He wraps his arm around her waist once she’s curled herself against him, holds her close. She’s real, and here—and he knows that, as sure as he knows there is a stream, and trees, and the elk grazing nearby. He simply—did not account for this to happen, ever again, secure in his widowed state, not so much celibacy as a lack of desire, but—

Here he is. Here she is. Both of them with shard and he with the weight of what he might be behind his heart but locked away. Thranduil tucks it all side, and kisses the top of her head. It’s a good position. A shame they cannot share a bed every night.

“Oh, no, not at all.” He smirks, strokes a hand down her hair, fingers threading into it. “I have my teeth in you. Weren't you warned?"