Kingsfoil [Thranduil] LOTR

Blessed

He did not want to leave her.

Only on the other side of the canvas walls of their tent, Thranduil could hear Galion organizing groups to aid in the clean up of the forest and the battlefield. Reluctantly, he untangled his legs from Narylfiel's and slowly drew his arm away from where it had been draped across her side—

—until a hand clamped firmly around his wrist. "Where do you think you are going?" Narylfiel asked him in a firm voice, though a yawn punctuated her words.

Thranduil turned to meet her eyes. "There is much work that must be done today, naurenniel," he told her. "They will require the king's assistance."

She tightened her grip on his wrist. "I require the king's assistance right now," she said with a gentle tug on his arm.

He smiled then and kissed her. Thranduil could not name for you the feeling that welled up inside him when she said she needed him, just an intense sort of gladness that she was there and well and that she wished he might stay with her. It was the feeling of being wanted, needed. And he craved it, needed it in the same way leaves do when they turn toward the warmth of the sun. The beautiful thing was that Narylfiel gave him that feeling so freely, without pretense or guile.

"You stay here," he instructed her, "rest."

"But—"

"You're exhausted, dear one. I will have some food brought to you. Besides," Thranduil added slyly, "you are no longer eating or resting for one, Narylfiel."

Narylfiel shared his smile then, her hand drifting down to pat her stomach. "I suppose not," she agreed. Thranduil still reeled over the novelty of it all. His beautiful young wife, pregnant with his babe. As if the Valar had decided that the impending all-out war with Sauron was not enough drama for him to deal with in his life, he thought wryly. But even so, it was a tremendous blessing. Unlooked for to be sure, but tremendous.

"Let me take care of you," he said, drawing the blanket up over her, tucking it around her.

Narylfiel nestled into his pillow and yawned. "You have always taken care of me," she corrected him.

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "But not in the husband caring for his pregnant wife sort of way," he said. "Stay here. Please, Narylfiel. Don't even think about trying to help out today."

Only seconds after Thranduil rose and pulled on his long grey tunic, he heard a soft snore. She was exhausted and rightfully so. He did not begrudge her the extra rest and only hoped it would help fade the circles from under her eyes, ease the pallor on her skin, help her heal. At the door to the tent, he paused, his eyes drawn to the slender outline of her body curved beneath the blanket. She was here, was safe. It was enough for now, Thranduil decided and stepped out into the grey morning.

Dawn had brought a heavy dew, beading the blackened branches in constellations, and fog curled up like lingering spirits from the low-lying places of the wood. Thranduil walked the length of the camp and then down to the field where the battle began. Warriors worked shifts through the night to clear the dead, but much labor still remained. Thranduil gave orders for the current shift to stop and break fast. He watched them wearily leave their shovels and the damp quiet of the field, saying little to each other as they returned to camp. Thranduil watched them go, then turned, and walked down to the field, passing scrap metal piles of orcish blades and helms. Impatient dead waited by discarded biers, but the Elvenking passed them wordlessly. Here his own fallen warriors had already been collected and carefully lifted onto wagons to return home for funeral arrangements.

"King Thranduil!" A voice called his name from the edge of the wood. Captain Beriadan. He waved a parchment in his hand, and Thranduil left his brooding and followed his captain back to camp.