Kingsfoil [Thranduil] LOTR

Festive

Artwork by Kimberly80 at deviantart

Yule, 3017:

Thranduil thought he might just be a little drunk. He had kept up with every single toast made to him, right before he had pulled Narylfiel out to dance. She should be dancing more, he thought with a scowl as he careened out of the Great Hall in need of some fresh air. She loved to dance, and he was not entirely sure why more of the young elves did not ask her. Perhaps they were afraid of Legolas. He smirked. He had heard of the incident from when she had first joined the guard and Legolas had bloodied a few of their noses when he heard them talking about her.

Thranduil leaned up against the doorframe and adjusted his winter crown, careful not to dislodge any of the berries. His head felt a little hazy, probably just from the crowded room, he assured himself. He would return in a few minutes. He closed his eyes for just a second until a peal of laughter had him straightening, peering down the hall.

"King Thranduil!" the voice exclaimed. "Apparently I was not the only one who found the Great Hall to be stuffy." It was Rubawen, a black-headed elleth in his court who was always laughing, always merry. "Come join me over here and see what I have discovered!" she giggled.

Thranduil pushed off the wall. "Lady Rubawen," he said, trying to sound instructive. "There is nothing in these halls that I would not already know of."

"Oh? I am not so sure," she said. More giggles.

Thranduil joined her side, looked around curiously. "I don't see—"

The king was cut off mid-sentence when Lady Rubawen threw her arms around his neck and planted her lips against his. Rare was it for the Elvenking ever to be caught off his guard, but in this instance, Thranduil was completely taken unawares. Truth be told, Rubawen was a very passionate elleth and an extremely good kisser.

"Look, my king, mistletoe," she chimed, drawing his eye up to the stone arch above them and kissing him again on the cheek. Rubawen then whispered in his ear a very suggestive request involving her quarters and several more bottles of wine.

Thranduil disentangled himself from her. He politely refused her request. There had been times when he might have availed himself of an opportunity to feel the warmth and pleasure of a night with a beautiful maiden like Rubawen, but such trysts had long lost their allure; they only made him yearn for something beyond his grasp. He bade Rubawen goodnight and watched her return to the party.

Thranduil glared at the offending mistletoe hanging over his head. Miserable stuff, he thought, and whose idea had it been to put it there in the first place? Narylfiel's, of course. She had been quite adamant about its inclusion this year. It will be fun, she said. Except it only succeeded in making Thranduil feel rather gloomy.

His heart no longer in the party spirit, the Elvenking decided not to return to the feast. He thought about the domed rock high above his halls, where one could climb to the very top and see the forest for miles. The stars hung so close over head. Thranduil's eyes drifted back to the doors to the Great Hall, where he could see the dancing and merry-making still going strong. He wondered if Narylfiel could be persuaded to join him. The forest would be beautiful tonight, all frosted white and silver from the morning's snow, and he knew how much she loved the stars.

King Thranduil returned to the Hall looking for his friend, only Narylfiel was nowhere to be found. After a while of fruitless searching, he gave up and left the Hall, taking the winding path and stairs up to the top of his halls. He shed his crown at the high gate and continued on. The cold night air stung his cheeks as he pushed the heavy outer door open and let himself out into the inky darkness. In front of him, he could see the forest stretching out for miles, the recent snow fall dusting the trees brilliant white in the moonlight.