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#thranduil imagines
multific · 7 months
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Whatever the Queen Wants
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Thranduil x Reader
Summary: On a boring day you have time to walk around, and recall different memories from your past.
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You loved taking walks in the woods and your gardens.
Seeing your kingdom bloom and glow just did something to you, it was special.
Spring was your favourite season. Seeing new life everywhere around you made you want to be a mother once again.
You could still recall when your son was born.
Legolas became the center of your world in a simple moment. As soon as the midwife-elf placed him in your arms, it was over.
Both for you and for your husband.
He was the cutest little elfling you have ever seen. Looked just like your husband but behaved just like you.
Even when he was little, you took him out to the gardens on walks, showing him the world. Every single time you looked at all the different rose bushes or hydrangeas all you could see was him as a little elf let's elfling playing amongst them, you just wished you had something to capture that moment with so you would be able to show it to your husband.
Now Legolas was a fully grown up elf, who was more interested in all the different kinds of fighting styles than nature, and also your husband did sometimes had time to spend with you right now he was too busy with his kingly duties, so you were left alone to walk the woods and your gardens.
And that is exactly what you were doing that day. You woke up and somehow amazingly sunny it was that day, so you made your way out to your favorite place in the garden. Your favorite place was where there were these huge hydrangea bushes, all different colors and shapes and sizes you loved every single one of them.
That part of the garden was a present from your husband to you as an anniversary gift. Since he knew how much you adored flowers, he added every single flower that she liked to the garden just to please you.
There were different statues as well in the garden, all of them beautiful.
You left out a long side on your way to your favorite bench. If only you could have the two men who meant so much to you there with you.
You felt so lonely at that moment, it might sound arrogant to some people that the queen was complaining but you really were rather sad that you had to spend such a nice day all alone although you did enjoy every second of it and you did make the best of it, but you still missed both of your boys.
Maybe that's why the idea of having another child was so inviting to you, then you would have finally someone who would need your attention all day long and they would give your attention all day long as well before they grow up. You missed that, you missed having someone who relied on you so much. Legolas it's already too old for him need you in such a way. Even If he did sometimes come over to you asking for your advice it wasn't the same.
When you tried to hint a new baby to your husband but he was too oblivious for your tries or he simply didn’t want to tell you that he did not want another child.
So, you didn’t bring the topic up after that. Although, it did hurt a little bit, you were happy with your life. Even if you felt lonely at times like this, you were happy.
“Naneth,” you heard someone say.
“Oh, Legolas. What are you doing here?” you asked as your son came over to you and sat down next to you.
“You looked lonely, Mother. So, I came to keep you company. Is Father still in a meeting?”
You offered him a kind smile, it warmed your heart that he thought about you.
“He is. But you don’t have to be here, I am not lonely, I have my flowers, you should practice.”
“Nonsense. No training or practice is more important than you, Naneth.”
“Thank you. How was your day?” he always loved to show or talk to you about his training. Ever since he was little he was a quick learner.
“Really good…” then he went on and on about his day. Telling you everything about swords, bows and more.
If you were honest you never truly understood everything he said or referred to but you still listened with a smile. Seeing him be so interested and happy about something warmed your heart.
You listened to everything he had to say. Every single word.
You saw so much of your husband in him. But you were there as well. You still couldn’t believe that you had the privilege to be the mother of this exceptional elf.
“Adar!” said Legolas out of nowhere which made you look the way he was looking. And you saw your husband, walking towards the two of you.
“Nin hén, Nin mel, what are you two doing out here in such an hour?” you failed to notice that the sun started to go down.
“Mother was lonely so I came over to give her some company.” replied Legolas as Thranduil joined you.
“It is getting late, it would be best if we all headed to rest.” you said and both of them agreed. Thranduil guided you towards your chambers after you said your goodbyes to your son.
“We have a wonderful child.” he said as you laid down in bed.
“Indeed, I cannot believe he is so big, I feel like I can still recall holding him as a young elfling.” you let out a long sigh at the happy memory as you felt your husband’s arms move you towards him. “I have been thinking, Nin mel.”
“About?”
“Another child.” Thranduil almost jumped up as you said that.
“A-another?”
“I have been feeling lonely with Legolas leaving us so frequently and with you being in meetings all day. I always wanted a daughter as well, you know that.”
“I do. I know it.”
“It was a silly idea.” you said after his long silence. “Forget it, Thranduil. I’ll be fine.”
“We can have another child. I’m only thinking of ways to ensure it would be a girl.” his confession nearly made you choke on air, then you smiled.
“No need. I would be happy with a boy as well.” you said as you pulled him closer and kissed him.
Thranduil knew, whatever the Queen of Mirkwood wanted, she got it.
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Translation:
Naneth – Mother
Adar – Father
Nin hén – My child
Nin mel - My love
Taglist: @fleursirvart @greenarrowhead @thisismysecrethappyplace @sincerelyfan @theoneanna @aestheticsandmarvel @rororo06 @castellandiangelo @destynelseclipsa @spilledinkindumpster @capsiclesdoll @puknow @alwayshave-faith @alex12948 @lxdyred  @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek @praline357 @trshngyn @avengers-r-us @violet-19999 @top1bbgloak   @manduse   @jacalineiscomingforyou  @mandoloriancookie @noname2246
~Masterlist~
ˇAO3ˇ
DO NOT STEAL, REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS  
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elia-the-bibliophile · 2 months
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The Dragon Rider (Thranduil x Fem. Reader): Part 1
Yes, this is pretty much a crossover between Lord of the Rings and House of the Dragon. The character is inspired by House Targaryen.
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Weeks has passed since the fall of Erebor. The greatest Dwarvern city in Middle-earth ceased to exist when Smaug rained hell fire from above. The dwarves precious possessions ended up being their demise, quite literally as the mountains of gold became heat conductor that scorched the unlucky civilians that didn’t manage to escape in time.
Even now, smoke can still be seen rolling out of the mountain’s entrance. The sky is tainted with fumes and reeks of death. Grey clouds loom, creating an ominous apocalyptic like scenery. Rhovanion, although safe from Smaug the Terrible’s claws, exist on tenterhooks. Tensions are high amongst the Elves, as they pray to Valar to protect them from danger.
On his seat of power, far past the corrupted parts of Mirkwood, is Thranduil. The current King of the Woodland Realm is not spared of the unrest, even more so. He fears for the safety of his people. An unknown dark force is brewing and growing stronger with every passing day. He can feel it under his weary bones. See it infecting the once great and ever flourishing Eryn Galen that he loves. Thranduil, despite having lived for almost 7.000 years and survived the Battle of Dagorlad, for once felt real fear of what is to come.
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“Adar?” He hears a voice faintly calling him. Everything sounds muffled, as if he is submerged under a lake. For a time, he forgets where he is. Lost in his own maze of mind.
“Hir nîn?” Another voice. This time a bit clearer, Thranduil hears a sense of urgency from the ellon.
The Elven King finally shakes himself out of this strange haze. He found two set of eyes watching him with concern. One belongs to his son, Legolas, an identical match to his own orbs. The other is his trusted advisor, Iorhael.
Thranduil observe his surroundings, registering that he is now at the throne room. Map of the Middle-earth is laid out on a table. He put on a composed mask, while carefully trying to remember the last subject matter that they were discussing. Thranduil wouldn’t admit it but he is suffering from these frequent episodes of disarray. He felt his control slipping as his mind often transport him to an unknown place in his subliminal.
No, he must not allow room for weakness. Now more than ever.
“Yes?” Thranduil replied, inserting as much authority on his voice as he could.
Legolas’ troubled expression remains evident through the furrowing of his brows, yet he chose not to push further. Knowing how much his father hates being probed.
“We would like your permission to send emissary accompanied by some troops to Arnor, my liege,” Iorhael filled in.
Thranduil raised an eyebrow over this strange request, “Whatever for? Is it not just a stretch of barren land? Arnor is a lost realm,” He shot a sharp look towards his advisor, silently conveying that they must not seek unnecessary pursuit during these times.
Varda, please give him strength. Thranduil pleaded silently as he feels another headache creeping in.
“We heard whispers… from the orcs that we imprisoned. There is a hidden settlement in the Emyn Uial. Middle men who are descendants of the Númenóreans. They said that these people practice a rare form of magic… so ancient and peculiar. I believe that if we could find them, then our defense will be stronger than ever,” Legolas said. Trying to make the Elven King see the importance of this quest for their survival.
“And what exactly that makes this people so special?” Thranduil cannot help but be intrigued, although there is always a chance that these orcs are lying, but he is more than willing to take all the extra measures.
“They said that these people… have found a way to tame dragons, Aran nîn. They are dragon riders,” Iorhael gives him the last puzzle piece. The big picture is finally clear.
Thranduil felt a surge of hope, after endless waves of despair that never seemed to end.
He finally nods, “Find these people and bring them here,”
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Thranduil is more than aware that the journey to and from Arnor would take a long time. Weeks or even months, depends on how much rest that they are taking. The terrain is rough, and danger lurks from every corner on an open road.
Not a single day goes by that the Elven King does not gaze to the distant horizon from his bedroom’s balcony. Wishing for a sign of his returning entourage. Yet days have passed, and he is left with more disappointment. He cursed himself in his head, so foolish of him to send his people on a wild goose chase over some hearsay. His desperation has made him vulnerable.
“Have faith, Adar,” His son says softly, as Thranduil slumps on his throne. Pinching his nose repeatedly.
Before he could manage to gather the energy, a guard frantically burst in. “They are back, Hir nîn. And they have brought a woman back with them,” He said excitedly.
Thranduil flung himself out of his seat. Throwing his usual composure out of the door. Even Legolas has a big grin.
They could hear the sound of a heavy footstep. The door opens once again.
A woman, with her hair braided in an intricate fashion, donning a light armor that is made out of scales. Dragon scales. Glinting like a morgul dagger as lights hit them. Sashayed into the throne room and look the Elven King straight in the eyes.
“I heard that the Elves need saving, yes?” She spoke with a voice that sounds both soft and yet wise, accompanied by a smirk as if she is telling a delightful joke.
“Forgive me where are my manners, I am Y/N Targaryen. By all means I am at your service, King Thranduil,” She said with a bow.
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End of chapter 1.
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Thank you so much for reading this! I do apologize for any mistake because it has been a while since I last wrote anything. Truthfully I had to cut the story short because I have to brainstorm how to continue and what I want to include for the next part. But I do hope that you enjoyed this bits.
Feel free to hit me up <3
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imagine-all-the-elves · 4 months
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Imagine meeting a young Prince Thranduil.
Author: @thatkgrl
Artist: Ultramarineandwhite
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mirkwoodshewolf · 8 months
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Princess of Starlight; Thranduil x elfling child reader
*Author's note*
Well guys this took me awhile to get around to making and a couple of weeks to write it all down but this weekend I finally had some time to fully sit and write it out and now it's ready! So @soralinklokidottirofmirkwood I appreciate your patience with me and I now present to you your request. Hope you enjoy it as well as any reader who catches this little gem.
Warnings: parental death, spiders (yeah those arachnophobes out there like me, BEWARE OF SPIDERS!!) mentions of infertility and stillborn children, some angst and fluff.
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Taglist:
@plethora-of-things
@waddles03
@psychosupernatural
@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels
@queen-paladin
@gay-and-ready-to-cry
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I managed to duck down into the root of a tree and quickly buried myself with some old leaves and twigs and stayed as quiet as I could until I heard the sound of their clicking and hissing.  I then watched as their shadows went past the tree I was hiding under, hoping and praying to the Valar that they wouldn’t see me.
After what felt like forever, the last of them finally walked passed my tree so I slowly peeked out clenching my father’s crystal necklace he had given me before he and mother told me to run and hide.  There was nothing but silence in the woods, no birds, no wind, not even the sound of running water.
Very carefully I decided to venture out of my tree in hopes of finding another place to hide, or maybe get out of the woods all together.  Suddenly out of nowhere I was pinned down by three long, hairy legs and heard a hiss-like roar behind my back.  I tried to fight but I felt myself being wound up in the sticky web of the spider that had me pinned.
Then as quickly as I felt it starting to wrap my up, it stopped.  I heard the whizzing sound of arrows being shot, blades being unsheathed, and the terrible sounds of the spider that had me pinned along with more spiders from above the trees.  Soon there was silence once again and I heard someone say in my language.
“How many are left?”
“I counted five more escaping during the skirmish my lord Legolas.” Said a female voice.
“Kill them all. None must be left alive. By order of the King.” The male voice said again.  The female then proclaimed an Elvish command and I heard some running away from the area.
“My lord Legolas, what about the victim?” oh no.  I tried to wriggle myself out of the web but it was so thick and sticky, I couldn’t even move my arms up that had been pinned to my side.  So like a warm, I tried to inch myself to a hiding spot (even though I could barely see through the silked webs) but I was soon stopped by another foot.
This was it, this is where I would meet my end. Not by spiders but by my own kin.  I felt as the webs were being cut away and I was now staring into the sharp, blue eyes of an elf in what almost looked like dragon-like armor.
“Stand down, she’s only an elfling.” He ordered to the few dozen guards that remained at his side.  Unlike the others who had either dark or red hair, this elf before me had blonde hair, just like my mother did.  I jumped out of my web trap and pressed myself against one of the trees and the elf told me, “It’s alright. No one will hurt you.”
Even though he looked intimidating, there was a comforting aura around him that I was sensing from him thanks to father’s necklace.
“Do you speak in the Eldar? Or do you also know common tongue?” he asked me.  But before I could answer, I noticed a large shadow slowly coming down from above.  It was one of the younger spiders whose feet are so light, they couldn’t even be detected by our Elvish ears.  One of the guards happened to look where I was looking and proclaimed.
“Hir nin Legolas!” my necklace soon glowed and I extended my hand out and a powerful wind blast sent everyone falling down including the spider.  It’s back slammed hard into the trunk of a tree before falling down on a spiked log, piercing it through it’s center and it quickly fell limp.  The elven guards plus the elf who had tried to talk to me, Legolas according to one of the guards.  They all looked at me in either shock or awe at what I had just done.
“I’m sorry.” I finally spoke to show that I knew both Elvish and common tongue.  “I didn’t want that one to hurt you. They’re more deadly than the bigger ones, nana and adar were attacked by one just like that. The venom spread so quickly mother barely had the chance to cry out.” Suddenly one of the guard withdrew his bow and arrow and aimed it at me.  I jumped back fearfully but Legolas stood in front of me, shielding me from the oncoming attack.
“Lower your bow Feren!”
“My lord, she had hurt you!” Feren snapped.
“It was an accident. She saved my life, and as such it would do you more harm than good to bring harm to my rescuer.” Feren without question removed his arrow from his bow and stood down.  Legolas turned back towards me and knelt back down in front of me.  “Little one, how do you know magic?”
“My father’s amulet. It just—glows whenever I feel high levels of fear and fires the magic. I didn’t mean to hurt you I swear it.”
“No apologizes necessary, may I be permitted to see your father’s amulet? Don’t worry I won’t take it from you.” I looked into his eyes and felt deep down he was telling the truth.  I reached underneath my shirt and pulled it out and held it out to him.  He gently took it in his hands and as he admired the crystal gem, I noticed how his eyes widened when he turned it around to look at the runes on the back.
“Am I—in trouble?” I asked nervously.  He looked at me and told me as he handed me back my father’s amulet.
“No penneth. But we would like for you to come with us, the King would like to know of your presence in our part of the forest.” The King? As in King Thranduil? I had made it to King Thranduil’s palace?! I had but lost hope that I would make it here.
Before I had lost my father, he had told me to reach the realm of Thranduil.  If I showed him my amulet, he could protect me.  Those were his last words before the younger spider got to him and dragged him off into the woods, never to be seen again.  Legolas kept his hand out for me to take it and so I did and he ordered the remaining guards to follow us.
As we walked, I soon began to feel the light of the sun upon my face as we reached a different part of the woods.  I couldn’t recall the last time I had felt the light of the sun or have been able to feel all of Yavanna’s great creations all around me.  The feel of the spray of the rushing waterfalls beneath us, the smell of the fresh air instead of the decaying one I had been under.
We soon came to a great fortress that had been built within the trees themselves.  Gates of iron stood before us as Legolas ordered the guards to close the gates behind us.  Once inside I was amazed at the interior of this grand palace.
Narrow walkways of tree bark and light that seemed to be glowing on it’s own from what appeared to be sap from the trees.  Elves all around were walking the various pathways that either were below or on top of us.  Soon enough, we came before a large, intimidating throne of wood and stone.
Large antler-like structures stood on either side of the throne that was at the foot of a narrow staircase at the foot.  And sitting upon the throne wielding a staff was none other than the King of all Mirkwood, King Thranduil.
He resembled Legolas almost to a perfect picture but his eyes held a harshness that felt like winter wind hitting you in the face.  A crown of autumn leaves stood upon his head and he wore robe of onyx and hanging off his shoulders was a blood red cloak.
“Legolas,” his voice held a deep booming sound to it that almost resembled thunder in the far off mountains.  “Who is this child you have brought before me?”
“My lord, this young elf was found within the outer boarders of your realm. The spiders had ambushed her and nearly had her killed. She in returned saved me from a spider that we had missed that would’ve killed me.” Thranduil’s eyes shifted to me.
Seeing him upon his throne lounging against it and his icy blue eyes staring down upon me gave me an intimidating feeling.
“And you had killed it? It wasn’t left alive?” he asked me.
“Yes, Great King of Wood and Stone.” I said bowed to him.
“The child has manners. And a great debt is owed to you for saving my son.” He told me.  Legolas is the son of the King?! I had saved the Prince of Mirkwood?!
“It is also best that you know this young elfling saved me not with a steel of any weapon, but of magic. A powerful magic that I had never crossed paths with before.” Legolas said again.  I watched as Thranduil slowly came down the steps of his throne and stood before us and told his son and the guards.
“Leave us.” They bowed and soon I was left alone with the great King of the Wood.  “Rise young one.” I got back to my feet and looked up at him nervously, fiddling with the ends of my tattered dress.  “How long have you been traveling in the woods on your own?”
“I—lost my parents what feels like an age. But counting from what I could tally in the ground and trees, it had been nearly a year and a half since I had been on my own.”
“And from where did you hail from in my kingdom?”
“The Southern borders of Mirkwood my lord. Near the fell fortress. My parents and I escaped the spider raid when they first came upon the lands.”
“What were your parents names?” he asked me.
“My mother’s name was Thessa, and my father’s name was…..”
“Orrian.” The King finished for me.  I looked up at the King in shock.
“You knew my father?” the king knelt down to my height and asked me.
“Answer me this, do you bear his family’s amulet? A clear diamond surrounded in silver?” I reached down into my shirt and pulled out the amulet necklace and Thranduil’s eyes widened.  “By the grace of Varda. You are her. You are Orrian’s young starlight. You are just as he described.”
“My father spoke highly of you, but I always thought it was because you were the King of our realm.”
“Not only that child but your father and I go back a long time into our elfling hoods back in our old home of Doriath. He was the youngest cousin to the Queen Melian. And my greatest friend. Oh the times we had together as elflings.” His voice held a warm, gentleness and his eyes that once struck me with a cold feeling now held a warm, tender look to them.  “I am sorry for your loss my dear child, but know that your father truly loved you. More than anyone, more than life.”
“That’s what he said before telling me to find you. Saying that you would protect me. I had but given up hope that I would even find sanctuary and that his and my mother’s deaths would’ve been in vain.” Thranduil placed a comforting hand to my shoulder and said.
“You need not think that anymore dear one, your parents can finally rest in peace knowing that you will indeed be safe here in my realm.” Then I did something I never would’ve thought I had the guts to do.
I embraced the Elven king.  He tensed up at the surprised hug but gladly embraced me back.
Later that night after being provided with proper lodgings, food and medical attention to the scraps and bruises from running through the thick shrubberies.  Thranduil sat down with me on my bed telling me all the stories of him and my father growing up.
“And had it not been for me, your father would’ve never had gotten the courage to ask a dance from your mother.” He finished the tale of how he had helped my father and mother begin their courting.
“Father always said he’d learn to thank you for giving him the proper push.” I fiddled with his amulet necklace.  My heart growing heavy with grief.  “I miss him and mother every day.”
“And they loved you dearly. They feared that they would go through life without being able to conceiving a child. Everytime your mother started to bear one, it was either a stillborn or she ended up losing it. But when you came along, there was something about you that made your father believe that you were the one. You were going to be the grace of Varda herself, and he was right.” He tucked some of my hair behind my ear and turned my chin up to look at him, “An elfling born with the power of the Stars and wind, and it is through that amulet that was brought down by his family line that helps harness your powers.”
“Yet they didn’t appear till after I had lost them. If only I was able to use that power to save them.”
“There is a saying your father used to say, ‘Yesterday is history, tomorrow’s a mystery, but today is a gift. That is why it is called the present’. We cannot choose what happens in that time frame or what events will fall, only after what’s done is done, do we have the strength to follow through to the next event that may fall upon us.” I nodded and leaned my head against the king’s arm.
I felt his arm come around me, pulling me onto his lap as my head rested on his shoulder.
“I promise you (Y/n), you’ll never know fear or loneliness ever again. I swear on your father, I’ll try to give the same amount of love as he and your mother gave you.”
“Thank you my lord.”
“No more formalities. You may call me by my name when it is just us, okay?”
“Okay, Thranduil.” I felt him bring me closer to him in a loving embrace and he lay a kiss upon the top of my head.
For the rest of my life, Thranduil kept his word.  I was raised at his side like his own daughter and Legolas came to see me as his own little sister.  I was trained not only in weapons by my brother and father, I was also taught how to better control my magic.  Though for those lessons, I was sent to Rivendell where I was told by Lord Elrond that he and his wife were good friends of my mother.
Lord Elrond taught me of how to better control my magic and how to use it in combat.  Throughout the lands I became known as the Starlight Princess of the Woodland realm.  Any orc that I came in contact with was blinded by my powers of Starlight and shuddered in fear whenever the winds would blow, signaling my arrival.  And whenever I felt doubt or fear of forgetting what my parents looked like, my adoptive father was willing to show me old pictures of him and my father and tell me more stories of them and their lives together. And I never had to live with fear or doubt ever again, just as my adoptive father had promised.
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lillianofliterature · 10 months
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If your requests are open, and you are comfortable with it, could you maybe please do a King Thranduil x reader one-shot where reader has cancer and it is like angsty?
the toll of sickness | thranduil x reader
a/n: Anon, I am sincerely sorry for the long wait, but I wanted to provide all the angsty venting and comfort I could for you in this! Thank you for your request! I wanted to do this right by you. I hope this helps soothe whatever parts of you need soothing today. I don’t know anon’s/anyone’s specific diagnosis or symptoms, so I’m doing my best to remain respectful and widely general with the topic of cancer. I took inspiration from my own experiences with the mental/emotional toll of long-term chronic illness to supply a plot to resolve, I hope that’s okay (and still relatable). <3
The reader is implied feminine in this as they are referred to as lady/queen, but otherwise, I did my best to keep it gender-neutral with descriptions. 
This could also be interpreted as a reader with chronic illness.
DO NOT REPOST MY WORK. GIF EDIT IS MINE.
summary: after a long day of tiresome treatments and the heaviness of your thoughts, you retreat to your chambers to seek the comfort of your husband’s arms.
warnings: mentions of cancer (the reader has cancer), mentions of cancer treatments and symptoms (including needles), medical exhaustion, nonsexual nudity and nonsexual bathing, open discussions of symptoms, fear of death
word count: 6.1k
music:  As Long As We Both Shall Live by Bear McCreary
elvish translations: melamin = my love, melda = my dear/beloved
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“I think we will conclude here for today, my lady.” 
The head healer’s voice drew your wayward attention back to his prim features. His thin lips spread into a smile as he gently unstrapped the tight leather band above your inner elbow, releasing the tension from your skin. The long syringe with its glass barrel was gently pulled from the blue vein that the pressure had highlighted. You rubbed your arm subconsciously as he set aside the supplies for cleaning, hoping the motion would rid your flesh of the awful sensation of being probed. 
You blinked away your muddled thoughts. Briefly, you worried that perhaps he had been talking to you long before you’d heard his assessment to end the treatments for the evening. If you had, you were grateful to find no resentment in his gaze for your absentminded silence. 
He softly closed his collection of books that had been displayed around a table on the wall adjacent to your cushioned cot in the infirmary. With a bottle of herbal salve, he applied a generous portion to the inner curve of your elbow, satiating any irritation from his needles. The cool gel of the aloe soothed the itchy redness, while the lavender masked the sterile scent of the medications and intensely bitter herbs.  
You glanced up from the healer’s gentle efforts, trying on your best smile. “Thank you for your diligence today, Sudryl. It is very much appreciated.” 
He bowed his head as he clasped your hand between his palms, “It is always a pleasure to tend to you, my queen. We will resume tomorrow morning if it suits your schedule?”
“My schedule is always free for your remedies. Thranduil has made sure to take over many of my duties so we may focus on my treatment.”
Sudryl smiled once more as he helped you stand from the cot, draping your silken robe over your bare arms as he did so. “The king is very wise, your majesty. I know you detest this period of healing you’re undergoing, but you mustn't mistake rest for idleness. Your people desire greatly for your full recovery, myself included. In order to achieve that, your rest is crucial.”
You didn’t know what to say. Rest was crucial, you knew that. As were the innumerable treatments and remedies being applied and adjusted every day. 
But didn’t anyone understand that you were tired of all of this? Exhausted by more than just the cancer and its seemingly endless repercussions that it presented almost daily. Worn down by more than just needles and salves and bitter syrups that lingered in your throat.
You missed feeling well-rested when you woke up in the mornings after a long sleep—you missed having the energy to spend your days fulfilling your duties as a queen, as a servant to her people. You missed the days in which every activity was not dictated or measured by searing pain or groggy fatigue. You were tired of wrestling with your body just to exist comfortably. 
But it’s your duty to get better, they keep telling you. 
It’s what everyone’s hoping for, your majesty. 
Do your best to rest and eat well, my lady. 
Don’t give up hope, Queen (Y/n). You are blessed among our kin!
The people have been petitioning their prayers to the Valar fervently, your grace.
They were supposed to be words of encouragement spoken to invigorate your fighting spirit, to ignite that spark of determination that was starting to flicker these last few months. But these endless strains of hope and enlightenment had started to weigh heavily upon your shoulders like a milkmaid’s yoke, and with every well-intentioned word and chorus of song another stone was dropped into the buckets you carried.
The pressure to recover for the sake of others was beginning to feel like too much—the toll of the sickness itself was enough for one to worry about, was it not? Not only did you feel this fearsome desperation to recover for your own sake, for your own life, but also the need of a thousand other voices begging for a show of strength you didn’t feel tangible anymore. 
The summoning of one of your servants outside the infirmary doors reminded you that the hour to retire for supper was nearing presently. You felt your posture deflate as it dawned on you that you couldn’t yet retire for the day. Although your extravagant evening meals were one of the few constants that motivated you to follow your days through until nightfall, your hunger had dispersed in the last few days. Being seated at a stiff table dressed with rich delicacies and savory wines sounded nothing short of torture at the moment, even with the promise of dessert. 
The servant curtseyed in the broad doorway as Sudryl led you across the room. You couldn’t help but tense as your legs tremored from the sudden activity. A long exhale slipped through your pursed lips.
“My queen,” She rose gracefully, her hands folding together at her waist. “Your supper with the king is nearly prepared. He will be present in the dining hall shortly as soon as his meeting has concluded. I was advised to escort you there safely.”
Clutching onto Sudryl’s forearm, you hesitated to address the messenger. You couldn’t help the expression of distaste that twisted your face. The thought of food was not the only thing that churned your stomach at that moment; the prospect of being walked through your own palace as though you were an invalid, incapable of making it there of your own merit, as though every pair of eyes in this forest need offer you their due pity, bothered you even more than the risk of losing your supper to the toilet. 
Knowing you couldn’t send her away under Sudryl’s watchful eye (for surely there would be further inquiries as a result of such an unnecessary dismissal), you managed to nod in thanks to her before turning to him. The head healer’s smile was brimming with empathy. You tried not to feel offended by his pitying compassion. He leaned forward and pecked your cheek reverently, bidding you a respectful farewell until the morning. 
You turned from him and followed the servant into the winding halls. Gaze following the eroded pathway of the massive tree roots beneath your sore feet, you bided the seconds until you were both too far to be noticed by any superior voices that might challenge your decision-making. When your footsteps halted, she turned to face you.
Her brows raised, she asked, “My lady? Is something wrong?”
“No, no. I’m alright,” You waved her worries aside with the vague gesture of your hand. “But I can manage the walk to the dining hall from here.”
Her brows drew together in an expression of confusion. You straightened your back—had she seen through your polite fib? Was it that obvious you had no intentions of eating this evening? Or was just she not used to being given conflicting commands between two monarchs?
“—On my own. I can make it there on my own.”
Her lips parted in protest as she recalled what you assumed were very clear orders from your husband only minutes prior. Stretching your hand out to gently touch her shoulder, you reassured her it would be alright. “I will explain to the king myself that I demanded to be left alone. No trouble will come to you, I promise. You will not lose your position.” 
“But my lady, I—it is my duty is to ensure your safe arrival. Are you sure you don’t—?”
The irritation that swelled within you wasn’t her fault, you hastily reminded yourself. You bit back the frustrated sigh you wanted to release, tightening your polite smile. Reasoning with another person about what you wanted to do and why you wanted to do it was the last thing you presently wanted to deal with. Desperate to detach yourself from her and anyone else lingering about, you decided to be straightforward. No beating around the bush. 
“I value your persistence, young one, but I would very much like to retire early tonight. You may inform my husband that I’ll be taking my meal in our chambers if you must.”
“Understood, your majesty. I shall inform the king. Have a good evening.” She dipped into an impulsive curtsy, quickly trailing back to the chancellery to relay your decision. 
You didn’t even wait for her to pass beyond the long hall ahead before you turned in the opposite direction. Your private chambers weren’t too far from the infirmary, thankfully. However, it still took some resolve on your behalf to encourage your depleted energy through corridors and foyers all the way back to your comfortable bed. The silver silk of your robe billowed around your feet with every step, giving your eyes something other than walls of stone and root to follow.
You were sure your husband wouldn’t be taking the present news about your wellbeing all that agreeably. You could see it clearly in your mind—the disheveled, anxious worry in his eyes that he masked behind a wall of solemn regality. But you could always see what he was thinking. He wouldn’t like the fact that your treatments were taking more and more of a toll on your already wearisome state. He would like it even less when he found out you would soon be dismissing supper altogether. 
His concern wasn’t for himself, of course. It was for you—it was always for you.
He wanted desperately for you to be able to enjoy your meals in the glittering brilliance of the dining hall, unperturbed by fatigue and nausea. He wanted you to be able to take those strolls through the forest gardens that you adored so much without the sore discomfort in your bones. He wanted you to relish in your life and its unrivaled importance. And most of all, he wanted desperately to take this lingering sickness away; he wished he had been born with a skill for healing like some of his kin.
But all he could give you were the promises of an unsure future and the enlistment of his most skilled associates and all relevant resources that could be found about your condition. And some part of you—some sad, twisted part of you—felt a rush of guilt that so much commotion and worry was being circulated about the kingdom on your behalf. And that guilt only made the whole affair all the more frustrating and maddening. These days, everything inflamed your anger. This whole tumultuous ordeal seemed to be unraveling more than just your physical state. 
You knew it was ridiculous to feel responsible in some way for what was happening to you. You hadn’t chosen this, you hadn’t brought it on yourself—you most certainly didn’t deserve it. No one with cancer ever does. But reasoning with your inner turmoil was like wrestling a wild boar in the mud; there was never any true resolve without the cost of more anxieties, more wounds, more gashes in your soul. And the more you tried to gain a grip on yourself, the less grounded you became, the more it all slipped through your fingers. 
The click of the door was a chime of resolve as you leaned against the tall wooden frame from within the calm confines of your spacious bedroom. Sliding out of your supple leather flats and letting your robe slump to your elbows, you took the first deep breath you had been able to control since earlier that morning. The king-sized bed frame creaked subtly as you lowered yourself onto the fluffed silken duvet. Ever so gradually, you felt the weight of the vertical world begin to reprieve from your muscles like steam rushing upwards from a boiling pot. 
Rest wasn’t a cure for what ailed you, no, but Valar above, sometimes it felt like it. 
Since your diagnosis—the terrifying sickness devouring your energy and livelihood from within your own body—nearly every day had been spent in the infirmary or the healer’s sanctuary, remedies administered by the hour, conversations turning tiresome and sour. It had begun to feel like your own home was a prison, the world beyond the palace unreachable, like every action was a strenuous transaction of vitality and exhaustion. Even just walking the gardens that lead into the forest had become inexplicably draining—it left you feeling as though you’d run to Mirkwood’s southern border and back rather than taking a few turns about the courtyard. 
But here, on the cloud-like comfort of your private chambers, there was some reprieve from it all. There were no endless strands of questions about your well-being and your comfort and opinions on the tedious details of your health here—only the distant rush of the waterfalls that crashed brazenly into the river moat outside the palace gates. You could hear the chirping of the early summer insects as dusk narrowed on the horizon beyond the open terrace. There was no sterile smell of concentrated alcohol or the pungent gnawing of tart herbs. Instead, there was a faint aroma of lilacs wafting in from the gardens and the scent of your husband’s musk lingering in your bed.
Closing your eyes and rolling onto your lesser-sore side, you sought out the imprint that his body might have left there that morning. But the duvet was creased flat and folded with a chill under your skin. It was curious futility to think his warmth might have lasted after so many long hours away, you knew that; the bed was always plumped and remade in the mornings by your gracious servants. A coldness ran through you, engulfing your skin in little bumps that felt like prickling needles. 
Too sore from your aches to unfurl the taut covers from the mattress and too comfortable to retrieve one of your husband’s many fur throws, you recoiled your arm and folded your limbs closer together, curling into a position that would magnify your own body heat. While quietly taking in the environment of your sanctuary, this small peaceful haven that almost made you forget the turmoil your body was enduring, you hardly noticed as you faded into a light slumber. Caught between the ebbing flow of consciousness as it bobbed around the sleepy release of your strained body, wading between thoughts and dreams.
Unaware of the passage of time as you laid there in groggy consciousness, you hardly felt the urge to stir from your position until you felt the back of someone’s hand on your cheek, the brushing aside of your askew (h/c) tendrils. Then you made out the quiet husk of a voice that hovered above you in the dark. 
In the dark? Sunset was still a couple of hours away! And after that, dusk would linger still until the light vanished beyond the mountains to the west. Why was it already so dark?
Hadn’t it only been a few fleeting minutes since you’d closed your eyes, listening to the cicadas and savoring the sweetness of the summer flora? Eyebrows pursed, you could hear yourself attempt to answer, but the meticulous reply you’d fabricated in your mind was delivered in heavy vowels that grouped together lazily. Your speech felt like treacle slipping off your tired tongue. 
A velvet chuckle reverberated in your perking ears. 
“Have I forgotten my native tongue or was that a very poor attempt at Sindarin?”
Thranduil.
Your nose scrunched up as you fought to drain the sleepiness that was working against you so fervently. Before you could stir the tired droopiness from your eyes with eager fists, two gentle hands cupped your cheeks and swept their thumbs over your closed eyes. The motion was akin to a gentle massage, spanning your sore eyelids and dusting across your cheekbones, a cradling of your vulnerable stillness that filled your chest with a fond fervor. The supple tenderness of his lips collided briefly with yours before parting all too quickly. 
“Mm?” Your vocabulary hadn’t quite refreshed itself, it seemed. “When d’dju geten?”
Another rumbling chuckle he didn’t bother trying to hide. You pictured his willowy frame standing primly in front of the tall gilded looking glass, unfastening his stuffier robes and tucking his powder–blonde hair behind his pointed ears, or perhaps even tying it back for the night as he often did. 
Stars, it felt like there were weights on your shoulders pulling you back against the duvet as you forced yourself to sit up, like the muscles beneath your skin were unraveling at the seams. You rubbed your eyes and shooed your disheveled hair from your peripheral vision, glancing around the dark room for your husband’s silhouette. A flicker of light plumed suddenly in the sconce near the vanity, illuminating his fair features. The match in his hand extinguished with a puff of air from his lips before his pale blue eyes found yours. 
“I only just came in,” he reassured you, “I’m afraid I underestimated how much wind some of our advisors have in their lungs, especially when provoked.”
Another votive flickered to life on the other side of the room, another match snuffed out under his breath. The sunlight outside had all but gone in the murky hours you had been asleep. Now that you could take in the mellow darkness of the evening without confusion, some part of you felt distressed about the sudden absence of natural light. The daylight, warm and golden, always brought you a sense of comfort. But now it was dark and grey and the light of the moon was cold, distant, and you hadn't had a chance to prepare yourself for it. Another chill ran across your skin as a more frigid breeze swept in from the open terrace. 
“Did Sudryl have a chance to share the news with you before retiring this evening?” He asked, glancing over his shoulder at you. His lips pursed when he saw your unmoving figure still sitting on the edge of the bed, your back draped in silks, facing away from him. Your slumped posture told him all he needed to know about how you were feeling after your treatments—the exhaustion was palpable in how slow your palm rose to cradle your own forehead, in how shaky you were as you forced yourself up from the bed and took hold of the bedpost.
He was near you in an instant, his strong hands taking gentle hold of your bowed shoulders. There he was, combing the stray hairs on your head down with doting affection, all while the same frustrations were building up inside of you as your sleepiness dissipated. 
“You needn’t rise for me, melamin, I am no guest.” He chided gently.
“I know, I just need a bath before we settle in for the night.” 
“You’re in no state to manage that tonight, (Y/n)—”
“Thranduil, I haven’t rinsed off the ointments. I smell like the forest—and not in a good way.”
“You smell like an herb garden, fresh and natural, as all things should be.”
“Pungent is more like it,” You quipped, catching the accent of bitter walnuts exuding from your thin robes. It was that old, damp, dingy sort of bitterness that made you want to expel the air from your lungs with a snort when you caught a whiff of it—not the pleasant sort of musk from the gardens.
He laughed again, this time with more relief behind his eyes. Even though he knew you were spent from the day’s strenuous activities, the presence of your humor provided him with some semblance of comfort. And as for your own weary senses, his smooth strain of laughter was more than a consolation for the muted anxiousness that the infirmary always inflicted. 
“Then let me help you.”
“Thranduil, I can do it mys—”
“I insist,” He offered decidedly, and you knew well enough from past experience that arguing with him on the matter would prove ineffective. 
He gently looped your arm through the curve of his elbow, placing a sweet kiss to your messy hair before turning along with you toward the adjoined bathing chamber. You leaned into him for support and begrudgingly admitted to yourself that he was right—there was no way you could withstand the exertion on your own, at least not tonight. Not while you felt this lethargic, not while your stress levels were causing such tension throughout your body, making everything denser, slower, sluggish.
Once he led you into the warmly lit haven of the spacious chamber, the steam of the hot spring pool seemed to draw you in on its own accord. The walls and their rugged shapes made the flickering yellowness of the torchlight spread longer shadows among its natural angles and divots. The far right wall was connected to the run-off of one of the many springs that stretched like veins throughout the mountain palace—and it was little cavern rooms like this one that reminded you that you were living in the majesty of a low-peaking mountain, not just nestled in the forested density of the Greenwood.
You knelt at the rim of the bathing pool on the soft stone edge, dragging your hand through the clear blue water. The natural warmth of the hot spring invigorated you with a sense of eagerness as you remembered just how soothing these glowing pools always were. A gentle touch to your shoulder lured your attention back to your husband, who with a fond smile, was waiting to help you unravel your robes and underthings. Taking his hand, you were pulled to stand in front of him with the gentlest limits of his strength. 
You hardly felt the pressure or the tugging of his lithe fingers as he helped you undress, his touch but a breeze across your sore skin. When you were naked and chilled from the exposure, he guided you into the blue waters and leaned over the pool’s edge to make sure you were steady on the outcropped seat of eroded stonework submerged in the water. As the bubbling warmth enveloped your flesh, your eyes fluttered shut with an involuntary sigh of relief. 
There were very rarely things that proved effective for your ceaseless pains—medicines and supplements only lasted so long or relieved so little, and sleep was growing more difficult to manage. But this—the heat bubbling up from the earth, sorted through sediment and mineral—was the most relief you found these days. 
When submerged in the hot spring bath, your entire body numbed to its own plague as your bones and muscles absorbed whatever benefits came from the terrain around you. You briefly wondered how you ever managed to get out the last time you soaked like this, with every inch of your flesh basking in the warmth that enveloped you.
You relaxed against the glossy stones, trying to quiet your mind of all the infernal anxieties pressing a weight against your chest. The noise of your thoughts made it difficult to focus fully on the soothing effects of the natural hot spring, tensing and loosening your muscles and posture between every harsh doubt.
With a fresh cloth he brandished from a side table, Thranduil dipped it into the warm bath and began gently scrubbing away the ground athelas mixture. He’d seated himself comfortably on the edge of the bath, submerging his calves into the pool to cradle you between them. The cloth strummed along your chest and stomach as he reached over and behind, where the herbs from Sudryl’s remedies had been infiltrating the cancerous sickness plaguing your organs. You hadn’t meant to show him how weak you felt, how tired you were, how desperately you needed this—but your head fell back to rest against his stomach despite this as the steam curled around you both, dampening your hair and foreheads. 
After your rinsing from the spout of a silver pitcher, he coaxed oils and lathered soaps across your flesh, your own fingers clasping onto the pale skin of his forearm or around his leg, refusing to cease contact with him. And although he generously and willingly offered his aide while the healing minerals of that glowing pool of steam soothed you, some venomous voice in the back of your mind tried to feed you strings of doubt and loathing.
He shouldn’t have to do this. He shouldn’t have had to become my caretaker.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I wasn’t supposed to get sick—neither of us was. 
He deserves more than this mess I’ve given him. He deserves better than me.
You cleared your throat, trying to silence the growing guilt and shame before that stinging swell of tears could grow any more than they already were. 
“What was it you were going to tell me?” You asked after the first of his own sweet-scented oils was being lathered along your arms, turning you about to face him. “Earlier, you mentioned something about Sudryl?”
“Ah, that,” he nodded in remembrance, “I gather he didn’t mention anything about Lord Elrond to you today?”
“Lord Elrond?” You inquired, lifting your questioning gaze to meet his. “No—no, he didn’t. Has something happened? Something to do with our alliances? Or with that trade treaty we adjusted with Laketown in the spring—”
“No, melamin, nothing of diplomatic proportions—all is still amiable with our kin for the time being,” he reassured. When he glanced up at you, the tranquil hope glittering in his blue eyes soothed the curious worry growing in your mind. He almost seemed excited about something. It tugged the corners of your mouth into a brief smile. “I sent word to him a little more than a month ago now, I suppose, to see what he might be able to do about your condition, to inquire about whether his skill with healing might mend what ails you.”
You swallowed hard over the sudden discomfort of anxiety that rose again like bile in your throat at the mention of more treatment, more guests, more expectations for healing. More, more, more. 
“He is to arrive within a week of his latest correspondence, which came this morning. Preparations are being made for his arrival as we speak.” 
Unknowingly, your grip had tightened on your husband’s forearm, your nails digging shallow crescents into his skin. The sharp sensation drew his attention downward to your hands, his dark brows furrowing in concern. His fingers winding around yours brought your attention to your vice-like grip, which you promptly loosened. 
“What is it, (Y/n)? Does this news not please you?” 
The earnestness in his pale eyes pierced your heart, the guilt bubbling up in your mind again. You weren’t sure what worried you most. The prospect of more prodding, more treatments, more attempts that might lead to nowhere; the fuss being made across the realm about your condition, about this peculiar, harsh sickness that was so puzzling to even the brightest minds; or perhaps, most worrisome of all, was the fact that you were no longer able to manage the upkeep of a happy facade. So many people were hoping, praying, supporting, and tending to you. 
And somehow, you found that to be the most exhausting part of it all. Not only were you fighting for your own body, for comfort and life, but you were trying to uphold and appease every pair of eyes that was eagerly awaiting your miraculous recovery from something you didn’t even know how to fight. There were so many hopes to meet, so many hearts to comfort on your behalf, and your resolve was quietly crumbling.
Before you could think to soften your words in an attempt to save Thranduil’s optimism, your lips began to move, a sudden impulse of tears gathering in your eyes. “What if there is nothing even Lord Elrond can do to cure this?”
He paused, his eyes searching yours briefly before his damp fingers reached up to caress your cheek. How had he not seen the disparagement growing behind your gaze, darkening the lilt in your voice? Hidden behind humor and mischievous quips, but no less obvious. 
“If—if I do not show improvement, our people will lose their resolve. Everyone’s counting on me to get better, to show some store of strength I no longer have and I–I can’t will my body to right itself,” you bore to him, panicked and spent from months of effort, “I cannot give everyone the hope they're seeking from me."
“Oh, melamin,” his chin nestled over your ear as he murmured with such rich affection, pressing your face into the musky homeliness of his neck. 
“I know I should be grateful for their support, for their prayers and their offerings, but it’s becoming too much, Thranduil. I don’t have the strength for a kingdom’s worth of miracles.” 
“You do not owe anyone but yourself the grace of your strength. Had I known their encouragement had put pressure on you to perform, I would have silenced the lot of them.” 
Despite his sincerity, you panicked on. “What if I am never rid of it? What if this is my blight that I must war with for the rest of my life?”
He sombered then, drawing in a deep string of air into his lungs. You could see him wrestling with the reality of your honesty, with the questions you both had been too afraid to speak aloud before now. Gathering himself, he drew you nearer to him, clinging to you with a brief urgency that almost startled you. 
“Then we will rise together each day to face it. There will never be a single day that you will have to endure this on your own. Do you hear me? That is my promise to you—that my vow and my diligence will never waver where you are concerned.”
Your tears burned with his words and you worked to force them at bay, his sweetness drawing every sour fear and thought of guilt from your mind and onto your tongue. “I am so sorry for this life I have given you. You didn’t ask for this—you cannot be happy with me—with this-this terrible thing I’ve brought upon us. You deserve so much more, and I can no longer give it to you.”
“You’re apologizing—?” He questioned, his voice quiet in shock. 
Your eyes clamped shut, forcing the well of sorrows from your eyes to plummet. Gently, he pulled himself back, repositioning his hands on your upper arms as if to garner your absolute attention. 
“(Y/n), this life you have given me has been far more than I have ever deserved and could ever strive to. From the moment we met, you have enriched my life just by your existence alone, much less the many qualities and traits about you I have come to treasure beyond all fortune or success. You have given me everything, a dozen lifetimes over, in the mere centuries we have been together.”
“You cannot have wanted this,” you breathed out, hushed by your own shame. 
“No, I did not want you to suffer with something so abysmal, something so beyond my control. Of course I did not want for your pain…but if this is our future, if this is our path together, then I want every minute of it, and I will not settle for a second less. I would upheave the very crest of the world and drown mountains in flame if it meant saving you. And if that makes me selfish or ruthless, then I will be the standard at which devils compare their sins.”
His hands had gradually found their way up to your face, cradling your damp cheeks with a sincerity that made your lip quiver.
“Look at me,” he whispered. 
The sight of the tearful waterline reflected in his eyes drew a noise of curt regret from your lungs. Your sob pierced his heart, filling him with a desperation to amend the shame and anxiety plaguing your mind. 
“If you truly believe that you are at fault for this sickness, then in turn I must be held responsible for allowing it to happen in the first place. As your husband first, but also as your king.”
“No, no that’s not true! It’s not even reasonable of you to—”
“Then how can it be your fault? How could any of this be on your shoulders? There is no sense in blame, (Y/n). Not here, not with this.” 
There was a stillness after his words, a stillness that was meant for rumination, and sealed with his lips against your skin and hair. Your hands rose to rest against his chest, nestling them over the dip of his collarbone as you felt for comfort in the blur of your tears. His silence prompted an answer. 
“It’s not my fault,” you replied. 
“Say it again.”
“It isn’t my fault,” you echoed, meeting his gaze once more, “just as it isn’t yours.”
And as shocking as it was for you to realize it, you truly believed the words he encouraged from you. This sickness wasn’t your fault. Neither of you could have had any sway with fate or destiny, with whatever had brought this on. And perhaps, it just simply was, with no cause or fault at all. What mattered now was how kind you could be to yourself, how to take one moment of strife and find something in it to hold onto. Moments like this were one of those morsels between the ebbing aches of pain and grief that you could relish and devour again and again. 
Thranduil leaned forward, pressing his sweat-laced brow against yours. “Do not ever blame yourself, melamin. Do not let those foul words pass between your lips again.”
You nodded against him, pulling him nearer. “I promise.” 
In the long minutes that followed, there was the solace of quiet intimacy as he rinsed through your hair one final time, peppering you with kisses and caresses at every opportunity. He met you with a soft fluffy towel when he led you out of the bath, never allowing a breeze to nip at your damp skin. His touch was featherlight as he patted you dry from head to toe, scrunching your drenched tendrils of (h/c) hair without complaint. 
“I’m still so afraid,” you managed the courage to speak aloud, “What if–...what if this sickness claims my life?”
“You will not part this world without me, melda. Not a single breath will leave your lungs without my sharing it, not a single heartbeat will we not share,” he vowed, the absolute belief in his voice making the promise all the richer, “there isn’t a corner in this world or any other that you could wander to that I would not accompany you.”
Your silk nightgown slipped over your outstretched arms swiftly, sliding down your body and into place comfortably. He did up the lace of the collar with efficiency, not missing the chance to playfully tug you closer with the slightest bit of his strength. You planted yourself against his chest, the smile on your lips effortless with his own. The firm warmth of his arms wrapping around you had the same sort of pain-numbing effect as the hot spring, lulling every fretful thought to a close. His somber laugh reverberated again, this time through your bones, bringing an ethereal kind of peace with it. 
The pillows of your large four-poster bed were positioned, fluffed, and repositioned. You waited patiently, upon his insistence, as he untucked and pulled the puffy duvet back for you to crawl under. Once comfortably tucked beneath layers of silk and cotton, he assumed his place beside you, careful not to jostle the mattress as he settled, mindful that every movement enticed your discomfort. 
His body heat made you sleepy as you sank further into the covers, fogging your thoughts with a drowsy anticipation for the release of slumber. You’d waited for this moment all day—it had been the image that had pushed you through the hours of treatment and questions—the moment you could finally burrow against his warmth and drunken yourself with his scent. There was a slight stirring as he reached off to the side to retrieve something on the bedside table. 
The fluttering of pages caught your fading attention, pulling your heavy-eyed gaze toward the book in his grasp. “Would you like to continue where we left off?” 
You smiled tiredly against his chest, not recalling the events of the book he’d been reading to you for the last few nights. Oftentimes, the first few pages would strike vividly in your imagination, but as his lustrous tone carried on through paragraphs and chapters, the sleepy security that his presence enticed made it impossible to recall anything beyond the thrilling hum of his voice. In all actuality, you were quite sure he didn’t mind if you knew anything at all about the story he was reading aloud. It was enough to hold you and be held. 
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TAGS:  @tessaem @izbelross @bloodblossoms73 @sunnysidesidra 
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sotwk · 4 months
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hi!! i love reading your posts and i love your oc of thranduil others sons! i sent this before but i don’t know if it sent correctly, but do you think thranduil would have been different if he had daughters? and would he have been more overprotective of his daughter than his sons? (im sorry if this isn’t clear my english is very bad) again i love your fanfictions so much
Hello my Anon friend! <3 I am answering this Ask quickly, because you did ask me this previously and I'm sorry it has taken me a while to respond. (I have a growing backlog of unanswered Asks--eep! Working on it!)
Most writers who decide to give Thranduil additional children opt to give him at least one daughter. To be honest, I don't have a very good excuse for deciding to give him only sons. (I myself have 2 sons and no daughters, so maybe I was being prophetic? LOL.)
I personally don't believe Thranduil would be necessarily more protective of daughters than sons. Regardless of gender, he has a unique affection for each member of his family, cherishing and bonding with each one according to their individual qualities. He will be more protective of whoever is in greater need of protecting.
Being a Protector is perhaps the most prominent aspect of Thranduil's character, and this extends to everyone and everything he views as under his care. His family, his people, his kingdom, his forest. (ex. He threw Thorin and Company behind bars for potentially endangering his citizens!)
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But how would Thranduil treat his daughters, if he had them?
Although he has no daughters in the SotWK AU, you can deduce how he would treat them in the way he absolutely treasures his female relations: his wife (Queen Maereth), his daughter-in-law (my OC, Crown Princess Itarildë, Prince Mirion's wife), and granddaughter (my OC, Princess Anariel, Mirion's daughter). Here are examples from the SotWK AU:
Thranduil was willing to give up his birthright for Maereth. He defied his father and the lords of Greenwood to make her his Queen. He does not hide her Feanorean lineage, and values the inclusion of her Noldorin culture in his household. He calls her by Quenyan endearments, and their sons call her "Ammë" (Quenya), instead of "Naneth" (Sindarin).
Itarildë is a warrior descended from great warriors, and Thranduil views her as equal to his sons. He welcomes her participation in battle alongside him and the princes, showing great respect for her skills. He also risked political strife by allowing Mirion to wed yet another Noldor.
His granddaughter Anariel is his "baby" (even when she is fully grown) and has the least amount of fighting ability in their family, so Thranduil constantly worries for her safety. However, he still permits her to travel outside of Mirkwood during the "dark days", and does not try to curtail her freedoms. (He is actually more protective of her brother, Crown Prince Aranion, since he is the heir to the throne!)
Basically, I would like for any readers/followers of the SotWK AU to know and understand that Thranduil would be the best father-in-law ever to anyone who wins the hand and heart of any of his sons. Just in case you needed extra incentive to love a Thranduilion Prince. ;)
Looking forward to showcasing this some fics soon!
Thank you for the question Anon, and for your lovely words of support! <3
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ithilwen-lionheart · 2 years
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Thranduil Imagines : Imagine #3:
Imagine Thranduil discovering you on a snowy winter day, half frozen and lost, trying to decide if he can trust you enough to bring you to shelter
Alt.
Of Angels and Snowflakes
Pre-work text notes: Graphic depiction of violence and dark themes may not be suitable for very young and/or queasy audiences, please proceed at your own risk and with due caution.
Companion Song: A Team - Ed Sheeran
Work Text:
"
Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray to the Valars, my soul to keep.
Angels watch me through the night,
And wake me up with the morning light...
"
The Valars did as the prayers had told and as her father had taught her they would. The Valars had kept her soul and watched her through the night.
It was all they ever did. Watched her.
As fire and metal laid waste of the bricks and wood of their home, as the orcs pillaged their village and massacred every single soul that wasn't as black as theirs.
As the pristine white blanket that laid upon the earth was tainted in rubies and obsidian.
They watched.
They watched the orcs assert undue dominance over countless of helpless villagers. Unseen ears seemingly deaf to the haunting shrieks for salvation that never came, cries that were so abruptly cut off by the shot of an arrow or the swing of a jagged rusted blade until it dissipated into sickening wet gurgles before disappearing into nothingness.
It was a sound she can ascertain would forever haunt her for the rest of her life. Much like a lurking phantom in the dark, a nightmare in the midst of the morning sun- always waiting for a single chink in her reverie to maraud her fractured spirit once more.
They watched her with her hands clasped in front of her chest, inside a wooden closet as she prayed to them over and over again in hushed sobs. Sleep all gone from her system and replaced by cold sweat and fear that shook her to the very core.
As those filth barged through their door, slashed through her father, then through her mother and freed her older brother's head from his stalwart shoulders. They watched.
They watched her (E/C) eyes wide in horror and stripped of its innocence, too overcome with shock to even provide an outlet for the brewing warm deluge behind her eyelids.
As she was bathed in the sick crimson gore that became of her kin and as she ran away with what little strength she had left on her weakened and shaking knees, they watched.
As she ran through splintering burning wood, shards of glass and unrelenting snow with bare feet bloody, bruised and purple. (Y/N) could feel naught the Valar's compassion or their hearts.
All there was were their unseen eyes trained on her with what felt too strongly not unlike cruel entertainment whilst she ran for what little left of life she still saw worth living.
Her lungs burned as she struggled to breathe in air tainted by smoke, iron and burning flesh and it took all of her feeble strength to keep last night's supper down.
Last night's supper. My coming of age. Not once had she even dared spare the thought of it being her last with her family.
It was simply too much to bear.
The merry-making, the smiles on their familiar faces as they presented her with the necklace that now hung heavy on her neck.
The thoughts coaxed upon her eyes tears of terrifying intensity A deluge that rendered her sight completely useless as she continued to run, unaware of the foreboding woods her treacherous feet are leading her into.
Trip and fall she went through thick roots that crawled, spiraled and dominated the forest floors. Going deeper and deeper till the entangled canopy of roots above her head grew heavier and darker, until she knew no longer what sight there was to behold- if there was ever even any.
Till she knew not where she was or if there even be any chances of escape from the labyrinth she had walked willingly into.
It is only with this that she found an odd sense of comfort. For she knew that it is a curse that would betide her pursuers as much as it would do her.
Her father taught her how to pray to the Valars for guidance as much as he had taught herself and her brother the dangers of Mirkwood.
Wretched fate befalls those who dare walk the Elvenking's domain unaided and uninvited, her father had said. It is one that ills the mind and fosters madness if not death.
For as magical as the woods may seem to be, within it lurks a danger that protects the woods from trespassers, not one born from an enchantment to guard but out of one brought forth by pure darkness.
An evil only the Elvenking himself has the means to fight off against.
Twigs stuck against wild and bloodied (H/C) locks if not on battered (S/C) skin. Having hit her head numerous of times, (Y/N) had long lost the ability to process pain much less the dangers brought upon by the darkness her father had spoken of.
She laid herself down on the cold ground, propping herself against one of the many great trees that guarded the expanse of the Elvenking's woods.
Her brittle bones creaked as her muscles tore at what little movement she did, chest heaving painfully against her broken ribcage with every breath she took that tasted heavily of acid and iron.
She need not look directly at her limbs to witness the damage her feet had sustained for the abundance of blood leading to the spot from where she lay had spoken for itself more than her cracked blue lips could ever dream do at this point.
As her dimming eyes started fluttering close, she regaled herself with thoughts of a strange sense of calm overtaking her tired form like an uncanny blanket.
Warm and comforting,
like home.
However so, it was a comfort that cannot compare to the solace brought upon her wavering spirit by the whisper of a silvery voice, foreign and deep and seemingly one with the woods,
"It is too cold outside for any fae to fly."
It came from a figure most bright, unlike any human or elf her humble eyes had seen for the entirety of her short life. Standing tall and imposing like the trees that surrounded them, it loomed in contrast upon her fragile broken form before going down elegantly on one knee in front of her.
His hair is the finest of pale silken threads, as if bearing the very lights of the moon that hung above their heads. Features like marble sculpted by the Valars themselves composed his face: a perfect nose, enticing thin lips, smooth yet angular contours void of any earthly imperfections, and eyes the most ethereal glaciers of the lightest blue- confusion and apprehension dancing upon its calm surface creating naught but the tiniest of ripples.
His entire visage holds the grace of a king, an Elvenking- wise and beautiful as he is a stout warrior wearing the wariness brought forth by the scars of battle.
"Who are you? What foolery brings you into my forest?" his deep voice calls out, demanding an answer.
Taking a bloodied cheek in the firm yet gentle grasp of his slender hand, his piercing gaze searches her weakening ones underneath furrowed thick brows, guarded yet aware of her fatal injuries, "Do you not know the peril you so willingly placed yourself in and with your injuries nonetheless?"
Her eyes grew heavier, as did her body. The palm covering her cheek radiated a warmth that thawed her freezing blood and sparked within her the desire to lay to rest.
"Are you li-" his voice started growing distant and despite of it seemingly starting to bark orders to his elves, it was a sound that lulled (Y/N) as the shadows finally overtook her.
----------
"Men, mount your steads and scour the forest for whatever it may had been that had lead this elleth into our woods." Thranduil ordered his guards, struggling to maintain his calm as he scooped the frail body in his arms. Too starkly did he feel every creak of broken bones and every pull on torn sinews, so much so that it doused him in apprehension.
Whatever it may had been that hurt this elleth so badly may still be out there and until it is dealt with, it continues to pose as a threat to her, himself and his people all the same.
He hastily strode to his elk with no impediment. She was lighter than he expected, a shattered feather in his arms. He knows not where she had come from but was certain death had laid its hands upon her- the haunted look in her eyes was not unknown to him.
Glacier blue eyes softened as he stared down at her, that look was one of loss. This elleth had lost what he had too all those moons back - his father, to war - however, unlike him she appears to not have the means to fight.
Unlike him, she looked barely older than he had been.
His thoughts were cut off by his son who called out to him, "Ada, allow me to help," came the prince's measured voice as he momentarily took hold of the injured elleth, "What evil can you fathom is behind such monstrous deed, ada?"
The Elvenking allowed himself a sigh and a slight shake of the head as he mounted his steed, "Those orc filths are the only ones I know who would be both bold and foolish enough to execute such savagery. No men or dwarf would dare lay their hands on my people, not in the way this elleth had gone through."
"Renegades?" Legolas implored, aiding his father in settling the weightless body back in his arms. He feels an anger boiling within him as he pieced together the amount of torture the poor nameless elleth must have sustained for her to think that venturing off into their woods would grant her safety.
"That is the lot of those disdainful scum." his father spat upon gritted teeth, "However, our concern lies on which of those filth dare cross our lands and threaten the tranquility of our people." his eyes burned light blue flames into the night in respect to his rage, one that kindled in unmatched intensity for this is his realm that they speak of, his elves that were jeopardized.
Remembering the elleth in his arms, he gave his son an approving nod of the head as a gesture of his gratitude. Tugging on the reigns of his elk, the Elvenking directed it back to the path leading to his kingdom,
"Legolas, take half of your men and gather the others. Search the woods and meet me at the gates of the palace."
The Prince nods and turns his steed on the opposite direction of his father, "And if our quest proves fruitful?"
"You are to send Farhen back to report to me and proceed with caution. I shall come to regroup with you shortly."
It is with this that Legolas places his knuckle against his chest and extends it towards his father with a slight bow of his head, "Understood, my king."
Thranduil returns the gesture with equal sobriety before sending his son off with his blessing.
-----------
Movement woke her up from her pain induced slumber, one that can only be brought upon by the hooves of a tall horse as it traversed dense terrain.
Curious, I had not once heard of the involvement of horses with one's passing into the afterlife...
"-Neither had I heard of any ellon or elleth so willingly entering the borders of Mirkwood so blindly and without arms." a sonorous echo resounds in her head. One that she could swear she heard somewhere not too long ago.
From an angel.
Are you an angel?
A delicate shift, "And what, pray tell, my lady, is an angel?" the angel humors her delusion with a curious inquiry. How odd that this one knows not of his own kind.
An angel is a servant of the Valars. Celestial beings made from sunlight itself, winged and mighty- an embodiment of all in Arda that is kind and beautiful.
"You see me as kind?"
Yes.
She feels a slight thrumming against the side of her arm and underneath her palms. Warm. It was followed shortly by a gentle chuckle.
"I assure you, even for myself, that is too bold of a declaration to make."
A hum. If she were to cross the gates of Valinor to the sound of this voice and this warmth then she could not think of any other way she would rather go.
Alleviated by her troubles and engulfed in the safety of her angel's embrace. The angel that would watch over her as she walked through the darkness of death, the very one that would guide her towards the light of the afterlife.
And maybe there she could see his regal face once more. The very one that had kept her dreadful memories at bay.
Perhaps the Valars had heard my prayers afterall...
----------
The nonsensical utterances had stopped just when the Elvenking had but a gaze of his gates from a distance. The body in his arms growing heavier with each breath that got weaker.
Within his grasp he held the fragile hand that extended into the air not too long ago as he watched her youthful face turn as white as the first snowflake that had kissed the tip of her nose.
It was then that Thranduil had been reminded of how close the elleth is to death.
Muttering a sharp curse in Sindar, he urged his elk forwards as fast as it could go.
----------
The world burned around her in bright carmine red and hot embers. Depicting scenes of absolute terror so vividly as if painted upon the same canvass by layers upon layers of the strongest paint until it becomes a reality no sane man would be able to withstand. It stuck on her like cold sweat that increases the intensity of the freezing bites attacking her already numbing body.
In front of her lay a hellish montage of the night she was certain she had died. However, from all the cacophony before her none had hit her quite as hard as the recurring memories of her family's demise.
Never again would her reverie be of her mother's sweet lips muttering to her lullabies of old, for now, cursing (Y/N) in its stead is her death rattle as a knife plunged through her throat;
Never again would her reverie be of her father's whose strong arms wrapped around her frail form to reassure her that she's safe, but of those limbs going limp as a sword was driven through his loving chest;
And never again would her reverie be of the playful face of her brother's turning towards her with love but of his severed head lolling against their bloodied wooden floors until it faced her with glassy eyes halfway in to rolling back into their sockets, mouth agape in absolute terror.
Never again would she see the light of dawn radiating with the smiles on their faces...
Never again would she feel the warmth in a home where she truly belonged...
Woe betide the chasm the elleth's heart had vacated. From its depths played the echoes of a struggling thing so desperately yearning for death underneath layers of broken bone, muscle, and spirit. A sense of finality, a conclusion to the nightmare her life had been reduced to.
She reaches out into the darkness, beckoning it -anyone, anything- who might see her in such a pitiful state to take her- heart and soul, into a deep slumber, a permanent one so that she may not wake up in a world where her family was no more.
(Y/N) reaches out and feels the air the all consuming darkness had offered, a brush of crisp coldness against her battered fingertips, cool against her feverish skin.
So this is how the afterlife truly is- an eternal winter dressed in velvet black. A vast nothingness void of every bit of ourselves that ever was. A slate in unforgiving obsidian too dark for anything to be rewritten, too hard for any mark to be made.
She vaguely remembers an angel dressed in pure starlight and for a moment her heart flutters as she recalls how he had been her guide. He would have to have been a gorgeous ellon, that much she can be certain. From the way he spoke and the sound of his voice, the depth of his chuckle and the warmth of his chest.
Her mother told her stories of angels, how they used to be creatures not at all different from them. Humans, dwarves, and elves, sentient beings only ever set apart by the Valars for the remarkable lives they led in the name of virtue and valor. How upon death they are gifted a pair of angelic wings reminiscent of their righteousness, a massive collection of white purity that pulses until their very being is reverberating in its incandescence.
That guide of hers is as her mother had depicted them in their stories. (Y/N) could still feel the silky blond sheen of his hair that slid effortlessly through her fingertips, the fine sculpted nose and strong jaw in unforgiving marmoreal grace, the thickness of his brows and the length of his lashes, the perfect shape of his thin lips appearing to have shot both daggers and roses-
And his eyes, oh, what would she have given for a mere glimpse at them if the Valars would be so kind as to bestow upon her parting such a wonted gift as her angel's earthly visage.
It was as if the afterlife is a recollection of all the sensations that had lulled her into her eternal slumber- except for her sight. Just an ensemble of temperatures, textures, movements and sound. A handsome voice continuously humoring her increasingly senseless babbling about angels.
Now if only fate would allow her to put a face to that voice then perhaps she can go in peace. Finally be with her departed family once again with a sated curiosity that would no longer bother her in the afterlife.
-----
From all the bliss the seemingly endless blackness has had to offer, (Y/N) had started feeling discomfort. First a weight settling into her bones, then soreness of the muscles, a feverish warmth upon her skin, and finally- pain.
Excruciating pain that ran both deep and on the surface. Pins and needles and axes stuck on chests, of seared and torn flesh and blackened purple bruises- as if her entire body was on fire and she was burning inside and out.
Her (E/C) hues shot open and her lips shuddered in a helpless sound that would have somewhat resembled a pained moan had her throat not been incredibly dry and her ribs not broken.
Tears obscured her vision entirely but after one, two, three tortured blinks she was able to make out her surroundings. It all started with the high wooden ceilings made visible by the intricate yet modest scones in every corner that kept the room glowing a yellowish white as if they were a group of little full moons, every inch of the room she found herself in looked to be carved from a very big and ornate tree- the bed posts, the trunk at the foot of the bed, and the armchair pulled close beside her no different.
Everything was in a shade of rich woodland green and russet, a strong semblance of the lively dance of late spring before it tumbles so elegantly upon the last of its legs and ultimately succumbs to the calls of the earth from where it once belonged as autumn reawakens. The silken sheets underneath her body in harmony with the chill that flits into the room from the floor-to-ceiling window a few paces from her left in a cold and delicate touch not unlike the early breaths of winter as it graces all creatures with its unforgiving lips that forever sought warmth, a warmth that only the sun at its highest peak on midday summer can ever dream attain-
At least before (Y/N) was once more made aware of how mercilessly hot her broken body is and the concept almost seemed pale in comparison. It was an uncomfortable warmth, one that hailed with it an entire world of ailment and absolute fragility- one that burns like dragon fire.
That was before he spoke- her angel. 
And this time he had a visage, a physique, and clothes and he moves in ways that she was familiar with- like an ellon of regal blood. His hair was as she had imagined it to be, twin waterfalls of the palest blond that spilled over his broad shoulders as he leaned over her. The entire shape of him emanated a strength that is resolute and graceful underneath the expensive fabrics of his shifting cloak and tunic, one that can carry the burdens that came with the circlet that rested on his forehead and the weight of a sword in strong yet cautious hands as if they were made to protect rather than harm. The figure looked to be tall as his knees would occasionally inelegantly bump against the side table right across from him, in which times his beautiful thin lips would form utterances the elleth is still yet to hear (albeit, she can somehow be certain that the words are everything but holy, judging by the look of complete and utter disdain plastered on her angel's undoubtedly handsome face as he glared daggers at the offending furniture) before looking back at her with nothing but worry and concern in his glacier blue eyes.
Such an exquisite color that is a novelty even among the race of elves. (Y/N) would know. She'd prided herself with being a connoisseur of colors and words to that of which had caused a dent in the heart and soul- and what may be of more relevance to that respect than a creature's eyes?
She'd seen eyes in every shades of azure, hazels, pines, and obsidian. There was the occasional lilacs and browns that were so light they were almost gold, however, this particular shade of the most ethereal blue had only ever been known to belong to one ellon-
And the realization dawned upon her. The one who had found her in the woods, the ellon dressed in moonlight.
The only Elvenking, Thranduil Oropherion. King of the Woodland Elves, the feared monarch governing the woods by the east of Rhovanion. Her father had warned her about overstepping into his lands as he is known to be quite protective of his decaying realm, most of his words made the king seem stubborn and ruthless. An Elvenking that ruled with a stone heart, iron fists, and deafened ears. A king that was as cold and unforgiving as his eyes were.
Only now, (Y/N) knew how wrong her father had been with a great many of things. She knew he meant well but he himself failed to see how his overprotectiveness made him blind to certain things as well. How these exact traits molded him into what his very perception of the Elvenking had been.
For it was never an angel that had saved her from her apparent doom, not an abstract being that flew on wings made of spun virtues and gold and summoned by prayers- but someone real. 
Someone who hadn't needed be summoned by reverence and pleas, a king who'd been known to ride an elk so skillfully in battle at immense speeds had taken her in his arms to get her to safety. Someone who isn't as righteous as the Valars' servants are but cared nevertheless, cared enough to take her in. 
Cared enough to take a dying stranger into his kingdom. 
She was never going to die- not as she had thought she would because Elvenking Thranduil Oropherion was never as cold-hearted as the tales had made him seem to be, that much she knew when he saw the grief in his eyes. As if he knew something he thought she didn't already know.
Loss.
The next that his lips had formed words, (Y/N) could finally hear his sonorous voice crooning alongside a moving, breathing body. One that she could see with absolute clarity and certainty, one that she could feel. 
His cold hand on her cheek was as cool as his words and his breath were but his smile was gentle and warm, knowing,  when he says-
"It is too cold outside for angels to fly tonight, *pin gil . For now, you sleep."
And it was then that she knew she was finally safe.
For the Valars had listened to her prayers, however, she needed not any angel to watch over her as she slept for she had beside her the Elvenking of Mirkwood and a promise of yet another morning-
And that was more than she could ever ask for.
Amidst the pain on her chest, a weight had seemingly been lifted off the necklace she wore.
-----FIN (?)
*pin gil - lit. little bright spark/star.
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coopsgirl · 1 year
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Modern AU Thranduil: Imagine you are walking down a busy city street on a rainy day. Another pedestrian bumps into you causing you to spill your bag. You scramble to pick up the new books you just purchased before they get wet and trampled when you realize someone has stopped to help you. He's a tall man with long blond hair and a very nice suit. "Thanks" you say as he hands you the last book. "You're welcome" he says in a deep, warm voice. His eyes lock onto yours for a moment and the two of you only come out of this reverie when the rain begins to come down even harder. He pulls you close under his umbrella and you walk together quickly into a coffee house. "I'll wait here until the rain lets up" you say not wanting to trouble him further. "May I join you?" he asks. "I was hoping you would say that" you tell him with a flirty grin. He returns the smile as he pulls out the chair for you and signals for the waitress to bring you both something warm to drink.
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lee-pace-yourself · 1 year
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Imagine making Thranduil smile because you're turning him on by playing with his hair.... 😁
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Imagine being one of Thranduil's most trusted lieutenants and him constantly flirting with you, and one day you decide to flirt back
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edensrose · 2 years
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Thranduil is the kind to leave his s/o little love letters. It's his love language, end of story <3
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Moment of Relaxation
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TITLE: Moment of Relaxation PAIRING: Legolas/OC RATING: T CHAPTER: One-shot SUMMARY: Legolas and his mate, Lirilla, are on their way to the Wood of the Greenleaves and take a moment to relax.
[A/N - Written for @writer-wednesday. Lirilla is my LOTR OC from an abandoned (at the moment) fic. She is the daughter of Galadriel and Celeborn of Lothlorien.]
They had been walking for days now. Since elves didn’t experience exhaustion as quickly as they other species of Middle Earth, they were able to go longer between stops.
Lirilla and her husband Legolas were making their way to the Wood of the Greenleaves (the new name for the Greenwood named after Thranduil’s only and beloved son) to visit his father after spending a few months in Rivendell with Lord Elrond.
Legolas and Lirilla split their time between the Elven Kingdoms.
Wood of the Greenleaves because of Legolas’ father King Thranduil, Lothlórien because of Lirilla’s parents Galadriel and Celeborn, and Rivendell because of Lirilla’s brother-in-law Elrond. Through Lirilla all three Elven Kingdoms were united.
Right now, they were venturing across plains and rocks when Lirilla spotted a small rock pond.
It had been weeks since they’d come across a tavern or an inn, so the water looked so good.
Lirlla stopped and took off her boots.
“Lirilla…” Legolas said.
His young mate looked at him. “Legolas, we’ve been traveling for days. Can’t we relax for a moment?”
Legolas sighed, unable to deny her anything. “Fine, but only for a few minutes.” Legolas slipped his boots off and pulled up his linen leggings.
Lirilla undid the ties of her leggings around her ankles and pulled them up before slipping them into the cool water. Lirilla sighed.
“I know this journey has been difficult for you. We could have stayed in Rivendell,” Legolas told her.
“And have my nephews worry over me? No thank you.” As much as she loved Elladan and Elrohir, her nephews were very protective of her to the point where it became annoying. “I will be happy when we arrive in your father’s Kingdom.”
Legolas leaned over and kissed his wife’s cheek, running his hand over her Greenleaf braids.
She’d worn them since before they were married, but they carried more meaning now that they were bound together.
“Just a few more days, love. Then you can lay in the clearings and meadows you love so much.” That was often where Legolas found her.
Now that the spiders had been driven out of the wood, he didn’t need to worry about her being on her own.
The sun started to set, so they put their boots back on and found a place to camp for the night.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
A few days later, they entered the Wood of the Greenleaves. Although the leaves weren’t green, they were brown.
Autumn had fallen over the forest.
Lirilla loved spending Autumn in her husband’s birthplace.
Summer was spent in Lothlórien and Winter/Spring was spent in Rivendell.
Since spending months on the road with Aragorn before joining the Quest of the One Ring in Rivendell, Lirilla was unable to sit still. So she and Legolas were always on the move.
They walked across the wooden bridge leading to the front doors of the Halls of the Elven King.
The guards opened the doors and they entered. The guards escorted them to Thranduil’s throne.
The Elven King smiled when he saw his son and daughter-in-law. He descended his throne to come stand in front of them.
Legolas nodded to his father. “Ada.”
Thranduil took his son’s face in his hands and kissed his cheeks. “Nin réd. (My son).” Thranduil turned to Lirilla. “Lirilla.” He kissed Lirilla’s cheeks.
“My King.”
“We have known each other for nearly century. You may address me by my name or as Ada.”
“Ada, Lirilla and I would like to rest before the feast tonight,” Legolas said.
“Of course.”
Legolas led Lirilla to their chambers, where Lirilla collapsed on the bed. Legolas pulled off her boots and then her own before joining her on the bed. “Rest, my love.”
“Do you think he will be happy?” Lirilla asked her husband.
“It has been many moons since an elfling roamed these halls. He was beginning to worry.”
Legolas and Lirilla had thought long and hard before deciding to start having elflings. Having elflings meant less traveling.
Legolas kissed his mate’s forehead. “Rest now.”
Lirilla closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep with her husband by her side.
Taglist: @autumnleaves1991-blog @clydesducktape
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wtfhasmy-lifecometo · 2 years
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So, first off, lemme introduce myself.
My name is Kay, at least that’s what I go by, my full name is Mikayla, but I prefer Kay. I tend to have many and I mean MANY hyperfixations on fictional characters, specifically marvel based. Marvel is my area of expertise, well to a degree. I do write for LOTR and Hobbit characters as well! It’s been a hot minute but I believe I can still do well with that field.
I enjoy writing! So please! If you ever have any ideas for the characters listed below from Marvel or LOTR/Hobbit. Please send requests my way! I’m better at writing when I have dreams about specific characters or if someone gives me ideas, because my neurodivergent brain can’t just simply come up with an idea on the spot.
I’ve made a post previously, but like, many many months ago about what I write, but this post will be pinned. I will go over what I write and don’t write again, I only write certain things because others I’m not familiar with writing, that or not comfortable with it.
Current characters that I write for:
Marvel
Loki Laufeyson
Tony Stark
Steve Roger’s
Bucky Barnes
Norman Osborn
Peter Parker/Spiderman
Wanda Maximoff
Natasha Romanoff
Stephen Strange
Otto Octavius
I will eventually add more characters!
LOTR/Hobbit:
Thranduil
Legolas
Lindir
Elrond
Feren
Kili
Fili
Thorin
Tauriel
Good Omens
Crowley
Aziraphale
Star Wars (Sequels)
Armitage Hux
Kylo Ren
(More will be added as I go)
Things I will write:
Fluff
Angst
I will write character x reader relationships, I will write parental figure character x reader, I will write platonic! Character x reader as well!
Things I WON’T write:
NSFW (at least not yet, I’ve never written it, therefore I’m not super familiar with it tbh, eventually I will come around to writing it! Im still starting out!
Incest, I do not condone it
I will not write non-con/rape fics
I won’t write dark fics, unless it is an angst fic. Such as sinister strange, I will write for characters like him as I can write angst fics with him included.
Most of my fics will be gender neutral based! If you want a Fem! Reader or male! reader please lmk
Because I am still relatively new to writing (I’ve only written maybe a maximum of 5? Fics?) if there is any other ideas you guys have that I can add to this post, please let me know! I need feedback! Any type of advice is good, unless it’s crude. If you’re going to be downright mean then don’t bother.
Requests are currently closed! If they are closed, please try to refrain from sending me asks, I will open them once I feel ready to do so. If they’re open, It may take me a few days tops to get to you as I work 5 days a week, but please do not hesitate to send in a request! Xx 😚
—->MasterList <—-
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imagine-all-the-elves · 6 months
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Imagine witnessing Thranduil’s wife (thought to be dead) showing up with reinforcements at The Battle of the Five Armies and winning the day.
Author: Anonymous
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lillianofliterature · 2 years
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word count: 875 || warnings: thranduil is very smexy
“You sent for me, your majesty?”
When he spoke, the tone of his voice was absolute and almost prim in its poised cadence. “Yes, I did.” 
You knew the patterns of his speech well from years of working for him. You knew how he addressed uncooperative councilmen, threatening tradesmen, viable allies, and even the suitors you had been charged to oversee in his search for a worthy queen to stand beside him. 
And this tone, it seemed so sure, so confident—and yet, somewhere between the hum of his velvet vowels, you picked up on a twinge of nervousness. You couldn’t align his tone with his mannerisms from where he stood beneath the shadow of his throne, his back turned to you. You waited patiently for him to continue.
But what had he to be nervous about? Had it been the unceremoniously dwindling list of suitors you had presented to him earlier that morning? Had the failures of his previous meetings with your elected nobility finally deterred him from finding a proper match?
You could admit to yourself (and yourself alone) that you were grateful he had not yet taken a liking to any one the nobles and fine elven suitors you had been working diligently to propose to him. Sure, it was a lot of work writing up treaty options and researching bloodlines on dozens of elves across the realm for months on end. Boring tedious work, even. But you could at least satiate the feeling of annoyed pointlessness if it meant your beloved king was not yet vowing himself to someone else (and to someone else as a direct result of your referral, no less).
At least now, in the time before he chose his graceful counterpart, you could savor the solitude you often shared as his closest advisor and friend. You could pine for him in secrecy and in the devotion of your excellent work ethic. That is, if he was still satisfied with your presented work---right now, you were unsure of that last bit. Perhaps your duties as astute court matchmaker were being demoted back to royal advisor. (You’d welcome the demotion, honestly.)
“I read your proposals twice over this morning,” he said, so casually suave, “And I must admit I was rather disappointed with what I found.”
“Is it the quantity that’s troublesome to you, my king? After our last few rendezvous with the available nobility in your kinship, I thought it best to remove any of the suitors that resembled the incompatible experiences you’ve suffered thus far,” you diligently explained, “I can run through the lists again and include everyone, if that is what you wish.”
There was a beat of silence as his chin rose, his eyes roaming the golden lights high above him in the caverned palace. He had yet to face you still.
“It isn’t the quantity, (Y/n).” He stated flatly. 
“Was it the individualized treaties I proposed under their names, then? I assure you, I went to great lengths to include what they would be offering along with their companionship, your majesty. Many of them are proposing complete loyalty through the fair trade agreements we signed to last spring. I checked everyone’s several times over. There was one I highlighted for you—did you see it? Lady Etheniel’s family is rich in the textile business. You could have an entirely new wardrobe made by the fall if you accepted, or possibly even a new market of fabrics for the entire wood–-”
“(Y/n).” He calmly asserted your name in such a way that prompted your silence. With a word still halfway out of your mouth, you pursed your lips to clip the sentence short. You dropped your expressive hand to your corseted waistband. Slowly, he turned his head to the side, just enough to glance at your over his shoulder as he spoke.
“What I meant to say is,” he paused, swallowing over a hurdle in his throat. He turned his shoulders toward you a little more, still seemingly too shy to fully face you. “I summoned you here to express that all of the referrals we’ve gone over in the last few months are indefinitely lacking, no matter their background or what material trade they can offer us.”
Oh, you swallowed. Well, what did he expect you to do? Every suitable elf this side of Mount Doom had already been turned out during the formal meeting or scoured over on your lists for the king. You couldn’t materialize whatever ideal mate he was envisioning for himself. 
“However, I seem to have found a solution to this troubling affair,” he stated. You watched pensively as he poured himself a glass of wine. Only after he had set the bottle down and cradled the goblet with effortless elegance did he fully turn to you, striking gaze and all.
“The solution was rather obvious. I’m ashamed to say I hadn’t thought of it before we endured months of this trivial nonsense.”
You waited for more, but he seemed to be waiting for a response of some sort. An indication that you were fully attentive, bated on his next words.
“And what solution would that be, my king?”
His lips tipped into a devilish smirk. “Well, you, of course.”
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[please ask before using my imagines as prompts, or at least give credit to the idea if you are inspired by it. do not copy what I’ve already written. do not repost. thank you!]  [gif not mine, found on google ages ago.]
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mirkwoodshewolf · 2 years
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TCATC Chap. 15; The Woodland realm
*Author’s note*
Alrighty here we go, from Mirkwood and now the Woodland realm, Now it’s best to come out an say this.
I WILL NOT WRITE THE LOVE STORY BETWEEN TAURIEL AND KILI!!!! That is NOT happening in this series (for those shippers out there, I am sorry but I felt like the films would’ve been better off without the love story and could’ve been kept as a admiration/friendship kinda like how they wrote Gimli and Legolas in LOTR).
With that being said I should also say that I actually got the privilege at Galaxy Con to meet Evangeline Lily (Tauriel herself!!) and she was A-MAZING!! And soo sweet and of course beautiful as always.  Got a selfie and her autograph, if anyone’s interested I’ll post a pic up if you ask nicely.
And now all that aside, enjoy this next chapter and I’ll try to post some more chapters up tomorrow so until then goodbye and enjoy my lovelies :)
Also SIDENOTE!! Since there hasn’t been a CANON name for Legolas’ mother’s name I did some digging and found a pretty good name for her and it’s got a good ring to it, CALEN is Sindar means “Green One”. Let me know what you think of her name.
NEXT CHAPTER
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Taglist:
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@queensdivas​
@queen-paladin​
@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels​
@waddles03​
@psychosupernatural​
@ixchel-9275​
@peter-parkers-cullen-nerd​
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There was darkness.  There was pain.  Then…….relief? Warmth? I’m not sure what to call it but my body felt at peace.  I opened my eyes and saw a familiar cove surrounding me, a special cove that—
“Mae govannen Melda.” I turned and right there sitting over me was Haldir.
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“This is a dream.” I said.  A soft smile came across his lips and he spoke softly as he leaned closer to me.
“Then it is a good dream.” His lips softly captured mine. That familiar touch of his soft, warm lips set not only a flutter in my stomach but eased my heart and mind.  I reached up and touched his cheek stroking it as he separated from me, our eyes locked firmly at each other.
“I—I thought…….”
“Be at peace Hela. You’ve been through a lot these last several months.” He shushed me as he gingerly stroked my face.
“You have no idea.” I said as I moved closer to him resting my head on his chest.  His arms immediately wrapped around me.  “Why can’t the world simply be like this for all time?”
“Because without perils and trials, we can never truly be one. Whether mortal or immortal beings. And that is why I have come to you now.”
“What do you mean my beloved?” I looked up to him and his eyes held a solemn look.
“You cannot stay here.”
“Why not? I-I can finally give you my answer. After all these years I’ve left you waiting for a response to our engagement.”
“Then tell me when you actually see me.” He reached up and gently wiped a tear hidden at the corner of my eye.  “We will meet again. Just not here, not now. But soon my starlight. For now, you must wake up.” He leaned forward and gave my forehead a lingering kiss as his voice spoke to me telepathically. ‘May the Grace of the Valar protect you.’
I let out a gasp and saw myself in a room of sorts.  Pain spread all over my body as I let out a groan and pressed my head against the pillows.
“At last, you’ve awaken.” A female voice spoke up.  I turned and saw a She-elf with very long red hair, she wore a green uniform and brown archer gauntlets on her forearms. I noticed the gleam from her daggers that stood against her back.  She turned to face me and saw that her eyes held nothing but sharpness in them, much like her daggers.
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“Wh-where am I?”
“The realm of Thranduil. My lord Legolas and I found you on our river shores injured beyond any mortal can withstand.”
“I get that a lot. Especially a lot more now these past several months if you can believe it.”
“Just what exactly are you? With injuries like that you should’ve been dead. Yet three days after finding you, you’ve woken up and are speaking.”
“Would you believe me if I told you I was a Celestial?” I asked her.  At hearing that name, her eyes softly widened.
“A-A Celestial? But—they were all turned to stone thousands of years ago.”
“All but me. Even though it’s been a long time I’m sure your King would know of me. I promise I mean no threat to you or your realm.”
“Then why have you come here? And with such a degree of injuries?”
“For that I’ll need to ask permission to have audience with your King.” Her eyes grew suspicious but she walked up to me and asked.
“Can you walk?” that’s the main question isn’t it? Slowly I rose myself up feeling every ounce of pain in my body.  I turned over so that my legs now stood at the edge of the bed and I took a deep breath before standing up.  I used the rails of the bed as a support bar and took my first wobbly step.
But when I went to put pressure on my left leg, I suddenly felt myself falling forward if it hadn’t been for the She-elf to catch me. She helped me up and wrapped one of my arms around her neck and allowed me to use her body as support.
“Thank you uhh—”
“Tauriel. My name is Tauriel, my Lady Celestial.”
“Hela. You can just call me Hela.” A soft smile came at the corner of her lips as she helped me walk out of the room and to the throne of the Elven-king himself.
The Woodland realm.  A kingdom built of great halls made from wood and stone.  The only light to come into this realm are the rays from the sun that can seep in from whatever gaps from the wood, and sap-like lanterns that ran down and hung from the ceiling above.
Tauriel and I walked along a narrow, windy path that soon lead us up to the throne of the Elven-King himself, Thranduil son of Oropher. Long, silver-like blonde hair that came way past his shoulders, in fact the tips went slightly past his pectoral region.  He wore a dark silver glittering tunic robe, black boots and a long red cloak hung over his shoulders and at his was his sword.
A sword I had never really seen before in an Elvish sword before.  For it had gaps (but beautifully designs, almost like they just helped it) at the edge of it.  Even the handle itself almost looked like part of the sword itself, and at its end point it curved much like Arwen’s sword Hadhafang did.
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His piercing blue eyes stared down at me from his throne which was equally as intimidating as the Elf-king himself.  A large throne that was almost carved from the tree itself and about 12ft across from tip to tip were what resembled moose antlers along with other antler spikes sticking out in every which way but (like it sword) it fit with the aesthetic of the throne.
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“My Lord, the young woman Legolas and I found has awakened.”
“Very good Tauriel. The spiders are causing more problems in the Northern part of the forest. Kill them all.”
“Yes my Lord.” She said with a bow of her head before turning away and walked off.  I looked up to Thranduil and with a smirk that spread across his face, he greeted me.
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“Been a long time Hela.”
“Indeed Thranduil.”
“Tell me why has the Celestial of Death come to my realm with such injuries? I thought you were stronger than that when it came to normal foes such as orcs and Spiders.”
“If only it were that. Your realm is dealing with a greater threat than that.”
“What do you mean?” he asked as he came down the steps of his throne and stood before me.
“I wish not to alarm you and your people but—there is a Deviant. In your realm.” Instead of the wide-eyes I was expecting or the shock of mentioning such a demon, Thranduil merely rose his brow and said.
“You are mistaken Hela.”
“I do not lie Thranduil. A Deviant in the form of a warg-bear was seen wondering in your realm. I fought it myself! Look at the state of my body! You alone would know that a Deviant can scar a Celestial this badly. That and the Balrogs but no one has seen them since the First Age.”
“Indeed. But there is not a single Deviant hidden within my realm. If I would’ve known about it, you’d be the first person I would send word out to.”
“I know. And I do not question your rule Thranduil. But Deviants are like roaches. I thought I had sealed them all away.”
“And you did. Remember it was I who gave you that spell and you sealed every last one of those foul creatures.” His patience was slowly weaning as his eyes stared at me harshly.
“So-so what you…..you really think I did this to myself?” I gestured to my injuries.  He sighed solemnly and said.
“The dark magic of this forest has grown more poisonous than even I could imagine. I have seen it affect even the most innocent of creatures and drive them mad.” I looked down at my body and grew fearful.
“I……I don’t…..”
“Whether you choose to believe me or not is up to you. All you need to know is that there are no Deviants in my realm. And that you in your lost mind decided to destroy parts of my realm.” I tensed up and softly apologized.
“Sorry about that. I’ll…..try to fix that mountain as soon as I can.”
“That old cliffside is not my concern. What is my concern is why you have come here with a bunch of dwarves?” And that’s when my heart ceased beating.
“D-dwarves?” I asked.  Knowing the history between Thorin’s family and what Thranduil did when Smaug attacked, I couldn’t just say I was aiding his enemy, he’d never stop ranting like a madman if I told him I was helping him.  “I’m afraid I do not know what you are talking about.”
His head slightly tilted to the side as his eyes stared deeply at me with an ‘I don’t believe you’ manner.
“You are many things, Hela. A warrior, a fighter, friend to all you meet and foe to those you deem unworthy. But a liar—you could never lie to me Mellon.”
“Thranduil—”
“But if you claim to not know these dwarves then I’m sure you will not mind if I sent out my guard to find them. They’ve been harassing my people during our feast of Starlight. Maybe I’ll even give them the command to kill them on sight.”
“No!” I exclaimed.
“And why not?” I sighed heavily.  Thranduil has always played this game.  Always trying to get me to admit one thing by threatening to do something bad to another.  Although in the past it was mere jesting and in good fun, but after the fall of his Queen at Angmar he’s—he grew cold, distant, he wasn’t the same Thranduil Ikaris and I knew long ago.
“They are my family.”
“Dwarves? Your family?!”
“Tis true Thranduil. I’ve been with them these past several months and I’ve grown fond of them. Please, I beg of you, do not hurt them.” He straightened himself out and said as he circled around me, his hands behind his back.
“I’ve always warned you about bonding with mortals. Today, tomorrow, one year hence, a hundred years from now, they will die. Ikaris and I both told you of this. Why settle with them?”
“I gave them a chance. At first they were rather—rambunctious. But—over time I grew to care for them.”
“You always did have a caring heart. Too kind for my liking. You let people into your heart too easily. That much especially can break your heart.”
“Is that why you’ve chosen to close off yours?” I snapped.
I know it was low of me to say it but he has to hear it from someone.  His head shot up at me as he stood in front of me.
“What did you say?” he softly growled.
“You heard me, mellon.” I sneered the elvish word for friend. “You are changed, Thranduil. The Elf prince I met all those years ago would never have gone so far as to shut himself out from the world. Wouldn’t dare keep the memories of his own wife from their only child!”
“Don’t you talk to me of my Queen’s fall!” Thranduil snarled right in my face.  
“You know it to be true. That’s why you’ve forsaken our friendship. Is this what she would’ve wanted of you? For her son? She made me swear to protect you both even if it was from yourselves!”
“A promise she should have never made in her final moments.” He then walked back up to his throne and sat down upon it, a leg crossed over and he went back to the subject of the Dwarves.  “Perhaps we can make a deal? I will not order my troops to slaughter your dwarvish friends, if you heal my homeland.” I sighed heavily.
“You know why I can’t.”
“2000 years is more than enough time to train with Cersei’s magic.”
“But not at the expense of my life. Really Thranduil is that all I am to you now? You of all people would know that another Celestial’s power, no matter how long I’ve taken it, if I was not born to wield that power it becomes limited in my hands.” He merely waved his wrist and I felt my arms being gripped tightly by two guards.
“Then there is no reason to keep you here as a patient. Until you’ve agreed to my deal, you will be imprisoned in my realm. 3000 years is a mere fortnight in the eyes of both our kinds. I’m patient. I can wait.” I was then dragged down to the prisons where I was roughly pushed into a small cell and the guard locked the doors on me.
I leaned up against the bars and tried to use Cersei’s magic to turn the bars to water or pebbles but there wasn’t a spark or anything. I then tried Gilgamesh’s strength but that too was useless.  
Guess my body or my mind is still affected by the dark magic of the forest which is interfering with my connection to my sibling’s magic. I leaned up against the walls of my cell and allowed a few tears to slip down my face.
“Forgive me Calen. I—have failed you.” After a while I soon fell into a deep sleep.
My dreams, as of late, all contain visions of wars I’ve been in and what seemed to be wars I would face in the future.  This one however brought me back to when I fought alongside Thranduil, Calen and their armies at the Gundabad fortress, near the borders of Angmar.
Calen and I were facing down orcs after orcs however I was blind to see the orc archers coming from above.  That’s when Calen came forward and took the hit for me.  Shielding me with her own body and she died right there in my arms.  Her final words telling me:
“Protect my King from himself. And tell my little Greenleaf of the Wood that I love him. More than anyone, more than life.” And since I didn’t have Ajak’s healing gem at the time, I couldn’t heal her before she died. And since then, Thranduil has looked at me with a secret hatred anytime I brought up her name.
I woke up with a slight gasp and that’s when I heard a voice say.
“How do you know Haldir of Lórien?” I looked up to see that standing before me was Legolas Greenleaf himself.  And by the gods did he ever resemble his father when I first met him.  Same eyes, same hair, same cold, fierce look.
“What?” I asked.
“When Tauriel and I found you, you called me Haldir. He is the Marchwarden of Lothlorien. How do you know of him?”
I looked away and secretly reached under my gauntlet to stroke my engagement bracelet.
“He’s…..he’s very important to me.”
“How important?”
“Let’s just say we’ve known each other for a long time, and have grown close with one another. I—apologize for confusing you with him back there. I meant no offense.” He looked at me with a slight curiosity (definitely got that from his mother).
“Is what my father said about you true?”
“That would depend on how he speaks of me as of late.” I told him.
“That you are indeed the Last of the Celestials, and that you are the Celestial of Death but has the power to heal our home.” Of course he would mostly speak of that.
“Yes, I am the Last of my people. Yes, I am the Celestial of Death. And I could but I cannot.”
“Why can’t you? If you would heal our home you’d be setting us free from the spiders and the darkness that has invaded our home. If not for us then for your own freedom. Why not just do it to set yourself free?”
“As I have told your father and will now tell you. If I did decide to heal your home, it would drain every last ounce of my life force. Since I was not born to be an Elemental Celestial, using that much power could very easily kill me. Not long ago I had to save some friends from a falling tree off the side of a cliff, I couldn’t walk for a full day after that.”
“Then there is nothing else I can do for you to suade the King’s mind.” Legolas told me.  As he went to walk back up the steps I told him.
“You may be your father’s son. But never forget that you are also Calen’s son as well.” He paused mid-step.  “I will not ask you to betray your father, but you don’t always have to follow his every command. For the son will always surpass his father. One way or another.”
Legolas didn’t speak another word to me as he continued up the stairs leaving me alone in my cell.  I sighed heavily and looked down at my gauntlets and tried to see if I could at least use Ajak’s gem to heal my body.
I took a deep breath and focused on reaching out to her stone trying to activate it, however it didn’t not glow nor was I feeling the Celestial warmth of her healing touch.
“Damnit!” I growled softly.
Hours, days, maybe even a couple more weeks could’ve passed. Down here in the dungeon halls you can’t really tell just how much time has passed.  I looked up and saw Tauriel coming down the stairs and she soon stopped in front of my cell.
“A peace offering.” She opened the door of my cell and slid a basket into my cell before closing it.  I reached out and grabbed it and saw some food, a bottle of wine, and some healing herbs and oils.
“From Thranduil?”
“From myself.” I looked to her and said to her.
“Does your king know that you’re helping out a prisoner instead of a patient?”
“Patient or prisoner, you’re still a Celestial.”
“While I appreciate the offer, I am no different than anyone else. Nor do I choose to be treated as such.”
“I understand. But at least use the oils, they’ll help sooth your injuries and prevent them from scarring or getting infected. It’ll ease my mind knowing you won’t die of mere infection.” I smiled softly at her.
“You’re very kind Tauriel.”
“Some would think that’s my greatest weakness.” She sat down at the step near my cell, her eyes turning solemn.
“I would disagree.” She looked to me.  “You know, I knew of a Celestial who was a lot like you once. She was always so full of empathy and curiosity of the world around her. One time she tried to visit the kingdom of Gondor but her Starlight brother stopped her, telling her that it wasn’t worth it. That she should only ally herself with other immortal beings such as themselves, less she want to deal with the heartbreak later on in life. But the Celestial was a stubborn girl, so she snuck out and hid amongst the mortals of Rohan. There she befriend a young man. A man who she would not see again until his final stand at Mordor. A great King, a good warrior, a good friend. King Elendil.”
“The Celestial was you. You befriended Elendil, father to Isildur.” I nodded.
“Extending a hand of kindness to others of a different race is not weakness. Nor should it be frowned upon. For in dark times we all need someone to turn to.” Tauriel kept her eyes focused on me, a small smile spreading across her face.
“All my life I’ve been kept away from the rest of the world. Ever since my parents death by orc filth and the King’s pity to take me in as his Captain of the Guard, I’ve longed to see what lies beyond this wood. Sometimes late at night, I look to the stars and walk among them, up into the night. I see the world fall away, and the white light forever fill the air.”
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“You remind me so much of myself at your age.” She was young but she held such curiosity about the world.  
“Perhaps in another turn of events, we could’ve been friends as well.” She told me.  
“I would’ve liked that. Glad to know I would’ve had a second She-elf friend to get away from the testosterone that lies within all races of Men.” She softly laughed.
“It must get tiresome after a while.”
“You have no idea.” I teased.
“Tauriel.” Legolas’ voice soon spoke up.  I hid the basket behind me as Legolas then spoke to her in Elvish. “The Spiders are getting dangerously close to our halls. The King wants us to rid them all.”
“Yes, my lord Legolas.” She turned to me and I gave her a slight nod telling her it was okay to leave.  She stood up and once again I was left alone in the prisons of Mirkwood.
I took some of the oils and lathered some into my hands and gently washed them over any scars I found on my legs, arms, face and neck and soon enough I could sense Ajak’s gem starting to awaken.  In fact all of the gem pieces were starting to glow before receding once more.
I touched the rock bench in my cell and Cersei’s gem glowed and it provided the bench some moss-layered padding.  One by one I tested out my sibling’s magic gem pieces and was thankful to the gods above that I was finally back to connecting with their Celestial magic.
After switching out of Makkari’s uniform and getting my hearing back I could hear the sound of familiar exclamations.  No it couldn’t be!? I made the moss vanish from my cell and came up to my cell doors and I saw my company of Dwarves being man-handled by the Elves as they were forced into the other prison cells.
A familiar figure passed by my cell, I’d spent enough times to recognize that hat anywhere.
“Bofur?” I said.  He turned and said.
“Hela?” I nodded.  “Hela!” at the proclamation of my name, the rest of the company began shouting my name.
“Keep moving!” the Elf guard pushed Bofur along and shoved him in a cell next to mine.  As each dwarf was forced into a cell, the elves soon left us leaving us alone to reunite and ask questions on what had happened to the other.
“Hela you’re alive!?” I heard him said.
“Yeah. What happened to you all?” I asked him.
“Spiders. Giant, giant spiders. The like of which I’ve ever seen before. After Bilbo saved us, we fought them off. That was until the Elves showed up and captured us. All but Bilbo.”
“Bilbo’s not with you all?” I asked worriedly.
“We haven’t seen him since he cut us down from the webs of those spiders. Guess he must’ve slipped past the elves keen eye.” Even for a Halfling, nothing gets pass an Elf’s eye.  Surely they would’ve seen him and captured him along with the rest of them.
“But what happened with you Hela? You just ran off and—we couldn’t find you.” I heard Fili ask me.  I looked across from my cell and saw Fili leaning against his door looking straight at me.
“Don’t you remember? You all accused me of getting you lost and then you all left the path.”
“No we didn’t. We never would’ve done that to you.” I heard Kili tell me.
“Now I don’t mean all of you. With the exception of you, Fili and Bilbo, the rest of you all called me out on being the Celestial of Death luring you to your deaths. Then Thorin pushed me aside and you all left the path to get yourselves lost.”
“My lady Hela. I mean no disrespect when I say this, and even with the magic the forest had, that’s not what happened at all.” Balin piped in.  What? “After you saved Bombur from the river, you kept muttering to yourself. It was like you telling a tale of what we were going through at that very moment, even your voice was changing pitches and tonalities. Then soon enough you screamed for all of us to be silent before you ran off. Deeper into the forest. We searched for you for weeks, eventually having to leave the path just to see if we could find you.”
“Balin…..I—”
“Again we mean no disrespect. Maybe the dark magic that surrounded us began to seep into your mind as well as ours.” I thought back long and hard and soon I saw a vision of what Balin had said and—oh my gods! He was right. I—I did leave them.
It all truly was all in my head.  
The company turning against me, the Deviant, the injuries to my own body, what kind of magic could cause me to do such a thing?
“My friends, I—I cannot express how sorry I am for what I did. What I caused you all to go through. I-I should never have…..”
“You are forgiven lass. We know you did not mean to.” Bofur assured me.  An agreement of dwarves all sounded off assuring me that I wasn’t at fault.
“We’re just glad that you’re safe Hela.” Bombur told me. “And thanks again for saving my life at the river.”
“Anytime Bombur.” I told him.
“Alright, alright we’ve said our forgiveness now can we move past the niceties and think of a way to get out?” Dwalin said.
“He’s right. I don’t wanna waste another second being in this place. One elf kingdom was bad enough but I don’t want to be here in an Elvish prison! Come on Oin, help me with this door.” Gloin agreed.  I then could hear some of the cells being banged, kicked, and the grunts of dwarves as they tried to break down their cell doors.
“Leave it! There’s no way out!” Balin proclaimed. “This is no orc dungeon. These are the halls of the Woodland realm. No one leaves here but by the King’s consent.”
“Hela! Couldn’t you just use your Celestial power to get us out of these cells?” I heard Dori ask me.
“I’m barely hanging by a thread on Thranduil’s patience. You’re lucky I have not told him my reason for being with you all.”
“Just how long have you been here Hela?” Bofur asked me.
“I don’t know. A few days, maybe weeks? All I know was that I was severely injured three days ago and had to be healed by the Elvish healers here.”
“What happened to you that made you injury yourself to that degree?” asked Kili.
“Let’s just say the stress on my brain at the time was starting to destroy my body. And it gave me my greatest fear to fight which nearly costed me my very life.” And a slight portion of Thranduil’s realm but I’d rather not bring that up again.
“Oh Hela, we’re….we’re so sorry.” Fili said to me.
“Not your fault. The mind……can be a very dangerous place. Add some dark magic and it can be a living hell. Especially if it sensed my brother Druig’s powers, to which it would’ve enhanced its magic tenfold in my head. Making things seem real even when they aren’t.” as my mind went back to the Deviant that I fought in the woods.
Before anyone could speak up, we soon heard the commotion of someone else being brought down.  I looked outside my cell door to see that it was Thorin.  Thranduil must’ve requested an audience with him before bringing him down here.
Thorin was shoved into a cell before the guard slammed it shut behind him and locked it up tight before leaving with the keys.
“Did he offer you a deal?” Balin asked him.
“He did.” Thorin replied icily. “I told him he could îsh kakhfê ai-’d dur-rugnul. HIM AND ALL HIS KIN!!!” Thorin sneered before roaring out the last part.
“Well, that’s that then. A deal was our only way out.” Balin said in defeat.
“Not our only hope.” I heard Thorin say.
He’s right.  Somewhere out there, if he did manage to survive the forest and evade the eyes of the Elves, a young Hobbit by the name of Bilbo Baggins was our best way out. Oh Bilbo, wherever you are please be safe and cautious.
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