When they had parted and he was finally alone, the king sighed to himself and pushed the heels of his hands into his tired eyes.

The immediacy of his empty bed confronted him, and he glared at it.

Would he regret all that he had shared with the bard in the cold light of day?

He hoped he hadn't made too much of a fool of himself. She could be in no doubt of his interest, at least. It was possible that after all things, Filauria would think him horribly manipulative; after all, he did not generally let her see the softer, more vulnerable side of himself. Did she even believe it? Believe him? It doesn't matter, for it is done now. No going back.

And really, the important thing was that she knew. The impulse he'd had to keep his distance from the bard now seemed unthinkable. He'd missed time in her company, missed speaking with her. The fact that his son had tried to make a move… Thranduil could have lost her forever, and she never would have known how he felt.

He wouldn't have been able to rest at all if she'd made some sort of decision without all of the pertinent information.

Valar, how he had wanted to kiss her!

Not yet, he told himself. These things should not be rushed.

I fairly floated back to my apartments, too stunned by the evening's events to even think. As I entered, the soft glow of the flameless torches greeted me, and I stopped in the doorway to take everything in.

There was the wardrobe, fair bursting with lovely things for me to wear. The finely carved bed with its imposing hangings and warm, soft blankets. My dressing table with the gilt mirror, littered with scattered pieces of jewelry and cosmetics. Sheaves of music, books on vocal technique, and my practice lute sat silently in the corner. There were even odd bouquets of flowers from friends and acquaintances sprinkled throughout the room… one vase was perched just next to my copper tub, over which was slung one of the softest white towels I'd ever felt.

This is not the residence of a lonely elleth, I thought. This is not the residence of an elleth without a future. She has friends; she has people who know and love her. It was a new feeling, and I relished it.

I closed the door behind me and began to undress.

I knew it was hopelessly late, knew that there was no way I'd be able to get the proper allotment of sleep tonight even if I fell into bed now, but I'd discovered the hard way that neglecting nighttime ablutions was something I always regretted.

Once in my sleeping gown, I undid the braids my hair was coiled up in and began to brush through the kinked strands slowly and patiently.

My thoughts went immediately to Thranduil King. I weighed everything he had said, wondering for the hundredth time if I had dreamed it all. Not only had Prince Legolas of Mirkwood attempted to speak to me of his seeming affection for me… evidently the King of the Woodland Realm himself harbored feelings of his own.

It was ridiculous.

Wasn't it? Was someone playing a cruel joke on me?

Then I remembered the Elvenking's stoic features softening when he spoke about the stars, about his favorite constellations. About his parents.

It all rang true to me.

And then I thought, So he can be polite and decent… and he's chosen to be beastly to me most of the time I've been in his company. Good to know.

I bathed my face in cool water, cleaned my teeth, and then climbed into bed. Outside, the first grey light of dawn was beginning to show at the edges of the draperies in my room.

Even after spending all of this time with the royal family, I felt that as individuals, I barely knew either of them. I supposed anxiously that more open, honest conversations needed to take place if any of us were to move forward. If I woke up early enough, I would try to find the prince and speak with him before his departure. I yawned. Or I could write to him, also. The group of them would be leaving in the morning, I knew—the menfolk. To go back to Minas Tirith.

I yawned again. And then sleep claimed me.

When I awoke, my mouth was dry and it was hopelessly late. My apartments were quiet, and I rose blearily and put on the dressing robe that afforded me the most coverage. Thankfully, my hair wasn't too unkempt—I'd barely moved during the night.

I poked my head out of my apartments and flagged down a servant I saw headed to the main audience chamber. "Psst!" I said surreptitiously. "Have the men left for the White City already?"

"Yes, my lady," she replied, not stopping. "About four hours ago."

I groaned and returned to my bed. A letter it would be, then.

I was annoyed that nothing had been solved while I'd been sleeping—it had merely all been put on hold while I'd taken my rest.

I was both rankled and relieved—frustrated that Legolas had not been able to communicate to me whatever it was that he'd wished to say, and also glad that the responsibility of deciding what to do with said information had blessedly passed me over.

Still sleepy, I thought again of star-gazing with my king. I thought of the light touch of his hands on my skin, of the weight of his heavy cloak, and of how it had smelled of him.

A hot flush spread over my face, and I groaned. Manwë, how was I to face my king at court today?

At least with the guests having left, there would be no undue pressure to perform any holiday-themed pieces, and hopefully no ceremonies or other high-visibility activities. And with the winter having set in, it was now a time for creature comforts… for cozy fireplaces and warmed wine and stories and spiced nuts. I hoped I would be able to relax a little bit.

After I had dressed, I made up my mind to check in with Ayduin and then to visit the music library for another work session. It was coming along nicely, but there was still so much to do before it could be deemed presentable.

The halls were mostly quiet today, and when I arrived in the throne room, I was a little relieved to see that Thranduil King was not there.

"Good morning!" called Ayduin from across the room. "Recovering from last night, are we?"

I smiled at him and took his proffered glass of water. "Thank you," I replied gratefully. "Yes, it was rather late, wasn't it?"

"Rather," he agreed with a distinctly toothy grin.

"I was wondering—" I began.

"Where his Highness is?" Ayduin finished for me. "Still abed, is the rumor."

"Ah."

"Yes," he said, again with that altogether too knowing smile. "It's been decades since Thranduil Elvenking actually slept in after a banquet night." There was a slight pause, and then he added, "I think it's rather good for him, truth be told. I don't trust people who can't enjoy a party. Perhaps this is a sign he's finally healing."

I nodded, sipping my water, then stopped myself. "Healing?" I asked.

Ayduin started to answer, but then noticed court staff carrying a piece of new furniture in through the heavy double doors and broke off conversation with me. "No, no—the other hall. Yes. Just through… wait. I'll come with you." He turned back to me. "Excuse me, my dear. I need to take care of this."

And then he was gone.

Just as well. The music library was calling to me.

I found several interesting pieces that afternoon, putting them aside to study later. Among them was a song called Silverweave for three voices, an instrumental piece for the lute that was meant to simulate a winter storm, and two poems that I thought sounded interesting. I worked for hours, stacking scrolls, books, and loose papers, cataloging pieces that didn't seem to belong anywhere, sweeping up piles of dust, and generally feeling exhausted.

I stopped for luncheon around the two o'clock hour and supped on cold partridge, cheese, white wine, and olives.

Again, I noticed that Thranduil King was conspicuously absent from the throne room.

When I finally emerged from the library, I was a filthy mess. It was already growing dark outside, and I was hungry, cold, and tired.

In the small hallway that led from the King's chambers out to the main hall, I paused for a moment before opening the doors, hoping I wouldn't be interrupting dinner. Behind me, a small sound caught my attention and I turned to see Thranduil himself striding down the hall.

Feeling very small and intensely dirty, I let go the handle of the door and curtsied to him. "Your majesty," I murmured, expecting him to pass me and head out to supper.

But he stopped.

"Bard," he intoned, by way of greeting. He didn't exactly smile, but the corners of his mouth turned up slightly as he offered me his hand.

I took it, and he pressed his lips to my knuckles, sending shivers up my arm.

"I hope you are well this evening," he inquired.

"Quite well," I replied.

"Good," he said. "Glad to hear it. I'm only just joining the court," he added, with an air of chagrin.

"You're not ill?" I asked suddenly, a bit concerned.

"No, no—not at all. It was a splendid gathering last evening, and I—I didn't particularly feel like returning to court in any hurry today. I needed to take some time. I'm sure you can understand."

"I do." I was surprised. It was out of character for him, but he seemed pleased enough.

It was at this moment that Thranduil appeared to notice my state of dress. He frowned. "Where have you been?" There was a pause, and then he suggested, "At war?"

I laughed. "The music library again, your Majesty."

"Really?" he asked curiously. "I'm a bit embarrassed it's come to all that. For you to emerge looking—well, as if you'd been in a battle. Do you need some assistance down there?"

I laughed again. "Thank you, Highness. I think I've got the knack of it now… and I know generally where everything is. It's just turning out to be a long-term project, that's all."

"Ah," he said, again surveying the dust on my gown, the smudges on my face, and my disheveled hair. Then he met my eyes and held them. His were a crystalline blue, piercing. I ought to have been familiar with his gaze by now, but for a moment, I couldn't seem to breathe.

"I hope you'll forgive me for this," he said. "But you look tired. I'm a little surprised that you worked a full day after… after everything last night. We were out until nearly sunrise." His voice was deep, and I wondered if he was thinking of holding me under the stars.

I bowed my head, acknowledging. "It's true, we were," I agreed. "But I have a job to do, your Highness."

He watched me for a moment before rejoining brusquely, "As do I. But I think you should take the night off anyway." When he saw me begin to protest, he spoke over me. "No, I won't hear of it. Rest. There will be plenty of time for songs and stories this winter, and we need you healthy and whole—understood?"

I sighed and considered. "Very well," I answered. "I will do as you command."

He gave me an odd look then—I couldn't tell exactly what it meant. But he gave me a light nod and then went out into the hall, calling over his shoulder, "Rest!" before the door closed behind him.

I was surprised—and something else. Rejected? Offended, even?

But I was tired, I realized. And not just the 'tired' that had come from working constantly in the music library, or the 'tired' that sprang from the crushing social pressure of existing as a Person of Note in one of the most important courts in Middle Earth. I was tired in my bones. I was tired of pretending I was fine, when in reality the very fabric of who I was was changing every day. I had overcome some complicated feelings for my sister and her husband, and that had left me tired. And the royal family… I shook my head. Whatever this was, this… situation… was exhausting.

So I left. I changed into more comfortable clothing and went on a very long walk around the safer parts of the Mirkwood, my movements relegated to inside the walls of the compound now. Sentries noticed and inclined their heads to me as I passed. It felt remarkably wrong not to be focused on my music, but I breathed through that feeling, through the panic that other people might be expecting something from me, and tried to listen to what my heart wanted. When I was hungry, I went back to my apartments and ate something. And I invited Chalia in that evening for a chat.

My friend smiled up at me over her bowl of steaming soup, brought in by a pair of handsome ellon servants. "It's really something, Fil," she said, glancing around at my rooms. "What an elegant space!"

I grinned back at her. "I've never had anything so fine," I agreed.

She shrugged. "You deserve it. You work so hard…" A pause, and then she added, "You're very good at what you do, you know."

As graciously as I could, I took the compliment. "Thank you; that means a lot." I had struggled very hard and lived through some difficult times in the past. This felt like a reward, and I said so.

Chalia nodded. "That makes perfect sense to me. It feels good, doesn't it? To toil and work and then actually see your passion take you somewhere? A lot of folk don't get to experience that. I guess we're lucky."

"I think we are."

It was immensely satisfying to be able to entertain my friend in my own quarters. To have these rooms at my disposal at all was very generous, but now, I had been granted the luxury of time with Chalia. She smiled at me, her eyes dancing. My kind friend, who had achieved so much herself.

"How is life in the King's guard?" I asked her.

She reached for a bit of delicately-baked bread and answered, "Excellent. My training is going very well, and lately Captain Tauriel has even asked for my advice when it comes to practicing maneuvers."

There was something in her smile when she bit into the crust that made me ask, "Oh?"

She blushed. Chalia Ravaxalim actually blushed.

"Oh," I amended, and she laughed. "Tell me!" I pressed, beginning to laugh a little myself.

It took her a moment to look me in the eyes and answer, but finally, beaming, she offered, "It's nothing yet. Just a mutual admiration. But I hope it doesn't end there."

I shook my head. Well, that was something. Chalia and Tauriel. "You'd have beautiful children," I blurted, and she nearly lost her seat laughing.

I took the next day off too, floating around the compound like a grand lady and just doing whatever I pleased. Reading. Eating. Walking.

I joined the court for supper and found myself seated near Lady Arwen.

She was clothed in a gown of deep scarlet that set off her lips and her raven hair. It was difficult not to stare at her, and I noticed I wasn't the only one.

"Lady Bard," she called out merrily in that silken, midnight voice. "You come to sup with us tonight—with your divine talent, it feels like I'm dining with one of the Valar!"

She was so lovely. I gave her what I hoped was a warm smile. "Not a disappointment, I hope!"

The Lady Undomiel laughed, and it was like music. "Never! The only disappointment I can imagine is missing out on a chance to hear you play and sing again."

Ayduin, who happened to be passing the banquet table at that moment, gave a chuckle and said, "We couldn't begrudge Filauria a night off, but it'll be nice to have her back at her post tomorrow." There were murmurs of agreement at the table, and Arwen lifted her crystal goblet in a silent toast to me.

At the main dais, Thranduil poured out more wine for Connak, who thanked him quietly before moving on to another table to greet their guests.

Then the Elvenking turned back to Lord Elrond, who had been seated at his right side that evening. The elven lord's silken hair hung around his broad shoulders. There was an energy to his movements rarely seen elsewhere that Thranduil admired, a grace. The two were mostly alone at the table now.

"You were saying?" Thranduil asked, gesturing that he continue.

"Your majesty, I was inquiring about whether or not your son has arrived with his retinue in Minas Tirith. They should have reached the White City by now, I would think."

Nodding, the Elvenking agreed. "They have. We received a letter this morning. All is well from what we hear; everyone is safe."

Elrond's face was veiled, but he seemed contented. "That is good to hear, my king." He leaned in closer to add in a quieter voice, "I was concerned to hear about his accident during the attack on your court and the Golden Lady's contingent. My Arwen was extremely worried."

Thranduil king's gaze shifted over to where Lady Arwen was lifting her goblet in salute to Filauria, who grinned prettily. Almost imperceptibly, the corners of his mouth quirked upward in an echoing smile. Then he quickly schooled his face into neutrality, but not before Lord Elrond noticed.

Very softly, Elrond leaned inward and asked his friend, "How long has that been going on?"

The king blinked but kept his face passive. "What do you mean?"

Elrond Half-Elven smiled knowingly, replying, "Come, now. Thranduil. It's been an age since I've seen you like this. It's as though the ice of your frozen heart has thawed into slush. Did you really think no one would notice?"

The King of Greenwood the Great, Oropher's son, looked down at his plate, but didn't answer.

"She's very lovely," Elrond went on congenially. "I heard she was from Lorien. Is that true?"

Still not meeting the lord's eyes, Thranduil answered meditatively, "She is the most well-appointed bard this court has seen in centuries. She is indeed from Lothlorien. And," adding this over the triumphant look in Elrond's eyes, a little aggressively, if truth be told, "That encompasses most of my dealings with her."

The firmness in his voice seemed to beg, Oh, Valar, just let it be, but Elrond was having none of it. "What is it that scares you, my king?" he asked.

The directness of it!, he thought. Despite his carefully blank features, something in Thranduil quailed.

"Is it the optics?" Elrond continued. "Many an unseemly thing has happened in the great courts of Middle Earth. Taking your troubadour to your bed would be nothing if it were done respectfully and tastefully."

That thought seemed wrong somehow, though he knew Elrond was right. He didn't answer.

"No, it isn't that, is it?" the lord went on. "No one here would even care, would they? I can tell by how they treat her, the elleth is universally adored. A considerably difficult thing, that. To bring the entire Court of Mirkwood to its knees like a newly-tamed filly."

The two ellyn found their gazes drawn back to the table where the bard in question spoke confidently with the others seated near her. Her head was up, her shoulders back. She belongs here, the Elvenking thought to himself. She'd leave a gigantic wound behind her if she ever decided she'd had enough of this place.

"So it isn't the social part of it that strikes fear in your heart. Interesting," Elrond murmured. His eyes lit suddenly, and he whispered to Thranduil. "You fear she won't return your affections. Is that it? Or that should you engage with her, it would go badly. And she'd leave."

The Elvenking stared at one of the guttering taper candles that graced the table. "Enough," he growled softly.

Elrond quieted. Wisely.

After a moment or two, Thranduil looked over at his friend, unmistakable pain lacing those crystalline eyes. "I must be very careful," he intoned. "I don't want to scare her. She is very young, and…"

The elven lord's face had taken on a sympathetic expression.

"I just hope it isn't too late. For me," the Elvenking finished. "Please," he added, with a warning look, "Don't bring it up again. Say nothing to anyone about it."

Elrond raised dark brows, but held his tongue for the rest of the evening.