ready to listen, lord. You know that."
Thranduil leaned down to brush his lips across her cheek.
"As will I, mela. Thank you."
Also, I know this is insanely late, but mela is the Elvish term for 'love,' so when Thrandy says something like, "Hello, mela," He's basically saying "Hello, love," Just to clarify...after nine chapters T_T
On a side note, reading reviews make me smile :D I was looking back to see who had suggested a story like this, and I started reading down the list and I'm still smiling typing this...not strange at all! :D Thank you to all my reviewers! I see all your suggestions, and I'm constantly thinking up stories to go with them, so don't worry-chances are, your suggestion will probably end up as a chapter!