It was hours before dawn, when the Kings’ bedroom door was slammed open.
“DA! ADA!!” A small voice cried at the top of her lungs, as little legs ran in place. “DA!”
“WOOH!!!” Bard jerked awake and sat up, swaying. “Wha? Wha?” His hair was sticking out in all directions, and he could hear the blood pounding in his ears. “Whassa matter? What happened? OOOF!”
A tiny, wiggly body landed on his stomach (and other parts), squealing like a piglet
“Amarth faeg!” Thranduil sat up, startled. “Ci vaer, Tithen Pen?”
“Tilda! Wh... whas wrong?” Bard squinted at her. “…you hurt?” Still drunk with sleep, he began to feel her arms and legs, and checked for injuries or broken bones.
“NO!” She threw her arms up in the air. “It’s today, Da!”
Bard squinted at her. “Wha’s today?”
“MY BIRTHDAY! I’m not seven anymore! I went to bed last night when I was SEVEN, then I woke up, and now I’m EIGHT and it’s my birthday and my party is TONIGHT! A real party!”
The Elvenking groaned, flopped back down and closed his eyes. “Your daughter is awake much too early, Meleth nîn.”
“Why is she my child, in the middle of the night?” Bard scrubbed his face and looked out the window. “Beanie… it’s still dark out! You’re supposed to be sleeping.”
“Da-a! I can’t sleep! I woke up and I even waited a long time, really I did! Besides,” she reasoned, “if I’m awake early, then my birthday will last longer!”
Thranduil yawned, reached over and grabbed their youngest and made her lay down next to him. “You must calm yourself, my little love. You know what Daeron said about getting excited.”
“I know, Ada, and I really, really tried, but I never had a real birthday party, and I’m going to have TWO of them!” Her voice was a high-pitched squeak.
“You are?”
“Uh huh!” She grinned from ear to ear. “Cook told me yesterday he wants to make cakes for my class at school to give to everybody! And Auntie Hil says we’re going to have a party here, and EVERYBODY is going to come!”
“That is very nice, and you must be sure to thank Cook,” Thranduil tried to reason with her, “but it is much too early for us to be worrying about this. You are not due to get ready for school for another…” he looked at the water clock on the dresser by the wardrobe, “Ai! Two hours!”
“It’s that early?” Bard muttered. “Bloody f—”
Thranduil jabbed him hard with his elbow. “Language, Da!”
“Well, what do you expect when I’m woken out of dead sleep? Just give me a second to put my heart back in my chest!”
Tilda became very still, and her eyes got wide. “Sorry, Da.”
Thranduil gave his husband a dirty look, and gathered her close. “Da is not mad, Tithen Pen, but you startled him. In the future, you must always remember that such things are for emergencies.”
“What’s that?”
“It means only when someone is sick. Or bleeding,” Bard laid back down and closed his eyes. “Or a fire. Or a flood. Or if the Eagles come. Stuff like that.”
“Oh,” she said with a small voice.
“But of course, your birthday is very important, is it not, Da?” The Elvenking took two fingers and flicked his husband on the forehead.
“Ow!” Bard sat up again and yawned, then stroked Tilda’s hair. “I’m sorry, love; I don’t mean to be grumpy.” He kissed her. “I’m just really tired, that’s all.”
“You have never had a party?” Thranduil asked.
“None of us have, except for Sigrid.”
“Why not?”
“We were too poor.” Bard answered for her. “But Hilda and Percy would come over and we would have a pie or something.” He tugged at Tilda’s braids. “Now, remember the rule: only gifts from family. We don’t want gifts from the people, right?”
“Uh huh! That’s why Cook is making the cakes. I want to give my friends at school presents.”
Bard smiled sleepily. “I think that’s wonderful Little Bean,” he yawned, “but could we talk about this at breakfast?”
Thranduil got up and put on his robe. “Come, hênig. A little girl only has one eighth birthday in her life, but your Da has been working long hours and needs his rest.”
He picked up the birthday girl and carried her to the door. “Let us go into the sitting room and talk quietly, until everyone wakes up, shall we? Ai!” The Elvenking exclaimed, when he saw her bare feet. “Where are your robe and slippers, hênig? Tilda, you really must not forget to put them on…”
Bard listened to his Elf whisper to Tilda, and smiled, as he snuggled down to get a few more hours of sleep.
From “An Invincible Summer,” Part III of the “Two Thrones” series on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14127870/chapters/32556594
