” what, doi look like a cicada or spago kind of guy? ” he’s dined there before. of course he has. but he isn’t about to divulge that information — it’s not relevant right now. it’s a degree of relatability that drives a relationship forward, right? he doesn’t remember quite enough to know whether this is true or not, but he’s just going to forge on with that philosophy. he remembers quickly why now that he and zevran didn’t go out so much, nor did they have a courting period. he was rubbish at it.
he shrugs, winding his pasta around his fork before popping a bite into his mouth, chewing, and swallowing. “mcdonald’s was my lifeblood during college — i pretty much moved in there while i was studying for my bar exam. they cook fast, it tastes good, and their fries are so salty they tasted just like my tears.” he chuckles, thanking as he allows bard to pour more wine into his cup.
” ‘chaotic’? hell yes. it almost seems like my firm can do nothing without me — at least the people under me, but what i wouldn’t give to have a day off, spend some time with my son, though i’m pretty sure he would call it smothering.” as the head, he could logically do all his work at home, and never have to step foot in a courtroom again, but he’d insisted that he had to, it was what he promised his father. “truth be told, i’m glad i stopped at one kid. not that i could go any further, since morrigan ran off when legolas was only a month old. but i can’t imagine how it’d be with three legolases running around — how do you manage it?”
“IfI were to say yes, would that change your response?” Bard feigned a rather serious expression, before unclasping his hands and finding solace in a relaxed stature. “No, there’s no judgement anywhere. It’s a simple idea of preference. I believe that home cooking and take out has become the rut of my life is all. Are my displays of my dull life screaming madly a large sign of ‘single father: at a loss?” Facts were facts, and from one to another, Thranduil could possibly understand moreso than the average person.
“Mm. Exams. Never quite my favourite. Well it was worth all the while, considering where you are at now. Although, I am sure that McDonald’s appreciated the patronage, wholeheartedly.” Bard could not resist laughing at the man’s humour, something that did not come quite as easily to himself.
“When’s the last time you’ve had a vacation? Lawyers surely deserve those too, no? Unless you’ve got a handful of cases still opened, and the temptation to take upon another.” Brows rose, as he moved backwards for the appetizers the waitress placed before them, and he let the soup cool before burning his tongue. “Three Legolases, well. That would be quite the handful.” Ah, so it was true. Ran off. He concealed the interest, as confirmation rather than continuous hearsay from others was a very intriguing difference in how the mind took in those bits of information. “If I must be very honest… I hardly managed in the beginning. It was difficult,” lest not to speak of how he coped with such an unexpected loss. “Thankfully they’re not troublemakers, for the most part. If they were, I am sure I would have lost my handle upon them. I am very lucky."
2. "You're really wearing that to the Christmas party?"
“Are you sure?” Bard’s eyes narrow in speculation, although he ought to have bit down on his tongue and said nothing, ought to let Thranduil do whatever he wished as he prepared himself for the chance that he would receive a threatening glare in response to his mouthy attitude. “It’s rather—… flashy. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. The more celebratory, the better,” Bard quickly reeled, avoiding the direct gaze of those bright eyes.
”five thousand,”the king repeats. “I can scarcely believe it myself — the world around me is so fleeting.” his life has been nothing short of tumult — first the fall of the elven capital in his toddlerhood, then his father’s death in the war of last alliance, to the blight and now the battle of five armies just recently passed. he marvels at just how he’s managed to survive all of it, thank sylaise. he stretches a placating hand out when the bowman dips his head. “please, ‘tis my duty to aid those who need it — even those beyond the boundaries of my own realm.”
“I feel like a mere goblin among immortals.” Bard blanches visibly, aware of how miniscule he is in the grand scheme of things. It is a good thing he knows Dale can be passed upon his kin, and then some. That is how Men are revered, through lineage. More tangible than others, but they did what they would. “I am pleased to have found an ally in you. at the most dire of times, even more so."
a chuckleindicates there is no offense taken, but nonetheless, he dips his head foreward. ” would you consider my aging to be graceful? “ he gestures to the entirety of his person. ” what stands before you is a creature who has seen 5000 years pass in the blink of an eye. “ he’s not testing the bowman, but still, one ought to be careful of how they approach the elvenking, lest they invoke the ire of himself or his son. ” nonsense, bard — while it may have seemed like i offered aid only so that i might find my way into erebor, i truly did extend my sympathies to your people. i would not have sent so much if i did not. “
"So it is true. Five thousand years? I can hardly believe it, only trusting it as folktale.” Bard breathed aloud as his slate eyes widened in amazement. “That is incredible and barely comprehensible for one such as myself. For even a sole year is lengthy enough, with the contradictory feeling that is will also never… be enough." Things that played into factor; watching his children’s lives play out, watching Tilda grow out into adulthood. He would always wonder, yet live in the present moment as that was all he would ever have for his own. ”I thank you wholeheartedly,“ Bard stated towards the consideration, the sacrifice, bowing his head as he did. Still, he could never quite tell at times. Pinpointing what lay under Thranduil’s tones at times, it has been a task that kept Bard listening upon every word spoken.
” oh, iassure you, it is nothing so blasé, bard. most of those whom i have dealings with send emissaries to the audience chamber — we elves rather like personal conversation when it might just benefit us. ” should he tell the bowman? he had sworn to take his disability to the grave, but the keeping of one’s secret might not bode well as a precedent for trust within their peoples. ” to tell you the truth, my eyes are not as good as they had once been. “
“Whatever is it that you mean? You do not dare to imply that you are– aging…gracefully?” Sometimes his mouth ran before his mind caught up, and his slips were not the most delicate. While he was never one to withhold his speech, it was difficult to recognize what may or may not tip the temper of the Elvenking’s. Truly, his reputation preceded him. “I am glad you find myself worthy of personal exchange then.”
“And what is there to shield from? Am I not the one who has faced dragonfire, the flame upon my son’s back, and the battle amongst the armies of Five?” Alright, Bard is pushing, and he knows, but this is one of the times his modesty fades, and his woe fills the lines of his face. “I– I am unafraid, Thranduil. I am not. Afraid."
“i’ll manage,” he snorts, slipping his hands into his sleeves. it’s not as if he reads the words himself, though he’s sure that his child would offer enough assistance should his own servants require it. he smiles, not broadly, but definitely not hidden, at the bowman. it occurs to him that this is perhaps the first time that he’s approached a human so openly in centuries, and something in him feels a little ashamed. “i’m no scribe myself, quite honestly.”
"Now I wonder, what does pass by your throne, otherwise passed off to your right of command?“ Their lifestyles so different, Bard could not help but have the wide eyes of a curious fawn. Everything was directed to him, and so anew. So he was no official Master. Oh lord, he hated the title in comparison of who held it before in Laketown, but it was still the truth, and the title lay upon him now. "If I were to inquire with Mirkwood, would it get dismissed to a lesser nobleman other than you?"
“ah, well,legolas has always seemed independent enough — whether it’s good or bad i’m a bit conflicted. he’s always been able to get along well by himself, and i can only assume it’s because of his mother’s influence that he’s always… like that.” he’s haughty — almost embarrassingly so. but legolas bears morrigan’s sneer and teasing lilt that he’d so loved about her — only to turn it on his father ina bit of rebelliousness. was there ever such a possibility that a child could get too friendly with their parent? boundaries were nonexistent between the two, but to a negative respect. it would make sense why bard had thought it was legolas pranking him in their initial texts.
he takes a nother sip of his wine before setting his glass down on the table. “want me to go first?” he ponders for a moment, questioning what would be far too inappropriate a subject to breach on a first… outing. date. whatever — he was done with thinking up different names for this odd meeting.
it was obviously too soon to bring up past relationships — he had no problems discussing morrigan, zevran, and tamlen, but he was sure that bard’s late wife could still be a sore subject for the man. he imagined it would be for anyone. he was the odd one out, probably because he had faced death far earlier than most should have, and thus accepted it as a facet of life far too quickly.
“hmm.” he absentmindedly scratches at his forearm. does he even know bard’s birthday? he doesn’t think so. it wouldn’t hurt to begin so simply, could it? “ah, well, i was born on the 19th of september, so i’m a ‘sensitive virgo’,” he puts on a mockery of elrond’s voice there, “in the year 1978, so you can do the math for my age, and i was born and raised in la, which is why this place is like a second home to me. well, here and mcdonald’s.”
thranduil leans back, not quite sure if this beginning was quite adequate, but he’d not been expecting anything but awkwardness since he sat down, so he supposes he isn’t actually disappointing himself too badly.
The cup is empty before he knew, and he rested his elbow upon the edge of the table as the facts began. “I guess my birthday’s further away, when weather begins to better itself.” It’s a joking tone, he’s not actually trying to push buttons. “Late April for myself– I think that makes me a…. Taurus?” Horoscopes, he was not familiar with. It was simpy the page he passed in the newspaper every morning. “You don’t seem to be the type for McDonald’s, I have to admit.” His vagueness was not purposeful, he simply did not find himself to be particularly interesting. People often found things out about him as time progressed, so to pull out strands of facts one by one, it was different. A peacock on display.
"I moved here from Scarsdale. Change of pace, from that suburb. It’s… different. The traffic is hellish, but it’s just an unfortunate part of the lifestyle here. More?“ He offered, moving to pour more into Thranduil’s cup. "I always thought I’d return to the East coast after school, but it never really happened. That’s alright. Settled down, Sigrid came along, the rest is history, and I’m— well. Here.”
He skipped a large gap in the middle, but ‘scaring Thranduil off with the ghosts of Bard’s past’ was not one of his main objectives today. Dear lord, someone just lock him up now and let him continue his ordinary life of work, sleep, children. “Do you ever wish for a less chaoticlife?"
”aye, you have my sympathies for… what befell your former home.” the din of the grand halls grows louder, and he turns his head quickly back to the party. the only time he can remember similar true jubilation was when the breach had been sealed, centuries prior — long before bard was born and long before dale had even fallen. but even now, he felt relief at the mere fact of being alive. he was definitely out of shape, and he had learned that well during the battle in the remnants of dale.
“come,” he beckons, and offers an arm back to the grand hals. “‘tis not the time for consternation, dragonslayer. the wine and the people beckon — i’m sure you can regale many of how you managed to slay the beast smaug. it ought to be a magnificent tale, yes?”
"But that is what it is. The past.“ Bard left it at that, a mouthful of words left unspoken whilst he stared off into the distance, a slight glaze over his cloudy sights. Taking gait by the Mirkwoodian King, he paced steadily.
"It was luck. Do not tend such compliments to the mere angle of the bow,” he uttered as he dragged his line of vision from the merry hall to the sightly Elf by his side. Bard remembered fire, his nerve almost on wit’s end, and horror and the glimmer of light that was optimism up until the very end. After all, with no hoping was only a resolution of failure. The tale grew, and he was not even sure what ounce was the truth mended with lie among the tales of the Dale patrons. “It is a good thing your fare and you were not caught in Smaug’s temper.”
“oh, me,i’ve only learned for the hundredth time that ‘innocent until proven guilty’ is apparently, to the prosecution, a sack of crap made up by someone who was obviously guilty of something,” he responds, swirling his glass in his hand before he takes a small sip, admiring the sweetness. “this case would be cut and dry if it weren’t for some random witness they just fished out of nowhere.” he sniffed petulantly. “i’m overworked enough as it is.” he realizes that he’s frowning, and instead shakes his head to clear himself of the thoughts.
he’s probably getting wrinkles in his brows just by picturing his office in his head, so he’ll leave that for some other time. for now, it’s just him and bard. a situation he’d thought would never actually come to pass — adoring stares aside, all of his feelings had been naught but fantasy. born of loneliness, perhaps? his bed had remained empty for a good sixteen years straight, if one were to obviously negate the nights where little legolas had nightmares and rested easier curled into his father’s side.
"you know,” he begins, unsure of how to proceed, “it has… occurred to me that i really don’t know that much about you, bard.” he wonders if there’s offense there — there shouldn’t be. he knows as much about bard as bard knows about him. they’ve only been acquaintances up until now, adults whom they trusted to have their children kept safe, but aside from that, there was little conversation he could recall.
“i mean… i know your kids, i know your office hours, and i know your phone number. obviously,” he rolls his eyes. “but… nothing else, really. not where you were born, how you grew up… i’m a little intrigued now. maybe a good game of ‘quid pro quo’, combined withe a little alcohol — what could go wrong?”
“The law is still the law, so… until we revert back to the death penalty everywhere, I am hoping that innocent until proven guilty is still a thing. Have you heard about that awful case where that child was prosecuted and sentenced to death, only for it to be thrown out years later? It doesn’t matter when a life has been cost—-” Bard cut himself off at his opinion turning into a ramble. “Sometimes I wonder, how easily a witness could be paid or planted. Couldn’t help it, the same thing sort of occurs in my field of work as well.”
“If anything, my office hours are much more reasonable than your own.” The corner of Bard’s eyes crinkled, and he offered a well-natured smile after taking a drink. “I wouldn’t say I’m an interesting person, per say. There… isn’t too much to know.” Resting chin upon palm, he pondered. Ask him a favourite colour, and he could respond. But when the field was opened up wide, well damn. He was a rubbish goalie.
“Tit for tat, aye? That is fine by me.” He raised the glass up higher in agreement, a playful smirk gracing his lips as he tilted his head for an answer. “Well."
It’s been so long since he’d had a go at this whole scene. What was to be said, what shan’t be said, forbidden conversations, conversations needing privacy, too much information, too vague thus being cornered as ambiguous and unwilling. Goodness. No wonder Sigrid had her head full with confusions and spontaneous moments of frustration at her mobile out of the blue when she’d probably received a text or two that left her rather flustered.
No, Bard decided to skip the drivel about family and bloodlines. Shrugging uneasily, he downed his cup and leaned back in his chair, peering Thranduil in the eyes. "With the fine balancing between family, work and time to oneself, it’s a miracle I even get to see the sun anymore. Which is a rarity in itself,” he murmured, tilting to the window far off to their right, pitch black otherwise splattered with concrete jungle light’s glow. "Itis a little difficult to partake in some hobbies I would like to bring up again when there are my three at home. It is easier, now that Bain and Sigrid are older, but still. Sometimes I wonder what on Earth goes on in that house when I am not there.“
