The gentle rumble from an approaching storm can be heard from Thranduil's balcony, the dark forest waiting in still anticipation. I stand at the edge of the jutted rock, my hands loosely gripping the railing, as Ada drones on about the strife and decline of the city of Gondor.

I have contributed little, my thoughts tossing like a ship on the waves of a turbulent sea. I yearn to be elsewhere, under the golden mallorn trees of Lórien, or with Faeleth in Imladris fair. Perhaps I could be like Caewen, not returning to my homeland for a span of many years. Ada would finally depart, reassured that if I shall not marry, at least my sister will see to my needs.

A warm wind blows from the east, carrying the smell of damp earth. The storm travels at a slow pace, but it will be upon us soon.

In Imladris I could start anew. Keeping to myself and my quill, I would veer far from the affairs of others...

It is a bitter sting, but Thranduil spoke true. I foolishly led Gwendes to believe Elros could love her. If only I had listened to the small, unobtrusive voice of my conscience from the beginning, its warning clear.

My mistake has been made, its consequences already in motion. But if I speak to Gwendes, perhaps I can lessen their severity. Can my friend be swayed to open her eyes to Elros' prejudice? It feels imperative to try.

"I do not recall when I last observed you so distracted."

The closeness of Thranduil's voice startles me. I turn to face him and realize we are alone. Somewhere during the journey across the waves of my thoughts, my father took his leave.

"Gailon said you were...daydreaming."

I remember my use of the creative word earlier; Ada obviously remembered as well. Our disagreement before Thranduil's arrival feels insignificant now.

"I was thinking of my sister. I have not seen her in far too long."

"Since her wedding," he says. "Does she still write often?"

"As often as possible while rearing a child. She tells me he has a head of brown curls, like mine." I return my gaze to the dark landscape and the starless sky above it. "He is growing fast..."

"You plan to visit them soon."

"I am considering it."

The storm wind returns, causing my hair to lash my cheeks. After mulling over his heated confrontation from earlier, his words echoing in my ears, I cannot muster the courage to meet his eyes. It would be too revealing; he would see how easily he wounded me.

"Rîneth, look at me."

I hold my gaze over the forest canopy, resolved not to give in to another of his demands. The rumble of thunder is louder now, angrier, signaling it is time to retire. I open my mouth to bid him good night, but his hand grasps my chin and gently turns my face to meet his.

Our eyes touch briefly before I look away. "My lord?"

"I know you oft desire to visit your sister and nephew, but I sense your longing tonight is caused by another reason. I do not like...us to be at odds."

"It has been a long evening..."

"What I said to you was undeserved."

I dare to look at him then, his usual stony features transformed with unguarded softness. Silver-blond strands of hair fly across his face in a sudden gust, landing tangled and out of place when the wind lessens. In need of a comb, he has lost his intimidating presence entirely.

"I have not forgotten the pain you suffered," he says.

My eyes begin to smart, but I blame it on the cutting wind. "It was long ago. It is true...I am no expert in matters of love."

"Perhaps you know better than anyone."

"Tis the reason I was so eager in encouraging Gwendes," I confess. "What happened to me was due to unfounded prejudice. I could not bear the thought of prejudice affecting her, even if in a different manner. I wanted her to believe she could have anyone..."

"Your heart was in a noble place."

"He and Elros share many similarities. How did I not see it?"

"You did not wish to believe anyone could be as cruel."

I look down at my feet, noticing a part of my teal gown hangs over the edge of the rock face. "By encouraging her, I have inadvertently placed her in the same position. You had a good reason for your anger."

"Not towards you. I knew it was never your intention to cause trouble. When angry, I do not always act with my usual clarity."

I know how much it means for him to admit that fault. If Thranduil has one weakness, it is his anger, robbing him of all wisdom or reason. It once led him to disregard my father's advice and ride to Erebor with the entire Greenwood army. Seeking to reclaim his gemstone heirlooms, he threatened war if Thorin Oakenshield refused. But it had turned into far more than a war against the Dwarves alone. His anger had cost much that day...

"I forgive you for it."

Lightning lights the darkness, its blue branches reaching far across the weighted clouds. I let go of my hold on the metal railing. It will soon be time to seek cover before the coming rain. The quake of thunder is like a clash between balrogs, its intensity startling.

"Shall we leave?" he asks.

"Not yet." I look upwards at the turbulent clouds, wishing I could see them more clearly. "I have always loved the spring storms."

"So have I," he says, surprising me.

We fall into silence as the wind increases, whipping our long hair behind us as we turn to face it. A flash of lightning, and the balrogs return. I wonder how many storms Thranduil has seen in his lifetime. In truth, he is a storm himself, housed in the body of an elf.

"I am not as wise as you," I admit, not knowing why. "I cannot always foresee the repercussions of my actions."

"At times your wisdom rivals mine."

I smile. "You need not save my feelings. I have already forgiven you."

"You are wiser in heart." The night makes his eyes a black sapphire again, though they hold more warmth than earlier in my father's chambers.

"If that were true, Gwendes and Sírdor would not be in their current predicament."

"But your intentions were sincere. Perhaps your Gwendes will realize what she feels for Elros is not love, but infatuation."

"Yes. But I still hold fast that she should not limit her choices. She should set her sights on whoever she desires, whether it be a gardener or a king of Dwarves."

His eyebrow quirks. "A king of Dwarves? I doubt this king would find her lack of beard winsome."

I tilt my head back and laugh, a cold rain droplet landing on my forehead. "You may be right."

"You should consult Tauriel on the matter."

"Oh, yes. She would know for certain."

His hint of mischief is a surprising treat, one which I surmise is born from the thrill of the oncoming storm. I have witnessed this mischief often in Legolas, but it is far rarer in his guarded father. Is this where the prince acquired it?

"You should ban the ongoing prejudice between Sindarin and Silvan," I say, feeling emboldened. "You are the King, are you not?"

"I am. But it would change nothing. King or no, I cannot control the minds of my people."

"It would be a start."

The onset of rain comes as a torrent, pelting my face and hands and every exposed part of me. It is as though the skies have upturned a water bucket the size of the Lonely Mountain. Squinting, Thranduil leads me to the door, his hand on my back. The crashing sound of the rain becomes muted as we enter the caves.

I notice the strands of wet hair which cling to his face and neck and hide my grin. I do not dare take advantage of his good humor; he is always so careful about his appearance.

"I should retire and appoint you as Greenwood's leader," he says, continuing our discussion.

"I would rather just advise you when needed."

"Rîneth..." He absently gathers his hair and wrings it, droplets of water falling onto his boots and the stone floor. "You advise me even when not needed."