So, hi...! It's me again, EmberSoot.

Contrary to appearances, this story has not gone away, and nor have I! But a lot has happened personally... the end of a relationship, the start of a job, several moves, it's a whole thing. I want you to know, however, that every now and then, I will see a review posted on this work and it will encourage me to try pick it up once more. Like I've said before, I do have the whole thing plotted (!).

I haven't written for fun in a long time. And I don't know about you, but I sure could use a good distraction right about now.

Louise, thank you for your review from last year—I take it very much to heart. And thanks to my anonymous recent Guest for your kind words. It might just be the kick in the pants that I need to jumpstart this project again.

I went to open what I had saved of this file, and was pleased to find that I'd saved a whole ready-to-post chapter for whoever is interested. haven't been sleeping lately, and if you can't either, well... here you go! Enjoy!

I clutched a sheaf of music to my chest and made my way through the soaring halls of Mirkwood to the audience chamber.

Life had continued at court, though at a slower pace. As Legolas continued to improve, I began spending more time down in the music library and in the audience chamber entertaining my kin. It was comforting to immerse myself in music, songs, and poetry, making a study of all I discovered. The busyness of it seemed to help, and there was something gratifying about working a piece up and then presenting it as a finished product. Narrative is, after all, inherently fascinating to most beings.

A few times, I sought out Hamalitia and took maintenance lessons in voice and instruments so I could keep up on my technique. The goal was perfection. Flawlessness. Peerlessness. Thranduil Opherion deserved nothing less.

On this particular day, I was headed to a function in the audience chamber, and I noticed once again that there seemed to be more elfkin bustling about than usual. Generally, this connoted that we were preparing for guests of some kind.

Then it struck me that the Winter Solstice celebration was almost upon us.

I loved this particular holiday.

Though I'd been born in Lothlorien, I'd spent enough winters at the Court of Mirkwood to know how the next few days would go. Several guests would be invited, and the halls would be transformed into a bower of holly and ivy. My kin would consume large amounts of spiced cider and ginger cakes. There would be singing and dancing. And, perhaps best of all, we would observe—with no small ceremony—the bright new constellations appearing to mark the season.

The year had gone so fast, and the days were short now.

I casually asked Ayduin after I arrived in the audience chamber—early; not many other elfkin had arrived there yet—just who he thought we might be hosting this time.

"This time?" he asked quizzically.

"For the Winter Solstice celebration," I added. "Who is coming to court to make merry with us?"

He smoothed one of the tablecloths deftly down and tugged at the corners to make sure it lay flat. "Ah," he replied. "The guest list isn't finalized yet. But I think we last landed on inviting a contingent of Rivendell elves… the House of Elrond Half-Elven, you know. More than that, I cannot tell you for certain. There were some whisperings of perhaps having a group from the White City, as well."

"The White City?" I asked. "In Gondor? Minas Tirith?"

"Yes, indeed," he answered. "It is my understanding that the royal family maintains relationships with the sons of Gondor and wishes to strengthen ties there."

I was puzzled. "For what purpose? Trade?"

"Who can say?" Ayduin said, shrugging. "Thranduil King has acquaintances among the sons of men, I know. Relationships he formed during the war. Perhaps he wishes to rekindle old friendships."

"Perhaps."

Courtiers were beginning to fill up the chamber. Luncheon would be served soon, and I would be expected to perform. I had prepared eight or nine pieces that I knew would be appropriate for mealtime conversation, and another twelve that were possibilities depending on how the atmosphere of the room changed. It occurred to me that perhaps another elleth in my position might not be as sensitive to the emotional cast of the room in a social situation… the thought made me hold my head up a little straighter. The training I'd been granted truly was exemplary.

A pair of ellyn in the king's patrol hauled the double doors open at the far end of the chamber, and those in attendance stood as the king swept in.

He was magnificent. Today, his robes were a shifting, changeable bronze, and his spiked crown bore brilliant sprigs of holly. His long, white-blond locks fell shimmering to his waist. I'd had the privilege of interacting with both the king and the prince so much in the last few weeks that I'd misremembered how formidable Thranduil's visage could be.

He made his way through the chamber and to the dais as the rest of the court paid silent obeisance. I bowed to him as well, cheating a look up at him through my eyebrows—but he didn't seem to notice me. Slowly and silently, Thranduil Elvenking took his place at his great carven throne.

Just before the food was served, he cleared his throat and stood.

"Majesty?" Ayduin inquired, a worried frown creasing his face.

"I wanted to extend my grateful thanks to the court for their assistance and kind attention," the king began, addressing us all. "This has been a trying time. My son is still healing—but I am happy to report that he improves every day. It is due in no small part to the care and support we have received from those who attend us, and for that, I thank you."

Those present in the audience chamber murmured their acknowledgement in a collective, wordless hum.

"Also," continued the king. "I would like you to be made aware that over the new few weeks, we will be hosting guests here at court for our Winter Solstice celebration. Several of Elrond's kin will be in attendance, and we will also be pleased to entertain a group of menfolk from Gondor. They are my old friends from the war—and among them are those with whom Legolas claims acquaintance. In the coming days, preparations will get underway for the visit, so you are expected to cooperate with any servant or director who may request your assistance. Is this understood?"

An ellon near me mumbled, "Yes, my King," but I also heard, "Of course, Highness," and other indications of assent echoing throughout the room. Satisfied, Thranduil nodded to the hall at large and took his seat once more.

At that point, servants flooded the chamber, bearing platters laden with fine repast. Quail, duck eggs, calves' liver, parsnips, and figs stood out prominently among the offerings, but there must have been dozens of different dishes served that evening. I had learned long ago as a much younger elleth that it was folly to attempt to taste everything on the menu at a single meal in Mirkwood.

Once everyone was served, I took my lute from the corner where it lived and strode—confidently, I hoped—toward the front of the chamber to play. At one point, I caught the king's eye and gave him a tentative smile, but he simply regarded me with those crystal blue eyes. Icy. Impassive.

No matter. Others were waiting for me. I strummed a few chords on my lute, and then began to sing.

Twig and vine have lost their blood—

Shorter have the days become—

Dark the rivers, still the wood—

Thick the clouds and cold the sun!

In the mire of winter's grip—

In the dearth of green and new—

Clearest springs will cease their drip—

Heavy skies forsake their blue!

Here in hearths of wood and stone—

Merry blazes banked and fed—

Chase the cold that chills the bone—

Dressed in hues of gold and red—

Wind and snow will howl in vain—

O'er the peace of this fine hall—

Through the season's icy reign—

Gentle kinship keep us all!

The applause was enthusiastic, but polite. I stole another glance at the Elvenking, but again, his attention was not focused on me at all. A flash of irritation overtook me for a moment, but I mastered it.

His moods were changeable; I knew this.

The rest of the afternoon passed uneventfully. I performed well and then retired to my own rooms, having some leftover repast brought to me from the hall I'd just vacated.

As I chewed on cooling quail and parsnips, I found my mind drifting to Chalia, wondering at what had been happening between us. We'd encountered each other a handful of times since our first meeting and had left each others' company mutually encouraged and satisfied. It wasn't a development I'd ever expected, but that did not follow that it was unwelcome.

As Legolas had improved, I'd had less occasion to spend time in his company, and this strange iciness I was picking up on from the Elvenking made me uneasy. Perhaps it really was best to maintain only a quiet, professional relationship with the royal family. That was what I'd wanted, after all.

Wasn't it?

A pang, then. They had begun to treat me like family, hadn't they, though? Keeping me around, showing concern for my care and development, leaning on me, even, when tragedy had struck. And I missed my own family dearly. For all intents and purposes, I didn't have one—but for Thranduil King and Legolas Thranduilion.

I swallowed. It didn't matter. Chalia and I were affectionate with one another. And I had plenty of friends at court, especially among the court musicians and artisans. I knew how to take care of myself.

Thranduil Elvenking sat in his apartments later that night with a piping bowl of salted beef stew and a glass of good red wine.

With a smile, he thought of his friend Elrond Peredhel and the pleasant times they'd spent together as young ellons. Terrifying times, too, times of strife and war. If all went to plan, it would be an excellent Winter Solstice celebration.

And with any luck, by then the guard would have cleared the forest of the Mirkwood spiders completely.

He took a sip, and a line from Filauria's song raced through his head.

Thick the clouds and cold the sun.

He shrugged uncomfortably at the change even the thought of her roused in his body. He'd withdrawn from her of late—better this way, most likely. There seemed to be quite a lot of interest between the elleth and his son, and he'd decided it were best to step back for the time being. He'd continue to watch how things developed and take his cues from them.

Appraisingly, he gulped a bit more wine. Part of him, the centuries old part, understood that until any of their lives ended, the story was not over. The other, more private bit had begun to despair of ever being able to command her attention.

And the whole time, he laughed at himself for having taken a shine to the royal bard.

He drank until the form of his beautiful wife materialized in the room and sang him to sleep.