Okay, from about this point on, time is going to f-l-y. We're going to skip decades and centuries here, my friends. If you'd like an idea of what's happening on the timeline of Arda, I could my personal plot timeline in the next chapter, then add it to every update? Anyways, just be aware that there will be some significant leaps over time following this chapter.

Thank you all for the suggestions for a cover! I need to get cracking on making one!

And, a big thank you to all of my lovely reviewers and followers. I truly appreciate the support. Y'all are golden.

Here's a longer chapter!

-XXX-

Three years seem to fly. I am introduced to the nobles of the court slowly. Most everyone is civil enough – though I often spy less-kind eyes placed upon me. My closeness to Thranduil has unsettled some. We ignore them as best we can.

I am more welcome among the common folk. Most seem to think that I am an example of what can be achieved by commoners. I can scarcely entered the market with being bombarded with greetings. It's far preferable than my interaction with those of the court of Greenwood. The Sidarian don't see me as much more than a social-ladder-climbing Silvan forest elf. And worse yet – a half-elven. While some of the more common citizens hold reservations against me for that, many could care less.

By the time our wedding nears, most have at least accepted us. Not necessarily like, but they're calm enough to have come to terms with the fact that their king will be marrying a mostly-common half-elven beekeeper. The glares I receive in court functions have lessened, and I'm even on small-talk terms with some of the snobbier ladies. It's slow progress, but not terribly slow in the extended life of a n elf.

I've been installed in the palace for six months when the date arrives – not necessarily by choice. Thrandil had insisted. I loathe to remove myself from the solitude of the forest, but he made a compelling argument.

"I will not be one of those couples that reside in separate apartments or rooms, let alone several miles apart," he told me sternly one evening as we sit in the same courtyard in which he found me five years ago, waiting upon Fortesbrawn. "And it will not do to have the king living in a cottage at the edge of his kingdom. You must move, my love."

I was not pleased, but I understood the necessity. My bees were moved to be a little closer, to the tops of the caverns, but I still retained ownership over the land. I let Beriana know that should she and Ulain were to consider moving further into the wood, it would be available to them – they are currently considering having a second child, much to Kalock's delight, and the extra space would suit them well.

When the morning comes, I wake slowly, laying in bed far longer than I should, letting the light stream through my windows. It is my last day in these rooms – tomorrow, I would be installed in Thranduil's suite. He had more windows, which was nice, and a larger bathroom. Still, the thought of this being my last night alone –

I rose when a maid came to fetch me, bringing with her a tray of breakfast goods. After propping up my pillows, she leaves me to eat, selecting a grey day dress from the wardrobe. I approve with a nod. After I finish eating, she helps me dress, then walks with me to the courtyard, where I sit reading until Beriana and Arhiel find me. Ber sits beside me, while Arhiel holds a squirming Kalock against her hip.

"Today is the day!" Beriana enthuses, knocking her shoulders against mine playfully. "You're finally doing it!"

"I am not so far behind you," I say defensively. "Only six years after you and Ulain."

"Seven long years," she reminds me, correcting my math. "And it took Thranduil far longer to court you. But he finally got some sense into his thick, kingly skull. Oh, I knew the first night, Cala. The way he looked at you…." She sighs. "It was magic!"

I roll my eyes heavily, but let her continue on with her fluff-filled rendition of how I met "my beloved," as Beriana puts it. Several times I see her mother disguise a chuckle or bark of laughter with a well-timed yawn or cough.

After a light lunch, I am dragged to Arhiel's house to prepare. It's funny, getting ready in the place where, nearly fifteen years ago, I'd been fussed over in an effort to impress the court in the spring festivals. The very festival where I'd first encountered Thranduil. I feel as though things have come to full circle. I ponder as I soak in the tub, eyes closed, letting the warm water carry me away. When I wake it's to Beriana washing my hair with perfumed oils, combing with a fine-tooth deer bone comb.

When I exit, I'm smothered with more oils to moisturize my skin, giving me a "youthful glow." After this, I'm given my undergarments and instructed to dress in my first layer. By then it's mid-afternoon, a mere four hours from sunset. I nervously eye the skyline beyond the window of Beriana's former bedroom. "Soon…."

As Arhiel begins arranging my hair, I think of Thranduil, wondering what he's doing. He's likely not enduring the fuss that I am. If anything, he's probably alone, save for a manservant, dressing in his nicest, yet greatly subtle, robes. Last week he came to me inquiring as to what he ought to wear. Amused, I told him that something simple would do quite fine – my own dress is nothing extravagant. I'm only wearing jewelry at the urging of Thranduil and Beriana, who teamed up to insist upon a necklace and a few rings.

Arhiel pauses in her combing, sliding a hand down to hold mine. Eyes finding mine in the mirror, she asks gently. "Are you ready, mell?"

"No. No. Never ready. I could never be ready for this."

Instead, I swallow and say lowly, "I think so."

The sky has mellowed to a dusky purple, and the faintest pinpricks of stars can be seen between the leaves. Night is coming. The ceremony is upon us. I turn my eyes from the window, refusing to look at my own reflection in the mirror, staring instead at my lap, where my hands twist. I can feel Arhiel twisting a few locks of my hair, inserting a pearl-tipped comb that scrapes my scalp and holds the form in place.

From the bed, Beriana sighs dreamily. "You look beautiful."

"I don't even have my dress on yet." In fact, it's laying beside her – a long grey-white thing, embroidered with a dark silvery-green pattern of ivy, clusters of pearls along every so often, making for luminous dew-drops upon the threaded leaves. The material is loose against my form, but sheer enough to show my figure off nicely.

"Doesn't matter," she replies softly. "You still look lovely."

Arhiel makes a small noise. I look up in the mirror to see that her eyes are red-rimmed, and quickly take up her hands, squeezing them and smiling as best I can.

"You should get dressed. It'll be less than an hour before we meet them –"

Slowly, she and Beriana help me slide on the gown. Once it is fully laced, I turn to their full-length mirror to examine myself. I can hardly recognize myself in the reflection.

I'm paler than usual, likely due to nerves. Hair flows loosely around my shoulders, saved for a few pieces pulled back from my face, secured by the combs. The dress, while loose, gives me a fluid, shapely silhouette. With a wide neckline, it sits low on the edges of my shoulders, revealing the crest of skin that is my shoulder, along with my collarbone and throat. I can practically see my pulse fluttering in my neck. My hands fold against my stomach as I regard myself, in the wide eyes of the girl in the mirror, I can finally recognize my reflection.

"How do you feel?"

I can scarcely whisper, not taking my eyes from the glass. "I – I feel a little sick," I admit.

Arhiel tearfully chuckles. "That is fairly normal, I'm afraid. Come, dear, your slippers, then we must haste."

I slide my feet into the satin slippers that she removes from the bed, turning my back on my reflection. Once that is done, Beriana suddenly jumps up from where she'd been sitting at the vanity, scrambling for the wardrobe. After several minutes of digging, she emerges with a finely carved little rosewood box.

"I nearly forgot!" She thrusts the box forward, declaring, "He asked me to give these to you."

No need to ask who. Thranduil's seal marks the top of the box – a stag's antler, arching gracefully, with a maple leaf as a background. Only, besides this, there is an addition – a small bee, perched on the arch of the antler. I smile, letting my fingers trace the engraved image. "Beautiful."

"Open it," Beriana urges.

I do, finding it contains a strand of river pearls, set off by a single, tear-shaped diamond in the center. I gasp – it's by far the most precious thing I've ever held. Thranduil is known for his love of the white crystal stones. That he would so freely give me one….

But there is more; a pair of earrings are nestled in the bottom of the box, each with a base of a pearl and drop of a diamond dangling from them. I am too stunned to put them on, so Beriana steps in to help me. As she loops the necklace around my neck twice, she examines the stone.

"He has fine taste, your king." She grins.

"This is too much," I murmur. "I cannot –"

"You can," Beriana interrupts. "You're to be Queen. Queens wear such thinks as jewels."

From the doorway, Arhiel nods. "It is quite the gift. But appropriate, Cala."

I look down at the diamond, holding it and a few pearls pooled in my hand. It winks up at me. I can understand why Thranduil loves them so. "Stones of pure white starlight," he described them once in a hushed whisper as we trailed along the treasure hall. Enchanted, I do not look away for several moments, until Arhiel straightens, pushing away from the door to start leading us downstairs, where Dorith waits. He, along with Beriana, Kalok, and Arhiel, will all be escorting me to the ceremony. Ulain is already there with Thranduil, acting as a friend and guardsman. There is to be a sizeable crowd at the reception following the ceremony, so he is strategizing for crowd control.

Once downstairs, Kalock beings reaching for us. "Mama! Cal!" he demands. Despite being 5, he insists on calling me "Cal." It's adorable, really.

I move to pick him up, but Beriana steps between. "You'll muss your dress," she scolds. Instead, I smooth his brown hair. He hands me a small bouquet of clover.

"For luck," he whispers.

I hope I shall not need it, but thank him, and press it into my bigger bouquet.

Dorith opens the door. "The last bit of light is fading, ladies," he says. "We should set out."

All turn to me. Feeling myself pale further, I nod, silent. We step outside. There is a small party awaiting us – guards and a few select nobles to act as my escorts. I pick up my train, telling Beriana that she can carry once we're closer. No need now, when we've got nearly ten minutes to walk.

To my surprise, by the time we reach the green, there is a crowd. Elves line either side of the street, eagerly pressing forward. Waiting. Waiting, I realize, feeling fainter still, for me. I straighten automatically, very aware of the eyes upon me. Beriana creeps forward. "Should I not carry your train now, Cala?"

I shake my head, whispering back, "I'm not here to put on a show. Come on, we're nearly there."

"There" being the alter above the palace. At the top of the cavern, there is a strange little circle of trees, making for a clean clearing in which important ceremonies are held – funerals, christenings, seasonal worships, and weddings. We approaching, climbing up the slight incline. Here Dorith and Arhiel take the lead with a few guards ahead and a few behind us. Here Beriana insists on taking up my train. Kal walks beside her, eyes wide.

We reach the top of the hill, passing through the trees to finally break through to the clearing. Without the heavy leaves overhead, it's quite light. I blink, surprised to see over seventy-five assorted elves seated before the rise of stone that makes up the alter. On our approach, many turn in their seats to peer at us. Or, more specifically, me. I keep my gaze down, until I can bear it no longer, and tilt my head up to the alter.

Thranduil stands before the table of stone, his grey-blue eye solidly on me. Unwavering. When my gaze meets his, the corners crinkle just a little. We cannot look away, locked on to one another. I nearly stumble, I am so focused on him. He smiles slyly when my gait hitches briefly.

He wears a grey overcoat that falls just past his ankles, silver threads sparkling throughout from a delicate pattern of vines and leaves, mimicking the ivy found in my dress. His legging are a darker shade of grey, charcoal, and his boots a soft black. The crown he's selected is made of thin, smoky branches with pewter bark, tender green spring leaves collected along the base. Handsome as ever, the sight of him makes my heart clench, then rest. Seeing him – Thranduil, just as collected he ever is – calms me. I'm marrying him, and in a sense, the kingdom, but firstly, him.

Suddenly, I'm level with the king. I find that I cannot breath. Face-to-face, I can see beyond his impassive exterior; he's trembling slightly. With energy or nerves I do not know. Wordlessly, I extend one hand a few inches. He grasps it automatically, squeezing so tight I nearly squeak. The officiator approaches from where he stands on the second level of the dais. And it begins.

Overall, the exchange of vows takes a little over thirty minutes. All the while, Thranduil has eyes for me – we both half-face the officiator, though we rarely look away for one another. When I peer at the crowd gathered to watch us, I can pick out a few nobles. Lord Elrond is easy to pick out near the front, his arm tucked with a willowy blonde creature. His regal bearing and dark eyes are precisely what people had described them to be. Beside the woman, Celebrian, is a tall man with similar fair hair, and beside him a woman who greatly resembles Lord Elrond's bride – Celeborn and Galadriel.

Finally, the words are exchanged. We both peer up at the stars, which shine down upon us with joy. Their blessing upon us, we are left to look at one another. A smile pulls at the edge of his mouth. I step closer, trembling as I rise on tip-toe to kiss him. Hands slide to my waist, pulling me closer, flush with him. I cup his face, stroking it when we part. After a beat, we turn to the group watching us. Low applause greets us.

We drift indoors to the great hall, where Thranduil and I are seated at the high table. We eat, holding a court of well-wishers who approach to greet us and offer their best hopes for our marriage. Gracious, we accept their kind words – and their gifts.

"Your highnesses," Thranduil greets Celeborn and Galadriel when they float towards us. "We are blessed to have you join us on this day."

"And you honor us with your inclusion." Lady Galadriel bows her head, her blue eyes trained on me. "We are happy to make the acquaintance of your bride. Well-met, Queen Calahdriel."

I incline my head. "Your ladyship. It is my honor."

"I have heard you are quiet skilled with bees, your majesty," Celeborn speaks then. His eyes are blankly blue. I cannot read them.

"Yes," I reply shyly. "I've raised hives my whole life. The cakes being served are sweetened with my pear honey."

"They are delightful. We should like to take a few jars back with us to Lothlorien."

"It shall be done," I assure them. "Thank you for joining us."

Elrond and Celebrian approach next. Celebrian is just as shy as I am, and clings to her husband's arm. He keeps one hand resting on hers. They are very much in love.

The half-elven lord seems quite keen on me, one of a few half-elven that has reached nobility. I feel a sort of kinship to him, and wish to, at some point, speak with him more. I tell him so, inviting him and his wife to dine with us before they return to Rivendell.

Cirdan, the shipwight approaches with his wife. His beard is impeccably groomed. He's a little less warm than the elves of Lorien, but his eyes are alight with the same curiosity – all are interested in discerning who, exactly, I am.

Several more elves of ranking nobility come to share their regards and congratulations. We accept each graciously. By the time we've found a lull, I am exhausted.

After the food comes the dancing. Removing ourselves from the high table, my husband and I open with the first dance. I'm nervous, but the king draws my gaze to him. I forget that we're being watched by well over a hundred people. My head rests on his shoulder as we sway slowly in time with the music of flutes and lyres. Once the final notes fade, Thranduil leads me from the center floor.

We mingle, meeting more guests. I'm an introduced to many nobles, both of our woods and surrounding realms. The kings of Rohan and Dale join us, as well as a few of the dwarf kings. Few seem to care that I was not born of their standing, but the few that do make themselves clear. They're not rude about it, necessarily, but there is a particular manner in which their eyes drag across me, as though I am under a magnifying glass.

The night comes to a close somewhere around one in the morning. The king and I slip out a little early, taking a few twisting passages to get us unseen to the doors of his apartments. Most of my things will have been moved in this afternoon. I can feel my heart flutter as Thranduil opens the door, pulling me in after him. Once inside, he gathers me in his arms, lightly brushing his lips to mine. I respond automatically, leaning up to better meet him. Trembling, I twisting my fingers in his hair, feeling the sharp edges of his crown. When I stroke the tips of his ears, the king makes a slight groaning sound. I pull back, only to have him catch my wrists.

"I've waited an age to have you," he breathes. The grey eyes have darkened slightly, turning liquid.

A warmth grows in my stomach. With a slight tremor, I step forward, lightly stroking the length of his face. He closes his eyes. Gently, I lift the crown from his head, setting it on the nearest surface, which happens to be a small bar table. Once the weight is removed from his head, Thranduil's eyes open again. Hands go to my waist, clenching softly. The heat rises and spreads within me. Lips brush mine again, slower this time. Teasing. Tempting. Fingers drift against my spine, torturously unbuttoning my dress. When his lips drift to my jaw, I gasp audibly.

-XXX-

The sound of her surprise and pleasure only sends more heat into his blood. Thranduil pauses to look at his wife, lips pursing in amusement. She tilts her head back, exposing her throat to him. He can see her pulse flutter, and he has the sudden desire to taste it. He places an open-mouth kiss on the tender flesh. Another light sound follows. "Madness."

He backs her on to the bed, pushing down the shoulder of her gown, nuzzling the newly exposed skin. She turns against him, fingers working on the clasps of his jacket. Once she has removed it, her hands travel beneath the hem of his white tunic, skimming his stomach and chest with no limit of wonder. His breath catches when her nails brush his nipples. With a low chuckle, the king leans forward, lowering her to the mattress. He tugs down the remainder of her dress, exposing the shift beneath. Through the thin linen, he cups a breast, returning the favor. Cala breathed out a long sigh, arching against him….

He teased her for an age before finally giving her release. When they've finished, Cala clings to him, sleepily cuddling his chest. They breathe in time, with Thranduil facing upwards, peering into the darkness the canopy of his bed offers. He feels his wife slip effortlessly into sleep, and he tightens his arms by a fraction. Turning his head, he buries his face in her hair, inhaling the scent of gardenia, peony, and honey.

There is no doubt he was he first to touch her. He's pleased to know that in her several hundred years Cala has never been touched by another in the way he's caressed her. She is wholly his and his alone.

"Wife." He hadn't thought he would ever be so very pleased by the ownership of the word. This hadn't been the partner he'd imagined in his youth, the silent slip of a thing that was to be selected by his father and his advisors. Cala was something of that – but it was as though what he thought he wanted was a pencil-drawn figure, two-dimensional and flat. Cala is in full color, robust and whole.

With a happy sigh, the king pulls her closer still, inhaling. Pleased, weary, and all too ready to fall asleep next to his wife, Thranduil lets the darkness carry him away into warmth and peace.

-XXX-

Did not get a huge response to the last post, so reviews would be grand…eh?

Was the wedding believable? I couldn't find anything referencing Elven weddings, so I went with what I thought might work.

I know the lemons weren't too lemon-y, but I hesitate in making anything too smutty on here. Paranoia, I think.

There may be a delay in releasing the next chapters over the coming two weeks. I've got this job that'll be claiming a lot of time, though everything up to chapter 20 is written or at least partially written, so it's just a matter of adding the author's note and editing.

Please review!