"Quick! Hide me."

Aranhil glanced up, momentarily caught by surprise as Charlotte scampered into the kitchen, looking wild-eyed and her face slightly flushed.

He halted with his efforts of mixing the contents within the bowl tucked in the crook his arm, and a smile quirked on his lips. "What has Hérion done now?"

By now he had grown accustomed to Charlotte seeking refuge in his kitchen.

Charlotte leaned against the white-washed cupboard, breathing deeply through her nose, no doubt having high-tailed it here.

She gave Aranhil a pointed look, one that said plainly: need you ask?

The chef grinned widely, showing perfect white teeth. Then, shaking his head, he resumed mixing. "Let me wager a guess: Hérion had you working on your posture today?"

Charlotte pushed away from the cupboard and pointedly slumped down on the chair, resting her elbows on the surface of the table and cradled her head in her hands.

"My back is killing me. I thought once we had progressed past fine dining, the other stuff would be a piece of cake." She lifted her head, and Aranhil noted the tiredness etched on her features. "He's like a drill sergeant, Aranhil; merciless and relentless in his efforts to torture me. This whole week I've had to learn to sit properly, talk preposterously, and learn formal greetings and etiquette. I don't know how much more of this I can take," she groaned.

Aranhil, taking pity on the human who was fast becoming akin to a friend, placed his mixing bowl on the counter and came to sit opposite her, making sure to push a tray of cookies in her direction.

Charlotte perked up instantly. Taking a sugar cookie from the platter, Charlotte bit into it, the fine crumbs dusting the front of her dress, though she paid no heed.

"Which excuse did you use to escape today?" he enquired.

Glancing over his shoulder, Aranhil signaled to another maiden working close by to bring over some tea.

Charlotte chewed her mouthful and after swallowing, she gave him a conspiratorial look. "I told him that I needed to use the little girl's room."

Aranhil frowned at the unknown phrase.

"Restroom, privy, bathroom, toilet, lavatory. Take your pick," she explained with a wave of her hand.

"Ah," he said, now comprehending her meaning.

Yesterday her excuse had been that she had forgotten something in her room. The day before it had been that she urgently needed to pass on a message to Maerwen. Hérion was no fool – quite the opposite - and Aranhil greatly suspected that the royal advisor let Charlotte get away with her exploits simply to garner a break of his own.

A maiden with sky-blue eyes and chocolate brown hair tied back in intricate braids on the side approached their table with a tray of the requested tea and set it down on the tabletop with care.

"Oh, I could kiss you!" Charlotte enthused, reaching for her already prepared tea. "Thank you so much."

Charlotte was a regular visitor to the kitchen, and the rest of the kitchen staff had quickly learned her predilection of how she took her tea and what sweet treats she was particular to.

The maiden ducked her head, her cheeks tinged pink at such a proclamation, though a shy smile graced her youthful features. Charlotte's odd mannerisms still took some getting used to.

Charlotte cradled the cup between her hands, blowing on the hot liquid to cool it down. Taking a tentative sip, she gave an appreciative hum.

"Tonight, you dine in the Great Halls," Aranhil stated as the elleth discreetly went back to her tasks.

"Don't remind me. I'm nervous enough as it is."

At her words, Aranhil scrutinized Charlotte with keen observation. The corners of her eyes were pinched, and her pallor had taken on an unhealthy, almost sickly tinge. Taking a sip from his own cup, he watched as she stared unseeing into her cup of tea, her half-eaten cookie now forgotten on the tabletop. She was, indeed, anxious; verging on the cusp of outright panic.

"You will be fine, Lady Charlotte."

Charlotte glanced up at him and gave him a strained smile, one that did not reach her eyes and showed that she was not reassured in the least by his words.

"May I be so bold as to tell you something," he ventured, placing his cup down in front of him.

"We're friends, Aranhil. You don't have to ask if you want to tell me something."

Aranhil blinked, surprised at this bold and confident declaration, but he could not deny that he had fast come to view her as a friend.

Nodding to himself, he continued. "I'm under the impression that you seem to think that you will be met with resistance, and maybe even hostility, from all who inhabit the Woodland Realm."

Charlotte carefully placed her cup back on its saucer and chewed nervously on her bottom lip. "I was given that impression, yes." She glanced up at him, uncertain whether she should continue. "I heard that the elves of the Woodland Realm were more dangerous and less wise. I presumed that being a newcomer, and a human, would cause some amount of opposition."

Aranhil leaned back in his chair, folding his arms over his lean chest, and shook his head. "I concede that we were, at first, wary. But that guardedness has gradually shifted to curiosity."

Charlotte sighed. "You make it sound as though you speak for everyone."

A cheeky smile graced his features and showed his cute dimples. He unfolded his arms and leaned forward, giving her a challenging look.

"Look around you, my Lady."

Charlotte obeyed, slowly raking her gaze around the room. The other elves were working at their tasks, their movements fluid and relaxed. Many were openly talking to one another in their soft-spoken voices, smiles gracing their fine features as they chatted merrily to one another.

"Do you think they would be so relaxed around you if they truly viewed you as a threat?"

Charlotte startled and looked back at Aranhil. She then turned her attention back the kitchen staff, realizing that there was some truth to his observation.

"But surely me becoming Queen would cause some sort of friction within the kingdom."

"It would...if it had been thrust upon us without warning. I give King Thranduil credit for choosing to gradually introduce you to his subjects. It was a well-played and calculating move - one that is starting to pay off. We are seeing more and more of you each day and are coming to know you better."

Charlotte cast her mind to the week that had passed. In the mornings she had her lessons with Hérion, but the afternoons she was free to wander and roam the kingdom at her own discretion. In the beginning Maerwen had accompanied her like a shadow and had even introduced Charlotte to some of the elves. As she had grown more comfortable with her surroundings and life in the Woodland Realm, Maerwen's position by her side had now almost become non-existence.

Charlotte mulled over his words. Was Aranhil right? Had Thranduil effectively become a Chess Master, moving each piece in this game with calculating precision?

Aranhil continued. "Your public introduction to the kingdom tonight is not only necessary, but it will give the rest of the kingdom a chance to view and meet the woman who is proving to be a beacon."

Charlotte frowned. "Beacon?"

Aranhil nodded. "Yes. A beacon. We can all see plainly the positive change you have brought within our King."

Her frown deepened. "I think you give me far too much credit, Aranhil."

"I don't think I give you enough," he countered.

Charlotte shook her head, refuting his claims. She had done nothing. The only thing she was responsible for was falling in love with Thranduil. And he, in turn, had somehow fallen in love with her.

Her thoughts turned towards the feast to be held in the Grand Halls, where her grand introduction would be made. She suddenly felt queasy.

Aranhil reached over and gave her hand a reassuring pat.

"As for tonight, my suggestion would be drink lots of wine. That will settle your nerves."

Charlotte looked up sharply at him, noting the teasing light dancing in those cornflower blue eyes. She shook her head, chuckling. "You're a bad influence, Aranhil. You know that, right?"

Aranhil didn't dispute her claims, merely grinning widely back at her. Reaching for a cookie, he took a delicate bite and chewed thoughtfully.

Swallowing his mouthful, he continued good-naturedly. "And if all else fails and you make a spectacle, it shall prove to be a great source of entertainment...one that I will hopefully witness."

"Ah, but you won't – you'll be too busy cooking dinner here."

His grin broadened. "So you think."

Charlotte rolled her eyes at his antics. This was why she had sought Aranhil out – he had a knack for easing the tension from the day and settling her nerves with well-timed jokes. He often put a smile on her face with his humor and good nature.

Draining the last of her tea, she stood and dusted the crumbs from her dress. "Well, wish me luck." She was trying to come off as nonchalant, but there was still a certain amount of anxiety brewing within her.

Aranhil came to stand before her, placing a hand on her shoulder. His eyes twinkled merrily as he proclaimed, "When it comes to you, far more than luck is needed."

She pulled a face at him. "Encouraging, Aranhil. Very encouraging," she muttered as she turned to make her exit.

"I try," he replied. Charlotte shot him a grin before disappearing.

"She is scared, though she is trying to hide it," Alastegiel noted as she came to stand beside him. Aranhil glanced down at the elleth who had brought them their tea. She was a sweet-natured maiden with a pleasant and kindly disposition, and for her to voice her concerns out loud showed her worry.

"Yes, that she is," he mused thoughtfully, all humor leaving him.

"Is there naught we can do?"

Aranhil sighed. If he could help the Lady Charlotte with anything but advice, he would endeavor to do so.

"I'm afraid that it is now up to our King to guide her through this process." He gave her a confident smile, but inside he was just as anxious for Charlotte. But he had no doubt that Thranduil would be with her every step of the way. The King's love for this human was plain for all to see. And the more Aranhil came to know Charlotte, the more he could see why.

Charlotte sat front of the dresser, the gilded framed mirror reflecting back to her a woman whom she barely recognized. She was sickly pale, and her features were pinched as she desperately tried to hold it all together.

She tried to even out her breathing but was sure she was close to hyperventilating. Inside she was a quivering bundle of knotted nerves, and she doubted whether Aranhil's suggestion of a stiff drink would aid in calming them. Nothing would help prepare her for what she was sure was going to be a disastrous night.

Maerwen was currently fiddling with her hair, pinning the wild locks back into elegant braids, and every now and then she would let out an exasperated sigh as one escaped from its clip.

"By the Valar, why would you cut your hair so short?" she muttered.

Charlotte stared back at Maerwen's reflection. It was true that her hair was short by elvish standards, brushing the tops of her shoulders, and right now the length was proving to be a hinderance as the elleth tried to tame it into a respectable hairstyle.

"A moment of madness," Charlotte replied with a tight smile. Truth was, she was in no mood for carrying on a conversation. Her flight instinct was kicking in big time, and all she wanted to do was run away and find a safe place to hide.

Maerwen glanced up, her amber eyes meeting Charlotte's hazel. She remained silent, but Charlotte glimpsed the understanding that illuminated below the surface of her features. Maerwen turned her attention back to her impossible task, her pert nose crinkling ever so slightly as fierce determination now took over. She was going to make Charlotte's hair obey to her will if it was the last thing she did.

She'll be at it forever then, Charlotte mused to herself.

She let her gaze wander over to the ivory dress that now adorned her body, golden beading and stitching embroidered with expert hands into the flowing fabric, making it shimmer and glow when the light hit it a certain way. The long sleeves flared out at the wrists, blending in perfectly with the filmy skirt that fluttered like a lover's breath against her skin. Matching slippers graced her feet, so comfortable she barely knew she had them on.

Her heart sank. There was no way she was going to be able to meld into the shadows and disappear into obscurity, especially not wearing such an eye-catching dress that had been designed to draw attention. She briefly wondered if this had been Thranduil's intention.

Charlotte swallowed down the hard lump in her throat, willing herself not to throw up.

"Are you alright, my Lady," Maerwen asked kindly.

Charlotte gave a nod, and then hastily shook her head. No, she was far from alright.

Maerwen crouched by her side, taking her ice-cold hands in her own warm ones.

"I know this must not be easy for you, Lady Charlotte."

Charlotte gave a mirthless laugh, one that sounded choked to her own ears. "Quite the understatement, Maerwen."

Maerwen gave her a small smile, squeezing her hands in reassurance. "Just be yourself, my Lady."

"I don't want an uprising on my hands, Maerwen," she joked lamely.

Maerwen's eyes sparkled, but her features remained impassively unchanged. "You need not worry, Lady Charlotte. You have endearing qualities that I am sure the others will grow to appreciate in time, just as I have."

"I doubt whether I'm going to win them over so easily. Back in my world, it was very difficult for me to make friends." Charlotte swallowed down the lump. She was considered the recluse and as such, had not been included in the social circles at school or work.

"Have you thought that perhaps the qualities that your own kind frowned upon are maybe the qualities that elves value?"

Charlotte frowned at Maerwen, but only saw sincerity brewing in those warm amber depths. Was it possible that her characteristics would be valued here in the Woodland Realm? Somehow, she doubted it, but nonetheless appreciated Maerwen's efforts to cheer her up.

Charlotte let out a defeated sigh. "I'm terrified, Maerwen. I have never been good with crowds, and now I'm going to be placed in front of hundreds and I just pray that I don't throw up. Not to mention that I'll have to try and remember which blasted knife and fork to use."

She hung her head, fisting her hands into the material of her dress. She drew in a ragged breath, quite sure in her heart that she was not going to survive this night.

Maerwen did not reply, and Charlotte drew in another breath, willing her racing heart to slow down.

She startled when she felt a slender hand upon her shoulder, a gesture of comfort. She slowly raised her head, her eyes widening in surprise when it was not Maerwen she saw reflected in the mirror, but rather Thranduil. He shone like the stars themselves as he stood behind her, swathed in a glorious silver cloak that shimmered like sparkling diamonds. The color complimented the platinum of his hair and brought out the electric blue of his eyes, making his beauty that more dazzling.

She then noted that Maerwen had discreetly made her exit.

"Your unease is almost suffocating in its force," he remarked, though not unkindly.

Charlotte stared back at his reflection. "How is it that you are able to feel my emotions so easily, but I can only discern yours when you experience a very strong emotion?"

Thranduil came to kneel by her side, his cloak flaring around his crouched form. He raised a hand and trailed his fingertips lovingly against her cheek, his touch tender and warm. Charlotte leaned into the caress, her eyes fluttering closed as she felt a sense of calm wash over her.

"Bonding is not a natural occurrence amongst humans, Charlotte. With elves, bonding enables us to feel our bond mates' emotions as though it were our own. Because you are human, you are experiencing it on a much dimmer level than I."

Charlotte gave a nod of understanding, her brows furrowing together slightly as the warmth enveloping her increased in intensity, reassuring her that all would be fine.

"Are you channeling some calming vibes through our bond?" she asked.

Thranduil gave a hum of agreement, his hand clasping her own that rested on her lap.

Charlotte took another steadying breath, infinitely grateful for the calm he was channeling through their bond. Thranduil was a soothing balm to her nerves; her anchor as she weathered the stormy seas of doubt and anxiety.

"I made a promise that I would be there for you, little one. There are times when you need to be free to navigate through life here, but moments like these I shall always be by your side, holding your hand."

Thranduil raised her hand to his lips and laid a tender kiss upon the inside of her wrist, and then with the grace of a feline, he straightened up and helped Charlotte to her feet.

"You look beautiful, my love." His words were uttered with reverent honesty.

Charlotte still could not fathom how he could find her, a human, beautiful when he was surrounded by ellith that were infinitely more attractive than her.

His fingers under her chin gently guided her gaze upwards. "In my eyes you are the most beautiful of all, Charlotte. Do not ever doubt my love for you, for it burns brighter than the sun itself."

She gasped as a cascade of warmth and love blazed through their bond, conveying the truth of his words. Tears sprang to her eyes, for being loved in such a pure capacity was enough to steal the very air from her lungs.

Thranduil slowly ducked his head, his silver-white hair falling over his shoulders to frame his perfectly sculped features. His lips brushed against hers, so light that she almost thought she had imagined it.

"You are my life, Charlotte. My heart beats with yours." His lips pressed gently against hers, slowly and sensually kissing her with the same amount of reverence he had uttered.

Her eyes fluttered closed at the intensity of the moment and her hands came up to rest against his chest, feeling the sure and steady beat of his heart against her palm.

The kiss tapered off and she slowly opened her eyes to gaze up at him. "And my heart beats for you, my Everspring."

Thranduil arched a brow, taken aback. "Everspring?"

"It's a play on your name. Instead of being my vigorous spring, you shall be my eternal spring."

Thranduil studied her for a moment and then drew her against his chest, tucking her head under his chin.

"I like it," he mused thoughtfully. "Far better than 'Twinkle Toes'."

Charlotte chuckled against his chest. They stood there for a few moments, both contented just to hold each other.

Finally, Thranduil pulled back enough to look down at her. "I'm afraid that it is now time for us to make our way to the Grand Halls." He cupped her cheek, his thumb idly stroking the soft flesh. "If you need more time, we can delay for a while longer."

Charlotte breathed in deeply through her nose and steeled herself. If she was meant to be Queen, then she was going to have to act like one. And that meant facing her fears head on and holding herself to the standards that was expected of her.

Taking his hand in her owns, she met his gaze with resolve. "No. I think I am ready." She paused. "Just don't let me fall."

"Never," he stated without hesitation, and Charlotte knew in her heart that Thranduil hadn't just meant the literal sense. He would always catch her.

As they made their way to the Grand Halls, they were the picture of a united front. They weren't merely a couple – they were a team, and together they would navigate through all the trials and tribulations thrown their way.

Meanwhile...

Legolas sat on a log, staring at the red and orange flames of the fire crackling before him, the flames warding off the shadows constricting around him as the night wore on.

His mood was somber, his thoughts plagued by the events that had recently passed.

Watching Tauriel mourn Kili – a dwarf! – had brought forth the simple truth that his path was not meant to follow alongside hers. Not for the first time, he wondered what would become of her, and he knew deep down that her time in Middle Earth would soon draw to an end. There was naught to be done about it.

His musings drifted to the harrowing battle they had fought and won but would forever have a lasting impact on psyche. No one could be involved in such an event and not come out unscathed.

Which brought his reflections to his Ada. Something had been jarringly unsettling about his behavior when Legolas had last seen him. Thranduil had seemed as though he were barely hanging on by a thread, desperately trying to hold it together as he had bid him farewell. There had been a sense of desolation and utter heartbreak radiating from his very core and at the time he had assumed that it was because his Ada was mourning his departure. But the more Legolas dwelled on it, the more unsettled he became. It made no sense.

The sound of galloping hooves in the distance caught his attention and Legolas turned his head towards the direction from where the sound was coming from. His sharp gaze narrowed in on the darkness beyond, his hand hovering by the bow and quiver by his feet.

The sound was drawing nearer with a sense of purpose, and Legolas uncoiled himself from his position and stood swiftly, flinging the quiver over his shoulder. Drawing an arrow free, he notched it expertly in his bow and took stance, peering intently as he waited for whoever it was to make their appearance known.

The hooves slowed down.

"Who goes there?" Legolas called out.

There was a pause, and then the familiar voice of Nendir, the royal messenger, called out.

"Prince Legolas, it is I, Nendir. I come bearing an important message from your Ada."

Legolas relaxed and lowered his bow to his side, the arrow finding its place back in the quiver at his back. But another tension seized him as he wondered what his Ada wanted. Surely it was not to call him back home.

Soon Nendir materialized from the shadows and strode into the light encircling the small camp, leading his faithful grey speckled horse by the reins. Nendir was younger than Legolas and about a head shorter. His brown hair was flecked with strands of copper that dazzled in the firelight, and his chocolate brown eyes regarded Legolas with solemn respect.

Bowing his head in greeting, Nendir straightened and reached within his cloak, withdrawing a parchment bearing the King of the Woodland Realm's seal and handed it to Legolas.

Legolas took the proffered message, dreading what he might find within. Deciding it was no use delaying, he broke the wax seal and his eyes scanned the flowing script written on the parchment.

Legolas stilled, the very blood in his veins turning to ice as shock and disbelief washed over him.

By the Valar!...

He glanced up sharply at the messenger, who was regarding him with a mixture of apprehension.

"Is this true? Is my Ada to wed a human?" he asked.

Nendir shifted uncomfortably. "He has not made the announcement yet, my Prince, but his intentions towards the Lady Charlotte are quite clear."

Legolas blinked rapidly, not quite recalling another time where he had been reduced to dumbfoundedness.

Silence stretched as endless questions flooded his mind.

Finally, he spoke. "How did this happen? Has she bewitched him?"

Nendir seemed unsure as how to reply. "I do not think so, my Prince. She is but an ordinary human woman."

Legolas glanced back down at the parchment in disbelief. He skimmed through the rest of the message. His Ada had not ordered him back home, but rather he had encouraged Legolas to continue with his mission of finding the Ranger known as Strider and return home when he saw fit.

Thranduil had also enquired about his wellbeing and there was no doubt that he missed his son dearly.

But Legolas could not concentrate on these minor details. His mind was still reeling from the the news that his Ada was to take a new wife – a human at that – and nothing was known about her. Where did she hail from? When had all of this transpired?

Legolas turned his attention back to the messenger. "Tell me everything you know about her, Nendir."