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Chapter Text

“Politics doesn’t make strange bedfellows – marriage does.”

-Groucho Marx

Ruins of Dale, 23^rd of November, T.A. 2941

After the Eagles had come, and the Battle of the Five Armies had finally, finally ceased, Bard wanted nothing more than to hold his children, and feel their solid warmth when he gathered them to him.  He barely had the strength left to put one foot in front of the other, but he threw down his sword, shed his chain mail, and staggered through the streets shouting their names. 

“My Lord Bard?”

The Bowman whipped his head around to see a tall, dark-haired Elf in armor coming his way.

“No, not right now. Whatever the King wants will just have to wait. I have to find my children.”

“But My Lord—”

“NO!” Bard’s eyes filled with tears.  “I don’t know where they are, and I,” his voice broke, “I have to… they have to be alive, don’t you see?”

The Elf raised his hands, and approached him slowly, speaking in a calming voice.  “Lord Bard, your children have been located.  They are with King Thranduil, in his tent.”

“Wh…”  Bard’s hand covered his mouth, and the tears he had been fighting began to flow. “Are they...”

”They are frightened, but uninjured.  Lord Thranduil is looking after them.”

He sobbed, as the last of his strength left him, and his knees buckled.

The Elven Captain sprang forward and grabbed his arms.  “Are you well?  Have you been injured?”

“I don’t think so...” he murmured.

“Here.  Lean on me, and I will take you to your family.”

“Thank you.” Bard regained his composure.  “What’s your name?”

“I am Captain Maron, Second in Command to Lord Feren.”

“Who is?”

“Commander Feren is in charge of all branches of the Military in the Woodland Realm, My Lord.”

“Oh.” Bard said, weakly.  He tried to keep talking, to stave off his growing exhaustion.

Finally, they reached the large tent belonging to Thranduil, son of Oropher, King of the Woodland Realm.  The two attending Guards raised the flaps, and they entered, to see the Elvenking sitting at his table, speaking to Bain, and Sigrid, next to Tauriel, who was holding Tilda against her shoulder.

“DA!” Bain jumped to his feet and threw his arms around his father, and the girls were right behind him. Despite his joy, Bard couldn’t stop his cry of pain.

“Bard?”

He saw the tall, blonde Elf leap to his feet, and come toward him.

“I…” was all he managed to get out, before everything went black.

***************

“Da!” Sigrid shrieked.  “Help him!”

Thranduil dashed forward and caught the Bowman before he knocked all three of them to the ground.

“What’s wrong with Da?” Tilda began to cry. “Is he dead?”

“No, child; he has merely fainted.” Thranduil answered, then said said to Tauriel and Galion,  “Help me take him to my bedchamber!”

Bain and Sigrid moved things out of the way, and they took Bard through a partition and laid Bard down on his mattress. The Elvenking saw the lack of color on the King of Dale’s face, and began to issue orders in Sindarin.   “Tauriel, keep the children out of here!"

Galion stuck his head in.  “I sent for Tareg, My Lord.”

“Excellent.”

Thranduil worked quickly to remove his boots and stockings, then took out his sharp knife and began to cut the Bowman’s clothes off.   He had just finished with his smalls, when Tareg, the Master Healer entered with his bag.

“Those are the King’s children?” Tareg asked. 

“Yes.  I sent for the entire family, though Bard appears to be injured.”

Tareg’s eyes swept over Bard’s body.  “No obvious deep wounds, just countless bruises and gashes…” he murmured.  “Roll him toward you, so I can examine his back, and be careful about it.”

Thranduil pulled Bard onto his left side, and the Healer ran his fingers over him, from the back of his neck to the bottoms of his feet.  “Now, put him on his back and switch places with me… now roll him on his right side…”

Thranduil’s eyes widened at the sight of a horrible purple contusion on his upper back on the left, traveling under his arm and around his rib cage.

“As I thought.” The Healer sighed.  “His ribs are crushed, and I believe he is bleeding internally.” 

“Can you help him?  He must live; if not for his people, for those children out there.  They have no one else.”

“If we work quickly, we can heal the spleen, then we must carefully examine all his cuts, and pray to the Valar none came from a poisoned blade.” Tareg, looked at Thranduil with concern. “Send for Gandalf.  In either case, he needs to be here.”

Thranduil went the entrance of his bedchamber and pulled the curtain aside.  Tilda was crying softly into the Tauriel’s shoulder, the the other two leaned against her.  "Is he going to die?" she hiccuped.

“We are going to do everything we can for your father, child.” He gave them all encouraging smile.  “I promise: there is no better Healer in the North than my friend Tareg.”  

"But what if he..." Sigrid shook her head, swallowed.

Thranduil went to her and got down on one knee.  "Listen to me:  You children will be safe and looked after, no matter what happens.  Tauriel has been assigned to look after you, and you are all under my personal protection, as is your father.  We are going to do everything necessary to help him get well.  All right?"

Sigrid gave him a weak nod.  "All right.  Thank you."

Thranduil went to the entrance to speak to his guards.  “Where is Mithrandir?” The Elvenking asked in Sindarin.

“He is accompanying Thorin’s body to Erebor, My Lord.”

“Get him and bring him here.  Tell him he can pay his respects later; I have a live King who may might not remain that way, if he doesn’t come now!”

The Captain saluted and left, as Thranduil returned to Bard’s bedside.  “What do you need?”

“We will repair the bleeding, now.  You will have to help me, and pray the Valar blesses us.  Settle your thoughts, and let us begin…”

The Elvenking and Healer closed their eyes and gently placed their hands against Bard’s side.  Thranduil concentrated, and began to sing, as he “saw” the Bowman’s crushed bones and the organ that was filling his abdominal cavity with blood.  Tareg’s voice harmonized with his, and together, they managed to stop the bleeding.

Once the spleen was healed, Thranduil tried to heal Bard’s shattered ribs, but Tareg said, “We must stop, now.”

“But his ribs…”  The Elvenking began to sing again.

“Stop, Thranduil!  Now!”  His voice was sharp, then tired. Tareg put his hand on Thranduil’s arm.  “Forgive my tone, but neither one of us has the strength to do more.  You know knitting bones together is draining on a good day, but you have been fighting a Battle, and I have been treating the wounded since dawn!  Neither one of us has the strength for such an attempt!”

“Are you sure?”

Tareg gave him a look.  “Bard is my patient, but you are as well.  I will not allow either of you to perish, is that clear?  Now, stop talking and help me clean and examine the rest of his wounds.”

Oddly enough, Thranduil found Tareg’s brisk manner comforting.  Since his father’s death, the Master Healer had stepped in as a mentor of sorts for the young King and, along with Galion, nurtured him and guided him through the years.  Amongst all his people, the Elvenking could trust the Healer, his Aide and his best friend, Feren to always tell him the truth.

“Ai gorgor! Te harn a saew!” 

“What?” 

“Look.” Tareg sighed, and grabbed his bag. 

Thranduil’s stomach flipped.  

A scratch on the Bowman’s right forearm was turning black, with spider-like lines reaching outward at an alarming speed.

Bard had been poisoned.

“Get me a bowl of hot water, quickly!” 

“Are we too late?”

“I hope not.”  The Healer bathed and cleaned the wound, and made a paste of Athelas leaves.  Then he washed a small knife in spirits, but before he used it, he stroked Bard’s forehead and murmured a sleeping-spell.

“I do not want him to wake up in the middle of all this,” he explained.

Thranduil watched, as Tareg cut away the necrotic tissue then packed the wound with the Athelas and together, they began to sing once more.  Now, he was glad the Healer stopped him from repairing his ribs, because by the time they were finished, the Elvenking needed to sit down.

“Well, I believe we have done it.  Bard will remain in a Healing Sleep through the night, but he must remain in bed for several weeks, to allow the ribs to heal. 

“Weeks?  We need to meet with the new King Under the Mountain in two days!”

“And you’ll do it without Bard.” The Healer was firm.  “It’s the best I can do.  In the meantime, I am ordering you to get some rest, as well.” Tareg pulled the sheets up to Bard’s shoulders, then covered him with several heavy blankets.  “I must return to the Healing Tent.  Watch him throughout the night; make sure he does not develop a fever.”

 “But what about his children?”

“What about all of these people, Thranduil?” Tareg snapped, then he sighed, and rubbed his forehead.  “Those that survived this terrible day have only the food you brought them, no real shelter to speak of, and the clothes on their backs!  You know I care little for politics, but something must be done for all of them, not just Bard and his family, and very soon!  What are you going to do?”

“What do you suggest?”

“That is your area of expertise, not mine.  But I have no intention of working my fingers to the bone to save them, only to watch them starve and freeze to death. so I suggest you think of something.”  He gave the Elvenking a grim smile and squeezed his shoulder. “You did well, today.”

“That is just it, Tareg.” Thranduil looked down.  “I did not.  I almost abandoned these people.”

“Surely not!” the Healer’s eyes widened. “When?”

The Elvenking shook his head as tears came to his eyes.  “I…saw so many Elves – my people – dead….” He looked up at the Healer.  “It happened again, Tareg.”

“Ai…” The Healer regarded him thoughtfully, then grabbed him in a tight embrace.  “I could not love you more if you were my own son.  I have helped look after you your entire life, and I always will.” He took Thranduil’s face in his hands..  “Listen to me: You might have made a mistake today, but all that matters, is that you stayed, and you fought and helped these people.  It was a momentary weakness; nothing more.”

"Still, Tauriel, Legolas, and Mithrandir had to intervene,” he swallowed painfully.  “I am...ashamed.”

“Then make it up to Bard by looking after his people while he recovers,” Target looked down at the sleeping King of Dale. “He must rest, or a broken piece of rib could puncture his lung.”

After the Healer left, Thranduil went out to explain Bard’s condition to the children, then ordered that arrangements to be made to accommodate them.  Quickly a tent with four cots (for Tauriel would be staying with them) was set up next door, with plenty of warm blankets and clothing. 

In the meantime, the Elves that were not caring for the wounded, or disposing of the bodies, were busy organizing a refugee camp, with the help of Percy and his wife Hilda.

Thranduil and Galion sat with Bard through that night, and cleaned all his cuts and bruises with soap and water.  In the early hours of the morning, he developed a fever, so they removed the blankets and bathed his forehead with Athelas, sang a spell to help.

The next day, Gandalf finally arrived.

“Where have you been?” The Elvenking demanded.  “Bard nearly died, and we needed you here!”

“I am sorry, my friend.  I was at Erebor, dealing with Dáin. He has been declared regent, while Prince Fili lies in a coma.”

“Dáin?” Thranduil groaned. “He’s worse than Thorin, without the excuse of Gold Sickness!  Will Fili live?”

“That is difficult to say.  He is extremely ill, and I have done all I can.  He is being carefully guarded by the Original Company.”

“Why?  Do you suspect Dáin of wanting the throne for himself?”

“I don’t know.  He’s shrewd, there is no doubt about that, but Fili is his kin.  Still, Dáin is putting contingency plans in place.”

“What does he say about these people in Dale?  Will he offer them aide?”

Gandalf sighed.  “He states that he will render them aide, but only if Erebor can take control of Dale.”

“What?” Thranduil stood up from his chair and glared at the Wizard.  “That is an outrage!  Bard’s people deserve the payment they were promised, and reparations!”

“I agree.”  Gandalf raised his hands to calm things down. “He knows Bard is ill - how he found out, I do not know - but he says that unless Bard is willing to negotiate terms himself, he should step aside.   No one else is qualified to go in his stead and deal with him, Thranduil. Percy is his Second-in-Command, but he is a fisherman and knows nothing of such things, and Dáin is counting on that.”

“But why?  Is that what he thinks Fili would want?”

“Who can say?  Should Dáin become King Under the Mountain, he wants his son, Thorin Stonehelm to have Dale.”

“Rhaich!” Thranduil cursed.  “Dáin knows Bard has no experience!  The Dale folk need supplies, food and shelter.  I am giving them what I can spare, but only until more can be purchased; I cannot afford to support another Kingdom indefinitely, Mithrandir!  I was planning on helping Bard negotiate terms after the Battle, but he is incapacitated, and these people need help now!”

“I have an idea...” Gandalf considered

“What?”

“There is someone who has the wherewithal and the experience to stand up to Dáin, and make sure Dale gets what it is owed, and more.”

“I could easily do it, but I do not possess the authority.  Could we draw up papers and have Bard give me permission to act on his behalf?”

“He could, but Dáin would fight it, and it would take time to go through the proper channels,” Gandalf raised his eyebrows.  “Time these people simply do not have.  We could have Bain stand in his place with you as his regent, but you know Dáin will fight tooth and nail on both of these fronts and drag out the process until the people are starving and desperate.  There is, however, a quicker way for you to gain authority, with little room for argument.”

“Which is what?”

“Bard’s spouse could do either of those things, and no one could challenge it.   In short, if you were married to Bard, you could expertly deal with Dáin, and the people of Dale would be guaranteed a chance.”

Thranduil’s mouth opened and closed several times.  “But…  You cannot be serious!”

“Oh, but I am.  You and Bard should marry.  Tonight, if possible.”

“But he is asleep…” The Elvenking said stupidly.  “Tareg is coming by later to wake him.”

“Then we will speak him then.”  Gandalf was apologetic.  “If there was any other way, I would have suggested it, but I agree with your Healer; do you want these people to starve to death?”

“But how did you know he said that?”

“Thranduil,” Gandalf tilted his head. “I am a Wizard.” 

“Bard and I barely know each other, Mithrandir.”

“You and I both know that’s not quite true.  He’s worked to deliver your goods and for years!  And I know for a fact you have become friends, yes?”

“Well, yes…. in a way.  As much as one can be, when my station is so far above his.”

“Ah, but you are no longer so different, are you?  Now you are both Kings.”

“But—“

“Bard does not give his trust easily, yet he put his faith in you when you came to Dale.  And you,” Gandalf smiled,  “have great difficulty making friends, yet I see the rapport between you, and your obvious affection for his children.  Despite these horrendous circumstances, you have smiled more in these last weeks then in centuries, since your wife’s death!”

“But that does not mean—”

“No, it doesn’t, but Bard loves his people, and would do whatever it takes to secure their future.  And you need to do this, not just for him, but for yourself.  Giving them hope, will give you hope, and perhaps the ghosts from the War and from this Battle will haunt you less.”  Gandalf stood.  “Think it over, while I go find Tareg.”

***************

His mouth felt like it was full of wool.

And he could hear voices; they were faint, but steadily growing louder.

“Bard?  You must wake up, please.”

He tried to open his eyes, and felt someone take his hand. 

“If you can hear me, squeeze my hand.”

He didn’t recognize the voice, but from the accent, he knew it was an Elf.  He squeezed as hard as he could, which ended up being very little.

“Da?  Da?  Are you awake?”  That was Bain.

“Why won’t he wake up?” Tilda’s voice sounded worried.

“Just give him a few minutes, Tithen Pen.” Thranduil’s voice soothed her.  “He will come around.”

Then the pain hit him.  Oh, gods…  A moan escaped him, and it hurt to even breathe.

“I am sorry, Lord Bard.  I am  Tareg, the Master Healer.  I will give you something to help with the pain, but we must speak with you first.”

“Mithrandir; do something!” The deep smooth voice was Thranduil.  He looked over and saw the Elvenking looking at him with great concern.

Rough, yet kind fingers soothed his brow, and he could hear Gandalf murmur something, and the weight lifted from his side, and his arm, while still throbbing painfully, was bearable.

At last, his eyes opened, and he found himself in a large bed, surrounded by his family, that dark-haired Elf (what was his name again?), the one called Galion, Thranduil and Gandalf.

“Where am I?’ he croaked.

“You are in my tent, and we have treated your injuries.  You will require much time for rest and healing, as you were….” The Elvenking looked over at the worried faces of Sigrid and Bain, while holding Tilda in his lap, “you will need a great deal of rest.”

Ah.  He was worse off than the Elves wanted to let on. 

“Children, kiss your father, then please step out.   I will send for you when we are ready.”

“Okay, Ada.”  Tilda kissed Thranduil’s cheek, then came over and kiss Bard.  “I’m glad you’re awake, Da.”

Sigrid leaned down and looked worriedly into his eyes.  “Don’t worry about us, Da.  Thranduil has been taking good care of us.”  She kissed him, then stepped back for her brother.

“Get better soon, Da.” Bain kissed him too.

 Bard struggled to sit up, then cried out in pain.

“No!” Strong hands pushed his shoulders back down.  “You must lie flat, My Lord, or you will undo all of our hard work.”

He fell back against the pillows, then looked around at their faces.  “What’s wrong?”

So, they told him.

“You’ve got to be joking!  I can’t…”

“No, Bard, you can’t; that’s the whole problem.” Gandalf said. “You can’t even sit up, let alone make the trip to Erebor, not even in a wagon.  The fact is, your people need help and they need it now.  Thranduil is doing his utmost, but your people require more provisions than he can supply until your City is self-sufficient.  You need the gold from Erebor, if you are to survive.”

“But…marry Thranduil?”  Bard was shocked.  He’d always enjoyed seeing the Elf while he worked on the river, but in the past few weeks, and he’d grown to really care about him.  He didn’t want to admit, not even to himself, that he found the Elvenking beautiful and graceful, and it was impossible to keep his eyes off him, when he was near…

“Is it because I am a male?  Do your people consider such things taboo in your culture?” Thranduil’s eyes widened in panic.

“No.” Gandalf answered for Bard.  “The people of Laketown aren’t concerned with things like that,” he smiled at Bard, “and neither do Elves.”

 “But, I’ve only really gotten to know Thranduil a month ago, when he showed up here!” He gave the Elvenking a quick look, “Not that I’m not grateful; you’ve no idea how happy I was to see you that day!”

“So, you don’t really like him?”

“That’s not it; I like him well enough, and the kids love him, but…I feel like I’m taking advantage.”  He sighed, then winced, as his ribs hurt.  “There’s no other way to stand up to Dáin?”

“Not for Thranduil to be able to get your people what they need.” The Wizard looked at the King of Dale thoughtfully.  “Do you want Bain to try to deal with him?  You saw what Dáin was like, Bard.”

“No; I don’t.”  Bard looked over at Thranduil.  “Look, are you sure you want to do this?  I’ve got nobody besides the kids, and no interest in marrying again, anyway.   Why are you willing to sacrifice your future like this?”

“Because, we need the North to be three united Kingdoms, if we are to stand against the Enemy.  The Necromancer in Dol Guldur was no ordinary Wizard; he was Sauron himself, and if we all are to survive, we must be strong.”

“What if I can’t do that?  I’m not really trained to be a King.”

“That is another good reason for us to form an alliance through marriage, Bard.  I can teach you what you need to know.  I remember old Dale, and so do many of my people.”

“You do?”

“Yes.  I was personally acquainted with every single King – your great-grandfathers – all the way to King Girion.  This city was a vibrant, colorful place and I enjoyed visiting here.  I can guide you, and help you rebuild it and make it better than it ever was.” He shrugged.  “If anyone can do it, you can, and with my help, you people will prosper.”

“But don’t you have anyone in your Palace?  No sweetheart?”

Thranduil shook his head.  “No.  I have had no one since I lost my wife, and…”

Bard looked at Gandalf.  “And this is the only way?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so.”

Bard closed his eyes and shook his head.  “If you can promise that my people will be taken care of, then I’ll do it.”

“Splendid!” Gandalf smiled and clasped his hands together.  “Now, we need to explain it to the children.  But you both will need to give the impression you two are genuinely in love, or word will get back to Dáin, and he’ll make all our lives miserable.”

An hour later, Bard and Thranduil were married.  Somehow Gandalf had produced two lovely gold rings, which were carried on a small pillow carefully held by Tilda (under Tauriel’s watchful eye).  All the proper documentation was produced, signed and witnessed, then they placed their rings each other’s fingers.  Hilda stepped forward and wrapped their joined hands in a strip of cloth, as the Wizard held them and invoked the name of Eru Ilúvatar and asked the Valar to bless their union.

“Congratulations!” he said with a smile.  “You are married!”

Tilda was jumping up and down with glee.  “Kiss him, Da!  You have to kiss him, or you’re not really married!”

Bard looked around at the expectant faces, and met Thranduil’s eyes and shrugged.  The Elvenking smiled, leaned over the bed and rested his hand on Bard’s cheek and looked deep into his eyes, then he slowly leaned down and kissed him.  The Elvenking’s lips were soft and warm and more perfect that he was ready to admit.  It so unnerved him, he made a pained noise, so they could stop; it was more than he could process, just yet.

“Oh, I am sorry; did I hurt you?” The blue-grey eyes were concerned.

“A little.” Bard laid his head back down on the pillow and closed his eyes. 

“I am sorry, but Lord Bard has had enough excitement, and he will rest now.” Tareg shuffled through the visitors to get to his bedside.  He put his hand on Bard’s forehead.  “You have a fever.  That’s it!  Everyone out, now!”

***************

The next day, while Bard lay in his bed at the refugee camp, Thranduil and Galion went to Erebor. 

The first day was a disaster, though Thranduil thoroughly enjoyed giving Dáin the joyous news.

The Lord of the Iron Hills was more stubborn and reticent than even Mithrandir had predicted,  but he was no match for an Elf with nearly three thousand years’ experience in diplomacy.  He sat calmly while the Dwarf blustered and roared and threatened, until he wore himself out.

“Ye shouldna even be ‘ere!” he spat.  “'Tis Bard’s place te negotiate terms on behalf o’ ‘is people, not ye!”

“And yet, here I am.” Thranduil raised his eyebrow and crossed his legs.  “Might I point out that it should be King Fili sitting in your chair, discussing terms?”

The Lord of the Iron Hills stared at him in utter contempt.  “I’m a member of the Royal Line of Durin, ye feckin’ bastard!  I’m a member of the Royal Family, and I’ve very right—”

“And I am a member of the Royal Family of Dale,” Thranduil examined his fingernails, and said, oh-so-casually.  “I am fully authorized to negotiate on my husband’s behalf.”

“Yer wha’?  What the feck ye blatherin’ abou’?

“Lord Bard and I are married,” the Elvenking tilted his head, and a small smiled graced his lips, as he held up his hand to show him his wedding ring.  “Surely you knew that?”

Gandalf wisely kept a neutral look and posture, but a ghost of a smile could be seen on Balin’s face, and Ori quickly buried his face in the book he was writing notes in.

“Tha’s a lie!  Ye didna even ken the Man before Laketown burned!”

“That is not so, Lord Dáin.  For seven years, Bard has traveled up and down the Forest River to deliver my shipments from Dorwinian and Laketown, and collect the barrels to return them.  When Laketown was destroyed, of course I rushed to get here, to make sure he was well, then Bard and I realized our feelings for each other went far more than friendship.  We married yesterday, and we are very happy, as are the children.  Galion?”

The Steward of the Woodland Realm presented the Dwarves with a copy of the marriage contract, signed by several witnesses, and—

“Gandalf!  You thievin’ bastard!” Dáin pounded his fists on the table.  “Ye married them, an’ ye never said a feckin’ word!”

“Well, uh,” the Wizard cleared his throat. “How could I deny them?  They loved each other, and the children, of course are delighted.  In fact, their youngest, little Tilda—”

“Enough!” Dáin was on his feet. “This is a scam, an’ I won’ stand for it!”

“You have an excellent point, Dáin; this is a waste of our time.” Thranduil smiled, “I came here to inform you that my husband’s Kingdom will remain under my protection, and any action taken to remove Bard or myself will be seen as an act of war.  And until you are willing to give my husband all he is due, down to every last coin, mind you, all roads and rivers will be closed to your people, as are any natural resource from either Realm. 

“I will continue to support my husband’s people myself, as there are other lands who understand the importance of the Northern Kingdoms, and will be happy to help support Dale until it is self-sufficient.  The fields between our Kingdoms belong to Bard, as per the ancient deeds and boundaries of which I have copies, and,” he looked toward Balin and Ori, “your Archives contain documents to verify that.  No longer will it be called the ‘Field of Desolation,’ and it will be fertilized, planted, and harvested.  Lord Dáin,” he narrowed his eyes at the Dwarf.  “I will personally make sure that not one grain of wheat makes its way into the mouths of your people here.”

“Ye wouldn’t!” Dáin stood tall, crossed his arms.

Thranduil slowly got to his feet, and leaned over Dáin with a determined look.  “You do not seem to understand the precariousness of your situation, Lord Dáin of the Iron Hills:  you need us far more than we need you. What will your people do, when your provisions run out?  Eat the gold?” He turned and signaled to Galion and his Guards.  “I am finished with this nonsense.”

The Elves were almost to the end of the long walkway, when Thranduil heard a voice calling to them. 

“Wait!”

With a grin, Thranduil stopped, but didn’t turn around, just yet.  Let them sweat.

Balin, rushed up to them, looking worried. 

“Lord Balin,” Thranduil nodded his head in deference.  “May I help you?”

“Please accept our apologies, Lord Thranduil.  This is not what…” he gritted his teeth.  “Even Thorin would not have wanted this.”

The Elvenking looked down at the Dwarf with some sympathy.  Of all the Naugrim he’d encountered over his long years, Balin, son of Fundin, was the one he respected.

“Would that you were regent, Lord Balin.  You do have kinship with the late King Under the Mountain, do you not?”

“Aye, but not nearly as direct as Dáin.  He’s a warrior, and a good one, as you well know, but he’s no politician.  His wife has the running of those matters in the Iron Hills, and leaves the military to her husband."

“Still, he is your ruler, however temporary, Balin.  I do not wish to be the cause of division among your people, like this.” He turned again toward the Main Doors—

“Please! Just let us talk with him, Lord Thranduil, and see what can be done, all right?  I don’t understand why he’s doing this, but we’re the ones who will be forced to live with the consequences, not him!”

Thranduil eyed the Dwarf, thoughtfully. “Tell me the truth; is King Fili going to recover?”

“Óin’s doing all he can, but he remains the same.”

“And you would prefer it be Fili on the Throne of Erebor?”

“Aye, but there’s nothing more we can do.”

“Perhaps there is, and perhaps there isn’t.” Thranduil gave the Dwarf a thoughtful look.  “Is there someplace private where we can talk?”

~o0o~

ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:

Ai gorgor! Te harn a saew! – Oh no! He has been poisoned! (Lit.  “Oh, horrors! He was hurt with poison.”)

Mellon nîn – My friend

Naugrim – Dwarves

Rhaich!– Curses

Chapter Text

When Thranduil returned to his tent, he found the children eating their supper under Tauriel’s supervision, and Tareg was still working with Bard.

“How is he?”

“His fever has broken, thank the Valar.”

“Tell me, Mellon nîn: are you fatigued?”

“A bit; why do you ask?”

Thranduil told him.

“You cannot be serious!” the Healer gasped.  “I have much too much to do here, to go traipsing over to that Mountain—”

“Tareg, I am only following your suggestion.”

“I did not suggest that!”

“Yes, you did.  You told me I had to find a way to save these people, and I have.  I have married Bard to gain authority to negotiate with the Dwarves, but we cannot work with Dáin, though the rest of the Dwarves feel differently.”

“But I do not know how to heal a Dwarf!”

“You do not need to.  If you and Óin work together, he can recover enough to give Balin the authority to settle these matters.  If not,” the Elvenking sighed, “I do not know what will happen.  What if Thorin’s nephew dies, and Dáin calls my bluff?”  He leaned forward.  “Tell me, Tareg; do you have a better idea?”

The Healer blew out his breath.  “When do they want me?”

“Tonight, after dark.  Balin has arranged for your passage in and out of the Mountain, unseen. And if you can help the young Dwarf, Dale will survive.  It is as simple as that.”

“Are you trying to make me feel guilty?”

Thranduil just smiled. 

***************

That night, Tareg and Feren - who insisted upon going with him – clothed themselves in black, and pulled up their hoods, and rode toward the Lonely Mountain.  They came within a half-mile of the Main Doors, when a whistle signaled to them from the left, and saw the light of a small lamp. They turned and silently walked toward the light, and found the Dwarves named Bofur, Nori, and Bifur waiting for them.

“You were supposed to come alone.” Nori’s look was sour.

“He will not go alone.” Feren challenged him.  “If he can heal your young King, he may need help to get back.  Are you willing to carry him?”

They didn’t answer, but led them to a wall of rock, where Nori knocked around a few times, then pushed. A door appeared was opened.

“Through here.”

The Elves silently followed them through the tunnels until they reached an open walkway, where Bifur held his arm out to stop them.  “Wait!” he whispered, as he made sure the coast was clear, then across the walkway and to the King’s chambers.

“Thank you for coming,” Balin came forward, and nodded.  His arm gestured toward the Dwarven King lying still in the middle of the bed.  Tareg’s trepidation was instantly replaced with concern, as he removed his cloak.  “How long as he been like this?”  The Healer opened his eyes and checked his pupils.

“Since the Battle.” Dwalin answered from the corner.  “The lad’s got no idea his Uncle and brother are dead, nor does he even know he’s King.”

“Óin,” Tareg called to the Dwarf, as he sat on the side of the bed, and put his hands on Fili’s head.  “Get on the other side of the King, and place your hands atop mine.  Then close your eyes concentrate.”

“On what, exactly?” Óin was skeptical.

“You understand much more about Dwarven anatomy than I do, so you will picture his skull, the blood vessels and his brain, and ‘show me’ where we need to look, do you understand?”

“Aye, I’ll give it a go.”

The Healer looked around the room. “Everyone in this room must either leave or remain absolutely quiet, is that understood?  And make sure we are not disturbed!”

Three of the Dwarves left to stand guard outside, but Dwalin remained.  “I’m no' leavin’ the lad.”

“That’s fine; I understand.  In fact, Feren, you take that chair, and hold one of his hands, and Dwalin take the other.  Hold his hands, and send him thoughts of strength and healing, can you do this?”

“Aye.”

“Let us begin.”

Tareg took several deep breaths, closed his eyes and began to sing.  Soon, he could see the young Dwarf’s skull, and heard  Óin’s gasp of surprise, but he quickly recovered himself, and helped the Elf probe for injuries. 

Pressure.  There was terrible pressure on the brain, and his body was crying out, but where, exactly?

There.  Below the skull, there was a large blood clot in the right side of Fili’s head, toward the back.  He sensed consternation from the Dwarf, but wordlessly assured him he could help. 

He reduced the bleed, dissolving it to nothing, then probed the brain tissue to reduce the swelling. 

Tareg’s song changed, and he was pleasantly surprised to hear Óin hum along, as Feren’s voice joined his.

Fili’s body continued to show the Healer what it needed to be whole once more, and this time, Tareg didn’t try to reserve his strength.  There was a chest wound, which had miraculously missed his heart, and Öin had somehow managed to deal with the lung, which had obviously collapsed.   He restored the tissue, sealed it off, then re-inflated it, and made sure it was functioning properly.  Thranduil was right; this young King was just as important to the North as Bard.

After checking him over again, the song ended, and the Elf wearily took his hands away and panted.  “I… believe we have done everything possible, Master Óin.  The rest is up to him, and to the Valar.”

Tareg’s vision greyed out, and he felt Feren’s strong arms on his shoulders.  “Are you well, Mellon?”

“I am just a bit dizzy…” he said softly, as Feren supported him.  “He will recover consciousness slowly, and it is imperative you do not rush him.  Let him take his time; his body will know when it is ready.”

“Here,” instantly Óin was there with a mug full of something. 

Water.  Good.  He emptied the cup on one long pull, and looked over at Dwalin, who was staring at him in amazement.  “Fili just squeezed my hand.”

“Are you sure?” Óin rushed to his side.  “Laddie, if ye can hear me, give Dwalin’s hand a squeeze.”  When he had a response, the big, burly Commander was wiping his eyes. 

“We must leave,” Feren said.  “I need to get him home, and we cannot risk being seen.”

“Course,” Dwalin cleared his throat and stood up. 

After donning their cloaks, Feren went over to Dwalin, and the two Commanders regarded each other. “I am sorry for the loss of your King and the Prince, My Lord.  It is no small feat to throw off Gold Sickness, and for that, King Thorin has my respect.  Prince Kili was kind to Tauriel, and you should know there was genuine love between them.  We are sad for her loss, as well.”

“Aye,” Dwalin cleared his throat.  “If things had been different…” he shrugged.  “A lot of things should have been different, lad.”

“As with us.  You are a fine warrior,” he smiled.  “And a worthy opponent.” He gave the Dwarf an Elven salute.

Dwalin said nothing, but pounded his chest three times, and nodded.

Tareg was half-aware, as Feren helped him through the meandering passages.  Then he put the Healer on his own horse, got up behind him, and took him back to the camp, and put him to bed.

***************

A week later, a message came from Erebor:

“To King Bard and King Thranduil:

Dáin Ironfoot, Lord of the Iron Hills, has returned home.  King Fili has signed an edict, authorizing Balin, son of Fundin, to continue negotiations with Dale and the Woodland Realm, to be held at our mutual convenience.  

Respectfully,

Ori, Secretary to Lord Balin”

Thranduil folded the paper with a wide grin, and went to tell Bard.  They had done it!

As the Elvenking made his way through the streets of Dale, dozens of well-wishers, congratulated him on his marriage, as he had received for the last several days.  The children smiled up at him, and the women patted his arm and told him they weren’t surprised at all, and wasn’t it wonderful?

“Anyone with eyes could see the sparks between you.” One grey-haired woman said, “You’ll never find a finer man than our Bard!” she then stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek.  “You’ve given us hope, My Lord.  Not just for the food and shelter, but when love can bloom even in times like these, it gives us all reason to go on.”

Thranduil went back to his tent and sank down in his temporary throne.  Of course, he and Bard would have to put on an act in front of the Dwarves, but he’d never considered that Bard’s people would find out, and he didn’t quite know what to do.

He closed his eyes and groaned. 

“I can hear you, you know.” Bard’s voice called to him from the tented walls of his bedchamber.  “What’s going on?”

Thranduil got up and went in to his – their – bedchamber, to find Bard propped up with several pillows, with his chest still bandaged tight. “We have word from Balin.  Dáin is gone, and I believe Dale will receive her fair share.”

Bard let out a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank the Stars…  Who will we be dealing with?”

“Balin himself, with Fili’s input, but like you, he is still bedridden.”

Bard tried push himself up.  “I want to be there.”

“I know, Mellon, but you are too weak.   We will follow Tareg’s orders, or you will injure yourself further.  Percy and Hilda will accompany me; Galion wants to begin their training as your Aides, and there is no better time.”

“But—”

“No, Bard!” Thranduil sat beside him on the bed and gently pushed him back down, and regarded the Bowman.  He had finally thrown off his fever, and his ribs were healing nicely, but he was still in a great deal of pain.

“Fine; I’ll argue about that later, when I’m not so tired.”

“It is not just your broken ribs, Bard.  The poison from the Orc’s blade has left you dangerously weak.  You cannot rush this.” He smirked.  “As your husband, I have to right to make you listen to the Healers.”

“Ha, ha.”  Bard gave him a dirty look, then it changed to suspicion.  “Wait a minute; if you just received such great news from the Mountain, why were you out there groaning as if someone had just punched you in the gut?”

Thranduil shook his head. “Our marriage is no longer secret.  Not only do your children and the Dwarves think we are in love, but everyone in Dale has heard of our ‘romance.’  Today alone, I have received no less then five handshakes, three kisses for ‘the groom,’ and countless smiles and waves.  I imagine there will be even more tomorrow.”

“Oh.” Bard said, and looked thoughtful.  “What should we do?”

“Nothing.”  The Elf told him of what the woman had said.  “I have the impression that many of them look to us as a means of coping with their own grief.  Frankly, I am afraid of what it would do to them, if they find out our marriage was simply a political arrangement.”

Bard’s eyes widened.  “I didn’t think of that.” Then he groaned.  “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“I’m too sick to take care of my own job, and too poor to even feed my people, and now you’re roped into this?  It was one thing to fool Dáin, but he’s gone now, and… I guess I thought we could just sweep it under the rug and forget it even happened; maybe even see if Gandalf could ‘undo’ it somehow, because it was made under false pretenses…”

The Elvenking was surprised when he felt a pang of regret.  He had quickly settled in to this new arrangement, and his affection for the Bardlings was growing by the day.

He enjoyed taking meals with them, and listening to them speak about their lives.  Last evening Bard was well enough to receive all of them, and they crowded around the bed and laughed and joked and chattered, and Thranduil sat beside him on the bed and had a wonderful time.  He relished being part of such a boisterous family, and clearly Tauriel did, as well.

And, of course, since they were married, it was proper that their nights were spent sharing a bed.  It was good for Bard to have someone available to help him shift around, or send for some willow bark tea, when he woke up in pain.  What he didn’t expect how how much he enjoyed the Bowman’s warmth at night, and since he’d begun sleeping next to Bard, he’d not suffered from a single nightmare, and he felt fully rested when he awoke in the mornings.  It was especially nice when he found his head had been resting on Bard’s shoulder, with their arms around each other.

“Bard,” Thranduil looked into his soft hazel eyes.  “I am happy to help you and your people.  And if it is better for them to keep up the pretense, then I’ll not see them lose hope.”

“But you don’t have to, you know.”

The Elvenking tried to gather his thoughts.  “Perhaps your people look to us to keep them going, because otherwise they would be thinking of their husbands, wives and children they lost, and at the grey, scorched buildings that is now their home.  If I can keep them from falling into despair, I will.”

“But why does that mean so much to you?” Bard asked.

“Because I know that kind of despair, Bard! We both know what grief can do to a person.”  Thranduil looked away, and said in a faraway voice,  “Elves do not grieve like Men do.  In fact, Elves do not even marry like Men or Dwarves do.”

“What do you mean?”

He turned back to Bard. “My people are not concerned with our marriage, because according to them, we are not married at all.”

“We’re not?”

“It is only at the moment of consummation, when our fëar – our souls – are joined together, that we are married.  In this way, we truly become one.” He smiled sadly.  “Unfortunately, when a spouse dies, her fëa,” he swallowed, “is ripped away, and the emptiness often causes an Elf to fade from grief.”

“They die of a broken heart,” Bard whispered.

“Yes.”

“But you didn’t fade, Thranduil.”

“No.  My wife made me promise I would not, for our son, for our people.  Yet, I often wonder if I made the right choice.”

“Why?”

“The centuries of having to endure that emptiness turned me into someone I could barely live with, and…   I was weak in the worst of ways, and my son no longer can bear to look at me.”  He swallowed and looked down at his hands, which were fidgeting.  “I was desperately unhappy for a very long time, but now I feel less…alone.”

He closed his eyes, and his throat tightened.  “So, you see, Bard,” his voice was rough, “giving your people hope has given me hope for myself; does that make sense?”

“I think I do.” Bard said softly.  “And I’m truly sorry for your loss and pain.”

 “As I am for yours.” The Elvenking turned to face the Bowman, and when their eyes met, something stirred inside of him.

They were both silent, lost in the moment, each searching the other’s eyes with a question, and when they received an answer, they slowly, slowly brought their lips together.

***************

Bard didn’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed to find out that Thranduil didn’t consider them truly married.

In the space of six weeks, his life had completely changed, and the only constants had been his children, and this stunning Elf who happened to be kissing him just now.  And he found he thoroughly enjoyed kissing him back.

They were soft, chaste kisses at first.  Then they evolved into something deeper, and their mouths opened, and their tongues were exploring each other as their kisses became harder and more urgent.

Bard felt parts of himself, parts of his heart, that he thought long-dead, begin to come alive again.  He didn’t dare question it, because that would take attention from this Elf’s magnificent mouth, and what he could do with it.

He moaned, as Thranduil’s hands stroked his cheeks, then fingers ran through his unruly hair, then began to hold him tighter….

“Ahh!” Bard couldn’t help his yelp of pain, when his ribcage was squeezed a bit too tight.

“Ai, gorgor!  I am so sorry, Bard!  Have I hurt you?”

“No – well yes, but it’s not your fault.  I’m just not up to shenanigans like this, I guess..” He laughed a little.  “Maybe that’s a good thing; I wouldn’t want to get carried away and end up ‘marrying’ you in the Elven fashion.”

“Oh.” Thranduil froze.  “I see.”  And backed away and busied himself by fluffing his pillows.

“No, you don’t.” Bard laid back on the pillows.  “Don’t think what I think you’re thinking.”

“What?” 

“I think I know what you’re thinking, and I’m telling you not to think it.”

Thranduil looked down at him, then smiled. 

“That’s better,” Bard grinned up at him.  “Look; I like you.  I really do.  I think you like me, too, but if this goes where I think it might, don’t you think we should go about it the right way?”

“It is a little late for that, Bard.  We are married.”

“True, but we’re not, are we?  It’s just that if I allow my heart to get invested, I’ve got to think of the children.” The Bowman grinned.  “So there’s lots of thinking going on.”

“Of course, you are right.  I would never want the children to get hurt.  Regardless, Bard, I care about them a great deal.”

“I know.  And you might not have Legolas with you, right now, but you seem to care a great deal for Tauriel, and she seems to be part of the family…”

“She is family; did you not know?”

“What do you mean?”

“I adopted Tauriel when she was a baby.  She is my foster-daughter.”

Bard’s eyes widened.  “No, I didn’t know.  I mean, you seem considerate of her, but she doesn’t…  I mean…”

“She seems frightened of me?”

Bard shrugged.  “Yes, I hate to say it, but…   She looks to Galion, though, and he is affectionate with her.”

“That is because Galion raised her, for the most part.  He also raised Legolas, for all intents and purposes.” Thranduil’s eyes clouded.  “I will spend eternity regretting that.  I allowed myself to be cold and distant, but I do not know how to be anything else.”

The Bowman reached up and cupped his cheek.  “That’s not true.  I’ve seen – and heard – you with my children, especially Tilda; you adore each other..  Bain hero-worships you, and Sigrid is much happier, because she no longer needs to play ‘mother.’  You have lifted that burden from her, and she loves you for it.  And,” he gave the Elvenking a rakish grin.  “you sure don’t kiss like a cold fish, do you?”

A slow smile came across the Elf’s face.  “You really think so?”

Bard nodded.  “If you have wronged Tauriel in some way, then you must apologize.”

“I do not think she will forgive me.” Thranduil looked anxious. “Nor should she.”

“Just take it slow, and don’t crowd her.  You’ll know when it’s the right time to tell her you’re sorry.  If you rush it, she won’t trust it, but if you put it off too long, she’ll never trust you.”

“What do I do in the meantime?”

“Start over, I guess.  Ask her questions, not about her duties, but ask how she is feeling.  Then accept what she says.  You need to show her you’re truly concerned, and want to listen.” Bard rubbed his arm.  “Besides, whatever happened between you, I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

Thranduil said nothing, and did not meet his eyes.

Bard just assumed it was because he missed his son.

The days flew by.  As soon as Bard was up and around, he was brought to Erebor, where he visited Fili (who was still weak himself) to sign the final treaties.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Fili.” Bard told him sincerely.  “I know what it’s like to have a crown thrust on your head before you’re ready for it.”

Fili smiled.  “That much is true. As much as Uncle Thorin tried to prepare me, I don’t think anyone’s ever really ready.  I’m glad to hear you’re feeling better, Bard.”

“Oh, I’m still not up to snuff, but I’m getting there.  You still look terrible,” he grinned at the lad.

“You look worse,” Fili laughed.  “But have no fear; Erebor will make sure you’ve got what you need to rebuild.  I’ve heard a lot about what Dale used to be, and I want to look out across the field and see it in its glory.”

“As I wish for Erebor.  They’re working hard to clean it up; I’m amazed at it.”

“Congratulations on your marriage, by the way,” the King Under the Mountain bowed his head.  “I wish you many happy returns.”

“Thank you,” Thranduil returned the gesture with an Elven salute.

“How is your family?” Fili asked Bard.  “I am sorry to say, I have not seen them since the night Laketown burned.”

“They are getting past their traumas, and we think they’ll be fine.”

“And Tauriel?” Fili looked stricken. “As much as I miss my brother, I can’t imagine what she’s going through.” He looked up at Thranduil. “I know you didn’t approve, but they truly loved each other.”

“I know.” The Elvenking’s voice was regretful.  “What they shared was real, and I was cruel to refuse to see it.  Please, accept my apologies, though it is too late.”

“Accepted.” Fili nodded, then added shyly.  “Bard, your oldest daughter was incredibly brave when the Orcs attacked your home.  You would have been proud to see how she - and Bain -protected your youngest.  They do you credit.”

On their way home from the Lonely Mountain, Bard was thoughtful.  “That was the first time anyone’s told me of that Orc attack.  I knew of it, of course, but I don’t think I like how real it seems now.”

“I understand.” Thranduil grinned over at him. “Perhaps you should consider it in another context.”

“Such as what?”

“I think the King Under the Mountain has a crush on your daughter.”

“Wh…”  Bard looked at the Elf like he was crazy.  “No, he couldn’t; Sigrid is just a young girl!”

“She is seventeen, Bard.  She is nearly grown, in case you have not noticed.  And, for a human, she is exceptionally beautiful.”

“’For a human?’  What’s that supposed to mean?  Of course, she’s beautiful!  She’s always been beautiful!”

The Elvenking laughed, “So, why are you surprised that someone else has noticed?  I highly doubt she could do better than marrying a King.  You should also keep in mind that if she became Fili’s Queen, she would always be nearby.”

“But…  I’m not…”

“Your daughter is a Princess now, and nobles from all over Middle Earth are going to show up, asking for your daughter’s hand to form a political alliance—”

“You mean like ours?” Bard’s reply was out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

“Perhaps it was, at first.  But in a way, we have helped each other besides those treaties.  I have also saved you from the same thing.  Has it occurred to you that just as many nobles would have paraded their daughters in front of you?”

“Oh, gods…”  Bard shuddered.  “What about you?”

“I have had to deal the same thing, and you have relieved me from that burden, as well.”

“But you said we weren’t really married until… you know.”

“That is true, but we have a marriage contract, so in effect, we are betrothed, and I am off limits.” He smiled.  “For which I am grateful.”

“But still, we’re definitely courting…”

Thranduil threw back his head and laughed.  “You are cute when are flustered, Mellon nîn.   To answer your question, an Elf can only join with another when there is love between them, or at least, mutual respect.  But it is better if there is genuine love.”

“Oh…”

Thranduil was beautiful to look at, and a few times during the nights he woke, propped his head up and just watched the Elf sleep.  He marveled at his perfect, creamy skin, the way his eyelashes fanned out over his cheeks, the perfectly defined chest, as his breaths made it rise and sink.  Once, he placed a kiss on his sleeping lips, and wondered what it would be like to truly love him.

Thranduil was stunning, but in the two months since they came to Dale, Bard saw a side to him that made his looks seem secondary.   He also realized his cold demeanor to others, especially people he did not really know, was not at all what it seemed to be.

Bard noticed how, before he left their bedchamber, he stopped for a few seconds to take a few deep breaths, as if to muster himself.   He also did this, when he left his tent to face everyone outside, though he seemed to need to take more time.   If Bard was beside him, he grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze, as if asking for strength, and when they were out, when his face became an unreadable mask, the King of Dale realized that he was feeling anxiety.

Then it finally hit him:  The King of the Woodland Realm was terribly shy. 

And then Bard realized something else: Thranduil often looked to Bard throughout the day.  In matters both major and trivial, his pseudo-husband constantly sought his support and approval.

And Bard was giving it.  Because he wanted to.  Because he was looking for the same thing. 

And it wasn’t just friendship anymore.  Maybe it had always been more, but there was a City in ruins, and starving, hungry people, and a terrible, terrible Battle that needed to be won.  Then there were funerals, burials, memorial services, and comfort that must be offered.

But now that those immediate burdens were lifted, there was room to consider other things.

It was late by the time the Kings made it back to their tent, but they were in time to kiss the children goodnight, and wish them pleasant dreams.

Tilda gave her Da a hug.   “Da?  You love Ada, right?”

“Well…” he looked over at his “husband” who was saying goodnight to Bain, but by the stiffening of posture, he could tell Thranduil had heard the question.  Well, he thought, now was as good a time as any…  “As a matter of fact, I love your Ada very much.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the Elf blush, and his face looked pointedly neutral, as he said goodnight to Bain, but he surprised Tauriel with a peck on the cheek.

“I thought so.” Tilda smiled. “I could tell.”

“Oh, really?  And how could you tell?”

“You don’t look sad anymore, now.  And Ada doesn’t look so tired all the time.”

“That’s very observant.”  Bard raised his eyebrow and his seven-year-old.  “But we were very busy, you know, and I was hurt.”

“Well, yeah, but that’s different.  Gandalf said you love each other, that’s why he wanted you to get married.”

Bard froze. “What?  When did he say that?”

“Before he left to go help the new Dwarf King.  I asked him, and he said you loved each other; you just didn’t know it.”

He laughed and rubbed noses with her, and whispered.  “You’re pretty smart, you know that?”

***************

Neither one of them said anything, as they walked the few feet to the Kings’ tent.  The guards raised the flaps for them to enter, and when they were alone, Thranduil was facing away from him, and felt awkward.  “I heard what Tilda said.”

“I know you did,” Bard replied.  “Was she wrong?”

“I…  No,” he admitted, “she was not wrong.”

“But?”

“Bard, there are things you do not know about me.  And I am afraid that once you learn of them, you will not feel the same.” He shook his head.  “I was a fool to think you’d never find out, or that you had, and it honestly didn’t matter, but I feel I cannot pursue this further until you…” he blew out a breath, “until you have all the facts.  I do have feelings for you, deep feelings, but…”

Bard grabbed the pitcher from the table and two cups.  “Let’s sit down and you can tell me.  Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think.”

“Not only do I have feelings for you, I hold you in high esteem, Bard, and I…”  He swallowed.   Stop stalling, he told himself.  “I do not know if you will understand, but during the Battle, I tried to leave with my troops.”

Bard shook his head. “No, you fought until the end, until the Eagles came!  I saw you up on Ravenhill with Legolas, afterward!”

“I know.  But when I was walking through the streets of Dale, I saw all the bodies…  And I gave the order to retreat.  Feren had blown his horn—”

“I remember that.” Bard rubbed his forehead, “but I was on the other side of the City…  still, for whatever reason, you changed your mind, and didn’t leave.”

“That is just it.”  Thranduil looked down at his drink.  “I did not change my mind.  Others changed it for me.”

“Who?”

“Tauriel, when she had an arrow aimed at my face, and told me I had no love in me. Then Legolas, after I sliced her bow in half, and held,” he paused, “m-my sword to her throat, and he struck it away, and looked at me like,’ a sob escaped him, “like I was a monster.”

Bard said nothing, just stared at him in disbelief.

But Thranduil had to tell him the rest.  “Mithrandir had to confront me and ask me what mattered more: my son or a piece of jewelry that belonged to my wife…” he looked away.  “I realized they were right, Bard.  I had become a monster, and I have never hated myself more than at that moment.” He couldn’t bear to look at the Bowman, because he was terrified. 

Still Bard was silent. 

“Please…  Say something.” He whispered.

The Bowman opened his mouth.  “So, let me see if I understand this:  you were concerned for your people, and you wanted to leave.  That I can probably understand, but you told me weeks ago, had we all not been gathered with our Armies on that field, especially yours, they would have wiped us all out, then would come for your people, didn’t you?”

“I did, and it is true, but—”

Bard held his hand up to stop him. “And yet, you, who had brought us food, and tents, and Healers and…” gritted his teeth, “hope, were going to desert us, anyway?”

“I know it sounds terrible, but—”

“You’re damn right it does!” Bard’s voice was angrier than Thranduil had ever heard.  “You gave us hope, you let us all envision a way to not only survive, but have good lives!  We believed in you, Thranduil!  And you were ready to walk away and leave me, and all my people, including those three children sleeping in the next tent, to die?”

“NO!  I would never want that!” the Elf cried.

“Well then what the fuck did you think was going to happen?  I heard that horn; it sounded before the Eagles got here, so you had no idea they were coming!  Foolishly, I thought you were actually calling extra troops to help me defend my City!  That maybe you were going to help me protect all those women and children locked in the Great Hall!”

Bard was panting with fury.  “Well, now I know why Tauriel’s uneasy around you, don’t I?  How close were you to slicing that girl’s throat?  What if Legolas hadn’t shown up to stop you? 

“I know… I know.” He buried his face in his hands.

Bard shook his head.  “But do you know the worst part about this?  You have the gall to sit there, tell me that you would have gladly let my children die, that you would have killed your own daughter, and act sorry for yourself?  You bastard!  You selfish, arrogant bastard!”

The cup that Bard threw in his fury landed on the wall of the tent with a soft thump, before it hit the ground, and leaving a burgundy stain on the canvas. 

“Damn you!  I actually thought we…” The Bowman stood up. “I thought you and I…” his voice broke, and he closed his eyes, to gain control,  “I am going to stay with my children tonight.  I can’t talk to you anymore, and I don’t even want to look at you.  I feel betrayed, Thranduil.  I feel manipulated by you and by Gandalf and the only good thing I can see in all this is that you’re right; I won’t have women, or men throwing themselves at me, so I can concentrate on my people.”

“I understand,” Thranduil whispered, looking at his lap. 

“No, Thranduil, you don’t.  You really don’t.” Bard shook his head.  “I can’t be here.”

And he left.

Thranduil put his head in his hands and cried.

~o0o~

ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:

Ada – Da

Adar – father

Iellig – My daughter

Ionneg – My son

Meleth nîn – My love

Mellon nîn – My friend

Tithen Pen – Little One.

Chapter Text

Bard quickly arranged to have another cot put into the children’s tent, some distance away from the children, so as not to disturb them.  Tauriel sat up, and gave him a look of concern.

She tiptoed over.  “Are you well, Bard?” she whispered.

“I’m fine.  Please don’t worry about me.  Just go back to sleep; I’m sorry I woke you.”

It took ages of tossing and turning and deep breaths before the King of Dale could calm down enough to rest.  He didn’t think he’d sleep all, but he must have managed at least a few hours, because the next time he opened his eyes, he sensed the grey light of dawn.

He sat up and tried not to moan as he stretched his stiff muscles, then threw back his covers and put his boots on.  Tauriel was just stirring, but he didn’t feel ready to face her questions, so he quickly left the tent.

And he didn’t know what to do.

Normally, he’d have breakfast with Thranduil and the children, and of course they wouldn’t understand…

And then he realized that he may have ruined things for his people, if the Elves were ordered to leave.  It was a real possibility, and Bard’s stomach clenched.  Oh, no…

“My Lord Bard?”  It was Feren, Thranduil’s commander, approaching.

Here it comes, he thought. “Yes?  What is it?”

“Lord Thranduil had to return to his Kingdom on an urgent matter.  He left instructions that you were to continue to use his tent, for as long as you wished.”

“Is everything all right, there?”

Instead of answering his question, Feren gave him a searching look, then said.  “My King asked me to pass on his assurances that you and your people will continue to receive the care and support as per the treaties signed last month.  He… regrets that he cannot be here personally, but Galion will be assisting with administrative matters and will act as a liaison with Lord Thranduil.”

“I see.”  Bard swallowed.

“Lord Galion is waiting for you in the King’s tent, whenever you are ready.”

“Thank you.” 

And just like that, everything went on as normal, only without Thranduil.   If Galion knew the real reason why the Elvenking left, he gave no indication, and Bard didn’t feel like enlightening him.  At any rate, he doubted he’d receive any sympathy anyway.

And frankly, Bard didn’t want to talk about it. 

The children were devastated and asked all kinds of questions, but Bard only repeated what Feren told him, and that he didn’t know any more.  Tilda was heartbroken, and pestered Galion for news of her Ada.  The Elf was very patient and would not give her details, but when she asked if they could write him letters, he agreed to send them along with other correspondence. 

Bard threw himself into a flurry of activity, which wasn’t hard, because there was so much to be done!  Day after day, he spoke to the builders, saw to the food supplies for winter, checked on the sick and injured, and the thousands of other details that needed to be taken care of.  He was grateful to be exhausted at the end of each day, because it was the only way he could fall asleep.

Three weeks after the Elvenking left, Galion, Percy, Hilda and the Healer Tareg, asked for a meeting. 

“Bard,” Percy said. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but I don’t think the women and children will do well here during the worst of the winter.  We’ve gone over the lists a dozen times, but it just doesn’t add up.  We’ve got the food, and plenty of blankets, but we’ll never cut enough wood to fuel the fires needed to keep all of us warm.” 

Bard sighed.  “I know; I’ve seen the same lists.”

Galion spoke.  “Lord Bard, on behalf of my King, I am authorized to extend an invitation to the Woodland Realm, for your women and children to stay with my people—”

“No.”

“But Bard—”

“NO!”  It came out more forcefully than he meant, and he sighed. “It’s not that I’m not grateful, Galion; the Elves have done so much for us, at Thranduil’s expense, with little hope of repayment.  But he has his own people to worry about feeding and keeping warm.”   That much was the truth, Bard knew.  Even if he and Thranduil had never parted on such bad terms, he still wouldn’t accept.  “Let me go to Erebor and ask if they can stay there.”

“With the Dwarves?” Galion’s eyes went wide, and there was a slight look of disgust on his face.

“Yes, with the Dwarves.  King Fili is a good egg, and since most of Lord Dáin’s people left, there’d be plenty of room, and to be honest, I think they owe it to us.  But there’s more to it than not wanting to take advantage of the Elves,” Bard continued. “If Fili will have us, I think it would be better to have our loved ones close by, rather than six hours away by horseback.”

“He’s right, love,” Hilda put her hand on Galion’s arm.  “No disrespect to Lord Thranduil, but we need to stay close to the ones we’ve got left, else too many men would fall into despair.  So many have died and we need to see our friends and families often.”

“I’d be lying, if I said I didn’t feel the same way.” Bard agreed.  “I nearly lost my children, and I...” he swallowed, “I just can’t be apart from my kids for months on end.  I just can’t do it; please make sure Thranduil understands that it’s nothing to do with him.”

“I agree with the King of Dale.” Tareg said.  “Your Men might become dangerously depressed.”

The Aide considered this.  “Your reasoning is sound.  Of course, if Lord Fili refuses your request, at least you know you have an alternative.” He gave Bard an approving nod.  “Your people will be safe and warm this winter, regardless.”

Plans were made to see Fili the next day, and the meeting was adjourned, just in time for the children to come for their supper. 

Bard took Tauriel aside.  “If they should spend the winter in the Lonely Mountain, could you stay with them?”

“Of course,” she told him.  “Lord Thranduil has permanently assigned me to guard your children.  I will go where they go.”

“That’s good,” Bard let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.  “And what if you have to go to the Palace?”

Tauriel was puzzled. “Why do you ask?”

Tauriel obviously wasn’t aware he knew of events during the Battle, and he still wasn’t ready to even think about it.  “I’m sorry; I’m just nervous at the idea of being separated from my children, that’s all.”

“You know,” she said, seriously, “I will protect them with my life.  I have been also been named Friend to the Dwarves, so I am welcome, and even hold a position of respect at the Lonely Mountain.”

“That’s wonderful!  I hope you know I care about you, not just as a Guard, but as my close friend.” He smiled.  “Technically, you are my step-daughter, which means you’re family.” He put his arm around her shoulders.  “The children love you, you know.”

She gave Bard a genuine smile showing her dimples.  “Thank you, My Lord.  I feel the same toward them.”

“Nope, none of that.  To you, I am Bard.” He nudged her.  “You can call me ‘Da,’ if you like.”

She laughed.  “We’ll see.”  Then she became serious.  “Are you well, Bard?”

“Oh, pfft,” he waved his hand.  “I’m good.  Just a bit tired, that’s all.”

“Forgive me, if I am being too bold, but you have seemed… sad, since my Adar left.”

“I didn’t even know he was your father, until a little while ago.  Why didn’t you tell me?”

She didn’t answer him, but looked at the ground.  “It does not matter, anymore.”

“Of course, it matters, if it’s important to you.  In any case, whatever happened, I truly believe your Ada cares about you.”

“I have begun to believe that, thanks to you.”

“Oh?  And what have I done, besides provide you with three children to worship you?”

Her dimples appeared again, then she became serious.  “I know something went terribly wrong, and I will not ask, but you should be aware that the children have not been fooled by your false cheer.  They miss Ada and want him back.”

“Tauriel, I—”

“I said I would not ask for details, and I will not, but everyone can see you are terribly hurt.  Just keep in mind that things may not be as simple as you think.  There might be more you need to know.”

“Like what?”

“Bard, some things are not my story to tell, and to be honest, I do not know a great deal myself.”

“So, you know he told me about what happened… during the Battle?”

“I guessed as much, when he left suddenly.”  She sighed.  “He was deeply ashamed, Bard, and since that day, he’s been making an enormous effort to make it up to me.” She gave him a sad look.  “I think you helped him to get past himself, and he was…better, with you.”

“But weren’t you frightened, that day?”

“Yes, but I am also frightened he will go back to the way he was.  Please, Bard; you and Ada have a great deal of things to sort out, but do not give up on him.”

“I’ll think about it.” He kissed her cheek.  “I promise.  You shouldn’t be worried about me, it should be the other way around.”

The next day, Bard went to Erebor, discussed the matter with Fili’s Council, and it was unanimously agreed to host all the “lasses and all the wee bairns.”  Plans were made to take them over next week, and Percy set up a rotating schedule, so all the men could visit on a regular basis, yet still keep up with the work crews. 

The Elves were staying, would come in particularly handy this winter; they were not so affected by the cold, could easily scale the tall buildings and replace the red-clay rooftops with ease.  The Dwarves would be hauling blocks of stone and would help them secure the City walls first, then start in on the apartment houses and the Markets.

Bard looked around at all the activity, with a smile.  They might just pull it off.

It was agony to take his kids to the Mountain and leave them there.  Fathers, husbands and sons were also feeling the pain, but there was no consolation to be found in that.

“Don’t go, Da!  Stay with us!” Tilda sobbed into his neck. 

“I’ll be visiting every week or so, love.” He kissed her hair.

“Will Ada come see us?”

The Bowman paused, then said gently. “Sweetie, Ada has a huge Kingdom to run, and people who need him.  He’s got to go look after them, doesn’t he?”

“That’s not why he left,” the little girl pulled back from his shoulder with a scowl. “You sent him away!”

Oh, gods…  Bard’s  throat tightened.  “Darling, Ada loves you, you know that, right?”

“Tell him you’re sorry, Da.”

“But—"

“When me and Bain were fighting, you made us say sorry!”

“That’s different, Tilda.  It’s complicated.”

“No, it’s not!” she wiggled out of his grasp, just in time for Tauriel to catch her.  “You said Bain and I should love each other!”  Tilda began to cry in earnest, as the Elf tried to soothe her.  “You’re mean.”

“She’ll settle down; but she’s not wrong, Da.” Sigrid came up to him and gave him a hug. “Whatever went wrong with you and Ada, fix it!”

“Sig, I don’t see how I—”  then Bard stopped.  This was not a subject he wanted to discuss with his own child.  “Look, I’m doing the best I can, yeah?”

She crossed her arms.  “No, Da; you’re not.”  She sighed, then said, “We’ll see you next week.  Come on, Til.  Let’s go see our room.”

Bain was the last.  “Why can’t I stay at the camp with you?”

“Because your sisters need you here.” At the boy’s sour look, he groaned.  “Come on; not you, too?”

“You were sad all the time, after Mam died.  Then Ada was with us, and you were happy.  You both were – even Tauriel thought so – and now…” The boy shook his head.  “Tilda’s not being childish, Da.  You’re being a hypocrite.” And with that, Bain stalked off, leaving the King of Dale staring after him, completely stunned.

Well. 

He walked over to one of the Dwarven guards.  “Is the Wizard still here?”

“I’ll take you to him.”

“Come in, Bard!” Gandalf showed him to a comfortable seat in his suite.  “What can I get for you?”

“Answers.”

“Oh?”  The Wizard’s bushy grey eyebrows shot up.  “Regarding what?”

“I know you know what happened with Thranduil and me, and I want you to tell my why he would desert Dale in the middle of the Battle, and leave us to die.” Bard closed his eyes.  “I…  feel like I can’t trust him, now.”

“I’m sad to hear that.”  Gandalf shook his head. “I’m also disappointed in you.”

“Oh, really?” Bard’s tone was angry.  “He was the one who was about to abandon us, and if it weren’t for you, Tauriel and Legolas, he’d have gone, and my children – all our children – would be dead!”

“But we did stop him, Bard; that’s the point!  Why do you think that was?  Why do you think we fought so hard to make him stay and help him realize his mistake?”

“Because we’d have died without the Elves.” The Bowman stated the obvious. 

“That is true.  But what is also true is that Tauriel had his sword at her throat, she is still loyal to him, still cares about him!  Have you taken any time to wonder why?”

“But Legolas left!”

“Yes, he did.  But that had a lot more to do with his infatuation with Tauriel, than his anger toward his father.”

“Tauriel?  I didn’t know…” Bard sat back in his chair. 

“No, Bard, you did not!” Gandalf’s face was stern.  “Yet you made judgements without bothering to find out all the facts, just like you’re doing with your husband!  If you’re going to do that as a King, then Dale is truly doomed!”

“But he’s not my husband; Thranduil told me—”

“Nonsense!  That Elf loves you, and he always will.  And you love him, don’t you?” the Wizard gave him an impatient look.  “Don’t you?”

The Bowman looked down at his lap, and swallowed.

“You both are fools; you for turning him away, and Thranduil for running away!”

“I didn’t make him leave.” He offered.

“Yet, you didn’t try to go after him, did you?” the Wizard sighed, and crossed his legs.  “Why didn’t you want to find out the whole story?”

“He told me the whole story, Gandalf.  He—”

“Save me from the stubbornness of Lakemen!  Damn you!  Did you even try to speak with Galion?  Or Feren?”

“I asked him once how Thranduil was, and all he would say is that he cannot say.  And why would I ask Feren?”

“You really don’t know anything, do you?” The Wizard scoffed in disgust.

Bard shook his head.  “Tauriel said there was more to this, but it wasn’t her place to tell me.”

“Well, it isn’t mine either,” The Wizard sighed, and ran his hand over his face, “but if it falls to me, then so be it.  First, let me get you a drink…”

***************

That night, it had taken an enormous effort for Thranduil to tell Bard what had been weighing on his conscience, and he knew Bard might be angry, but his level of fury was not something he was prepared for, and it sent him into a state of panic.

He’d been so wrong, about everything.

After Bard left the tent, he sent for Galion, then began to pack what would fit in his saddle bags.   His hands were shaking so, he could hardly manage, and his heart felt like it would explode.  

But he had to leave; he couldn’t stay.

“My Lord?” Galion entered and saw the disarray.

“I must go.”

“Has something happened?”

Thranduil tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come.  His breath caught and he clutched his chest as he struggled for control.

The Aide rushed to his side, and gently took the tunic he was holding, and set it down.  “Let us sit down, My Lord.”

“N-No,” he panted.  “I have to go.”

Galion led him to the bed and made him sit, then poured him a glass of water.  “Sip this, Mellon nîn.”  As the Elvenking did so, gently rubbed his arm.  “Just take a breath, then think about the air in your lungs… In, then out…  That is it, Ion.  Look at me.  In and out…  Now take another drink.”  Thranduil lifted the cup to his lips, but his hand shook so badly, Galion had to help him.

Thranduil kept his eyes on the Aide’s and eventually calmed his breathing some, but still shook.  Galion picked up Thranduil’s heavy cloak and put it around him tightly.   “You have not had an episode like this in a long time, Thranduil.  I was surprised you didn’t suffer like this after the Battle.”

“Perhaps I d-did not, because Bard was h-here.” His voice still hiccupped occasionally. “And now…”  His face crumpled.

“Tell me what happened, Thranduil.” 

“I told him what h-happened, that day.  I w-wanted him to know how sorry I was.” A tear rolled down his cheek.

“And?”

“He never wants to see me again.”

“Surely not!” Galion was taken aback.  “Does he know why you behaved the way you did?”

“No.  I tried to explain, but he was too angry, and would not listen.  He… I think he hates me now.”

Galion rubbed his back.  “Perhaps when he calms down, you could tell him the whole story.”

“No! I do not think I can face him, now.”

Thranduil was looking at his hands, which were still shaking, but he found enormous comfort from his Aide.  Galion was always there for him, and if the Valar willed it, he always would be, because there was no one on Middle Earth relied on more.

~o0o~

During the War of the Last Alliance, it was Galion who found him weeping over his father’s body, pulled him out of harm’s way, and walked him through his shock, the burial, and taught him how to act like a King during Wartime.

When Feren, his best friend from childhood, found Thranduil burned and dying after the Dragon attacked, it was Galion who helped Elrond treat his wounds, and held his hand for months, as he struggled through the agony of it, and worked with him to learn how to put up a glamour to dull the pain.  When he finally persuaded a Healer to bring him a mirror, and saw his ruined face for the first time, it was Galion who held him, and rocked him like he used to as a child, and whispered words of comfort.

The nightmares started shortly after King Thranduil returned to the Woodland Realm, with a third of the Army he’d left with.  They were so frequent, that the Aide had a bed set up in the Royal Bedchamber, to be available when the Elvenking would begin to thrash and scream, and even when he woke, he didn’t know where he was, but Galion was right there to speak to him in a soothing voice and bring him back to the present.

Thranduil not only suffered from such dreams at night; there were times during the day when a sound, or a smell, or something unexpected would take him back to that field in Mordor, covered with the bodies and all those empty eyes looking at him, as if they were asking him to save them, but he could not.  His own father looked at him with those same, lifeless eyes.

After many years, things started to calm down and Thranduil’s face lost that haunted look.  Yet Galion remained by his side, steadfast, loyal, a second-father and close friend.  He and Feren worked closely with the King, and never revealed the truth to anyone of Thranduil’s condition, both physical and emotional.

Thranduil needed an heir, so a marriage was arranged with the daughter of a noble from Lothlórien.  Mialë was lovely, and as the years went by, they developed deep affection and a quiet love.  But it was little Legolas, who managed to break down the walls that the War of the Last Alliance had built.   During those few years of joy, Elves would stop what they were doing, to smile at their beloved King as laughed and chased his little Prince around the Palace. 

It was the only time they’d seen him genuinely happy.

Then the Queen was kidnapped.  Feren and his unit came upon the scene, to find the bodies of her guards hacked to pieces, and no sign of Queen Mialë.   A shield had been left bearing the mark of Gundabad and Feren tearfully brought it to the King, who wept bitterly, for there was no hope of rescue, and he could only pray for her quick death.

Galion and Feren were with him, as Thranduil felt his wife’s fëa die and leave him, and held him tight, when he fell to knees with grief, and his she was torn away from him.

Once again, Galion stayed in a cot next to Thranduil’s bed, soothed his nightmares, and steadied him during his flashbacks.  A living ghost was their King now, and all he had left to give was his duties.  The Aide and his Commander saw to Legolas, made sure he received affection, education and training, as his father watched from a distance, wishing he had more for his son.

Years after Legolas was grown and Captain of his own regiment, Feren reported a village in the Realm had been attacked by Orcs and burned, with one survivor.  A red-haired infant was brought before the King, and Galion boldly stepped forward and took her from the Lieutenant and walked up the steps to Thranduil’s throne and placed her in his arms.  Surprised, the Elvenking had little choice but to hold her, as the Aide quickly returned to the patterned floor and thanked the Guards for bringing her.

“We are going to raise her,” he told Thranduil firmly.  “You need her, My Lord, just as much as she needs you.”   

Thranduil eventually realized how true that was.  By then, the horrors and grief were not so immediate, and he found Tauriel’s company enjoyable.  The little elleth  seemed to understand his distance and wasn’t hurt when Uncle Galion would tuck her in and night with a kiss and tell her “Ada loves you, hênig; he may not show it, but he does.”

Legolas and Tauriel adored each other, and when he wasn’t out on patrol, he spend hours playing with his foster-sister, or carry her around on his on his back as she squealed and laughed with delight.  Thranduil found himself actually smiling to see them together, and he was glad they had each other.

The problems started up again, when word came that the Dragon Smaug had sacked Dale and now resided in the Lonely Mountain.  To have such a creature in close proximity nearly drove Thranduil mad.  His struggles began again in earnest, and he closed his borders, doubled the guard to the East, and prayed.  Just as Thranduil couldn’t look to the South, facing East was even worse.

Then the Dragon destroyed Laketown, had been killed by the heir of Girion, none other than the dark-haired Bargeman who delivered his goods.  Thranduil had seen him regularly over the last seven years, and was impressed by his noble bearing and his resemblance to Girion.  They would wave, speak a few friendly words, and go about their business.

Of course, Bard would take his people to Dale, and he would be King, so he ordered the wagons to pull out immediately, and his Army to march.   He did want his wife’s necklace, but he didn’t want to admit to anyone that he wanted to help the Bargeman look after his people.  Galion, Feren, and even Mithrandir was aware of his growing feelings, but they wisely never said anything.

What should have been a simple confrontation with the Dwarves turned into a bloodbath, but Thranduil was a warrior, and a very skilled one.  He led his people in the Battle of the Five Armies and killed hundreds of Orcs, with his sharp blades.  He was horrified when they breached the City walls, he and his Elk cleared the bridge and led his troops to save them.  When the magnificent animal fell dead underneath him, he held his sword in his right hand, his father’s sword in his left, and killed every single orc on that plaza.

But where was Bard?  Where were his children?  There had been a lull in the fighting, and he went to look for the Bowman to make sure he was all right.

Then he looked down saw all those dead bodies on the cobblestones of Dale, and it happened again.  He was not in Dale but on that field in Dagorlad again.  His father was there again, so were the smells, and the sea of unseeing eyes, blaming him…

He panicked, and could barely keep his voice under control, as he ordered the retreat. 

Feren looked at him with concern, but followed his order, if only to keep him calm.  The Commander meant to go to him, when he had an opportunity, but Tauriel intervened first.  She was frightened for Kili, desperate, and heartsick.  She was also furious, beyond control, and said things she shouldn’t have said, just as Thranduil had done.

It was only the look of terror on his daughter’s face, the contempt on his son’s, and worst of all, the pity on Mithrandir’s that brought him to himself again.

And never, in nearly five thousand years, had the Elvenking felt so ashamed. 

Feren went up to him and put his hand on his friend’s shoulder.  “You do not want this, Mellon nîn,” he whispered quietly. “Rescind the order now, and I will stay beside you until you are well again.”

“Thank you.”  Thranduil swallowed, and gave the order.  Then looked up at the Wizard again.  “Forgive me,” he said softly.

Mithrandir just nodded, and they went back to fight, and the Valar be praised, they won.

Then Bard was injured, and they were hastily married for political reasons, but in those short weeks since, it seemed like they’d been together for years.  And all the nights he spent with Bard beside him, not once was he haunted by memories, nor did he even wake up in a sweat.  The growing affection between he and the Bowman was unlike anything he’d had with his wife; this was more than he thought possible, and every day that passed convinced him that he truly loved the King of Dale, and wanted a true and full marriage.

~o0o~

But tonight, when he tried to come clean, to tell him everything about his recent and distant past, it all went terribly wrong, and he lost his Bowman.

“I have to leave, Galion.  I shall go mad if I stay here another minute!”

“Where is Bard, now?  Would you like me to talk to him?”

“NO!” Thranduil’s eyes went wide.  “Please!  You can never say a word, I want you to promise me, and I do not want Feren or Tauriel to say anything, either.  I am ordering this, as your King.”

“But if he could only understand—”

“He does not want to understand!  He does not want me at all, do you not see?  He…” his breathing was rapid and shallow again.

“All right, Mellon, I promise I will not discuss this with him and I will make sure no one else does.”  The Aide got up and helped him pack.  “Considering your condition, perhaps it is best that you go home, if for no other reason to alleviate your anxiety.” He fastened the cloak, and handed him his bag.  “I will arrange for your things to be brought to you in the morning.”

Since his arrival at his Palace, Thranduil barely left his Chambers.  He did not take meals in the Dining Hall, barely communicated with anyone other than Galion’s secretary, and he worked out of his apartments rather than go to his study.  A Healer administered something to help him sleep at night, and did his best to tend to him, and though Tareg was sent for, there was little to be done.

The King of the Woodland Realm was devoid of hope, and he was beginning to fade.

***************

“Oh, gods…” Bard’s mouth dropped open, after Gandalf finished explaining things.  “I didn’t know; I swear, I didn’t know.”

“Perhaps not, but neither did you stay to find out, did you?”

“No.” Bard swallowed, and covered his eyes.  “I didn’t, and that was my fault.”

“Why did you do that?  Why did you run away?”

“Well, I didn’t run away; I was angry.”

The Wizard just stared at him, until the Bowman sighed.   “You’re right.  At the first sign of trouble I pushed him away and ran.”

“As did he, so you are both in the wrong.  But you still didn’t answer my question, Bard: Why?  What was the reason?”

“I was afraid.” He admitted, with shame.  “I was afraid if I let myself give into my feelings, something would happen, and I’d be left alone again.  I don’t think I could do that again; not after losing my wife.”

“What makes you think Thranduil isn’t just as afraid?  Yet, he faced his fears and opened up his heart and life like he has never done with anyone else.  He was showing you the must vulnerable part of him, and—”

“I know.  I blew it.”

“No, Bard; you’ve done more than that!  You have caused him to grieve!  That’s a dangerous thing for any Elf to bear, but for someone who has faced as many losses has he has... I don’t see how he’ll survive, and frankly, I wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t want to!”

“Oh, shit…” Bard gasped.  “Why didn’t someone tell me before this?”

“Would you have listened?  In any case, he made those closest to him promise not to say anything.  I didn’t promise him, but if I thought you were going to do something merely out of guilt, I wouldn’t tell you either.”

“Why did you see me now?”

“Because you’ve been thinking things through, and were ready to hear the truth.  If you love him, and I believe you do, then you can help him.  If you’re not sincere, you will hasten his death, and after everything,” he shook his head sadly,  “it might be a mercy.  Either way, something has to be done, don’t you think?”

Bard stared at the Wizard for several minutes, then left.

When he got back to Dale, he sought out Feren.  “I need an escort to the King’s Palace.”

“Why?” the Commander glared.

“I…” He took a deep breath and mustered his courage. “I have been a complete and utter arse, and I want to beg his forgiveness,”

Feren crossed his arms.  “Again. Why?”

“Because I’m in love with him.  I love him, Feren.”

“Because your children love him? Because he’s saving your City?”

“No!  Because he’s... beautiful, and kind and smart, and wonderful.  Because even if he weren’t a King, but a simple blacksmith, I would still love him, and want him.  Even if I didn’t have children – who are no longer speaking to me, by the way – I am in love with your friend, and I want to see if he still loves me.” Bard blew out his breath and shuffled nervously.

Feren still stared, then said, “Be ready to leave in ten minutes.”

“Thank you.”

“Do not thank me.  Just know this," he thrust his finger in Bard's face and narrowed his eyes, "if you are not telling me the truth, King or no, I will castrate you, is that clear?”

Bard swallowed hard. “Abundantly.”

ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:

Ada – Da

Adar – father

Iellig – My daughter

Ionneg – My son

Meleth nîn – My love

Mellon nîn – My friend

Tithen Pen – Little One.

Chapter Text

When he reached to Halls of the Woodland Realm, Bard was escorted to the doors to the Royal chambers, then he knocked.

No answer. 

“He is in there, right?” he asked one of the  Guards stationed on either side of the door.

“He is, My Lord.”  The Elf spoke with polite tones, but refused to look at him. 

“I need to get in there.  Can you open the door?”

“I am under orders by Lord Thranduil to allow no one to enter.”

“Well,” he drew himself up to his full height, which was still a good foot shorter than the dark-haired Elf, “I am not only a King, but I am also his Consort, which makes these my Chambers, as well!  Open the damned door!”

Bard expected to be struck down where he stood, but instead, the Guard seemed relieved to find a loophole in his King’s edict.  He nodded and warned.  “You will find him… much altered.”

Bard closed his eyes. “What is your name?”

“Elurín, My Lord.”

“I can see you and your friend dearly love your King.   I promise, I am not here to hurt him, Elurín.  I want to help him, if I can, because I love him very much.”

The Elf searched his face, and when he saw truth, he nodded, and opened the door.  The King of Dale blew out a breath, and entered.

Thranduil’s chair had been moved close to the fire, and he was wrapped in blankets to keep the chill away. A tray of food was on the table next to him, but had hardly been touched.  The book on his lap was open, but ignored, as Thranduil looked in to the flames with dull, empty eyes.  He did not look up, when Bard closed the door behind him, and quietly approached. 

“Thranduil?” he whispered.  “Thranduil, it’s me.”

The Elvenking blinked, but his gaze stayed on the fire.

He came closer, then kneeled before his chair and took his hands, and gasped at how thin and cold they were.  He brought them to his lips and kissed them.  “I am here, my love.  I’m here, and I love you and I am so, so sorry.  Please; look at me.”

Still nothing.

“Thranduil, it’s Bard.  Look at me, please!”

The Elvenking’s head didn’t move, but he opened his mouth and whispered, “You are not real. I am dreaming.”

“No, love.  I’m really here.” Bard lifted the thin hands and kissed his palms. “Feel my face.  Feel my beard, and my hair.  I’m here.”

Slowly, the head turned, and Thranduil’s eyes met his.  His mouth opened slightly, but he said nothing, and Bard noticed a thin, almost transparent cover on one side of the Elvenking’s face, with deep, angry red marks underneath.

“I’m sorry.  I’m sorry I doubted you, and I should have stayed and let you tell me everything.  This is my fault; it’s completely my fault and if you leave me…” Bard’s vision swam, “I love you.  I love you so much, and I can’t let you leave me.  I just can’t.”

He reached up and placed his hand on Thranduil’s cheek.  “Please…” he whispered.  “Please don’t go.  Stay…. Don’t make me lose you, too.”  Bard burst into tears and he buried his head in Thranduil’s lap, as he snaked his arms around the thin (too thin) waist. 

Slowly, he felt long fingers bury themselves in his hair, which made Bard cry harder.

“Bard…” his voice was faint, but the Elf said his name. 

The Bowman looked up.  “Aye, love, it’s really me.  Please tell me I’m not too late.  It can’t be too late!”

Thranduil’s hands went to the Bowman’s cheeks.  “You do not hate me?”

“Oh, no; it was wrong of me to let you think that, and I’ll never forgive myself.  Thranduil, I was afraid to love like that again.  The closer I got to you…  I was a coward.  I messed us up, not you.”

“But I told you what I did; it was I who was the coward...”

“That’s not true!  You are the bravest person I know.”  He moved up to take the Elf into his arms.  “Gandalf told me everything.”

He felt Thranduil jerk away, but Bard held him fast and whispered in his ear.  “No…  It wasn’t what you think, and no I’m not here because I pity you.  I’m sorry for what you went through, and I wish it hadn’t happened, but now I know how brave you’ve really been, and it just makes me love you more.  I love you so much.”

“My face—”

“I don’t care!  Do you understand?” he whispered into the Elf’s hair.  “If that cover helps you with the pain, then fine, but otherwise it doesn’t matter, because I love you.  The kids love you, too, and they want you back.” He lifted his head and smiled through his tears.  “You are their Ada, so don’t you even think about leaving us, you hear?”

Thranduil’s face crumpled.  “Oh, Bard…”

“Come on, darling; let’s get you well again, yeah?”  Bard stood up and took the blankets away and lifted the Elf into his arms.  “It’s late, and we both need some rest.  Where’s your room?”

Thranduil pointed to the set of double-doors and turned the knob so Bard could kick them open, then he gently laid him down on the bed.   After removing their clothes, he settled them under the covers and just held his Elf to him, as they whispered and kissed and smiled and talked, until they both feel into a deep, restful sleep.

When they woke up the next morning, Thranduil’s eyes did not look so dull, and the color was starting to return.  Bard made him stay in bed, and fed him, and touched him and kissed him about a thousand times.

And three days later, they married –  in the Elven fashion.

***************

Once Thranduil was well again, the Kings returned to Dale and headed straight to Erebor.  As soon as they came through the Great Doors, they heard the cries of their delighted children.

“ADA!  ADA!  You’re here!”

Thranduil grinned, got down on one knee and opened his arms as Tilda ran to him, squealing with joy.  He picked her up, and held her high over his head and laughed, as he kissed both her cheeks and rubbed their noses together.  Then he quickly had to balance her on one hip, because Sigrid, Bain came at him, and enveloped him in a group hug.

“We were so worried, Ada!” Sigrid told him.  “Don’t ever do that again!”

“We missed you,” Bain said. 

“I missed you all, as well.  I will not leave you again.”

“Did Da say he was sorry?” Tilda asked him.  “I told him to!”

Thranduil smirked at her.  “We both said we were sorry.  And you are correct.  It is foolish to run away from your problems.  Now,” he looked over at Bard.  “I think Da would like a hug, do you not agree?”    He put Tilda down, and urged them toward the Bowman, with a smile.

Tauriel came up to him.  “You are well, Ada?” 

“I am, Iellig.  I am sorry I worried you.” He took her hands and kissed her knuckles.  “I am very sorry for what I said and did during the Battle.  Forgive me.”

“There is nothing—”

“Yes.  There is.  I said and did terrible things, Tauriel and I hurt you deeply.  I have not been the father you needed for a long time, and I know I do not deserve your trust, but I would like a chance to make it up to you, and I want,” he swallowed, “I want us to be closer.”

She looked up at him, with a tentative smile.  “I would like that very much.” She said softly. 

“May I hug you?”

She threw her arms around him, and they held each other for a long time.  “I have always loved you, very much.” He kissed her hair.  “Please understand that.”

“I do.  I love you, too.”

Thranduil looked over and saw Bard grinning from ear to ear, and the rest of the children looked on and started clapping and cheering.  Several of the other Dale folk joined in the applause, and cheered their King and his family. 

The Elvenking looked up and saw Mithrandir and Balin who had witnessed the reunion from an upper walkway.  When his eyes met the Wizard’s, he smiled and nodded his thanks. 

Bard and Thranduil worked on their relationship, and learned more and more about each other, which gave their love a solid foundation that could not be shaken so easily. They visited the children frequently, worked hard with the Elves and Dwarves to rebuild Dale, by next June, most of the families were ready to move into their new homes. 

King Thranduil’s Council agreed that for the foreseeable future, he should spend most of his time living in Dale helping to strengthen and stabilize the North, and to advise and encourage their two young Kings.  In truth, they were thrilled to see their King happy again, after centuries of grief and loneliness, and they felt he was entitled to take advantage of it!  Galion moved back to the Palace to take care of as much administrative duties as possible, and missives were sent back and forth twice a week.  Thranduil would return frequently to check up on things, but for the most part, the Elves wanted him to enjoy his new life and did not begrudge him.  Once Thranduil became more settled into family life, it fell to him to do much of the day-to-day parenting, while Bard was frantically busy learning how to be a good King.

As a ruler, Thranduil was fierce, and decisive and strong, but only those closest to him understood how deeply he felt things, and how exhausted he could get from the effort of being “on” for everyone.  Thranduil truly loved his people and he grew to love the people of Dale, but he could never change his sensitive, introverted nature, so his husband and family learned how to look after him, to support him, and they were richly rewarded by the joy in his eyes and his easy laugh, which lifted all their hearts.

***************

Once his people had adequate housing, Bard authorized the Castle to be rebuilt and the family now lived in their own wing, away from all the staterooms.  Though Hilda insisted that the rest of the Castle be furnished to impress, Bard put his foot down when it came to the family’s private quarters: simple, comfortable furniture, and no “frippery,” as he called it.  In those rooms, no titles were allowed, nor was even a discussion of matters of state – all crowns, tiaras and politics had to be left at the entrance to the Royal Wing.

It did not escape the Kings’ notice that during the next few years, meaningful looks were passing between the young King Under the Mountain and their daughter Sigrid with increasing and alarming frequency.  Five years after he was crowned, Fili stood nervously before the other Kings of the North to formally ask for her hand. 

To everyone’s amazement (including his own) Bard seemed resigned to the idea, but no one was surprised when their Ada refused to consider it.  While it was true that the Elvenking and little Tilda had a very special bond, he treasured his relationship with Sigrid and Bain, and he was miserable at the idea that someone would want to take them away from him.

Bard calmed things down, told Fili they would get back to him, and he went to talk to his Elf, who had stormed out of the room.   He found him in their bedroom, plucking at the quilts, looking sorry for himself.

He sat down beside Thranduil.  “But my love, wasn’t it you who told me she couldn’t do better than Fili?”

“Well, yes I did but…it was different then.”

“How?” Bard sighed.  “Look, I don’t want to see her go, but she’s grown now, and they love each other.  Shouldn’t they have a chance to be happy?”

“I am not ready to lose her, Bard!  I love our family just the way it is, and I do not want to see anything change!  No.”  He stood up and paced around the room.  “I cannot allow this.  Absolutely not.”

“So, is she supposed to say here and remain your little girl?  Surely you realize that even Tilda is growing up and she’ll get mar—"

“Do not say such things!” Thranduil turned white as a ghost, and he had to grab the back of a chair.  “I do not think I can do this, Bard.”

“Yes, you can, Ada.” He took his Elf into his arms, and chuckled.  “Because there are advantages to seeing our children happily married.”

“You are teasing me!”

“No, I’m not.” He kissed his nose.  “Do you know what happens when our children get married, my love?”

“They leave.” Thranduil pouted.

“But they come back to visit,”  he smiled and whispered into his ear, “with grandchildren for us to spoil.”

Thranduil pulled back and looked at him with surprise.  “Grandchildren?”

“Of course, if you don’t want to—  mmrrrrrfff!” 

The Elf kissed away the rest of his sentence, but Bard didn’t fight it.

The betrothal was announced, and during the next year, Sigrid spend a great deal of time under Balin’s tutelage to understand Dwarven protocols, learn the history of their people, and touch up her Khuzdul to make sure she was fluent. 

It was decided that the ceremony would be held in the Mountain, on the famous Golden Floor of the Hall of Kings, but the wedding would include traditions of all three peoples of the North, to reflect their large, extended family. 

Ada took charge of the wedding dress, the flowers, and arranged for their honeymoon trip.  He and Sigrid went to the Woodland Realm and sat down with his best seamstresses, and together they designed a gown, but in a particular color. 

She’d shown him a quilt she’d had as a girl, pointed out the light blue fabric.  “This was from my Mam’s favorite dress.  Hilda made it into this blanket after she passed, so I could wrap myself in it and think of her.  It’s Da’s favorite color.”

At last, six years after his own marriage to Thranduil, the wedding day arrived, and when Bard first saw her in her dress, with her hair done up in braids and adorned with the many jewels and beads Fili had given her, he couldn’t speak for several minutes.

“Do I look all right?”

“Oh, just look at you…”  He went to her and took her hands, and swallowed the lump in his throat. “You look so  much like your Mam, you take my breath away.”  He smiled, and wiped away a tear, “Oh, darling,” he whispered, as he kissed her hands. "You have never looked so beautiful.”

“I love you, Da,” she sniffed.

“You’ll always be my little girl, you know.” He hugged her.

“Always.”  She smiled up at him and took his arm.  “I’m ready.”

The music began, and the doors to the Hall of Kings were opened.  Princess Tilda looked sweet in her dark blue dress with Elven braids in her hair, on the arm of her brother, and when she looked ahead and saw King Thranduil on the dais, next to a nervous Fili, the Elvenking gave his Tithen Pen a watery smile.   At thirteen, she was still petite, but much to her Ada’s consternation, she was no longer a bouncy little girl.  Her dolls and toys were no longer dragged around, but watched her lovingly from the shelf in her room as she lounged on her bed with her nose in a book.  She and Ada were still very close, and during the evenings, she was usually snuggled next to him on the couch. 

At twenty-one, Bain was devastatingly handsome (according to several girls from Dale, and some young Dwarrows of Erebor), in his new uniform.  He was working his way up the ranks in the military, and was doing well, thanks to the hours he’d spent with his Ada training with swords, knives and in archery.  The Elvenking was also making sure his son received the finest education and preparation for taking the Throne, when his time came.

 Lady Tauriel’s hair was also done up in braids, with a small bejeweled diadem on her brow.  Her red hair shone in the light, and her face glowed.  She’d spent a long time grieving Kili, but more and more, she was remembering him with a smile, which is what he would have wanted for her.  She was especially happy, because she was recently reunited with her foster-brother and best friend, one whose arm she proudly marched.

Legolas had indeed come home at last.  It took him a while to feel comfortable with this new noisy family, and he tended to stand on the sidelines, but his new sisters refused to let him stay there.  Tilda made it her personal mission to charm him out of his shell, and she was the first to win him over. 

Thranduil, at Bard’s urging,  patiently earned his son’s trust, just as he’d done with Tauriel.  He tearfully expressed his deep regret and asked for a second chance.  There were a few setbacks and some angry words, until Bard sighed asked to take a ride with his stepson.  In the quiet of the trees, the Bowman told Legolas all that Gandalf had shared with him: his traumas during the War, his nightmares, and flashbacks, his deep suffering when his mother was killed.  Bard also told the Prince about his Ada’s terrible burns, of which Legolas had no idea. 

When Thranduil learned of this, he was angry and embarrassed, until Bard sat his husband down and explained that good families helped each other bear their burdens.  It was understandable when Legolas was a child, but now, he had a right to know, so they could face it together. 

A new understanding developed after that, and while the two of them weren’t where they’d like to be, they were both working on it, and Bard was sure they would be fine.

Tauriel and Legolas also spent hours talking, and while neither one revealed what was said, it was clear they came to an understanding, and the two of them were on their way back to their easy friendship, and everyone heaved a sigh of relief.

Then everyone stood, as the King of Dale escorted Princess Sigrid down the long, Golden Hall, kissed his daughter, and placed her hands in King Fili’s.  The ceremony went off with out a hitch, thanks to the Elvenking, and performed both his and Bard’s role, because poor Da couldn’t stop crying.  Thranduil had prepared for this possibility, handed his husband a handkerchief (to everyone’s amusement), and it was beautifully done. 

The Feast was wonderful; there was plenty of food, music, dancing and well-wishes.  And when the Kings took turns taking the floor with the new Queen under the Mountain, they held her close, kissed her brow and told her how proud they were.  Tilda danced with both of her brothers, as did Tauriel, and a good time was had by all.

The Kings had taken a rest from all the dancing and were joined by Gandalf, Balin, Dwalin and Dáin Ironfoot and his wife.  The Lord of the Iron Hills was an honored guest, but Bard and Thranduil were rather puzzled by his changed demeanor, which was so unlike their previous encounters, Bard had to ask about it.

“So, Lord Dáin, are you pleased to see Dale so prosperous?”  He could feel Thranduil’s eyes on him, and sensed the Elf’s resentment.

“Oh, aye.  It’s pretty much what I expected, wasn’t it?  Better even.”

“But you tried to take Dale for yourself and your son!” the Elvenking blurted.  “You were completely unreasonable!” He turned to Balin and Gandalf.  “Were you not witness to this?”

The Dwarves and the Wizard exchanged amused looks, then Gandalf, cleared his throat.  “Well, I think I should tell you; that was all my doing.”

“What?”  Bard’s head jerked back.  “What are you talking about?  You came to us while I was stuck in bed, and told us—"

“Perhaps I exaggerated, just a bit…”

Thranduil’s magnificent eyebrows lifted.  “A bit.  A bit?”

“Well, yes… It was true you needed someone to negotiate on your behalf, but I might have *ahem* not been entirely truthful about Dáin’s intentions…”

“Feck tha’” Dáin shook his head.  “Ye lied through yer teeth, then told me if ah didn’ go along wi’ it, ye’d turn all the ale in the Iron Hills rancid!”

“Wha…” Bard looked between all their faces.  “I don’t understand; why would you do that?”

“Because I was tired of seeing Thranduil lonely and miserable.  I’d been watching him for six hundred years, waiting for something like this, and when I saw the two of you in Dale, I knew you were meant to for each other.”

“You could've just told us!”

Gandalf shook his head and laughed.  “You can’t be serious!  I never saw two people work so hard at avoiding what was right in front of them! Everyone knew how you felt about each other, except you! The only way to get you together was to throw you together, and hope for the best.”  The Wizard turned to Dáin and lifted his glass in a toast. “You were magnificent, my friend.  Personally, I thought pounding the table and calling me a ‘thievin’ bastard’ added a nice flourish.  You were very convincing; for a moment or two, I truly felt like a thieving bastard.”

“I thank ye,” Dáin lifted his mug in the Wizard’s direction and smiled.  “It turned ou’ the be fun, once I go’ inte it.”  Then the Dwarf emptied his tankard in one pull, and finished if off with an impressive belch.

The two Kings sat there with their mouths open.  Then Bard ran his hands over his face and began to smile, then he snickered, and soon everyone was laughing.  Thranduil didn’t even mind that they were laughing at his expense.  Well, not as much as they thought he would.

After the wedding, the newlyweds settled into their new lives and new roles, and as promised, the King and Queen under the Mountain presented them with a treasure greater than all the gold in their vaults. 

Bard had a terrible time keep Fili calm as they paced for hours, but with limited success - he wasn’t doing so well himself.  Thranduil was a mess, and had to be forced to sit down with some wine, while Tilda held his hand.  Bain and Legolas couldn’t stand the waiting either, so they pretended to play Draughts, but couldn’t remember whose pieces were whose.  Tauriel insisted on being at Sigrid’s side to support and encourage her sister, while the Healers took care of business at the their end.

When Óin and Tareg finally emerged and said Fili had a son, the poor young King fainted dead away, and the King of Dale caught him just in time, hauled him over to a chair, and revived him with some whiskey, so he could go meet his child.

The boy was cherished by his Grandad and Haru, and when they came to Dale to visit, Sigrid often had to chase down her parents, because they were out showing off their new grandson.

Thranduil put up a fuss when the other children moved out to live their own lives, but when Sigrid’s son was joined by two little sisters, then Bain and his wife had little Prince Brand, and when his Tithen Pen, dear Tilda (who had married a soldier from the Elvenking’s Army) presented them with twins, a boy and a girl, he was more reconciled to the idea. 

Sometimes.  Maybe.

~ End ~

ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:

Ada - Da

Adar – father

Iellig – My daughter

Ionneg – My son

Haru - (Early Quenya) Grandfather

Meleth nîn - My love

No Mellon - My friend

Tithen Pen – Little One.