Kingsfoil [Thranduil] LOTR

Devastated

Yule, 3017 TA

Never before had a Yule feast been so merry or quite so loud. The king's best wine flowed steadily to every table. The fire roared bright on the enormous hearth of the banquet hall, the music piped cheerfully, and the mood was infectious. Every so often another elf would call out a toast to the elvenking. Everyone would drink to the king's honor, and Thranduil would have to drink as well.

Even when the dancing began after dinner, the toasts to the king continued after every song. It almost became a game of sorts, and as the evening stretched on, Narylfiel noted that her king was looking just the slightest bit tipsy. Elven wine is extremely potent, and Dorwinion vintages even more so. His eyes were bright, and his cheeks were flushed. She had been contentedly watching her sister dance with Legolas, but every so often her eyes wandered to Thranduil's chair at the head of the table. She could not help herself. She just enjoyed watching him, not that it had anything to do with how regal he looked in his dark grey, sharply tailored tunic and his winter crown of evergreen sprigs and dark red berries. Of course not!

He caught her watching him and smiled a slow smile. The king sat his glass down and unexpectedly pushed away from the table, standing in one liquid motion. He crooked his finger at her and without waiting, moved around with the table with an easy grace, until he stood before her.

"May I have the honor of the next dance, my lady?" Thranduil asked her, just as formal and proper as a king should, but dimples creased his cheeks.

"I would be honored, your Majesty," she replied in kind and accepted his offered hand. Thranduil drew her into the swirling array of dancers, and Narylfiel felt like the room might just have tipped over with her in it. She tried to remind herself that this was the same elf who she considered one of her closest confidantes, her friend.

She tried to remind herself that this was Thranduil Oropherion, her king. But in that moment, none of it mattered. He held her in his arms, his strong hands on her waist, on her back. She blushed-just no amount of will power could keep the slow rise of heat from flooding her cheeks.

If Thranduil noticed, and surely he had, he made no mention of it. He complimented her on how well everything had turned out and how glad he was that they decided to go with the roast boar instead of pressed pheasant for dinner.

As their dance drew to a close, he angled his head as he looked at her. "You look very beautiful tonight, Narylfiel." he told her in a conspiratorial whisper. "I have seen many a young elf's eye turn your way while we were dancing."

As he had done in the past, he pressed a chaste kiss to the top of her head. After the king excused himself, Narylfiel slipped back to her seat, her mind replaying the dance, the feel of his arms, his warmth. Her thoughts wandered to what it would be like if he kissed her, really kissed her. Her head swam at the very idea, or was it from the wine?

Narylfiel remembered the sprig of mistletoe hanging in the archway outside the banquet hall. She had talked the king into hanging some up as a mischievous surprise for couples and would-be couples. Could she lure Thranduil underneath it tonight? The king had left the banquet hall only a moment ago. Before Narylfiel could talk her self out of the foolish notion, which she surely would have done if perhaps she had not drank that fourth or even fifth glass of wine, she hopped up from her seat and cut straight across the dance floor for the large entrance to the room.

She did not get any farther than the doorway. She didn't need to-because from the entrance, she could spy the archway and the mistletoe.

The sight from the door shocked her. A couple already monopolized the mistletoe, and there was no mistaking that tall head of golden hair, not to mention the tell-tale spiky crown. A dark-headed elleth had Thranduil wrapped in a passionate embrace.