Not a huge response to the last chapter, but I'll keep posting! This chapter is significantly longer than most will be. Enjoy!

-XXX-

Following the wizard's departure I go about my usual morning routine – milking the goats, checking on the bees, sweeping the house, and so on. I'm watering my small plot of herbs when a voice calls from the gate. I look up to see Beriana opening the rickety little gate, waving as she approaches. She is armed with a basket and full bouquet of flowers from the forest. I smile easily at her, setting down my watering can.

"Have you come all this way to give me these?" I ask, accepting the flowers, burying my nose in for a hearty sniff. They're dark purples and delicate little white and pink flowers.

"Unfortunately, no." She smiles, wiggling her basket. "I've got a few orders. Greenwood loves your honey, Caladhiel."

"Ah. Typical," I sigh, teasingly. "The people only want me for my bees."

"Not I," the elf maiden declares dramatically. "I am far more interested in your company."

I hug her, careful not to crush my flowers. We had grown up together, Beriana and I. Despite my seclusion from most of the forest population, I had spent a great deal of time with her in my youth, as our parents often dealt in business, as we to today. Her parents works in glass, creating the finest glasses, plates, windows, and trinkets. I own several pretty window charms made by her father. Beriana now crafts herself, creating pendants that are quite popular among the young ladies of court – being inexpensive, nearly every girl can purchase one, and often many, and they are just as pretty as jewels.

I invite her inside, putting the kettle on to boil, then I set about finding a vase for my flowers. It's actually one Beriana made ages ago, one of her first attempts as glass blowing. She winces as a set the blue-streaked vase upon the table. I begin arranging the blossoms, listening as she tells me the latest from the wood.

"There's a good deal of bustle about the spring festival," she tells me, rolling her eyes. "Where the venders shall be, what time the dancing shall start, should we have flowers or more greenery….It's an utter waste of breath, if you ask me, but someone ought to tend to the details, I suppose."

I hum, shaking my head. "You could not pay me to be a part of that mess. I cannot even imagine." I stroke a few purple coneflower by the petals. A bee has drifted in, and curiously lands in the black middle.

"But there is still fun about it," Beriana admits. She's eyeing the bee. While generally more comfortable around my bees than most folk are, she still watches them carefully. "You are coming this year, are you not?"

"Ah, I don't know," I say, awkwardly. "I don't think I'll be much missed.

"I will miss you!" she assures me. "Come, we can dance, and wear the flower garlands! The wine is supposed to be divine this year, they say the king picked it out himself!"

"I don't know, Beriana," I repeat, turning to the stove as the kettle begins to hiss and spit. I bring it to the table to fill the pot, sighing. "You know how out-of-place I feel. It not like they want the half-blood to be there."

My friend scowls. "Do not call yourself that."

"It is what they would say."

Beriana grabs my hands, forcing me to look at her. "Prove them wrong. Show then that you are not going to hide and sulk in your cottage. They won't think any differently of you if you continue in this manner, hiding yourself from your people!"

I look at her, uneasy. "I am not hiding."

"You do hide," she accuses, squeezing my hands. "You do."

"I do not care what they think –"

"You may think that, but you do not believe it." Her eyes are wide, pleading. "Come, Cala. I miss my friend. We have not attended any of these festivals or feasts in far too long, too many years."

Hesitant, I sit, letting her hands slip from mine. It has been a long time since I went into town on a full-court day, with so much activity. But it would be good to get out…to celebrate the season…

"Very well," I say finally. "You've worn me down. I shall go."

Overjoyed, Beriana all but leaps across to table to embrace me. "Oh, we shall have such fun! What will you were? I have a dress in mind, but we ought not to clash –"

Her silliness over such trivial matters serves to sooth and amuse me, and for the next hour we talk of dresses and jewelry and dancing. Reminiscing, we agree that it shall be nice to attend as an adult, rather than a youth – now we might actually have true dance partners, the kind that won't stumble over our feet. I am glad that I am going with her – partially because my friend's beauty will surely cast most eyes from me. With soft green eyes and shining hair the rich color of chestnuts, a lithe and willow figure, Beriana catches the eyes of many – she is extremely pretty, even for an elf.

Before she leaves, I give her five jars of honey. She had taken orders from others in town, and promised to have more next week. I tuck a sixth jar in her basket. "It's from last summer," I tell her. "When the apple blossoms were out. It tastes faintly of apple."

Another hug, and she too disappears into the gloom of the Greenwood. The forest that ought to be my home, yet, I cannot stand to be in it.

-XXX-

Two weeks later finds me at my friend's house, my hair being mercilessly combed by Arhiel, Beriana's mother.

"Stop fidgeting, mell," she scolds as she pulls through another tangle. "Goodness, you have not changed a day – still as tender headed as when you were a little girl."

"Sorry," I murmur, fingering the sleeve of my dress. The hem is patterned with beads, small clusters connected by silver threads. It looks quite nice against the rose hue of the gown. It's a rather old dress. Simple in its cut, with a wide round neck, sleeves that flare at the elbows, and a full skirt that nearly touches the ground. It's lucky, though, as my slippers are worn and likely out of style. But they're soft, made a fawn-colored suede.

Arhiel clucks as she begins arranging my hair. "You have such lovely locks, girl, I don't know why you simply let them lay about in braids. A why you never see the need to brush it," she adds. Twisting a few locks into a complicated braid, she peers in the mirror. Narrowing her eyes, she regards her work for several moments before taking it out. Eventually, she decides upon pushing it back away from my face, drawing the top layer to the back to be secured by a wooden comb, carved to resemble lily. The rest is free, and is brushed behind my shoulders.

"You have such lovely hair, Caladhiel," she sighs. "It is unique among our people."

She is not wrong. The dark gold isn't typical of Silvan hair. Most have darker hair – auburn, brown, black. I get my hair from my mother, though my eyes are entirely my father's – a bright blue-silver, supposedly a gift from his own grandmother, who was rumored to be Lùthien.

Beriana appears with her father in tow. Her eyes sparkle and her cheeks are pink, excitement already rising though we've not yet left her house. She wears a light blue dress, the color of the sky on a perfect summer afternoon – a sky few of the Greenwood seem to see between the trees and Oropher's underground realm. Her sleeves are cut high, allowing her shoulders to be seen as filmy blue and white fabric falls along side her arms. She's wearing a necklace of clear glass beads, and her hair has been arranged in a complex crown of braids. She is beautiful.

"Is she ready?" she asks her mother. "The dancing is about to start."

"I think she is presentable for polite company." Arhiel smiles. "It truly was not as much work as you led me to believe, iell."

"You are incorrigible," I tell my friend as I rise. "Truly."

Beriana beams at me. "You look beautiful. Oh, we shall have such fun! Wait," she pauses. "No jewelry?"

Embarrassed, I clutch the small bag I brought, which had been on Arhiel's vanity. "I brought a few things," I admit. "Though, I think it may be too much."

"It's the first day of spring, it's never too much! Let me see."

I remove a pair of simple silver earring. They're a delicate twist of metal, creating a knot in the shape of a rounded diamond – almost like a leaf. Beriana approves them, as well as a silver chain, slightly tarnished, which possess creamy river pearls strung every few links. Once I have put them on, I am deemed "ready."

Dorith, Beriana's father, escorts us all to the center green, where the festivities will take place. Wooden posts surround the area, and are draped with great garlands of daffodils, lilies, and various greenery. The music hasn't yet started, though musicians are setting up. Vendors line one wall of the green, and open further back. They sell all sorts of things – food, flowers, jewelry, masks, and other trinkets. At a dais at the head of the green, I can see palace servants in their work shifts preparing the king's chair and the seats of all others who will join him. It's one of the few nights of the year where those of the court and us of commoner birth will mingle. Tomorrow festivities will continue inside the palace, in the king's great hall. But tonight is our celebration, and Oropher will, as ever, graciously walk in our midst, as will his son, advisor, and who ever else is content to join.

My friend's parents leave us. We go, arm-in-arm, to see to those who have already arrived. Several friends of our youth are at food stands, sampling the fares. My long absence is not remarked upon, though embraces are shared all the way around.

"Is this not fun?" Beriana asks me as we share a cup of sweet cider, leaning in closely. "The dancing has not even started and we've already got the eyes of many."

It is true – the eyes of many men are upon my friend. But any additional gazes seem to be cast upon me. Most of them are curious, double-takes, though several are less-than-kind. I keep close to Beriana.

"You have certainly garnered several lingering glances," I murmur. "Though I do not know about myself. Do not worry so for me, Beriana, I shall have a fine enough time. I endeavor to."

"That's the spirit," she says, satisfied, tossing her head back to finish the last of our cider. "Oh, I think the procession is about to start!"

Indeed, several member of the guard are working their way through the crowd. I pull Beriana back as they near. The king moves through, nodding regally at all of those he passes. His gaze lingers briefly on me before moving on.

I take a moment to wonder, briefly, if he recognized me. My father had been, after all, a friend. But probably not – it has been a long time.

The dancing begins, and things move into full swing. I am often at the side, dancing only a little, watching Beriana change partners again and again, listening to the musicians pick out wonderful tunes that fill the green. To my surprise, I am enjoying myself.

However, the night is far from perfect. I endure the harmless glances of the curious, but the eyes and words of people who are far less inoffensive eventually intrude. It is when Beriana is again dancing when one tall elf, one of Oropher's off-duty guards judging by the broach holding his cloak, pushes forcefully past me, though I am not the least bit in his way. I gasp loudly when his hands brush over my rump, and protest loudly.

"As if I would touch you," he sneers. "Half-blood."

In the folds of my dress my hands curl to fists. "Better half-elven than a senseless brute," I reply. Around us, others have parted, mouths agape. Across the dancing ring, I can see Dorith rising from his seat beside Arhiel, brow furrowed.

The dark-haired elf pulls close, eyes glittering. They are dark, near-black, like that of a bear's. Or a pig. "Say that again, bitch," he dares me.

I open my mouth, ready to give him another earful, when a thundering voice gives halt to all motion in our corner. A tall, fair elf strides forward. He does not need to push – all move automatically out of his way. Finely dressed, he is clearly one of nobility. He stands behind the brute, forcing the guard to remain trapped between me and the new elf.

"My lord," the brute begins, turning to the fair elf. "She was causing a fuss. I brushed past her and she accused me of –"

"I heard what she said. I also saw you accost her."

The brute falters, but shakes his head. "She was asking for it, coming here," he argues. "Practically threw herself in my way, the tainted little tart."

"You go too far, Elith," the fair elf says. "Apologize."

The elf called Elith gapes. The fair elf nods. Eventually, the brute straightens, turning stiffly to me.

"I apologize," he mutters. "Forgive this elf for any wrongs he has done you."

I look past him to the fair elf who is watch us. After Elith speaks I give the barest of nods, then he backs away, clearly hoping to leave without further incident. However, the elf who had intervened stops him, catching his shoulder, and says quietly, "If I ever hear of you speaking or touching her or any other maid in such a manner again well shall have a problem, Elith. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, my prince." The brute's mouth barely moves.

He is released. The fair elf – the prince – turns to the crowd we've amassed. "No trouble here. Go, enjoy the festival. Spring is upon us!"

There is a small cheer of agreement, and the crowd moves on. Slipping through the masses, Beriana's hand finds mine and her person is soon beside me, breathless with pink-tinged cheeks.

"Cala!" she cries. "Are you alright? Ada said –"

"All is well," the prince answers for me.

Beriana's eyes are as wide as dinner plates. Squeezing her hand, I murmur, "I am fine."

But she ignores me, having eyes only for the fair elf before us. He is very tall and solid – an oak of a fellow. Though I have seen him many times at a distance, I would have not guessed him to be so physically imposing. He radiates control. Power. Ruthlessness. Cold eyes put me even more on edge – though, not so much so that I fail to curtsy. Beriana, a few steps behind me, had done so almost thirty seconds ago.

"My prince," we both murmur, heads bowed. My eyes only remain on the floor for a moment. I quickly look up again.

"Thank you, my lord," Beriana manages. "I should not have left her alone, she is – that was very kind of you."

"No trouble. No one of the Greenwood ought to be trouble with such savages. I apologize, my lady –"

"Caladhiel," I say automatically.

The corners of his mouth pull upwards briefly. "Caladhiel," he repeats. "I am sorry that you should be so bothered. He will be sternly dealt with – I shall see that his commander speaks with him. If you are ever bothered again, please, let me know."

"I – I shall."

Studying us with a remote interest, the prince shifts forward. "My ladies," he says. His voice is utterly…solid. Strong. "I hope you are otherwise enjoying the festivities."

"Yes, m'lord," Beriana answers swiftly. "It has been lovely."

"Indeed," he agrees. His gaze has settled on me. "Lovely."

I duck my head. "Have you had a pleasant time, Prince Thranduil?" I ask the ground.

His voice beckons for me to look up. "I have."

Blue-grey eyes, hard shards of ice, peer at me impassively. I stare back for several moments before I feel forced to tear my gaze away.

"That is wonderful, my lord," I say.

We stand in silence for several minutes. Awkwardly, Beriana shifts from foot to foot. She nudges me. But I am resistant to her pressure. She eventually sighs, then asks sweetly, "Would you care to dance, my lord? My Caladhiel is a fine dancer, but she's been lacking partners this evening."

If it were socially appropriate I would kick her. However, due to the nature of our company and the weight of my gown, it's nearly impossible to throw any kind of nudge. Her hand finds mine in the folds of my skirt, squeezing tightly.

The prince seems just as surprised as I. Though, not nearly so panicked. He eyes me before turning to Beriana. "I should be delighted –"

"I must go," I say impulsively, drawing away as I speak. "I need – air. Forgive me, my lord, I find myself feeling rather…claustrophobic. Please, pardon me."

For a brief moment, he appears stunned, then impassivity slides back onto his features. "Of course."

I bow hastily. "My lord. Beriana," I murmur before slipping through the crowd.

"I'm sorry, my lord," Beriana apologizes after me. "She is not herself tonight. I am sure she would love to dance after she has gotten some air."

It takes some time before I reach a part of the forest that is relatively quiet. I can still pick out the yellow-orange glow of lamplight between the long dark lines of trees. Occasionally a note of music or cackle of laughter breaks through. I find a tree to lean against, pressing my back into it, breathing slowly. I had not lied – I did need air. Though the festival is held out of doors, something about the crowd stifled me, left me feeling…trapped. Here, I could breathe.

The woods are ominous in the dark. Long shadows are cast by a half-moon. Fireflies drift by, aimlessly blinking their tiny green-ish lights. I follow them with my eyes, sinking against the trunk of the tree I stand beneath, lazily watching the insects as they float through the clearing.

I could very well fall asleep. But Beriana would surely be looking for me soon. I was to spend the night at her house so that I might attend tomorrow's festivities as well. The bees would be fine for one day. Still, I had hesitated in leaving them. They could be temperamental following an absence.

A sudden sound breaks my reverie. The crack of a twig snapped underfoot. I struggle to stand – the dress is absolutely dreadful when it comes to swift motion – but am halted when my intruder makes himself known.

"I do not believe the air of the wood is any different than that of the green."

Prince Thranduil emerges from behind me. He looks less stern now, a certain softness having entered his features. Perhaps it is a result of the dim lighting. I straighten myself as best I can, bowing my head, avoiding his eyes when I lift it.

"Perhaps it is not," I admit. "Though it feels more free to my lungs."

He nears. "I frightened you."

"I was merely startled. My lord," I add quickly.

"My apologies."

Embarrassed, I fold my arms against my waist. "No, you must have mine. Forgive me for failing to thank you. And leaving your company so swiftly…."

Heavily shadowed, his eyes seek mine. A few steps closer, he asks, "Are you so opposed to dancing with me you must flee to the woods, Caladhiel?"

"No. I mean, it is not strictly you, my prince. It is those watching I wish to avoid."

"Ah. You do not care for attention. That is far more admirable than simply disliking the prince."

I realize that he is teasing me. Ducking my head, I smile. "I suppose it is, sire."

"So you do not hate me?"

"I have been given no cause to. Ought I?"

He smiles now. "I do not know. There are surely some out there who loathe my father, and therefore, by proxy, myself. I am glad that you do not count yourself among them."

"Kings and princes are just a elven as I, it is not within my power to judge them," I say, repeating something my father once recited, then wincing. I am not as elven as this king and this prince.

He regards me. "You are the beekeeper, are you not? The one who lives between here and Esgaroth?"

"That is me."

Nodding, he moves again, this time to circle the clearing. I remain standing, watching, silent. Thranduil cuts an impressive figure in his brocade tunic and deep green velvet cloak. A circlet of silver set with a green stone sits on his head, his hair, the color of moon-light, white-gold, brushed back nearly. It is ever-curious to me that the Sindarians, so different from us, rule. While all elves are beautiful by Men's standards, the Sidarians are ethereal in their fairness.

After inspecting the area, the prince speaks again, gazing up at the half-moon above.

"I'm sorry for intruding. If it means anything to you, I did not mean to follow, truly. I meant to take a brief walk alone, when I happened upon you I felt the need to make myself known."

"There is no need for apology. This is your wood. You may go where you please."

He looks at me sharply. "You have a tongue, do you not?"

I realize who I am speaking to and immediately wish to curl into myself for shame. "I only meant that you harmed me not, my lord."

The prince relaxes. "That is good to know." He stops his circling just before me, pausing to find words. "Will you return with me? The hour grows late, and I do not feel comfortable leaving you alone out here. I must be going back soon."

"As should I."

"And will you dance?"

Here I hesitate. "I think not, my lord."

"Then tomorrow? Will you come again?" He nears, coming so close that I can see the delicate streaks of silver in his irises.

"I had planned on it, yes."

"Then I shall see you." It is a promise, said lightly as a hand catches mine. "Caladhiel Honeywell."

My name is said with such careful pronunciation that I feel my chest give a flutter. "Silliness," I scold.

With that, I am lead back to the green. We are silent through the walk, though the prince does not drop my hand until we enter the circle of light. Beriana and her parents are waiting there for me. My friend's eyes manage to lock onto our connected hands before they part.

She waits as we say good-bye to one another, then takes me by the arm, leading me into the crowd of dancers.

"What happened?" she hisses as we skip through a circle in time with a playful flute.

"I merely went into the woods. The prince found me as he took a walk. We spoke, and he escorted me back."

"What did you speak on?"

"Nothing of too much interest," I say vaguely.

"Did you apologize for your rude and abrupt departure?"

"Yes." We duck under a pair who lift up their arms, twisting with the trill of the music. "Of course."

"Oh, Cala," she sighs. "You're honestly terrible at this. Details!"

"Later. Tonight, before bed," I assure her. At the edge of the dancing circle stands the prince. He is clapping along with all of the other spectators, though his eyes seem to follow me. "Promise."

-XXX-

I tell her all that was said. Neither of us knows what to make of it. We eventually drift off, curled together.

The next day was much of the same – several hours of preparing for the second dance, much hair combing, etc. I do not complain as Arhiel arranges my hair again, this time electing to create a crown of delicate braids across my crown. Her daughter lends me a few glass-tipped pins that reflect the light, twinkling brilliantly as my head turns.

I wear a different dress, this one the color of cream, the lightest breath of yellow and white. It has a beaded collar, requiring no necklace, and a bodice that includes more beadwork that extends down to my waist. A sheer cape is attached at the back, meeting my bell sleeves at the hems. Again, it is an old dress – one of Arhiel's, actually, from her youth.

"You look lovely," Arhiel sighs. I smile at her, rising, straightening fabric as I stand. From the bed, Beriana dreamily gestures at me. I join her on the bed, rolling my eyes. She scoots closer, twisting a few locks of hair.

"What are you thinking of?" I ask as Arhiel passes through, heading towards her own room, likely to get dress. "Come, I know you are preoccupied with something. You are sighing and humming, like a lovesick loon. Who did you met last night?"

She smiles. "It was no one, really."

I wait. Beriana hugs a pillow, squeezing it against her chest. In time, she's bursting into giggles, shaking and holding her sides.

"Oh, Cala. He's absolutely darling."

"Name?" I ask patiently.

"Ulain." Her sigh drips with wistfulness. "He's on Thranduil's guard. He works primarily at the gates."

"Tell me of him," I say.

And she does, until we're forced to leave for the festivities. She describes his noble bow, broad shoulders, warm brown eyes, and so on. They only danced once – while I was in the wood – and he bought her a cider, and they talked for a time. But he danced with others, and did not ask to see her again, so her heart is unsure. I ask all of the appropriate questions. As we walk out, I make her promise me that she will seek a second dance. Archly, she dares me to take up Thranduil's offer.

"Dance with him. He clearly desire its." She smiles knowingly, tucking my arm under hers as we follow her parents, heading towards the great doors of Oropher's underground realm. A line is already formed, moving slowly into the black mouth of the cave.

" I don't know about that," I say, shaking my head with laughter. "I am a bee keeper, Beriana, not a lady or a princess. He'd be wasting his time with me."

"Would he?" my friend teases. "The king's son, so scorned by a bee keeper? That will make for an amusing anecdote at your wedding feast."

I nudge her with my elbow, blushing as we pass through the massive oak doors. Lanterns set into the stonework guide us across a bridge into a corridor. The air grows chilled as we descend – not a terrible thing, as I have no doubt the large number of bodies in one room will make things quite sweltering.

Eventually the corridor opens on a large, well-lit room. Tall columns line the wall, with tapestries and regal flags strung between. The floors are polish marble, but the ceiling is so lofty that it is difficult to make out. Oropher already sits at the dais on a banquet table, smiling merrily at all who enter. Musicians are warming up. People mingle, eagerly anticipating the dancing. Keeping her arm latched onto mine Beriana drifts almost aimlessly through the crowd, seemingly without any intent or direction. She is doing her best to appear relaxed and careless, but I can tell she's looking for something. Or someone. Likely this Ulain.

"He is not here," she sighs when the music properly begins. I pull her into a reel, offering words of comfort.

"He will come. This is the spring festival, no one would miss it."

"You would," she accuses.

"I'm different."

"Oh, Caladhiel," my friend sighs. "You're only different if you insist on being so. By acting so aloof you're just giving them more fuel."

I open my mouth, intent on answering, but I don't know what I might say.

We dance for a time before I call off, claiming weariness. It's when I take a seat at one of the tables on the edge of the dance floor that the prince appears, his entrance all pomp and circumstance. As everyone else in the room, I watch him move through the crowd.

He's not particularly loved. Respected, yes. But Thranduil's colder nature does not strongly lend to the affections of his people. Still, he commands the gaze of all when he openly enters a room. Not all eyes that are upon him are not particularly kind, though I feel the general attitude is a favorable one.

An hour into the ball, I've already seen Beriana change partners four times – though, once, she goes back to the same fellow. Being tall and broad-shouldered, I assumed him to be the elusive Ulain. And if his expression is any indication, he feels as much regard for Beriana as I suspect she feels for him. They had eyes only for one another on their second dance.

I take only a few turns about the dance floor. For the most part, I am contented to stay near friends.

Eventually, I grow tired of the crowds. Longing for a touch of seclusion, I slip between the columns, eager to have space and air. The heavily shadowed space behind the walls is perfectly sheltered from the other party-goers. It's far from quiet, but it's what I've got.

What trouble it seems, to dress up and arrange one's hair and go out to see others, all for the sake of a little socializing. It is exhausting. I do not know how the nobles do it.

Speaking of nobles…

The tapestry nearest me shifts, rippling, and the king's son ducks through, looking behind his back to make sure he is unseen. Surprised, I stop in my pacing.

Tonight he wears a maroon brocade coat and grey satin tunic, trousers of a darker charcoal. He wears no crown.

"Are you going to make a habit of this? Following maidens when they slip away from parties?"

"Only when if they continue to slip away," he answers readily. "Why do you hide, Caladhiel?"

His question makes me uncomfortable. "I'm not hiding."

"Are you not? Here, in the woods…in your cottage at the edge of my father's forest?"

I frown. "I do not hide, Prince Thranduil. I simply…do not prefer the company of others, often."

He considers this. "Neither do I, honestly." His tone is curious. Almost confused.

"You're the prince, you're supposed to at least pretend to like people."

Thranduil smiles at this. "Too true."

We fall silent, then. Thranduil soon takes to pacing as I lean against the nearest column, observing him. Something weighs heavily on his mind, his brow furrows with each step he takes. The song changes three times before I speak again.

"What troubles you?"

He glances back, mind-stride. "Troubles me?"

"Yes," I say patiently. "You pace like a man heavily preoccupied. What weighs on your mind, my prince?"

He continues walking, considering. "It is nothing too dramatic," he assures me. "Merely some trouble in surrounding lands."

"Strife between Mordor and Gondor, you mean?"

Looking up sharply, he again takes pause. Frowning, he nears, straightening the non-existent wrinkles along his cuff as he nears. "You are well-informed. Yes. The growing threat of war is on the minds of all those on my father's council. I am sure you have heard of the Alliance…."

"So it is a true threat," I murmur, pushing myself off of the column, crossing my arms.

Unhappily, the prince nods. "War is on the horizon. It's just a matter of when."

"I am sorry to hear that."

He snorts. "Not as sorry as we all will be in a few months time, if things continue escalating. My father is to begin gathering troops within the month to send to the Alliance."

This surprises me – I hadn't known that things had escalated so, that an army was to be soon required. Though, if the rumors were to be taken as true, Sauron was not one to use diplomatic methods. War might be our only choice.

No wonder our prince is distracted.

Abruptly, Thranduil approaches me. "Why do you not dance?"

"I was tired and I wished for some air."

Hand out, he nears. "Will you dance with me now? Last night I was denied."

"I suppose you're not too used to that, my prince?" I'm taken aback by my own coyness. The prince merely grins.

"You might be surprised. Come." My hands fit neatly into his and suddenly, we're turning in time with the music. He's graceful, unsurprisingly, leading us with the greatest of ease through the motions of some well-known dance. I only just manage to keep up – I'm not particularly skilled in dancing, though I do enjoy it. Thranduil makes me feel fluid. We move past the columns, twisting and twirling over and over, our steps light.

We do not speak. I'm too distracted, trying to not step on my monarch's feet. Thranduil just gazes thoughtfully down at me. When the song fades, we slow until we are stilled, our steps halting, left standing face-to-face. His hands are on my waist and linked to my hand respectively, grip tightening briefly as we pause together. I let my hand slide down his shoulder.

Brilliant grey-blue eyes find mine and hold my gaze. Hands tighten again. "Thank you."

Realizing who, exactly, is holding me, I make to withdraw. "I should thank you, my prince," I say as lightly as I can. "You honor me."

Those are the things you're supposed to say to the nobles. But Thranduil shakes his head. "You honor me. Truly. Now, I must go…I will undoubtedly be missed."

"Yes," I agree. "You will."

We part slowly, each moving back into the crowd to our respective parties. I do not speak to him for the remainder of the evening, though I do see him several more times. When Beriana and her family begin to give their goodbyes, I see him at the high table. Our eyes meet, and he give me a nod.

I do not see him again for some time.

-XXX-

I'm trying to follow the timeline as close as possible. This is obvious before the defeat of Sauron. If you have any questions or clarification, don't hesitate to message me!

If you're interested or you're a fan of my Sherlock piece Silhouettes , the sequel is up and running! Check out Shadows for my profile!

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