"Will you please slow down!"

Charlotte glanced at Thranduil out of the corner of her eye. He was currently clutching the armrest of the passenger seat with an iron clad grip, his knuckles ghostly white from the strain. Charlotte was starting to get worried that Thranduil might snap the armrests right off. His jaw was clenched, making his defined bone structure stand out, and his body was as rigid as a plank as he stared straight ahead with the wide-eyed terror of someone facing imminent death.

"I'm going well below the speed limit, Thranduil," she stated calmly, both hands gripping the steering wheel as they drove down the deserted road that stretched on for miles and miles. Charlotte had no destination in mind – she just wanted Thranduil to have the opportunity to get out and visually experience the world he had landed in. Though, all he was seeing right now was country side dusted in powdery snow.

"Then go slower," he ground out through clenched teeth.

Charlotte sighed in exasperation, but she eased her foot off the pedal. She glanced down at the dash and inwardly groaned: they were now only doing forty kilometers an hour! This was a snail's pace. She chanced a glance at the elf, but could discern no sign of him relaxing.

"You've faced countless battles that have been really vicious and gruesome, yet a simple ride in a car puts you on edge."

Thranduil's head snapped in her direction, his ice blue eyes narrowing and his dark brows drawing together so that they almost formed a single line. "That was entirely different. I knew the danger I was facing and thus had a certain amount of control."

The corner of Charlotte's mouth twitched up into a wry smile. "Ah, you like being in control. It all makes sense now. You, Mister, are a control freak!"

She could feel his gaze boring into her and she resisted the urge to look his way. Or squirm.

"Yes, Charlotte. Control is important. If one does not have control over a situation, one cannot prepare for all possible scenarios and outcomes. Sometimes, control is the only difference between life and death."

"Hmm...all I got out of that was that you think you're going to die in my car?"

"With your driving skills, I estimate the probability to be very high."

Charlotte resisted the urge to flip him the middle finger. Instead, she mentally counted to ten and let out a breath. "So what about your elk? I can imagine it's quite hard controlling an animal like that."

"My elk was obedient to a fault and I knew I could trust him to deliver me safely to my destination. How you can place such irrevocable trust in something as unnatural as...this is beyond me," he stated condescendingly.

"Hey! Don't diss my car! It has passed numerous safety standards," she retorted.

"It is only safe as the one who drives it. And you, dear Charlotte, are far from safe."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked, annoyance flaring at his words. "I'm an excellent driver."

Thranduil pressed his lips together in a thin line and slowly turned his gaze back to the straight stretch of road ahead of them, letting his silence be the only answer to her question. His thoughts drifted to their earlier interaction at the lake. He was not one for familiarity, especially with humans. So why had he let Charlotte in so easily? He had shared his fëa with her, something he would never consider doing with anyone else. So why had he done so with her? Thranduil puzzled over this, and decided that he would need to maintain a respectable distance from this little human. If not, he was sure the outcome would not be very good...

Charlotte, sensing the shift in his demeanor, decided to turn on the radio to try and ease the uptight Elven King. Rock music blared through the speakers and Thranduil instantly covered his pointed ears with his elegant hands, his lips curled in obvious revulsion.

"Turn that retched noise off this instant!" he snarled.

"Okay, okay. Keep your panties on, you pointy-eared princess," she grumbled as she flipped through the stations and finally landed on a classical music radio station. The melodious tones of the piano filtered through the interior of the car and Thranduil lowered his hands, closing his eyes and resting his head against the headrest.

"Better?" she asked as she turned her attention once more to the road.

"Much," he murmured, though his hands hand resumed their painfully tight grip on the armrests. Then his eyes snapped open and he glared at her. "You just called me a pointy-eared princess!" This came out sounding very much the accusation it was meant to be.

Charlotte schooled her features as best she could. "Did I?" she asked innocently.

Thranduil glared at her a moment longer before resuming listening to the harmonious music. He closed his eyes once more, and said quietly, though loud enough for her to hear, "And I'm not wearing panties...and I absolutely refuse to wear the underwear you bought me."

Charlotte let out a scandalised gasp and Thranduil smiled to himself, thoroughly pleased with her reaction - which was what he had been aiming for. He didn't need to look at her to know that she was blushing furiously at his statement. Truth was, he found the briefs quite comfortable, but he was not about to divulge this bit of information to her. Let her squirm a bit in her embarrassment. She deserves it for that remark...

By the time they arrived home, dusk was imminent; the afternoon sky darkening as it prepared for the oncoming twilight hour. Charlotte despised this time of year and longed for the sweltering heat of summer, where the days stretched endlessly in sunlight and were filled with barbeques and days at the pool or beach. November was fast approaching and with it came the longer nights, accompanied by the bone chilling cold that seemed never-ending and relentless in its assault.

Charlotte pressed the button on the remote and the door to the garage slowly opened, allowing them entrance. She was infinitely grateful that her dad had installed it years prior; it was something that made everyday life so much easier. The interior of the garage was dimly lit by the single light bulb hanging from the rafters, illuminating all the various tools stashed on the shelves that lined the back wall. There was a single work bench in the corner, unused and probably would never see another project laid on its rough wooden surface ever again.

As soon as the car was parked and Charlotte had killed the engine, Thranduil was instantly out, shutting the door firmly behind him.

"Never again," he warned, his voice sharp and his eyes glinting with their abject refusal.

Charlotte smirked. "Finally, something the mighty King Thranduil is afraid of."

"I am afraid of many things, Charlotte. It is not a lack of fear that makes someone brave, but rather the ability to face that fear."

"And yet you refuse to do it again," she pointed out as she made her way to the door that led to the kitchen, Thranduil following close behind her.

"That's because I am no fool, either."

They stepped inside and Charlotte made a beeline for the kettle. Thranduil shrugged off his jacket with all the elegance of his kind and hung it on the coat rack beside his beloved cloak.

He turned and studied the diminutive female who was currently preparing two mugs of the hot beverage, and noted that she was still wearing her jacket. The interior of this house did seem rather chilly, especially for his companion. Thranduil barely noticed it, priding himself in being almost impervious to the outer elements. But Charlotte was not built like him.

Snatching his cloak off the hook, Thranduil strode forward with purpose and draped it over her hunched shoulders before stepping back. Charlotte gave him a grateful smile and Thranduil was about to respond in kind when he remembered his resolve to keep boundaries with this one. It would not do to get too familiar with her, especially when he did not plan to stay here long. And she was human, a mortal, after all...

Charlotte's smile faltered when she noted his stony, expressionless face and she turned back to prepare the tea, silently handing him his mug before heading to the living room. She shrugged off the cloak and her jacket and draped them over the back of the armchair before going over to the desk in the corner. Charlotte fired up her laptop as she sat down on the computer chair, taking a sip from her mug.

"I'm going to order some supper," she said in an attempt to fill the silence that now permeated the house. She sensed Thranduil entering the room and she wondered briefly if he was still angry about her earlier comment. Or rather, insult? Was that the reason he was suddenly being so aloof? "How does Chinese sound?"

"Order what you will. I'll suffer through it like all the rest," he commented drily as he placed his own tea on the coffee table.

"I should get you some spicy curry. You don't know what suffering is like until you've ingested that!" Charlotte muttered darkly as she scrolled through the chosen website, selecting various options of food.

Thranduil shot her an amused smile as he paced around the room, studying the various framed photos that hung on the wall. There was one of a chubby smiling baby ensconced in a frilly pink dress, and Thranduil blinked in surprise when he realised that this was Charlotte as a baby. His eyes wandered over the few other portraits, some showing Charlotte at various ages, and then he came upon one with her sitting on a chair, flanked on either side by an older couple. Charlotte was younger here, her brunette hair much longer and hanging in lustrous waves down her back. Thranduil cocked his head to the side, intrigued by the innocence and pure joy radiating from her youthful face, her eyes dancing with an inner light. Quite the contrast to the present version. Her father was of average height with thinning dark hair a pair of spectacles perched on the bridge of his narrow nose. Her mother was an older looking version of Charlotte, though her hair was much shorter and styled in a tight updo. They beamed with equal exuberance as their daughter, and there was no doubt that this had been a tight-knit and happy family.

Thranduil glanced back at Charlotte, but she was too intent on what she looking at on that piece of technology to pay him much attention. Curiosity got the better of him and Thranduil strolled over to her, bending at the waist to peer over shoulder as she clicked and selected certain items.

"What is this?" he asked, his eyes glued to the screen.

"A computer," she replied absently.

Thranduil angled his head so that he was now peering at her, his hair falling around him and framing his face like a sheer silken curtain. She slowly turned her attention away from the screen and returned his penetrating gaze. Time seemed to come to a standstill as both locked gazes: ice blue peering into warm hazel. Charlotte was the first to blink and glance away, a delicious pink creeping onto those pale cheeks.

"And what does a computer do?" he enquired. He straightened up, his grand height towering over her slouched form.

"Let me finish this order quickly," she mumbled. Finally, she made a final click and exited the website before swivelling in her chair to give him her attention. "Bring a chair and I'll show you."

The next hour was spent with her showing Thranduil a few things that could be done on a computer. His interest was piqued when Charlotte introduced him to Google and all the information he could search for. Thranduil followed with rapt attention, his eyes not missing a single click of her mouse.

The doorbell rang and Charlotte vacated her seat as she went to pay for their meal, soon returning with bags that held their food. She paused before she entered the kitchen, a small smile gracing her lips when she saw Thranduil seated on her chair and scrolling through some site he had found. He really is a fast learner, she mused to herself. Charlotte went to the kitchen and started unpacking the containers, the aroma of Chinese food wafting through the air and making her empty belly growl in anticipation. She set the table and then made her way to the living room.

"Thranduil, do you want to come and eat?"

Thranduil was wide-eyed as his eyes flickered back and forth as he read something on the screen. He slowly turned that unnatural gaze upon her.

"What is this?" he asked, pointing a perfectly polished finger at the screen.

Charlotte frowned and came over, leaning forward to read whatever he was looking at a bit better. She ignored the feel of her arm brushing against his shoulder, though she could not ignore the way her heart sped up at the completely innocent touch. Thranduil, for his part, seemed completely unaffected.

Her eyes widened as she realised what she was reading and she hastily straightened.

"Why are there stories about me?" Thranduil enquired, a dark brow raised questioningly. "All of them very inaccurate, I might add."

Charlotte bit her bottom lip. Oh boy! How to explain this to him? "You've, uh, found a fanfiction site, Thranduil. A place where people write about their favorite characters. How did you find it?"

"I typed my name in and this is what came up. So you're telling me that there are fictional stories about me written here."

"Um...kinda. There are millions of stories with many, many different characters. Not just you."

"And is this normal?" he asked, his face a perfect mask as he jabbed his finger against one of the paragraphs on the screen.

Charlotte leaned forward once more to read. Her throat went suddenly dry and she found that she could not meet his gaze as heat blazed all the way to the roots of her hair. Thranduil had stumbled on a very explicit fanfiction of himself.

"Uh...I..." Charlotte cringed at her awkwardness and embarrassment as she stepped back nervously, suddenly not wanting to be so close to him. Of all the things that Thranduil could have discovered, it had to be this!

"Have you ever read any of these?" he pressed.

"A...few," she admitted, her cheeks hot with her shame.

"About me?"

Charlotte's head snapped up and she saw the cheeky and all too smug smile on that gorgeous face of his.

"No!"

Thranduil raised a brow, showing that he did not believe her. "Of who then?" he challenged.

Oh God! Was he really going to make her say it?

"I'm not telling you," she snapped, desperate to retreat to the kitchen.

His eyes twinkled with mischief as he grinned at her discomfort, his dimples showing plainly. "It was of me, wasn't it?"

Charlotte narrowed her eyes. Thranduil was being quite conceited and she wanted to wipe that smug look right off his face.

"Actually, it was of Legolas!" she stated firmly, leaving no doubt that she was telling the truth. His reaction was satisfying to say the least. The smile instantly vanished and his eyes narrowed dangerously, but not before she caught the flash of hurt that passed through those simmering depths.

Charlotte turned on her heel and marched to the kitchen, calling over her shoulder, "Dinner is ready!"

To say dinner was awkward was an understatement. Thranduil was bristling as he sat opposite her, barely looking at Charlotte as he studiously at his sweet and sour chicken balls and rice.

"Are you sulking?" she finally asked, unable to bear the hostility that seemed to hang between them like a thick, impenetrable cloud. She laid down her fork on her plate, deciding enough was enough. "Look, I'm sorry. You were making fun at me and I lashed out."

Thranduil slowly lifted his gaze to stare at her, his face an achingly neutral mask. "Is it true what you said about my son?"

Charlotte let out a deep sigh. "No. Well, I mean I used to read fanfiction of him when I was younger, but that phase has long since passed." Thranduil said nothing, so Charlotte continued. "It was wrong of me to say that, and I apologise profusely for it."

Thranduil seemed mollified and lifted his glass of water to his lips, taking a small sip. Placing his glass down, he returned his attention back to her. "Apology accepted."

Charlotte narrowed her eyes at the haughty tone. "And?"

"And what?" he asked, perplexed.

"You owe me an apology as well."

"Whatever for?"

"For trying to embarrass me."

His eyes crinkled as he flashed her a smile. "Ah, but it is so wonderful to see you blush, little one."

Charlotte rubbed her forehead. "Something tells me that you get sadistic pleasure out of my mortification."

"You would be correct in that assessment."

Charlotte shook her head, though a smile tugged at her lips. Who would have guessed that the Mighty Thranduil was capable of such childish delight?

"Oh," she said, pushing back her chair to stand. "I got you something yesterday, but I forgot all about it." Charlotte made her way to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of chilled wine.

Thranduil's eyes instantly alighted with unrestrained joy. Charlotte grinned at this undisguised (and rare) emotion and proceeded to uncork it before taking the bottle to him, along with a crystal wine glass that was part of her mother's collection.

"Is it any good?" he asked, taking the glass and bottle from her proffered hand, pouring a generous amount of the red liquid into the glimmering glass.

"I don't know. I was not much of a drinker before..." She stopped and shook her head to dispel the memory.

Thranduil took a sip of the (in his opinion) lacklustre wine, his eyes never leaving hers. "What is your aversion to drinking, Charlotte?"

Charlotte sat down and prodded her noodles with her fork. Finally she met his gaze. "It's not so much an aversion, but I haven't been able to stomach a drink since...my parents were killed by a drunk driver."

Thranduil tilted his head to the side, his penetrating gaze curiously studying her. It was obvious that her grief was still fresh and raw, and it was a monumental step that she was opening up to him. He placed his glass down gently on the wooden surface of the table.

"I am truly sorry, little one," he said, his voice soft and melodious.

Charlotte shook her head and hastily wiped at her eyes. She took in a deep breath and lifted her gaze to him, a watery smile planted on her face, but he saw through the façade.

"Sorry," she mumbled, glancing down at her uneaten food.

Thranduil reached over and took her smaller hand in his own. For some unknown reason, it seemed to pierce him right through his heart to see her clearly suffering, which bought out a surge of protectiveness and a desire to banish such pain from her soul.

"It's normal to grieve, Charlotte. Never be sorry for feeling the way you do," he assured, his thumb grazing idly over the back of her hand.

Charlotte's attention fluttered to their clasped hands, as did Thranduil's. He could not deny that he liked the way her hand fit perfectly in his. This has to stop, his voice of reason stated. Do not give hope where there is none to be had!

Then she met his eyes and Thranduil felt the very air leave his lungs at the swirl of profound emotions on display in that pretty face of hers, clear yet unreadable. Maybe he had it all wrong and it was the other way round: he should not chase after a hope that was not conceivable.

His ears pricked at a distant sound and Thranduil tore his gaze away to look in the direction of the living room.

"Someone is coming," he said, whipping his head back to look at Charlotte.

She blinked in confusion and then bolted out of her chair to head towards the living room window, leaving his hand feeling cold and empty. Thranduil followed with a more feline grace and came to stand beside her, his back straight and his hands clasped behind his back.

A car could be seen coming up the gravel driveway, the headlights cutting through the black night, and as it neared both Thranduil and Charlotte saw that it was a black SUV.

Charlotte's visibly stiffened beside him, causing Thranduil to glance at her in concern.

"Shit!" she cursed, her face going pale. "It's Eric."