The afternoon stretches longer than usual in the throne room, its high ceilings echoing with requests and appeals demanding immediate attention. As we walk back to our chambers for a day's rest, the halls are completely silent except for the distant murmur of the cavern stream—and the tread of Rîneth's steps as she trails behind.

I slow my pace to allow her to walk beside me, but she intentionally keeps her distance. Her posture is taut, like a bowstring drawn tight. I raise an eyebrow. Normally, I would enjoy the silence after such a trying day on the throne, but today, it feels uncomfortable—strangely so.

I have my suspicions about the reason for her ire, but I decide to wait until the privacy of our personal chambers before addressing it.

Even as I hold the door open for her to pass, she avoids my gaze, her jaw clenched and shoulders rigid, as if bracing against an unseen storm. She walks to her oak writing desk in the far corner and absentmindedly sets her crown beside her leather-bound sketch folio. Nearby, the cheerful vase of flowers starkly contrasts with her mood.

"Rîneth?"

She does not reply but strides past me, shutting the door to our bedchambers with a definitive click. Frozen in place, I weigh my options. What would be the best course of action? Giving her time and space to work through her feelings might be wise; that is what I would want in her place. Yet, I know Rîneth processes things much differently.

I knock softly—no answer. I hesitate, then decide to open the door.

The room smells of her, of springtime and fresh rainwater. She is sitting on the edge of the settee, using a book as a shield, pointedly ignoring my entrance. Although she has been displeased with me before, she is usually far more verbal.

I do not like this. Not at all.

"You are angry with me."

She turns a page with a sharp flick, louder than necessary. "My, you are even more perceptive than usual."

"Do you wish to discuss it, or would you prefer some time spent apart?"

No answer. Another page turns loudly.

I close my eyes, taking a deep breath to muster my dwindling patience—it is dwindling very quickly. I remove my crown and place it gently on a side table beside our bed. Usually, I handle our disagreements with care, finding ways to soothe her anger and draw her close once more. But today, she is acting completely out of character, and the path forward seems anything but clear.

"We will ensure the child and his family are properly cared for." I pause as she remains silent. "If you wish, we may invite them to live in the caves until their home is rebuilt."

The silence stretches between us, growing heavier with each passing moment. Rîneth's gaze drifts to the ancient tapestry hanging on the wall, depicting the Woodland Realm through the ages. She stares at the intricate emerald and gold threads, though I doubt she truly sees them.

Finally, she turns to me, her voice cold but with a slight tremble. "As you say, Aran nîn. You know best."

"I know you wished to personally oversee their resettlement, but I do not think that is wise—"

"Yes, you did not hesitate to announce that in the throne room, in front of the child, the guards and Lord Amdiron. At least they now see how little you trust me with even a small project such as this. My only role as Queen is to oversee the palace and kitchens, is it not?"

"The kitchens?" I shake my head, puzzled. "You are not making any sense. It is not a question of capability—"

"A family lost their home in a wildfire," she interrupts. Now she is standing, her breath drawing in deep swells, her arms tightly wrapped around herself. "We are speaking of a single home, not an entire village. Am I not competent enough to handle even that?"

"Why should you have to handle it at all, Rîneth? Why not let someone else assess the damage and determine what is needed? It is unrealistic to expect the Queen herself to—"

"I promised him my personal support. They have lost everything, their entire world."

"Please, let me finish."

"It is the least I can do to visit them, even if my help is minor." Her voice is strained with emotion, and she exhales as though she has been holding her breath for far too long. "And I would not be alone; I would have guards with me."

I close the distance between us, hoping she understands that we are reaching the heart of the matter. Despite my frustration, an aching part of me longs to pull her into my arms, to remove that look of hurt in her eyes.

Yet, I hold my ground. "We would not need a retinue of guards if we sent someone else—someone other than the Queen."

Her brows knit together, her usual warm gaze turning into a raging fire. "Is this your true concern, Thranduil? That I might waste resources on something you deem trivial?"

Before I can reply, she rushes past me, swift as the coursing Anduin. I stop at the door to our main chambers, hearing her fading footsteps echo down the corridor. It is clear she has no interest in anything I have to say right now. Reluctantly, I let her go.

I address the guards stationed outside our rooms. "Ensure she is safely accompanied if she leaves the caves."

The silence now thunders, her floral scent lingering in the air. If only I had given in to the impulse to pull her into an embrace, perhaps it would have smoothed the troubled waters, made her more willing to listen.

At her writing desk, I reposition her silver crown, my touch lingering on the soft leather of her sketch folio. It holds a collection of memories—bridal gown designs, the day of our union, portraits of her loved ones dressed in finery for the occasion. There is a detailed drawing of Lord Gailon and his grandson. Then, there are various candid sketches of me, captured through her eyes; I would never have allowed it from anyone else.

A wave of realization washes over me: I have been powerless to refuse her anything. Until today. Not for the reason she suspects, but because I love her so deeply. My hand falls to my side.

Why must she think the worst of me? After all this time, does she truly not understand my decision came not from a desire to limit her but from a fear for her safety? I allowed her considerable freedom managing the restoration efforts after the attack on our homeland. But that was here, where I could keep her within sight. The thought of her venturing into remote parts of the forest, beyond my reach, fills me with dread.

I am being overprotective. I admit it to myself. As she said, it is only a small project, not something which would take a long time to oversee. It obviously means a great deal to her.

And she would have a retinue of guards; I would make sure of it.

Do you see, meleth nín? I can deny you nothing.

Still, the thought lingers. Perhaps it would be wiser for me to accompany her. I shake my head at the notion of both the King and Queen of the Woodland Realm traveling to visit a single, fire-ravaged home at the outermost fringes of our kingdom.

I lay my quill to rest, finishing my last letter for the evening—a reply to Lord Celeborn. He is soon departing for Imladris to stay with Elrond's sons before leaving for the Grey Havens. I assured him that I will continue to offer support to Lothlórien in his absence, should it be required, and wished him peace on his journey.

A touch of sadness passes over me in knowing our paths may not cross again this side of the Sea—one of many farewells yet to come.

The candles burn brightly, casting light against the encroaching shadows in the empty space. The hour grows late. It is not long before it is time to retire, yet Rîneth still has not returned. Her absence hangs in the air like a heavy fog. This is completely unlike her.

The frustration I felt earlier has left as if it never existed. What if no guard is with her? Narunir is at home for the evening with his new wife, the Queen's handmaiden. Although the Guard keeps the Realm well-protected, leaderless orcs and other creatures still occasionally cross our borders. And Rîneth still has little capability to defend herself.

Acting on impulse, I open a drawer in her cabinet and immediately find what I am seeking. Then I leave.

I make my way to the library and then to the observatory, hoping to find her searching for a new book or watching the stars. Her old scriptorium stands empty. I can almost see her there, seated behind the long table, her curls falling over her fair face as she writes intently into the night. A pang of guilt hits me as I check the kitchens, reminded of her earlier comment.

She is nowhere to be found.

I will likely have to visit her friend Gwendes's house to see if she is there. I would rather endure an evening with the Dwarves from Erebor.

"Where is she?" I ask a young guard at the keep's entrance.

"The Queen had someone accompanying her, my lord. I made certain of it." The tone of his voice is apprehensive.

"Tell me."

The guard hesitates, a struggle playing across his face as he weighs his allegiance to the Queen against the fear of invoking my wrath. "The practice grounds, my lord."

What an unusual coincidence.

Earlier it was warm, but now that night has fallen a piercing chill has taken hold. It is between seasons; autumn is at the doorstep, but summer is yet unwilling to depart. A brisk wind lifts my hair and cloak as I walk down the deserted main road. Most of the villagers have sought refuge in their homes for the day, leaving the forest to silence and shadows.

If my wife were not being so difficult, we might now be sitting in front of our hearth, her head resting on my lap as she reads a book.

I round the corner and there she is, seated on a bench with a guard standing beside her. The lanterns cast a warm glow over the practice grounds, illuminating her hair as she reads. On the far side of the field a couple of Silvan warriors are engaged in a bout of swordplay. If they have noticed their Queen at all, her presence does not seem to trouble them.

I am convinced my wife could not look more out of place if she tried. A rush of affection fills me, and despite my best efforts, a slight smile tugs at the corners of my mouth.

Rîneth looks up, her gaze meeting mine briefly before looking away, and releases a sigh. Her lips twitch. But she will not allow herself to smile in return.

"I was hoping you would not think to look here." She closes the book with a loud thump before setting it aside. "I suppose I have Tathar to thank."

"He was quite reluctant to betray you." I turn to her guard. "Thank you, Thiliel. That will be all."

Thiliel bows her head respectfully and retreats towards the main pathway, beyond hearing range and sight. Rîneth maintains her silence, not offering me any words of encouragement, but she does not protest when I sit beside her.

I pick up her book and look at the title: Love in the Time of Sauron.

With some effort I force my expression into one of indifference. But it is difficult. Almost beyond measure.

"It was written by a woman from Dale," she says, reclaiming the book with a quick motion that sends a blush across her cheeks. "I find it interesting to read about romance from the perspective of a mortal."

"I see." I very much do not.

"There is such an…urgency to their love. They do not have the luxury to wait hundreds of years before even expressing their feelings, like the Eldar."

"Do you mean, like us?"

"That was…it is not…" She stops, completely flustered now. "Why did you come here?"

In the distance the two warriors are departing, talking to each other in hushed tones as they walk away. Although the Queen's presence seemed to have little effect on their practice, I believe my unexpected arrival might have.

I turn back to Rîneth. "Dinner passed…without you."

Her gaze flicks away, settling on the distant shadows. "I am not hungry."

"I admit…" I begin, the words heavy on my tongue, "I should not have publicly denied your request to oversee the resettlement of the child and his family. It gave the wrong impression."

"You should not have denied it at all, publicly or privately."

"Rîneth-"

"Do you truly believe me so incompetent that I cannot handle it?"

"Not at all."

"I oft traveled on my own to visit my friend Mattie at her farm near the River Running. The forest was far more dangerous back then, and I did not even have guards to protect me."

"You were not my wife, or I never would have allowed it. You could have died."

"Is this what this is all about?" she asks, her voice softening slightly. "You fear for my safety?"

"Yes, this is exactly what this is about, Rîneth," I confess. "This has nothing to do with believing you incompetent or only worthy of overseeing the kitchens. This family lives on the very outskirts of our realm. It is not unheard of for orcs or other dark creatures to lurk in such areas still."

"You do not have faith the guards will protect their Queen?"

"I do. Yet I know their Queen's spirited nature, even though she usually does not even carry a weapon."

She looks down at her lap guiltily. The brisk wind catches her curls and casts them across her face like autumn leaves caught in a whirlwind. She absently tucks the errant strands behind her ears and draws her green cloak tightly around herself.

I reach for her hand, and she lets me take it. "I do not wish to bring up the past, with what happened to..."

I trail off, the memories too painful to articulate. She must remember—how could she forget? —what Legolas endured as a child, taken captive by the Gundabad orcs, and the tragedy that befell Itaril. Surely, I should not need to voice these events ever again.

"I cannot—and will not—allow that to happen to you," I say, hoping my voice does not betray the true depth of my fear.

She squeezes my hand and looks up, her silver and amber eyes gleaming, the first light of dawn breaking over the sea. "I believe I understand now, my love. I apologize I…did not see it before."

"And I apologize for not communicating it more clearly."

Her expression turns thoughtful. "What if you accompanied me? There could be no better protection than having you by my side."

"This is the Queen's project, not mine. Perhaps I have been too overprotective. I will let you go, with a large retinue of guards, under one condition."

"Yes?"

"You will allow me to teach you how to better defend yourself."

Her eyes flare with surprise. "Need I remind you Legolas and Tauriel both tried and failed? Tauriel had somewhat better success, enough for me to learn to keep the knives in my hands. I was even lucky enough to hit an orc when we were attacked, but—"

"You have never had me as a teacher. I am one of the greatest warriors in Middle-earth."

"No one could ever accuse you of lacking confidence, my King."

I ignore her comment. "I understand you far better than they do. I understand your weaknesses—" She opens her mouth to protest. "—and strengths."

Her mouth closes, and her gaze drifts to the distance. "I know you speak truth. And I do understand the need to protect myself. It is just—it is not where I thrive, Thranduil. It is embarrassing I lack the usual agility of our kin…"

"Do you remember the first time I found you practicing with your knives in the forest?"

"Yes, I remember you being rather amused at my failed attempts."

"Do you remember what I told you?"

Her face turns wistful as she thinks back to that strange time when everything was beginning to change between us. "I believe you told me my mind was my biggest enemy and always had been. That I lacked belief in myself."

"And that you could be as good as any of our Guard," I say. "I still believe so."

I reach under my cloak and present her with the slender, golden-hued fighting knives gifted from Tauriel. Carefully she takes them from me, and as she unsheathes them their edges catch the glow from the lanterns. She studies them in quiet reverence.

"They were lying forgotten in a drawer," I say.

"Yes, I know."

"I am an excellent teacher. And very patient."

"Are you?" She does not look at all convinced.

"I am patient when it comes to you, meleth nín. I realize this is something which will take some time. I will not rush it."

"And if it takes a thousand years?" Her voice lightens with a sudden playfulness.

"I waited a thousand years to claim you as mine. Where you are concerned, my patience knows no bounds."

Her tentative smile breaks through, and it warms me more than the hearth in our chambers ever could. "It seems we are already at the proper place for lessons, are we not?" She springs to her feet.

"Then it is the perfect time to begin," I say.

In truth, I would prefer to retreat back to the comfort of our quarters, to enjoy a quiet meal and the closeness of holding her by the fire. But the sudden spark of enthusiasm in her eyes at the prospect of our training makes it impossible to deny her—especially now that she has let go of her anger.

The very moment I rise to join her, she catches me by surprise, grasping strands of my hair and drawing my head down to meet hers. Her lips claim mine with urgency. She wraps her arms tightly around my neck, and I pull her in as close as possible. She is warmth and softness and wildflowers. As our kiss deepens, autumn flees from the Woodland night as if it were never there at all; it is summer once again.

"Is that a move you learned from your book?" I ask when she releases me.

She shrugs, a mischievous spark dancing in her eyes. "Perhaps."

"The women of Dale and Lake-town have ever had an interesting influence on you, my Queen." I give her a teasing smirk.

"It was my way of saying I have forgiven you."