After the meal was done, Thranduil found himself drawn to the bard once more, offering to see her back to her rooms.
He tried not to think about what a pathetic fool he was being.
It was late. The guests in the hall had drunk their fill and the servants were clearing the dishes away. The only thing that could have made the evening more merry would have been—well, her. Singing. Entertaining them all. But there would be time for that soon enough.
She smiled up at him shyly and accepted his offered escort. Her delicate fingers were so small in the crook of his arm. He could feel her warmth radiating even through his green brocade oversleeve.
"And how was your day off?" the Elvenking asked me, his deep voice rumbling in his chest and reverberating up my arm. The spikes of his tall crown were utterly bare to reflect this cold season, the deep brown branches worked into wicked points that stretched upward.
I smiled at him. "It was very good," I replied. "I feel very refreshed."
"That is good," he said, and we walked on in companionable silence for a time. The halls were mostly deserted, the lights low.
"I had a chance to meet Lady Arwen. And Lord Elrond."
"And how do you like them?" he asked.
Nodding, I replied. "I find them to be very kind."
"That they are. They are important allies to have, but good friends as well."
I thought again what a good match Arwen would make for Legolas, but then remembered we'd already spoken about that before the prince had left for Minas Tirith. You are saying that my theory of you and Lady Arwen being a couple—was wrong? I had asked. Very wrong indeed, he had said suggestively. I shivered.
"Are you cold?" The Elvenking asked.
"No, your majesty," I answered. "Thank you for asking." With my hand tucked securely into the crook of his arm, I wondered how we looked together. I wondered… what other people might think, seeing us like that. I wondered what the prince would think. I wondered how often in the future we would walk arm in arm like this, the Elvenking and his bard. But I didn't feel uncomfortable or afraid. More… curious. Hopeful. Interested.
Gently, the king cleared his throat beside me, and I realized he had spoken something that hadn't registered with me.
"Forgive me, highness. I was lost in thought. What did you say?" I asked quickly.
He smiled a little—nervously, perhaps? "I wanted to congratulate you," he offered again.
"On what?" I asked.
He wet his lips. "On your position at court. On your success. You have worked extremely hard and have… won everyone over, apparently," he said with a small chuckle. "And I think that deserves some recognition."
I was surprised. Who was this gentle, awkward ellon who wore the king's visage? I didn't know what to say, so I simply smiled and replied, "Thank you."
He stopped, and I realized almost regretfully that we had reached my door.
The Elvenking turned to face me, and his eyes traveled absently over my face, up to my hairline, even. Before I knew what was happening, he'd reached out to tuck a few loose strands of my hair behind one ear. His fingers were warm, solid, and an answering warmth kindled within me. My heart began to quicken.
"I—" he began. "I think I'm…"
I met his eyes. Dark. They were dark with… fear? Uncertainty. And there was something else there that I couldn't name. I waited.
He took up my hand again, absently caressed it. Whatever it was on his heart would be rough in the speaking, if it came out at all.
I'm not sure why I did it. To soothe him, probably. There was something in my king's aura that communicated agitation, so—surprising myself with my own boldness, I lifted his hand to my mouth and kissed it gently, as he'd kissed mine before.
As my lips touched his skin, I looked up into his eyes again. I found disbelief there this time.
He blinked several times then, and I realized there was the faintest mist of tears clouding them.
My mouth fell open and I frowned, about to ask if I'd done something wrong, when he seemed to collect himself. The Elvenking of Mirkwood leaned in close to my ear and whispered gently, "Goodnight, Filauria. Sleep well."
With that, he turned and left, breaking the spell over us.
I finally released the breath I'd been holding.
As I readied myself for bed that night—after my heart finally stopped pounding—I reflected on my season so far.
I felt… Good. Confident in my skin.
I'd reached an enviable point in my career. Even my room, as I'd noticed before, told the story of my unmistakable success by both its arrangement and contents.
The king, it seemed, had feelings for me. Instead of trying to sort it all out or solve it, this time, I simply allowed myself to enjoy the attention. Take the compliment for what it was.
I would worry about the prince later.
I had driven myself too hard, blamed myself for every development. Now, it was time to relax. Appreciate the treatment. Bask in it.
I wondered what would happen the next time we spoke, the Elvenking and I, and smiled to myself.
As I pulled back the coverlet and slipped my legs underneath the sheets, I entertained myself with thoughts of his broad shoulders and piercingly beautiful eyes. He cared for me. I let that thought lull me to sleep.
Hungry. So. Very. Hungry.
The Unseen Force, which had lived in this old, old forest for centuries, nay, not merely lived—thrived—crept. Deep. Deep in the dark. Many legs. Many arms, yes. Many, many, many mouths. It writhed. It curled itself around the sharp angles of tree trunks and chunks of rock embedded in the frozen ground. It pooled, black and many-legged, on the crust of snow that coated the forest floor.
Slowly, and so very silently that no one suspected anything out of the ordinary was happening, this Unseen Force latched on to the cornice of a building and began to scale it. Easily done with these strong, sticky legs. Easily done, yes.
This one's name was Rirzi. And it was drawn to one of the glowing window panes where the Tall Ones lived, yes. A single, glowing window pane inside of which stood treasures and trinkets, flowers, jewels. Pretties.
Sheets and sheets of paper.
Gowns and other greedy bits.
It pouted when it found the window closed. Closed to the chill of winter… No matter. Rirzi wasn't like most of her kind. Oh, absolutely not. She kept her egg sac wrapped tightly to her back, yes. Like a secret weapon.
Peering in at the glowing scene inside the Tall One's window, she emitted a soft scream that was her silent signal, and the egg sac quivered in the chill moonlight.
Quivered. And cracked open.
Tinies. Hundreds. Thousands, maybe—streamed from the silken bag. So small they were hard to see.
Small enough to fit through the miniscule crack in the window, yes.
Small, poisonous lines of them marched like rivulets of smothering fog… in. In. More and more, until the windowsill inside was black with them.
So many legs. And so hungry. A mist of death.
Babies bred to kill.
They filled the silent jewelry box, touching and tasting the surface of every piece of glimmering gold. They covered the flower petals in the decorative vases, piercing and chewing until the blooms darkened and then crumbled.
The lined the insides of the silken and velvet hanging inside the wardrobe.
They pooled on the rug in piles of dark anger.
And finally, they set their sights on the sleeping form of the Tall One, dozing blissfully in its cocoon bed.
Time.
To feast.