The feast was in full swing.
Thranduil's ice blue gaze swept over those gathered in the Great Hall as he sipped from his glass of wine. The rich red liquid did little to soothe his troubled soul or lift his dark mood.
Elves of both genders laughed, danced, and ate heartily. Most of them were drunk, and his eyes narrowed in distaste as he watched inhibitions disappear altogether under the influence of the free-flowing alcohol. People who would not normally give one another the time of day were dancing closely, flirting with each other, or attempting to discreetly disappear from the festivities. Hands wandered, kisses exchanged, and not-so-subtle looks passed between the genders.
He snorted softly to himself.
His gaze settled on the elleth who was still continuing to be a thorn in his side. She had arrived on the arm of her brother; a likeable soul with the heart of a warrior but sadly lacking the discipline to carry it through.
Her gown was deep blue with a midnight blue velvet bodice, which laced tightly under her bust. The style accentuated her slim waist and flaring hips, and the skirts served only to make her legs look even longer as the fabric caressed them, reaching the floor at her feet. Her hair cascaded down her back like a blue-black waterfall, sweeping past her hips as she moved. Small blue and white flowers had been worked into the braids on the top of her head, leaving the back to flow freely.
As he watched, she tipped her head back and laughed. The sound reached his sharp ears, and he huffed silently as he slammed his wine glass down onto the table. A servant immediately refilled it, then hastily stepped back.
His attention turned towards his son, who was seated with the elleth and her brother, along with the maid who he'd requested would be allowed to accompany him. All four of them were laughing hysterically at something, and appeared to be having a thoroughly enjoyable time.
Thranduil's frame of mind turned even more sour.
He had no wish to know what the source of hilarity was, or what they'd been talking about almost the entire evening, sat huddled closely together. Such trivial nonsense didn't concern him in the slightest.
The burning presence in his soul however, did. He'd noticed that any time the elleth was nearby, his soul almost seemed to ignite in awareness. He didn't even have to see her to know when she was close. No words needed to be exchanged or uttered. He always knew. Several times throughout the days since she and her folks had come to the palace, he'd experienced the strange feeling. It started out as a subtle tingling, growing to a buzzing in his blood, eventually erupting into a full-blown assault on his system. It hadn't taken him long to realise that it always happened whenever she was around, and it infuriated him no end.
He snapped out of his thoughts as his son appeared beside him and claimed the empty seat next to his.
"Father," he said by way of greeting.
"Legolas."
"Are the festivities meeting your expectations?" he enquired.
One eyebrow lifted disdainfully as the King took another drink of his wine. "It is a feast, like any other," he replied. "They are very much one and the same after all these years."
The Prince signalled a servant and requested a glass of wine. "I had thought that perhaps you would make the time to speak to Elu," he said.
Ice blue eyes fixed on the younger royal. "And pray tell...who is Elu?"
"The elleth you rescued," he replied, nodding in silent thanks to the servant as a full glass was set before him. "The one who is single-handedly repaying the debt of her people for your rescue."
"Elu...blue," Thranduil whispered. "Her name means blue."
Legolas stared at his father for a second or two. "Yes. As I was saying-"
"Blue, like her eyes," he interrupted. His glass thumped back onto the table, sploshing drops of dark red wine onto the pristine white cloth. "I am cursed..."
His son frowned in confusion. "What do you speak of?"
Anguished eyes met his as he wrestled with the thoughts hurtling around in his head. "I am cursed," he repeated in the same agonised whisper.
The Prince shifted his glance to the wine glass before lifting back to his parent's once more. "You are not making sense," he murmered.
"I cannot speak of this here," Thranduil said with determination. "We will speak later, in a more private setting. I must leave here now." He started to rise out of his seat, but Legolas placed a hand on his arm.
"Please stay for a while," he said. "I know that many of those we rescued in the orc attack wish to convey their gratitude, and are waiting for an opportunity to do so. It would appear rude if you were to ignore them and leave."
The King's jaw clenched as he ground his teeth. "Very well," he agreed stiffly. "But I do not intend to remain here all night. I will take my leave shortly." His head snapped up as the sound of Elu's laughter reached his ears again.
Legolas's eyes narrowed as he studied his father, but he kept his questions to himself. He pushed his seat back and stood up, taking a deep breath as he did so. "I will return to my friends," he said.
Thranduil nodded once, not looking at him. His gaze was fixed on the elleth dressed in blue.
She spoke with her hands, gesticulating frequently to emphasise what she was saying. Her brother and the maid were listening intently, although her words were lost to his ears with the distance between them.
She turned her head suddenly, her dark blue eyes locking with his.
Her smile vanished.
Never had she seen such a cold, hard look aimed at her. And he was staring directly at her; there was no mistaking it. Sheer hatred blazed from his eyes, and he didn't blink as he continued to glare at her.
A cold feeling settled in the pit of her stomach, and she swallowed nervously as she tore her gaze away.
He leaned back in his chair, the slightest hint of a smirk curling one corner of his mouth. Round one to him. She'd looked away first, and her cheeks had turned pink in shame as she'd done so.
Beside her, Ealan and Brelia were deep in discussion, and unaware of the discomfort she was feeling. She reached for her glass of wine and took a healthy mouthful.
The first time she'd set eyes on the ruling monarch, without knowing who he was, she'd been stunned by his looks. Tall enough to tower over everyone else in the palace, and with the longest, blondest hair she'd ever seen, he'd unknowingly taken her breath away. His cheekbones seemed to have been sculpted by the Gods themselves, and they'd given him a full mouth that screamed sensuality if it was ever to be kissed. His eyes had struck her as being the most unusual she'd ever had the pleasure of looking into; ice blue framed with dark lashes. Those eyes gave the impression that they had seen a million things, every one of which had been committed to memory.
The second time she'd found herself face to face with him, his eyes had been blazing with restrained fury as he'd grabbed her wrist in a grip that left no doubt in her mind that he could snap her bones like twigs if the notion took him.
She inhaled deeply and took another swallow of her wine, remembering the incident with the vines and the horse's saddle.
She'd seen very little of him in the few days that had followed, save an odd glimpse here and there as she'd busied herself doing whatever she could turn her hand to. More often than not he'd sweep past her in a flurry of heavy, expensive robes, not casting a solitary glance in her direction or acknowledging that he even knew she was there. So what had caused his anger? What had she done to irk him to the point that he was blatantly glaring at her across the table, surrounded by hundreds of fellow elves?
She turned and pasted on a bright smile as Legolas reclaimed his seat.
"Have I missed anything interesting?" he quipped as he helped himself to a loaded forkful of blackberry pie.
"Only Melderion tripping over the gown of the lady he is dancing with," Brelia answered with a giggle. "He went sprawling in all directions, and almost took her with him."
The Prince shook his head. "He is rather clumsy when he has consumed too much wine," he remarked. "Luckily for him, that lucky lady is his wife, and she is used to his behaviour. I have no doubt that she will make him pay for a new gown if he has ruined the one she wears this night."
Elu laughed. "Then it would serve him right," she said. "Perhaps he will learn to be more light-footed and nimble on the dance floor in future."
"Would you do me the honour of dancing with me, my lady?" he asked as he held his hand out towards her. "It seems a shame that you have not been on the floor yet, and Ealan is in no condition as yet to dance with you. So I wish to have the pleasure, if my lovely companion does not mind."
Brelia waved him away. "I do not mind," she said. "For I have consumed a little too much myself to get up. Go and enjoy yourselves, with my blessings."
Legolas stood back up, helping Elu to her feet and leading her to the middle of the floor. A space cleared instantly, allowing for the heir to the throne to have room to dance with his chosen partner.
The music flowed around them as they moved. She relaxed, acknowledging to herself that at least she was away from his father's penetrating gaze for a few moments.
"What troubles you, my lady?"
Her eyes lifted to the bright blue ones that looked back at her, and she forced a smile. "Nothing, my Lord," she replied. "Why would you think otherwise?"
"I sense a deep melancholy," he answered honestly. "One which was not present before we entered this hall. It concerns me a great deal."
"There is nothing to be concerned over," she assured him. Involuntarily, she glanced over his shoulder, to see his father again staring at her. A shudder rippled down her back as she assessed the venom in that look. "Everything is fine."
"You lie badly, Elu," Legolas said. He lifted her hand and twirled her around, then drew her back close to him. "Tell me the truth, please. I ask as a concerned friend."
"I seem to have annoyed your father," she said quietly, after a few moments' silence. "Every time I catch his eye he is staring at me in such ways as to make me think that I have done him a great dishonour. But I do not know what that dishonour might be, my Lord. And without knowing, I have no way to make amends."
The Prince considered her words as they danced. "My father is concerned with many matters regarding the realm at present," he said finally. "His mind is otherwise occupied, and I am certain he bears no ill feelings towards you."
"Perhaps," she murmered. "Maybe I am just being too self-conscious, but it does seem like every time I speak to him or see him, he treats me with a sense of disgust."
He laughed. "My father treats everyone with disgust," he told her. "Seriously – do not worry yourself over this. He has a solid wall built around him that very few – if any – can penetrate. Even myself. He has been like this since my mother died, many centuries past."
Her head lowered. "I am so sorry," she said.
"Do not be," he said. "I have resigned myself to the fact that it was the way history was meant to be written, and nothing anyone can do could ever change that. No matter how much myself, my father, or anyone else wishes otherwise, what happened, happened. We must move on and live our lives, no matter how difficult it may seem."
"Wise words. You will make a fine King someday, my Lord," she told him.
He tipped his head in response. "I do not know if I wish to rule the Mirkwood realm. My father does an excellent job, and I have no desire to step into his role."
"Perhaps not now, but some day," she replied. "One never knows what the future holds."
Little did she know just how true her words were.
*****
The wine wasn't working.
Thranduil had drunk glass after glass after glass, but the expensive alcohol failed to dull his senses. Every beat of his heart echoed with the knowledge that Elu was nearby, and each thump of the organ in his chest sent ripples cascading throughout his body. He'd eventually given up and after chatting with some of the elves from the destroyed village as politely as he'd been able to manage, he'd left the feast and stormed off to his private chambers. The thick wooden door closed off the outside world, and he leaned against it with his eyes closed, drawing in deep, calming breaths.
He was doomed.
He shoved his weight away from the door and paced across the thick rug towards the balcony windows. Throwing them open, he breathed in the cool night air, absorbing the smells and sounds of his lands shrouded in darkness.
Elu's blue eyes appeared in his mind; clear, hypnotising, and searching.
His heart began thumping harder. His skin tingled.
She was somewhere close.
He turned from the balcony, grinding his teeth in frustration. The feeling only intensified, and he clenched his trembling hands into tight fists as he fought against it. His temper burst through and he lashed out in rage, punching the small wooden table at his side.
Shards of glass from the empty wine glass which had been left for him shattered and shot in all directions.
*****
Elu came to a sudden stop in the dimly-lit corridor. Her eyebrows came down in a slight frown as her ears picked up the sound of glass smashing and shattering. A low howl of pain reached her ears, and her heartbeat accelerated. She lifted her skirts and hurried towards the sound, halting outside a heavy, ornate door. Muffled noises could be heard as she pressed her ear to the wood, and she cautiously opened the door.
A gasp left her involuntarily as her astonished eyes fell on Thranduil.
He stood facing her, holding his right hand in his left as blood poured from deep wounds. Anguished blue eyes lifted to hers as a look of shock crossed his face.
"Get out," he growled.
She stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. "No."
His eyebrows rose in astonishment. "Did you not hear me? I said get out."
"And I said no," she snapped, irritated at his attitude with her. Moving swiftly across the floor, she gripped his left wrist and pulled his hand away, taking his right in hers. "What have you done?"
"Nothing that concerns you," he hissed.
Angry eyes glared up into his. "You may be my King, and you may have the final say on everything that occurs here, but I am not leaving you like this."
Rage pulsated from him in waves. "I do not give you permission to be here," he told her. "Get out."
"You are insufferable," she shot back. "You may punish me later, but at this moment I am going to fix this, with or without your consent, Your Highness." Sarcasm dripped from her words.
He glared at her in silence as she marched away from him and into his bathing area. She returned within a few moments with clean bandages, a small bowl of water, and several small bottles. Setting them down onto the window ledge, she grabbed his right fist and hauled it towards her.
He clenched his jaw.
He'd finally met someone who matched his stubbornness.
Peeling his fingers open, she quickly but carefully cleaned the two deep cuts. Both of them stayed silent as she worked, the only sound being a wince of pain as she pulled a fragment of glass free.
He studied her as she tended to him. Her long black hair drifted over her shoulders and the ends tickled the back of his hand as she moved. The urge to lift the silky lengths back over her shoulder shocked him; he didn't want to touch her. He didn't want her anywhere near him.
Warm hands worked at speed as she cleaned the flowing blood and pinched the torn flesh together. A dab of lotion from one of the bottles was applied, making him hiss in pain again. Her eyes briefly lifted to his, then lowered back to what she was doing. Another cream was applied, and she murmered soft words in elvish as she used her thumb to work the paste into the cuts.
One of his eyebrows lifted in surprise.
She was healing him?!
The flesh of his hand tingled as though his blood was fizzing and bubbling below the surface, and it made him feel uncomfortable. She smoothed on a third lotion and began wrapping the bandage tightly around his hand. Stepping back with a deep breath, she finally looked up at him.
"The cuts are not as bad as they appeared to be," she told him. "The alcohol you have consumed this night caused the blood to flow faster. You should be completely healed within two days."
He nodded, staring down at her work.
"I shall take my leave." The ice in her words made him look back at her.
"I offer you my gratitude," he said.
"It is not required, my Lord," she replied coldly as she turned on her heel.
He sighed in frustration. "You do not understand," he said between clenched teeth. "You can never understand."
She turned back and met his hard look with one of her own. "Understand what, my Lord? The fact that you treat me with utter contempt, when I have done nothing to invite your misgivings? The fact that you treat my friends with dignity and respect, yet you look at me as though I am descended from orcs?"
His eyes narrowed. "You know nothing of what you speak," he hissed. "Nothing!"
"I know that I do not deserve such palpable hostility," she retorted.
"Then leave," he snapped.
"I fully intend to! As soon as the first building of my village is complete, I shall be gone," she said angrily. "I will not suffer your cold intolerance any longer than absolutely necessary. I have given you my gratitude for saving our lives, I have apologised for not acknowledging you that night, I have done everything I can in an attempt to repay you for your actions, yet you still cast your eyes away from me as though I am a servant of Darkness. It is neither my intention nor my wish to remain in such contentious conditions. My Lord." Again, she used his title with venom.
He strode towards her, making her go back a step. "Work is being carried out on your village as we speak," he snarled. "In fact, I fully intend on making the journey myself come the morning to inspect the progress. The sooner the restoration is completed, the better!"
"Yes, for all of us," she snapped. She whirled round and stormed out of his rooms, slamming the door closed as she left. Her whole body trembled as she walked down the corridor away from him.
Back in his chambers, Thranduil stood in the middle of the large room. A solitary hot, silent tear trickled down his cheek.
He was losing the battle.
He was losing the war.