The Royal Artist

Chapter 3

Y/n hurries through the halls, ignoring the curious looks from passersby. Once she reaches her chambers, she quickly collects the few possessions that lay scattered about. Putting them back into her bag, she grabs the clean set of riding clothes from the bottom of the bag and ducks behind the changing screen.

With trembling fingers, she attempts to undo the lacings on the back of the gown while holding back her unshed tears. She grows frustrated quickly as the ties refuse to separate. As she takes deep, steadying breaths, preparing to try again, Thranduil bursts through the door. His eyes search the room frantically until they rest upon her.

"Why did you run away from me?" he asks, confusion and heartbreak clear in his tone and expression as he slowly draws nearer to her trembling figure, in the same manner, that one would approach a skittish horse.

"Because I can not stay here any longer, I thought I could. I convinced myself that perhaps this time I could find a place to settle down and call home. I should have known it was too good to be real." She turns away so that he cannot see the tears begin to leak from her downcast eyes.

Thranduil's heart breaks as he looks at her. Without a second thought, he steps around the screen and pulls her against him, his arms wrapping around her like comforting steel bands, and tucks her head beneath his chin while she soaks his tunic with her tears.

"Please don't leave me, nin emel. I have been happier in the short time that I have known you than I was for many long years. I cannot explain why, but what I do know is that it would break my heart if you left. You see the real me, the one beneath the exterior facade of a cold king who is too scared to love, lest his love be ripped away. Please, y/n, please stay..." he whispers in her ear as he tightens his arms around her.

"What about Legolas? He thinks that I am only going to use you and hurt you. Nothing could be further from the truth, but what if he spreads his thoughts and soon enough that is what the entire court and kingdom think? I do not care about my reputation, but what of yours? I do not wish to drive a wedge between you. The bond between a parent and their child is precious beyond measure, I do not wish to sever-" Thranduil cuts her off with a slender finger to her lips.

"Shh, it is alright, I understand. But Legolas may be my son, but he does not control my heart, nor to whom I choose to give my affections." he leads her over to the desk against the wall and opens the drawer, retrieving a parcel from it. "This is for you; before you left the banquet, I had intended to ask you if you would perhaps be interested in doing some paintings for the palace, and my chambers in specific," he whispers the last part of the sentence before placing a featherlight kiss on her cheek.

"That way we can get to know each other even better, and the world can see what a talented artist you are," he smiles as he sees the internal war raging behind her eyes.

"And when I am done with the paintings, what then?" she asks tentatively.

"Then you continue to stay here; you can do whatever you wish. We can even make you an advisor if you wish." Although I think you would make a fitting queen. Thranduil does not voice this aloud but screams it from his eyes.

"I will also speak to Legolas. You should never be made to feel less than the exceptionally radiant woman you are. When you walk into a room, the entire room lights up with your smile. And if my son thinks that it is acceptable to attempt to dim your inner beauty, then he is sorely mistaken." There is a subtle fire that burns in his eyes, sending a shiver through her very soul.

The rest of their evening is spent sitting in front of the fire, nursing cups of hot apple cider, reading Sindarin poems to each other and talking about their very long lives, though she leaves out a few details that she deems unimportant, it's not as if her past would catch up to her any time soon.

Somehow Thranduil falls asleep with his head in her lap as she cards her fingers through his silky locks, gently scratching at his scalp, and drawing a contented purr from his chest. She sits for a while, ingraining his beautiful, sleeping face into her memory, before drifting off into a deep slumber, utterly unaware of the blond prince standing outside her door with a scowl so fierce it would make Sauron quiver with fear.