A/N: Wow I didn't think I'd be writing again so soon but here I am. I'm in love with the Barduil ship and had to write my own little project concerning these two idiots. This story, as most of mine do, ventures into AU territory (in that in the beginning the Lake-town people don't normally associate with the elves), but not too much. This will be about 4 or 5 chapters as I have it mapped out now, and I hope you guys enjoy it :D

Chapter 1

Though he was a descendent of Girion, a lord of the former settlement of Dale, the family into which Bard was born had not even a modest portion of affluence. His mother and father brought him into the world later in life and consequently were aging by the time he had seen only a decade of life. An only child, he spent much of his time aiding his family in their day to day tasks, for life was not the kindest in the town of Esgaroth. From the time Bard had understood common speech he had known how scarce food was – living in the middle of a lake provided little opportunity for proper farming or livestock cultivation, and so his family saw many a hungry night.

"Why don't we just go into the forest and hunt?" Bard had asked his father, feeling at the time as though it was a logical train of thought.

"'Not our forest to hunt in," his father had replied, trying to patch a hole in their dilapidated home. "No one ever goes in there if they want to come back."

"But why?" questioned the child.

His father had stopped concentrating on his task and turned to face Bard. "The elves rule those woods, son. You best never deal with the despicable likes of them."

Bard had been seven years of age at the time. Four years later saw the death of his father from an illness in winter and the worst food shortage Lake-town had seen since its establishment. The town relied on trade to keep its economy stable, and shortages of goods lead to many problems. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and the town's Master, a corrupt and avaricious man who had ruled over Esgaroth for as long as the child could remember, made a decision before his people began rioting. They would seek aid from their elven neighbors. Bard remembered only his departed father's words when he heard the news.

Several days passed after the decree had been made and Bard went about his normal routine, having taken up the main male role in his home. His mother would be out most of the day searching for food, the little money they had doing little good due to its rapidly decreasing worth, but she arrived back early one day, excitement livening her furrowed face.

"The elves have come!" she announced, and Bard began to worry. "Come quickly, everyone is gathering at the Master's palace!"

Bard followed his mother, and together they pushed their way into the crowd surrounding the palace, which was simply a glorified house. There was an energy in the crowd that Bard had not yet experienced in his eleven years of life; hope had fallen over the starving townspeople. They were badly yearning for the same thing, and even if there were negative feelings towards the elves as a race, they would accept help from whatever source possible.

The Master stood on the steps of his substandard stronghold, seemingly sober and attentive for once in his life. Suddenly everything went silent. Bard separated from his mother and wove around the bodies until he reached the edge of the horde, leaning out between two other boys to see what the commotion was about. What he observed stunned him.

Young Bard had never before seen an elf, had never before heard of their physical appearance, and accordingly his own mind had conjured up a picture of them that was far from the truth. In his head elves were hideous woodland beasts, but seeing them now…

A procession of the most beautiful creatures the boy had ever seen seemed to drift amid the onlookers. Surely this could not be the "despicable" race that Bard's father had spoken of! They looked more like angels or spirits than the monsters Bard had conjured in his imagination. They were all so…pure. Bard felt tremendously unclean looking at them. Some had black hair, some brown, and two, the two in the front seemingly leading the convoy, had hair so white that it appeared to glow among the bleak colors of Esgaroth's destitution. There was no mistaking the leaders were of some relation, but one, the more regal of the two, was clearly the eldest. He carried himself with such refinement and confidence that Bard did not even have to see the crown adorning his head to know that he was royalty.

The ethereal leader's eyes were fixed on only the Master, while the other white-haired elf looked this way and that, outwardly curious and animated.

"Welcome, King Thranduil!" boomed the Master's voice, and Bard drug his gaze away. Of course, a King. "I am most joyful to see you have arrived so quickly after hearing of our plight."

The leader had passed where Bard watched now, standing at the bottom of the palace steps. And in a smooth, cool voice the elf replied, "Do not patronize me, I have known of your struggles for quite some time. I would have thought you would have had the decency to appeal to us sooner but," he canted his head to the side, "evidently not."

The Master shifted, his initial vigor dwindling fast. "Trifles, my lord, I can assure – "

"Shall we discuss the details of our agreement in confidence?" interrupted the king, his tone clipped and increasingly bitter towards the other ruler.

"Y-yes," agreed the Master, gesturing toward his palace.

The elven leader – Thranduil as it were – turned to the other fair-haired male with him and said something in a language that was completely foreign to Bard's ears, then, with two of the dark headed elves accompanying him, he followed Lake-town's autocrat indoors. Murmurs filled the crowd as everyone looked on in anticipation. The remaining elves exhibited serene expression, but their demeanor was anything but, their bodies tensed and eyes vigilant. Only the king's relation showed signs of openness, going so far as to briefly interact with some equally inquisitive children on the other side of the path area.

It was not long before the elf king and his guards emerged from the palace doors, no less compelling. The Master trailed after them, clearly trying to keep up with their long strides but falling short. He remained at the top of the steps once more and spoke out over the waiting throng of people, "An agreement has been reached. King Thranduil will allow hunting and gathering in a stretch of land south of his halls bordered by the river and the mountains. No man may travel past the river nor any further west than the mountains or the agreement is negated."

The latter part was drowned out by thunderous ovation. Bard was jostled as people moved this way and that, but he still had the three elves in his view. They were not far away now, steadily moving towards his vantage point as the jubilant crowd inundated them. Most kept their distance out of reverence and the king simply nodded and kept his eyes fixed on his waiting procession, but one eager spectator laid hands on the light-haired elf's forearm and it was as if they carried an illness. Thranduil wrenched his arm away from their grasp so swiftly and forcefully that one of the decorative buttons that ran up the sleeve of his robes was ripped from the fabric. It flew through the air, hitting the wooden ground and rolling until it came to rest at young Bard's feet.

He blinked, quickly bending down to retrieve it. The small, rounded piece of metal was by far the most intricate object Bard had ever laid eyes upon. It was ornamented with intricate engravings, the hollowed center displaying a delicate, golden leaf. He turned it over in his hand, fascinated by its complexity until he happened to look up again…

…only to meet the icy gaze of the Elvenking.

Bard's breath caught in his throat. The noise around him had not stopped, nor had anyone noticed the tiny button land at the boy's feet except for the king himself. Someone bumped into Bard – he nearly lost his balance, hand clamping shut over the object before regaining his footing and facing Thranduil again. Slowly, he extended his arm, opening his fingers and presenting the lost button. The tall elf waited for a beat, then approached him, attention solely fixed on Bard.

Thranduil reached the boy and regarded him with an inscrutable face. Up close, his features were even more striking, as if taken straight from an artist's canvas. Bard had forgotten how to breathe correctly, dumbfounded by the perfection peering down at him. He raised his shaking hand so the king would not have to lower himself to retrieve his possession. The elf's eyes flitted from Bard's face to the hand being offered to him, then back to his face.

"You would return to me something so small?" said Thranduil, expression remaining blank but tone betraying a sentiment of disbelief. "Why?"

Bard found his voice gracelessly and his answer reflected this fact. "I – I don't know, sir. 'Not mine to take, sir."

Something softened only just on Thranduil's countenance. His long fingers, adorned with rings so ornate that they could, without a doubt, buy food for the entire settlement of Lake-town, encircled Bard's significantly smaller hand and closed the boy's own fingers around the small, metal circle. The elf's skin was softer and cleaner than any Bard had seen in his entire ten years.

"Keep it," the king told him lowly. "Remember this day."

And then he was gone, immersed into the sea of townspeople once more.

Bard would heed the words spoken to him, keeping the decorative button with him for years to come as a reminder of what had occurred both in his life and the lives of his fellow people.

A/N: Thank you guys for reading! This little button thing will make reappearance at some point, and in every chapter, Bard will have grown older. I also took some liberties with exactly how deprived the people of Lake-town were – I figured their trade industry would have some slow points for periods of time. Please do tell me what you think and I will update ASAP :D