Hello, friends! And welcome to a chapter filled with Areth/Thranduil! Thank you guys for everything, and I hope that everyone's doing well. I'll try responding to every review. And also, thank you for the Thranduil/OC suggestions! Some of them I like, some I didn't, and I thank you for all of them. I haven't had the time to read each one, though.

Also: I'm making a raffle thing in which I'll be choosing a random reader who'd either reviewed from chapter 7+ or PMd me and writing a special ol' something for them that won't be included in the fic. It's just a way of thanks because I feel sad that I can't do any more to show appreciation. So, if you want a chance, go ahead PM me or whatnot. There's a poll on my profile as to what kind of scene you want. (:

Disclaimer: Tolkien Estate owns all Middle-Earth related stuff. I'm actually not sure about who owns the LotR copyrights right now, but it sure as hell ain't me.

The darkness seemed to prevail in the isolated Elven realm. The thick trees of Mirkwood Forest made it nearly impossible for Areth to find anything beyond the dark leaves. From where she stood, everything in the path was covered in some kind of layer of white snow, but beyond that, she saw nothing, for the shadow darkened all in the kingdom.

Apart from her light breathing, Mirkwood Forest was absolutely silent. The wind was still, and the running water was frozen. And yet, despite the unrelenting darkness, Areth could not help but find beauty in it.

Pulling her cloak tighter about her form, Areth sighed, and her warm breath was made a visible whiteness against the cold air. Her forest eyes, bright and lively, shifted upwards, but black was all she could see.

"I cannot see the stars," she murmured quietly.

The King of the realm hummed in silent acknowledgment before taking a slow step closer. Despite wearing only his usual attire of a loose robe and his silk wrap, Thranduil did not at all seem bothered by the winter chill.

"The tall trees cast their shadows, but not enough to consume the light given by Elbereth," he said, his quiet lilt clear and deep.

Recently, Areth found that she became much keener on Thranduil's companionship. She remembered the early days when she could hardly tolerate their conversations. Glancing sideways at the King, she marveled at how far they came.

She found herself secretly enjoying the mere sound of his voice. Areth's brow furrowed slightly as she shifted her gaze once again to the dark forest before her. Still, the mortal could not help but hold a worrying thought that perhaps she was stepping over a line that was not meant to be crossed.

"Only to the keen eyes of the Elves," she finally uttered.

Tilting his head slightly, Thranduil regarded her with searching, blue eyes. Areth would not turn her gaze in his direction, however, and stubbornly, her eyes were drawn away to the depths of the shadows. Unexpectedly taking a hold of her hand, the edge of his lip pulled lightly into a small smirk, for it succeeded in shifting her forest gaze. He then gently placed her cold palm on the crook of his arm.

Areth stiffened, but forced her muscles to lax. She had half the mind to pull away, but she merely gripped his arm tighter. The wanderer unconsciously drifted closer to his side in an attempt to escape the chill of the winter.

Clearing her throat, she then said, "Seldom do I see you wander beyond the palace."

"The air was stifling," said Thranduil. Intending to lead her about the palace perimeters at a lingering pace, he then continued, "Elves are not meant to be forever caged in the heart of built walls."

"Surely it cannot be better out here than in there. Have you grown tired of the Council?"

"That, as well," he conceded. Sending her a short glance from the corner of his vision, he then said, "It is fortunate, indeed, that I stumbled upon your company to relieve my plight."

"Yes, my King," Areth said dryly, "for I only exist to serve the ruler of this realm."

Thranduil allowed himself a quiet smile. Had she been a stranger, he would have mistaken her words as insolence. However, as their friendship grew, he now understood the quick dryness of her humor. This was the Areth he knew.

"I am flattered by such dedication of your servitude to the throne," the Elven King said evenly with equal dryness. Glancing at her from the corner of his vision, a sparkle of humor could be seen in his crystal blue eyes. "But I have grown tired of hearing that title."

"You are a king, are you not?"

"That may be so," he conceded. Casting a subtle yet sly glance, he then said, "But then am I also yours?"

Areth paused, her mouth dropping slightly as if she could not think quickly enough to gather the words for a proper response. Looking up at him, she observed the subtle humor that was underlying in his careful farce. Purposefully keeping her expression deadpanned, Areth then shook her head with a light chuckle and uttered, "Incorrigible."

It was then that Thranduil could maintain his façade no more, and so he allowed his mask to crack with a smile and a small laugh—one that was swallowed quietly by the still air. In a half-hearted attempt at placation, he then said, "I jest."

"I did not think that you were capable of such a thing."

The mortal regarded the Elven King quietly whilst his attention was drawn away. His sudden words had drawn a quick pang of worry, but after realizing that they were meant innocently, the feeling was fast to dissipate. Areth drew a quiet breath.

"I beg you not to tell anyone in fear of damaging my repute as the…" he paused, gesturing airily with his hand, pretending to have lost the grasp of his words. "What was it? The irascible Elven King?"

"The One forbid you to be held in a lighter esteem by your subjects," she uttered wryly, her Western lilt ever ironically flat. She looked up at him from the side of her vision and said, "Please do not fault me for that, as I repeat only what I hear."

"And yet you would not say so if you yourself deem it untrue."

Areth only smiled at him, and he could not help but return it. Perhaps Thranduil was guilty of enjoying this light banter far too much than he should. And yet, he could not find it in himself to care. How long it had been since he was regarded with such ease, he could not say.

"You must admit that you are not the happiest person to walk upon this land."

"There are seldom things to be happy about in the path of darker lands."

"But you are happy now, are you not?"

The question was innocent enough, but it had been very close to Thranduil's heart.

His wide smile faded into a softer one, and he lowered his free jewel-adorned hand to caress a yellow petal of a pale, blooming flower that grew on a nearby bush. Plucking it from the stem, he brought it close to the tip of his nose, feeling the caress of silk, and breathed in the light floral scent that contrasted greatly with the earthy smell of the Forest.

Gently taking a hold of the hand that was latched on the crook of his arm, Thranduil stopped their lingering steps. His head tilted in slight and Areth did not have a single inkling to his thoughts. Her friend's cerulean eyes did not meet hers, for he merely stared at her hand as he traced the lines of her palm.

Thranduil's likeness for close contact did not escape Areth, and she made sure to be careful to interpret his actions for what they truly were instead of what she wished them to be. And yet, when the immortal's gaze rose to meet hers from beneath his long, dark lashes, Areth saw tenderness in his eyes that she had not seen before.

It suddenly became harder to remind herself of her promise.

"Of course," he said, perhaps a bit softer than his usual lilt.

It became but a whisper in the silent night.

The burden of a King was not limited to the duties of a ruler, but also to a life of a recluse. While it can be said that he was not deprived of social interaction, his life had been barren of any sort of close friendships ever since he accepted the title of Greenwood's ruler. Any sort of close ties were severed by the great difference in social standing. The closest Thranduil had to friendship since before the War was through the Council— to Melhros, in particular— and perhaps through his marriage. And yet, it could not be denied that while they both held significance in Thranduil's life, they were also borne from a sense of mere duty.

It was a wanton truth that Thranduil had refused to acknowledge, mostly because the many centuries never allowed him an opportunity to realize an absence in his life. That was, until Areth accepted his proposal of friendship. And then it was so suddenly that the Elven King was forced to contemplate over what the word truly meant to him. The loneliness was the first to hit him the hardest, followed shortly by the incredulity at the sudden dependence he held for this one golden-haired mortal.

Areth was a godsend—a silent savior that quietly brought Thranduil edging away from the darkness that he did not even know existed in his heart.

Areth paused for a mere second, her brows furrowed. Had the circumstances been anything than what they were… She closed her eyes and turned her head, pulling her hand regretfully away from his. She refused to think of such things, for wishes held no such sway over the occurrences in her life.

The wanderer then forced the mask on.

Turning her eyes to the forest, she said, "I should go."

"The stars still shine bright, for night is young-"

"You misunderstand my meaning, Thranduil."

Thranduil frowned, his thick brows furrowed only subtly. The soft glint he had in his blue eyes hardened as he regarded her, but he kept his face blank and his emotions close, hiding from Areth what he did not wish for her to see.

"I had hoped that you meant differently," he uttered evenly. The slight coolness that seeped in the lilt of his voice went unnoticed to Areth.

Without turning to meet his gaze, Areth gave a wan smile that only succeeded in expressing her regret. She made movement to take his hand, but she stopped herself. Thranduil was not oblivious to the action.

"Too long have I tarried in your realm, for I became lost in its beauty and…" It was then she paused, quite suddenly changing what she intended to utter. Instead, she continued with, "It is time for me to leave."

"Won't you tell me reason for this sudden decision?"

"It is not sudden. I have been meaning to leave."

Against the dim light that passed as mere slivers through the leaves, Areth could feel rather than see Thranduil's quiet disbelief.

Away from her eyes, the Sindar neutralized his expression, and with a small glint of cunning present in his cerulean eyes, he continued.

"I'll not pretend to hold sway over you," Thranduil said, voicing a very subtle hint of his disagreement of her choice. He then said, if not with a small hint of slyness and craft in his voice, "But may I at least enquire the reason for this departure?"

"Many things are in dire need of my attention," she said, before pausing, "and some things are in need of aversion."

"You speak in riddles, Areth."

"I apologize," she said with a short laugh. "My thoughts are incoherent to all but myself."

"Perhaps I can help decipher them into words," he said. His words were spoken with care, mindful and deceiving in intent. "Tell me what ails you."

"I never realized how intrusive the Elven King is," said Areth. While her tone was covered in evident jest, it could not be denied that she meant for evasion.

"Only to those worthy of my interest," Thranduil said with equal jest. And yet, his words, ever so sly, were clearly minded with a purpose.

Areth, much too preoccupied with her thoughts, heeded no mind to it.

Her nature of wariness pervaded her senses, but she fought hard to fight against it. Areth's life had taught her cautiousness as to who is worthy of trust. It saddened her, however, to realize her reserve, even amongst friends. It was as if she no longer held sense of whom she could trust.

Going past her hesitation, Areth drew her words carefully.

"Darkness grows in the southern realm," she uttered haltingly, but nonetheless solemnly, "and it has taken a hold of my mind and heart."

And yet, while her words remained vague and it still rang with truth, she had betrayed Thranduil again by stating only what she could.

"And, by going there, you wish to return to be taken by this darkness?"

"Of course not. But I cannot help but think that it is in my power to keep such tides at bay."

The Elven King held no doubt from the very beginning that this horse rider was connected to the sudden attacks of his kingdom. He, after all, was not ignorant. He had no further affairs with Men beyond trading with the cities of the North. And yet, even with this knowledge, he could not deny himself this instance.

The fate of the realms beyond his borders was no concern of his.

The edge of Thranduil's lip lifted slightly in wry rue. He was a rather selfish creature.

"If the tide is stronger, no matter the strength of better intention, your efforts will only be wasted."

Areth looked to him with disbelief.

"You say that I should do nothing?"

"I say," he spoke, his voice attaining the strength of a king, "that your allegiance is your own, and you are bound to none other but yourself. If your word is bound only to a land that you consider is lost, then your loyalty is misplaced."

Areth's brow furrowed, her eyes shadowed.

"That is rather cruel."

"The truth cannot be helped."

"Why do you say this?" she uttered quietly.

"I do not pretend to hold sway over you," he said again, "but I worry of the path you take. The light of the Eldar shines bright so long as the world lives, but the light of Men fades quickly, like the flame of a candle—so fragile and quick to die."

"What would you have me do, Thranduil?"

Already, her faltering resolve was cracking. Thranduil hid a smile, for he knew from the moment she uttered her decision that Areth held his realm close to her heart and held no desire to leave.

Thranduil licked his lips quickly before saying, "I bid you only to follow your wishes." He paused, and though his eyes drifted to meet hers, Areth was determined to keep them away. "But know that whatever your decision may be, you will always be welcomed in the Halls of Greenwood."

And yet, Areth somehow felt that it was not yet time for her to leave Mirkwood. His neutral words belied his true intentions to make her stay. King Thranduil was a craftsman of words, possessing a silver tongue to serve to his intentions, but if anything, it succeeded to its purpose of cracking her resolve further.

Shattering her train of thought, Thranduil brought his cold hand to hers, and she could feel the icy metal of his rings. Her forest eyes, already filled with rue, turned to meet his gaze, but the King merely smiled before placing the gold flower on her hand and closing her fingers gently over the soft petals.

And so Areth chose to stay longer, for it was within these woods, in this isolated forest, did she find what she had long sought for.

It was here she found peace.

But as she held her King's hand, she looked again to the darkness with a mask, her eyes the only thing showing her worry.

"Another feast?"

The incredulity in Areth's voice made the Sindar chuckle. Leaning his weight on the vacant arm of the couch she sat on, the King rested his hand lightly on the back of the seat.

Thranduil had been in high spirits as of late, and he had no doubt that it was due to the mortal that was beside him. His eyes softened as her as he gazed upon her. Areth's friendship became of great importance to him in such a short span of time. The Sindar almost laughed upon recalling the barriers that stood between them upon their first meeting

As the King regarded her, his mind wandered briefly, for she did, indeed, look to be of Elven kind. The smile that played on his pale lips, however, dissipated upon the reminder that she was not of his kin. That she should one day be taken from this world and their paths would never again cross…

And then his thoughts took a darker turn. But Thranduil refused to think anymore of the matter.

"You've only been present to one feast, and yet you speak as if you had previously been invited to an innumerable amount."

Oblivious to his shadowed thoughts, she looked up from the book as said, "Why ever must we have another one?"

Her interest, as usual whenever the King was in her presence, was lost from the book.

"We are a festive people. Must we have a reason to celebrate in joy? Perhaps I decided to dedicate one in honor of your decision to stay," he said in jest, his pale lips turning slightly.

The disbelief in her deadpanned expression was made evident and Thranduil's smile widened, his teeth shining against the study's soft glow.

"It is Nost na Lothion, Mîrdómiel," he said, "The coming of spring is nigh, and so we celebrate the growing of the flowers."

Areth looked at him strangely for only a moment for the name before shaking her head.

But still, she felt her question was unanswered.

Thranduil saw that the question in her face did not leave and then continued, "My Realm possess none of the sorcery that would manipulate that which nature blesses upon Greenwood. Elves take greater notice in the growth and death of the things around us."

Turning her head upwards to meet his gaze, she said, "Does it not sadden you to see all those around you fade?"

His eyes were already on her, and she needed only to look up to meet him. The strength of the King's smile waned slightly, and his cerulean eyes looked almost sad.

"Of course. We can do no more but remember the joys they bring."

Areth's light brow rose, for it was then she understood yet another custom of the Avari.

"And that is the purpose of these feasts."

Thranduil nodded and allowed himself a deep breath. "When shrouded in a land of darkness, it is necessary to remind my people that there is more to life than fading."

So long had Men envied the everlasting life granted to the Eldar that they failed to realize the curse that such a long life can bring. Perhaps the Elves were given the gift of immortality, and yet the Men were gifted the present of death.

Areth took Thranduil's hand in hers, and she meant it as nothing more than comfort derived from friendship. She distinctly noticed that he wore no rings this eve. Taking a proper look at his attire, she took note of the simplicity of his clothing on this particular day. It caused her to smile, for he seldom wore anything beyond clothes fit for the great.

"Won't you tell me of your life before these halls?" the King asked suddenly.

Areth's eyes spoke of silent question upon the sudden turn, but she voiced nothing aloud. Instead, she gently pulled on his loose sleeve and said, "Tolo, a havo ah nin."

Thranduil allowed himself to be lead beside her, and while she shifted to make more room, he merely turned to regard her.

"Be iest lin," he said with a faint smile.

Closing the book and resting her palms on its worn, leather cover, the mortal turned to him and said, "What do you wish to know?"

"I'm willing to hear anything you wish to say," he said, recalling her words from before.

She hummed in thought, her green eyes shifting about the wide study. With a small sigh, she met his crystal gaze before saying, "I'm afraid you will find my life rather unremarkable."

"Every tale is worth telling."

"I lived a very humble life in a wide, quiet field. My mother would return only to rest. I was left mostly with my horse Singollo, and so we often rode together."

Thranduil's lip twitched slightly. "Singollo?" he questioned, a subtle hint of amusement evident in his voice.

"He is grey, and I was greatly interested in Elvish lore," she said, if not defensively. "It really is all very dull and uninteresting," Areth said again, her voice dismissing, "My tale would surely put you to sleep."

"Mellon nin, your insistence is starting to sound as if you are the one objecting to share your tale, for I would not ask if I were not interested," he said in an attempt at encouragement. Questioning further, he said, "And what of your brother?"

"He lived elsewhere," she uttered absently. And yet, the King was quick to take note of the sudden stiffness in her limbs. "And so, with no company but Singollo's, I was left to wander. If I regret one thing, it would be leaving Singollo back in Rohan," she said, her voice turning wistful.

"Will you tell me of how you came to speak Sindarin?"

"It's truly a rather dull tale," she insisted yet again, "Ambivalence rose among certain people, and many volunteered to leave. I was one of the few that traveled to Imladris."

It seemed to Thranduil like further prodding was necessary to get anywhere with her.

"You recite it with such simplicity, and yet I wonder if you are omitting a great part of this tale."

"Nothing is ever as simple as the stories," she said with a pointed look, "but perhaps it is better if we keep the tale short and couth."

"But surely that is not the end of it."

"The tale has no conclusion as of yet," Areth uttered softly.

The sorrow within her rose, and Thranduil regretted his insistence. However, it was not in his nature to apologize so freely, and instead chose to turn to a lighter subject.

"I suppose I can now understand your fascination with King Thingol and Menegroth."

"Stories from beyond this age fascinates me beyond all else." The lightness in her tone was brought once again, and for that, Thranduil was glad.

"While they remain to be lore and myth to the Secondborn, they are quite real to those who lived through it."

Perceiving his words to be brought from quiet reproach, Areth turned sheepish and apologetic, "Yes, of course. I am sorry, that was disrespectful of me."

"No," he intervened, his pale hand rising to halt her. Smiling, he then said, "I thought of perhaps indulging you in a recount of my time spent under King Thingol's service."

The brightening of her forest eyes was what told Thranduil that he said the right words.

The light in Thranduil's blue eyes, however, hardened into solemn orbs. His face wore the mask of sternness, and he was once again King of Greenwood the Great. Areth's smile faded, and she looked to her friend in question, but he had already stood and faced the entrance of his private study.

In that moment, a Silvan guard clad in dark, worn leather and mail appeared and entered. His long, auburn hair followed his movements as he performed a deep bow of respect directed at his King. From where Areth sat, she recognized the guard to be the same one who accompanied Ernil upon their first meeting in the forest—the same one who accidentally wounded her Gondorian companion Aldamir.

The Elven King's hand, strangely absent of his beloved jewels, rose to motion his guard upright. This Elf became strange to Areth, for she was unused to his stiff countenance, chin-raised and higher in rank and importance.

"Goheno nin," he uttered in his native tongue, thick in accent, for he was unlearned in the language of the Common Folk. His eyes shifted to the mortal briefly in curiosity before turning once again to his King. "But I come to submit my report of our dealings in the southern borders."

King Thranduil's half-lidded eyes regarded the guard impassively, expectantly, and he crossed his wrists behind his back.

"What reason does my son have for not telling me this himself?"

Arphen inclined his head in pardon before saying, "He remains at his post, my Lord."

The guard paused, however, when Areth set aside the leather-bound book and used the arm of the seat as leverage as she rose. The wanderer walked as if to leave, but then stopped beside the space where the King stood, and silently touched his arm as a silent farewell before continuing on her way.

Thranduil's eyes were drawn to her, and he smiled.

The sun began to sink beneath the horizon, and yet, the fact meant little to these Men, for any sliver of light at this hour was not visible to them through the thickness of the trees. The oncoming night was not without chill, for winter had not fully passed over the northern lands. And yet, they must resist being dissatisfied, for the blackness of Mirkwood Forest provided for them what was necessary against the keen eyes of the Elves.

"This forest is cursed," said a rugged, dirty man. His accent was harsh even when speaking in his language, for the culture of his people was equally brutal and unforgiving. He spat on the ground and threw what cloth he brought tighter about his shoulders, for his people were unused to such cold.

"Perhaps you would not fare so poorly had you listened to my council," said another. And yet, this Man's lilt differed against the tongue of the Dunlendings, for he spoke with a gentler accent, fair and better used with another language.

He was known as Linden of the Horse Riders, and he held little love for the savage people of Dunland. The Dunlendings, too, were not drawn to the fairness of the Eorlingas, for long had they lived in discord. However, they bowed to Fengel King as of late and did as he bid, and so they came across a temporary agreement.

While Linden did not trust the Wild Men, he stood alone with them in the Great Forest, for his Men at Rohan were indisposed. He stood as their leader, and they begrudgingly accepted, for his strength was known to them.

The horse rider breathed heavily and closed his eyes, hiding away two orbs of clear sapphire. Leaning against a thick tree, he was turned away from his comrades. He ran a hand over his face, the leather of his gloves scratching against his light whiskers.

"Froda," another commanded, "prepare a fire. This winter is damn near too freezing to survive."

Without turning, Linden overrode the command with the rise of a gloved hand and a short utterance. Too long had his companions uttered complaints regarding their situation in the Forest, and he, too, held no love for Mirkwood, but even he knew that they would be spotted by King Thranduil's Elves if they continued.

"You hold no pity for us folks," muttered another in distain as he rubbed his bare shoulders with calloused, dirty hands, "You and you Rohan scite."

Linden, far too tired and uncaring by this point, ignored the insult.

"Prioritize killing the woman," said another, "for that is our key back."

And it was then that Linden's countenance grew stern. His eyes blazed, and his golden hair whipped with his movements when he turned his gaze to them. It was then that the rugged men realized their fear for the Horse Rider, for they had yet to receive his full wrath firsthand.

"You shan't bring her dead," he said quietly, but not without silent threat, "for she is willed by the King to live."

The Dunlendings begrudged the captain his power for this instance.

And so, they waited, and though the situation was brought on by grim circumstances, a small part of Linden took joy in the opportunity to once again see his sister.

Hi again! Quick question for my curiosity, but I was wondering, how did you guys imagine Areth to look like? And share what you guys think. (:

Nost na Lothion is a festival back in Gondolin, and Singollo is another name of King Elwe Elu Thingol, ruler of Menegroth and husband of the Maia Queen Melian.

I got a few comments regarding my repeated and excessively used words (utter, lilt, etc.). And all I can say is that the amout of times seems to build up as the chapters accumulate, haha, and I don't feel like going back to change it. I'll try avoiding them in the future, but, well. Y'know. ;)

Anyways, see you next time. Spread the love.