"King Thranduil! What are you doing here?"

The look of horror on Erestor's face made wandering into the kitchens of Rivendell Palace well worth it. A plethora of delicious smells assaulted Thranduil's nostrils as well, and a team of elves and elf maids were scurrying around preparing the feast for the banquet tonight. Some were cooking -- chopping vegetables, plucking fowls, dicing herbs and baking breads, some were polishing silverware and glasses, and in one corner a serene-faced elfling was dipping candles into purple dye.

At Erestor's cry they all stopped and bowed respectfully to Thranduil, then went back to work. He was glad that they did not go through the entire series of proper gestures, as not only did it make him uncomfortable lately, but surely something would have caught fire on the stove.

Erestor had a thick sheaf of parchment in his hand and had been barking out orders until he spotted Thranduil standing in the doorway. Glorfindel was also present, but he appeared to be lounging against the sink drinking a glass of wine and chatting up one of the young elves who was supposed to be shining the glassware. He looked up at the sound of Erestor's voice and squinted at the King of Mirkwood.

"And what are you wearing?" he added, in a mocking imitation of Erestor's tone. The question was, Thranduil knew, however, not meant as mockery but serious. He had not yet changed into one of the new outfits that a team of seamstresses was currently preparing for him.

"I came to make sure you were preparing the hummingbird stew, of course," Thranduil said airily. Erestor paled and began to stammer, which pleased Thranduil, though instead of showing his pleasure he simply arched a disapproving eyebrow and turned his attention to Glorfindel. "And I am wearing what I arrived in, of course. Do not have a fit, Glorfindel, I will change in time for the banquet tonight. Give the delightful young ladies you sent to wait on me time to cobble something together."

Glorfindel grinned. "Did you like them?"

"They did an awful lot of poking and prodding of my person."

"That is called 'taking measurements' -- quite necessary for new garments, I assure you," Glorfindel said. He held up his glass of wine in invitation and Thranduil nodded. The youth next to Glorfindel poured a glass for the king and brought it to him, bowing as he did. "I realize it must be quite some time since you acquired new clothing, but it is necessary once in a while."

Thranduil laughed and tasted the wine. It was red, cool and sweet on his tongue. He savored the first mouthful slowly, then licked his lips. When he looked up, he saw that Glorfindel was watching him, his head tilted slightly. He had always liked Glorfindel immensely and gotten along wonderfully with him, and once or twice wondered if Glorfindel's interest was more than casual. However, Thranduil had never experienced a bond with another male before and was not quite sure that he wanted to try out this bedroom sport which was so common among Elvenkind. Glorfindel had never pressed the issue during the few times that they had enjoyed each other's company. Thranduil supposed that being King of Mirkwood left making such a move in his court.

Maids Thranduil had tasted a-plenty, both in Imladris and at home in Mirkwood, though none had ever caught hold of his heart... and still, he could not deny the attraction he held for Glorfindel. The question was whether he might ever dare to act on it, or even if he truly wanted to. Suddenly Thranduil felt lonely. He glanced at Erestor and was startled to see the same emotion reflected back at him. So much could be read in the Chief Advisor's gaze. Loneliness and desire rode on a thick sea of irritation and impatience, both meant to mask what he really felt. Yet in that instant, Thranduil saw it. Erestor saw Glorfindel watching Thranduil, and he despised the king for it. Erestor wanted Glorfindel for himself, and from what Thranduil knew of him, he would never tell Glorfindel this.

He wondered idly if Glorfindel was aware of this situation, and if he simply just did not care for Erestor. Then again, they were so often together that many thought of them as one unit. Intrigued and slightly torn by this knowledge which had been revealed to him unbidden, Thranduil turned away and strolled over to one of the large stoves where the cooking was being done. He picked up a spoon and tasted the contents of one pot.

"This is wonderful, but you might try a little more rosemary... and a pinch of-- here, this. Now you taste it."

"Very good, Your Majesty," the elf replied, his eyes widening slightly. Thranduil nodded, satisfied that the compliment was genuine and not automatic. "You have a talent for cooking."

"He cooks?" Erestor was astounded.

"I imagine that King Thranduil has any number of talents," Glorfindel said.

Thranduil felt his breath catch in his throat, and shook his head slightly. He had to recall the reason he truly had come down to the kitchens -- irritating Erestor was merely a bonus. He turned around and smiled enticingly at the both of them.

"Oh, you are quite right, Glorfindel, and I shall hope to demonstrate them all to you during my stay in Imladris."

Erestor made a strangled noise and his ears turned red. "King Thranduil," he said in a strained tone, "As much as I would enjoy allowing you to assist in the preparation of this banquet, I am afraid it simply would not be proper to set a guest to work. Since I am also certain that you would like to bathe before dinner--"

"I generally bathe after dinner."

"But you stink of horse," Glorfindel said. Thranduil frowned at him. Erestor moaned slightly in his dismay. "Surely you do not wish to ruin your new garments the first time you put them on. I shall be more than delighted to show you to the bathing chamber."

"Thank you, Lord Glorfindel," Erestor whispered.

Apparently getting Thranduil out of his kitchen was more important than worrying about the War Councilor insulting the King of Mirkwood. Thranduil turned away from Glorfindel back towards Erestor, but had to quickly sidestep an elf who was hurrying past with an armload of cabbage. The wine in his glass splashed up in a red arc and soaked the front of Erestor's robe. Glorfindel immediately began to snicker. Thranduil debated whether he was meant to apologize or if that would be too much for Erestor to handle.

"My robe," Erestor muttered, lifting up the wet area in dismay.

"At least it will not show on black! Let us go," Glorfindel said, plucking the glass out of Thranduil's hand and pressing it into the shocked Erestor's grasp. He put an arm around Thranduil and began to urge him out of the kitchen. As he had come to the kitchen in search of Glorfindel anyway, Thranduil let him guide him away.

In the sanctity of the empty hallway, Thranduil felt more at ease. Glorfindel let out a loud laugh, followed by a snort, which made Thranduil laugh in turn. Within moments the two of them were weak against the walls. Finally Thranduil wiped the tears of mirth from his face and grinned at the War Councilor.

"Do I really stink of horse?"

Glorfindel looked slightly alarmed, but then he grinned. "How many days have you been riding?"

"Clever elf, to answer a question with the same. Never mind, on your advice I will be sure to bathe before the banquet, but first I desire council with you. Will you not come and speak with me for awhile?"

"Of course I will," Glorfindel said, serious once more. "If you like, we can speak while we bathe."

Thranduil wondered if he trusted himself to bathe with Glorfindel, the way he was feeling just now. It would be too easy to let a bath progress into something more. This was not the time to allow such a thing to happen, not after the knowledge he had accidentally gleaned from Erestor... and not with what Elrond had told him.

"Can we simply not walk and talk together somewhere in privacy? I fear bathing with you might be distracting."

Glorfindel grinned. "I admit that I should terribly like to distract you, but I will not deny you whatever you need of me... talk or otherwise. Come, we shall stroll in the gardens. Even with the snow on the ground they are lovely."

He was probably right, but at the moment Thranduil's mind was too full of more pressing matters to admire the glittering sweep of white laid over the dormant flower beds. Glorfindel led him out onto a terrace, then down several long flights of stairs towards the seemingly endless maze of Elrond's garden. It was littered with statues, fountains, stone benches, and obscure, hidden paths. Half of the Elflings in Imladris were probably conceived here, Thranduil thought.

Glorfindel said nothing as they walked, waiting politely for Thranduil to speak. For several minutes he found the silence refreshing, but he knew time was growing short and he must speak his mind before it was too late.

"Went you to meet the party from Lórien?" Thranduil asked at last, trying to keep a note of anxiety out of his tone.

"Yes, I did," Glorfindel replied cautiously.

"How many were there?"

"Only five."

"I trust Elrond is not disappointed so few came for his Winter Festival."

"Relieved, I should think," Glorfindel said, chuckling.

Thranduil nodded and drew in a deep breath. "And did Galadriel bring her daughter?"

"The Lady Celebrían. Yes, she did. And you should see what Celeborn brought -- a beautiful young elf no doubt meant to serve his pleasure. I feel sorry for the lad."

"Celeborn has never cared for me," Thranduil said, ignoring the gossip for the moment. He really did not care who Celeborn took to his bed. "I wonder that he should want me to marry his daughter. What is she like, Glorfindel?"

Glorfindel stopped so suddenly, his blue eyes widening as he turned to look at Thranduil, that he slipped on a patch of ice and had to grab the king's arm for support. "What?"

"Elrond told me this afternoon that this festival was arranged in part that I might see if I suit with Celebrían. Elrond thinks I need a wife."

Dismay and disappointment stamped the War Councilor's face. "You do not need a wife."

"Celebrían is not fair, then?"

"She is fair enough, for a maid, I suppose."

"Is she cruel, like her father?"

"I have never heard such. She is known to be sweet and kind, like her mother."

"I never thought before of choosing a bride. Had Oropher lived, he would have done it for me. And if Elrond thinks I should have one..."

"Elrond is not always right!"

"I have been lonely."

"You do not have to be."

"How does one tell, Glorfindel, if two elves will suit?" Thranduil asked, sighing.

"There is only one way," Glorfindel said with determination.

He wrapped his arms around Thranduil suddenly and kissed him. The War Councilor's hard mouth pressed demandingly against Thranduil's. The King of Mirkwood opened his mouth, allowing Glorfindel to taste his tongue. The kiss was pleasurable enough, but when Glorfindel finally let go, Thranduil was well aware that something had been missing from it.

"I see," he said softly, lifting fingers to his tender lips.

Glorfindel looked crestfallen. "We...do not suit."

"This does not lessen my affection for you."

"You are kind, Thranduil. Perhaps you will like Celebrían. I certainly do not wish loneliness upon you."

"Nor I upon you, my friend. Very well, I shall test your very clever method upon the maid and see if she is fit to match my passions and be my bride."

"Lucky thing," Glorfindel said, smiling coyly, but he seemed to have recovered his good nature. "Now if you turn and go back up this set of stairs to your left and follow the second floor corridor, you will come to the room which Elrond has without a doubt given the girl."

Thranduil clapped Glorfindel on the back and turned away, eager to lay eyes on Celebrían. Hang Elrond, Celeborn and anyone else who said it was improper for him to meet her smelling of horse and before the proper introduction at the banquet. He would know immediately if the maid suited him or if they were all wasting their time. If they were, he could change course and go on about getting roaring drunk.

Three steps up, Thranduil turned and looked back at Glorfindel, who was wistfully watching him go. He grinned. "Have you ever kissed Erestor in that fashion?" he asked almost idly.

"He would probably bash my head in with my own sword if I did," Glorfindel said, chuckling.

"I would not be so certain, if I were you," Thranduil said, and left the War Councilor looking slightly intrigued as he hurried off to find Celebrían's room.

Moments later Thranduil stood in front of a closed door, hoping it was the right one. He took a deep breath, thinking he must hear the sound of his pounding heart echoing through the marble hall. He wondered if she might be in there bathing, or dressing. Should he knock? No, he was the King of Mirkwood. He never knocked. Thranduil grasped the doorknob and pushed the door open.

The maid stood with her back to him, wrestling with a green dress. She was attempting to lace it on her own, and Thranduil caught a glimpse of the creamy skin of her back. She had a waterfall of long golden hair which was in disarray as she tossed it over one shoulder in an attempt to keep it from getting caught in the laces of the gown.

"Oh good, you are back. Can you help me with this, please?" she said in exasperation, clearly mistaking him for someone else.

Thranduil said nothing, but he grinned as he strode forward and easily laced up the back of the lovely gown. He knew well his way around women's clothing, even if the gowns the elves of Mirkwood wore were far less elaborate than this. Green. It reminded him of home. She must already be choosing her clothing to please him, for in Lórien they rarely wore anything but white, grey or silver. In fact, a white gown lay on the floor in front of the armoire. It must have been the one she came in. The armoire was open and contained a dozen equally lovely gowns. Thranduil frowned. It would have been nice if Elrond had prepared something for him in advance as well, rather than subjecting him to the rash of seamstresses he had been forced to put up with earlier.

Thranduil took a deep breath and caught the scent of horse. She had not bathed either? He chuckled, causing her to whirl around. The look of surprise on her face was priceless, for clearly she had not the least idea that the King of Mirkwood was lacing up her dress. She was lovely, with a perfect oval of a face and arched brows over large blue eyes. Thranduil felt a slight stirring as he admired her features. She opened her mouth to speak and reminded him of why he was there. Before she could utter a sound he put his hands on her cheeks and kissed her.

Oh, but it was different than kissing Glorfindel. In his mind, Thranduil heard bells ringing. Warmth flooded his body. He wrapped his arms around her as his tongue delved into her mouth. She did not fight him, but seemed to respond automatically, and he thought he heard her make a small purring sound in the back of her throat. He felt his body respond and knew if he did not stop, he would have her before dinner... or perhaps instead of dinner. Thranduil let the maid go and smiled at her warmly, his hands lingering at her waist.

"I think we suit nicely," he said.

"I agree," she replied rather breathlessly.

"Very well. I shall see you at dinner."

"All right," she replied.

Grinning like a lad, Thranduil turned and hurried out of the room. He had just enough time to bathe and change before the banquet, and now he was looking forward to it, to getting to know her. She was lovely and malleable, fine qualities in a bride, he thought self-assuredly as he strutted down the corridor. He would marry her, and take her back to Mirkwood. He wondered if she could sew. It did not matter if she could not cook, she was skilled in that department himself. She would make a fine queen. He would no longer be so lonely.

It never occurred to Thranduil that he had not asked the maiden if she was, indeed, the Lady Celebrían.