EDITED ON 5 MARCH 2015: As I look back on this, I realized that I left a lot of things unexplained and I published a lot of chapters without being completely satisfied by them, so I shall do my best to rectify this situation.

New cover. Yey.

Oh dear. I'm a day late. Sorry. I don't know why, but writing this chapter was hard. And then I sort of cringed when I wrote that the Sindars were known for their golden hair. Shivers.

My response for last week's favorite character question will always remain to be Glorfindel. Oh, Lord Glorfindel, you are the star of my dreams, the light of my heart. I wish Professor Tolkien had kept you as the Elven representative for the Fellowship instead of Legolas, for you will always remain to be my one true love. So why am I writing a Thranduil fic? I don't know.

Alerts, favorites, and reviews are appreciated. Feel free to submit your thoughts and/or questions.

Disclaimer: I don't own The Hobbit, LotR, etc.

Aldamir had never lived idle days such as these. His duty never required physical exertion of any kind, save for perhaps carrying a stack of heavy books or documents here and there. Many argue that the studious nature of a scholar was rather stagnating for the body, but Aldamir was contented so long as his mind never perished.

When he spoke to Areth of restlessness, he did not mean it physically, but rather mentally. As his healer was rather unwilling to talk to him, Areth was the only source of stimulating conversation he had. While he would not willingly voice his reliance on her to perish his boredom, he would not deny the truth to himself. Without his taciturn companion, the Gondorian had only the company of his leather-bound journal and blunt charcoal.

For the past week, Aldamir had been hinting at the pleasure of acquiring new books, even if written in tengwar or another form of ancient runes, but his words were tossed right above his companion's head. He did not believe Areth to be so obtuse, however. He was convinced that she did this only to irritate him.

While the better part of the scholar's strength had returned, the healer Rovain was rather reluctant to release her ward, even if only to walk about the room.

And so, Aldamir really had no choice but to continue scribbling in his leather-bound journal. It was quite fortunate that there were many blank pages left for him to use, but he felt that it was time to acquire a new one.

Aldamir was accompanied by nothing but the faint scratching of the instrument in his hand against the surface of the paper. While his grey eyes did not once falter from the detailed sketch of the Woodland Realm's designs—so very different, he was quick to note, from the Gondorian architecture made of marble and the strongest rocks—the edge of his sight spied a moving shadow. He barely stirred.

"I thought you would have strayed longer," he uttered absently, his lilt but a droll. The guide did ever so like to linger.

"You doubtlessly speak of Areth."

These few words, spoken with a quiet yet firm authority, deep, smooth, and certain, was evidently not from his companion.

Aldamir placed the writing instrument in between the pages and slowly closed the book, his bright grey eyes not once straying from this stranger. He slid the journal beneath his pillow, but not before keen, crystal eyes found caught a glimpse of it.

Unlike the few Silvan Elves that he encountered, the lithe figure before him was different, for he was in possession of golden hair that was common for those of Sindar lineage. Like all Elves, his every movement was natural and with grace, and he seemed to glide even with the hanging robes that framed about his tall figure.

No further propensity was necessary for Aldamir to know that the Elf before him was of great nobility—if not made evident from the fine clothing, then obviously from the air of importance he emitted. Truly, it would have taken less than half a sense to realize that this was the Elven King of the Woodland Realm.

Unlike the wariness that was quick to befall upon his companion's expression upon their first introduction, Thranduil was quick to note that none of the caution was present on this mortal's countenance. His brow narrowed ever so slightly over his shadowed cerulean eyes. The look that the scholar manifested was akin to awe.

And perhaps Aldamir was in awe. The arrival of Elves in Minas Tirith was no wonder in itself, surely, but the fact that Aldamir was allowed the honor of meeting the last Elven King in Middle-earth felt to be such an honor.

"Forgive my unannounced arrival," he uttered evenly. Aldamir seemed to miss the tone of insincerity that suggested that the Elven King was not at all repentant. "My purpose was to seek Areth's presence. She so insists to stay close to you."

"Not at all!" Aldamir exclaimed, suddenly leaning forward, erect and attentive. He cringed at the sound of the overenthusiasm evident in his voice but blamed it instead on the slight twinge of pain evident from the injury of his arm. "Areth mentioned going to the forest for a brief time before the Feast."

The Elven King did not seem at all deterred. No outwardly expression was shown. He did, however, clasp his pale, jewel-adorned fingers together before him, regarding the mortal with his fair chin raised and eyes half-lidded. In the air of indifference that he exhibited, Aldamir had not the slightest inkling as to what was in his mind.

"Today marks the eighteenth sun from the day in which you were brought injured upon my Halls," he uttered softly, factually. His cold eyes piercing, he then continued, "You are free to leave when your injuries heal. "

Aldamir could do nothing but respond in affirmation. He had not actually counted the days, but he took the King's word for it. It was at this moment that the outsider felt a creeping feeling of unease. While the Elven King did not once betray his impassive façade, that one sentence made Aldamir feel as if he were imposing on borrowed time, as if he had already overstayed his welcome.

"I have no further purpose here," the King said with only a hint of a sigh.

Aldamir opened his mouth to respond, but the Sindar turned before he even had the chance to grasp at proper words. With not even a grace of a farewell, he turned and followed the steps from whence he came, his silken robes sweeping behind him.

And so the Gondorian was left feeling more than a bit baffled, but mostly, he felt the flair of indignant offence at being dismissed so quickly. The King had not once attempted to seek his presence in those eighteen days that he resided in the King's Halls, and their first meeting was not even made in the interest of his presence. For all of the virtues she listed, Areth failed to mention how utterly unpleasant King Thranduil was.

Aldamir felt the admiration for the Elven King drop. Suddenly, he did not feel too upset for missing the Great Feast, if it only meant not having to keep the insincere pretense of tolerating the Elven King's company.

Just when she was about to continue strolling past the tall figure, Areth did a double take and halted right before the Silvan Elf, who looked rather abashed to suddenly be noticed. The mortal's brow rose as her green eyes assessed his attire in a rather appreciative manner.

"Don't you look rather debonair," she uttered dryly when her gaze finally met his light eyes. "I almost did not recognize you."

"I'm not quite sure how to take that remark," Ernil said, feeling rather embarrassed as his eyes averted from hers, his grip unconsciously tightening behind his back. "Please do not ridicule me."

"I am doing no such thing," she said, if not defensively.

The Silvan guard exhaled a heavy sigh as he pulled on the closed collar of his tunic, all of fine silk and of elegant making. The light green color radiated a subtle shine very much like the stars that emerged slowly as dusk faded to night. It was rather strange in Areth's eyes to see her friend clad in anything other than his plain yet practical uniform.

"Yes, well, I am wearing this only for the feast," Ernil uttered. Areth almost laughed at the combination of mourn and irritation in his accented voice.

"Why do you dread it so?" Areth said with a questioning brow.

"I do not dread it, truly," he said. With his eyes slightly narrowed, he then looked past Areth's head and quickly turned to glance behind him, looking rather mistrustful as he did so. Leaning forward slightly in a hushed voice, he then uttered, "In truth, I only resent the fact that my father rather forces my attentions on the young ellith that have yet to find a husband."

Areth almost laughed right there, but contained herself. However, she could not stop the slight twitch of her lip that showed her amusement.

"Do not laugh," he admonished with only a hint of embarrassment, once again evading her green eyes that shone with mirth. Catching a glimpse of the fine bow that hung about her back, he stared at it longingly. "I do envy you so," he sighed, "for I would have preferred the company of the trees over that of my father's."

"Endure, Ernil," she said quite solemnly before her lips broke in an unrestrained smile, "But I will not lie. I do find humor in your dilemma."

"Then you are no different from many others," he uttered dryly.

Clapping a pale palm over the smooth cloth of his shoulder, Areth then said, "No sympathies, my friend."

"I thought not," he sighed, "Doubtlessly, you would resent these sorts of formal festivities if forced to act on such a ridiculous charade."

"One of these days, a maiden will catch your eye and you will have to watch your tongue."

"A day that will come far from this moment, I hope."

Areth shook her head but said nothing more. Feeling this to be the end of their conversation, Areth took a step forward towards her intended path, but before she could, Ernil asked, "Will you be present at the feast?"

The mortal's light brow rose slightly before she uttered, "You sound rather hopeful."

Having the decency to look sheepish, he then said, "I had planned to spend my time in your company if it were so, for my father would surely allow me peace if I were guiding the King's guest."

Areth waved away his worries.

"Your company would be most appreciated, as I do not know many who are in attendance."

Ernil looked relieved before once again schooling his features to indifference. Quite suddenly, his light eyes widened ever so slightly as he looked past her and his expression suddenly morphed into dread. One would have thought that peril was looking directly at him.

Without further inclination, the Silvan guard excused himself rather abruptly before turning to the other direction, his pace a contained run. When Areth turned to discreetly look at an unwitting elf maiden, even she could not contain her humor.

Thranduil was no fool. Even with his back turned, he could feel the short stares Areth threw his way. Even if she made herself busy by browsing through the selections on the bookshelf, he knew that she did not give her task any attention at all.

A heaviness hung over the atmosphere, and Thranduil found himself annoyed. He particularly grew to like being in Areth's company because she did not restrain herself from saying what she wanted. However scathing her words, she did not hesitate to let him know. However, this silence was unusual. It was evident that she had something to say.

Areth, however, found herself dwelling over Ernil's words. "Is this hostility the way you treat your host?" he had said. It was spoken with such calmness, and yet, it may have been as good as an accusation. As soon as it had left his mouth, the wanderer felt shame weight her shoulders.

But Ernil did have a point. The King had been nothing but hospitable since their arrival, giving Aldamir the proper care and treating two strangers with the welcome that they were capable of. And while Areth was not particularly fond of the Elven King, she knew that it was not a valid excuse for the distrust that she often threw his way. King Thranduil had been correct in saying that she was determined to think ill of him.

She had been clouded by her distrust and caution that she had been quick to write everyone as her enemy. Had she been so changed by her experiences? As Areth thought of it, she felt a sense of shame of what she had become. So suspicious, so wary.

And yet, Areth would be a fool to trust Thranduil completely. He had sent the Keeper of Keys for a reason. From the beginning, she was certain that Ernil was left in charge of keeping an eye on her. No doubt, he reported everything he found back to his King. It had been the reason why she was cautious of her words around Ernil, but she often found herself enjoying his company despite this. But in his absence, Areth could not be left alone.

The woman closed the book gingerly and stacked it on the growing pile. If friendship was what this King desired, then it was what he will receive. Though, Thranduil would be foolish to accept it completely. Areth had her own agenda.

"Why did you act in such a manner?"

Despite the curtness of her words and briskness of her attitude, Areth did not exhibit unkindness. She was rather irritated, yes, but her quick movements only showed it in such a small extent.

Thranduil's half-lidded eyes regarded her as he took an idle sip from his half-emptied wine glass. Otherwise, he kept his silence. The edge of his lips rose in a hidden smile. And finally, she spoke.

"He commented especially on your irascible attitude," she said mildly. She grabbed a leather-bound novel with a particularly intriguing cover from the shelf. With an absent-minded opinion of approval, she placed it on the small pile on the seat. "'So assuming in his self-importance,' he said, 'that he did not even see it fit to introduce himself by name.'"

"I assume you speak of your Gondorian companion?" Thranduil said absently, feigning ignorance, his voice maintaining its low tremor. Emptying the crystal glass of its contents, he then gently placed it on the surface of the wooden table beside the seats. In truth, he saw no value in Areth's Gondorian friend. What difference did it make to him if he thought him arrogant?

Halting her search for books, she then turned to face the King, her back leaning against the uneven grooves of the bookshelf. She saw the expression of subtle mirth vanish from him face, quickly replaced by his usual impassive countenance.

"I know I should not have gone against Aldamir's confidence by speaking to you of this," she sighed before regarding him with scrutinizing eyes, "But I must ask. Are you alright?"

Areth had learned early on that concern was something entailed in friendship. That was the initial reason as to why she asked, but while she had reservations regarding the King, it did not mean that she was incapable of worry for him.

Surprised, Thranduil could not help but regard her with a raised brow. This was not the aloof, cool facade that she often insisted on using when in his presence. His eyes narrowed slightly in calculation.

"Why would I not be?" he said lowly, if not warily.

If Areth had noticed anything different about her companion, she said nothing about it.

"While I know that you are not incapable of"—Areth paused for a moment, as if attempting to find the right words—"ill manners, I do wonder if Aldamir had evoked such disdain from you." When she continued, her eyes narrowed and she said, "Or do you simply find pleasure in arousing contempt in others?"

"I consider it a side-hobby of mine," he uttered dryly. The crystal glass hid the growing smirk from his lips when he saw a flash of exasperation cross her features.

Areth almost groaned in her irritation. It was evident by the slight twitch of the corner of his mouth that he did this especially to irk her. As if granting her mercy, Thranduil's expression sobered considerably before he finally said, "Your Gondorian friend carries a leather journal with him. Even in the brink of death, he still possesses enough consciousness to write the route to my gates."

Folding her arms about her chest, Areth's eyes unconsciously shadowed when she heard the Elven King's words. With no small amount of bafflement, she uttered slowly, "I do not understand."

With his steps lingering, Thranduil then moved from his position beside the table to stand before Areth. His height seemed to tower over the mortal, especially whilst he was wearing the tall elven crown adorned with dried fruits and autumn leaves.

Touching his pale bottom lip with the length of his long finger, he then admitted, "This Gondorian scholar—he enters my Realm with the expectation of unquestionable welcome. His purpose is purely academic, you say, but knowledge is a rather powerful advantage."

Areth could not help but feel astonished.

"Ernil was not jesting when he spoke of Mirkwood's distrust," she uttered, as if for the first time realizing the extent of Thranduil's reserve, "You have grown so cautious that you suspect all those around you to do your Realm ill."

Areth almost laughed in astonishment. Perhaps she and the King were more alike that she thought.

"Mirkwood," he hissed disdainfully, his fair features morphing into disgust as he spat the word, "What a wretched name. A once great realm, reduced now to nothing but the shadow of its former glory."

"And yet you continue to keep it so dark, thriving in isolation."

"What good is to come from befriending a tyrannical race that inevitably brings nothing but ruin?" he uttered, the features of his fair face not once losing its tension.

A flash of surprise crossed her green eyes. Was he not the one to claim a wish of friendship between them?

"Indeed, what good could it possibly bring?" she uttered ironically, no longer able to keep the mockery separate from her voice.

The Elven King's stormy eyes flashed, and Areth thought that she might have taken her words too far. For a moment, he merely kept Areth's unwavering gaze before his expression lost all trace of its hardened edge. It was a wonder how well he was able to convey such pure and raw emotion just by simply a twist of his features.

His fair face once again smooth with simply a small raise of the corner of his pale lips, he then uttered simply, "But that is different. You are an Elf-friend."

"I am a friend of very few Elves, but I am no Elf-friend," she said. Turning to face him, she said, "Aldamir shows nothing but utter reverence, and yet you turn him away."

"Reverence that derives from a misplaced sense of admiration," the King uttered callously.

"Why are you so quick to dismiss him so?" Areth uttered in her contained frustration, "Was my situation not the same when I first entered your Halls? Was I not a stranger, as well?"

Thranduil brought his hand to her so quickly that for a moment, Areth was sure that his intention was to lay a hand on her. And yet, to the mortal's utter surprise, he only served to brush a strand of pale hair away from her eyes, making sure to avoid contact with her skin. His touch was a gentle caress.

Areth's green eyes narrowed at the King, but he did not seem to pay her any mind, as his cerulean eyes, glazed and far-away, unseeing to anything at the present, was drawn only to her locks. The wanderer stepped to the side to create a distance, and as the strand of hair slipped from Thranduil's fingers, his eyes seemed to gain a sense of recognition.

And yet, he spoke as if nothing had happened.

His thin fingers reaching for a book above her head, his robes brushing against her shoulder, Thranduil then offered it to her. She cautiously accepted.

"I especially favor this one above all else," he commented evenly.

Areth gently placed it at the peak of the small pile of books that she had gathered without so much as looking at it.

The King brought his jewel-clad hand towards her once again—the same one that he had used to take a hold of her hair—only this time to offer her his hand. Areth placed her hand on his with no small amount of wariness, which did not at all seem to deter the Elven King. With only the grasp of his hand, he then led her towards the exit of the library. Areth felt the cool touch of the stone on his ring as he did so.

"Come," he uttered, as if he had given her much of a choice, "We must make our way to the Great Halls."

Areth's pace was in step with his lingering strides, and yet, she looked back at the pile of books left on the seat. Thranduil, always observant, merely glanced at her before dismissing, "I will have someone send it to your Gondorian."

With that final assurance, he then uttered, "But let us proceed to the Feast."

"It is Mereth-nuin-Giliath," Ernil uttered in reverence as he led Areth about the crowded room. In the company of his kin, his speech once again reverted to Sindarin.

So different was the Elven King's Realm from what Areth was used to. Granted, she could really only compare the Halls to the Last Homely House East of the Sea, as she was familiar with no other elven realms, but one would be blind if they were unable to note the differences in their culture. United once as one race, and while still united by kinship, a barrier had long since been created to serve as a gap of separation, only made even more severe by time.

Imladris, in Areth's mind, was the picture of panoramic calm and serenity. While Thranduil's Realm was serene in its ethereal beauty, the Elves that resided within the kingdom were very different from the company that Lord Elrond kept. Much rowdier, Areth noted, and rather quick to be inebriated.

The Inner Halls was grand. As the rest of the Realm, it was held stable by pillars of wood adorned by vine-like designs. It was filled with a long table that was littered with different kinds of foods and beverages that no doubt was a result of the extensive trade from the north. The Elven King took his seat at the high chair, watching over the festivities as his people made merry about the expanse, laughing and dancing, but made no movement to join them.

"The Feast of Starlight," she repeated in the common tongue of the Elves. Looking briefly at the enclosed space above them, she then uttered, "And yet, we do not see the stars shine from above us."

"It has become too dangerous to hold our festivities beyond the Halls," Ernil said almost regretfully.

"I do not doubt it," Areth replied. Glancing about the room absently, she took notice of the Prince's absence. Amongst the auburn hair of the Silvan Elves, only Thranduil's crowned head stood due to its lightness in color. And so, she inquired.

"Prince Legolas much prefers the company of the trees over the Elves of the court," Ernil explained. With not attempt to hide the longing from his deep voice, he then said, "He is most likely patrolling the southern borders with my captain."

Seeming to have caught sight of something dreadful, for Ernil's faced morphed into slight panic, he then turned Areth so abruptly that she lost her footing and almost collided with two dancing Elves. The Silvan guard had the decency to look apologetic when Areth glared at him.

"Ionneg," an unfamiliar voice called over the din of the feast.

"Eru an edraith enni," Ernil breathed quietly, his words uttered as a prayer. Releasing Areth's arm and turning, he then plastered on a polite smile and brought his height to confidence. Clasping his hands behind his back, he then said, "Father. Mae l'ovannen."

Before Areth stood a tall Silvan Elf that emitted a loud presence despite the quiet of his nature, which much differentiated Ernil from his father. He was in the company of two other auburn-haired elves. Areth could only imagine the many centuries they spent on this earth, all the roles they played in the making of its history. The Elves did not much differ from one another in appearance, and yet, to Areth, the elders expressed a different air that much more resembled the impression she was left with whenever she was with Thranduil.

Though this Elf was Ernil's father, Areth thought that his features were closer in similarity to the elleth that stood tall beside him. Too lost was she in her contemplation that she failed to notice his scrutiny.

"I am quite blind to the resemblance," he uttered finally. Areth's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, but she gave no response. Her glare was not lost to him. However, he merely introduced himself as Morhir, the father of Ernil and husband of Erithiel.

As proper custom of the Elves, Areth placed her palm to her chest and inclined her head in slight before offering her name.

"Yes, I know," Morhir said in a simple response. Gesturing absently to the Elves behind him, he then said, "The apprentice from the Western lands of our kin. We are well aware of your presence in the Woodland Realm. So rare do we receive guests from foreign lands."

"Indeed, from the great race of Men, no less," said another, one who had introduced himself as Melhros. Areth identified him to be the Elf with a rather dreamy, whimsical manner that much differed from Elves of his age and social standing. "Tell me, how fares Rohan?"

"The same as it has been since the beginning of Fengel's inherited leadership," Areth uttered, if not hiding the extent of her resentment.

Morhir raised a single brow in question. Taking a small sip of the wine in his hands, he then said, "Forgive me for saying so, but you seem rather bitter of your king."

"Not her king, surely," uttered Melhros in a dreamy sigh, as if Morhir had suggested something completely illogical, "With the amount of contempt she speaks when regarding this King Fengel, you should know that he is not in Lady Areth's good favor."

Not at all fazed by his brother's words, he then said, "You know well enough that I rarely concern myself with affairs beyond our realm. It is hard enough managing the details of Greenwood's safety—surely you do not expect me follow the political disputes of Men."

"Indeed," another joined in unexpectedly. A grim-faced elf, he then added with no short amount of condescension, "Raising troublesome affairs seems to be the specialty of Men. It would be hard to keep track of them all."

Areth's shadowed green eyes narrowed only slightly. Showing her irritation, of course, would do her no good in the company of these Elves and would only succeed in admitting her defeat. However, Areth could not seem to stop herself.

"And I suppose that you are far too great to involve yourself in anything so trivial as my race."

"What use is there in doing so?" he dismissed rather airily, raising his empty cup in dismissal, "These kingdoms of Men—they are short-lived. Involving our kind in such affairs will result in nothing, for their realm will fall and ours will remain."

"When the time comes in which the world will burn," Areth uttered, her eyes flashing, "do you truly believe that the flames will not take you with it? Are you truly so naïve as to believe that you can live in the ashes of those who perished?"

"Insolent child," he uttered, the condescension in his voice not once faltering, "Sheltered in your views and limited in your ways. What a young race—so quick to claim the answers to the world's mysteries after only one small burn from its fire."

She clenched her fists—it was all she could do to stop herself from saying something regretful. How dare he? Insolent, he had called her, and yet this stranger had been the rude enough to intervene in their conversation.

"For all of the years blessed upon you, I dare say that you yourself have claimed so few," she said stiffly, attempting to be as calm as she could.

The Elf colored before an ill-conceived fury crossed his features. Tipping his head back, he drank the last drop of wine from the glass. Sending her a last withering glare, he turned and walked away.

The smile on Melhros' face seemed to have grown larger. He raised his own glass to her and suppressed a laugh. He was never particularly fond of that Elf.

Morhir allowed himself a short laugh before uttering, "Now I really cannot see the resemblance."

Areth suddenly felt suffocated. Inclining her head at the others, she quietly asked for their pardon as she excused herself.

"Forgive Alagos, mellon nin," said Melhros called after her as she left. "He cannot control his tongue when affected by his beverage."

From his seat the head of the table, the Elven King watched with cool eyes filled with intrigue as his guest left his counselors for the nearest exit.

"She unwittingly managed to capture the attention of the wisest members of the High Council," he murmured.

Beside him, Ernil merely nodded. In truth, he was rather grateful, if only to divert his father's attention from himself. His brow narrowed over his eyes upon seeing the solemn expression on his friend's face as watched the mortal break away from the others. Had something upset her?

"Melhros seemed particularly taken with her," the Elven King commented evenly, idly crossing his legs and resting his chin on his closed knuckles.

"Uncle was always interested in the race of Men," Ernil responded.

His cerulean eyes straying from the mortal woman, he then looked to the Silvan guard and, silent enough to ensure only Ernil's ears and loud enough to be heard over the din of the festivities, uttered, "I need you and your troops to replace Legolas' command for tonight. My son told me of additional disturbances beyond those foul creatures that stray from Dol Guldur."

"Yes, my Lord."

"Have a care in your steps, Ernil. The trails that you will follow were made by Men."

Ernil inclined his head in acquiesce.