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They were together in the forest, Thranduil had brought him to one of his favourite little clearings. It almost felt as though it was still the Greenwood, an oasis from the darkness that was spreading over the wood. The grass was still a light, cheerful green, the trees tall but not suffocating or overbearing, with sunlight streaming through the thin canopy they made.
There was a little pool of clear water that they had swam in earlier that day, now they were reclining on the grass, letting the warmth of the day soak into their skin, Thranduil’s head pillowed on his stomach.
Thranduil, shifted restlessly, something Bard had noticed him doing through the day, it was odd as he was normally so controlled and measured in his movements.
“What is it love?” Bard asked, rubbing his back when Thranduil fidgeted again and sat up slowly. It wasn’t like Thranduil to fidget.
“Nothing, meleth nîn.” Thranduil sighed, but something was clearly bothering him. Bard decided not to push it for the moment.
“Would you like some food?” Bard enquired instead, gesturing to the little picnic he had packed for them.
He knew that wasn’t what had been bothering him, if Thranduil had wanted to eat he would have started, but it was filled with Thranduil’s favourite dorwinion wine, and bread and cheeses that he knew the Elvenking was very partial to. So he hoped that it might help anyway.
When Thranduil only took tiny bites and looked uncomfortable as he chewed and swallowed, Bard began to worry. It looked almost as though Thranduil was in pain, but Bard could not see a single mark on him.
“Thranduil?” He said, worry in his voice and taking his hand as Thranduil winced around a bite.
“I am fine, I promise you.” Thranduil tried to reassure, but his smile was strained.
“Please tell me. I am worried about you.” Bard said gently, rubbing his thumb soothingly across the back of Thranduil’s hand.
“It is just an old wound. I hurts me sometimes, today it is apparently particularly sensitive.”
“Where?” Bard asked, he had never seen a single mark on the elf, and he had probably put his lips on every inch of that skin by now. Thranduil gestured warily at the left side of his face.
Bard ghosted his fingers over it, careful not to actually touch.
“Has it long since healed on the surface?” Bard wondered, combing his fingers through Thranduil’s silky hair in the way he knew he liked, he was surprised when Thranduil carefully shook his head.
“It will never heal.” Thranduil answered sadly.
“Then ho–”
“I, well, I guess you might call it a glamour. I can make it so you can’t see.” He spoke quietly.
“You use magic?”
“Yes, I suppose it is a kind of magic.”
“Doesn’t that take some concentration, to do it all the time?”
“A little. But I have been doing it so long I hardly notice anymore. Accept when it hurts like this, then it gets harder to maintain the illusion.”
“You don’t have to keep it up. Not around me.” Bard said softly, kissing Thranduil’s wrist.
“I do not want you to see.” Thranduil admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I do not want you to think me weak, or ugly.”
“I could never.” Bard assured, gripping Thranduil’s hand in an attempt to make him believe it. “You are the strongest, most beautiful person I know. Nothing could change that.” He finished with a soft kiss on Thranduil’s lips.
Thranduil looked at Bard with an unsure expression before he relaxed his face. At first Bard didn’t notice anything, but then he watched as marks began to appear and expand on his cheek, entire patches of skin were missing on the side of his face, revealing the scars of old burns. Bard could see the half charred tendons that lay beneath, almost half his face had been burnt away, one eye completely white and unseeing.
“Oh my love what happened to you?” Bard breathed, pulling Thranduil into him, cradling his face as carefully as he could, desperately wanting to make it better but not knowing how.
“Smaug is not the first dragon I have encountered.” Thranduil answered, eyes trained on a spot on the floor, somewhere near Bard’s knee.
“Your eye, can you see?” Bard asked, stroking the uninjured eyebrow above it tenderly, Thranduil made a tiny shake of his head, not looking up. “Never?” Bard said softly, wondering about the glamour, it moved and looked like a normal, functioning eye.
“No, never.” Thranduil replied, voice barely audible. Bard realised something then that made his heart squeeze in his chest.
“You keep me on your left, whenever we are around others.” And he had, ever since that first night, Thranduil had kept him on his left when they were around anyone else.
“I trust you. I’ve trusted you right from the start. I knew you would not harm me.” Thranduil answered simply, voice still vulnerable.
“No, I would not.” Bard confirmed, gently tilting Thranduil’s chin so he was no longer hiding by gazing at the ground.
Bard smiled when Thranduil finally looked at him and kissed his mouth carefully.
“Although, it often seems a shame not to look at you all the time.” Thranduil smiled, sounding more like his usual self than he had all day. Thranduil’s uninjured cheek was blushing, and he looked happy, like a weight had been lifted from those ancient shoulders.
Bard turned Thranduil and gathered him up against his chest, leaning his back against the tree behind him, pressing kisses into the Elvenking’s fine hair.
“You do not think me ugly? And broken?” Bard almost didn’t hear Thranduil said it so quietly, as it was he held Thranduil tighter against his chest.
“You are beautiful. You will never not be beautiful to me. You have survived things I could not dream of. And you mean far more to me than your face, lovely as it is. I am not going anywhere.” Bard murmured into Thranduil’s hair, smiling as he felt the elf relax in his arms. He’d happily tell him every day if that is what it took to make him believe it.
They lay their together for a while, dozing in each other’s arms in the warm afternoon sun, tracing patterns on each other’s skin.
“Come live here. With me, as my consort.” Thranduil asked quietly, neither of them bothering to open their eyes.
“I can’t, my children need me in Dale.” Bard answered sadly, for really he wanted nothing more than to live with Thranduil permanently. He should possibly stay in Dale because he was supposed to be the king, but frankly he’d jack it in immediately to be with Thranduil if that was the only issue.
“They could come too. It would be nice to have children around here again.” Thranduil suggested. Bard’s heart ached, he wanted nothing more than to move into Mirkwood, spend his days with the elf who had his heart so completely, but he couldn’t uproot his children so extremely.
“But there would be no other children, no schools. I wish it could work. I want nothing more than to be able to be here with you always, but I can’t uproot them like that.” Bard explained regretfully.
He knew they wouldn’t complain, they liked Thranduil and knew how happy they made each other, but Bard also knew they would rather stay in Dale, with their friends and the people like them. Thranduil sighed, but Bard knew that he understood from the way he curled further into his chest.
“I don’t like it when you leave.”
“But I always come back.”
“Yes. You do.”
“And I always will.” Bard assured. They lay there for a while before Thranduil spoke again.
“When your children are grown, and have their own families. Then will you stay with me here.”
Bard held Thranduil tighter again, never wanting to let go, but painfully aware that he would have to one day, whether he wanted to or not. He would grow old and Thranduil would not. He would remain perfect while Bard aged and greyed.
“If you still want me. I will be getting old, nearing fifty I should imagine, before Tilda marries. And you will still be as you are now, you don’t want to be bogged down by an old man.” Bard said, trying to lighten his tone, but his words fell heavy between them.
“I will never not want you.” Thranduil spoke sadly, clinging onto him tightly as though he thought that if he could hold on just tight enough, he would never have to let go.