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There was a humility in Bard that made Thranduil snort, such a refusal to lead when the man had already been doing it since the dragon rose from the mountain. All that needed to be done was for all the rest of the world to recognize it. He did wonder at the reluctance, whether it stemmed from fear or from some strange belief that he was not capable, and there was a strange need to assuage both in the man, though Thranduil was not sure why. He believed it best not to dwell on that fact for now.

"I merely speak the truth, as I am prone to no matter how unpleasant. You led these people through a war, and now you resurrect the skeleton of a city from ashes, should they not see you as their leader? You have accomplished much in very little time." Which is also true, no matter what Bard might wish to say. There was some symbolism in the people fleeing Laketown only to return once more to Dale, they needed someone to lead them, and Bard had done quite the job so far.

There was no pity or judgement in his eyes as he looked between Bard and his men, only amusement. Amusement that showed on his face as the man stumbled so gracelessly over his words. He was used to such reactions aroudn him, but there was something all the more entertaining when the other was trying so hard to seem... something more. It almost made Thranduil want to tell him to calm himself, to breathe and act as if he were not an elven lord, but he did not. Instead, he kept the lofty smirk on his face, cold blue eyes amused despite his features. "That is my request, unless the name proves too much a mouthful for you?"

Teasing was a thing that, usually, the Woodland King reserved for those that had known him a long time, but now it felt right. Easy. It slipped off his tongue quickly, and he did not regret it. "That is pleasant to know, it will be better when there is an actual place to reside though." The tone is light, airy and non committal as he takes in the shambles of the once great city before him. Despite his words, however, he was already planning on how to best help with reconstruction.

When Bard bids him to walk with him, the elven kind does not decline. He keeps pace with the human, silk robes the only sound from his person as his footfalls were silent. "Should the need ever arise for it, I shall be certain to call upon you. Though, for now, it is more what can my people do for you."

Nodding once, he had to concede the elf's point. "I would rather lead them with all I am than risk them being led poorly again. They deserve someone willing to fight for them and not... bury them." He could hear the undertone of agreement at his back as his men agreed. They respected him for his love and care for their livelihood. He would not turn his back on them. "I have been getting used to the title of Lord. I suppose it does not seem as.. intimidating as the title of king."

However, the comfort and steadiness as they talked became shaken as Thranduil commented on his blunderings. He had to look away at that. His jaw tightening just a little as he reflected on who they were, and how little they knew in comparison to elves. "I am sure.. even with my limited learning and shorter life span, that I will learn to handle the eloquence of elvish names. Forgive the folly." He could be humble. He could take the criticism and shake it off. It could not be worse than what the Master previously would say of him and his family.

There was more important here other than his pride as a man. Even if it felt like the elf knew exactly every sore spot that he had in regards to his people and their progress. But he would stamp it down and hold his head high. "We are working on that. Being that winter is coming, we are putting efforts into sealing and rebuilding walls. They did insist upon finishing the building I am residing in first. I would gladly surrender it to you when you come to visit." Though the dwarves were in shambles, they had tried to help when they were not tangled up in rebuilding Erebor.

Breathing in slowly, he fell into step by the taller and could not stop that old habit of hanging back just slightly in respect to the elven king. At least the words that Thranduil used this time were not meant as injury. Or so... he hoped not. "I am most concerned with the approach of winter before all else. All of our efforts have been in repairing the buildings and making them ready for the cold. I can spare precious few and I still have the need for medicinal herbs and food that can be stored for long periods." His people first. Always his people. He would make this work out for them anyway he could.

"Those are the words of a king, and one who cares at that." Perhaps he was pushing the point, but Thranduil would like to see someone as strong as Bard on the throne, he felt that Bard would not easily be cowed by the dwarves, because Thranduil knew there would come a time when the dwarves would not be generous, not as they should be. He does not remark on the mention of lord versus king, content that, at the very least, the other had not rejected all titles of power.

If Thranduil notices the change in Bard, the unsteadiness, he does mention it. He notes the tight jaw and moves on, too set in his ways to go back and fix what was already done, though he does make the smallest of attempts to make it be known that not all of his comments were meant to be taken with all seriousness. "I have little doubt of that, Bard. I did not call your person into question, it was merely a comment, that is all." He gives Bard a long look from the side of his eye, the amusement still there. He did not usually find amusement in such things, but there was something about this human that brought out a part of him that was not often seen. "And there is no folly to be excused, you seem to think that we elves do not jest."

Thranduil continues to walk, the amusement never quite leaving his face. It must seem so strange to Bard, after having only dealt with the scouts that would deal with the shipments. They were working, they would not open up to Bard the way that, now that he was a friend and ally, they might now. Perhaps he and his people seemed to different, incapable of feelings like the humans. Which was not so, but that was what Thranduil was beginning to understand. Though it did not mean he was about to change his ways. Not in the least. "You need not surrender your own abode, you have children if I recall correctly." He hums, motioning to one of his attendants, the scribe, to come closer. "We shall send builders to help you, as we have stored more than enough to thrive this winter. All we must watch for is the darkness that creeps in the woods."

There is pause where Thranduil relays in Sindarin what they were to bring to Dale, the builders and supplies, the medicine and food that could be spared. "We shall also send medicine, and whatever stores we have that might be spared, you will not go hungry this winter, Bard. Nor shall you go cold, for we can also send winter cloaks, and other wears that might aid you." He looks at the other, his face, for a moment, oddly soft. "We may not be able to come to Dale once the snow falls, but you will not be alone in this."

"I do care." Which made him think of all the elven losses in the battle that he had helped with care to help the elves bear away into the woods. It hurt his heart to even think of it. Furrowing his brow, he looked to Thranduil and dared to ask something he did not know if it were proper. "How are you?"

Bard let the question linger in the air a moment before he feels the heat rush into his cheeks as the elven king clarifies his earlier statements. Jest. The flush darkened as he lowered his head slightly. No, he did not seem to think about the fact that elves could and would jest. Clearing his throat, he tried again, building up the courage to return the teasing gesture. "I fear that I missed the jest." One corner of his lip upturned in the barest hint of amusement. "The shocking shine of elven hair is very distracting and tends to drown out other attributes."

Dark eyes lifted to Thranduil's as he smiled at the blonde in hopes he did not cross a line. Angling his head as he walked, he decided he may as well attempt to carry this further. "I do have children. I am certain if you do not mind sharing with them, you may still stay. That is, if you do not mind the girls asking how you keep such a pristine look." His daughters just might ask him, but he decided to say it in jest even if he did mean that the king could stay in his home.

But the sudden declaration of all the things he would give to them hit hard. A look of shock filtered over his face as he tried to figure out how this came to pass. His mind worked through all of the things they can do in return and he knew that they can revive the wine trade and gift the elves with much, especially for their festivals. "I do not know how to thank you. Ask anything of us and we will provide it." There was little they had aside from their wine and fish. Both trades they had maintained well even after the destruction.

Bard feels as though hundreds of birds are trapped in his chest, outweighing even the feeling of staring Smaug down face to face that night. But the look on Thranduil's face makes his breathing hitch. He did not know what to say or even how to begin to thank the elf. "You say that I care for my people... but I can tell you care a great deal. If I am to be king, I hope I become even a fraction of what you are."

There is more than enough for him to feign ignorance, that he does not know of which Bard speaks of when he asks how the elven king is. And, for the first time in a long time, Thranduil finds himself almost at a loss for words. It is not common for many to ask how he is, and after the losses he suffered in the war, the needlessly spilled elven blood, Thranduil was not sure how to answer that question at all. He casts Bard a glande, loathe to not give the human an answer. "My people will recover, as we are like to do."

It was probably not the answer that Bard wished for, but it was all that Thranduil could manage. Even now, the loss of his people pained him greatly, and he was not sure how to respond to such a personal question, especially one that was meant truthfully and not as some phrase that must be said. The concern that the bowman had only added another layer to the strange curiosity and fascination that the kind had with him, and he was not sure what to make of it.

With the returning jest, Thranduil finds a small smile on his face once more. "Would it help our negotiations if I were to wear a hooded cloak then? I do not believe it in out best interest if you are distracted by something so simple. Or perhaps I should just sent my delegates, they are not of flaxen hair." There is little doubt that it would be the better choice, but Thranduil was beginning to see that, despite it all, he was probably going to do much of the delegation between the two realms, if only because he wished to see more of this human.

"I suppose I could teach them to braid, it has been longer still since I taught Legolas." It was difficult for him to not continue to jest, or at least speak with good humor. It was strange, for Thranduil, to be so at east with one individual, but he had felt that connection the night before the battle, when Bard looked so resolved in his choices. It was then that Thranduil realized he was going to have to deal with his fascination. And, as it seemed to be turning out, it was a worthy fascination as well.

The sidelong look he gives the shocked Bard betrays nothing, he merely inclines his head and rattles off more to his scribe before sending him away. "We only ask your loyalty, which we had little questions of to begin with. This is what it means to be an ally and elven friend, Bard of Dale." The stoic looks breaks for a moment, the hints of a smile breaking through on his face. "We require little from you now, simply more wine when it is needed, but we shall give you time to rebuild before we ask of such things."

When the human's breathing hitches, Thranduil's head tilts, curious as to what might have caused such a reaction, but he hums at Bard's words. He wonders how the human could have known him and still manage to see so much, he tries to dismiss it, words cool. "I have had lifetimes to learn, do not set yourself up to be anyone other than yourself, Bard. Lest you be drawn into failures."

Nodding slowly, he frowned just a little. That answer was the answer of a king. Not of an individual. But he knew better than to push. Elves lived through ages, not just a life of a human. Bard knew that Thranduil knew every name of every elf that died on the battlefield. It hurt him to think about even when he still bore the grief of his own losses. "In good days and bad... remember that you have a friend that will listen or simply share a glass of wine." That, he could offer.

Moving to less troubling and painful things, he felt a little lighter when Thranduil returned the jest in kind. A slight smirk pulled at his lips as he allowed a bit of playfulness to color his eyes. "It might help. I would rather my people not be so prone to staring. It would be a problem and things just would cease to get done." His voice lilted with the laughter that laced through his tone. "But I would never deter your visits."

In fact, he liked having the king there with him. And allowing such a volley of teasing seemed to put Bard more at ease. He had few true and close friends. He would dare to hope that Thranduil may be as such to him. "You would make their lifetime should you chose to teach them. I do not know if I will be able to contain their mirth." Those words he spoke in honesty. Beaming just slightly, he added lightly. "As I have met your son, and owe him my deepest gratitude for saving my daughters... I would like my children to know you. If you would be interested?"

Turning, he caught one of his men by the shoulder and directed him to go and prepare the meeting hall as best as they can for their visit and have food available. The man eagerly bobbed his head at being useful and Bard smiled with a word of thanks. He never asked anything without showing his gratitude. So when they left him alone, he turned his full attention to Thranduil. "My loyalty and all of Dale is yours as long as I live. And I know my son would do the same." And if Bain grew into the great man he knew he would be, his children would do the same.

Elven friend. He liked the sound of that. Dragon slayer. Bow master. Elf friend. Such titles he could learn to love and accept. "The first shipment of wine will be sent to you and your kind." He smiled at that and regarded the king. "I insist. I want it to be there before the winter falls for your own kind to enjoy." He could do that and his people would gladly agree.

"You are right. I am not of such capabilities to ever attain a goal like that. But it is better to try for a noble goal than to settle. Settling would be a failure to my people."

It was difficult to put into words, the loss that they had experienced, when faced with the fact that those elves would have lead long, full lives, if it were not for the war that was so unexpectedly thrust upon them. There was a sorrow in their deaths that could not be expressed to a race that saw death every day. That did not mean that Thranduil thought lesser of the mortal men, but he did not know if such a loss could be conveyed in mere words. When Bard offers an ear to listen, the king does not respond, but the tightness of his lips lessens just a little as his inclines his head.

When he is told that, perhaps it would be easier to wear a hood, Thranduil finds himself enjoying himself in a way that he had not in centuries. "Or perhaps that means I should visit more often, so that they could become accustomed to my presence, so it need not be seen as a distraction." The elven king's vanity knew no bounds, and he would loathe to have to cover his hair for any reason, no matter what the other might say. And he did find himself listening to the other, not just for the words that were being said, but also for the tone of them. The laughter that the elven king could hear lightened his spirits, and he was happy to know that, despite the hardships, there was still light.

""It has been a long time since I have known younglings." He casts a glance to Bard, humming low at the mention of Legolas saving his children. he is not surprised at that, for Legolas was always quick to save others, no matter what. There was a kindness and leniency in him that, sometimes, Thranduil wonders he has forgotten. "It might be nice to see the world with the eyes of a child again, they always have a way of seeing things that we cannot." Or that they had forgotten about, if he was being honest. It was being with a child that got him through the grief of loss, through the wars that cost him and his people so much. Perhaps the children of Bard would be good for him.

As Bard interacted with his people, there is a more defined smile on the elven king's features. It amused him to see one that was so obviously good at leading be so reluctant about taking up the post that he was already doing. There was a way in which the other spoke, kindly but without seeming too soft, that let the king know that Dale was in good hands. Not that he though otherwise, not after the battle, not after the night before in his tent watching the other pace uncertainly. And not after seeing him try to barter, try to spare his people a war that was not needed. If he does not manage to wipe his face clear of the emotions before Bard turns back to him, he will not make mention of it. "And my loyalty to you and your city shall stand the tests of time, I am sure."

When Bard insists upon the wine being sent, Thranduil finds that he is not all that surprised. "You need not, but it is much appreciated, Bard." The name is a low rumble on his tongue, and Thranduil enjoys the way it flows better than dragonslayer or bow master. "Such wise words from one that is so young, you will do this city a great service in teaching them. And I can only hope that your son will prove to be as well lived as yourself."

The words, and their implications, leave almost a bitter taste in Thranduil's mouth. He knows that the lives of mortals are short, and usually it does not bother him. He means the words in the best way possible, but the thought of Bard passing on gets under Thranduil's skin in a way he does not quite understand. In a way he does not want to quite understand.

He carefully observed the smallest of nuances of Thranduil's movements. He knew the elven king did not simply show emotions. So he hoped that perhaps he would learn what he could to be of better help and truer friend. As a 'king' he should know his allies, as a friend, being vigilant meant one cared. Not that he had much hope to be good at either even if Thranduil seemed to approve of his offer.

"Oh? This is a wise means to an end. I admit, the scenery could use more of your presence to brighten it up." Teasing lightly, Bard might chastise himself later for his callous words. If he be honest with himself, he knew that his words held more truth than he let on. Bard simply tried to not let his eyes rest on the fair king for too long. He started to notice things. Like the perfect grace he carried himself or the remarkable color of his eyes. He knew only stories about elves, but little of the wonder hit him until he had the pleasure of standing in the presence of the elven king.

The acceptance of meeting his children, however, made Bard give pause. He honestly did not expect such a thing. "They are good and strong. I could not be prouder to be their father." He spoke it without thinking. His love and care for his offspring fueled him to be the man he was. He would never turn away from that. "They would be so pleased to know you would meet them. And should your son wish, he is also welcome in my home." How could he not welcome the two people that gave his family their life so that they may live on together?

Stopping at that pledge of loyalty, Bard felt a bit of regret that he could not promise anything longer for the mortality of men made such promises futile. It felt like a leap of faith, a hope that had his hand reaching out to the elven king wondering if the elder would even wish to join arms even in sign of friendship. "I could not ask so much of you, but I trust in your word and I know you would not forsake it unless there was no other way." He would never ask the elven king for so much. Not if his ancestors showed any harm or cruelty to the elves. He would not condone that.

Nodding his head, bard hoped that he could do more than that, but for now they were limited. "I pray your hopes are true, but I have great faith in my son." Bain stood so still as he used him as a rest for the arrow. So much faith and so much courage. His son would do well in his footsteps and whatever path he chose on his own.

Breathing in slowly, he sent him a calm and pleased smile. "Thank you, Thranduil. For all that you are doing. I know that my words may seem small, but my gratitude is from the depths of my soul."

There was a vulnerability in expression emotions that, at this point, Thranduil could not give himself, especially when it dealt with the loss of elven lives. The horrors of Mordor still echoed in his mind, engrained in his memory for all of time, as it was not something easily forgotten. There was a reason that Thranduil was hesitant to engage the lives of his people in wars that were not of his concern, or of immediate need; the loss due to the evil of others was the worst thing to go through in a long life, and Thranduil had experienced enough. He appreciates that Bard, someone who by all means, would not know of the horrors of Mordor (but had seen horrors enough of his own) would offer such a thing. It was a telling gesture.

The elven king raises an eyebrow at the notion that he, of all beings, might bring light to an area. There is a small smirk gracing his lips as he replies. "I do believe that you are one of few who would consider my presence to be a lightening one. I believe it is usually frowned upon, or at the very least, not encouraged." And it was through Thranduil's own doing that such a vision of himself was constructed; he was known as a ruthless and dangerous fighter, a cold and practical politician, and, to those outside his realm, a selfish king. There was little about him to be considered bright.

"If they have traversed these events with little more than scratches, they are children to be proud of indeed." There was a great deal of respect in his voice; being without a mother with children was difficult. Thranduil had experience with that, and he was more than aware that it would have been all the more difficult for Bard, being a human with three children in Laketown. He nods at the invitation to Legolas, knowing that his son, whenever he managed his way back to this area of Arda, would be more than pleased to visit with the humans. He had a soft spot for children, though he did not often show it. "I will tell him of such things when I see him next."

It is of little importance, usually, for the knowledge of man's brief life to seep into the conversations held with elves. It is not usual however, for there to be a sense of foreboding about such inevitable things to seep into Thranduil's bones. He finds himself trying to shake the feeling off, like cobwebs, but they stick to him nonetheless. He inclines his head towards Bard. "As long as one like the Master does not come to power, I do not see there being much issue at all." And trade might continue with one such a leader, but Thranduil could not then speak of loyalty to the city. The elven king is surprised by the offer of joining arms, something that was traditional amongst men and even dwarves, but not so in elven culture. Your word was enough, and yet, Thranduil found himself taking up the offer, sliding long fingers along Bard's arm. It was an interesting contrast, between his find silks and the ruggedness of Bard.

It was a contrast that was sure to stick out in Thranduil's mind far longer than he wished it to.

When the dragon slayer yet again speaks of thanks, the elven king allows himself a rare smile at the man, one devoid of the coldness that usually accompanied such actions. "Your words mean much to be, Bard. Though that still does not mean that I think your gratitude misplaced. You have much to learn about us and our ways, I believe." There was always something to be gained, and even if it did not seem like much to the human, it was still of use to the elven king. What he could gain from this would seem insignificant, or obvious perhaps, to the human, but for Thranduil it was far greater.

Edited 2015-02-05 00:03 (UTC)

Bard gave that thought. Truly turned it over in his head. Thranduil was as terrifying as he was beautiful. But was not fire and ice the same? It did not make either less lovely. Not that he really compared the elf to anything less than light. Sad though it may be, that the king stayed hidden in the dark woods. Shaking his head, he glanced at the blonde. "Then I count myself lucky in the few with insight enough to know better. Or rather that I see more."

Smiling, he stood taller. The pride filled his heart and made him feel lighter knowing that someone like Thranduil would impart even a small compliment on his offspring. "They are the pride of my life." He said the words and meant them. His smile brightened as he ducked his head thinking of their faces and how happy he was that they lived through the battle and fought as well as any men. Looking up at the elf king, he graced him with that smile and a nod as he affirmed that he would let Legolas know.

"I pray that type of leadership does not shadow Dale again." Though he knew he could do nothing of that, he hoped beyond hope that it would not. The risk of offering his arm to the much older and ancient of races proved fruitful as Thranduil accepted. What he did not expect as his calloused fingers brushed fine material was the soft warmth of the skin beneath. He also did not expect the racing of his heart beat at the touch of elegant fingers grasping his own arm. What was that feeling? So foreign yet welcome...

Gripping firmly, he could not stop from smiling near brilliantly at his new found friend. "I hope that you will help me learn. I wish to learn, if you would allow it. Stories and legends are just pretty words that fall short of reality. And I do not praise others simply or without thought." Bard had so little faith sometimes and yet endless faith in others. Thranduil struck something he could not place in his mind, but he did and he would not deny it.

Slowly releasing his hold, he marveled at the reluctance he felt to let go. His fingers brushed the blonde's hand as he slipped his hand away. "Truly... you made my day... my week." He suddenly laughed and shook his head. "Perhaps month."

The human's words startle Thranduil, as much as they can at the very least. It is not something that he had thought he would hear, that the reason for his appreciation of Thranduil being because he knew better. At the very least, Bard should know by now what kind of a being Thranduil was; dangerous, cunning, and aloof. Perhaps he was willing to go to battle for some things, the greater good and such, but it was rare for the elven king to put himself or his people at risk. "You see more? And what is it that you see then, Bard of Dale?"

The king cannot help the curiosity that creeps into his voice, into the tilt of his head as he regards the man before him. There was a lot, it seemed, that Thranduil had to learn about some men. He had met many in his long life, some far more worthy or time and attention than others, but it was quickly becoming obvious to him that Bard may well be one of the most interesting humans he had ever encountered, if only because he was so ready to speak his mind. Thranduil supposed that it came of being human, of not knowing when you might be able to speak your mind next, if there was a tomorrow or not, and it intrigued him. They were such passionate creatures, burning so brightly for such a small time.

And yet...

"You have much to pride yourself on, in this life I believe." There was so much life still in Bard. He had been through much, but it did not seem to wear away at him, rather, it made the human burn all the brighter. It was fascinating. At least, that was what Thranduil was telling himself was fascinating, that was the reason for his fixation with this human. Even before the battle, Thranduil had been aware of Bard, had invited him to his tent because there was something about him that spoke to the elven king. However, he was not entirely sure what it was.

There are words that he needs to say, speak of leaders and kings and what one can do to ensure a good line, but they get lost when he feels the faint pulse of life along his skin, the warmth from Bard's hand seeping past his clothing. He has much to discuss with the other of trade and alliances, but for now, he is more than content with this simple press of arms. It was far less than what he was used to, and yet still so much more.

"You will learn with time, Bard. Of that I am sure. We are perhaps not as mysterious as most tales would make us out, but perhaps we are more dangerous." There is a glint in his eyes, one that does not speak of danger, but amusement. He was aware of some of the tales spoken of his kingdom, though he did not know if Bard had been privy to them; they were always interesting tales of strange creatures that would sooner cut out your heart that hear you speak. Which, was not the absolute truth, but it worked wonders for the elven kings reputation.

The faintest brush of fingers on his hand has the elven king clenching his hand once it is behind his back, the tremor of the touch still echoing in his bones as he regards the man before him. He cannot help the small laugh that escapes at the mention of him making the other's week. "Is it my mere presence that can have such an effect, or shall I attempt positive speeches more often?"

Thinking about it, a line formed on his brow as he considered the idea that he should not have spoken so candidly. He did see more. More than he could truly explain to the depth that most elves would likely prefer. "I am not of the same... eloquence of words. I do not believe that I can explain quite as I see it or as you or your kind might be able to. Simply know that there are many things in life that can be dangerous, but can also be infinitely beautiful. They do not have to be. It simply... commands respect." He struggled in his mind and pressed his lips together to try and gather his thoughts. Bard knew his words just would not convey the meaning right, but he would at least say it. "Fire can be a chaotic and destructive force. But it makes the ground fertile so that it grows back greater than before."

Shaking his head, he laughed at his own insignificant way of putting it. "Forgive me, but that was a terrible way of describing it. Please, just take me at my word... that I see more to you, Thranduil, than the fearsome elven king of the Woodland Realm. And I hold more than well-deserved respect for you."

Inclining his head to the praise, he smiled just slightly. "I fear those are merely things I have done to protect that which I hold dear. Any that love that deeply will find great things in themselves to protect them. Anything that I am or have accomplished, is because of my children." Because of his people. Because of everything he meant to protect. "If not for them, there would be no reason to be more than I am."

Nodding once, he let himself truly look into the elven fair face and lingered on storm blue eyes. So smooth and cool, one would almost think them made of the finest pearl, maybe alabaster. Ivory even. But after that contact, he knew that was not true. Such things were cool or cold to the touch. Thranduil was warm and it ran through his senses. "I have always been a fast learner." Pausing, he pursed his lips before giving a solemn nod. "I know." Elves fought with grace and power. Where he only saw the elves fight for a moment, he saw enough to know they were worthy of fear.

Even if it shook him a little to be reminded of the danger, he did not let it stop him from thinking about that question. Swallowing thickly, he glanced at Thranduil only a moment. "Let us see... perhaps it is both. Your mere presence will always be inspiring, at least to myself. And well... I would be lying if your reassuring words have not kept me going in leading when I would have been pulled back from the position otherwise. So, both." He paused as he let the sound of that rare and likely extraordinarily precious laugh echo in his head.

"Forgive my boldness... but is it a trait of your kin to sound so melodic when laughing... or is it something only you possess."

Despite claiming to not be of the same eloquence with words, the former bargeman still managed to get his idea across, and without treading into the waters of ill chosen words and heavy metaphors that Thranduil found so many humans fond of. There is nearly a smile that crosses the fair elven features, even at the likening of him and his people to fire. There was still a great thing to be gleaned form the human's words, and Thranduil wondered if he knew just what he was saying, not just blatantly, but also through the fact he chose to speak at all. "I do believe that I understand what you are saying, Bard. No matter how ineloquent you might think your words, they are well received."

Well received and remembered for everything they do not say. There is much that Thranduil can garner from the human, from his words and his temperament, that intrigues the king and amuses him at the same time. He could tell that the other was somewhat struck by all of the events, but he refused to buckle beneath the weight, which Thranduil admired. It was even more obvious that the other had little idea as to how to conduct himself around the elven king and, whilst Thranduil was used to such things, this-- this one amused him even more than normal. He nearly wanted to it continue, for the other to not ever become comfortable with his presence, and yet that thought also seemed to appall Thranduil.

He was not going to win with this human, it seemed.

Those thoughts are only reinforced at the proud look on Bard's face when speaking of his children. There was something that he would always respect, both being a father and being so proud of it. There was much truth in Bard's words, knowing that when fighting, things were so much more when you were fighting to protect something. The fear that had seeped into Thranduil's bones at the end of the battle, his son no where to be found, was a testament to just how much the elven king cared, even if he did not show it outwardly in ways that most people would understand. He had done his best to raise Legolas to be a fine young warrior, a fine young elf, and he was not disappointed in the result. Even with Legolas leaving, Thranduil could not say he was upset with his son. "We are only what we protect, are we not?"

When he is met with vivid green eyes, Thranduil is reminded of the Greenwood, what was one his kingdom long before the darkness had seeped into the roots of the trees. It is not enough to distract the king, but he is sure that he will not forget such a colour any time soon. "Being quick to learn is an admirable trait, and a useful one. Both as a king and as a warrior. " It could win him battles, both physical and diplomatic, and Thranduil found himself hoping that he could witness the growth of the man before him into a king. The only thing stopping him, really, was himself.

There was an unwritten rule to not become too invested in mortals, for they fade quickly and leave the deepest of scars behind them (for something that is gone so quickly, they have all the less time to burn, so they burn all the brighter it seems). Yet, Thranduil could not help himself in his inclinations to want to, at the very least, watch the other closely. He was a puzzle and an interesting one at that. He is almost so caught up in h is musing, the hopes and concerns of mortality and life, that he nearly misses Bard's comment.

Nearly.

The smirk on his face softens, though he does not laugh again. "You claim to know nothing of practiced words, and yet you tell me this? Why, Bard, is it possible you have not given me the whole truth?" There is an obvious note of amusement in his voice, though he is taken a back by the others words; that is not something he has ever been told before in all his long years.

"I could ask for no more than that. I fear I would not know what to do if they were ill received." Laughing lightly, the sound was a bit terse in feel. Bard had not given in to such strange praise before. And he certainly had not spoken in poor poetic words since the loss of his wife. Where he may tell great stories and remembrances to his children, to share a compliment on another in this form? It felt like far too long.

Sometimes he felt like something pulled at him and made him look upon the elven king with such study and wonder. It did not feel like the typical curiosity that men had of elves. No, he felt like this was more. It felt troubling in a lot of ways. Part of him warned himself that this was not wise and he should not entertain any thoughts of he or his family holding any interest for long to someone so magnificent in stature and age. Thranduil and his people were all beyond the touch and reach of mankind. Why did that bother him? Bard always proved a man of simple but realistic hopes. What was this hope he did not want to entertain? Did he even know?

"A man that fights for only himself is poor, indeed. Poorer still if he dies in the same way." Bard never placed himself above others, but he pitied those that lived in that way. It made him suddenly smile in amusement as he considered how his children would grow and love someone and have their own offspring. "I want my children to grow up knowing that protecting those they love is the greatest act they can ever achieve." It made him wonder idly if Thranduil's son had someone like that or if the king himself had someone other than just his son like that. He had heard that Thranduil lost his wife just as he lost his own... but he did not claim to know how elves reacted to such loss and lived so very long.

"It will serve me well in the endeavor I take in leading." For a blinding moment, a thought struck him. Would it be so awful to take this title if it meant he could speak more with the woodland king? Only to wonder how such a thought entered his mind to begin with. Yet still... the thought took root and he ducked his head. He would lead his people to keep them safe, and he would honorably serve their alliance to his dying breath. No more should be or could be asked of him. Why let such a silly notion wander aimlessly through his thoughts.

In either case, the elf manages to stun him just slightly with that softening of his features. Still, a grin pulled at his lips as he arched a brow. "You are kind. Sometimes I simply over speak my mind. It is likely to be a detriment at this rate. I will try to rein in the strange compliments that try to break free in the future. I simply... felt the curious impulse and asked." Oh, he regretted asking. It sounded foolish as it echoed in his head. Why would he ask such a silly thing? Surely the elven king would not care to hear his foolishness.

"But if it pleases you, I will tell you I am well practiced and see if that earns even the smallest bit more of respect." He had to turn it to teasing to keep the flush from running into his face and showing his embarrassment at his own words.

"If they were ill received, you could claim cultural barrier I am sure." There is a hint of amusement to his voice, knowing that, no matter how alien the elves might be to men, there was more understanding in the former bargeman than in most. Though the king does notices the tension, wonders what might cause such a thing in the man when their conversation did not seem quite so... precarious.

There was something about this mortal, and just this one, that Thranduil found himself actually trying to understand. Humans were always there, things that Thranduil and his people engaged with but never truly found themselves caring for in a way beyond that of simple alliances and some more casual friendships. The looming mortality of the other race always managed to cast a shadow over everything, over all their interactions, that kept both races at a kind of border. It was not to say that the elves were hostile, or even not welcoming, it was more that they knew the faces that were before them now would be gone in a blink of an eye. Even the cities of men did not weather time well.

And yet, Thranduil found himself with the oddest inclination to ignore this looming mortality and actually, in some form, help the poor new king before him. Perhaps it was the way he had fought in the battle, the way that the spark in him seemed to burn so much brighter than those around him. Or for the love of his children. Thranduil did not know, he just knew that there was an impulse there that had not been felt in a long while. He smiles, a twitch of the mouth, at Bard's words about fighting. "You understand the desires and reasons of the mortal heart more than most, Bard. It is... refreshing."

There is a look on his face as he speaks, one that is softer than his usually look, but not entirely open. It is clear however, that he has some level of agreement (admiration?) for those words. And though Thrnaduil tries to protect the lives of those he holds dear the most, he knows that what Bard speaks is the truth. To lose someone that you love... it was not a grief easy to over come. Thranduil had now lost his wife to dragon fire and his son to the sternness of his own hand. It was time, perhaps, for the king to learn new things.. And it seemed this human might help. Though he would never say as much aloud.

"I feel it is only one of the many traits that will serve you well in your future endeavour. Though, should you need it, my council is always available." Thranduil can almost feel the eyebrows of his entourage raising at those words; he does not offer his council lightly, and rarely to ones who cannot then give something back for it. But, the king would not retract his statement. He believed, for some reason, that this king before him would be worthy of the aid he might ask for. As long as he was not too prideful to ask in the first place.

The king huffs the smallest of laughs, eyes flitting to Bard. "I daresay you are one of few that would call me kind in any manner. Do not let that notion linger for long in your thoughts, as I am bound to dismiss it eventually." Though he does wonder if he shall do so in this mortal's presence. "I daresay your speaking of mind may gain you many things, if not just the amusement of myself and my people. It is a refreshing trait, as elves are not prone to speaking before thought." there should be some admonishment in his voice, but there is none. Thranduil is genuinely amused.

"And what of my respect might intrigue you so, King Bard?" There is more curiosity seeping into his voice at that. Something about this interaction that has Thranduil intrigued and actually interested in a way that he has not been in lifetimes. The fact that Bard has to turn his face only compounds it. Perhaps there is more here than Thranduil initially thought.

"If I were smart, I would. But I am only so quick in realizing the answers a true delegate would know." Chuckling softly at that, he shook his head. "I am more earthen and honest in my words. If I am mistaken, I am mistaken." He would not try to make it simpler or of no consequence. Bard did not hide behind excuses, he preferred to learn from his mistakes and strive to do better. Even in such a confusing thing as complimenting an elven king.

Bard turned over the thought of being more understanding of the heart. Was he? No... "I do not believe it that complicated. If you love... you know. If love is lost by death or other means, then you know the greatest pain a heart could ever hope to endure. But I would not trade that feeling for a life without pain. If one understands this, the answer is simple." A moment of blinding love was more precious than a life of numbness to him. He loved his wife with all his being. He loved his children the same. He would not trade that love for the security of not knowing loss. Not in a thousand lifetimes.

Yet that look on Thranduil's face made his mind wander. It reminded him of porcelain suddenly contrasted to the soft perfection of silk. Just that slight change removed the statuesque beauty and made it soft and bright as light. Were all elves like this? Or did he look at Thranduil more closely than other elves? For a moment he nearly turned to look at the entourage that followed the king, but he did not. Why would he?

Blinking a few times out of his contemplation, he focused on the elder's words. His mind rushed and got caught up in that strange warm sensation that such an offer would tangle him up in. It took the coherent thoughts, scattering them everywhere. But it did not stop him from speaking. "I value your words and give them weight in my life... but I would only ask so much if done so in friendship." He felt like the ground opened up under him. "That is to say... I do not wish to solely take your council and not offer back, at the very least my friendship. For I am not so wise as to assume I could give back in kind."

He would treasure the wisdom of the elven king. Of that, he had no doubt. But more than anything he wanted them to be friends and not simply allies. And he could not feed off of such council... not in such a way that he gave nothing in return. But that did not mean he should have spoken so candidly either. Too bad his mouth seemed to think he was doing fine on the course it set...

"They simply do not see you." People looked on Thranduil with more fear rather than the respectful fear that he commanded. Fear and respect go hand in hand, but the fear that walked with terror was not how he felt about the king. No one's countenance could soften as his did and be unkind. Even still, he laughed just a little at himself. "Amusement. I would expect that." He must be utterly amusing to the ageless beings. It made him feel that much more unrefined. But only in their presence. "I cannot feel wrong for speaking my mind... Perhaps it is fleeting mortality, but too much is lost when something is kept in."

That is, until the king asked that question and his jaw tightened. He pleaded with his good sense not to answer that question. Part of him feared the answer himself. And he only half succeeded as he looked away. "It is yours." It said enough without disturbing his own thoughts as his heart beat a little harder. Foolish human, indeed.

"Perhaps you are smarter than you give yourself credit. The truth will always fare better than well contrived lies, no matter how well you think them to be practiced. " The elven king regarded the human out of the corner of his eyes, the small spark of respect growing. "If you are willing to learn from your mistakes, then they are not such terrible things at all, and that is a hard lesson to learn for many." He does not ask how Bard came to learn it, or if perhaps he was just one of the few who were inclined that way, but it pleases Thranduil either way.

When Bard, however, refutes his claim of the mortal heart and his knowledge of it, Thranduil turns to listen. The words do nothing but prove his own, the fact that Bard was aware of such things a rarity for sure. So many were more concerned with gold and glory, that they forgot the simpler things. Thranduil himself was not free of such flaws either, he coveted gold more than many an elf. Bard's more simplistic way of looking at this reminded him of... things that had long since been buried. "But many do not understand." The king's voice is quiet, quieter than normal, as he recalls the grief of losing his wife. It was a pain that he never though he would endure, and it was a pain that he had sworn, long ago, to never endure again. He does not know if he can agree with Bard, that knowing is better than not knowing at all. It may be different for elves, as he may never depart from this world as his wife did, may never have anything else but a lifetime of memories and the bitter taste of ash in his mouth.

The king has to shake his head, clear away the thoughts that pull him down and focus on what is at hand. It has been too long since someone has managed to evoke such things in him, and he is nearly put off kilter for a moment. He is put on even more unevevn footing when Bard, in exchange for his council, offers friendship. It was... a strange thing to offer in the eyes of the king. He certainly had not expected such a offer and, in all his years, he did not know how to accept or decline such a thing. There were many who gave their loyalty and love to the king, but precious few who gave their friendship. In fact, he was hard pressed to think of any that would fall under such a claim.

Blinking, Thranduil is silent a moment before he inclines his head, slowly. "Though it is not what I expected, I am glad to enter into a friendship rather than a political agreement, Bard." He lets the other's name hang on his tongue, blue eyes piercing as he looks up. There are so many things about this human that make him question what he believes he knows. Who thinks to ask the fearsome elven king of the woodland realm for friendship Many would say he is not capable of such things, that his heart was burned in dragon fire years ago. And yet...

They simply do not see you.

Once again, the king is left not really knowing what to do, though he does not show it. He does not answer the words that Bard speaks, instead watches the human and tries to figure out what was so different about him compared to so many of the others. He speaks with more wisdom than one of his years should be able, and yet there was still so much joy and life in him, so much fire and will to live. It intrigued the elven king greatly and made it no chore to offer his council and presence for the other. Perhaps it would be beneficial for Thranduil as well.

"It serves you well to speak your mind. You are right, as too much could be lost if it were kept in." Not that Thranduil ever followed such a thing, he was known for speaking scathingly on a whim, but little more. "It is not mortality, it is a wisdom I believe."

Wisdom and something else, though Thranduil does not know which it is that spurs the human to speak in response to his question. The elven king blinks again, watches as Bard turns away to answer and he does not linger on the emotions that momentarily rise up at that. "Is that so? You may be right, my respect is not easily won." Nor is his attention, but Bard seemed rather good at catching that as well.

Angling his head, he nodded to that. "Lies are no more than a spiders web that we get tangled in." He said that with no lightness. He imagined the master and how he lost his life in the same disgusting web he spun all his life forcing Laketown into such poverty. No one raised a hand to help him. He died alone and horridly. No less than he deserved. "I try to learn from each mistake and prevent them from ever happening again if at all possible."

His head turns in surprise at how quiet Thranduil's voice got in his response. Bard's heart hurt for a moment as he considered the lovely elven king in all his age, wisdom, power and riches. What was all of that if you lived so removed and so... alone? And to Bard, he looked alone even among his attendants. He remembered watching him in battle... how he fought with fury and pain in an elegant dance that only bore the sound of Elvish steel tearing into his foes without mercy. And for some reason, that which he found beautiful before, he found somewhat saddening now.

Clearing his throat softly, he added in a gentler sad tone. "I knew no happiness quite like the love of my wife. She was the... summer breeze that swept over the lake and refreshed our home." His smile was small and wistful as he thought of her laugh and smile and how she held their children. "Not even remembering that. Not even thinking about that... how could I regret such a beautiful thing when the three reasons I live and breathe reside in my home? I would rather death come quickly than imagine a life without my children. It is truly best to know that love and all it gave me... than to wish it never to have occurred." He ducked his head, a soft deprecating laugh escaping him. "Forgive me... I rarely speak of her. But I felt... as new friends, I may entrust such knowledge of me."

He finally looked at the elven king, a true and genuine smile pulling at his lips. "I am glad that you would rather friendship." What more could he say? He never would imagine the beautiful Sindarin to even acknowledge the offer much less accept. "Will you stay a while or just for this day?" Part of him hoped he would not simply talk about the agreements then leave.

"Wisdom?" He chuckled at that. "I do hope that I do have some wisdom to share with you." At the very least it would not feel so one sided in that. Glancing at the blonde, he gifted him with an odd gentle look. "I would think not... And should the rare event happen that I did win your respect... I would hope not." It kept the notion special in his mind. "But I would not dare to think I would garner such a thing easily or even any time soon. So... call it a lifelong goal." And hopefully in one lifetime, he would acquire even just a little of Thranduil's respect.

"There are many that would benefit from learning the same lessons as you, though most will never come close to such learnings." Their lives, Thranduil thought, might be too short to truly learn lessons, though it seemed that Bard had managed to learn one of the most important. It was good to know that the king of Dale would at least have a leader willing to learn at its helm, rather than one only searching for his own glorification. "There are enough webs to fall into in these parts, one does not need the lies of their own devising to entrap them as well."

Perhaps it was a joke, perhaps not. Either way, the tone is lost when the memories rise up in the elven king like an army of ghosts. It had been so long, and yet still not long enough for him to have forgotten what it was like to lose someone you believed you would have for an eternity. There were days when his own son was a reminder of what he had lost, a reminder of how he had failed when it mattered most, and he was a reminder of how he must protect everything he loved so much. Some might say he was too overbearing with his son, but Legolas was all that he had left that truly mattered in flesh and blood. The memories often bubbled to the surface, moreso when such topics arose, but Thranduil pushed them down with less ease than normal. He was stopped at Bard's words though, the briefest flash of surprise flickering through blue eyes when the human tells of his own loss.

It is not like the elven king to speak of his wife, or even make reference to her. It was a sore spot indeed, but he felt something of a kindred bond as Bard regales him with the reasons that he looks at the world the way he does. And, though he may not agree with Bard, still sure that loss and grief was so different for the two, he could at least understand the tiniest bit. WIth a small nod, Thranduil looks towards the ruins of Dale, face blank as he speaks. "I appreciate your trust, King of Dale. And know that you are not alone in such loss."

There would be no more on that, Thranduil surprised that he even said that much on his past, but he felt that , at the very least, Bard could understand some of his pain. Pain that he pushes down and tries to forget in the things that needed to be done. He gives a low hum before tilting his head towards the human. "I believe that we shall stay a day or two, if it is not too much difficulty. I shall have my company set up tents as I understand your city is still being constructed."

It was not necessary that he stayed the extra time, but it could certainly not hurt to ensure that they were able to go over everything necessary. The elven king also found himself oddly curious with the enigma that was Bard.

"There are things that humans will always understand in a way different than elves, I appreciate that. " Turning, Thranduil catches the odd look Bard gives him, but tries not to think on it. Instead, meeting the look with a raised eyebrow. "It is not easily won, indeed. But that does not mean it is an impossible thing to achieve. I daresay a life long goal is a bit much."

Bard had to stop and think about what the elven king said. A small smile pulled at his lips at the slight jest about webs even though he had not meant it in that way. He refused to make light of the troubles in Mirkwood, but he would not draw attention to them now either. "I shall endeavor not to make more." He winked over at the king and let the conversation move forward.

He did, however, feel guilty for bringing attention to the loss of a loved one. It seemed that his words took Thranduil back just slightly. Bard had a feeling that even a small reaction reflected a greater feelings. A small feeling likely would not show at all. And yet, he was getting a plethora of reactions so quickly. It made him feel guilty for eliciting so many emotions unintentionally.

Reaching out, he placed a hand softly on his shoulder for a very brief moment before pulling away. He knew that Thranduil had gone through this as well in a way. He would not push it further. It was there and the door was open. "Come... I think they managed to save one barrel of wine from the wreckage and I believe today is a good day to drink it."

Closing the distance to the hall, he opened the door for the elven king with a bright smile. "I welcome you. And as I said before, I would gladly offer you my own home if you would only accept it. And if not, please set up near my home and that way I can be sure to be there when you need me." It was important. Diplomatically he should give his all to their alliance. Personally, he wanted to take care of the king even if he likely did not need his care. "And when we are not talking on important matters, I would be honored to show you what we have managed to accomplish."

Chuckling in mirth, he waited till all the elves entered the hall before briskly catching up to the blonde elven lord. "I do everything with all my soul. To give only part would be an insult even if I earn it sooner than one lifetime. Please sit." He waved to the best chair at the table that was covered in fruits, cheeses and glasses for the wine.

There was little that Thranduil could do about the horrors that lurked in Mirkwood, and he was aware of that. He did what he could to keep the horrors at bay, but he refused to let them permeate all aspects of his life. The king hums, something of a smile tugging at his features as Bard has the gall to wink at him. "And I am pleased for that, it is difficult to make silk of lies." There is little more that he can say, trying to keep the tone as polite as possible, though he is pleased that Bard seems to understand the matter so well.

Even at the mention of a lost loved one, something that Thranduil never speaks of because of the pain it wrought, Bard is nothing but a gracious host. Perhaps it is because of his own share in the grief, because he understands what it is like to have a hole such as that ripped into your heart, that the king does not find the actions cheap or false. Even the hand on his shoulder does not startle the king, he is not consoled by the action, but he does feel a bond form, something that is difficult to do when there were so many walls standing in the way.

Humming at the offer of wine, the king nods. "It is a fine day to drink it, though I am hard pressed to think of days when it is not good to indulge in it." Perhaps he indulged too often, but he could not agree entirely with that. Following behind Bard, the elven king watched with something like amusement at the looks the entourage was receiving. He wondered, idly, if it would get any better the more that they visited.

The thought that they would visit more often, and that he thought such a thing so casually, struck the king as odd, making him nearly miss the welcoming from Bard. He gives a nod, lips twitching yet again at the offer. "You are a king now, Bard. If would do you no good to offer up your own place. Though the offer is appreciated. Deeply." It was a strange thing, one that the previous rulers of Dale would never have thought of, but it was this kindness, this selflessness, that made Thranduil believe that Bard would be the best leader that the city had ever seen. There was something that no amount of knowledge could ever make up for, and it was the will and the want to make others as happy as possible. And though there was worry on Thranduil's part at just how far it might go, he was prepared to ensure that the newly crowned king was not taken advantage of.

"That would suffice, we will help in whatever way we can, there are enough craftsmen in my people that can be of aid when necessary. Though we will be hard pressed in the winter months." No matter how bountiful their summers were, the winter brought with it many new ills, usually in the form of evil that lurked in the darkened wood.

The sound of Bard's laughter, as muted as it was, was a gift to Thranduil. Though he could not think of why, he tucked the sound away, nodded his head and took a seat, eyes not on the spread before him, but rather on the new king. There was much he felt he needed to understand here, and it was troublesome that he could not. "Your generosity in such times is gracious of you, let us speak of how we can be of aid."

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