It has been exactly three days since Bard and Thranduil last met, and Bard had never been so glad of buying a mobile phone in his life.

In anticipation of their business meeting/"coffee date", as Sigrid was now teasingly calling it, they had been communicating frequently by text. They had discussed the mural only a little; they were more interested in asking each other how their day was going and sharing things that they thought the other might like. Bard had taken a picture of a particularly beautiful sunset and send it to Thranduil and had, in return, received an image of a deer and a message telling him that it was the same deer he had seen on the way to the manor. It was an exchange that they both enjoyed.

Bard had been busy making lunch when he his phone vibrated in his pocket. He smiled as he saw the sender,

"To: Bard

I hope you are having a pleasant day. I've just gotten out of a lunch meeting and I couldn't help feeling you would like the restaurant. Perhaps you could accompany me there sometime?"

Bard had been somewhat taken aback by the request but, given how quickly they had become friendly with each other, he found it a very pleasant thought. He sat down at his kitchen table and replied,

"To: Thranduil

That sounds very nice indeed but you forget I still owe you that coffee first! I don't want to sink too deep in debt! I hope the meeting went well, and you're having a great day too."

He was smiling into his soup, thinking about the rapport they had struck up. They had known each other less than a week but already Bard was beginning to feel that a whole in his life was being filled. The long disregarded need for companionship from someone his own age - or near enough - who could speak with him peer to peer. Already, his life seemed that little bit more enjoyable.

Sigrid, who had quite the sharp mind and teasing nature, had begun to joke that perhaps he had captured Thranduil's heart with his painting. She said that, with their wealthy hero and bashful protagonist dynamic, she could pitch their story to Disney and then he'd have to paint himself on Tilda's lunchboxes. Bard merely replied that she was getting far too fanciful for her own good. She was not the type to let up on something that amused her so she simply toned her insinuations down to referring to their coming meeting as their "coffee date".

His phone buzzed again,

"To: Bard

I've not forgotten the offer of coffee. In fact, it's been on my mind all day. Please say hello to your children for me. Legolas has asked me to do the same to you. I hope you will catch a glimpse my son soon. He seems very eager to meet you."

Bard snorted a little. If he told Sigrid that Thranduil had been asking after them, who knows what she would say! Still, it was very kind of Thranduil's son to want to meet him. He didn't know much about the boy, only that he was about to turn eighteen and attended a private boarding school about forty miles away. He was, at first, shocked that Thranduil would want his son to be so far away and yet, when he explained that it was originally so that Legolas would not be exposed to the effects the grief of his wife's death was having on him and that Legolas had decided to stay there because he genuinely enjoyed it, Bard had a much better understanding of Thranduil as a parent. There were actually quite alike; they both sought to protect their children, even if it meant hurting themselves, and they were both very keen to ensure their children's happiness. He looked forward to meeting Thranduil's son. Perhaps he should suggest that he introduce them both to his children? After all, Sigrid was around the same age and Bain wasn't far behind, so conversation should be that difficult. Quickly, he typed back:

"To: Thranduil

That's very kind of him. I'd love for you to meet my children too. We should organise something soon. And, as for coffee, I'm looking forward to it too. I've been missing your company,"

The reply was almost instant,

"To: Bard

And I yours, Bard. Very much,"

The warm feeling that that exchange gave him even seemed to make the soup taste better.

It was 6:20pm. Thranduil sat in the driver's seat of his Aston Martin, cruising gently down the quiet country roads that led to the coastal town where Bard lived. He had been given the address when Bard had texted him earlier that day and was attempting to navigate his way there. Feren had given him what he hoped were reliable directions but he couldn't help but worry that he wouldn't find his way. The last thing he wanted was to leave Bard waiting for a second time.

Mercifully, with about two minutes until their agreed meeting time, he finally saw the sea. He found the road that Feren had directed him to and followed it until he came to a crossroads and took the right. Eventually, Bard's home appeared in front of him. It was a old fisherman's cottage with two floors, a haphazard slate roof, a simple gravel driveway and surrounded by dry stone walls. A world away from his own home, Thranduil thought as he eased his car into the driveway, but certainly not unpleasant.

He had no real idea why he felt nervous as he checked his reflection in the rear view mirror; after all it was only a meeting over coffee with a man whom he had already spent some hours with. That being said, ever since their last meeting over dinner, he had been more anxious to enjoy Bard's company. In the three days they had not seen each other, he had found himself very glad that they had swapped contact details, as their conversations via text seemed to be all that had kept him going through a particularly tedious few working days.

In truth, he was perhaps nervous - he reluctantly admitted to himself - because he wanted to maintain Bard's good opinion of him. He did not want to put a dent in their fast-developing friendship. Straightening himself up, he exited the car.

He was just making his way towards the front door of the house when Bard stepped out. He was wearing a simple dark blue shirt and a pair of black jeans. His hair was more kempt-looking than usual and he was clutching a leatherbound book. Thranduil smiled as he took him in, feeling much more at ease already.

Bard smiled back at him as he approached. He was worried that he would look underdressed next to Thranduil but he was pleasantly surprised to find that he had dressed down for the occasion, wearing a red and black checked shirt, black jeans similar to his own and had tied his hair in a loose ponytail. Again, Bard questioned how Thranduil always seemed to look immaculate, even when wearing such casual clothing.

"Thranduil, hi," he greeted, extending his hand to shake, "It's great to see you again,"

"And you, Bard," Thranduil grinned in return, "I'm glad we arranged this meeting,"

Bard nodded in agreement. He cleared his throat a little and suggested,

"Would you like to walk to the cafe now? I mean, we can stay here for a while if you want but Tilda was going crazy with the glitter crafts earlier and I have gotten all out of the carpet yet…"

Thranduil chuckled, imagining Bard runner after a glitter-wielding child with a hoover.

"Please, don't trouble yourself, Bard. I'd love to walk there now," he reassured.

They made their way out of the driveway and down a lane, passing fields and cattle, in relative silence. Normally, Bard mused, that kind of silence would feel awkward and uncomfortable but this actually felt quite serene and pleasant. As they approached the edge of the small town, Bard informed him that the cafe was quite secluded and private, which he felt would give them the peace and quiet that they would need to discuss the mural. Thranduil felt more grateful for the ability to spend time with Bard in a more private setting, but he simply agreed with Bard and allowed him to guide him through the cobbled streets of the town.

"Here we are," said Bard, as they entered a particularly quiet area of the town, "right over there,"

The cafe was like something out of a novel. It was small and quaint, with a bay window at the front and red velvet curtains. It was lit by candlelight and oil lamps and, Thranduil noticed as Bard held open the door for him, it smell of a mixture of old books a home baking. It was an extremely homely, cozy little place.

They chose in the corner of the shop and, as Thranduil sat down, Bard asked,

"What would you like to drink? I didn't know if you preferred tea or coffee,"

"I'll have whatever you have," Thranduil replied, wondering what Bard himself preferred.

"Well, normally I love tea, but they make amazing hot chocolate here. Would you like that?"

"That sounds lovely," Thranduil replied, mentally noting that Bard's choice was tea over coffee.

"Okay then!" Bard smiled, "I'll be back in a second,"

When Bard returned, he was carrying two large mugs of steaming, thick hot chocolate, topped with swirls of whipped cream and tiny fluffy marshmallows. He gently placed one in front of Thranduil and sat down beside him.

"I hope you like it," Bard said, blowing the rising steam from his own mug, "It's really hot so please be careful. I wouldn't want you to burn yourself,"

When Bard look up at Thranduil, he wasn't sure why but he looked very touched by that comment.

"Thank you," Thranduil smiled, looking into his mug.

A few more moments of comfortable silence crept upon them before Bard remembered that he was carrying his leather bound sketchbook for a reason.

"So," he began, "It's a big area that this mural has to fill. Have you had any ideas about subject matter?"

"Well," Thranduil said, sitting back in his chair, "It's always been my belief that an artist does their best work when it's work that they enjoy. My only constraint is that the mural be reflective of its surrounding. That it visually describe the manor. Really, what I'd love is for you to paint your own impression of what you feel embodies that place,"

Bard blinked.

"Sorry, you want me to paint what I want? What I think your manor says to me?" he verified, trying not to hyperventilate.

"Absolutely," Thranduil confirmed, "As I've said before, Bard, I have absolute faith in your ability. And you have two advantages to this project; you have your supreme skill as an artist and you have also, unlike myself, not inhabited the manor your whole life. You have a fresh set of eyes. I'd be intrigued to discover what they see,"

Bard breathed deeply. Not only did he have to create the largest pieced he'd ever worked on, he had to do it on the wall of a stunning stately home and make it up! This was a little too much responsibility.

"Thranduil, I... I don't really know where to start. I mean-"

"I thought you'd say that," Thranduil cut him off, "and that is why, at your convenience, I would like you to spend some more time at the manor. To get a feel of the place and find how you feel about it,"

"You'd like me to be there more often?" Bard asked.

"Bard," Thranduil smiled indulgently, "you should know that, with me, your company is never unwanted,"

Bard felt himself flush a little at that statement - something he would later put down to the heat of the room.

"Perhaps," Thranduil continued, "You could come by tomorrow afternoon for a picnic in the grounds? And bring your children, too. I'm sure they'd find enough things to amuse them there. My son, Legolas, is home for the weekend and he's very excited to meet you all. Would that interest you at all?"

"That," Bard smiled, thinking of his children enjoying those beautiful surroundings, "sounds wonderful. I just don't want to cause you any trouble,"

"Not at all," Thranduil chuckled, "Very well then, tomorrow it is. Shall I send Feren or would you prefer to drive?"

"Oh, I think I've given Feren enough extra work recently," Bard laughed, "I'd be happy to drive there,"

"As you wish," Thranduil shook his head at Bard's constant need to contribute. He certainly admired that trait in him but he also found that he enjoyed catering to him. If Bard was to be around the manor more often he would just have to get used to that.

He lifted his now drinkable hot chocolate to his lips and took a sip. Bard had excellent taste, he thought, as he enjoyed the feeling of it warming him from the inside.

"So-" Bard looked up from his own mug but was cut short as he snort with laughter.

"What?" Thranduil asked, looking blankly back at him. Did he miss something?

"Sorry! Sorry, it's just-" Bard chuckled from behind his hand, "You've got a whipped cream mustache! Here…"

Without a second thought, Bard leaned in and gently wiped the cream from Thranduil's mouth with his thumb. It was only when he had pulled back and saw Thranduil's stunned expression and his parted lips that he realised what he had done. He began to babble apologies.

"S-sorry! Oh god, I'm sorry! I shouldn't have... I mean-"

He stopped abruptly as Thranduil rested his hand on top of his own.

"No, please! It's alright," he assured, allowing his thumb to run across Bard's knuckles for a brief moment before withdrawing, "Thank you,"

Bard merely nodded and cleared his throat in response, suddenly becoming fascinated by his drink. There was a spell of silence and Thranduil felt awful for causing Bard discomfort.

"So, I take it I don't suit a mustache?" he asked jokingly, trying to ease Bard's awkwardness.

Bard couldn't help it. He laughed.

They had walked back from the town in the light of the setting sun. It cast a beautiful orange glow over the field and, in each other's company, conversation seemed to flow like water. They arrived at Bard's home in what felt like no time at all and, Bard had to admit it, he was reluctant to allow the evening to end.

"Would you like to come in for some tea?" he asked as Thranduil walked him to his door.

"Thank you," Thranduil smiled, "but I wouldn't want Galion to see me return covered in glitter,"

"Oh, right! I forgot! I'm sorry about 's a little madam sometimes," he remembered the mess dejectedly.

Thranduil simply laughed and his reply chased all sadness from Bard's mind.

"I can't wait to meet her tomorrow,"

He turned to leave but stopped and, smiling, swiped his thumb across the corner of Bard's mouth. He had neglected to tell Bard it was there on purpose. Grinning at Bard's shocked expression, he turned and headed to his car.

As he reversed out of the drive, a speechless Bard waved him off. Tomorrow, he vowed, no glitter.