You're Like Spring Turned into Winter

Summary: Thranduil helps Bard tend to his wounds the old fashioned way after the battle, and Bard falls a little bit in love with the Elvenking. Barduil.

-x-

"You're like spring turned into winter, with you there's no in-between,
Something's won't be meant to last, too much of a good thing.
Peaceful I stepped into your water, swam until I almost drowned,
Now I'm down to one more breath, I'm too deep to get out."
- Anastacia – Staring at the Sun

-x-

The battle was won. Dale was saved. Erebor belonged to the dwarves. The King under the Mountain was dead. Thorin Oakenshield's life was one of many lost on the battlefield that day. Orcs, men, elves, dwarves, even some women and children perished in the fight, standing alongside their men and fathers. Bard of Laketown felt blessed to hold his children in his arms again, pulling the three of them into his embrace the moment he found them, gripping them tightly and crying silent tears into their hair. They were safe; alive and well and here with him. The cries of joy as well as cries of sorrow echoed through Dale, met with the cries from the mountain, joining together in some twisted harmony. Bard couldn't bear to listen. He stood in companionable silence with his children until Tilda pulled her hand away from his coat and cried out loudly that he was bleeding, his blood coating the palm of her hand. He looked down and realised he was bleeding quite profusely from a wound to his side. Adrenaline still fuelled his body so he did not notice. Sigrid told him to go see the Elvenking, to which he nodded and sent them off to sit with the other women and children and get some hot food in their bellies. He moved slowly in the direction of the Elvenking's tent, his wound starting to sting. He entered the tent to see it empty, yet a jug of fresh water and golden basin sat on a nearby table. Bard hoped the king would not mind. The elves at the entrance did not stop him as he began to take off his coat, his chainmail and his tunic, dropping them to the fur lined floor. He looked down at himself, covered in scratches, nicks and the bloody gash just above his hip. It wasn't pretty, but it didn't hurt as much as it should. Not yet anyway. He stepped up to the basin, lifting the jug and pouring the water in, before he picked up a cloth that lay there, dipping it into the clear water and dirtying it almost immediately when his hand touched the liquid. He squeezed the excess water out of the cloth before he pressed it to his wound, sucking in a breath through his teeth when it touched him.

"You are wounded."

Bard turned sharply at the voice from behind him. The Elvenking stood there, still kitted out in his armour, which was still sparkling silver just as it was when he put it on. His face had little splatters of blood on it, not enough to make it look like he had been in a battle such as they had been. His expression was one of concern, but also one of sorrow, of sadness. He looked over Bard's frame, over the tanned skin down to where his hand covered the wound with a cloth. Bard gulped, watching the elf take in his half-nakedness.

"Aye, though not gravely. It is merely a graze," Bard said, pulling the cloth away to dip it back into the water, giving Thranduil a glimpse at it.

"That is not 'merely a graze', Bowman," he said, and moved into the tent completely, two elves appearing at his sides to help remove his armour quickly and efficiently before he was at Bard's side, looking down at the wound. Bard risked a glance at Thranduil, who was studying the wound closely. He took hold of his robes and moved them out of his way so he could sit down on his makeshift throne, holding out his hand from the cloth in Bard's hand.

"It's filthy, I should get another," Bard said, slightly embarrassed at how dirty he was compared to the elf. Thranduil's lips quirked slightly.

"I am not afraid of a little grime, bowman," he said, taking the cloth that was already stained with Bard's blood and dipped it back into the water, turning the now murky water to a dark crimson, which startled Thranduil at how much blood the bowman had lost. He rang it out over the water basin, watching rivulets of reddish water flow over his fingers. He took Bard's hand, making the bowman flinch a little, and pulled him closer before he pressed the cloth to the wound. Bard groaned in pain, which was a lot worse than before as the adrenaline wore off. Thranduil looked up at the bargeman, who was all gritted teeth and eyes squeezed shut. "I apologise. I did not mean to hurt you." Bard's face slackened slowly at the king's words but he did not open his eyes. He just listened to the noises outside the tents, to people crying out for the wounded, the dead, even the living. Then everything seemed to go silent as the only thing he could focus on was the Elvenking's hand suddenly pressed against his stomach, just under his navel, to hold him in place while he bathed the wound with the cloth. "You are lucky, Bowman. If this wound was any deeper, your vital organs could have been damaged." Bard heard his words but could not find the right ones to reply, especially with the king's hand where it was. His touch was like fire and ice together. His fingers were generally cool against Bard's skin, but the touch set a fire inside Bard, as hot as dragon fire, that he hadn't felt since before his wife died. He finally opened his eyes and chanced a look at the Elvenking, whose hair had fallen over his face as he worked. Before he could stop himself, he reached out and the loose strands behind Thranduil's pointed ear. Both man and elf froze, Bard pulling his hand away quickly when he realised what he had done.

"Sorry, I did not ... I didn't mean ... I'm sorry," Bard stammered, his eyes looking anywhere but at the elf. Thranduil went back to look at the wound, saying nothing. Bard felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment. Of course he would be the one to embarrass himself in front of perfection personified. He suddenly gasped out loud when the cloth against his wound dragged a little too hard under Thranduil's fingers and Bard placed his hand over Thranduil's on his abdomen, squeezing his fingers, indicating the pain. Thranduil pulled the cloth away and his hand at the same time, Bard's own hand falling back to his side. The elf called out a few words in elvish to his guards and an elf entered the tent and went about ridding the basin of dirty water before bringing it back and filling it with fresh, clean water. With another quick word, the elf bowed to the king and left the tent, closing the flap of the tent on his way out. Thranduil gestured to his makeshift throne.

"Sit bargeman. I shall bandage your wounds," he said, picking up a jug of what Bard was sure was wine and poured some of the crimson liquid into a goblet that looked like it was worth more than Bard had ever made in his life. The elf passed it to Bard before he poured some for himself. "It might dull the pain a little." Bard smirked into his goblet as he took a drink from it, the wine a pleasant, yet foreign, taste on his tongue. He sat down on the throne, watching the elf move around the tent gracefully, locating some bandages that an elf had brought in earlier. "Your children? They are safe and well? Unharmed?" Bard took another gulp from his goblet, realising that he was sitting conversing with the Elvenking minus half of his clothes.

"Yes, perfectly well, thank goodness," he said. "They have gone to warm themselves with the others." He looked down at his goblet, swirling the liquid inside it as Thranduil watched him. "So many times this day I thought I might lose them, but they are still here, living and breathing. I couldn't bear it if I lost them; I already lost their mother." He went for another sip of his wine but gulped down half the goblet before putting it down just at the mere thought of his late wife, the love of his life who had given him the gift of his three beautiful children. He glanced over at Thranduil, who watched him with sadness in his eyes, almost a mutual understanding. Bard realised it was time to change the subject. Thranduil moved over to him with the bandages and knelt in front of the bowman. "Your son? How fares he?" Almost as soon as he said it he knew it was a sore subject, the way the Elvenking's eyes turned from a colour that matched the sea to a colour that could almost be described as ice in a matter of seconds.

"Unfortunately Legolas will not be accompanying me home. He goes north. He gave no indication if or when I might see him again," the elf said, taking the bandages that were in his hands and moving to begin wrapping them around Bard's torso. "My son and I, we do not always see eye to eye, but he reminds me so much of his mother. I cannot bear to ever be angry at him. He has her spirit." He paused speaking for a few moments, the only sound in the room the soft rustle of bandages and the crackle of flames in a fire pit at the other side of the tent. Thranduil sighed gently. "I cannot make him come home if he does not want to." There was a terrible sadness in the Elvenking's eyes that made Bard's heart break for him. He knew what it was like to lose his wife but if his children were gone too, he had no idea what he would do. Thranduil would be alone in the kingdom of Mirkwood. No family. Bard touched the Elvenking's hand gently, making him stop what he was doing. His fingers slid along Thranduil's own, the elf letting go of the roll of bandages in his hand to turn his palm up, allowing Bard to take his hand. They fitted together perfectly, both man and elf looking down at Bard's tanned hand against Thranduil's pale skin. Bard's other hand was suddenly on Thranduil's chin, tilting his face up to look at him. Their eyes met and Bard blushed at his own forwardness before they were both leaning in and their lips met, almost a whisper against each other. Breath mingled in a gasp between them, their kiss brief before they were pulling away. Thranduil's softened gaze turned hard once more, not quite ice this time, but hard enough.

"I need not your pity, bowman," he snapped, the hitch in his voice betraying him. Bard didn't move but continued to stare the elf king out.

"It is not pity, Thranduil. I know what it is like to lose the one I love," he said. "We are more alike than you think." Thranduil looked back down at the bandages he had dropped. "Look at me." The elf did, unused to taking instruction but he found he could not deny Bard. The bowman leaned in again and pressed another kiss to Thranduil's waiting lips, the elf frozen for a moment before he melted and began to kiss back. It was not fierce, but it was passionate. The elf tasted like spring turned into winter, tasted like dew on the grass and of freshly fallen snow. Bard pushed closer, opening his mouth under the Elvenking's, prompting him to do the same. Thranduil did and when their tongues touched, Bard could not hold back the moan that came from deep in his throat. The noise seemed to startle Thranduil who pressed on Bard's wound accidentally, causing Bard to jerk under the touch, groaning in pain. They pulled back from each other, breathing heavily. Thranduil looked down at the wound once more, taking his eyes from Bard's, who was staring at him like he was the first elf he had ever seen.

"Da!" Tilda's little voice shouted from outside the tent before the flap was pushed open and she and Sigrid stood there. Bard's eldest looked between her father and the Elvenking, taking in their position, blushing slightly but saying nothing. Thranduil licked his lips, quickly picking up the bandages again and began to wrap Bard's torso again. Bard finally turned from Thranduil to his youngest, holding out his hand to her, indicating she move forward to take it. "We were worried, da! You've been gone a while."

"I'm sorry, darling. Thran – erm, Lord Thranduil was just finishing bandaging my wound," he said. Thranduil turned to the children with a small smile.

"Your father fought bravely. He shall be perfectly fine," he said, tying off the bandage and standing from the floor, back up to his full height. Tilda moved forward and promptly threw her arms around Thranduil, who had the decency to look a little startled. He looked to Bard, who could only smile gently as he stood from Thranduil's makeshift throne. Tilda looked up at Thranduil, her chin resting on his lower stomach.

"Thank you for making sure our da was okay!" she said, her eyes brimmed with tears. Thranduil knew not what to do with his hands. He had never been held by a human before like this. He pushed her back from him and he knelt in front of her, taking her small hands in his.

"Your father was very brave. I would not see him come to harm," he said to Tilda, before looking quickly over her head at Bard, who was staring at him once more, before his eyes were on Tilda's again. "Now, will you look after him, pen-neth, and make sure he changes his bandages every day until his wound is healed? Promise me?" Tilda nodded her head vigorously.

"I promise," she said and Thranduil smiled, pressing his forehead to Tilda's gently in kindness. Sigrid smiled from where she stood next to her father, holding his coat for him as he pulled on his tunic once more.

"Come. Let us leave the king in peace," Bard said, once he was dressed again, his clothing still stained with the blood he had lost. "I know I could do with some rest myself." He put his hand on Tilda's back, the little girl waving at Thranduil as she left, ushering both she and Sigrid out of the tent before he turned to gaze at the Elvenking once more. "Thank you ... for your assistance." Thranduil nodded to Bard. He knew the man wanted to say something else but he turned left the tent. Thranduil let out a breath he did not know he was holding, breaking his icy demeanour for a moment to press his fingers to his lips, still able to feel the heat Bard had left behind.

-x-

Weeks passed and the rebuilding of Dale was well underway. Bard oversaw the work himself, as the newly appointed King of Dale. Dain of Erebor had come down to Dale personally with a few choice dwarves, bringing with them a small crown suited for the new king, commissioned by an unknown source. They had spoken before the coronation but no one seemed to know who had asked for the crown to be made. Bard was crowned in front of the residents of Dale, who cheered and called 'all hail King Bard' into the night as they celebrated. But Bard wasn't in the mood for celebrating. He was hurt. Hurt that Thranduil hadn't come to see him crowned. Hurt that he had no correspondence from the King of Mirkwood since their kiss in his tent all those weeks ago. If his children hadn't turned up, he was certain it would have gone so much further than a simple kiss. He sat in his office at the side of the Great Hall, staring into the fireplace, when Sigrid knocked and entered, curtseying slightly in jest.

"My King," she said, with a grin. Bard shook his head with a soft smile.

"Enough of that," he said, amusement dancing in his eyes, not quite able to outshine the sadness and hurt he felt. "Is everything alright?" Sigrid nodded, but he knew there was something wrong. Her eyes told a different story. "Sigrid?"

"Why are you sad, father?" she asked, not taking her gaze from the flames in the hearth.

"Sad? I'm not ..."

"Now you're lying," she said, turning to him. "I have watched you ever since you were crowned. You seem distant. You don't laugh anymore. Why?" Bard watched his eldest daughter. She looked so close to tears at the idea of her father being sad. But he didn't have an answer for her. Could he really just blurt out that he was hurt that Thranduil hadn't come from Mirkwood to see him on his coronation day? That he had had no letter asking him about his health, or the health of his children or people. "Father?" Could he tell Sigrid he had fallen in love with the Elvenking? Sigrid sighed gently, watched her father as he took a drink of the wine that was in front of him. "You miss him, don't you?" Bard almost choked on his wine, coughing to clear his airway.

"Sigrid, I ..." he said once he had finished choking but found he had no words to give her.

"It's okay to miss him. I saw the way you were with him when he bandaged your wounds. You like him and he likes you, I can tell," she said, moving closer and taking his hand. She pressed a small kiss to his knuckles. "Mama would have wanted you to be happy and if he makes you happy, da, then you should see him again." Bard sighed, knowing his eldest was right.

"I cannot right now, darling. You know how much we are trying to rebuild our lives. I cannot be distracted by this," he said. "Please."

"I understand. But promise you'll do something soon? I just long to see you smile again" she said. Bard could only smile as he pulled his eldest into an embrace, holding her close. She was so like her mother.

"When did you get so wise, darling?" he asked. She laughed into his shoulder, burying her face there in comfort.

"I have no idea, but it had to have been recently," she said and Bard found himself laughing too. Sigrid pulled out of the embrace and turned to leave, smiling at her father once more before she closed the door behind her. Bard sat back down at his desk, running his hand over his face with a sigh. He started at the door for a while, wondering what he should do before he pulled out some parchment and his inkwell and quill, intending to write to the Elvenking, but words failed him. What could he say? How would he even address the elf? He picked up the quill and dipped it into the ink quickly, putting it to the paper.

My Lord Thranduil.

Was that the right greeting? They were friends, yes, but ever since that night in the tent, that kiss, Bard knew not what the elf was to him. His lord? His king? Just simply Thranduil. He sighed. Better safe than sorry he thought.

My Lord Thranduil.

I did not know how to begin this letter to you. I had hoped you would have been present at my crowning, as it would have been wonderful to see you again. But alas, you were not there. How fares Mirkwood since your return? Dale is prospering slowly. Daily we get a little closer to calling it home. Perhaps you

"Da!" Tilda's voice called out to him from her bedroom, staying his hand that held the quill. "Da, come read me a story before bed. Pleeeease!' Bard could only smile and he put down his quill before standing.

"Coming, sweetheart." He moved out of the room, letter forgotten on his desk as he went to see to his daughter.

-x-

The letter had been completely forgotten about the days after also as Bard continued to help rebuild the city. He spent more time on his feet and less time sleeping and eating. Sigrid made sure he ate every now and then, helping him keep his strength for his people. The children helped out as much as possible, Sigrid and Tilda making sure that everyone had enough food and water, helping the women to wash and air clothes and help look after smaller children. Bard could not be more proud of them. Bain helped him in overseeing the work done to the city. He would make a good ruler when Bard was gone, he could already see it. Bain would turn and smile at his father, happy that he could help.

The nights got cold and bitter and Bard rubbed his hands together to warm them as he headed back to his chambers for the evening. He spoke with some of the workers as they passed, bidding them goodnight before he entered the great hall, stopping in his tracks as he did so. In front of him stood two elves, one he recognised as Tauriel, whom his girls had become friendly with after what was dubbed the Battle of the Five Armies. The other elf he did not know. They both seemed to guard the door to his office. Surely it couldn't mean what he thought it did. He moved forward, Tauriel nodding her head to him before he slowly opened the door. There, sat behind his desk with a goblet of wine in front of him, was Thranduil. On his desk sat Sigrid and Tilda, listening to a story he was telling them, while he put a small braid in Tilda's hair. She looked so pleased. Bain also sat on the seat at the other side of the desk, listening intently too.

"Da!" Sigrid said suddenly, smiling brightly, and Thranduil's deep timbre stopped and his eyes locked on Bard's as he tied Tilda's braid off. Bard suddenly felt too warm, tongue darting out to wet his lips as he watched the elf intently.

"Forgive me, Dragonslayer. I was just telling the little ones a tale," he said, taking a sip of wine from his goblet. Tilda turned to Bard, smiling happily.

"Da, look what King Thranduil did for me," she said, pointing to her braid.

"It's beautiful, sweetheart," he said, not once taking his eyes from Thranduil's. Sigrid bit her lip to hide her smile as she watched her father stare out the Elvenking.

"Come Tilda, Bain. No doubt father and Lord Thranduil have much to discuss," she said. "Time for bed." Tilda groaned but hopped down from the desk, smiling up at Thranduil.

"Thank you for my braid," she said. Thranduil nodded and smiled back, bending slightly to press his forehead to hers, just like he did in the tent that night after the battle. Sigrid ushered both Bain and Tilda out of the room and if Thranduil heard the lock click after the door had closed, he said nothing about it. The silence in the room was deafening. Bard took a few steps forward, his eyes never leaving Thranduil's. The elf was dressed in lesser robes than usual, no doubt to make it easier to ride to Dale. He wore a small silver circlet on his head, almost the same as the one Bard wore on his own, his long, flowing hair falling over his shoulder.

"Didn't your parents ever tell you that it is rude to stare, Bowman?" Thranduil said, a small smirk on his lips. Bard opened his mouth to say something, the words not coming out as they should.

"My Lord Thranduil ... forgive me ..." he said, his heart thumping in his chest.

"We are back to 'my lord' now, are we? And here I thought we were friends, Bard," Thranduil said, his expression never changing as he picked up his goblet and took a sip.

"We are ..." Bard said almost shyly. "What brings you here, Thranduil?"

"Your letter," the elf said simply. Bard frowned.

"I sent no letter," he said. "I mean, I was going to but I didn't finish it. It must have slipped my mind."

"Indeed. I did notice the change in handwriting on the page. Your eldest daughter has a knack for words," he said and Bard almost turned scarlet. Sigrid must have seen the letter there unfinished and written the rest.

"I am sorry. She should not have asked you to come here," Bard said. "You are a king and you have your duties and I'm so sorry." Thranduil got up from behind the desk and moved towards the bowman. He placed a long, elegant finger under Bard's chin and tilted his face up to look at him.

"She did not ask me to come. She just told me that you 'missed' me," Thranduil said with a small smile. If the ground could have opened up and swallowed him whole, Bard wanted it to do so right that moment. "The truth is, Bard, I have missed you also. Mirkwood has been lonely of late. Tauriel is my only company these days since I lifted her banishment, but there is only so much time I can spend with my guards. There's no-one else I want to converse with." He trailed his finger down Bard's throat, feeling his gulp beneath his touch. "No-one to share tales with. No one to share the warmth of a comfortable bed." Bard took in a shaky breath as Thranduil moved into his personal space.

"What are you saying?" he asked.

"I am asking that you kiss me," Thranduil said matter-of-factly. Bard went to lean forward but was stopped by two fingers to his lips. "Let me finish. I am asking that you kiss me. I am asking that you let me touch you. I want to feel your skin against mine." The elf was so close that the tip of his nose touched Bard's, inhaling his scent. "I want to feel all of you and I want you to be mine. I have ever since that night." Bard closed his eyes.

"I want that too ..." he said, pressing his forehead to Thranduil's.

"Then finish what you started in the tent, bowman."

Hope you enjoyed. Next chapter soon. :) You know what to do! x