Kingsfoil [Thranduil] LOTR

Victorious

Artwork credit: Zeliamsb

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March 16th, 3019

It was well past midnight when Thranduil finally returned to his tent in the middle of camp; Narylfiel had stayed by his side all through dinner, a simple camp stew, but it was the most delicious fare he'd had in days, and perhaps his appetite had more to do with the company than not. It just felt right to have Narylfiel sitting beside him, her eyes bright as she laughed at -=another one of Galion's bad puns, with the elk calf curled up beside her, its head resting on her lap. She and the elk had already become fast friends; within minutes of seeing him, she named him Mithren. Thranduil was thankful for the distraction and hoped Mithren might take his wife's mind off of the upcoming battle. After dinner, Thranduil walked her back to the tent, carrying the elk calf for her. She insisted on looking after him and even talked Galion into donating a blanket or two for the calf's makeshift bed.

Four hours ago, he left the pair of them in the tent warm and secure. Narylfiel fussed a bit about making sure her new woodland friend was warm enough in his blankets on the floor. Then Thranduil kissed his wife goodnight and left to work on arranging provisions for leaving with the army. In truth he did not want to leave her. He had only just found her, and now he would have to leave again.

Thranduil stopped short upon entering the tent. The little bed Narylfiel devised for the calf was empty. His eyes scanned the length of the tent and then paused on the bed where Narylfiel rested. Curled up next to her in a nest of blankets was Mithren,.

Quietly, Thranduil slipped off his tunic and sat down on the far corner of the bed to pull off his boots. "Traitor," he murmured to the sleeping elk calf, "I rescue you, and this is how you repay me?"

Then he carefully lifted the elk calf from his side of the bed and returned it to the blankets on the floor. The calf sleepily raised his head and blinked his big, warm eyes at the elvenking.

"Now don't you look at me like that," Thranduil told him firmly. "This is a very good place to sleep."

Mithren blinked again. Thranduil eyed the bed. "There isn't room for both of us there, Mithren, and I am not sleeping on the floor," he whispered to the calf and patted him soothingly on the head.

Satisfied, Thranduil stood and stretched. All he really wanted was four or five good hours of rest. He pulled back the blanket on the bed and slid in next to Narylfiel. She did not stir, not even when Thranduil pressed a kiss to her cheek and pulled her into his arms. She still slept with her eyes closed, even after three months. Hüredhiel had said these things would take time, but Thranduil worried regardless. But she was resilient, a fighter—goodness knows, she was a fighter—Thranduil still reeled over her tale of escape from the Easterling camp. It was exactly these sorts of things that kept him up at night. He just needed to get her home, back inside his halls where he could keep her safe—and their child, he added as an afterthought. Really, the baby was an unlooked for blessing, doubly so in this dark time. It was something he would never have permitted or even considered, but Narylfiel had conceived nonetheless. As staggered as Thranduil was by the notion—by Eru—he was glad of it.

For Narylfiel was young, and she had charged into his carefully ordered life with her bright eyes, and her questions and laughter, and unwavering warmth, the way she invaded his thoughts, his resolve. By all semblance of reason and good conscience, he should have no right to her...but then again Thranduil was king—should he not have the best and finest his kingdom offered? And he had wanted Narylfiel. All it had taken was that one dangerous glimpse into her dreams to see the obvious truth of what she had known all along; she loved him. It was the promise of that love which proved irresistible.