Kingsfoil [Thranduil] LOTR

Lost

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First Age in Menegroth:

Thranduil checked his swing, but it was too late. The force of the blow from his opponent knocked his sword from his fingertips.

Scowling, he picked up his blade, glanced up at the judges as he did so. They nodded just once, and he moved from the competition ring, picking his father's face from the crowd as he did so. Disappointed, Thranduil thought as he moved through small crowd of spectators, mostly family members gathered to watch their youngsters compete. Thranduil felt their eyes upon him as he passed by, felt their probable sympathy or disdain for the one picked by so many to win the entire tournament. Only he had not won. He had lost. He had been eliminated before the final round.

His father met him halfway.

"I am sorry, Adar," he said.

Lord Oropher looked back toward the ring. "Thranduil, you need not offer any apology...but you were not your best out there."

Thranduil adjusted the sword on his belt, forced himself to look up. "I know. I don't know what happened."

I do," he said and looked his son in the eyes. "You underestimated your competition. You were the natural favorite, as you should be, Thranduil. You're one of the best sword fighters in your age group. But," he said and paused, placing a hand on his son's shoulders, "you were not as prepared as you should have been."

"I won't make that mistake again," Thranduil vowed.

His father ruffled the hair on the top of his head, a gesture which Thranduil usually despised. He immediately smoothed his hair back down, and Oropher chuckled.

"I hope not, son," he said, looking back at the young warriors sparring. "I hope not."

.   -  .  -  .  -  .

One Day after Yule, 3018:

Thranduil found Narylfiel in her room later and with an amused smile led her to his chambers under the watchful eyes of both Melui and Dorwil.

"As you doubtless have heard, Lady Narylfiel and I have married," Thranduil told them rather proudly with a soft look at Narylfiel that had Melui's heart melting all over again.

Then Thranduil instructed Dorwil to call for Galion and swiftly pulled the door shut behind him. He dumped his crown on the sideboard table by the door with an exaggerated sigh that Narylfiel was sure was for her benefit as he turned and looked at her.

"You know what?" Thranduil commented. "Sometimes I really hate people."

She tucked in her lip and pretended to look hurt by the statement.

"Not you," he said, pulling her into his arms with a kiss to the top of her head, "never you."

He held her for a moment, both enjoying the feeling of their bond between them, warm and full—content. She tilted her lips up and placed a lingering kiss on his jaw, right by his ear.

"I love you," he murmured to her, and then brought his lips to hers. Heat pooled between them, and Thranduil must have felt it too, for he kissed Narylfiel again, and this time with a little more urgency. And then she kissed him back and her mouth was on his, and his hands were in her hair and then pulling loose the ties to her dress and somehow in between the third and fourth kiss, the pair of them wound up stretched against each other on the bed and then under the covers. Narylfiel laughed just once and Thranduil could not help but join in, and then he pulled the covers over the both of them.