When Bard and Marie reached the Elvish command tent in the middle of the city, they were surprised to see an Elf standing there with a horse and a picnic basket. They glanced at each other in confusion, then Bard shrugged and walked into the tent. Marie followed.

The Elves had wasted no time setting up their furniture in the tent. Thranduil's wooden throne was already placed at the head of the tent, and a handful of tables and other things were arranged around the sides of the tent. A large, wooden table was in the center, right before the throne.

And sitting in the throne was none other than Thranduil. The Elvenking raised an eyebrow as they approached him. "So will you fight with us?" he asked coolly.

Bard and Marie shared a look, then nodded. "We will," Bard said.

Thranduil didn't seem surprised. "Good," he agreed. "Now leave."

Marie raised an eyebrow. "Come again?" she requested. Bard seemed just as confused.

The Elvenking nodded. "I'll handle the war preparations," he told her. "I give you my word. Take the rest of the day off."

Bard hesitated. "But..." he trailed off.

"But nothing," Thranduil interrupted. "I've had a picnic and a horse prepared for you. Find a place with a nice view and relax. I insist."

Marie and Bard shared a look, hesitant about leaving. But then, when they saw that Thranduil wouldn't let them get out of this, Marie nodded. "Alright," she agreed.

Thranduil gestured to the flap of the tent. "Your horse awaits," he said.

Marie gave Thranduil a small smile of thanks and walked out of the tent. Bard reached out and clapped Thranduil on the shoulder. "Thank you," he told him.

He turned to follow Marie out the door, but Thranduil stood. "Bard," he said. The Dragon-slayer stopped and turned around to face him. "Marie is a special woman."

Bard smiled. "I know she is," he agreed.

Thranduil walked closer to Bard and placed a hand on his shoulder. "It takes a special type of woman to be a queen," he told him.

The smile slid from Bard's face. "Queen?" he repeated. "What do you mean?"

Thranduil raised an eyebrow. "Don't tell me you don't see it," he stated. "When this is over, your people are going to name you King of Dale." Bard began to protest, but Thranduil held up a finger to silence him. "Trust me, they will. And trust me again when I say that the years will be long and the duties hard, but it will be easier if you have a queen at your side."

Bard grimaced ruefully. "Thranduil, I'm not exactly sure what you're getting at," he admitted.

The Elvenking gave him a look. "Yes you do," he told him. "You love Marie."

Bard stared at him blankly. "I... I what?" he asked.

Thranduil crossed his arms. "Everyone sees it, Bard," he said. "And everyone sees that she loves you too. I don't say this often, but what you have with her is something real. Take my advice and don't let her slip away. You'll only regret it."

But Bard didn't say anything at first, just stared at the Elvenking in disbelief. Then he sighed and sat down on a chair against the wall, putting his head in his hands. "I know," he admitted, his voice agonized. "I do; I love her." He looked up at the Elvenking. "After I killed the dragon I was stuck in Laketown. She came back for me, Thranduil. That's when I knew. But..."

Thranduil raised an eyebrow. "But what?" he asked.

Bard grimaced. "I... I can't," he said. "My wife-"

"Your wife is gone," Thranduil interrupted bluntly. Bard flinched, and Thranduil placed a hand on the Dragon-slayer's shoulder. "It's time to move on."

Bard didn't reply, only put his head back in his hands. He didn't know what to make of the emotions suddenly rushing through him. It was obvious to him now that he loved Marie; he couldn't deny it anymore. These few days that he had spent with her had made him far happier than he had been in the past few years without his wife. She would want that for him. He could hear her voice in his ear almost as clearly as if she were actually there, even though she had been gone for eight years. You've moped around for long enough, you sentimental idiot. Listen to the Elf. It's time for you to be happy again.

Forgive me, he thought guiltily. Then he looked up at Thranduil.

"You're right," he agreed. "She would want this. She would want me to be happy."

If Bard didn't know Thranduil better, he would say that the Elvenking had a hint of a smile on his face. "Don't worry about things here," he said. "She's waiting."

Bard clapped Thranduil on the shoulder and gave him a small smile of thanks. Then, without another word, he turned and headed out of the tent.

Marie was holding the picnic basket and standing by the horse, eyeing it suspiciously. But when she saw Bard coming, a broad grin spread across her face. "What took you so long?" she asked.

Any feelings of guilt or uncertainty that Bard had about this disappeared with the sight of Marie's smile, which was like sunlight parting gray storm clouds. He smiled back, confident now that he was doing the right thing. "Thranduil needed to tell me something," he explained. "Let's go." He smirked at her. "That is, of course, if you're not too scared of the horse."

She scoffed. "I may not like horses, Bard the Bowman, but I know how to keep my seat on one," she told him.

Bard grinned as he mounted one of the horses, the white stallion that he had ridden to Erebor just moments ago. "Let's put that to a test, shall we?" he challenged.

Marie raised an eyebrow at him, but then they both burst out laughing as Bard held out a hand to her. She took it, and he pulled her up onto the horse behind him, her arms wrapping around his waist. In a moment, they were tearing through the streets of Dale, hair flying in the wind as they raced out of the city.

He would never forget his wife, he knew that. She would still be there, in his heart and mind, and in his children's as well. But he could move on. And that was what he planned to do.

000

When he saw Bard and Marie riding away, Elros ducked into the command tent. "Sir?" he asked. "Did it work?"

But he paused when he saw Thranduil sitting on his throne, his head in his hands and silent tears streaming down his face. Wordlessly, Elros left the tent, leaving before his king yelled at him for entering without invitation.

Unbeknownst to him, Elros actually didn't have anything to worry about. Thranduil hadn't even noticed that the Captain of the Guard had been there; instead, he was too busy thinking of his conversation with Bard. Your wife is gone, he had told the Bowman. It's time to move on.

She would want me to be happy, Bard had said.

For the first time in a while, Thranduil began to doubt himself. His own wife had died, just as Bard's had, and just like the Bowman he had yet to get over her death. All the words that he had said to Bard applied to him as well. And just now, seeing the peace in Bard's eyes when he had let go of his wife, and the happiness that he felt with Marie... It made Thranduil realize that he needed to move on.

But he wasn't sure if he was ready.

000

Sigrid looked up as she heard the thundering of hooves, and she quickly pulled Bain and Tilda out of the streets. In another second, a white stallion galloped past them, as fast as the wind.

"Is that... Da?" Bain asked in disbelief.

"And Marie!" Tilda exclaimed. She jumped up and down and started waving after the horse, which was by now far off in the distance. "Hi Da! Hi Marie!"

Bain frowned thoughtfully, trying to figure out what was going on. "Maybe they're out on some official business?" he guessed.

Sigrid shook her head. "No, I don't think so," she said. "Da was... well... he seemed happy." It was true; in the split second that they had seen their father, with his hair thrown back with the wind, there had been a light in his eyes and a presence behind his smile that she hadn't truly seen in a while. Not since their mother died. It made him seem younger, less burdened with the troubles of life.

"Isn't it obvious?" Tilda asked. "Marie's going to be our new mommy!" She looked up at them. "Right?"

The two older siblings shared a look, and Sigrid realized that Tilda was probably right. Then she smiled; if there was anybody who deserved their da, it was Marie. He had made the right choice.

"I think so, Tilda," Sigrid answered. "I think so."

"I hope so," Bain added.

000

So that was how, as the people of Laketown salvaged the city of Dale for old weapons and armor that had been left behind, Bard and Marie found themselves seated on the grassy slopes of the Lonely Mountain, looking down at the Lake and the remains of the town that had once been their home. It was a breathtaking view, with the grass swaying gently in the light breeze and the bright sun above causing the lake to glitter like gems. The sky was clear and blue, fading off into the horizon. Their horse stood a little ways off from them, grazing happily. With Dale and Erebor concealed behind the slopes of the mountain, the inevitable battle seemed far off as they sat there, eating the food that Thranduil had packed for them.

"I have to admit, Thranduil knows how to pack a picnic," Marie told Bard as she took a bite of her roll of bread.

Bard grinned at her, also holding a roll. "He does," he agreed. "The rose was a nice touch."

Marie reached up and touched the rose that Bard had tucked behind her ear when they had found it in the picnic basket. "I wonder what he's trying to do with this," she commented.

He raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Sending us on a picnic, giving us a rose, only packing one bottle of wine," she listed. "I could go on, if you wanted."

Bard grinned at her and drank from the wine bottle. "The wine is quite good, though," he pointed out. He held out the bottle to her.

Marie had a feeling that he was avoiding the question, but she decided to let it slide, since it seemed like he was nervous about something. The thought of the war probably had him on edge. She took the bottle and drank from it as well. "You're right, it is," she agreed. "I've always rather enjoyed Elvish wine."

He took the bottle back from her. "I've actually never tried it," he admitted. "I spent every day of the last few years of my life ferrying the empty barrels from the River Running back to Laketown, though."

She grinned at him. "I forgot," she said. "You were a bargeman before all of this started."

Bard nodded. "I was," he agreed.

Marie raised an eyebrow. "How did you get into that, anyway?" she asked. "I can't imagine you setting out with the sole purpose of being a bargeman."

He laughed. "I didn't," he agreed. "My wife's father was a boat-maker, and before we were married he sold me a boat for practically nothing- he knew we were going to get married, and he wanted to make sure that I had a good job going before we did. So I became a bargeman. It was supposed to just be temporary, until I was able to get another job, but..." He shrugged. "This is Laketown. Jobs are few. So I stuck with it, and I kept looking out for other options. But then my wife died." He paused, trying to control his emotions, and Marie placed a hand on his. He gave her a small smile in return. "I just lost all motivation. I was a bargeman, and I thought that was all I would ever be."

She smiled at him, trying to cheer him up. "And here you are now," she said. "Slayer of Smaug the Terrible and leader of the forces of Men." She nudged him playfully. "Some people say that you'll become king when this is over. Should I start calling you Your Majesty?"

Bard grimaced and shook his head. "I'm not going to become king," he told her. "And even if I were, I wouldn't want people to call me Your Majesty, especially not you." He looked at her earnestly. "You're one of my most valued friends, Marie, not my subject."

For a second they were silent, but there was an energy between them, one that was so intense that it seemed like Marie could reach out and touch it. But then Bard laughed and looked away, breaking the silence. "Of course, that's only if I become king," he said. "Which I won't. I don't want power. I've seen what it does to people- people like your uncle." He glanced at her to make sure that he hadn't offended her, but she just nodded. "I'm scared of what I'll become." He raised an eyebrow. "What do you think I should do?"

Marie sighed and glanced out at the grassy slopes and the Lake below them. "I think that you shouldn't worry about it right now," she told him. "I think that you should just enjoy this moment right now."

Bard laughed. "You're right," he agreed. "I worry too much, don't I?"

She grinned at him. "A bit," she replied. "But that's a good thing."

He nudged her. "So what about you?" he asked. "What did you want to be?"

Marie shrugged. "I don't really know, honestly," she admitted. "I guess I always wanted to help people. Back in Edoras I would spend a lot of time in the healer's houses, but I didn't want to be a healer. Then when I moved here, I became-"

She cut herself off when she realized what she had been about to say. I became the Lady. She had almost told him her secret.

That darned Bowman... It was too easy for her to talk to him, to lose herself in his easy smile and warm gray eyes. She had almost told him her biggest secret, the one that she was determined not to tell anyone.

Yet maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing to tell Bard. It wasn't like she had broken any laws- or at least, any laws that he would have an issue with. She had helped the people. He of all people would understand that. And she trusted him unlike anybody else she had ever met throughout her life. He trusted her, too.

And that, Marie suddenly realized, was why she couldn't tell him about being the Lady. He trusted her, and Bard was someone who gave his trust only to the people who earned it. If he found out that she had kept this big a secret from him, he would feel like she had betrayed him. Even though she knew that it was the right thing to tell him, she didn't want to lose his friendship. In general she wasn't a selfish person, but about this...

Well, something about Bard was different. Something about him made her happier than she had ever been. If Grotha was right, then it was love.

Was it? Maybe.

"Marie?" Bard asked. "Are you alright?"

She shook her head to clear it. "Yeah," she replied. "I'm fine. Sorry. I'm just thinking."

He reached out and brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "You look pretty when you think," he told her. Marie's eyes widened in surprise, not having expected that, and she looked away. Every instinct that she had told her to say something back, anything to keep the conversation going, but her mind froze, and she couldn't think of anything.

Bard cleared his throat awkwardly, misinterpreting the silence. "So, um, what are you planning to do after the war?" he asked. He grinned. "Assuming that we're still alive, of course."

Marie frowned. "I don't know, actually," she answered. "I never thought about it. It seems so far away." She sighed. "I guess I'll stay here until everything is settled. Then I might go back to Rohan, reconnect with my mother's family now that I'm ready to make my own way in the world. Or I might stay here, I don't know." She glanced at him. "What about you?"

He grinned teasingly. "Well, I guess becoming king is a possibility," he said jokingly. The smile slid from his face, and he glanced out at the Lake. "Honestly, I don't know. I can't see myself staying here in Dale, but I can't see myself leaving either."

She smiled at him. "Well, I guess we just won't know together, right?" she replied.

Bard smiled back. "Aye," he agreed. "That's a plan."

For a few seconds, neither of them said anything, but then Marie glanced at Bard. "You're handsome when you think," she ventured uncertainly. Bard looked up sharply, startled, but then he smiled at her.

They stayed there on the slopes of the Lonely Mountain long after they had finished Thranduil's food, talking and laughing together. Marie couldn't remember the last time that she had enjoyed herself as much as she had that afternoon with Bard. It was the calm before the storm of war hit them, and hit them hard.

But as the hours progressed, she gradually was forced to consider the possibility Grotha had been right, that Marie had feelings for Bard that were far beyond friendship. She couldn't identify exactly when she had stared to feel that way, but she knew it for sure now, as he laid with his head upon her lap and she ran her fingers through his hair.

Suddenly, when the sun was sinking lower and lower into the sky, there was the sound of horse hooves coming from the south. Bard sat up quickly, and the two of them watched as a horse shot past them a few yards away. On his back seemed to be an old man with scraggly long hair, dressed in gray robes and holding a tall staff.

"He's going to Dale," Marie realized.

Bard instantly started standing up. "We should get back," he said. "We've been away for too long." He turned around and held out a hand to her.

Marie grinned at him as she stood up on her own. "It was worth it, though," she pointed out.

He smiled back. "It was," he agreed. "I'm glad we were able to do this."

She nodded. "Me too," she replied. She nudged him. "Now let's go. We have business to get to."

000

Meanwhile, the people of Dale were still hard at work preparing for war, sharpening swords and collecting supplies. As an old man in gray robes galloped through the streets on his horse, they jumped out of the way to avoid getting run over. "Let me through!" he shouted, sounding irritated. "Make way!"

He reached the center of town and dismounted, looking around with surprise at the men drilling with swords and companies of Elves marching by. As he stood there, Alfrid stormed up to them, his nose scrunched up in distaste. "No, no, NO!" he yelled. "Oi! You- pointy hat!"

The old man turned around, looking at Alfrid with the same expression that the greasy-haired man was giving him. "Yes, you!" Alfrid exclaimed. "We don't want no tramps, beggars, nor vagabonds around here! We got enough trouble without the likes of you! Off you go! On your horse!"

But Gandalf the Grey Wizard had dealt with worse than a whiny Laketowner, and he hadn't come all the way here to be turned away. "Who's in charge here?" he demanded.

As if on cue, there was the sound of horse hooves coming the same from the same way that Gandalf had just come from. Both Gandalf and Alfrid turned to see a white stallion galloping towards them. On his back were two riders; one was a long, dark-haired young man wearing a dun-colored coat, and holding onto his waist was a young woman with slightly-wavy blond hair and piercing green eyes who held herself with remarkable grace, despite the fact that she seemed rather uncomfortable on a horse.

The man pulled the horse to a stop in front of Gandalf, and both of them looked down at him, sizing him up.

"Who's asking?" the man said.