Chapter Text
Bard woke slowly the next morning, feeling wonderfully warm and comfortable, blinking his eyes open with a good deal of effort. He thought he hadn’t had such a satisfying sleep in over a year, maybe more, and he hadn’t know how badly he’d needed it until just now.
He quickly took stock of himself: his body and mind felt rested and clear, all of his aches - both those borne of battle and those he had carried before - were gone, and his bruises had faded still further. Surely it must be some work of Thranduil’s. Thranduil. His cheeks burned at the memory of last night and he broke in to a grin, but when he rolled over he found the other side of the spacious bed empty.
He propped himself on his elbows and looked up, out at the balcony, to find Thranduil standing still as a glass lake in a thin, simple silver robe, gazing over his forrest. He seemed a fantasy silhouetted against the rich morning sun, his hair shining a dazzling gold from the honey beams that streamed in around him and fell just at the foot of the bed.
“Early riser?” Bard mumbled fondly through his haze of sleep, stretching to clear it away, marveling again at how wonderful he felt.
“I often watch the sunrise.” He could hear that little smile in Thranduil’s reply, though the Elvenking did not turn around. “For a partner in trade you know little of elves. We do not sleep nearly as much as men.”
“Well. It must be a long immortality indeed; I don’t think I envy you. Nothing better than a good night’s sleep,” Bard proclaimed, crossing his arms behind his head, laying back again. And then he realized - “But you did sleep with me. Last night. Didn’t you?” He thought he could remember waking briefly to curl in closer to Thranduil against the cold air that the fires in the room could not quite keep at bay.
There was a pause. Thranduil still did not turn, and his voice was tight when he answered. “I simply lay with you.”
“Lay with me?”
Another pause after which followed a cautious answer. “Yes.”
Bard supposed that Thranduil’s hours may seem shorter than his, but still, for quite a while as he slept - and by the sun Bard could tell he had slept rather late - Thranduil had stayed with him. Held him. It was a very intimate gesture. And yet the Elvenking seemed reluctant to acknowledge it.
Bard was unsure what that meant, or what to say, and now the silence stretched.
Thranduil stood on his balcony and seemed far away and remote, as if, though forrest breeze and golden sun fell on him, he stood somewhere amid snow and icy gales.
“What’s troubling you?”
Thranduil looked back at him at last, as if surprised Bard should ask, or be able to perceive his discomfort. He did not offer an answer, and Bard gave a small smile.
“You fancy yourself unreadable, but you know, with enough study anyone can learn even the most difficult texts."
Thranduil did not reply, though Bard had thought his comparison rather clever. He softened his voice. “Something’s on your mind, I can see that.”
“It is simply the loss of my people.”
A lie, they both knew.
“Thranduil.”
Thranduil looked at Bard, sitting there under his sheets, face open, concerned, accepting, who wanted his honesty, who thought it should be so easy.
He wished he could say the words. Tell Bard that it was not often anymore that he found himself becoming attached, but that he was. He was becoming attached and very much so. But opening himself to Bard meant opening himself to loss. There would always be that black river between them. Could he cross it? Did he dare?
Silence hung between them on gossamer threads.
And then Bard held out an open hand, and plainly he told Thranduil, “Come here.”
Thranduil did.
He padded slowly across the floor and he sat carefully on the edge of the bed, and just as carefully Bard reached out and took his hand and wove their fingers together. They didn’t need to say anything.
The sun had climbed even higher and the room was full of warm bright light. Thranduil moved closer and pulled back the covers between them. Bard slipped the thin silver robe off of Thranduil’s shoulders, and they wrapped their arms around each other, and Thranduil sat in the lap of his Dragonslayer for a moment and let Bard hold him. And they simply looked at each other. A worn oak beam and a pale marble column. Sandstone and Ivory. Emerald and Diamond.
With a small smile Thranduil pushed a stray hair behind Bard’s ear, and very gently he leaned down and kissed the King of Dale, and accepted his fate. Flowers bloomed. Vines tangled.