Vigil - (The Hobbit, M)

[Garnet]

I threatened Spoo with a the fluffiest continuation of a fic I posted to the adult board that I could conceive of. Then I had the day off due to a snowstorm and couldn't go anywhere and made good on my promise by spitting this all out in a day and tapdancing on canon. Whatever, don't look at me. This is what my life has become.

Maybe this will finally purge this pairing from my brain. PROBABLY NOT.

But maybe.

VIGIL

It felt strange to keep a vigil over the Elvenking as he slept. He so rarely did so in the first place. Bard needed it as much as any Man, and probably got far less than he should by dint of his position and his household, sheltering three children and all of Dale under his watch. If he dropped off in Thranduil's company, he would often awake to find him nearby, occupied with some quiet task and seemingly content just to be in his friend's presence. It touched his heart in strange, revealing ways.

This prickled under his skin similarly, though undershot with creeping concern. What did one do with a sick Elf?

If, in fact, he was sick. Thranduil hadn't given him a direct answer, even drunk and with tongue loose. He knew not the difference between a mortal ailment and an immortal one. He rolled the thought over and over in his mind as dawn slowly filtered down through the Greenwood, limning the distant canopy he could not see.

The passage of time here was one better measured by lanterns than sunlight. The forest had once been radiant and lush, but now it too seemed sick with a creeping dark. Here in the stronghold of its heart, the taint had not yet passed, but the effect of living in a vast and tangled knot of root and earth, limb and bark was the same. Bard found it all frankly dizzying, and endeavored not to leave its lord's presence for too long. He had eerie visions of following some fae-lighted path down into the earth or out into the woods and becoming lost forever.

After a long, aching while as he debated the merits of letting Thranduil sleep over getting something that wasn't wine into him, he reached out to brush the backs of his knuckles across one cheekbone. The Elf was cool to the touch, and he was glad that he had slipped from that waking dreamstate of his people -- open-eyed, glassy, distant -- and back into a deeper sleep. It looked too much like the rest of the deceased when he slept lightly.

He didn't stir at the touch of Bard's strong workman's hand, however, nor to the fingers that carded back through his hair. If not for the faintest stitch appearing between his brows as he stroked one ear, in fact, Bard might have truly given him up for dead.

"I know you are not hungover," Bard sighed through his nose as he spoke aloud and yet mostly to himself. "Nor did you drink so much. Still, I wonder if it's better to leave you to your hibernation. I hope it doesn't last the season," he said, lips curling with amusement. Thranduil slept.

At length, he shifted their positions until the Elf's deceptively heavy, slack form was resting against him more comfortably, where he could smooth the hair from his face and wait for the morning to realize.

Bard drifted in and out of a doze himself for some time, thinking of nothing and everything. Only when Thranduil stirred against him with a long, deep breath and a small hum in his throat did his world sharpen back to full consciousness.

"Awake, finally?" He prompted.

Thranduil swallowed and slowly, blearily adjusted himself so he was better draped atop Bard than beside him. "I would rather not be," he said. His voice was a bit raspy with sleep.

Bard was partially amused, and partially vexed. "At least let me up, then. My arm's gone dead."

"I think not. You make a better pillow," Thranduil slurred, already backsliding towards dreams. Bard grunted.

He could move the Elf, certainly, but it required considerable more muscle and effort than was graceful or kind. And if he needed to be unkind anyway...

"You leave me no choice," he tutted, though Thranduil had already drifted off again and did not respond. He selected one finger hardened by years of splitting and healing, splitting and healing, over and over again as he poled a barge or drew a bowstring. Its tip settled just underneath the Elf's still-pink nose, sheened with a little residual wetness that was probably a decent indicator of his health, and rubbed. Gingerly at first, feather-light as he stroked the long path of his septum and then traced each nostril when they began to tease open in distress.

His breathing changed subtly, shallow and calm to a less normalized pattern as his nose trembled, reddened. Bard kept up his unhurried caress, breathed in the scent of his companion's hair, circled both nostrils until they were pulsing ticklishly and seemed just on the verge of crinkling with a thorough and cleansing blast. The Elf was still asleep, but he was so obviously about to make him sneeze.

As last, Bard slipped the very edge of his fingertip against the sensitive inner lining of Thranduil's septum. He bit back a sudden, hot flash of arousal to feel it actually twitching in response, desperate to...

"Ah...!" Thranduil broke at last, slivering his eyes open in teary dismay. He woke just in time to take in a confused breath and fist one hand in the sheets, before shaking into Bard with an explosive sneeze.

"aeh... --TSSSHSCHHHshh!"

The first seemed to clear out all the tickling and pent-up irritations of the night and then some, though there was still enough left behind that Thranduil rolled off him, bare chest heaving and brows twisted. A hand hovered inches from his quivering nose.

"...ahd-TSSCHHHhh!" He sat up with the force of that one, the muscles of his stomach clenching in sharp definition before he loosed the last wetly over his own lap. "--hah-TSSCHHDT!"

He collapsed back to the bed afterwards, hair in a disarray of white silk and fingers cupped over his streaming nose as he suffered a groan. Bard laid a contrite hand to his arm at once.

"Blessings. And... forgive me, please. That was cruel."

"Was it?" Thranduil mumbled blearily. He was massaging the last of the itch from his nostrils with small, wet-sounding movements, eyes threatening to spill over with tears. He seemed unaware of the cause of his sneezing altogether, which only drove the guilt deeper.

"It was. I'm bothering your nose when you're feeling unwell," Bard pointed out. He located a handkerchief between the covers and passed it over to the grateful Elf, who took a few moments to blow his nose thoroughly.

"I am well enough," he dismissed, which prickled at Bard's ire a little until he glanced sidelong and added, "And my revenge seems to have already been exacted," with a nod to the spray that still dappled his bare chest. Bard blinked in surprise and dabbed it away as best he could, though he shook his head slightly.

"You are far too forgiving."

Thranduil stretched out under the covers, once recovered, and looked him over sleepily. "Only with you, Dragonslayer."

"And why is that?" Bard smirked, tipping his head to one side to allow some of his unbound hair to fall in rakish skeins of silver and black. He savored Thranduil's expression of unfettered appreciation.

"Likely because I am wholly smitten with you."

Thranduil was ever blunt with his affections, and yet sometimes it still took Bard completely by surprise when he said things like that. He swallowed.

"That is a fair length of time to be smitten."

Thranduil rested his temple on one curled fist and smiled. "Not to an Elf. And I am reminded anew each time I feel the lines of your scars under my hand, see the flash of your eyeteeth as you laugh, or the tenderness as you bend to receive a kiss from your daughters."

Bard's skin burned, and he leaned naturally into the welcome drape of Thranduil's arm to press his brow against his shoulder. Had anyone else uttered such syrupy drivel he would have rolled his eyes until they dropped back into his skull, but now his face and blood were hot with embarrassed pleasure. "My lord..."

Thranduil pecked a quick, sniffling kiss to his hair, and added, wry, "Your daughter who is going to have your head if you don't join her for breakfast."

Bard sagged at the reminder. Ah. Right.

"And yours as well, I think," he said, giving the Elf's bare skin a last nuzzle before he sat up and back.

"I endeavor never to cross her," Thranduil agreed with amusement. He rose from the bed, letting the covers pool and gather away from his body until he was towering upright, all pale skin and sinew and long hair that reached to his mid-back. A commanding presence, even without a stitch of clothing on him. He was not the only one smitten, particularly as he lingered a hand on the bedpost a moment, head tipping back in preparation, and sneezed into the crumpled handkerchief.

"hah... --TSCHHHss!"

"Bless," Bard offered as he stirred from the bed himself and went about collecting the breadcrumb trail of his clothes. "It can be sent here, if you wish to lay abed."

"Truly, I am fine," Thranduil replied, this time with a note of subtle warning as he dressed, and fixed Bard with a glance over one shoulder. Bard rose a brow right back, uncowed.

"Oh? Are you not ill?" He smirked as he tugged on his trousers. "Does your nose not itch and throat not sting? Perhaps you wince when you swallow for another reason, and sleep so deeply because you are getting old."

"Ego," Thranduil said sharply, and threw his tunic at him. "You are a menace."

Bard caught it, laughing. No matter. Even an ever-patient and millenia-old Elf could not keep up the charade for long.

----

In fact, he barely made it half an hour before his composure broke. They joined Tilda for the morning's repast on a natural balcony wrought of root and limb, overlooking the walking paths of the great trees that served as the Woodland Realm's halls. She was the only child who accompanied Bard to Mirkwood, in these days. Sigrid was polite with Thranduil, and regarded his friendship with her father fondly, but she was old enough now to have eyes for the strapping young men of Dale rather than the distant and wild Elves. Bain, too, had once been an eager companion, but now he only came to sit it on political matters, with the uncomfortable knowledge that he would need to attend them one day in the not-too-distant future. That, or if he thought Thranduil's own son might be present, passing through in his wanderings. Bard suspected there was a little bit of hero worship going on between his son and Legolas, but the relationship seemed a kind one, so he neither encouraged nor dissuaded it.

Tilda was ever her own child, however. More a young woman now, Bard had to admit reluctantly, who had engrossed herself wholly and happily in the culture of the woodland Elves. In her childhood days, whenever a letter came from the Woodland Realm for Bard, one had come for her as well, written in Thranduil's flowing Elvish script. Simple words and phrases at first, and then in increasing complexity until, inside of a few short years, she seemed fluent in Sindarin and with a healthy command of Silvan. She had an eye turned next for Quenya, and Bard was amused and a little bittersweet. She was a such a clever thing; her mother would have been proud.

She swept Bard up into a great hug at once, with a cheerful, "Da!" of greetings, as if she hadn't just seen him eight hours ago.

"Good morning, sweetness."

When she'd received her peck to the brow and squeeze in return, she moved to offer Thranduil the same customary embrace. The Elvenking took a reflexive step backwards, however, and the look of hurt that transgressed across his daughter's sunny features was a thing of pure tragedy. Bard would have elbowed him himself had not Thranduil tipped his head in immediate apology.

"Not too close, Til-nîn. I have a cold."

Bard fixed him with a pointed stare, which Thranduil resolutely ignored.

"Oh." Tilda looked at once dismayed and full of sympathy. "A cold, I didn't know Elves could... would I catch it?" She wondered, head tipped to one side.

"I don't think so, but best not to tempt fate."

Tilda accepted the answer gracefully, and after an uncertain beat, she offered the Elven equivalent of her affections instead, one which required no contact. A hand to the spot between her shoulder and chest, before the arm swept out with palm cupped loosely upwards. Thranduil returned the gesture with a little bow, and she seemed pleased.

Bard rolled his eyes in a mixture of exasperation and affection. "Good, that's done. Can we eat, now?"

"Da!" Tilda laughed, but let herself be herded back to the table. Spread out before them was fare more typical of the woodland than last night's feast: sliced fruits and bitter greens, nettle tea with honey and a spiced milk drink made with arrowroot that Bard had a great weakness for, boiled eggs and dark bread. Sometimes there were small, potent links of venison sausage, but not this morning. His daughter tucked in with relish.

Conversation always seemed to ebb and flow between them comfortably, despite that one of them had outlived them all by years upon years upon years, and that their words sometimes came in piecemeal Sindarin and Westron.

"Could we stay an extra day or two?" Tilda was prompting him, with her biggest and best hound dog eyes that Bard did his biggest and best to avoid. He buttered a piece of bread slowly, thoughtfully, as if he had not already mentally rearranged for a little extra time to watch Thranduil's cold develop in full. Who knew when he'd get the chance again? His steward in Dale could manage the city well enough until then, they were enjoying a year of peace and good harvest after too many hard winters.

"That's at the discretion of our gracious hosts, dear one."

"Please," Thranduil scoffed quietly, presiding over a cup of tea that Bard had bullied him into adding lemon and honey to. He ate little, as always, but Bard was satisfied to see him take a few bites of bread, an egg, and a mouthful of sweet summer berries over the course of an hour. "If I thought you could run your kingdom from afar, I would have you never leave the Greenwood."

"I'd prefer you in Dale," Bard said wryly. "It's brighter. Less spiders."

"Too many dragons," Thranduil said dismissively, as if the mountain were riddled with them and not still healing from the too-long occupation of the one. "Too many Dwarves."

"I like the Dwarves," Tilda reminded him. The Elvenking softened slightly and dabbed at his nose with a corner of the handkerchief. He'd been doing his resolute best not to sniffle or appear at all bothered by illness, but some things could not be helped, and it was becoming increasingly obvious how tired he was.

"I know you do." If he meant to offer anything further, it was waylaid by the prickle of something in his nose, at last forcing Thranduil to sit back from the table and raise the handkerchief in dreading preparation. Turned away from them both, he inhaled, and inhaled again, and on the third shaking breath hid his raw nostrils in the cloth, prepared to purge with a violent sneeze.

But there was nothing. Even concealed from view, Bard could well imagine his nostrils tic-ing wildly as they tried to work out what was tickling them, though it was not quite enough. Eyes brimming with wetness, Thranduil lowered the handkerchief wearily.

Tilda murmured something affectionate in Sindarin, and Thranduil nodded as a finger swept lengthwise back and forth beneath his nose, easing its twitch.

So it went.

As the morning drew on and plates were cleared away and Bard was deliberating over how easily his companion could be put back to bed, a dark-haired Elf appeared along with the come-and-go of the more transient servants. He lingered just long enough to be out of place, as though he had news of some import, but nothing worth intruding into the scene with. Thranduil finally took notice enough to wave him impatiently over, and while the Elf bowed deeply to both his king and to Bard, it was to Tilda that he stepped, slipping a folded bit of paper into her eager hand. He was gone again with a polite nod to both men, while Bard was still processing that and trying to work out whether the Elf's thick fishtail braid looked just like Tilda's handiwork.

"What was that about?"

"What was what about?" His daughter replied innocently as she read the parchment, turned a revealing shade of pink, and put it inside a fold of her dress.

"Tilda," he said, with a note of warning.

"Oh, Faeron?" She chirped, wide-eyed and smiling as another Elf came to take away the last of the bread, and everything else but the still-warm teapot. "He looks after the archives, he found a text I'd been looking all over the place for and was letting me know before I wandered off elsewhere. That's all."

Bard looked after where the handsome Elf had gone, then back at Tilda. He narrowed his eyes at her, not fooled for an instant.

"You are much too young."

"Da!" She flushed more brightly still. "It's not that. And I'm seventeen!"

"Faeron is a child himself," Thranduil commented idly, as he drained the last of his tea. "Barely out of his first century."

"You're not helping," Bard told him darkly, while the Elvenking pretended a look of bewildered innocence.

"He's just my friend, Da," Tilda scowled, which Bard might have believed a little more if Thranduil were not also his friend. His daughter rose with a huff, clearly done with the both of them, but she did stop to grudgingly kiss her father's cheek before she could flounce off in full. "I promise."

Bard sighed, but if kingship and fatherhood had taught him nothing else, it was the things that were in his control, and the things that were well beyond it. Teenaged girls and... well, teenaged Elves included, it seemed.

"As you say," he grumbled.

Thranduil finally succumbed, at that moment, to his tickling nasal passages, wrenching over his lap with a vigorous, "--hahdt'TSSZSCHHHiew!" that would have made the silverware rattle if it were still at hand.

"Oh," Tilda said sympathetically, her chagrin forgotten. "Galu." She looked as if she were seriously considering embracing him anyway, but at last compromised by touching the Elvenking's shoulder lightly. "Novaer, Thranduil. I'm sorry you're ill."

Thranduil held the handkerchief to his nose with exhaustion, though he managed a wan smile. "Thank you, pen-neth. It will pass."

After she'd gone, the Elf looked at him with an inscrutable expression. "Don't be cross."

Bard shook his head slightly. "I'm not, only I don't think that Elves flit through young love as easily as my people." Everything seemed... deeper, more intense, with a worrying finality. "I wish for no hurt."

The slight smile returned. "Do not find example in ones as old as myself, bitter and set in our ways. Faeron is as a sapling, young and malleable. So is your child."

"Perhaps," Bard sighed, and brushed his friend's arm. "Are you malleable enough, at least, to be talked back to bed?"

Thranduil nodded groggily. "I would welcome it."

---

There was distraction enough to occupy him, even in an unfamiliar kingdom, but Bard could not find it in himself to stray far from Thranduil's chambers. Not when the Elvenking retired easily enough back beneath the covers, not when the coughing set in shortly after breakfast, and when by noon his nose was red and sore-looking, stark against his otherwise pale skin. And oh, the sneezing. If he went months or years without hearing one from his friend, he could easily make up for it now as he fought a losing battle against an itch that could not seem to be quenched.

"--hah-TSSCHH!" He buried his leaking nose in the handkerchief, breath quivering, and repeated the sound again, then again, until with four attempts he seemed to finally find relief.

"Bless. Or... what was it Tilda said?"

"Galu," Thranduil croaked quietly as he blew his nose.

"Yes, that. Galu. I've never seen you sneeze so much."

"You've never seen me with a cold," Thranduil sighed, as he dabbed his nose and lay back again, looking tired and annoyed.

"Nor will I again, I suspect," Bard said. He came to sit on the edge of the bed, and did not miss the subtle change of expression to one more favorable.

"Not in your lifetime, no. Not likely."

"Best enjoy it while I can, then."

Thranduil exhaled another breath that sounded as if it hurt his throat just to do so. "I can't see what pleasure you find in this."

"It's not your misery," Bard assured, as he put a hand to the the other's brow. He wasn't sure if that was even an accurate measure of an Elf's temperature, but Thranduil closed his eyes with appreciation, so at least there was some merit. "Although I suppose the novelty of it is interesting. I think it is more... the aesthetic of struggling against something you cannot control."

"There are a great many things I cannot control," Thranduil sniffled, nudging up further under Bard's hand until his fingertips touched his hairline. He slipped them obediently back through the fine, pale strands, and smiled as Thranduil made a soft mmm of approval.

"But things that cause you more grief than a running nose."

"This is true," he admitted, sniffled again, and suddenly leaned back into the pillows with a shaky breath. "Ah--!"

Bard tucked a finger up under his nose at once, pressing in place against the warm, damp flare of his nostrils until their fluttering slowly abated, and Thranduil cracked him a teary look part bewildered, and part relieved.

"There is that, as well," Bard remarked, as he gave the Elf's elegant but sniffling nose the gentlest rub he could manage, then lowered his hand.

"There is that," Thranduil agreed. Dab dab went the handkerchief, blotting the well of moisture away. "Do you enjoy controlling what I cannot?"

"Only in this aspect, I think, and partly it is that you have a particularly... powerful sneeze." Something stirred in him just to say it. Ridiculous.

"Oh, you've noticed," the Elvenking drawled.

"I have, and it gives me pleasure to either tease such force out or stay it in place. And..." He rolled his eyes behind shut lids. "...I need to stop speaking of this, because you are too ill to follow where my thoughts go."

Thranduil managed a slightly hoarse laugh and reached for Bard's hand to press a kiss in the center of his palm. "To my great disappointment as well, Dragonslayer."

Bard opened his eyes with a rare, softer smile. "How do you feel?"

"Restless, irritated."

"Too hot?"

"Too cold. Come under here with me."

"I was going to suggest a hot bath."

Thranduil drew a slight breath of surprise. "That," he said, "Is a much better idea."

The Elvenking's private quarters encompassed more than just the bedroom. There was a small sitting area adjacent, as well as an annex that housed several deep, still pools that seemed fed by some underground spring. Whether their heat came from the earth or was magic in nature, they seemed a convenient place to soak all of the hurt and sick out of his friend's bones. Bard had enjoyed them on more than one occasion, after too many cups of wine or a too-hard ride through the wilds of Mirkwood. He gathered furls of clothes as Thranduil shed them again liked molted skins. As he heaped them to a nearby chair and watched his friend step down slowly into the pool, his blood quickened.

"And may I join you?"

"Your participation is not optional," Thranduil said as he sank in up to his shoulders and made a beckoning gesture with just the tips of his fingers breaking the surface.

Bard hissed in quiet pleasure once he'd stripped and eased into the dark and steaming waters. Thranduil slivered his eyes open in amusement.

"Too stiff?"

"Too old," Bard grumbled.

"Ah, that too. But you are not hobbling about with a cane yet."

"Give me another few years, perhaps," he snorted, and was surprised when Thranduil moved fluidly through the pool to a spot behind him. Beneath, he could feel the gentle heat of the water continually circulating through its underground channels, and behind, the Elvenking's hands settling against his shoulders, his thumbs pressing to the knots of dense, hard-won muscle beneath. "Mmm," he sighed. His brow trenched with discomfort, then smoothed with relief as Thranduil worked the tension from him slowly with firm, circling gestures. The water lapped softly around them with the motion, its sound an undercurrent to Thranduil's repetitive sniffling.

"Your nose is running," Bard observed as his eyes weighed shut. His head lolled forward under the massage.

"The steam does me too many favors, I think." Thranduil hesitated, breathed in, in, and sneezed an abrupt, "--TSZSSCHH-iew!" that Bard could feel just mist the edge of his shoulder. "Pardon."

"Galu. There is a handkerchief on the ledge."

Thranduil seemed both surprised and gratified by his foresight. He raised a dripping hand from the water and flicked some of its excess away before folding the cloth to his nose for a brief, productive exhale. "Disgusting," he said with a grimace in his voice, when at last his sinuses seemed emptied.

"You have clearly forgotten how vile I am with a cold," Bard reminded him, and was rewarded with a faint huff of laughter instead as Thranduil resumed his rolling touch.

"No, I remember. You are surlier than an injured animal and want to be left alone just as keenly, but eventually you can be tamed."

"Hm," Bard mumbled, but didn't argue, because Thranduil wasn't wrong.

There was comfortable quiet between them for a while, and when Bard's muscles had gone as slack and warm as they could without his whole body sloughing apart, the Elf took to gently mapping the surface scars with his fingertips. Some were smooth enough, others deeper, crueler, cutting far enough into flesh that he had suffered either some loss of sensation or too much, making them wildly sensitive to the touch. His shoulder twitched.

"These are lash marks," his companion observed quietly in his deep voice.

"Some of them."

"How were they incurred?"

A corner of Bard's mouth crimped slightly. "Various acts of insolence over the years, and perhaps some debts I owed in my youth. They are old wounds, all."

"Old wounds still sting, from time to time."

"Aye," Bard agreed as Thranduil bent to rest his cheek against the curve of his back. "That they do." His lashes trembled, then, to feel the Elf's skin shift subtly. He needn't look back to see the change in texture or elasticity where Thranduil's scars touched his own. "Leave them," he said hoarsely, when Thranduil raised his head again.

"Dragonsla--..."

"Bard."

"... Bard," Thranduil agreed softly. And sniffled, softly.

"Leave them," he said again, quietly insistent. "You see me as I am, with all of my age and illnesses and imperfections. I would look upon you the same."

Thranduil was silent for a long, long moment, but when Bard finally turned to face him, his face was still in its ruined state. The damage was much more extensive than he remembered. It spread all down his neck and chest, arm and hand as if he'd thrown it up in a last ditch effort to protect himself from the blast of dragonfire.

"As I am, then."

"Yes."

He could feel the cauterized edges of it on his skin when he leaned up to kiss him, the rough edges on his lip where Thranduil's mouth was pulled into the scar tissue. He could also feel the fervor in how he was kissed in return, the stroke of a tongue against his own and, eventually, the delicate crinkling of his nose just before Thranduil pulled back.

The vision was a strange one, his friend's familiar features contorted with both a coming sneeze and the mark of a centuries-old injury. It pulled at his gut in a way that was neither revulsion nor pleasure, but Bard forced himself to watch as Thranduil crushed a hand to his face, snarled in a deep breath, and sneezed to one side.

"--h'TSSCHH! ... h-TSSCHH! ... hh-TSSCHHhh!"

"Blessings," he offered quietly as Thranduil recovered with a flurry of sniffles and tears filming both his good eye and the one gone permanently blind. "Are you alright?"

"I have been better," the Elf roughed, then swallowed and leaned back against the edge of the pool in tired resignation. One side of his mouth curled sardonically. "And I have been much worse."

"Yes, I see that."

Thranduil flicked a handful of water at him.

---

They lay awake in the vast bed some time later, dressed loosely again but not yet beneath the covers. The hour was lost to Bard, but he thought it might be some time towards evening as he listened to Thranduil breathe, and felt his own heartbeat thud against his friend's back. They were tucked up in a very similar, albeit tamer position to the night before. The Elf seemed actually favor as much contact as possible, when sick, which he supposed made up for his careful distance at all other times. Occasionally, Bard reached up to stroke a fingertip behind one ear, rubbing as he might an enormous, grouchy cat, or to gather the hair back from his face after Thranduil had sneezed.

After a while, Thranduil turned his head by the smallest increment. "What occupies your thoughts?"

Bard blinked himself slowly back to the present, and sighed through his nose. "A great many things." He pressed his mouth into a tight, wry line. "Mostly hoping that my youngest daughter is not canoodling your bloody librarian."

Thranduil's shoulders shook with silent laughter. "I have my doubts."

"Hmn," Bard mumbled, unconvinced, as he nuzzled the nape of the king's neck. "They grow too quickly. I should be used to it by now, and yet."

"No, I understand," the Thranduil hummed quietly. "It seems barely a decade or two ago that I was teaching Legolas to ride, and to write, but now he roams so far that I cannot hold onto him. They are ever your children, still."

Bard tightened his arm around the other, suddenly stricken, until Thranduil grunted in protest.

"Be kind, you sentimental brute, I am ill."

Bard loosened his grip with a weak bleat of laughter. "Apologies. Tell me of something older though, from an age ago. Before him or... before her, if it pleases."

Thranduil took a deep, thoughtful breath. "Am I aiming to make you feel less old?"

Bard shelved his chin on one of the king's shoulders and smiled thinly. "Perhaps. Still, I feel as though ... go ahead," he interjected, as he felt Thranduil's chest expand shakily under his arm.

"--aht'TSSSCHhh! Ah, excuse," he sighed, wrinkled his nose in relief as Bard lifted the handkerchief in one hand to give his nose a gentle swipe.

"And bless. I feel as though the entire scope of my life is accessible to you as the blink of an eye, but I know barely a fraction of yours. How is it that you can think of Faeron as a child and not me?"

"It would take a very, very long time to catalog in its entirety," Thranduil said of his life, dry, but arched favorably to the rub of a calloused fingertip behind his ear. "Mmmnh. And I do not think of you as a child because you are not an Elf. What is it you wish to know?"

"Anything. Where were you born, if it was not in the Greenwood? Your father's name was Oropher, was it not? What manner of man was he?"

"A rash one, too much heat in his blood," Thranduil sniffled drowsily. "But just. He was of Doriath, as I am, and fell in the Battle of Dagorlad."

"Doriath," Bard repeated, feeling a little dizzy with the span of it. "You saw its destruction, then, is that where...?" He brushed the edge of Thranduil's scar, and received a murmur of agreement. "I truly cannot conceive of it."

"Do not try. I can't know what a Man's perception of time is, but here, with you, I am occupied in the moment and I am content. When you are gone, I will be less so and the world may pass me by in centuries before it slows again."

"Content in spite of the cold, mm?"

"My last may have been before the fall of Doriath," Thranduil muttered, and smirked when Bard jostled him.

"Now I know you are stretching the truth."

"Perhaps a bi-- hh! hh!"

Bard gathered the handkerchief again, ready to catch the lusty release, but to their equal dismay, the sensation seemed to abandon him once more. Thranduil relaxed in shivery increments, nostrils twitching. "I am well done with this one," he muttered, sniff, sniff, sniffling in a manner that seemed to tickle at Bard's skin even without being close to it. A trill of nerves ran up and down his spine. "Might I ask you a favor?"

"Mm?"

"Whatever you did this morning, to wake me, could you..."

"Of course," Bard agreed, perhaps too quickly, and perhaps too flush, but gentle enough as he freed one fingertip and touched it to Thranduil's nose. With the ghost of irritation already sown, it took only a bit of worrying against one sensitive nostril before the Elf was a gasping, anticipatory mess in his arms. He seemed barely able to hold himself off until the handkerchief was back in place, before erupting.

"Hih-TCHSHHH!" He tipped back, nose wet, and nodded into an identical second, then finished it off with an abbreviated, "-TSSCH!" that also wiped out the last of his strength. He groaned softly in its wake.

"Bless."

Thranduil swallowed. "Your tongue will tire of saying that eventually."

"Not before your ears tire of hearing it, but long after your nose is tired of sneezing."

"That is a waypoint I have passed some time ago."

Bard chuckled and closed his eyes.

---

When he woke the next morning, his entire head felt as though it were caving in. For a brief, panicking second fresh out of the dreaming state, he envisioned that he was drowning. Then something pricked hard in his nose and in the next moment he was sneezing violently into Thranduil's shoulder.

"Huh... HFSSCHH-ue!"

Oh, no. That wasn't drowning, nor some freak landslide, but the weight of congestion pressing down on his throbbing sinuses. His eyes gathered into hard, dark shards of black against what little light there was in the bedroom, and his throat stung as though he'd swallowed raw nettle.

"Oh," he moaned, and buried himself back into the Elf's chest as he felt a hand slip through his hair. "I think I lay beneath a horsecart, and have blocked the memory of it."

"A bit dramatic, mellon nîn. I do believe you may have caught my cold, though."

Bard focused a watery glance, with some difficulty, up into the Elvenking's too-bright face. "I thought it not possible."

"I made no such promises."

"It was implied."

"It's certainly unusual, but the ways of Men are a mystery to me. Also I have not spent a great deal kissing and sneezing on them in nearly the same breath, so."

Bard flopped back onto him with a defeated growl. "I suppose I am as much an instrument of my own destruction."

Thranduil's fingers resumed sifting through his hair, and grudgingly Bard had to acknowledge what his friend seemed to get out of the sensation. It did feel very good, leastways better than the tickling ache that was settling into his nose and under-behind his jaw.

"I am sorry all the same. Perhaps you'd better stay for a while longer."

"Aye," Bard conceded, putting down his hackles before they'd even fully risen. "Perhaps a bit."

Edited February 3, 2015 by Garnet

[Zuki]

"Be kind, you sentimental brute, I am ill."

I made an ungodly amount of racket when I broke out laughing at that. Awesome continuation, it was such a good read! Poor Bard

[Arty]

Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!!!! Adorable!!!!!!!

*Melts into a pool of fangirl water*

[Spoo]

*Evil cackle!* I love that my name is appearing more and more at the beginning of your stories. But yeah, no, you've crossed the line with this one. I know I've said it before (and I'll say it again, damnit) but hOW DARE YOU??? Let me the count the ways I am utterly appalled:

1. Thranduil being a total cat in bed and refusing to get off Bard, even though Bard is like "BRUH, MY ARM" . I'm so glad he at least got some revenge in there.
   
2. Actual hot mess Thran after sneezing himself awake. Yessss.
   
3. Omg. TAKE THAT, BARD. I sprayed you. Prissy Elf King: 1 | Dragonsalyer: 0
   
4. "Likely because I am wholly smitten with you." THRAN NO…Thran YES?? Whichever one it is I cannot even with how straightforward he is. He's like "YEP, I LIKE'YA. What of it?" And Bard is like "alksdjfas nnnno, emotions are private and conveyed through unspoken gestures what even IS THIS SHAMELESS VERBALIZED AFFECTION??"
   
5. Flustered!Bard should be illegal. I'm reporting you.
   
6. I now see why Thranduil often speaks of taking Tilda from Bard. She is ADORABLE and just the brightest ray of sunshine ever~ But omg Thran admitting he has a COLD. Like, LEGIT HAS A COLD. Why was there not balloons and streamers congratulating this monumental event? I AM DISAPPOINT.
   
7. Lmao, BARD. "If you two are DONEEE, let's get our nomz on because I AM STARVED."
   
8. Oooooh. Someone's got a boyfriendddd. Erm...Elf-friend? MEH. And omg Bard way to not be a COOL DAD. Ease up on the 'you are much too young', you are emBARRASSING your youngest. JFC.
   
9. Bard knows all about having elven "FRIENDS". He and Thran are just BESTIES. But n'aww, okay. Bard looking out for Tilda and not wanting her to get hurt is actually reallyreally sweet.
   
10. Thran's deteriorating condition is A++ Mmmm, those descriptions of him being in bed and sneezing and sneezing and sneezing. Yesssss.
    
11. Bard holding back Thran's sneeze for him. Thran saying "Do you enjoy controlling what I cannot?" - GOODBYE WORLD. (not but seriously this is smoking hot and I wasn't prepared to hear Lee Pace's voice saying it in my head, but it is and ajfldsfsdf;)
    
12. Thran acknowledging his powerful sneezes is something I didn't know I desperately needed until I read it. Like, holy DAMN is that yummy. "Oh, you've noticed." WE ALL HAVE, THRAN. WE ALL HAVE.
    
13. Bard srsly. You're gonna get yourself all worked up if you keep speaking of porn. Unnnffff.
    
14. OH BOY! Bathtimeeeee.
    
15. "Your participation is not optional." Psh, he's the King of the Woodland Realm? More like the King of the Woodland SASS. Bard plz control your BF.
    
16. Thran sneezing uncovered against Bard's shoulder and Bard feeling the mist…the Lord is testing me. It's like you're TRYING to break my brain and set my pants on fire at the same time??
    
17. Hahaha. Bard not arguing with Thran because he knows how grumpy he is when he's sick. Perfect.
    
18. UGHGHGH. Scar sharing. Bard asking Thran to keep his scars unmasked. This is sweet and sentimental and it speaks volumes for the amount of trust they have in one another. My hearrrrtttt.
    
19. Nooo. Not bb!Legolas feels. That's epically unfair after all you've put me through so far. Y U DO THIS GAR
    
20. Them talking about "back in the day". Hnnghn, I love their domestic moments so much.
    
21. Yesgood. You make that Elf sneeze, Bard. Mmmmnnn~
    
22. And just because…
    

When he woke the next morning, his entire head felt as though it were caving in. For a brief, panicking second fresh out of the dreaming state, he envisioned that he was drowning. Then something pricked hard in his nose and in the next moment he was sneezing violently into Thranduil's shoulder.

"Huh... HFSSCHH-ue!"

MMMMMM WHATCHA SAAAAAAAAAY

23. I am WHEEZING because Bard is like "U SAID THIS WASN'T CONTAGIOUS" and Thran's all "lol no I didn't". OH WELL. SORRY BARD. Looks like you're stuck in Mirkwood until you're better~

You get ALL the paps for the witty dialogue and the "tough love" that these two dorks show each other. They are literally perfect for one another and no one can convince me otherwise! I mean, what you're writing is pretty much canon anyway rIGHT??? *Puts on Hater Blockers* Good job!

[KickingUpTheDust]

Well this certainly eased the ache of getting up this early. Damn just give me the sneezing, sassy elf!

[TheCakeIsAlive]

You... ahem... slayed me there, and I'm not even a dragon. So patently unfair. (Don't ever stop writing about these two.) Never mind tapdancing on canon. THIS NEEDS TO BE CANON... and made into a movie.

It's all fluffy and AWWWW and teary-eyed because Thranduil will outlive Bard and it's really sad but they're so awesome now and

"Likely because I am wholly smitten with you."

EEEE!

"Da!" She flushed more brightly still. "It's not that. And I'm seventeen!"

"Faeron is a child himself," Thranduil commented idly, as he drained the last of his tea. "Barely out of his first century."

"You're not helping," Bard told him darkly, while the Elvenking pretended a look of bewildered innocence.

SO not helping.

With the ghost of irritation already sown, it took only a bit of worrying against one sensitive nostril before the Elf was a gasping, anticipatory mess in his arms. He seemed barely able to hold himself off until the handkerchief was back in place, before erupting.

*deaded* Edited February 3, 2015 by TheCakeIsALie

[Sitruuna]

x_x

You killed me.

This is great. Awesome. Hot. Very in character (in my opinion, I'm not the best judge).

I would like to quote my favourite parts here but this is so long and full ofdelicious stuff that doing so would take me the whole day and there would, in the end, be far too many quotes, lol.

[PetalsAndThorns]

So I read this...

And then I went and hunted down everything you've ever written about this pair. I have to tell you, I have not squeed over a fanfiction in a long time. Not even ones for fandoms I'm in. I don't know these characters and I was in a veritable puddle of squee. I am often picky about my sneeze fic. I usually only go for ones with soft, androgynous fits and shy away from anything "loud". I don't know what magic you performed here, but oh my god how did you make this so cute? It almost seems like by making everything else around it so soft, the strength of the sneezing drew a contrast that just hit all the right buttons for being absolutely adorable.

Thran acknowledging his powerful sneezes is something I didn't know I desperately needed until I read it. Like, holy DAMN is that yummy. "Oh, you've noticed." WE ALL HAVE, THRAN. WE ALL HAVE.

Also this. I second this.

You are quite simply an amazing author. Your writing has the sting of reality to it, softened with a huge helping of adorability. You understand your characters so well and draw such human (to use the word loosely) complexity into them.

Please continue with these two love birds. We all need them.

[R.L]

I'm quite fond of your tapdancing

especially if it means FREAKING DELICIOUS FICS LIKE THIS

lemme just read this again.... and again..... and again.....

[murphy dee]

Like, not only is the sneezing just delicious as hell, the dialogue is so elegant and witty and I love the way they interact. They seem to fit together so well and you write them beautifully. Well done as always!

[TheGreatCatsby]

Next part please?! This is amazing.

[RiversD]

Okay, so, uhh...

Don't know how much I can say about this that hasn't been eloquently covered already, but darnit I'm going to have a shot, because dang.

-Ohh…. The first couple of paragraphs alone make me wish I’d read the preceding fic.

-Your description of the Greenwood is mesmerising. Really, though.

It looked too much like the rest of the deceased when he slept lightly.

-this and its preceding passage are brilliant. You’re so good at conveying the other-worldliness of elves.

-Bard absently moving Thranduil’s hair about is the best thing, okay? The best.

-also, that "stitch" between his brows has given me a beautiful mental image. Thanks for that.

-I’ll be honest, because I am rendered pathetic where such things are concerned, I would probably be happily content with *probably*-sick sleepy elf cuddles until the end of time.

-But you are determined to a) make my heart explode with delight and actually have something happen in your fics (I don’t know, these artists and their ideas…) So-

Thranduil swallowed and slowly, blearily adjusted himself so he was better draped atop Bard than beside him. "I would rather not be," he said. His voice was a bit raspy with sleep.

- I will take this adorable, ageless, marble-sculpted teddy bear home, thank you, and he will be cuddled whether he likes it or not.

when they began to tease open in distress

-okay, this line in particular is just unfair. You can’t follow up “still-pink nose” with a passage like this. Think of the children.

-However absolutely all the yes to tactile descriptions of that irritated just-about-to-breaking-point nose because... well, because.

"Ah...!" Thranduil broke at last, slivering his eyes open in teary dismay. He woke just in time to take in a confused breath and fist one hand in the sheets, before shaking into Bard with an explosive sneeze.

Alright, I am completely and shamelessly into all forms of waking up in order to sneeze, but my gosh. I was gone by "broke at last", further ruined by the time we got to "teary dismay", and then "a confused breath" showed up to annihilate what remained of my brain. Goodbye, friends, I am finished.

And then that whole waking-up fit is delicious. I swear I could see it happening. And it was good.

He savored Thranduil's expression of unfettered appreciation.

"Likely because I am wholly smitten with you."

-I love that they're both still so able to appreciate one another and be gooey without making us all feel like we've stuck our heads in candyfloss. Way to maintain a relationship, you guys! Even if it is brief for an elf...*is suddenly sad again*

-Also, nice use of Bard's perspective to make us all drool over his babboo. Nicely done indeed.

"In fact, he barely made it half an hour before his composure broke."

-I am already very-nearly slain, and you have yet to give me any details. Drat you. (By which I mean "...do go on.")

the look of hurt that transgressed across his daughter's sunny features was a thing of pure tragedy.

-I love how much they both dote on Tilda. But then again I also love how much more relaxed Thranduil is about her general progress through life, just enjoying her company, while Bard's much more precious of the time, and a tad overprotective (though I liked that he was concerned that human-elf young love might have some painful misunderstandings in it. that was sweet).

-It's like Thranduil's that one uncle/grandfather who was always slipping the children sweets/ice-cream before their parents could stop them, and now she's grown up enough to date he's all "she can take care of herself, everything will be fine", while poor Bard's vibrating in the corner, muttering;

"no, no, no, this is unacceptable. Anything could happen. There could be touching."

(Alright, I exaggerate. So sue me.)

some things could not be helped, and it was becoming increasingly obvious how tired he was.

Ugh, babyyy. (Yes, still referring to the ageless paragon of elf-ness. Again, sue me.)

And then that almost-sneeze. Nngh. You are trying to kill me. there is no longer any doubt about this.

"Faeron is a child himself," Thranduil commented idly, as he drained the last of his tea. "Barely out of his first century."

"You're not helping," Bard told him darkly, while the Elvenking pretended a look of bewildered innocence.

-Bahahahaha

Seriously, though, I love the back-and-forth snark, and the amount that they tease one another. It's such a believable established relationship, where the participants have long ago ceased to take any of their counterpart's bull, but continue to serve their own to the other, undeterred.

"Perhaps," Bard sighed, and brushed his friend's arm. "Are you malleable enough, at least, to be talked back to bed?"

Thranduil nodded groggily. "I would welcome it."

-Awwwwwwwwwwwh.

-That is a gorgeous cold-progression you have written there. Kudos to the nines.

"Galu," Thranduil croaked quietly as he blew his nose.

-Oh, that sound? That was my heart shattering under pressure.

-Thranduil nuzzling into Bard's hand like a freaking housecat that wants petting.

-So much love for all the nose-dabbing that goes on in this fic.I hadn't realised how much I would like it. But it's a constant reminder of the body's disobedience, and you can just imagine the growing exhaustion and frustration, what with the constant need for it, and... I dunno, I just really liked it.

-Thranduil being all "oh. that's actually- a good suggestion. That I didn't think of. Well done." Because Cold Brain.

-Thranduil looking after Bard's muscles while they're in the bath because this is a relationship based upon mutual care and affection, darnit.

Thranduil hesitated, breathed in, in, and sneezed

-Nicely done, ma'am.

-Aw, Bard thought ahead and bought a hanky. And double awwh for Thranduil not being used to this and finding all his symptoms icky.

-Everything everyone said about the scar-talk. I feel all warm inside now.

"a flurry of sniffles"

-Yes. excellent word choice that woman.

-Also excellent elaboration of the nature of Thranduil's scarring. All this is entirely canon to me now.

-Bard's caretaking is so sweet. Really.

Bard tightened his arm around the other, suddenly stricken, until Thranduil grunted in protest.

"Be kind, you sentimental brute, I am ill."

-*giggles*.

"Perhaps. Still, I feel as though ... go ahead,"

-I really, really like people pausing for other people's sneezes/giving them permission, tacit or otherwise. this was nice.

-Okay, Thranduil actually requesting that Bard, um... help him out? I melted, reconstituted and then exploded for good measure.

only a bit of worrying against one sensitive nostril before the Elf was a gasping, anticipatory mess in his arms

-Oh. Oh. OH. I have run out of intensifiers to use. I cannot do justice to this passage's effect on my unprepared soul. You. You...

For a brief, panicking second fresh out of the dreaming state, he envisioned that he was drowning. Then something pricked hard in his nose and in the next moment he was sneezing violently into Thranduil's shoulder.

-I was just going to say it was cute that he caught T's cold, but I couldn't do that and not praise this passage. Because nyum.

Thank you for your kind attention.

This ridiculously over-long and rambling tour of incoherence will now come to an end. Bye.

[AngelEyes]

"It's not your misery," Bard assured, as he put a hand to the the other's brow. He wasn't sure if that was even an accurate measure of an Elf's temperature, but Thranduil closed his eyes with appreciation, so at least there was some merit. "Although I suppose the novelty of it is interesting. I think it is more... the aesthetic of struggling against something you cannot control."

This. Exactly. And OMG. I am smitten by this pair as you portray them!!!!

[shirin]

OH MY GOODNESS .... how could you just do that ? playing with these two so smoothly ?being so warm and tender that made every muscle of my being get tense afterwards .....PLEASE ..keep on doing that till we all just vaporize from being so much heated

[Dragonborn]

I tend to be more the "lurk quietly" type, but I absolutely needed to comment on this story. I barely have words to describe how much I enjoyed it, I've been RPing in the Tolkien Fandom for a couple of years now and I've never seen anyone do such a wonderful job getting the characterization and settings down so wonderfully. This is a breathtaking story and I truly hope you aren't finished with these two characters.

[Akahana]

This is adorable oh my god I never get tired of these babies and you write them so beautifully <3

[TaurielRiver]

Melin i narn dhîn!!!! So so much. That words fail me. Words that make sense at least!

But before I even TRY to say anything else, how much did I giggle like a fool at your placement of Lee and Luke’s cheeky “Enjoy!”?? ....THIIIIIIIIIIIIISSSSS much! And remembering the intro/trailer thingy it comes from, ever more appropriate given they absolutely crack up after saying it… like they’ve totally been up to something!

Ohhhh, just the idea of Thranduil being all blurry and heavy (gosh that detail just gave me the shivers) and having purposefully draped himself over Bard…. that imagery was alluring to the point of watching him sleep being an indulgence. But then your description of his tangled confusion on waking… and, dare I even repeat it, his being unprepared and less… contained… well, that was just 100% breathtaking and 1000% HAWT DAMN!!

I very much appreciated your exploration of Tilda’s journey over the years and the evolution of her interest in the world of elves. The idea of Thranduil writing to her in Sindarin (and particularly, the detail of him tailoring the letters to her pace of learning) just really touched me. I couldn’t help remember (as if I were remembering canon, but no, it’s one of your stories… one and the same to me now!) the time she was surprised to see Thranduil set on Bard’s bed the night she had a nightmare, and greeted him with an adorably formal and innocent “hello Lord Thranduil”… (tee-hee) so, it's lovely to see how their bond has continued to evolve!

And… on the introduction of her elven sweetheart (AW!), it was so very cute and hilarious to see the interplay between Bard and Thranduil as the former takes an (understandable, but very amusing) ‘she’ll always be my little girl!’ stance, whilst the latter is all cool as a cucumber -‘it’ll be fiiiiiine, mellon nîn’.

BATHTIME. Oh my lord, if I read that scene one more time, my ghost will have to continue typing this because I WILL BE DEAD. Steamy… evocative… juicy ("oh, you've noticed" + mist on shoulder = aaaahhwhatareyoudooooingtomeee?!) And, small detail it may be, I just can’t get enough of your subtly captivating moments where Thranduil gets almost humanly playful, flicking water at Bard. Your deftly-handled characterisation definitely does not go unnoticed.

Aaaand...at the risk of my communication going a bit happy-goopy as a result of over exposure to amazingness, Thranduil saying “Be kind, you sentimental brute…” THEN Bard holding Thranduil… and saying “…go ahead”…. oh dear, as well as expressing the ease they now feel with each other, you have them entrance each other (and me!) with tales of past experiences they don’t know, capturing vulnerability in between dialogue chemistry in a way that just forever creatively inspires me.

And the ending… mwahaha... "It was implied", and set against Thranduil’s caring composure. You leave me with much to think about, these tales you weave are so wonderfully lingering.

[beatlelover22]

"Likely because I am wholly smitten with you."

Thranduil was ever blunt with his affections, and yet sometimes it still took Bard completely by surprise when he said things like that. He swallowed.

Took me completely by surprise too! That was SO CUTE!

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

Brava! I have no new praise to heap upon you and your writing. Just adding my own cheers to the din.

[ToothTen]

Garnet, I have read all of your recent Honbit stories multiple times and I am thoroughly smitten by every aspect of your writing/these characters. I haven't commented until now for a few reasons, mainly because a) I am lazy, I struggle to collect myself after each read, and c) there are others who manage to voice their praise much more eloquently thatn I, but I figured I should let you know (even if only because I so selfishly crave more of your delectable stories) that your writing is simply gorgeous, and you write with a creative maturity that I can only hope to achieve some day, and your stories never fail to leave me happily buzzing with FEELS and a certain weakness that seems to sprout from your beautifully written scenes of, ahem, weakness. I'll end it here with that monster of a run-on sentence and a thank you for contributing such perfection!

[March Hare]

I have lost count of all the times I laughed aloud, bit my fingers, grinned like a goon, went "Ffffffuuuckk..." on a giddy sigh, or just squee'd and oo'd and unnnngh'd. Suffice to say, there were many instances of such.

Garnet, darling, this is divinely inspired fiction. You radiate.

[SneeZ]

""Ah...!" Thranduil broke at last, slivering his eyes open in teary dismay. He woke just in time to take in a confused breath and fist one hand in the sheets, before shaking into Bard with an explosive sneeze."

Oh my gosh. This was perfectly written. I can imagine it clearly in my head. I totally understand how Bard's feeling here. The loss of control is just..Oh my.

"fought a losing battle against an itch that could not seem to be quenched." Your way of describing things is just asdfgghjkkl

I could go on and quote more, but all of it is perfect. Your fics always are. -Kidnaps you-

Do you plan to write any more Barduil? It's my OTP alongside Legolas and Gimli. I hope you do continue.

Also, what other fandoms are you a part of?

[Garnet]

Jeez, did I really never reply individually to all of these beautiful comments? Suffice to say that I read them and then read them again and then stewed in my own happy feelings for a while. You made my day/week at the time, thank you all!

And now to answer an actual question...

Do you plan to write any more Barduil? It's my OTP alongside Legolas and Gimli. Posted Image I hope you do continue.

Also, what other fandoms are you a part of?

Maybe! I have other Barduil fics here and here, plus one on the adult board that you can't access until you're validated, unfortunately. I also have a couple snippets of Legolas and Gimli in my drabble thread. I'm not sure about writing more yet, maybe at least a drabble or two? I do love them, but I feel like I need a solid concept/hook first, and I don't want to spam the board with a million and one stories. I write too damned much as it is

I also have too damned many fandoms, but the ones I've written fetish fic for recently are Fables/The Wolf Among Us, Lord of the Rings, NBC's Hannibal, Mystery Skulls, Steven Universe, aaaand some other assorted loose change. I tend to stay away from the "big name" fandoms like Supernatural, Harry Potter, Sherlock, etc. Nothing personal at all, there's just almost too much to take in and emulate

[BlueGirl]

What a brilliant fic! I love the way you write Bard and Thranduil's characters, and, of course, I love all the sneezes!

My favourite moments (possibly,it's so hard to decide):

1) when Thranduil is all bleary-eyed and half-awake after Bard has teased his nose, and Bard is feeling guilty

2) The moments where Thranduil is totally about to sneeze... And then ge doesn't. So much anticipation

3) The ending, where Bard is all 'I thought I could catch this' and Thranduil is like 'when did I say that, exactly?' *evil grin*

Love it! Can't believe I didn't comment earlier!

[facet]

.

Edited October 30, 2019 by facet
Removed by user.