Big thanks to SatsurikuSajira and DesperateForPenNameNotTaken for the reviews! Here is Chapter 30, my dears. Someday, I'll have to go back into the earlier chapters and finally do a cleaning edit. I know it's full of typos... but this is the first go round. You're reading this raw from my brain!

The grandfather of Thranduil is a subject of some debate and I'm not sure that it's ever been canonically decided, so this is just a swing at a popular theory.

I'm going to try and post once per month if I can stick to it. Lots more to come! Enjoy!

The Prince's whispered—albeit interrupted—confession was mercifully beginning to fade from my mind.

I was determined not to let that earlier exchange bother me. That the King had chosen that moment to invoke my agreed service was odd and… rude, honestly. Would it really have cost him so much to give us just a moment of peace?

Robbed of this, and called back into court, I had chosen to give our monarch exactly what he had asked for. I would not pout. I would not give him the satisfaction of having prevailed over me. I would give him the most excellent entertainment anyone could imagine, and then—I would give myself over to the evening's enjoyment. Become what I knew I was—a daughter of Mirkwood. A newly-out, unpartnered elleth with a position to be envied.

My resolution turned out to be a tonic. The men of Gondor were only too happy to line up and dance with me, and I ended up having an absolutely marvelous time.

It seemed my musical compatriots in the corner were living vicariously through me, and egged us all on incessantly, playing many a merry tune. Even some of the finest ellons and elleths from both Mirkwood and Rivendell offered me turns about the floor. Someone brought me a delicate flute of mead and I downed it in what I hoped was a graceful manner and not like that of a baseless ne'er-do-well in a filthy tavern somewhere.

It wasn't until the eighth or ninth dance, which was a stately duple formation piece, that any of the proceedings changed. A new couple had come up the set, and when I turned away from my partner to dance with my alternate—it was the King.

I lost my footing for a moment and I'm sure my mouth fell open. "Y—your Majesty," I finally managed, adding a hasty curtsey.

Here in the softly lit hall, Thranduil Oropherion was a breathtaking sight.

His winter crown bore sets of blood-red and orange berries offset with sprigs of evergreen. His robes were an iridescent green with gold trim. The sheer size of him, the broad shoulders and shimmering blond locks, the piercing eyes and—as always—those bold, stormy brows… it was almost too much, and I struggled not to back away from him out of sheer intimidation.

He seemed to notice the effect he'd had on me, for he smirked a little and offered me his hand. "Are you well, Lady Bard?" he murmured. "Feeling a little warm, perhaps? We can stop for some refreshment if you wish."

We did the next few steps together, my body finally catching up with my reeling mind. "I am perfectly well, your Highness. I had not thought you… were inclined to dance."

"I love dancing," he rejoined in a rather contrary manner. "It's just not often I have the opportunity to indulge."

His every step was perfect. He made the rhythms look easy with his graceful athleticism; it was clear from how he moved that he felt the music down to his very bones.

Sometimes it was easy to forget that however staid or stodgy the King's behavior might be, however severe he was with his court, he was, after all, just an ellon. He was probably bored out of his mind with the heaviness of his responsibilities most of the time, having lived already for hundreds of years. Who could entertain such a worldly person…?

Well, me, I supposed. He had chosen me after all. Hadn't he?

With a gentle flick of his wrist, the King passed me back off to my partner and I didn't see him for the rest of the dance. He and his own dancing partner progressed all the way to the end of the hall, waited out for a round, and then started back down the set, but the song ended before I met with them once more.

With an audible, grateful sigh, the dancing courtiers turned to the musicians and clapped appreciatively.

It was Ayduin who took the floor then for a quick announcement. "Lords and ladies," he called heartily. "We thank you for joining us this evening. As the sun will be rising in only a few hours, we bid you a fond farewell and a safe journey to wherever you are bound."

Cheers and clapping followed, and all too soon, the evening was over. Servants began to tidy the banquet hall area and the guests reluctantly dispersed.

I let out a regretful sigh. It had been a lovely evening… and I wasn't ready for it to be over.

Slowly, I made my way toward the double doors at the end of the hall. The gathered folk were farewelling each other and the echoes of conspiratorial laughter began to fade as everyone sought their beds.

Out in the darkened corridor, I moved like a shadow, peering through the casements at the sparkling snowscape outside.

I had thought myself completely alone, which is why I jumped when someone called out after me.

"Yes?"

"Forgive me—I did not mean to startle you," the Elvenking said softly. Ayduin and Reyren were just coming out of the banquet hall with him, and he turned to shake their hands genially before they departed. "Goodnight, and thank you," I heard him say.

Then he turned to face me. We were alone. I couldn't imagine what he wanted, but I made up my mind not to be the first to speak, so we stood that way for some moments before he finally deigned to.

"I thought I might escort you to your quarters this evening," he said gently. "The evening's spirit was generous, and we have guests here unfamiliar to our halls."

There wasn't a respectful way to refuse that, so I gave him a curtsy and answered, "I thank you, your Highness. That is very kind."

"Not at all."

We began to stroll in the direction of my rooms, and I noticed he was taking his time.

"How are you?" he asked suddenly.

I shook my head lightly, confused. "How am I? Do you mean lately? Or tonight?"

"Both, I imagine," he replied.

I looked sideways at him. His hands were clasped behind his back, and in the darkness of the corridor, the silhouette of his crown cast webbed shadows on the floor. He was studying me with that intense gaze unique only unto him.

"Lately, I find myself busy with the restoration of the music library," I told him. "It is an ongoing project that I think will engage me for some time. I am very relieved that the Prince is healing well, as that was a particularly worrying injury." I did not bother to keep the edge from my voice as I mentioned Legolas, wondering if I might receive an explanation for what had happened earlier. But he busied himself by glancing out the window beside us.

"And tonight?" I continued. "Tonight was wonderful. I did not want it to end."

"Oh, no?" he asked curiously. "Why not?"

I hesitated for a moment. Then, "I believe I finally feel as though I belong at court," I answered. "To belong somewhere—it's not something I've felt for as long as I can remember. I love music, and I love dancing. And who doesn't enjoy fine food, drinks, and company?"

A rare smile flitted across his face. "I see."

The moonlight peered in through the windows we passed, angling the shadows thrown down onto the floor.

After a moment, the King asked softly, "Do you want the night to continue?"

I stopped moving and looked at him.

"I—have something I'd like to show you," he said. "Outside."

"Outside!" I exclaimed softly. "It's freezing, Your Highness! I don't think I'm appropriately equipped..."

Not that we were as incapacitated by cold temperatures as—for example—manlings, but my evening gown bared my arms and shoulders. It wouldn't be especially comfortable.

"I can address that," he replied.

A few moments later, I was wrapped in the King's own fur-lined cloak with the hood drawn up over my head. It was so heavy, it felt like I was attempting to drag another person along with me on our outing, and the edges of it trailed in the snow. I was curious—what was this about? Thranduil King had a light fur mantle draped around his own shoulders, and he offered me his arm as we left one of the open pavilions to walk down a few snowy steps.

The hard muscle under his sleeve was impressive. I continued to be surprised by his strength, his breadth. The only things I'd ever seen him do was sit around, eat, drink, and command people, so how he maintained his physique was a mystery to me.

There was a bent-wood bench on the grounds, and he motioned to it. I sat, and he stood nearby. The sheer quiet of the Mirkwood this evening was profound.

"My late wife and I," he said gently, "used to celebrate the Winter Solstice by stargazing."

I watched him, intrigued.

"And luckily," he added, looking up into the night sky, his warm breath creating clouds of steam in the frigid air, "It is a clear evening. I thought I might show you a few of my favorite constellations. Would that please you?"

I was shocked. This was very private, very significant. This might have been the most vulnerable I'd ever seen him.

Somehow, in the dark, deserted courtyard with no observant eyes on us, we were no longer King and courtier. We were ellon and elleth, simply experiencing each other. At least, this seemed to be the dynamic the Elvenking was attempting to create. Just a few hours earlier, I had listened to what had promised to be some sort of confession from his son. Again, I marveled at my life in the court of the Mirkwood.

"I—yes," I answered finally. "I would be honored."

He looked down at me for a fleeting moment before returning his attention to the jeweled sky. "That," he said with an air of marked satisfaction, "Is the Felled Boar. Do you see him there, with the spear sticking out of his side?"

I followed the King' extended index finger and could just find the Boar beyond a stand of treetops to my right.

"And there is the Fountain," he continued. "The story goes that the Valar themselves, when journeying through Thought and Time, stop to drink from it and refresh their weariness. That bright star just at the base is called The—"

"The Nonpareil," I finished for him.

He seemed a little astonished, and I smiled at him. "I could look at the stars forever," I said. "I've always enjoyed learning about them, ever since I was small. Crystalline orbs that tell stories in the night sky? What could be more compelling?"

A tiny smile passed across his kingly features, but he turned quickly away from me as he replied. "I agree. Some of my old friends from the war, menfolk, tell tales of deep fear and trepidation when they think about the stars. They say it makes them feel small and insignificant, but I feel differently. The constellations connect us to our universe and to the deities that govern us."

I nodded thoughtfully. Who was this ellon speaking so openly about his feelings? Was it possible he was possessed?

"These, for example," Thranduil Elvenking went on. "The Mother and the Father. Those willowy figures on the horizon. Do you see them?"

I hadn't heard of the Mother and the Father, and I shook my head, unable to locate them.

The King moved in behind the bench where I sat, his boots crunching in the frozen snow. He bent down so his head was close to mine and pointed an outstretched arm past us both. "Just there. Their feet are touching the horizon."

I nodded again, but found myself distracted by the nearness of him.

"I never knew my mother, you see," he continued. "My father, Oropher Elulindoion, used to tell me when I asked after her, that she was there. He said when she had died, she had gone to the constellation of the Mother in the night sky, and that when he passed on, he would surely go to join her. In this way, I feel always connected to them, whether their spirits truly live in the stars or not. In my mind, my mother and my father gaze ever down upon me."

It was a beautiful story. But, "I had thought King Oropher went to the Undying Lands," I wondered aloud.

The King shook his head. "I wish he had. But he was killed in battle. He fought under Gil-galad in the Last Alliance… it was an unfortunate end."

"I'm sorry," I said softly.

Thranduil King let his arm fall. "Thank you."

A chill wind blew just then and I shivered lightly.

"You are cold," he noticed. "We should go back inside."

I smiled up at him. "I'm not ready to go in yet. It will be all empty and lonely in my quarters after such a memorable evening." I was babbling. I hardly realized what I had said until the King canted his head at me. Lonely in my quarters? Valar, you stupid elleth. What else could he make of that?

"Then I will lend you some of my warmth," he replied, coming at last to sit next to me on the bench. "Here." He located my hands and took them up in his own, chafing them gently.

The intention and accompanying action was so intimate and yet came so naturally to him—I wondered yet again just what I was to him. Family? A younger sister? A daughter figure? Or did he hope for something else entirely? I wished he would never stop. And I was glad no one else was around to see.

"Thank you," I breathed.

He nodded, lowering my hands back down to rest on the fur-edged cloak.

But in an unmistakable gesture of interest, he did not let me go.

Dumbfounded, I glanced down at my fingers, cradled in his. I didn't know what to say.

When I looked back up, Thranduil Elvenking was watching me from under his black brows. He looked… distressed. "Did," he said suddenly, and then cleared his throat. "Did my son… offer you his hand earlier this evening?"

I frowned, finding it abruptly difficult to concentrate. There was a rushing sound in my ears and I took a deep breath, trying in vain to steady myself.

"It's—" he swallowed. "I understand if you'd rather not speak of it. I don't wish to…"

I couldn't find the right words to give him, and misreading my response, the King gently disengaged his hands from mine. "Please forgive me," he murmured. "I can see that this troubles you."

Frantically, I reached for him and found purchase at his sleeve. "Please, Your Highness," I said faintly over the sound of my own pulse. "I—I need a moment."

"Anything," he said huskily.

Unbidden, then, I remembered an earlier time I had clutched at his robes without his permission, and the fierce way he had repelled at me. This time, my touch seemed welcome.

Is this real? Or is it some dream I have strayed into?

In support, he offered his strong, warm hands again, and I took them. "Your Majesty," I said slowly, doing my best to collect myself. "It is my belief that the Prince was indeed trying to convey to me sentiments of this sort, but he did not have the chance to finish—and now he travels to the White City with the words unspoken. Not that the loss is so great—I do not wish to flatter myself, but I fear he will harbor some deep regret over that. Over not being able to speak his piece."

Thranduil's face was veiled, and he listened with complete and utter stillness.

"In faith," I went on. "I hardly know my own feelings. I did not come to court with the intention of seeking… affection… from anyone. I cannot say it is unwelcome, for I have no real family to speak of. My mother is gone, and my sister and I are—are not close. In some ways, I long for—" I struggled to take a quick breath and tried again. "I long for—"

And suddenly, I was choking, the treacherous tears beginning to leak from my eyes.

The King looked stunned.

I was as surprised as he was—and embarrassed, besides. I covered my face with my hands and began to weep, mortified beyond expression. The strained, choked sounds were perhaps the most embarrassing of all, but they had risen up so implacably that I was powerless to stifle them.

After a moment, the King quickly produced a clean handkerchief and pressed it tenderly into my hands. And then he, Thranduil Oropherion, wrapped his strong arms around me and held me while I cried.

"Shhhh," he intoned gently after a few minutes, all displays of rank totally dissolved for the first time I could remember. He didn't seem to be able to think of other words to say at first, and so made soothing, consoling sounds. I barely recognized him from this behavior. It was other-worldly. "I didn't mean to upset you," he said, lost. "Please—don't cry."

I sobbed a few times, utterly undone. I was so confused by what I felt for the Prince—and by these new feelings I felt for his father! I'd clearly underestimated the toll these few tense months had taken on me, and now it was all breaching the surface in this… this ugly way. There had been no one I'd been able to confide in, save for Chalia, but that was complicated too. Underneath all of the pomp and ceremony at court, I'd been so frightened I would slip up, make a mistake. I still didn't feel that I was able to place my absolute trust in anyone, least of all myself. And perhaps most of all, I felt a deep sense both of shame and guilt; that somehow, the attention I'd been receiving and any resulting fallout was of my own making. I hated making anyone I cared about unhappy, but I simply didn't see a way forward. And Valar, why was no one asking me what I wanted?!

"You've been used much too roughly," Thranduil muttered, as if divining my thoughts. "And that is unforgivable."

I sniffled a little at that.

"We haven't played you fair," he continued, seeming to reproach himself. "How can one elleth be all things to all people? You've been counselor, consort, entertainer, friend…" With gentle fingers, he stroked one of my tears away. "...Historian. Great Manwë—surgeon! Remember that?"

I laughed.

"How can you be both an attendant and a respected companion? The strain has been too much; I see that now."

"I like it," I insisted softly, calming at last. "I'm flattered…"

"No," he said firmly. "The situation is untenable. It has been borderline at best."

I had given myself over to him, cradled comfortably in the warmth of his strong arms, and together, we looked out at the brilliant stars, singing in their expanse.

"Bard… Filauria," he said quietly. It was the invocation of my name that caught my attention. "Your business is your own, and you need not answer to anything that makes you uncomfortable. But I would know your thoughts—if you care to share them, that is. Your… place—here. In the Greenwood. You…" he wet his lips, searching for the right words. "You can name it. Do you understand? If that place is with the Prince, then…" he gritted his teeth a little. "Then I suppose I will have to manage that somehow. Whatever you wish to do or not do, to be or not be; I can grant it. You deserve to be happy."

Slowly, he lifted one of my hands to his lips and brushed a tender kiss to my inner wrist, taking me by surprise yet again.

"I want you to be happy," he whispered.