Kingsfoil [Thranduil] LOTR

Guarded

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2946, Third Age

"Father," Legolas said one night after they had all sat down to dinner. The kitchen had prepared roast venison with gravy and new potatoes again; it was one of King Thranduil's favorites. He was always in a better mood when the staff served it, paired with his current favorite vintage of red. As a result, Narylfiel had secretly deemed it the 'ask for something' meal.

Thranduil looked up from his plate after fastidiously dabbing at the corner of his mouth with his napkin. "Yes, son?"

"I would like to take Thaliniel and her sister to visit Dale for a week or so," Legolas said evenly, sharing a glance with his wife.

Both Thaliniel and Narylfiel's eager smiles did not go unnoticed by the king who stabbed a little potato with his fork.

"Dale?" he said, cutting a delicate slice off his venison to accompany the piece of potato on his fork. "Whatever for?"

"They are having a spring festival again, like they used to in the days before the dragon," Legolas countered. "It would be a good opportunity to build on our diplomatic relations with their new king."

Thranduil pursed his lips and thought for a moment. "Their new king- who, the dragon slayer? Bard? He's well enough as men go, I suppose."

"I know you commissioned builders to rebuild your former town home there, Father," Legolas said carefully. "We could stay there and see the town, visit the festival."

It was true, Thranduil thought. He had paid masons and laborers to rebuild his own town home, the very one he had bought so long ago when he chased after his errant son and Thaliniel before they had married. It did not have anything to do with him feeling nostalgic-not in the slightest! He was simply trying to help provide jobs and income to the needy, recovering populace of Laketown. Thranduil pensively chewed his venison and washed it down with a sip of wine before studying the eager faces of the three young elves before him.

"You may go," he said and paused long enough for the excited chatter to die down, "as a show of our continued goodwill."

"Oh, King Thranduil," Narylfiel exclaimed, "would you please come with us?"

Legolas started coughing, something that sounded remarkably like 'Valar, no!' and Thaliniel all of a sudden seemed preoccupied with tearing the roll on her plate into tiny shreds.

The king's eyes met Narylfiel's bright gaze. "No, I would not go back to Dale, if I could help it. Men, wizards, dwarves...the city seems a portent to change, and the soil there is still too red with the blood of our fallen. No, I would not return there for any price."

Legolas' coughing fit subsided, and he looked upon his father with a mixture of relief and remorse. "We will miss you, of course, Father."

Thranduil smiled wryly. "Give my regards to Bard, and try not to get into any more trouble," he said and then went to work finishing his dinner, one of his favorites. No one could make gravy like his head cook. From the corner of his eye, he watched Narylfiel quietly finish her meal. She seemed disappointed.

Thranduil left his family at the table minutes later, having grown weary of listening to the ladies and Legolas' discussion about Dale and the Spring Festival. He meant what he had said about never wanting to return to that place; its charm had died alongside his Elven warriors in the Battle of Five Armies.