Charlotte made a couple of ham and cheese sandwiches, her cheeks still flaming as she slapped the bread together, cutting them in half with more force than necessary. What the hell?! Thranduil, an elf and a king, had just been handling her underwear! And he had acted as though it had totally unaffected him. She paused, thinking about it. The type of underwear worn in this world must be such an oddity to someone like Thranduil, and she briefly pondered what they must look like back in Middle Earth. Her mind came up with images of Granny panties, and she shuddered. No wonder he had seemed so perplexed.

She turned around to call Thranduil and let out a gasp, scrambling back like a startled cat. Her back hit the edge of the counter and she clutched at her chest, her frantically beating heart hammering beneath her palm. If the air hadn't left her lungs, she was sure she would have let out a strangled screech to make any battle-worn feline proud. Thranduil was standing mere inches from her, his one brow arched superciliously, though his face betrayed no other emotion - except maybe the flicker of amusement that flashed through his eyes.

"Did I startle you?" he asked in a tone that belied that he knew full well that he had, indeed, done so. Maybe it was what he had been aiming for.

"I need to get you some bells," Charlotte hissed. "It's unnerving how quiet you are."

"And where would the fun be in that if I could not sneak up on you?" he smirked.

Charlotte shook her head and turned to pick up the plates; one sandwich for her and the other three for Thranduil.

"Lunch is ready," she stated, handing Thranduil his plate and making her way to the table. She glanced up and watched as Thranduil lift the top layer of bread, his lip slowly curling back into that of distaste. Obviously sandwiches were not up to par with his high standards.

"Either you intend to starve me or poison me," he murmured, letting the bread limply fall back into place.

"I'm leaning towards poisoning. It's quicker," she retorted before taking a bite of her sandwich.

Thranduil's eyes flickered to her and a smile graced his features, noting that she was still annoyed at him.

"I think you may succeed where others have failed, little one," he stated as he came to sit next to her. "You are by far surpassing my initial assessment of your culinary skills, which is saying a lot."

Charlotte shot him a withering glare, which he pointedly ignored.

Charlotte carefully placed the empty wine bottles in a bag, noting that there were seven in total. She eyed Thranduil, who was currently throwing his cloak over his shoulders and diligently trying to fasten it.

"You've gone through seven bottles of wine in less than a week," she expressed.

"Yes, and I'm currently working through the eighth bottle," he replied distractedly, still fiddling with the clasp.

Charlotte shook her head and came to stand before him, reaching up and lightly swatting his hands away. Thranduil raised a brow, but dropped his hands to his side and graciously allowed her assistance. Not that she was giving him much choice.

He gazed down at the diminutive human with her head of unruly tresses, and noted with fascination the way her brows furrowed and her nose crinkled slightly as she concentrated on the task at hand. Thranduil found himself being drawn to the light that was purely Charlotte and he watched her with molten intensity, his eyes memorising every aspect of her face.

"But...you never seem to be drunk," she mused, finally fastening the blasted clasp. Her eyes flickered upwards and Charlotte stilled when she noted that he was staring at her with a darkened gaze, like a predator would its prey. She swallowed and took a step back.

"I have a high constitution," he explained, folding his arms in front of him. "Though I would hardly call that wine."

"Any of those bottles would have a normal person drunk."

Thranduil ducked his head, his hair falling like silken sheets around his face, and a playful light danced in his hypnotic stare. "I am no human, Charlotte."

Charlotte rolled her eyes. "Yes, a fact I am painfully aware of, Thranduil," she retorted. "Your elfy ears give it away."

"Elfy ears?" he asked with a hint of incredulousness lacing his deep voice as Charlotte proceeded to shrug on her jacket and pull on her boots.

Charlotte tucked her thick hair under her white knit hat and turned her attention to him once more, grinning. "Yes, elfy ears."

Thranduil's gaze narrowed fractionally. "Well, then. All the better to hear you with, my dear."

Charlotte spluttered in surprise. "Really? Little Red Riding Hood? Where did you come across that?"

"Cartoon channel," he replied evenly. "Some shows, I might add, should never have been created."

Charlotte burst out laughing. "What show did you have the misfortune of watching?"

"Teletubbies." He visibly shuddered. "Such an abomination."

She doubled over in laughter. This was too much!

"If you're quite finished laughing at my expense, shall we proceed?"

Charlotte composed herself, though her cheeks were aching from the wide grin set firmly in place, and gave him a nod. She turned around and lifted the bag containing the bottles, startling when she felt warm fingers curl around her own. She glanced up in surprise when the Elven king proceeded to take the bag from her grasp. Well, at least they were still gentlemanly in Middle Earth, she thought to herself.

"Lead on," he said without elucidation.

Charlotte nodded and grabbed the box holding the guns from the counter before they made their way to the back yard. The lawn was carpeted in a light dusting of white snow and the trees, standing like sentient guards, stood tall and bare; their spindly branches reaching out as though begging for a reprieve from the cold. The air was still, with no hint of a breeze, but this did not deflect from the sense of barrenness that enveloped the landscape.

Up ahead, just on the outskirts of the woods, were a row of stumps; remnants of her father's compulsion to collect firewood. He had always stated that it was best to be prepared, especially out in the country, and firewood was one of the things he considered a necessity. All the logs he had procured were currently stacked in neat piles in a little shed off to the side.

Charlotte retrieved the bag from Thranduil and went to place a bottle on each of the logs. As she made her way back to him, Thranduil noted the determination set on her face, especially when she opened the box and took out the two guns. A growing sense of trepidation unfurled within him as he watched Charlotte press a small button on the side of one of the guns and the bottom chamber released. She then pulled it out and loaded the bullets in the magazine before slotting it back with a click. It was now plainly obvious that Charlotte knew how to handle this weapon well, and Thranduil didn't quite know how to feel about this.

Granted, the elves that made up his Royal Guard were both male and female, and he did not begrudge an elleth learning the art of fighting; after all, it was a lifesaving and practical skill. But seeing Charlotte with this...distasteful weapon clutched in her small hands unnerved him. In his eyes, she was innocent. Not a woman who should know what it feels like to have hot blood spilled on her hands - not that he actually thought Charlotte had ever taken a life. No, she was untainted, and a protective part of him wanted nothing more than to shelter her from such a fate.

"Oh, before we begin, you're going to need these," Charlotte said, reaching into her jacket pocket and producing four bright yellow little tube things. "Ear Plugs," she explained at his confused glance.

Thranduil's cold gaze flickered down at the ear plugs nestled in her palm. "Are they necessary?"

"Yes," she stated firmly. "Guns are really loud, Thranduil, and if what is written in the books is to be believed, then elven hearing is on par with that of a dog."

"Are you comparing me to a dog?"

Charlotte's lips curled into a mischievous smile. "Be a good boy and I might scratch your ears."

Thranduil lifted his hand to run his fingertip over the sensitive tip of his right ear - it was only the past couple of days that it had stopped throbbing. "Which reminds me, did you try to pull my ear off the day I arrived here?"

Charlotte flushed guiltily and quickly glanced away. She toed the powdery white snow with the tip of her boot and mumbled, "Maybe."

"Hmm, I thought so," he muttered. Payback was in order, he thought to himself.

"In my defense, I thought they were fake."

Thranduil remained unnervingly silent, his face an unreadable mask. Charlotte took a deep breath and tried to offer him the ear plugs once again.

"No, thanks," he said haughtily. "I prefer not to have any of my senses dulled."

"Are you sure?" A nervous look shadowed her face.

"I am. Now proceed," he replied curtly, tucking his hands behind his arrow-straight back.

Charlotte hesitated, but inserted her ear plugs and turned around to face the bottle targets. She took a deep breath and let it out, positioning her stance. On the next inhale she raised the gun with extended arms, sighting down the barrel; her focus narrowing and sharpening. She slowly let out the breath she was holding and fired.

The cacophonic bang echoed all around, though the sound was muffled by her ear plugs. The bottle shattered instantaneously and Charlotte lowered the gun, grinning proudly that she had hit it even after having missed a few years of practise.

She turned around to gloat to Thranduil and gaped openly at the sight before her. Thranduil had fallen back on his arse on the cold, hard ground and was utterly still, except for the rapid rise and fall of his chest. His eyes were exceptionally wide as they stared straight ahead, and there was no mistaking the alarm that swirled in those depths.

Charlotte immediately clicked on the safety and tucked the gun in the waistband of her pants at the small of her back. Slowly she inched towards Thranduil and crouched down beside him. His head immediately snapped in her direction and she held her hands up in placation in front of her to show that she no longer had the weapon in her hands.

"Hey, are you okay, Thranduil?" she asked soothingly, as though she were trying to calm a skittish animal.

Thranduil blinked slowly, as though in a daze, and shook his head a few times. He then rubbed at his ears, and Charlotte realised that they must be ringing quite spectacularly.

"Thranduil?" she asked again. She reached out and laid her hand on his shoulder, and had to blink back the hurt she felt when he recoiled at her touch. He stood swiftly, his movements fluid and pliant, though his stance, as he glared down at her, was rigid and radiating deep tension.

Charlotte stood as well and stared back at the Elven king with caution. There was no doubt in her mind that he was angry. And the way his eyes bore into hers, it seemed that his anger was directed at her.

"How can you feel so comfortable handling such a destructive weapon?" Thranduil hissed.

Charlotte gulped as she faced the onslaught of his wrath, and stood there mutely, unable to form a coherent word.

Thranduil's glare became hard and icy. "From what I have seen of your world, you humans are nothing but destructive. You lack all morals and you clearly hold no value to the sanctity of life. It is so easy for you to pull the trigger and kill innocents without any remorse or a second thought!"

Thranduil paused, his luminous face becoming the very picture of an oncoming storm. "I had thought you different Charlotte, but clearly I was mistaken. You are no better than the rest of your race if you can be so comfortable around the violence and destruction that the weapon in your hand wields."

"That's not fair, Thranduil. You don't understand..." she tried to protest.

"Oh, I understand perfectly. Do not think I have been idle, Charlotte. I have watched the news on the T.V and I have seen all the wars being waged in your world. You humans are so quick to kill. So quick to slaughter your own kind."

Anger started to curl around her heart like a poisonous creeping vine. "How dare you compare me to some cold-hearted killer, Thranduil! You know perfectly well that I procured the guns so that I could protect us from Eric! Because you can bet your sweet ass that Eric will have guns of his own. And he will not hesitate to use them."

Thranduil's electric blue eyes narrowed into dangerous slits, but Charlotte barrelled on. "And how can you judge? You have killed plenty."

Thranduil was instantly in front of her, bent at the waist so that his face was at eye level with hers. "Yes, I have killed," he spat. "But I have never slaughtered my own kind. The blood I have on my hands is that of the dark and foul enemy."

Thranduil snapped his spine straight and took a step back. When he spoke again his voice was low and calm, which made him even scarier than before. "This world and all its inhabitants are like nothing I have encountered before. So much bloodshed and destruction at every turn." His eyes bore into her when he spoke again. "And you have proven that you are no different!"

Tears welled in her eyes at this cutting accusation. She wanted to shout back, fight back, but all words eluded her; so stunned was she at this personal attack.

Thranduil threw her a look of disgust before storming off, his cloak billowing around him like the dark storm that was brewing within. Charlotte watched helplessly as he disappeared like a phantom into the woods, and she hung her head, her heart aching at something that had been broken between them. How had things gone so horribly wrong?

Charlotte took a shuddering breath. What the hell had just happened? His outburst made no sense at all...or did it? With a dawning realisation, Charlotte had to conclude that this had been the straw that had broken the camel's back. Thranduil had worked exceedingly hard to keep it together since his arrival here, and had bottled up all his resentment, anger, fear and distress. But now it had all reached a boiling point. And she had, unfortunately, been in the line of fire. But that gave him no excuse to treat her the way he just did, she fumed. Charlotte clenched her jaw and grabbed the box holding the guns before storming back into the house, slamming the door shut behind her with more force than necessary.

Charlotte placed the gun that was in her waistband back in the box and leaned against the counter, breathing hard and her temper threatening to bubble over. If she didn't do something now to dissipate the anger, she was going to let it fester until she lashed out.

She marched over to the stereo in the living room and cranked the music at high volume, deciding now would be a good time as any to tackle some cleaning. Hopefully it would help work off some of her frustration.

Two hours later the house was clean. Well, cleaner than normal. Charlotte had decided to leave Thranduil's room for last, and was unsurprised to find it pristine looking when she entered. The bed was made and dirty clothes were in the hamper. There was not even a stray sock lying on the floor. Clean freak, she thought. She was about to turn away, when a familiar sketchpad on the bedside table caught her eye. Charlotte picked it up and noted that it was one of her old sketchpads from art class, way back in high school. Thranduil must have found it in one of the boxes down in the basement. Her mother had been notoriously sentimental and refused to throw away anything. Hence all the boxes downstairs.

Charlotte flipped over the cover and smiled amusedly at her failed attempt at drawing a rose. She flipped the next page, and her body stilled when she saw that the rose had been replicated, but more artfully and perfect looking. This was not her handiwork, so that must mean...Thranduil. Charlotte turned to the next page, and her heart skipped a beat when she saw a picture of Legolas. His profile was half turned away, staring into the distant horizon, and a peaceful smile graced his lips. Thranduil had sketched him in such a way that Legolas seemed almost life-like, that if she just reached out she would be able to touch him. The detail was exceptional and done by a skilled and loving hand.

Charlotte flipped through the pages: pictures of the front doors to Mirkwood, Thranduil's elk, another picture of Legolas stringing his bow, and then her breath hitched when she came across an unfinished sketch. All that had been drawn were a pair of bright eyes framed by thick, dark lashes, and a set of full lips with the corners turned upwards in a soft smile. There was no mistaking that this was clearly meant to be a female. Was this his wife? Charlotte snapped the sketchpad shut and placed it back on the side table. She did not want to admit it, but a pang of jealousy had pierced right through her at that last sketch. The worst part was, there was no way she could compete, especially not with the perfection of an elf. Nor could she compete with a memory.

Charlotte numbly made her way to the living room and stood there for a few moments, contemplating what to do. She needed something to occupy her mind and lift her spirits, and decided a different tune was needed.

She went over to the stereo and changed the radio station, grinning when the song Somebody to Love by Queen came on. Soon she was dancing to the tune, bopping to the beat and becoming lost in the moment. She twirled around and suddenly bumped into a hard and broad chest that belonged to none other than Thranduil. She slowly lifted her gaze and blinked with the realisation that all the anger from earlier had dissipated from his features, and a shadow of a smile was now playing on those perfectly shaped lips.

She opened her mouth to say something, but he wordlessly placed his hand on her waist, causing her breath to hitch, and took her other hand in his own. Before she knew it, Charlotte found herself being twirled around in a fast paced dance; Thranduil being the exceptional lead. A giggle bubbled from her lips before she could stop it, and Thranduil's smile widened, showing he was enjoying the moment just as much as her.

The song ended and Thranduil released his hold on her, giving an exaggerated bow. Charlotte laughed and slumped gracelessly on the sofa, all that dancing having exhausted her. Thranduil turned down the volume and came to sit on the armchair, reaching over and taking her hand in his own. His features were once again serious and sombre.

"I apologise for my earlier transgression, Charlotte. What I said was uncalled for."

Charlotte stared at him for a few moments, and finally said, "I know coming to this world hasn't been easy, Thranduil."

"No, it hasn't," he cut in. "There have been times where I have felt lost and, admittedly, frightened. But that is no excuse for taking my anger out on you, and I can't express how sorry I am."

Wow. Thranduil was actually apologising. He must be feeling pretty shitty with himself, she mused. She understood that it had taken a lot for Thranduil to come forward and apologise, but she had to know one thing.

"Did...did you mean all those things you said?"

"About you? No," he said, shaking his head. He gazed down at their entwined hands, his thumb rubbing idly against the back of her hand. "It was never about you."

Charlotte frowned, feeling a bit confused by his words. There was more, but he was just refusing to voice it.

"I'm sorry about the whole gun incident, as well. I should have thought that one through."

"Best we don't talk about that," he said, and Charlotte swore that the tips of his ears tinged pink. He was embarrassed. Charlotte contemplated teasing him about it, but it just felt cruel to mock him about something that had obviously scared him right out of his wits. So she let it be.

Instead, she deflected. "I didn't think elves could dance like that. I always imagined you lot as being an uptight and stuffy bunch, and dancing being for formal occasions."

Thranduil's eyes twinkled and a slow smile crept on his face. He leaned forward and said conspiratorially, "That's what we like the outsiders to believe. We enjoy having fun as much as the rest, and dancing is one of the best ways to have a good time."

Charlotte scoffed. "I highly doubt grand balls are much fun." She imagined stiff and choreographed dancing.

"No, those are quite tedious." Thranduil leaned back in his chair. "But there are festivals and parties that we partake in where there are different types of dancing, which are used to express an array of emotions: love, happiness, desire..."

"Desire?" Charlotte asked incredulously. She had always thought that elves were above such primitive feelings.

Thranduil gave her a knowing smirk, as though he were reading her thoughts. He cocked his head to the side, as though listening, and then stood up in a fluid motion and went over to the stereo to increase the volume. The song that had just started was Power of Love by Celine Dion. Charlotte raised a speculative brow at the king, wondering what exactly he was up to.

Thranduil closed the distance and extended his hand, his other tucked behind his back. "Dance with me?"

Charlotte blinked, taken aback by this change in subject, but wordlessly took his proffered hand and let him draw her to her feet. Thranduil placed his hand firmly on the small of her back, but this time it felt more sensual than before, especially as he drew her closer. Charlotte tentatively drew her arms up, positioning her hands on his shoulders, and as she gazed up at him, her heart starting to flutter wildly in her chest.

Thranduil slowly drew her closer even more, until their bodies were flush against each other, and slowly trailed his fingers up her arm and to her neck in a blazing trail, before burying his hand in her hair as he cupped the back of her head. Without warning, he dipped her back, swinging her in a slow arc, and as he bought her back up, Charlotte was intimately aware of the friction being created between their bodies as they conformed and moulded against each other. Johnny Castle, eat your heart out...

Charlotte let out a gasp as she felt his soft lips brush against her ear, his warm breath sending shivers coursing through her body.

"Desire, Charlotte," he murmured, his voice husky.

And suddenly Charlotte understood: Thranduil had just conveyed how desire could be shown in the form of dancing, and this had absolutely no bearing on what he actually felt towards her. She suddenly felt quite the fool, especially for believing that someone like Thranduil could desire her.

She flushed and glanced down, but his fingertips under her chin guided her gaze back to his. "Eyes on me, Charlotte." His molten gaze was direct and commanding, and within their depths swirled something else that that was too intense for her to comprehend. All Charlotte could do was helplessly obey.

Her eyes never strayed from his as they swayed to the melodious music, his hypnotic gaze pulling her further and further down the rabbit hole. Thankfully, Thranduil did not try another erotic move like that again. If he had, Charlotte was sure she would have combusted right on the spot.