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“I will have nothing to do with an elf that is from the Woodland realm, not after what Thranduil did to my people,” Thorin rebutted as Gandalf leaned forward, shifting his weight on the brown wood staff.
“And why might that be, Master dwarf? She has no control over what her king may have done, Lord Elrond informs me that she was expatriated by the late King Oropher,” the old wizard glanced over the dwarf’s head to the young elf that sat at the fireside, merrily singing the songs of the dwarves, though her voice did not fit their tunes as much as it would the songs of her own people.
“You do not have a very Elvish name,” the two youngest dwarves would comment on her first night’s stay, she would all but smile and pull them both into a single hug. “My father spent many years in Esgaroth as a diplomat and negotiator for trade between Greenwood the Great and Lake-town that is why my name is not purely Elvish.” Kili and Fili were enamored with the elleth; Balin enjoyed her tales of old, overlooking her race to see that she was more than beneficial in the quest to reclaim the mountain though Thorin remained stoic about the situation. “Give her a chance Thorin, I have no doubt she will prove herself a valuable addition to the company.”
—–
When the company along with Astrid arrived at the edge of Mirkwood, the very breath within her lungs seemed to escape; she had not looked upon her home in centuries. A sickness, a strange darkness had encompassed the woods, in a gesture that brought tears to her eyes, she placed her hand on a single tree. Her heart ached when it felt dead under her touch. “Come now elf, we must continue,” Thorin gritted out, pushing past her to the decaying cobbled path buried beneath years of detritus. The thirteen dwarves and the hobbit followed behind him.
“Let’s get a move on Astrid, we’ll want to keep the company together,” Bilbo had said, suddenly the hobbit from the Shire, who often longed to be back within the comforts of his hole, eating second breakfast and then luncheon, seemed to be more enthusiastic about the adventure than the elf maiden who had willingly asked the Mithrandir to join.
Even though the old wizard warned them about losing the path some inevitable way it happened, the company had grown disoriented in the forest, and though Astrid tried to lead Thorin in the direction she knew the path to be, he was stubborn, and still would not trust an elf, though this was where she was born and raised, she swung from the branches and hunted in these very woods, the path was second nature. “Come along Bilbo, if we find the light I can lead us back to the path and mayhap Thorin will listen.”
The hobbit agreed and climbed the tree next to the one Astrid scaled, their heads popping out of the canopy nearly simultaneously, the light kissed their faces and the colors she had missed so dearly were present in the leaves, Bilbo looked around his excitement growing as he spotted Lake-town and the Lonely Mountain, he announced the findings down the thick trunk but no reply came.
“Be silent,” Astrid commanded, and Bilbo obeyed, the leaves rustled but not because of the wind, the trees cracked and creaked but no one else was climbing. She nodded in his direction and began her descent back to the forest floor. The hobbit stood at her side, his hand resting up the small sword he wielded and she had her bow and arrow at the ready. “Careful Master Baggins,” Astrid smiled and departed from the hobbit, searching for the dwarves. The cobwebs clung to her garbs and soon the spiders came bustling down their webs.
“I found them, Astrid!” Bilbo exclaimed, and she approved of his statement, carrying on fighting off the creatures until she stood back to back with Thorin, each with an Elven sword in hand as multitudes of spiders fell before them. Their raid stopped and the sound of bows being drawn surrounded the dwarves.
“Do not think I won’t kill you dwarf, it would be my pleasure,” the Elves had surrounded them, and Astrid knew that they would be taken to the halls of the King, more than likely to be tried and imprisoned as trespassers in his dungeon. “And what business do you have with these dwarves, elleth?” Astrid knew the question was directed to her, she tried her best to conceal her face as she knew very well she had the features of nobility. Cautiously, she raised her eyes to meet the leader of the small troop.
“My business is my own,” her tone made no room for argument as she surrendered her weapons to the guard, trailing along at the end. “Take them to the dungeons, except for the leader and the elleth; I suspect that the King would have words with her.” Astrid tried to resist, pulling away and trying to follow the majority of the company through the massive halls of the realm that she had nearly forgotten, that she had tried to forget.
She waited at the edge of the throne room while Thorin spoke to the king, she could not hear their words through the thick wooden door, the sentries gave her weary looks and more than likely regarded her as a traitor for traveling with Thorin and the others. She paced about, remembering the day King Oropher had exiled her to remain out of the realm for the rest of her days, she remembered the rushed goodbyes to her comrades in battle, to the ones that served as her mentors, to Thranduil, the young prince who she considered to be her best friend and perhaps more than that.
She closed her eyes and could still see his trembling lip and crystal blue eyes welling with water as they embraced for the last time before the guards shut the main gate to the realm. Her reminiscent thoughts passed the time quicker than she could have ever imagined such painful memories would, she watched as they escorted Thorin out of the doors and down to the cells.
“The King will have words with you now, if you wish to keep your head speak lightly and say nothing but the truth,” the escort stated as she climbed a small set of stairs, she had not known what to expect of the new kingdom, everything was intricate, superfluous and reeked of royalty. She drew in a deep breath at the sight of the throne; it was much too similar to that of the last one she had laid eyes on, and the tales of the elf’s new home were true.
A crown of twigs and berries decorated with red leaves adorned the head of silver hair, elaborate as always was the king’s robes. Astrid knew that Oropher had been slain in battle, and the elf that had his back to her was Thranduil, her once small princeling, as she had liked to call him in their youth.
He turned to speak, presumably something that if he had not seen whom he was speaking to he would have found in time that he regretted the words, but he lost the words that were so close to his tongue, his jaw clamped shut. For a long moment, he looked over her, recognizing the features that he had not seen in ages. The chestnut tinged hair that was unlike any other in Mirkwood, the fair skin, her brilliant eyes that were a pale green instead of blue.
Astrid contemplated speaking first, but as she looked at his face all she could see was the young prince, he had grown much, but she had as well. “Iston i nîf gîn.” The Elvenking spoke and stepped forward, his stride long enough so that in two movements he was standing before her.
“I thought I would never see you again,” his voice was softer than she imagined it would be after what had been spoken on her journey to stand before him, and she had heard the tales of his insurmountable rage, his anger, and short temper. “Astrid,” her name rolled off his tongue with the same ease that it had done centuries ago.
“Thranduil,” she replied, not able to resist the urge to speak his name, but she could not neglect the change in him, his eyes once sparkled, but had dimmed, he seemed resigned to living life within the walls of his kingdom, so unlike the adventurous young adolescent. “You’ve grown taller,” she half-joked; he acknowledged her words with what felt like a very small smile before it faded into the serious composure of the king that people told stories about.
“Why do you travel in the company of dwarves, they are beneath you,” Astrid stepped back at his words, her smile diminishing to the point where her lips were pressed into a taut line, Thranduil appeared angered by how affronted she looked at the mention of the creatures she traveled with.
“I seek to help them reclaim their home and I wish to banish the evil that is lurking over the lands, have you no compassion for a cause such as that?” She challenged, holding her chin high, folding her hands in front of where the long tunic was cinched with a leather belt, she had always been outspoken, and though truth be told she did fear him, but she would not stand down.
“And why does that make their cause worthwhile? You belong with your kin,” Thranduil returned to his close proximity to her, leaning forward in a condescending manner meant to belittle her; if anything, it made her realize that little of her young princeling remained with the king, she closed her eyes and looked away to the side.
“Because I understand what it is like, to not have a place to call home, I know the trials of having to work to live, of fighting for your spot in this world. I know of these things, Thranduil, and I will not stand by when I could help others,” she ignored the ache in her heart, the urge to return and call these walls her home once more, but now she would be nothing but a stranger to the people, and he would be a stranger to her.
“You have a home, it is here,” Thranduil felt emboldened to act upon the impulse to reach out to her, she flinched as his fingers brushed over her cheek, he had done that same thing before, when they were younger, but this time, it was different.
“Do you forget that your father stripped me of the privilege to call this realm my home when he cast me out?” The Elvenking was surprised to find that a tear had streamed out from one of her eyes at the mention of her exile; his thumb stroked away the dampness, he carried out the act mindlessly.
“I tried to follow you, upon my coronation I sent scouts to many lands in search of you,” his words didn’t offer the comfort they were meant to, if anything, it reawakened the pain in her heart that was caused by loving someone she could never be with. His hand quickly fell away from her face as the Captain of the Guard interrupted with urgent matters; he looked over Astrid before nodding at one of the extra guards at Tauriel’s side. “Escort Astrid to the guest chambers,” Astrid shook her head.
“So long as the company is locked away in the dungeon that is where I will be as well,” he nodded and waved the guard away to which he lead Astrid into the dungeons, locking the iron forged bars behind her. She sat down and looked out, the dwarves on either side of the division, but she craved the ability to see the stars.
“Astrid!” It was Thorin that called her name; it appeared as if she was in the cell to his right, “Did he make an offer?” Astrid looked at her lands and then the barren floor, imagining what her life would become if she had told him she would stay, that she would abandon the dwarves, but she had a promise to keep, and for that she was filled with anger that he would put her in such a situation.
“Yes,” she paused and cut out the more personal details, “he did, he offered me to stay, to return to my life here and rejoin my kin, but I declined. Until we have succeeded in this quest I will remain by the company’s side.” What she couldn’t see was the admiration and respect that formed in the leader’s eyes or the way he smiled that she had chosen them over the Elves, but had she really done that? She wasn’t really sure herself.
“The King will have words with you after he has retired from his duties tonight,” the guard approached her cell and then carried onward, no doubt to eat and drink as the Elves always did. Astrid watched as the others shook the bars of the cell, kicked and pummeled into them in attempts to be free, she could only sit and wait. The minutes turned into hours and by some miracle, the dwarves had settled, some asleep as their snores filled the halls. The leader of the troop that had captured them approached Astrid’s cell, quietly unlocking it and leading her from the dungeons.
“I do not see why my father would provide such luxuries to a traitor,” he commented coldly as they traveled through the winding halls, she stopped on the word father, the rest she paid no attention to. “You are Thranduil’s son?” He looked back at her with a strange interest and distaste.
“Ay, I am. Prince Legolas Greenleaf,” he smiled if only the slightest bit until they arrived at the massive study that was the King’s, and it quickly faded into the stoic face of a warrior and Prince.
“Legolas, leave us,” confused, he left and Astrid stepped forward, prepared to deal with the wrath of the Elvenking.
“He looks like you,” she pondered as the young elf shut the door to the private room, what she didn’t see was the smile those words brought to his lips, when she faced him, he looked the same as when she was escorted to the dungeon, cold, distant, indifferent. “But I suspect he has his mother’s eyes and nose,” she added as a last thought, and the sadness grew in both her and the king’s heart, he remained silent and Astrid stepped further into the room. “They said you wished to speak with me?”
“Indeed, my offer for you to return to this realm is short lived, I cannot promise I will be as accepting or generous should you return after this quest,” Astrid frowned at his words, though it showed as merely a tug of the corner of her mouth, there was the king she had heard the terrifying tales of.
“You are too kind to even offer now,” Thranduil waved her to the table and chairs behind him, a pot of steaming broth was surrounded with small bits of lembas bread, goblets of red wine present. She approached the meal but did not sit at first. “With all due respect, I appreciate your hospitality towards me, but I will not eat unless my company does.”
“You are noble and stubborn for such actions, but the same meal has been taken to the dwarves as I suspected this would be your response,” Thranduil sat and Astrid did as well, few words were exchanged while they ate, it was not until she sipped the potent wine from the goblet did any real conversation exist between the old friends.
“Will your Queen accept my stay should I accept? I would hate to provoke a war that forms from jealousy,” Astrid mused, remembering very well that from the young children they were friends but as they grew older their feelings grew as well. What she did not expect was to see Thranduil’s face fall to the point of remorse and sorrow. “Goheno nin,” Astrid murmured, looking down, partially ashamed that she would be so careless.
“My Queen has long been gone, she died while giving birth to Legolas, my only son,” he stated, and was surprised when Astrid’s soft hand brushed against his, he allowed her petite hand to curl around his. “I remember the day my father announced the marriage, it was two days after you had left.” Astrid remained silent, it would have been a lie if she said she never imagined having a life with him, but it was doomed from the start. “I wanted it to be you, desperately, I went into the forest looking for you, but Galion told me you would have been far away by then.” Astrid tried to stop him from continuing but he ignored her, she didn’t want to hear or else that age old emptiness in her heart would consume her.
“I gave Elowyn the finest of silks, the most expensive jewels, I loved her, truly I did, but she was not you and I feared her affections were not returned in truth. Legolas is all I have left of her, he does have his mother’s eyes, and lonneg is all I have.” Astrid stood from her chair and looked down at her simple boots, suddenly she missed the comfort of her slippers that were commonplace here, and she missed her youthful days in the forest.
“I am sorry, boe annin gwad,” her heart was beating rapidly and it only beat faster when his hand curled around hers. “Aphado nin,” Astrid knew she should resist him, resist the feeling that surged within her whenever she looked into his eyes, but she couldn’t, and she did not wish to chance becoming victim of his wrath. In silence Thranduil led her to an opening in the walls, looking above the tree foliage cloaked in the veil of moonlight, and the Lonely Mountain was in plain sight.
“Your name has always suited you well,” he commented, not taking his eyes away from his kingdom. “Beautiful, and truly you are Astrid.” She remained silent, dead silent, her fingers, calloused from battle brushed against his. Thranduil captured her hand within his own, bringing her knuckles to his lips as he partly bowed down to be level with her height. Astrid took her hand away from his hand, placed it on his right cheek, and sheepishly she placed her other hand so that his face was cradled between her hands.
“Gi melin, gi melin,” she repeated, and the sparkle that had dimmed in his eyes returned even in the low light of the night she could see it, and her heart raced, butterflies danced in her stomach. Thranduil quickly pulled her closer, his own hands resting on the curve of her back and the back of her head, without hesitation he pressed his lips against hers.
Strands of gossamer golden white hair tickled the back of her hands, and she nearly laughed against his lips at the sensation, but his hands moved to pull aside her dark hair, bunching it within his hands. “Was it how you always imagined?” Astrid susurrated against his lips opening her eyes so that his met with her own. The Elvenking only kissed her again, leaving her breathing uneven, much like his own, and lips swollen and parted. “Better,” he crooned, twirling a single curled ringlet around his long finger, but the air grew serious once more. “Stay, stay with me,” Thranduil nearly pleaded, his voice low and heavy with emotion.
“I will return to you only after I have helped the dwarves with the reclamation of their homeland, and only after that will I come back,” she assured him, her thumb tracing over where he knew there was a deep scar, but she didn’t know that, he told himself that when she returned he would show her, he would show her everything she missed.
“Gwestog?” He asked, his fingertips ghosting across the high neck of her tunic and down to where he could feel her rapidly beating heart. “I promise.” He kissed her one last time before she returned to the dungeons, to her own cell. It wouldn’t even be an hour later before Bilbo Baggins appeared and freed them all. She paused in her track and looked back towards where she had come from but shook the thoughts away and focused on the task at hand, escaping, and then the quest.
—–
The dragon was free, Lake-town was aflame, and the cries of the citizens reached the mountain on which she stood beside her small friend. “What have we done?” He had asked as Smaug extended his wings and took flight, Astrid instantly thought of Bard and his family and started down the path to the small boat that they had travelled in to reach the mountain.
“Astrid, where are you going?” Thorin demanded. Astrid felt her ears burn with growing resentment, her temper slipping away as she looked down at the dwarf who had finally come to accept her but now had to put everyone in danger for gold.
“Your own kin are there! The city is ablaze, Thorin Oakenshield, you were warned about what would happen should you enter that mountain and you didn’t listen! You never listen! You can stay here if you wish, but I am going to make sure Kili, Fili, Oin, and Bofur are alive.” Balin nodded in approval of her words but remained by Thorin; the small hobbit moved to her side.
The boat grew smaller in the distance, Astrid rowed and Bilbo looked solemnly at the burning town. “That was a brave thing you did,” he commented, but she would not accept the compliment as it was intended. “What we are doing is not an act of bravery Master Baggins; it is simply the right thing to do.”
While the two scoured the town for the dwarves who remained she caught a glimpse of her own kin, and rushed to where Tauriel was, though she did not know her, “Astrid, please, help me with them,” Bilbo led the four dwarves to the boat and back to the mountain while Astrid remained in search for Bard as Tauriel comforted his children, the flames still rising into the night.
The town was destroyed and after much trouble the dragon slain, those that survived settled onto the shores of the lake, drying out their clothing and washing the smut and soot from their faces and hands. In the midst of the refugees, she noticed a crumpled old grey hat. “Gandalf!”
“Astrid, where are the dwarves?” Steadily she breathed in and glanced towards the mountain answering his question, the conversation may have continued, but when she saw the head of hair that was pure amongst the smoke and others she ran. The Elvenking had journeyed out of his kingdom, and was speaking to Bard.
She stopped on heel, not wishing to disturb the topic at hand, but Bard looked in her direction, thanking her silently for helping his children survive the firestorm caused by the dragon. Thranduil followed his gaze, Astrid stood impeccably still and could see the king’s breathing hitch, more than likely at her distressed and singed clothing and the dirt that had yet to be washed off. The bowman pulled the side of his lips into a grim smile and excused himself. “Are you hurt?”
“No, I’m fine, not injured at all. A bit dirty I must adm-,” Thranduil shushed her with his lips, not caring if his army of advisors seen the display, nor did he care about the judgment of those who looked in their direction. She cupped his cheek, and laughed as she left the outline a handprint on his cheek before wiping it away, he was relieved, but still worried. “Camp is set up near, come with me and bathe, we have much to discuss.”
She had first scrubbed her simple garbs in the river before setting them out to dry on the bank and returning to the water, it was not until then that she noticed the burns on her hands. “Astrid,” it was Thranduil’s voice that called her name, she blushed at her current state and sunk down into the water. “Would you be appalled if I accompanied you so that we may dine at the same time as well?” She kept her voice in check as she responded. She averted her eyes as he left his clothing on the banks. “Do you remember when we were children and on warm days we would sneak to the river and do exactly what we are doing now?”
Astrid giggled at the thought and finally opened her eyes to see Thranduil had lowered himself so that their eyes were level, faces inches apart, the same furious blush crept up into her cheeks. “Because we were children; that is why it was acceptable then. Should someone stumble upon us now this would be absolutely disreputable for us both, image the scandalous rumors that would spread all over Middle Earth.” Her amused tone changed instantly when he touched her cheek, scrubbing away some of the grime.
She moved closer to him, and lifted her hands to remove the silver diadem that he had forgotten, Astrid was going to take care and place it neatly on the bank, but Thranduil grabbed the piece of precious metal from her and tossed it away and by luck it landed atop his tunic. “In the days since you had left, I had my people forge a set of armor for you, and I have brought your sword. My intent is to keep you safe.”
He tensed as she rested her hands on his shoulders, still tender from heat. “I am so glad that I have found you again. Fate was too kind to lead me straight into your kingdom.” Thranduil moved his hands to rest on her waist, his fingertips pressing into her skin, half because he feared this could be some evil nightmare meant to torment his heart, and partly because he wanted her to be a close to him as possible.
“My nana said it was destiny, you and I. Even in the years after your banishment she said that you would come back, you would come back to me.” Astrid smiled and touched his cheek, as she remembered his skin was cooler than her own, and now was no different. “Stay with me nin meleth,” he turned his head so that his lips could press to the center of her palm.
“Once this is over and done, I will gladly return to Mirkwood,” Astrid squeaked in surprise when Thranduil pulled her flush against him, he laughed quietly at her stunned response and they both grew quiet, only the slow flowing river gave noise to the air around them. Thranduil’s hand leisurely ran up the length of her back until she shuddered and shivered, he stopped at the nape of her neck. Astrid pushed herself closer to him, lifting her chin and pressed their lips together. He gathered her in his arms and waded closer to the bank’s edge, as if on instinct she wrapped her legs around his waist and draped her arms around his neck, clinging to him tightly.
His outer robe was already splayed out on the bank, and not caring if the water from their bodies damaged the silk he laid Astrid down, his weight resting upon her, but in a moment of impulse, he shifted their weight making it so she was laid out across him. Astrid placed her hand on his chest and pushed herself up, but suddenly became aware that she was very much bare in front of him, and now all her scars were clearly on display, the disfigurements that had slowly healed on her sides and stomach, the burn on her thigh. Thranduil’s heart ached as he traced them over with his eyes. “Astrid, how?”
“A few encounters with Orcs over the years, an attack on the village I had settled in; and some from working in the mines and fields. My life has not been gentle to me,” She rested her hand on his cheek, as if sensing the scar that lay beneath the veil of Elven magic. “I have lived, and surely I will die, but now let us enjoy these moments that we have been given. Please, Thranduil,” she leaned forward and brushed her lips across his, the king allowed his hands to glide over her shoulders and breasts, almost reverently, but quickly realized that it was humility that was causing him to act like so with her, it was strange to him, the king, but to him his queen was right in front of him.
Since acquiring her many scars, and establishing herself as a fighter, she had feared, her body was no longer graced with the soft curves of femininity, but her eyes followed his hands as he cupped her breasts, and though in reality they were ample in his hands they disappeared, the perfect size to fill his palms as if she were made just for him. Astrid felt small, vulnerable, but with Thranduil she felt that hole in her chest close. Her eyes fluttered shut as he teased her taut nipples, rolling them between his thumb and forefingers, her lips parted.
The well-composed king stuttered out a strangled noise when her hips pressed against his, Astrid traced over the point of one of his ears smiling and nearly giggling at his reaction to her childish gesture, Thranduil propped himself up, leaving one arm splayed behind him. They exchanged quick kisses, gentle caresses overlong and drawn out minutes, he traced over her lips and cheeks with his thumb, Astrid wiggled her hips and his head fell forward, resting between her breasts until finally he shifted their weight again so that she was beneath him.
Thranduil lavished her neck and clavicles with numerous kisses, moving to the valley between her breasts and over the scars on her torso before looking back up at her. The juniper shade of green that made her eyes is favorite color had closed in pleasure; her chestnut hair was splayed around her, beginning to dry in loose ringlets and her cheeks were flushed with color. She didn’t watch his ministrations, she only felt them, and the tenderness that was guised within his kisses and sacred touches. Astrid arched her back off the robe when his hand pressed against her core, his nose nuzzled into the side of her neck, and her hands slipped into his hair holding him close.
She whined at the loss of his fingers, but that emptiness was quickly replaced with something much more satisfying. One of her hands slipped from his gossamer-thin hair and onto his shoulder, her nails scraping against his skin as he began to move. Thranduil bared his teeth beside her throat, the white, startling against the beginnings of the purple mark he’d left, the breath that carried her name raising goose bumps on her skin. Astrid wrapped her agile legs around his waist, her hands clinging tightly to his shoulders. Being completed, being full to the seams of her soul with him hurt her heart with how wonderful it felt. This was right. He was right. And this was how it always should have been.
His hips rolled into hers, his arms shook as they braced his weight over her against the ground until he slid them behind her, curling as to grasp her shoulders. Anchoring himself against her body, he moved with a deliberate slowness, his own eyes shut in ecstasy. Astrid’s voice cried out, some of the throes were muffled by Thranduil’s lips, together they moved in harmony, her hips rising to meet his with each thrust of his. She spoke in terms of endearment, he returned those with kisses and his own words filled with praise.
They had never been closer than when he held her tightly and she pushed herself against him. Astrid peppered his neck and all the way to the tip of his ear with gentle kisses, Thranduil gasped at the sensation of the attention she paid to his ear and the way her body tensed and tightened around his. If he had been an artist the Elvenking would have painted the contortions of her face and hazy eyes, but he was not, and even an artist could never capture the beauty he saw in her without diminishing it. But as Astrid watched him reach his own completion, she would have said the same thing.
Astrid lay so that his ear could rest upon her beating heart, the pace beginning to slow. “Remember your promise,” he spoke softly and in turn, Astrid tipped his chin so he could see the sincerity and love on her face. The sun dwindled behind the high trees and only then did the both of them decide it was time to return before being caught. While her tunic and breeches were dry, Thranduil wrapped his cloak around her shoulders, carrying the damp robe himself.
In the king’s tent Astrid look at the two sets of Elven armor, one was undoubtedly feminine, her fingers traced over the imprinted designs while Thranduil commanded his captains and noblemen. From hers, she moved to look at him, the impressions were the same; he had given her the seal of royalty. She turned when his hand covered hers. “Why allow me to wear the royal seal?”
He pulled her away from the armor stands and pressed his lips against hers, the kiss was chaste and short lived. “Because if you return to me, if you will accept my offer; I wish to make you my queen,” Her eyes widened, her breathing accelerated. “I lost you once Astrid, I will not lose you again.”
She closed her eyes, her quest with the dwarves was seemingly over, they had won the mountain back from the dragon; she was free to do as she chose. But she chose to follow her heart, and for once it was the best path she could take. Astrid rose to her toes and leaned into the King, her lips seeking his to which he offered. Her lips trembled against his, her hands shook, but for once it was for happiness, with saline drops of water brimming her eyes, she pulled back, but remained close to Thranduil, a smile on her lips. “I accept your offer, Thranduil. I’m not leaving you.”