Thranduil placed the last of the scrolls to the side and rubbed tiredly at his temples with his index and middle fingers as he leaned over the desk, a whisper of a weary sigh escaping him.

How he detested the tediousness of paperwork.

He glanced up at the window, noting that it was still early in the afternoon outside; the sun blazing brightly upon the horizon.

He rose from his seat with the grace of a feline and strode towards the window, his hands clasped behind his back as he let the scenery beyond capture his attention.

A knock on the door sounded, breaking the rare moment of peace and tranquility.

"Enter," he called out, already knowing who it would be.

Feren strode in, closing the door quietly behind him. The Captain inclined his head in greeting towards his King, though Thranduil still had his gaze resolutely trained on fields below and seemed to pay him no attention. Beyond the line of trees yonder were Charlotte and Hérion, currently hidden from view and no doubt causing each other much ire. This thought brought a shadow of a smirk to his face.

Finally, Thranduil turned around to face the other elf. "What news have you, Feren?"

"Thus far, Calenmiriel is merely observing Lady Charlotte. She was careful to stay out of sight while she watched our training session. She has made no attempt, that I am aware of, to approach Lady Charlotte and is, in fact, being quite discreet."

Thranduil gave a thoughtful nod. "Notify me immediately if anything should arise. In the meantime, continue to keep an eye on her."

Feren nodded his assent and then paused. Thranduil raised a brow, waiting patiently for the ellon to continue.

"I should also add that Lady Charlotte did catch a glimpse of Calenmiriel and attempted to go after her."

His other brow rose to join the other. "Did she now?" he murmured; his voice deceptively soft.

"Hérion forestalled her," Feren added hastily. "He managed to reason with her and dissuade her from any course of action."

If Thranduil was surprised by this, he showed no signs of it. "Thank you, Feren," he said in obvious dismissal.

When the door clicked silently behind the retreating Captain, Thranduil turned his attention once more to the piles of paperwork on his desk and his lip curled back with obvious disdain. He was in no mood to tackle them now.

Instead, he grabbed his cloak and flung it over his shoulders, leaving the room in a billowing hue of charcoal grey.

He met Galion in the passage leading to his chamber, and the ever-loyal elf bowed his head as his King approached.

"Inform Hérion, when next you see him, that I wish to speak with him in the morn," he instructed his butler, his tone clipped and brusque.

Galion never had time to respond as Thranduil swept past him like a roiling storm, his cloak flapping around his ankles, and he entered his room, making sure to close the doors firmly behind him.

Thranduil leaned against the cool wood of the doors and closed his eyes, breathing in deeply as weariness seeped into the marrow of his bones.

What are you up to, Calenmiriel? he thought to himself, not for the first time.

After a few moments he cracked open his eyes, staring with an unseeing gaze at the ceiling.

Calenmiriel, though ruthless with her words, was not known to be conscientiously callous, nor purposely cruel. The fact that she was rather keeping her distance and observing Charlotte from afar said as much. If she had wanted to attack Charlotte, she would have done so by now, if that was truly her intent. And he highly doubted that, otherwise he would have banished her without another thought.

But he could not tell if she was waiting, biding her time, for the opportune moment to strike with a well-prepared scathing remark that would hit its mark, especially with someone like Charlotte, who was unskilled with craftily twisted words?

Charlotte, though naïve, had proven that she could be courageous when the moment called for it, and he had no doubt she would hold her own and stand tall in the realm of elves when the time came. There was a fire burning within her that was almost beautiful, and breathtaking, to witness.

But she also lacked certain wisdom and foresight; two very important qualities needed to survive here in Middle Earth. Her impulsive nature was going to prove detrimental unless she could control and tame it.

Thranduil pushed away from the door and made his way to the bathroom. He stripped down and slid into the warm depths of water, letting it soothe away the tension from his body. He sighed gratefully, leaning his head back against the edge of the tub, closing his eyes as his thoughts circled round and round in an endless loop.

He could confront Calenmiriel and order her to desist in whatever she was doing, or whatever she planned to do, but the elleth had neither said nor done anything. Yet. He could banish her from the kingdom – he had done so to others before who had dared cross him. But, again, was it really warranted?

Then there was the fact that she was the beloved aunt to Legolas. Calenmiriel, for all her faults, had stepped in and had acted as a mother figure to the young elfling when he had needed her most. Thranduil knew he was indebted to her for her gentle and motherly guidance with regards to his son. Legolas would be devastated on his return to learn of her exile, and Thranduil knew his son would ever forgive him. Ever. There were some things that could never be forgiven, and this was one of them.

But he could not sit back either and wait for something to happen, either physically or verbally.

His fingertips trailed over the swirling, misty surface of the water, his mind delving deep into thought. A plan was needed, and there was no better strategist than Hérion. If anyone could look at this problem objectively and come up with a relatively sound solution or advice, it would be him.

Thranduil finished bathing and dried himself before donning a silken robe of midnight blue that was trimmed with quicksilver stitching.

He settled into the armchair, his elbow nestled on the armrest and his forefinger pressed against his temple as he stared thoughtfully into the dancing flames of the fire burning in the hearth.

Suddenly the door was flung open and Charlotte stormed in, looking thunderous and, admittedly, breathtaking in her temper. She was a force to be reckoned with when she was like this, and he loved this fiery side to her. Thranduil was just grateful that her temper was not directed at him at this moment, though.

Thranduil's gaze flickered past her, watching with concealed amusement as one of the guards shot him an apologetic look and hastily closed the door behind her, no doubt perturbed by the prospect of this woman having a temper to match their King.

His gaze was drawn to her once more and he stilled, his eyes widening as he truly took in her appearance.

"What...happened to your hair?" he asked. Rising from his seat, he closed the distance with slow and deliberate steps, almost as though he were approaching something that needed to be handled with caution.

Charlotte scowled at him, which only deepened when he raised his hand and plucked out one of the many twigs entangled in her wild looking hair.

She muttered, rather reluctantly and somewhat petulantly, "That blasted horse threw me into the bramble bushes."

Thranduil wanted to laugh, but at the same time he was also not impressed that Hérion had allowed this to happen. He would be having a stern word with the advisor in the morning.

Charlotte continued, her tone becoming more agitated and her eyes blazing, "And then he proceeded to find the only muddy puddle on that field and tossed me into that. I swear, he hates me."

"Who? Hérion or the horse?"

"My money is on the both of them," she muttered darkly before deflating considerably. "I'll admit that Hérion really did try his best to teach me, but every time I sat on Gilroc, he would try to buck me off at every opportunity. I think the 'Horse Whisperer's' abilities only extend as far as Hérion himself." Charlotte ran a soiled hand down her face and cringed as dried mud crumbled to the floor. She met his penetrating gaze with pitifully soulful eyes. When she spoke, her tone sounded dejected. "Horses, in general, hate me, Thranduil. I know you want me to learn how to ride them, but I don't think I can go through that again."

Thranduil studied her acutely, sensing the trepidation within her at the thought of having to go through that ordeal again. Elves had deep rooted connection with animals and the lands, but humans were different. They simply did not possess these qualities. True, there were some who could form an affectionate bond with their steads, but Charlotte would never be one of those. She was still skittish riding upon Tallagor - and that moose would protect her with his very life!

He knew that it would be best not to push her.

Drawing her into his arms, Thranduil murmured, "Very well. It was worth a try. Though it would seem that you and I are to share Tallagor from now on." As he spoke, he tried to ignore the sharp jabs of the pointed twigs pricking his cheek.

She let out a garbled noise, which he supposed was a suppressed chuckle. "I'll take Tallagor any day – gassiness and all!"

He smiled to himself and clasping her shoulders, he pulled away enough to look down at her. "Come, let's get you cleaned up before we head to dinner."

She pulled a face at the thought, her nose crinkling adorably. Even with her mud splattered face she was still the most beautiful woman in his eyes. And always would be.

"Can't we skip dinner? Please?" She looked up at him with wide, imploring eyes – the effect somewhat ruined by the halo of tangled and knotted hair, as well as the dried mud smeared on her face.

Thranduil shook his head. "As much as I would love to clean you up and then proceed to dirty you all over again in the most illicit way possible..." Her breath hitched at this statement and he grinned down slyly at her. "...it is important for us to keep up appearances and attend dinner every night where possible."

"No exceptions?" She trailed a finger slowly down the expanse of smooth, creamy chest that peeked out through his robe, and now it was his turn to lose his ability to breathe.

He snatched her hand in his own, stilling any further advancement. "Behave," he growled in a husky warning, "lest you make us late with your provocative teasing."

She flashed him a wide grin. "You started it."

Looking down at her, he was sorely tempted to cast aside all obligations and give in to her. It would be easy, so temptingly easy...

Thranduil shook the scandalous thought from his head and nudged her towards the bathroom before she could come up with another idea to break his crumbling resolve. The trick with Charlotte was to counter her quickly before she had time to react.

"Off with you before I change my mind. Shall I call Maerwen to assist you?"

She paused in the arched doorway, glancing over her shoulder with a meaningful look. "I would prefer it if you...helped me instead..." Not taking her eyes from him, she gripped the edge of her tunic and Thranduil watched with a suddenly dry mouth as she slowly pulled the dirtied garment over her head, letting it drop suggestively to the floor. Her hazel eyes blazed with meaningful intent before she sauntered into the confines of the bathroom.

Thranduil stood rooted to the spot like a marble statue, indecision warring within him.

"I am going to need your help with my hair, though," she sang out.

Thranduil groaned to himself, knowing full well the battle had already been lost. "Then we shall, indeed, be exceptionally late. Have you seen the state of your hair?" he replied, letting his tone become teasing.

"Oh shut up!" she muttered.

Thranduil chuckled to himself and then, as if of their own accord, his feet guided him to where he really wanted to go – the bathroom.

Charlotte hissed as Thranduil tugged another twig free from her hair. They were currently in the shallow end of the tub with Charlotte settled between his legs; her back to his front as he worked on the disaster that was her hair.

"For the first time since I have met you, I am quite thankful that your hair is not long. I'd be here all night otherwise."

Finally, the last bit of debris was extracted (much to his silent relief) and Thranduil then ordered her to tilt her head back so that he could wash her hair. A pleasurable sigh sounded from her as he lathered her hair with the elvish version of shampoo, his nimble fingers massaging her scalp and the scent of roses wafting through the air. Thranduil was suddenly struck with how intimate this moment felt, especially considering how innocent this simple act was. There was something endearing, and almost powerful, with the complete trust she had in him, and he could not deny that he enjoyed taking care of her, even with a small gesture such as this.

After her hair had been rinsed clean, Thranduil snaked his arm around her middle and pulled Charlotte snugly against him; heated skin pressed against heated skin. He slowly trailed kisses along her neck and jawline, his one hand splayed across her belly and holding her in place while the other came up to palm her breast. Charlotte let out a moan under his ministrations and she angled her head to give him better access. He smirked, noting that the pulse beating rapidly in her neck. Her body arched against his suggestively; a silent invitation.

His lips brushed against her earlobe, causing a shiver to course through her body.

"As much as I'd like to continue, it would be best to get ready before we are exceptionally late for dinner," he murmured.

Instead of the cry of indignation or the cutting remark he was expecting, Charlotte surprised him by turning nimbly in his arms, and after staring at him for a heartbeat, she wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. A knowing smile was playing on her lips, and a teasing light danced in her hazel eyes. He knew that look all too well.

Thranduil swallowed hard, his hands coming up of their own accord to settle upon the soft flesh of her waist.

"We can go to dinner..." she purred, "...but only if you dress me."

His dark brows shot up into his hairline. "A challenge?"

She gave a single, slow nod, pressing her lips together to stop herself from smiling.

Thranduil wanted to refuse. In fact, he should refuse. Not because he didn't want to, but rather because he knew that he would not succeed in holding onto his quickly crumbling resolve. There was only so much an ellon could endure, and he was no exception. Especially when it came to her.

He narrowed his eyes at her. "And you say that I play dirty."

She grinned this time, knowing full well that she had won this round, and closed the distance, brushing her lips against his; not demanding, but not chaste either. A challenge. A challenge he could either refuse or accept.

"I learn from the best. But if you don't think you can do it..."

Thranduil growled and captured her lips in a fierce and demanding kiss. Her lips would be swollen and bruised by the end of this session, but neither seemed to care at this moment. There was only a sense of urgency overtaking every shred of their common sense. Gripping her thighs, he rose from the water, carrying her out the tub as though she weighed nothing.

Not breaking from the kiss, he carried her to the bed, where he dumped her quite unceremoniously. Her gasp of surprise was swallowed up with his mouth instantly upon hers, his body weight pressing her into the soft bed. Soon their limbs became entangled, their hands clutching eagerly against slick flesh as they sought to devour each other.

Thranduil suddenly, and quite forcibly, pulled away from her, his breathing coming out hard and ragged. Then a wicked gleam flashed within the cerulean depths of his eyes. "In order to dress you, you'll need to be dried off first."

Charlotte blinked dazedly, trying to comprehend what he was suggesting, and gasped when his lips skimmed against the delicate base of her neck. Realization dawned on her that he had no intention of using a towel to dry her and was rather opting to use his mouth. This caused a wanton moan to escape her lips and she began to writhe beneath him.

She learned quite quickly that Thranduil was, indeed, the master of sensual torture; each nip, each suck, and each delicate kiss along her skin driving her more and more to insanity.

"Thranduil," she pleaded, her voice husky with need.

"Do not rush me," he chastised, his lips hovering over the rosy bud of her nipple. "You are quite wet, and I intend to do a thorough job with drying you."

She threw her head back against the pillow in frustration, and then cried out when his hot mouth enclosed over her nipple. Thranduil took his sweet time sucking and flicking his tongue over the taut bud, and when he bit down gently, she let out a cry of ecstasy, unsure how much more of this she could take. Thranduil released her nipple and after placing a gentle kiss upon it, moved on to the other, where he lavished the same amount of thorough attention.

By now, Charlotte was an incoherent, writhing mess, which she was sure was his intention. No matter how much she begged or pleaded, Thranduil would not rush with his task. A smug smirk was his only reply as he crept down lower and lower over her flaming and trembling body.

Ignoring her whimpers of protest at this torture, Thranduil kissed along her calves and then her thighs. But still he made no move to touch her, or kiss her where she really wanted and ached for him to.

The bastard was going to sensually torture her to her grave - she was sure of it! Why had she started this challenge in the first place?

Then his hands curled around her waist and before she knew it, she was being flipped over onto her stomach. Charlotte raised herself onto her elbows and glanced over her shoulder him, but he was instantly upon her, kissing her with ardent fervor. It was a bit difficult to kiss at this angle, but this position was proving to be sensual. She could feel the firm and hard outline of his impressive erection pressing between her thighs and she groaned into his mouth, unable to stop her body squirming as desire coursed through her.

She tried to rise to her hands and knees, but the flat of his palm against her back pushed her firmly back onto the bed.

"We are not done yet," he growled.

It took every ounce of restraint not to curse him as he started nipping and kissing along the flesh of her back, but Charlotte noted that he was not being as through as before.

It would seem that the great Elvenking was lacking his usual ironclad patience and willpower.

Lower and lower he went, drawing out moans and sighs from her lips, his hands firmly on her hips to halt any writhing on her part.

He paused when he reached the rounded swell of her bum, his fingers clutching at her hips digging painfully into the flesh. Then, with a forceful tug, he hoisted her to her hands and knees. Charlotte glanced over her shoulder and her breath caught when he met her gaze full on with intensity brewing in his own; smoldering promise and intent writ in those swirling and electrifying blue depths.

Time seemed to come to a standstill as neither were able to speak, let alone breathe.

Then slowly he glided his fingers to her opening, parting her folds, and she waited with bated breath when he lowered his head. An agonized cry that was intermingled with carnal pleasure broke free from her lips when his tongue licked slowly and deliberately along the sensitized opening of her core, and she clutched frantically at the blankets, bunching them into her fists as he continued to explore her.

It didn't take him long to crest her to her peak, the room now filled with the sounds of her cries and his hums of pleasure as her climax reached tipping point.

Finally, the dam wall broke and she screamed out his name as her orgasm tore through her, so violent that she was seeing stars. Thranduil chose that moment to position himself between her legs and then thrust into her with one stroke, filling her completely and making her cry out again at the sensation, as well as barely having recovered from the orgasm that was still quivering through her body.

The rhythm was almost brutal, both in force and speed, and Charlotte guessed that he had worked himself up just as much as he had her. She pushed back, meeting him thrust for thrust, and the tight coil low in her belly told her that she was once again close to breaking.

His fingers delved between her legs, stroking her clit and the last of her hold on sanity broke as she shattered into a million pieces.

When she finally came back to her senses it was to find they had both collapsed onto the bed, Thranduil's weight resting on her, his breathing hard and ragged in her ear.

With great effort, he rolled off her and drew her to his side. She snuggled against him, noting absently that his heart was racing like a herd of galloping horses against her ear.

After some time had passed and their breathing had calmed down, Thranduil spoke up, a bit huskily, "It's safe to say that you won the challenge."

"You don't sound disappointed," she pointed out drowsily.

Thranduil drew the blankets over them. "It was an impossible challenge; one I knew I had no chance of winning."

He could feel her smile against his chest. After a few moments, when she had made no retort, Thranduil glanced down to see her sleeping peacefully, molded securely against his side, and felt the usual wave of warmth that enveloped him every time he gazed at her.

He tucked a strand of hair away from her face tenderly and placed a kiss upon her forehead before drifting off himself; completely spent and sated.