It was around four thirty in the afternoon and Bard was already on his sixth cup of tea.
Anyone who knew Bard particularly well would immediately know this as a sign of nervousness. Tea was soothing for Bard. Tea was relaxing and calming. Tea was good. Though, even with its healing powers, six cups was not a good sign. Nor was his steadily drumming his fingers on the sides of his mug, or the way he kept crossing and uncrossing his legs. If Sigrid or Bain were here they would recognise his discomfort and distract him with conversation about school or what was for dinner but, unfortunately, they were not. His three children were very conveniently staying elsewhere that night at his request, allowing him not to worry about them while he met with Thranduil - a meeting he was not longer certain was happening.
The had scheduled a meeting to discuss a private commission he wanted to employ Bard to carry out when the met at the local art galleries the previous night. At least, Bard thought they had. It could have been a dream. Frankly, from what he remembered, it should have been. It was the most surreal experience of Bard's life - aside, perhaps, from having to un-wedge baby Tilda's backside from a bucket with butter - and, if it weren't for the very real cheque for five thousand pounds nestled in his pocket, he would have been entirely convinced it was a fantasy. After all, how many single dad's whip out an old hobby, meet a wealthy businessman and get paid five grand up front to work for them? Bard shook his head and sipped his steaming tea. Perhaps it really was too good to be true. At this rate he'd be having a quiet night in, just him and a cheque he'd feel too guilty to cash.
Thankfully for him, it was then that he heard the sound of tyres on his driveway. Hastily looking in the mirror to check he was presentable, he cleared his throat and stepped outside. In the drive, a sleek silver Mercedes Benz was nestled in the gravel. As the driver stepped out of the car it was immediately clear that they were not, as Bard had been expecting, Thranduil. This man was tall and slim, with immaculately groomed brown hair in a classic side parting and sporting a tailored black suit with a silver tie, black leather gloves covering his hands. As Bard approached he bowed his head respectfully and said,
"Do I have the pleasure of addressing Mr Bard Bowman?"
Bard, entirely unused to being addressed in such a formal manner, only nodded at first before remembering his manners.
"Yes, sorry, yeah, that's me, though I don't know about pleasure," he stepped towards the man and extended a hand to shake, "Sorry, but I was expecting to meet with Thranduil Oropherion today,"
The man smiled politely as he shook his hand,
"Indeed, sir, yes. Mr Oropherion found himself dealing with a pressing business matter this afternoon and dispatched me to collect you. My name is Feren, sir. I am Mr Oropherion's driver,"
Of course. Of course he has a driver, Bard thought.
"Nice to meet you, Feren. Listen, I'm sorry you had to go to all this trouble. I would have driven up myself if I had an address-"
"Not at all, sir," Feren smiled again, pleasantly, before opening the door to the back of the car, "Shall we?"
Bard climbed into the back seat, feeling somewhat like he was sitting on the driveway itself, the car was so low to the road. As Feren sat down in the driver's seat and the overly-powerful engine roared into life, Bard couldn't help but feel both out of place and incredibly pretentious. He was not the kind of man who was driven around by anyone and relying on someone else for something so basic as travel made him feel quite uncomfortable. He was very conscious of being an imposition. Feren must have sensed his discomfort because he attempted to distract him with conversation.
"It's not too far to the Manor, sir. We'll be there within the half hour,"
"Manor?" Bard repeated, somewhat incredulous. Who in this day and age lived in a manor house? Perhaps he shouldn't be so shocked, he mused - after all, Thranduil certainly gave off the impression of being spectacularly wealthy.
"Yes, sir," Feren nodded, "Mirkwood Manor. It's been in the family for generations. Used to be called Greenwood Manor, sir, but Mr Oropherion changed the name some years back,"
"Really?" Bard frowned, "Why was that?"
"Well, sir," Feren paused, trying to find the best way to explain, "Mr Oropherion… he's been through a lot. It's not my place to go into detail, sir, but I think, eventually, all the… sorrow that he was holding in started to leak out. He's a very strong man, Mr Oropherion, but people can only bear so much. If he were a lesser man…" he trailed off, feeling that he had overstepped the mark.
Bard made no reply. He didn't want Feren to feel like he was prying for more information, but he did think on his words silently for the next quarter of an hour.
Soon the rolling hills of the coastal countryside gave way to single roads that were lined by dense forest on either side. The leaves were a beautiful patchwork of oranges, golds and browns; the definition of Autumn. Bard found himself getting lost in the beautiful surroundings. He could hear the sound of the car's tyres splashing on the dampened road, the wind making with crisps leaves shiver and drifted to the forest floor like golden rain, and then - snap!
Bard's eyes locked onto a flash of white as it darted past his window. Craning his neck, he saw that it was a stag. He must have let out an audible gasp because Feren spoke,
"Mr Oropherion is very keen to preserve the natural integrity of his land, sir. That there was one of the young bucks. As well as a large herd of deer there is also a line of elk and stabling for half a dozen thoroughbred horses. And, of course, there's all the rare fauna,"
Bard had not expected this love of nature to be a trait of his new client. He struck him more of the luxury city apartment type. He clearly had much to learn. One detail shocked him more, however,
"His land? Why would the deer wander so far then?" he asked.
"They don't, sir. We have been within the boundaries of the estate for the last ten minutes,"
"What?" he cried. How many acres did this man own? What kind of finance would it take to support this place? Deeming it entirely inappropriate to ask, Bard settled for silence and shock.
Within the next two minutes, Thranduil's manor finally became visible to them. Manor did not quite seem the correct word. In Bard's opinion all it lacked to make it a castle was a moat. It was a work of architectural art. Built over three floors (at least above ground), the manor featured stunning statuary perched on the roof, a turret at the left corner and a grand pillared entrance. This was not a house. This was a movie set. No one lived like this.
As they pulled up on the gravelled drive (rose quartz, of course), they were greeted by another man in a suit very similar to Feren's. He opened the door for Bard to exit the car and bowed his head as he got out.
"Mr Bowman, it is a pleasure to welcome you to Mirkwood Manor. My name is Galion, sir. I am Mr Oropherion's personal aid,"
Personal aid. This was getting more and more fantastical by the second.
"Nice to meet you, Galion," Bard shook his hand and smiled, "Please, call me Bard,"
"As you wish, sir," Galion inclined his head respectfully, "I have been instructed by Mr Oropherion to bring you to him on arrival. He is currently in his study. If it would please you to follow me, sir?"
He extended a hand and guided him into the entrance hall.
As he followed Galion past the most elaborate staircase he had ever seen and along various corridors with hanging burning lamps and beautiful wood panel carvings, Bard was unsure how much more of this he could take. This manor held so much interest, something new and beautiful at every turn. He was beginning to see Thranduil living here. His mark was everywhere, in the atmosphere, in the rich reds and natural tones of the decor, perfectly offsetting the elaborate gandure of the structure itself. It almost seemed to be an attempt to make the building less pretentious and inject some soul. The more he looked the more intrigued he became with its inhabitant.
A few moments later they arrived outside an oak panelled door. Galion knocked twice and, opening it, bowed Bard inside. Sitting at a large, ornate writing desk, was Thranduil. He was dressing much less formally than when they had met the previous night, though he was still immaculately turned out. His hair now hung loose down his back - Bard wondered that he had not noticed quite how long it was before - and he wore a light blue fitted shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and black trousers with casual black shoes. Bard couldn't help but be impressed by his seemingly innate ability to appear stylish, even in the comfort of his own home. He was hunched over and appeared to be holding a small bottle.
"Mr Oropherion, Mr Bowman is here," Galion announced.
Thranduil whirled around, placing the bottle on the table as he turned. His face broke out into a smile when he saw Bard, taking a few steps towards him and grasping his hand in his own.
"Bard! My apologies for not sending for you sooner. I'm afraid a mutual friend of ours was rather determined to arrange another view at your local gallery," his eyes sparkled a little with laughter and Bard found himself unable to stop himself from chuckling in return, remembering Thranduil's distaste for Mr Lickspittle.
"In truth," Thranduil continued, "I am glad that I was forced to send for you so late. I was wondering if it would please you to discuss our business over dinner?" he looked at Bard, tilting his head to the side a little.
"Well," Bard began, slightly taken aback by this immediate show of hospitality, "I wouldn't want to impose... but I couldn't refuse your kindness. I have already tried," he smiled alluding to the night before, "I'd be honoured,"
Thranduil grinned.
"Excellent. Galion," He turned to his aide who was standing in the doorway, "Please advise the kitchen staff that my guest will be joining me for dinner,"
"Of course, sir," Galion bowed respectfully and left.
"Kitchen staff?" Bard raised an eyebrow, "First a driver, then a personal aide and now kitchen staff? How many people do you employ?"
Thranduil appeared a little bashful in his reply, almost as though he was very conscious of not wishing to seem boastful.
"Not including the staff at the gallery, I employ ten members of staff, all of which I house here,"
"You offer all your staff room and board?" Bard smiled. It appeared that this man's genorosity knew no bounds.
"I have no wish for this estate to go to waste. It has more than enough space and, as my staff take such care in their work, I would deem it unfair if they could not share in the rewards of it," Thranduil explained.
They stopped and smiled at each other in a moment of mutual respect. Then Thranduil snapped back to the present.
"My apologies, Bard! Where are my manners? If you would care to follow me, I will show you where I wish to place this mural, and then I will escort you to the dining hall,"
He extended his arm, allowing Bard to exit the room first. They walked silently together through yet more corridors, Bard taking in as much as he could of every new and beautiful sight. His enjoyment pleased Thranduil greatly. When they came to a door at the very end of a particularly bright and open corridor, he reached out and open a door very similar to that of his office, and bade Bard enter.
It was a library. It was beautiful and open and seemed to house more books than Bard had seen in any bookshop. Intricately carved bookcases stretched from floor to towering ceiling, a ladder leaning against one. The was a magnificent marble fireplace at one side of the room and in front of it lay a soft-looking rug, flanked by two cozy armchairs. The room was lit by the early evening sun streaming in through french windows which lead onto a stunning landscaped lawn. At night, it would be lit by the few candelabras dotted around. It was a room in which Bard could instantly feel at home.
"It's beautiful!" he exclaimed as he took everything in, "Are you quite sure I'm up to standard to leave a mark on this room?" he turned to Thranduil, almost willing him to reconsider. God knows, he had little enough faith in himself as it was but he could never live with himself if he ruined this room.
Thranduil chuckled and approached him.
"Believe me, Bard, I have the utmost faith in you. Anyone who can capture my interest as you have in one viewing certainly has all the talent they need. Here, let me show you your canvas,"
Gently placing an arm around Bard's shoulders, he turned him to face a blank area of wall between two bookcases. It was roughly ten feet but 25 feet. An enormous canvas to work on.
Bard steeled himself for a moment, almost sick with anxiety over the possibility of this undertaking.
"...This may take me some time to complete…" he said nervously, unsure about Thranduil's time constraints.
"Take all the time you need, Bard. I would be glad of your company," Thranduil smiled, removing his arm from around Bard's shoulders, "Of course, Bard, if you should wish to retract from this arrangement, I will of course allow you to. I would wish to put you in a stressful or uncomfortable position. I want you to have the time and space to enjoy your craft,"
Bard turned to stare at him.
"No! No, not at all! I couldn't possibly! I-I would be more than happy to complete this for you! And besides, you already paid me for the work, and-"
"And, if you recall correctly, I was willing to pay that price for your first painting alone," Thranduil smiled at him endearingly.
Bard almost wished to protest further, that the pay was far too much and that he couldn't possibly ask that of him but, as Thranduil spoke to him, he found himself eager to complete the work not only to settle his conscience, but to please him. The more he became acquainted with this man, the more likeable and charming he found him. He was not sure how long it had been since he had felt such a warm regard for anyone, and he couldn't help wanting to know him better and to maximise his time spent in his company.
"I would be honoured to compete this work for you, Thranduil. I hope I can live up to your trust in me," he looked at him with sincerity.
Thranduil beamed at him.
"And I am honoured to receive your talent and company, Bard," he answered, "Particularly for dinner, which should be ready very soon. Would you accompany to the dining hall?"
Bard nodded gratefully and exited the library.
Bard had no idea where the hours had gone but the skies were now black and he was on his third glass of wine. Together with his host he had been served a meal like nothing he had ever seen. A delicious soup - Bard couldn't even count the flavours in it - was followed by seared venison and honey-glazed vegetables. He had been offered a dessert but was so full that he had to decline. Thranduil had laughed and stated that he was glad to meet someone else who could not always eat dessert. Together they had enjoyed a glass or two of wine which Thranduil had informed him was call dorwinion and was made at the estates vineyard.
The conversation had been so stimulating and they had grown so quickly accustomed to each other's company that they had entirely forgotten to discuss the plans for the mural.
"Well," Thranduil said, setting down his glass and leaning back in his chair, "since I will be having the pleasure of your company here much more often, might I suggest we swap contact details? Then we could arrange for you to be here at the times that are most convenient to you and to meet again to discuss the planning stages?"
"Are you sure that's not just a clever way to ask for my number?" Bard joked and then immediately regretted it.
Oh God! He had had too much wine! How could he have said that? He'd just ruined everything! Where the hell had that even come from?
Thranduil, mercifully and for some reason unknown to Bard, laughed and smiled at him, saying,
"Perhaps. Either way, it will make our business dealing much easier, and I would enjoy the opportunity to converse with you outside of our work,"
"S-sure," Bard nodded vigorously, trying to overcome his crushing embarrassment, "I'd like that. I can write my number down for you,"
He withdrew a small notebook he had brought with him to take any notes and quickly scribbled his mobile number down.
"Thank you, Bard," Thranduil half grinned as he tucked the paper into his pocket, "Shall I ask Feren to drive you back? You may stay here as long as you wish, but you seem rather uncomfortable, suddenly,"
Bard was unsure whether or not Thranduil was teasing him or genuinely concerned. Perhaps a bit of both. Still, Bard thought that, by now, he had probably outstayed his welcome.
"Please," he replied.
Within moments, Feren had pulled the car up to the the manor doors. Thranduil escorted him to is and, shaking his hand, eased a piece of paper into it.
"Thank you for your excellent company," he smiled, "I very much look forward to hearing from you,"
"Thank you for all you hospitality," Bard returned gratefully, "I really am looking forward to working with you, Thranduil,"
"And I you, Bard," he bowed his head in thanks and turned to the driver, "Drive carefully, Feren. The roads are wet tonight,"
"Of course, sir," Feren replied, before pulling out of the drive. Thranduil waved them off until they disappeared behind the hedgerows.
When Bard returned home he found he had to sit down for a while and process the night's events. He felt both anticipatory about his large and daunting task but also excited to spend extended amounts of time in Thranduil's company - a sensation that, outside his children, was quite foreign to him. Carefully, he unfolded the paper he had been given.
"Since you didn't ask for mine first,
07485556249 - Thranduil,"
Hurriedly, Bard entered the number into his phone and saved it. He debated for a while whether it would be appropriate to contact him then or wait until tomorrow but decided that he would rather not wait. He had something he desperately wanted to say:
"To: Thranduil
Hi. So, I just wanted to say thank you again for a great night. I don't remember the last time I felt so welcome. I'd love to return the favour some time. Perhaps we could meet later this week? Bard."
He breathed out after pushing send. He hoped that he had not overstepped the mark. He just felt an urge to be in Thranduil's company. He felt like he could be himself with him and enjoy their time together without worrying about anything in his everyday life. He just wanted to be around him.
After a few tense minutes, he received a reply,
"To: Bard
I'm so glad you enjoyed this evening as much as I did. I'm very grateful for the opportunity to spend time with you. As for returning the favour, I would be open to any suggestion you may have a would like to meet at your earliest convenience. Yours, Thranduil."
Bard couldn't stop himself smiling at that. He was so worried that he had made a monumental idiot out of himself, particularly with his stupid number remark, but it seemed that Thranduil was not deterred. In fact, Bard noted with a pleasant warm spreading through him, he seemed to have enjoyed himself as much as he had. Quickly he typed back,
"To: Thranduil
Would this Friday be good? My children always go out with friends on Friday evenings so time wouldn't be an issue. There is a lovely cafe that's open late near where I live. You could park in my driveway and we could walk there, if you'd like? We could discuss the plans there and I could buy you a coffee as a meager thank you for the meal?"
Bard waited for a response. The more he read over the text the more he felt it sounded like a coffee date. Had he just asked this man on a coffee date? Oh god, he might have just asked him on a coffee date! What the hell was wrong with him? Definitely too much wine! When his phone buzzed again, he had to bring himself to look at the screen,
"To: Bard.
I would like that very much. I'll be there for 6:30 on Friday. I very much look forward to seeing you again, Bard. Please, feel free to contact me in the mean time. I would relish the conversation,"
Bard breathed a sigh of relief. He mentally thanked the heavens that he hadn't put his foot in it for a second time in an hour. Now he could look forward to their meeting on Friday, and the permission to text him in the days in between was something he was also very happy about. Feeling very pleased with the evening unexpected developments, Bard resigned himself to bed to fully sleep off that wine.