Notes: Even though it is not stated anywhere, in my verse Oropher and Thranduil were fighting in the Battle of the Last Alliance and Oropher lost his life - making Thranduil King of Mirkwood. For the sake of the story, I made Elrond a bit arrogant, at least outwardly. The year right now is 109 of the Third Age. The parents of our favourite 3 brothers of Lórien left Arda about 4 years ago for the Undying Lands (for no particular reason, they just longed to see Valinor *grin*), and the brothers were taken in by Galadriel and Celeborn. Haldir is around 300 years of age, Orophin about 100 and Rúmil 12. Oh, and Legolas is 108 :) Forgot someone, Celebrían is around 650...

Translation of Elvish: Calen Glad - Greenwood, elvish name of Mirkwood. Peredhel - half-elven; Elrond and Elros were called the Peredhil as they were the sons of a mortal man and an elf. Ada - father. Nana - mother..

Chapter 1 - A Fateful Meeting

Thranduil was urging his stallion down the bank of Nimrodel. He had only just arrived in Lórien and already he wished to leave. The welcome had been more or less friendly, until he had appeared. Only one glance at Elrond and he was cursing himself for accepting the invitation of the Lord and Lady of the Wood. But it had seemed to be of great importance. It had to be, or else he would have never been invited.

Upon receiving the invitation, he had hoped for a short moment that finally Galadriel and Celeborn had understood. That he was not his father, that he was not Oropher. Oropher, the late King of Calen Glad, who fell in the Battle of the Last Alliance. Setting his son free and binding him to his fate in the same moment. Even in death could he force his will upon Thranduil. The young prince had never wished for the crown, but now he was King. Just like he had never wanted to marry for any reason but for love.

But he had never complained; there was no one to confide in anyway. His mother had left for Valinor when Thranduil was but a little elfling. His only friend was a young girl, the daughter of a wealthy and influential courtier. Had his father tried to please him when he had forced the two of them to marry? Serinde was in his heart, but from the first moment on it was clear that their marriage was overshadowed by a dark cloud. His bride had given her heart to another elf, a warrior, proud and fearless. So very different from the Prince. Thranduil had sworn to protect him in battle, and had failed. He fell, at the hands of the Dark Lord himself.

When he returned, now as the King of Mirkwood, he had found his wife almost mad with grief. Somehow Thranduil had been able to fend off Mandos, and after only a year the cry of a small baby echoed through the Caverns. The small, blue-eyed boy had claimed his parents' hearts at once and they vowed never to repeat Oropher's mistakes. Legolas had soon become his mother's greatest joy and his father's greatest pride. The Woodland-elves cheered. At last a just king sat on the throne.

But no one else seemed to see this. The Lord and Lady of Lórien beheld the likeness between Oropher and his son and did not try to see any further. As for Imladris... After Gil-galad's death, Elrond took over the rule of the Last Homely House. And the Peredhel hated Thranduil. That much had been obvious the few times both rulers were forced to meet. Over the years, Elrond's feelings became mutual, which parted Mirkwood and Lothlórien even more. The Lord and Lady had apparently taken a likening to the half-elf and treated him like a son.

Still, that did not give Elrond the right to walk around as if he owned the place. The way he ordered the servants in the Royal Talan around was unbelievable. As was the way he looked down upon the King of Mirkwood. He was not even completely of the noble blood that was flowing through Thranduil's veins. Half-elven, half indeed. And still he was master of hundreds of elves, called upon by those who needed counsel, a wise healer and proud warrior in one.

Thranduil hated to admit it, but he had always wanted to gain a status similar to Elrond's amongst his people. But everyone outside his realm only saw him like they had seen his father: the wicked King of a dismal place. And that it was, especially with the shadow that had once again taken hold of Dol Guldur. Orcs were multiplying and destroyed everything he and his people had built over the last century. He knew that once he returned it would not be long until he had to lead yet another campaign again the dark tower in the south of his kingdom. With the same result it always had. Hundreds of orcs would be killed, and still the elves would only win narrowly, if it was to be called a victory at all.

How many times had he sent word to Celeborn about this threat? After all, Dol Guldur was not far from the borders of Lórien. But the Lord kept silent. Why would he not combine forces with Mirkwood? Maybe together they would be able to overthrow evil. No, Celeborn rather sent his hosts to aid Elrond's forces against the goblins of the Misty Mountains.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he barely saw the group of young elf-maidens a little further down the river. Only the clear laughter of one of them woke him from his reverie. As if they had a will of their own, his eyes centred on the young she-elf. Never before had he seen such pure beauty. Long golden hair framed a gentle face, the sound of her laughter warming his heart.

Quickly he dismounted and took the reigns, leading his horse down the slope. The young maidens were about to leave, it seemed, and already he began to wonder how he could see the beautiful creature again, whose innocent joy had moved his very soul. But suddenly, as if someone had called her name, she turned. Steel-grey eyes drowned in the depth of the sea. What had seemed like a waste of time had in just a moment become of vital importance to him. His journey to Lórien had a reason now, and it had nothing to do with Celeborn and Galadriel's oh-so-important plans.

A soft smile played around her lips, and she seemed unable to move. One of her companions reached her side, trying to wake her from daydreaming. "My Lady, we have to return. The feast..." And far too soon did she turn from his gaze, lowering her eyes in a shy gesture that was most endearing in Thranduil's eyes.

As she moved away with her friends, he felt an urge to run after her, ask for her name. He had to see her again, preferably alone. Who was this vision that touched him in places he had not even known existed. Why was a quick glance at her causing this ache in his chest? Watching her leave, he suddenly recalled her companion's words. A smile spread over his face. The feast, he would see her at the feast tonight.

---

A small elfling was running towards the riverbank. Tears were streaming down his face and he looked like misery personified. Just a few minutes ago he had almost run into the Lady Celebrían, who was on her way back to Caras Galadhon. Unable to speak, he had just turned and run away. Finally he reached the shore of Nimrodel, throwing himself down upon the soft grass.

His eldest brother had just informed his family that he had been accepted into the ranks of the March Wardens of the Golden Wood. He would be away for weeks or even months at a time. It was not fair, first had he lost his parents, or as everyone told him they had gone west, whatever that meant. And now he would lose his brother.

His eyes were closed and his mind busy pitying himself. So he did not hear the soft steps approaching him and was startled when a soft voice spoke to him, "What is wrong, little one?" He opened his watery eyes to behold a tall elf that he had only seen once before. 'He is one of those foreign guests of Aunt Galadriel,' the small boy mused. "What is your name?" the elf asked.

He sat up, rubbing his eyes. Finally he ventured to answer, "I am called Rúmil. And who are you?" Grey eyes sparkled with amusement and the soft voice replied, "Thranduil. I am Thranduil." The tall elf lowered himself to the grass and soon sat next to the elfling who stared at him in awe. "That armour, is that mithril? Uncle Celeborn has one just like it..."

Uncle Celeborn? Did Galadriel or Celeborn have any siblings he did not know of? "Yes, it is made of mithril as well." How could he find out what he wanted without startling the little boy? "Well, Rúmil. Will you tell me why you are so sad?" Rúmil pursed up his lips, and almost started to cry again. "It is because of Hal. He is going away. He does not like me. Now he is leaving, just like ada and nana."

"I am sure he likes you. But who is this Hal?" Rúmil stared with big blue eyes. "Hal is my brother. He is going to be a March Warden. But I do not want him to go..." He started to weep again, and Thranduil instantly wrapped his arms around him. "Where are your parents gone?" In-between his sobs, Rúmil murmured something that sounded like, 'west'. So his parents had sailed to Valinor, and Rúmil thought they had gone because of him.

"They left me, Hal and Oro with Aunt Galadriel, Uncle Celeborn and Celebrían. But she is always so mean to me. Just now they were laughing at me when I met them in the woods. Hal and Oro have defended me until now. But Hal has grown bored of it and is now going away. And Oro will be gone soon as well. He wants to join the Guardians. Nobody likes me..."

Gently Thranduil placed a finger under the elfling's chin, forcing his face up and finally their eyes locked. "Oh, I think they like you very much, Rúmil. Maybe not as you are right now..." Rúmil's eyes were red and puffy from crying, his braids were loosened and little twigs and leaves were hanging in his long hair. "Your brothers only leave you because they want to protect your home, and you of course. One day you might also want to join the Guardians, do you not think that would be nice?"

Rúmil reminded him of Legolas, the first time Thranduil had to leave his son fighting against an orc-host from Dol Guldur. His son had also been in tears, clinging to his father's robes, unwilling to let go. But just like Legolas had finally come to understand the necessity, Rúmil would do so, too. Eventually. The elfling nodded slowly. "I would like that, I think. And Hal and Oro... You mean, they like me after all?" Thranduil smiled, "Of course they do."

Rúmil drew away and started to gnaw at his nails, apparently deep in thought. "And what about Celebrían. She is always nagging me..." Thranduil chuckled, "She is a girl, is she not. I am sure a great warrior like you can defend himself against a mere woman." He reached for the clasps of his cloaks, opening them. "Stand," he instructed the young elfling. Rúmil quickly scrambled to his feet, eying Thranduil curiously.

The King threw the cloak around Rúmil's thin shoulders and fasted it. "See, now you are a true soldier. And this Celebrían cannot make fun of you anymore..." Of course, the way the cloak hung around the tiny form of Rúmil simply asked for laughter. It was far too long, and the elfling had to hold it up in an attempt not to stumble over the hem.

Only now did he finally comprehend everything. Rúmil had run into Celebrían on her way back to Caras Galadhon. Then this must mean that his vision of beauty and the teasing she-elf out of Rúmil's nightmares were one and the same person. Celebrían, daughter of Celeborn and Galadriel. His life apparently did not seem complicated enough to the Valar and they had just set out on a mission to make it even more confusing to him.

Rúmil was still walking around in circles, trying to appear dignified but failing miserably. The sun was beginning to sink and Thranduil remembered the nightly feast. "Well, my proud soldier. We should return to the city now. Do you wish to ride with me?" Rúmil's eyes grew even bigger at the prospect of riding on the beautiful horse that was currently grassing on the slope. He hopped from one foot to the other, almost bouncing with joy. "Yes, I should like that very much..."

---

When they reached the southern gate of the city, two elves awaited them. Both were clad in the grey and black of the Guardians and one, the elder it seemed, approached the riders. "Rúmil, we have been searching all over for you. Forgive me, my Lord, if he has proven himself the nuisance he is..." Thranduil halted him by raising a hand, "Actually I enjoyed meeting our little soldier here. It has been my pleasure." Rúmil turned and grinned at him. "Thanks," he whispered and jumped off the horse.

Seeing the cloak around his brother's shoulders, the second elf spoke up, "Rúmil, give back the cloak. I am sure Lord Thranduil will want it back." Tears shot into Rúmil's eyes as he raised his hands to the clasps. "No, my friend. It was a gift. Keep it..." A grin was suddenly plastered on the elfling's face, and he drew the cloak around his figure again.

Suddenly, a clear voice called out of nowhere, "Haldir, Orophin! The Lord and Lady wish to see you. As for you Rúmil, why were you running away from me this afternoon?" The young elf-maiden from the river appeared, glaring at the elfling. Only then did she behold the proud stallion and his rider. Her eyes widened and their gazes locked once again.

"My Lady," Thranduil inclined his head, "I fear he was not at all his charming self and did not intend to bother you with his problems." Both Haldir and Orophin shot their little brother looks that were clearly saying, 'What in Arda have you told him?' Only Celebrían could not turn her eyes from the Mirkwood King, who was just dismounting. "He was afraid you would leave him and did not like him. I told him that it was not so."

Haldir kneeled by Rúmil's side and embraced the once again trembling form. "Do not cry, little one. Do you not know that I would never leave you, not really... You are my little brother, not just my younger..." Both began to chuckle, eyes turned to Orophin, who was by far the tallest of the three. He just shook his head and decided to ignore the joke.

Celebrían had apparently found her voice again and asked, "My Lord, are you returning to the Royal Talan? Would it trouble you very much to take me there with you?" In place of an answer, Thranduil extended his hand to her and helped her on the horse, mounting behind her. Turning to the three brothers, Celebrían said, "Do not forget the Lord and Lady. And Rúmil," the boy stared at her, lips pursed again, "You will be a great warrior when your time comes."

Both guardians bowed, and Haldir spoke, "Thank you, my Lord. For bringing him back to us." Rúmil winked at the King, and waved, "Bye Thranduil, thank you for the nice cloak..."

---

Thranduil? Thranduil, King of Calen Glad? But he was supposed to be mean and evil. This elf, who currently held her in his arms was everything but that. He had taken care of Rúmil who could easily make her lose her temper. And on the bank, for that one, fleeting moment, he had filled her heart with a yearning she had never known before.

She turned her head and gazed into his gentle, grey eyes. "So you are Oropher's son, are you not?" Something within him seemed to snap and his eyes suddenly turned cold. "Yes, I am. Oropher's son indeed." She felt the hurt in his voice and shook her head, "His son, but not Oropher himself. You seem to be everything your father was not, no matter what everyone says. He would never have given such a valuable cloak to a twelve-year-old. Especially not Rúmil..."

Deep blue eyes that spoke nothing but the truth. Thranduil saw himself in them, not an image of his father. "He reminds me of my own son, Legolas. Besides, no cloak could ever be worth more than the laughter of a child..." Celebrían studied his face and then lowered her eyes. What was this feeling in the pit of her stomach. As if thousands of butterflies were flying around in her veins...

Too soon they reached the stables. Apparently, all servants were busy preparing for the festivities in the evening and so no stable-hand was around. The King jumped off the horse and then offered Celebrían his hand. She was almost gliding from the horseback and into his arms. At first she was startled, as was he, but then she turned and met his eyes again. Before either of them knew what had happened, their lips had found their counterpart. Only for a moment did they meet, then Celebrían drew away.

"My Lord," she whispered, eyes wide, "What is happening?" Then, as if she finally realized what she had just done, she broke free and ran to the stairs of the talan. Before she began the ascend, she turned again and smiled. Thranduil knew that he would never forget the way she looked just then. As he saw her disappear from view, he felt that one door had closed behind him, but another had opened before him. Where it would lead him, he did not know...