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lost-or-dead · 9 months ago

Text

Let's conspire to ignite all the souls that would die just to feel alive

Summary:

"You have reminded me how to live."

- Thranduil all but suffers through the anniversary feast of the Battle of Five Armies before Bard comes to save him.

For #BarduilMonth2024 over at @bi-widower-dads <3

If there is one thing to know about the elves of the Woodland Realm it is that they would use every opportunity for merrymaking - much to the dismay of their King.

So one would have to excuse Thranduil for not exactly being delighted when a stray barrel of the many that were being carted to one of the clearings in the woods for the festivities tonight came loose, fell as in slow motion, and then smashed right next to him, drenching him in sweet red wine.

The laughter and singing on the barrow ceased immediately and the two Elves responsible for the sloppy knotwork stuttered profuse apologies since they knew of the temper of their King. But Thranduil only told them to keep going through grit teeth and turned to leave so quickly he missed their perplexed faces.

It was his own fault anyway. He should have known better than to wander the grounds on a day like this when the whole realm was in a fever of excitement and things were bound to go wrong. The preparations for the one-year anniversary of the Battle of Five Armies were in full swing.

Now one might wonder how it even came to the Elvenking agreeing to this festivity and to it being held in his realm as well when he originally hadn’t even intended to participate in the battle and wasn’t particularly fond of most of the parties involved either.

There was one man however who could make his principles waver and that was unfortunately Bard the Bowman, King of Dale and therefore the people who had started the debate on an anniversary feast in the first place. Thranduil had known he would have been hopelessly outvoted in the question of whether or not such a feast would take place so he hadn’t even tried and might have come to regret it in the meantime.

His folk, on the other hand, was delighted and who was he to deny Woodland elves their merrymaking only because of his own aversion to it? Maybe the time had come to end their self-imposed isolation and return to friendly relations with the rest of Middle-Earth that surpassed the exchanging of wine barrels. This was a beginning at least.

And if it meant he would have to fulfil his already neglected royal duties and make small talk with self-important nobodies so exhausting it cost him perceived centuries of his life then that was so. The least he could do after that was make sure it was a feast to remember.

Dale wouldn’t work as a location since Bard and his people were doing the best they could with the aid of the Elvenking and the Dáin of Erebor but rebuilding a city is tedious work and they still had a lot of it ahead. Some had suggested the glorious halls under the Lonely Mountain but although Thranduil knew of their splendour and beauty he had not been unhappy when Dáin had declined, justifying it with the fact that even after a year the dwarves were still sorting through the treasures and were not in a position to accommodate guests even though everyone had known he was simply wary of strangers getting to close to what was his. It had left the Elvenking to make the generous offer of hosting the feast in Mirkwood and his very own halls.

This had surprised but delighted everyone (although they wouldn’t have dared to refuse him anyway) and it was settled. But oh, how wrong had Thranduil been to think that this concluded the plans and measures stage of the feast. Everyone wanted a say in it - What would be served? Who would get to supply the wine? What if it rained? Would there be music?

There had been an endless amount of committee meetings and Thranduil would have been on the verge of sailing not to the Undying Lands but down the Forest River into Celduin and the Sea of Rhûn to drown himself on one of his many trips to Dale if it hadn’t been for Bard.

In the aftermath of last year’s battle, he’d had many a meeting with the leader of the new city of Dale, amending mistakes from the past and concluding new arrangements among their respective realms. And if one of those arrangements was a touch more private and only concerned themselves then it was really nobody’s business.

After their rather rocky start, Bard had come to know the Elvenking better and had begun to understand that his sometimes crooked ways and cool demeanour were a product of experience, a way of self-preservation and protecting his people. He grew on him. Of course, Thranduil’s flawless elven looks contributed to that.

And even an Elvenking wasn’t immune to a man as charming as Bard, even if he was in fact a man and not one of his own kin. He affected Thranduil in a way he had not experienced since the death of his wife and naturally, his first instinct at that was to shut himself off. One has to give Bard great credit for not surrendering their arising bond right then and there.

It still wasn’t easy and only Bard’s family and Thranduil’s closest advisors knew about them but they were determined to make it work.

Bard would of course also be at the feast and was the only thing making it bearable for Thranduil (except maybe for the idea of chugging two barrels of wine on his own and blissfully passing out). He was supposed to arrive soon, just before the beginning of the feast, with the rest of the committee.

After having to get redressed due to his wine accident Thranduil welcomed them in his throne room. He thought it might do well to remind those people who they were dealing with. From Bard’s knowing grin he saw right through him.

They discussed some last-minute things that had come up, which took so long that Thranduil and Bard didn’t even get a second to themselves before the actual feast started. The committee greeted the arriving guests - men, dwarves, and elves alike and even a few adventurous hobbits - and showed them to the clearing in the woods where the feast would be held. They had agreed that they would only make use of the Elvenking’s halls if the weather thwarted their plans which Thranduil found very unfortunate since he was proud of and would have liked to flaunt them but it proved to be a beautiful early autumn day.

At first, Thranduil almost enjoyed himself. He revelled in the way people stared at him like an apparition and seemed entranced by his grounds. Guests were still arriving and only starting to mingle so he had time to relax for a moment and drink a first glass of wine in preparation for what was to come. It felt a bit like in the earlier times when his father was still the King and his only duty during merrymaking was exactly that: merrymaking. He should have savoured it more. Now it was all spoilt with diplomatic relations, stiff politeness, and making sure things ran smoothly. As a king one was simply in a different position.

Just as he was about to reminisce his last truly joyful feast, Thranduil saw one of Dáin’s folk examining the trees lining the clearing while mindlessly stroking the hilt of his axe. Damn dwarves. Why did they decide to bring axes to a feast anyway? They could have at least had the decency to hide them as Thranduil did with the long white knife covered by his tunic.

He asked Feren to have an eye on the suspect and was about to go find Bard and his children if only for a quick hello but was intercepted by some brave man who mistook his bared teeth for a smile and wanted to know all about the wine they were serving. Thranduil waved goodbye to any notion of enjoying the night.

He only saw Bard again about two hours later when dusk was about to fall. They had planned a small ceremony (that Bard had vehemently protested against but had been overruled) for the central figures of the winning side of the Battle: Dáin, the rival turned reinforcement, Bard for the army of men, Thranduil for the army of elves and Bilbo the hobbit standing in for the late Thorin, looking intensely uncomfortable. There was a moment of silence for the fallen heroes of the Battle, especially Thorin the former King under the Mountain (It seemed to Thranduil that everyone forgot very quickly that it had been Thorin who had sparked the Battle in the first place, but he didn’t say anything, recalling the diplomacy and politeness required of him.).

Gandalf was mentioned and how sad it was that he could not join the festivities tonight for he had important business to attend to (as usual) but that he had sent something to make the evening even more memorable. Yes, Thranduil had seen the cartons of wizard fireworks and they had led to a very heated (hah) fire safety discussion between him and some daredevils on the committee who apparently wanted to see his forest burn. In the end, they had resolved to use the fireworks far enough off so that Thranduil wouldn’t throw a tantrum but close enough that everyone could still see and enjoy them.

After this little interception of the festivities, Thranduil exchanged a few words with the hobbit for he didn’t meet many of his folk and found them quite interesting, especially his unusually venturesome fellow. It was nice to catch up with him for a while but as they ran out of things to say Thranduil remembered that he was actually still rather cross with Bilbo for managing to free the dwarves and flee from right under his nose. He wondered if he still had the peculiar talent of turning up and vanishing almost without a trace.

Bilbo seemed to sense the tensing mood and excused himself. Just as Thranduil caught Bard’s eye from across the clearing and brightened up a big round head slid into his view. It was a dwarf, one of Thorin’s company if he wasn’t mistaken, and he wanted to talk about tree felling. While standing in the middle of Thranduil’s forest. He wondered whether he could diplomatically fell this dwarf.

He shot Bard an obviously desperate look but the other one was being talked at by some woman now and didn’t look all too happy himself. He could only give him a tiny helpless shrug.

Another two hours later Thranduil was fuming. He’d had more dull conversations than he could count, only one miserable bread roll from the extensive buffet and fewer glasses of wine than during a regular dinner. He regretted this whole affair more every second.

Just as he had finally gotten rid of yet another of the women of Dale who ‘just wanted to meet him’ he saw an elderly hobbit making a beeline for him and was filled with dread. Thranduil had only seen him once before, seeming rather uncomfortable and not straying a millimetre from Bilbo’s side but since then he had apparently flourished (Thranduil strongly suspected the wine).

“Mr Elvenking, sir!” the hobbit called out excitedly and continued speaking before Thranduil could decide what to make of this titling, “I have to admit that this forest made me queasy at first, it did. This is my first time ever leaving the Shire and it’s only for Mr Frodo. You see, I’m not very used to dark, gloomy trees like these.” Whether it was Tharnduil’s intentionally towering stance or the clenching of his jaw, the hobbit seemed to sense that insulting the Elvenking’s woods wasn’t the best idea, so he changed course: “That is of course only the dim talk of a hobbit who has never travelled before, sir. Or is it King?” He left Thranduil no time to reply before he babbled on: “My name's Hamfast Gamgee but everyone calls me Gaffer. I’m Mr. Bilbo’s gardener, you see, so I like to think I know a thing or two about plants and those French roses you have growing over there…”

He seemed to completely forget who he was talking to and started pulling Thranduil along with him to the edge of the clearing. The Elvenking was so perplexed he simply went along. And it was lucky he did so because a few steps before reaching the silly rose Thranduil didn’t care about anyway, they passed Bard who was eyeing him with way too much amusement.

“Get me out of here!” Thranduil hissed at him through a distorted attempt at a smile.

Thranduil might have vetoed them before but he had rarely been so glad about something as he was about the fireworks going off about two minutes into the very one-sided gardening talk with the hobbit.

The Gaffer was immediately mesmerised and stared into the night sky with his mouth agape. Thranduil yet heard him whisper “Gandalf…” before bolting, desperate to get into his halls before anyone got bored with the light show and realised he was leaving.

The cool quiet that encompassed him the second the gates closed was heavenly. Thranduil heaved a relieved sigh.

Then suddenly: footsteps. His head shot up. Did someone notice his flight?

“I was only- oh.” he started to make up a dignified excuse as Bard rounded the corner with a smug smile on his lips.

“Only what?” he asked with raised eyebrows.

“Only looking for you to tell you I will forever be in your debt,” Thranduil replied gravely before breaking into a smile. A real one. “Thank you for saving me.”

He wrapped the surprised Bard in a hug. While Thranduil had significantly warmed up to him and had become less reserved in general, random hugs like this were still a rare occurrence. He rubbed small circles into Thranduil’s back. “I’m glad I could help.”

Thranduil broke the embrace only to press a soft kiss onto Bard’s lips. He leaned against his forehead and sighed again: “What would I do without you?”

Bard chuckled and gently pushed a strand of Thranduil’s hair out of his face. “I think you were doing pretty well over the last few centuries.”

Thranduil drew away to look at him and said earnestly: “I was a shell. You have reminded me how to live.”

Bard gulped. This was definitely more than after-feast-banter and it moved him that he was the one with whom the Elvenking entrusted such intimate words. “It is my pleasure.”

“However I do not want to keep you from the feast, so if you would like to return-”

“Return?” Bard huffed a laugh. “I was as miserable as you. Or close to it at least. I have no desire to return.”

“But your children…”

“Oh, do not worry about them. Sigrid can take care of them for the evening,” Bard decided. He was lucky that his eldest daughter was so reliable. “And last I saw them they were talking Feren's elf ears off, so maybe you should rather worry about him.”

“If Feren is distracted then I might return to worrying about those dwarf axes threatening my trees.” Thranduil almost turned around but Bard pulled him back.

“I am certain that Feren will not be derelict in his duty.” As Thranduil’s doubtful expression didn’t entirely clear he added: “You have done enough. You and I both, honestly. We also deserve to dodge responsibility every once in a while.”

“I am still not even certain I deserve you, meleth nín.”

Bard all but melted at this. Never would he have thought that the Elvenking was capable of such beautiful words when he had first met him. But those had been different circumstances.

“I have something for you.” Thranduil pulled out a small wooden box, the other thing next to his knife that had been covered by the tunic. He opened it and Bard was almost blinded by the jewel inside.

“What is this?”

“It is a ring.” Yes, obviously, now that he wasn’t dazzled from it anymore, even Bard could tell that. But Thranduil was not yet done with his explanation. “It is of mithril and the jewel is said to be made of pure starlight.”

“I do not doubt that,” Bard murmured, still enchanted by the ring. It really was a thing of beauty.

“It belonged to my mother.”

“What?” Bard’s head shot up. “I cannot accept that.”

“I insist.” Thranduil’s eyes were earnest. “I want you to have it.”

He took the ring from the box and laid it into Bard’s hand. Bard was immediately afraid he would drop it; never had he handled something so precious. He still searched for reasons why he could not accept this gift, how it was too much, no matter how much he appreciated it, whereas Thranduil already thought about something else.

“You do not have to put it on,” he said slowly, “It doesn’t have to mean anything if you don’t want it to. I just want it to be yours either way.”

In want of words that could explain how he felt Bard simply put the ring on his finger. Thranduil’s eyes almost shone as bright as the jewel as Bard wrapped his arms around him and squeezed tightly, hoping to so convey what he did not have the words to say.

Thranduil’s kiss was all the answer he needed.

#barduil #barduilmonth2024 #bard the bowman #thranduil #the hobbit #tolkien #fanfiction #ao3fic

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