Work Text
In the bleak winter, Thranduil looks to the stars. Like the namesake of his people, Eldar, he feels the cosmic dust floating in his veins. It's an unknown secret of his, this late night contemplation. When all the forest is quiet and all the daytime creatures sleep, he steps outside and walks between the trunks of the trees in quiet solitude. His robes trail on the frosty ground behind him, the hushed noise all that he hears against the backdrop of the night.Usually these walks take place in his own kingdom, in the expanse of the forest he has come to love and protect. Only now, he is not home. He is far across the land, near a town on a lake, the colossus mountain that once housed the dragon a shadow in the distance. To get to the city he'd have to row or travel the rickety old bridge but he finds it pointless, instead settling against the trunk of a thick tree. He looks up, blue eyes wandering the infinite, waiting; ever-thinking.Not so long ago, or so it feels, he'd been a young thing running wild beneath these same stars. His hair had been shorter and his grin wild, a stark contrast to the king he must remain today. Yet, on select nights such as these, he thinks he can feel that old childlike wonder return to him in waves. Ripples, perhaps, but it is there all the same.Sighing, he listens intently for noises that don't come from himself. He breathes softly, barely shifts or allows himself an inch to ease a pinprick of sharp bark pressing on his back. It's always the wait that bothers him the most. Eventually, however, there always comes a new sound. Footsteps, quiet as they can be, are just not silent enough to evade the elf. Straightening, Thranduil looks over to the approaching figure. Hooded, the man might seem threatening to anyone else. But to Thranduil, he is a welcome sight."How long did you plan to make me wait?" He asks, trying to keep his lips from twitching.When Bard lowers his hood, Thranduil tries to hide the way he gulps. For a being as timely as he, one would think he could handle a situation like this. Still, as the mortal man draws closer, Thranduil feels his pulse spike as if he were a youngling once more. Never had someone made him feel like this, not since the death of his only other lover."Maybe it'd do you good to wait some more." Bard sniffs, obviously chilled from the wintry wind.Thranduil hums, a small smirk finally rising on his face. "Perhaps."Though Thranduil likes to complain, it is Bard that remains impatient. He strides forward and brings a hand to the nape of Thranduil's neck, letting his palm rest against his skin. His fingers tug at the long silver strands, eyes flickering between his eyes and his lips.It is Bard that always leans in first.Their lips touch like water over rock: gentle and tranquil, with no need to rush. Not anymore. Since the threat of battle has passed, Bard has learned to slow down, especially in the matter of his affections. Thranduil sighs into the kiss, his eyes fluttering shut at the feel of it. Going so long without seeing each other has its downfalls, nights without warm kisses being one of them.Thranduil trails a hand along Bard's arm and beneath the sleeve of his shirt, touching old scars and blemishes. He lets his hand fall until their fingers lace and lock, until Thranduil is pulling away to allow Bard a chance to breathe. Bard follows the kiss, leaning in even when Thranduil chuckles.When Bard opens his eyes, he once again has color in his cold cheeks. "The town still wishes to put a statue of you in center of the lake. For all you did for us, even after the bloodshed had passed."At this, Thranduil's chuckle turns into a rare bark of laughter. He pushes away from the tree and tugs Bard forward so that they're walking along the shore."While I would usually enjoy the attention," Thranduil looks to the open water, at the tranquil way in which is rests. "I don't believe it would look very pretty in comparison to this.""I'm not so sure. I think of you always." Bard bends to pick up a rock, running his thumb over the smooth texture. "I wouldn't mind seeing you every day."And Thranduil, for all of his poise and cunning ways, finds himself at a loss in response. Bard has a subtle way of pulling the breath from his lungs. Tossing the rock into the air, Bard lets it fall against his palm once before turning to let it skip across the surface of the lake. It echoes faintly, an enchanting tune.Thranduil clears his throat and wonders at the way of men: at their ability to slash through armor and hold rocks like flowers, fingers a history of bloodstain and gentle explorations. He lets his thumb roam over Bard's knuckles, glad to see the man smile at the touch. And maybe, if he's feeling particularly jovial, he could see about making the time to build a statue. If only to have an excuse to return often, to see the progress and upkeep afterword. If only to know Bard can look outside and find Thranduil there, never too far away. "We'll need materials from the mountains." Thranduil grimaces, "We'll need to speak to the Dwarves."Bard's laughter echoes, louder than the pebble, lighter than the air. And Thranduil just smiles, eyes glancing between the man beside him and the stars above, twinkling in the infinite.