Kingsfoil [Thranduil] LOTR

Diplomatic

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A Thousand Years ago...

Thranduil stopped slouching in his chair when Elarien came in looking for him in his study. Truth be told, she never sought him out, so he was more than a little surprised to see her.

"Elarien, what brings you here?" he said, straightening up.

She primly sat down across from him, folded her hands. "Thranduil, we need to talk."

He flicked his eyes over her, hated that he still found her so beautiful, so desirable. "I missed you last night at the dinner for the Elder Council," he said and reached for his glass of wine.

"I am sorry," she said, plucking at the end of a long curl. She did not offer any explanations for her absence.

"More than a few people asked after you," he prompted as he rose to refill his glass.

"I want us to have a baby," she told him.

He stilled at the sideboard, wine forgotten. When he finally found his voice, he turned and eyed her curiously. "What brings this on?"

"It's just time, don't you think?" She looked down at the ring, his ring on her hand. "Everyone expects us to."

Thranduil set the bottle down with a sharp crack. He smiled humorlessly. "Everyone as in your father?"

Her voice was timid. "He wants a grandchild, Thranduil."

Thranduil sat back down, leaned toward her. "No, what he wants is to secure his house's position in court, Elarien."

She nodded, and Thranduil thought he saw her lip quiver. "Well, I just thought that maybe we should try."

"Try," Thranduil echoed her. "You do know what that will involve, Elarien."

She reached forward and touched the left side of his face, ran her fingers from his cheek to his neck. "I am sorry for being so distant," she murmured. "It was just such a shock-your injuries-to see you that way when you came home from the war." She had not tended to him, would not be in the same room with him; of course, her father excused her actions to Thranduil by saying that his queen was too gentle to witness the atrocities of war.

Her shallow excuses meant little to him, but Thranduil felt his bond with her pulse beneath her touch, and against his better judgment, he wanted her, needed her-even though he knew she was using him. A means to an end.

He stood up and tugged her to her feet, pulling her against him. "Let's go then," he said, his eyes dark.

"Now?" she squeaked.

"Yes. Now," Thranduil said and led her to his chambers.

This time things might be different. He needed to believe they would be. A fresh start. A baby. A family. Their fragile bond bloomed warm in his chest from the touch of her soft hand in his, and for the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to hope.
. . . . .
A fortnight before Yule

Clouds hung low over the trees by the practice field where Thranduil half-heartedly went through the motions of practicing with Althirn, one of his Royal Guards and one of the best swordsmen in the kingdom. He half suspected that Althirn knew he was distracted but was too polite to call him on it. Thranduil missed the old sword instructor from his youth, who was exacting, ruthless, and completely merciless.