Kingsfoil [Thranduil] LOTR

Ambushed

*art credit to Ysidora on deviantart

A week after Yule, 3018:

"I hear Prince Thorin is on the mend," Narylfiel said conversationally, leaning over her husband's shoulder to plant a kiss on his cheek while he went through the latest scouting reports. 

Thranduil's only reply was a non-committal page-turn. 

"I was thinking about heading over there, just to see how they fare," Narylfiel said, watching her king's face carefully.

Now Thranduil looked up.  Now she had his attention.  "Do you really believe it wise, Narylfiel?" he said. "Those dwarves had ugly words concerning you."

"I know," she admitted, "but all the more reason to try and repair that damage, don't you think?"

Thranduil muttered something under his breath that Narylfiel could not quite discern. 

"Well," she said, ignoring that less than diplomatic response from her king, "I will see you at lunch later?"

Her king looked up from his report, his blue eyes amused.  "Yes, if you come back in one piece, dearest."

Narylfiel fought the urge to roll her eyes.  She truly had been working on omitting that particular response ever since Rivenion had told her at one of her 'Queen lessons' that eye rolling was juvenile, unsuitable, and uncouth.

She heard the dwarves down the hall before she actually saw the door to their room.  Valar, they certainly were loud creatures!  She knocked on the door frame before entering. 

"Hello," she told them with a friendly smile.  "I brought you some muffins and fruit." She held the basket in front of her like a peace offering.

One of the dwarves started to smile at her before the largest dwarf, the bald one, jabbed him in the side with a quick elbow.  Dwalin, she remembered.  His name was Dwalin.  He had been at Dale with Prince Thorin.  "Come to finish the job, have you?" he asked, his eyes narrowing.

Narylfiel only laughed as she set her basket on a side table by the door.  "Oh, dear.  You are on to my nefarious schemes, are you?"

Dwalin only folded his arms and scowled.  The other dwarves, including Prince Thorin who seemed much improved, exchanged looks. 

Narylfiel plopped down in the empty chair by the door.  "I actually have a theory about what happened," she said conversationally, plucking an apple from the basket and biting into it.

"Go on," Prince Thorin said regally, folding his hands atop his quilted coverlet.

Narylfiel peered cautiously out into the hall, and then satisfied, pulled the door shut.  "I have not spoken to the king of this, but..." she said and lowered her voice, "I kept thinking about why someone would want to poison you."

Dwalin harrumphed.  "Your people hate dwarves? How about that for a reason?"

"Possibly," she owned, "but here is what I kept going back to, what worries me.  Who could have known that my gift was for you?"

"Only one person knew," she told them.  "My guard and friend, Melui.  She took the gift down to the grand hall and left it under my chair."

"Melui?" Bofur interrupted as he slyly took an apple from the basket.  "The little pretty one who danced with us that night?"

Narylfiel nodded.  "I don't believe the poison was meant for you, Prince Thorin." She met his eyes and bit her lip.  "I think it was meant for King Thranduil. The person who laced the feasting hat with poison just assumed my gift would be for the king."