𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐄 | 𝙞𝙢𝙖𝙜𝙞𝙣𝙚𝙨

the night of the party [thranduil]

Twas the night where all wooden limbs were wrapped with lanterns; where fireflies flew aimlessly into them, and vines tickled the stumps of trees in that one elven palace. That one sole, elven kingdom ruled by Thranduil, and oh, how you dressed for that night. Within your chamber, a velvety crimson throw blanketed a four-poster bed, yonder of which a window overlooked Mirkwood and just past the horizon, the glistening streams and the small town of the lake, the Lonely Mountain was indifferently visible. You swore sometimes that the rumble of the king under the mountain could be felt, yet as the bed rattled every two-week past or so, most of the time, the kingdom was quiet. On said day, however, not a being was eerie- every elf you knew and didn't know was bustling with pure joy for the festival that night; ah yes, the monthly festival to celebrate the prosperity and vibrancy of the elves. What mighty elves you were too. In your wardrobe, that currently had grown a set of vines of its own, a pink satin dress with billowing sleeves and a fairy like ambience to it was hanging there, alongside glass, flower decorated heels and a large clip for your hair, priding your ears- their tips, such fine ones at that. Prior to this, earlier in the day- just after dawn- Legolas had called the warriors to assist in the clearance of spiders that had ventured daringly in to Northern Mirkwood, therefore you looked a little different than usual- being all dressed up and that. Still, once the forest had been cleared, you headed back with him; unlike his usual, dismissive self, the young elf spoke to you.

'You did well today, Lulani' mumbled the elf, so bland in expression you could say he sounded dead.

'I am grateful you think that' you nodded, pursing your fawny coloured lips, making dimples appear on those speckled cheeks of yours. Constellations of freckles.

'My father will be impressed once again. You should know he thinks very highly of you' again, quoted Legolas; you swore he was reading from a monologue.

'He does? I mean- I am forever in his honour' you righted, that twitch in your ears bugging you- as being the most sensitive part on an elf, it was your kind's version of blushing. Legolas said nothing else.

Golden harps and ivory pianos and oh so many other instruments your ears picked up. Legolas could be seen stood hovering at the brink of the wooden platform whilst his father surveyed his people upon that mighty throne of his- oh. He looked at you. Oh my, his deep eyes had locked into yours. You too observed the dancing, the drinking- the euphoria of the evening ahead. Thranduil held himself so elegantly, perched such as a stag would, looking over everything that was his, the forest, the people. Simply, it was in his palm. The palace was his oyster. Gazing upon him once more, he glanced away and to his feet for a moment, rare for a king to look down, and smiled humbly to himself & sipping his goblet of the finest wine from his cellar stock. Dramatically, he rose and disappeared under his throne. A soft breeze hitched your breath, with your back being completely exposed due to the dress, the world felt a little colder, despite the warmth of the night. Joining the festivity, you tarried.

Now it was you who was perched at a table, holding a goblet, and drinking that fine wine. Mimicking your Lord's actions, you giggled nonchalantly and drank some of the blood-shade alcohol. As an old stump from a very small tree, the table was smooth to the touch and with your hand you rested on it, not a splinter plagued you- only Thranduil's gaze from across the floor burned into the beauty you were holding that night. Did you look a little different than usual? Absolutely, yet unbeknown to you, he'd been looking at you like this for some time, whether you were wearing a warrior's armour- bow strapped to your back- or effortlessly in a dress embroidered with flowers, a dress that made your posture near perfect to try and avoid the cold shiver down your spine. A slender white strand of hair fell over the King's shoulder when he broke his stare from you, gliding forward as he drank a second goblet of wine, he couldn't help but notice the cold air touching you. From your perspective, only dancers and twirling dresses could be viewed, having the time of their lives when suddenly but very much welcomed, a voice spooked you.

'Shall you not join the festivity?' inquired Thranduil

'I may, yet I have but not a soul to dance with, my Lord' you spoke like melted chocolate, glistening eyes meeting his as a smirk creeped onto that fawny face. His pale complexion was a contrast.

'May I?' the King charmed, setting down his drink and offering out his hand, every finger decorated with a ring that suited the crystal robe he styled. You stood, his cold fingers clasped yours, lifting you into a dance. Holding you securely close to him, with his right hand snaked around your waist, he moved with you- to the music, or to the feeling? Thranduil's head pressed gently into yours, as being a little smaller even with heels, you felt a small twitch of his ear- or was it yours? Other elves stared ominously at the two of you, as the King usually never broke his cold demeanour, not even with his own child. Moving the night forward and with few couples left to dance, he took an opportunity to twirl you, let you go a little until swiftly bringing you back into his arms- to where you felt a strange sense of familiarity. A safety you had not felt in some time. Cold voiced, he whispered.

'In a lifetime, no elf has caught my eye such as you, dear Lulani. I admire you' your Lord caressed- you just stopped yourself from falling to your knees.

'My Lord, consider me flattered,' you replied to him, then tripping over your heel and nearly hitting the ground. Thranduil caught you, 'A little too much wine,' you jokingly saved.

'Come. The air is particularly fresh tonight'

*

'Are you proud of him, my Lord?' asked you

'More than I could say, or show. Legolas means a great deal to me, to have you by his side is reassuring enough' said that elven king, hands clasped at his front, watching you longingly swing from pillars and gaze out onto the forest tree tops.

'He wants to make you prouder every single day,' you smiled over to Thranduil, 'As do I' you blurted out, making his head turn sharply to you. You spun. He was right there.

'No feeling, no atmosphere, nothing describes this' he poetically recited

'My Lord?' your eyebrows furrowed at his thought spoken words. For once, and only ever this one time, his face seemed weakened. A vulnerability had crept over him. You didn't like it, 'Are you alright?'

'This place,' he began, 'I rule it. The land, the water, its people, and everything that goes on within it. If I have all of that, then why am I finding myself so alone?' he near crumbled

'Oh, my Lord,' you comforted, resting a gentle hand upon his arm, immediately flinching away as it was not by his consent, 'I'm sorry, I don't know what came over m-'

But once his lips had touched yours, there was no doubt about it. From gazing in slender tones across the room, displaying minimal knowledge of each other, this was the moment you knew how deeply the cold elf king could really feel. Would you take it back? Never. Thranduil was just, what do you call it? A leader- no. A king? Well yes but, no. He was in fact, the least likely to show at a party yet the life of it both equally in time.