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tamurilofrivendell · 1 year

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Where We Go From Here | Thranduil & Calithil

Characters: Thranduil & Calithil (OC daughter) Supporting/Mentioned Characters: Legolas & Caleniel (OC wife) Summary: Calithil’s beloved mother has been killed and, in the weeks that follow, her father finds a little strength through his own grief at various moments to comfort his daughter. Content: Grief. Violence/death etc. Translations: adar (father) // pîn ithil (little moon) // sellig (my daughter) // ionneg (my son) Read on AO3

Shadows danced upon the walls in the flickering candlelight. The chill in the air did nothing to truly affect her phyiscally but Calithil felt it in her bones nonetheless.

That very night, her beloved mother, Caleniel, Elvenqueen of the Woodland Realm, was slain. It was all Calithil could do to stand there in the throne room, awaiting her father’s return, and not break down into floods of ugly tears. The only thing that kept her from dropping to her knees and weeping in the most un-princess-like fashion imaginable, was her older brother Legolas, standing beside her, gripping her hand in his own.

He was standing as still as a statue, facing the entryway, but she could feel him trembling.

The word had come back about the fate of the Queen, carried through the forest ahead of the King and his soldiers. Calithil felt as if she had been thrust into a nightmare. Not even five hours ago, she was sitting in the library reading a book of poetry, only mildly worried about her parents’ return journey from Rivendell. It was such a standard thing, so commonplace and routine, that she did not even think that something quite so dreadful could ever happen. Especially not surrounded by so many of their people, their best warriors. All of the details had not yet reached the Woodland Realm and Calithil did not know whether she would prefer to be kept in the dark or not.

Maybe if she learned no more about it then she could pretend as though none of it had actually happened. She could pretend that her mother - her beautiful, strong, loving mother - was alive.

There was a sudden commotion and in strode her father, his pace fast and furious. His face was like thunder but she could see the fresh sorrow shining in his eyes. He would not show it here, not like this, she knew that... and she had to do the same. She squeezed Legolas’ hand tighter, telling herself to be strong and she felt his gentle comforting squeeze in return.

“Father.” Legolas stepped forward then, dropping her hand. Calithil clasped her hands in front of her to avoid fidgeting.

“Calithil.” Thranduil boomed, ignoring Legolas for the moment, not even looking at her. “Leave us.”

Briefly stunned, she blinked back at him. “But adar-” Calithil started, abruptly cut off by her father as he turned his gaze of steel upon her.

“Now.” His voice echoed through the room, hanging heavy in the deafening silence that followed.

Ducking her head just slightly, Calithil’s expression creased into a frown. She glanced at her brother, who blinked back rather helplessly, and then she turned and fled.

“Was that entirely necessary?” Legolas quipped, gritting his teeth as he turned from the door his sister had just retreated through, and back to his father.

Thranduil looked furious but Legolas knew that fury was not due to either of his children but was aimed at the filth that had ambushed the travelling royal cavalcade and taken the life of the King’s treasured wife.

Thranduil turned his gaze to his son, raising a brow. “What?” He asked, as if he had no idea what Legolas was talking about. It was very evident that Thranduil was using a great deal of energy to appear as calm as he was.

Legolas held back a scoff. Emotions were running understandably high and he didn’t want to make things worse for his father... but he was hurting too. His sister was hurting too. They had just lost their mother.

“She worships the ground you walk on, father.” Legolas muttered, watching his father bid his guards to come closer from down the walkway.

“You would prefer your sister be privy to details of the murder of her own mother?” Thranduil wondered, making a big show of his attention being elsewhere but his voice was taking on more malice with each passing second, his composure slipping. He had only wanted to keep it up long enough to get his daughter out of the room and now his grip on it was deteriorating.

“If I am expected to be, surely so can she.” Legolas replied, a rush of grief flooding through him as he thought about his mother being executed. He did not relish knowing the details but he knew that he must. “She is stronger than you give her credit for.”

“Would you wish me to describe to her the length and colour of the knives that plunged so deep into the flesh of your mother’s body that she was immediately beyond any and all help?” Thranduil continued as he rounded on his son, glaring down at him.

The throne room had fallen utterly silent, all eyes upon the King and the Prince. The grief even from the staff was unmistakable.

“Would you wish me to explain to her that it happened so quickly that not even I could reach her in time?” Thranduil continued, tears beginning to collect in his eyes, threatening to fully betray his anguish to everyone in the room... though none of them would think any less of him for it.

“Do you wish, my son, for me to look into the eyes of your sister and tell her that I, her own father, am responsible for her mother’s death?” He snapped finally, the tears spilling down his ivory cheeks. “That your mother was targeted and taken from us simply for being my Queen?”

Legolas said nothing, simply allowed his father to release it all. He already knew that sometimes his father’s more delicate emotions could come out veiled in frustration or anger. His mother had always told him that Thranduil’s bark was far worse than his bite and sometimes all you had to do was wait for the storm to pass all by itself. Legolas had learned the art of this quite well... letting his father feel whatever he was feeling before letting it out in his own way.

He knew that this, right here and now, was about his father’s grief... that it was about his father’s guilt.

Legolas also knew that Thranduil had sent his sister out the way he had as some means of protecting her, much like he always did, but Legolas knew that there was no shielding her from this.

His father loved him deeply, he knew that, but he had always seemed to want to keep an extra blanket of security over his youngest child. Legolas, too, wanted to protect his sister but they could not protect her from everything... especially not this.

“Do not shut her out, adar.” Was all Legolas said once his father was done. He gazed back at Thranduil, eyes full of empathy for him and of sorrow for himself. He stepped forward and placed a comforting hand upon his father’s shoulder. “Do not shut either of us out... you are not to blame and you are not alone.” Then he turned and left the room, retreating to the royal chambers to drown in his own grief.

A week later, Calithil had retreated to one of the lower levels, sitting beside a waterfall that flowed through the underground hall from somewhere above. She held her hand out, letting the water flow over her fingertips. Usually, such a simple thing would bring her a little joy, but not today.

She still felt cold. Two whole weeks without her mother had been hell on middle-earth. How was she supposed to do an eternity this way?

Legolas had gone out into the forest. She had not wanted him to leave her alone here but she knew that this was one way that helped her brother to work through things. It kept his mind distracted and busy. Calithil was not going to deprive him of anything that would take away just a little bit of distress from him.

She sat down upon the ground and sighed, closing her eyes and listening to the water. She didn’t know what to do. She felt so alone. Calithil had seen her father once since that night, at dinner, but he had not come again. She heard he had shut himself away in his chambers and answered to no one and nothing.

So she was surprised, to say the least, when she opened her eyes after sensing another presence, and found Thranduil himself standing there a short distance away. His gaze was fixed on the waterfall, the way the moonlight shone through it from a crack in the vast ceiling.

Calithil did not speak. She did not know what to say. If her father wanted to talk, he would do so. She wondered briefly if he was unhappy to find her here. Perhaps he too had been seeking privacy and peace outside the confines of his room.

She was debating whether or not to take her leave when he finally spoke, turning to look upon his daughter. “I have always enjoyed the solitude of this particular cavern.”

It wasn’t the first thing she expected him to say to her but she just nodded. His words made her wonder if she had been right and that he wished to be alone here. Calithil rose from the ground, inclined her head out of respect, and turned away in the direction of the exit.

“Calithil.” His voice was gentle, tinged with sadness and regret.

Her footsteps stilled and she turned around again, looking back at him. At the broken image of her father. Thranduil stepped towards her slowly, reaching out for her. He gently cupped her face in his hands, thumbs brushing her cheeks, looking into her eyes as if he were committing every part of her to memory. For some reason, it broke her heart.

“My little moon.” He murmured, thinking to himself that she was the very image of her mother.

The tears came then as Calithil fell forward, collapsing against her father’s chest as his arms circled her and held her close. He stood there with her for a long while, letting her cry it out in his firm embrace.

“The forest is changing.” Legolas stated, striding into the private royal dining hall and shaking his head, having just returned from his seclusion in the woods.

Thranduil’s mouth pulled into a thin line as he thought about the darkness that had been descending upon his beloved forest. “I am aware.” He said evenly.

“Changing how?” Calithil asked, looking up from the bread she had been picking at. She was not truly hungry but she had just been happy that her father had been leaving his rooms and spending time around her again.

Legolas turned to look at her and opened his mouth as if he were going to answer but he was rather abruptly cut off before he could even get a word out.

“It is nothing for you to concern yourself with.” Thranduil said, his tone leaving no room for discussion as he focused on his wine.

Calithil frowned but she said nothing. She sat for a moment longer in the tense silence that followed before she stood, pushing her chair back with enough force to show that she was frustrated, and then she turned and stalked from the room and away down the hall.

She could hear the soft arguing that sparked up between her brother and father behind her as she went. She heard Legolas saying her name and sighed heavily as she retreated to the royal chambers.

Calithil was tired of her father cutting her out of everything. He had been doing it since the night her mother died and she was growing upset with his back and forth moods and of him keeping her at arms length this way.

Nobody had even really spoken to her of what happened that night. She had had to glean what information she could from various sources around the halls, but all she truly wanted was for her father to talk to her about it.

She just wanted him to talk to her.

Another week had passed and Calithil had slept for three days in her mother’s chambers. Curled upon her mother’s large bed, feeling like a little child again, Calithil could feel those pesky tears once more but she did what she could to keep them at bay. It made her angry... that her mother had been taken from this world in such a brutal way.

Suddenly, the door opened and Calithil sat up, some distant part of her mind telling her that it was her mother, that she was home... but of course that was impossible.

Her father stood in the doorway, tall and imposing as ever, but gazing at her with a grief in his eyes so deep that she could have drowned in it.

She sniffed and lay back down again, squeezing her eyes shut. There was a silence and she half expected him to leave but the bed shifted and when she opened her eyes again, she saw her father sitting beside her, looking down at her with tears shining in his eyes.

“Forgive me, little moon.” He murmured, regret cutting through him like a knife. “I do not mean to be so cold.”

Calithil was quiet for a moment as he brushed his fingers gently through her golden hair. “It’s okay.” She said softly, blinking up at him.

Thranduil shook his head. “No, darling... it is not.” He sighed, shifting to carefully lower himself so that he could lay down beside her. Thranduil studied her face, fingers combing through the ends of her hair as they lay there in silence for a few moments. Calithil’s eyes drifted closed again, feeling like a little elfling but there was a great comfort in it.

“I miss her...” She whispered, unable to help herself, keeping her eyes shut in an attempt to ward of the tears that once more threatened to fall.

Thranduil sucked in a little shaky breath. “I know, pîn ithil, I know.” There was another slightly drawn out silence. Thranduil’s fingers continued to tangle comfortingly through his daughter’s hair. Just before she drifted off into the welcoming embrace of sleep, she heard his voice again. “So do I.”

Four weeks later, Thranduil had done his best to be less distant and more present for his daughter. His wife would not have wanted him to push them away, their beloved children. He knew this, and yet Thranduil still longed to allow himself to drift away into the embrace of complete and utter misery, allow his grief to swallow him whole, pull him down beneath the waves and never surface.

Still, he persevered.

“I can’t do it!” Calithil whined, letting the sword she was holding clatter to the ground with a heavy sigh. “It is too difficult.”

Thranduil, standing before her holding his own sword, gave her a look of disapproval. “You have barely tried, sweetheart. Pick it up and let’s go again.”

She stubbornly shook her head. “No.” He had been making her do this for five days and yet she still simply could not.

Thranduil raised a brow as he eyed his daughter. “Calithil.” His tone was low and there was a dangerous bite in it that she had heard many times before.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Why do we have to do this anyway!” She complained, staring at him. “What am I going to have to fight in these halls?! Nothing.” She finished, folding her arms in front of her as if the conversation was over.

Thranduil, however, would not concede. He blinked back at his stubborn daughter, her expression the very image of her mother when he had done or said something to affront her.

This thought only spurred him on.

“And what if you are outside of these halls?” He asked, spreading his arms in question. “What then?”

Calithil gave him a funny look, tilting her head as she looked at him. “Ada, I am never outside of these halls without you.”

“And neither was your mother, Cali!” He finally snapped, losing his temper.

Calithil froze and went silent, staring at him for a long moment. Grief and guilt both curled together in her gut as she looked at her father, his face no longer a mask of cool detachment.

She realised, then, that he wanted her to learn the skills to defend herself because he wanted to limit the ways that she could be put in a position to get hurt. Her mother had been a skilled warrior and yet she had still been taken down. What of Calithil? What if she were travelling to Lothlorien with her father’s caravan and they were set upon? Would she have more luck on her side having to sit in the centre, being defended, or would she have more luck being able to wield her own weapon?

Calithil pressed her mouth into a thin line to try and hold back the tears she felt as she was witness to her father’s deeper emotions, and then she bent down to pick the sword back up again.

She nodded. “Show me again.”

Thranduil stood quietly for a moment, watching her with pride, and then he offered her a soft smile, eyes shining as he took up a stance before her.

Legolas and Thranduil were sitting in the family room when Calithil walked in.

Thranduil looked up from his book and followed her movements across the floor. “Where have you been?”

“Sleeping.” Calithil muttered simply, receiving a frown from her father and finally drawing Legolas’ concerned attention.

“You have been doing that a lot.” Legolas said, tilting his head at her.

“And what of it?” Calithil barked back, walking over to the large chair beside the extravagant fireplace and throwing herself dramatically down upon it.

Thranduil raised an eyebrow as he watched her. She was often the very image of her mother but in this moment she struck him as very much the image of himself. A perfect blend of himself and Caleniel, the both of them were.

“The Eldar do not need to sleep as deeply as you have been, nor the same amount as mere mortals do, Calithil.” Thranduil stated calmly, turning his gaze back down to the book in his lap. “I believe it is time that you return to your meditations. Enough time has passed.” He made a point with his tone, perfectly aware of the reason his daughter had been subjecting herself to such deep sleep so very often, where her dreams and even her senses were far more shut off than was necessary.

Because of her mother’s death. She was doing her best to shut herself off as much as she possibly could.

Legolas frowned, glancing down at his hands briefly, before he looked back up at his sister. “Cali...” He murmured, keeping his gaze on her before she looked up again.

“What?” She asked after a beat.

Legolas stood and moved over to his sister, sitting on the arm of the chair. “You are sleeping your days away. You are still barely eating, do not think we have not noticed.”

She frowned up at her brother. “So what?” She snapped, drawing her father’s gaze once more.

He lifted his head with a frown. “Cali.” He warned, letting her know that her tone was unnecessary.

She sighed, looking down and clasping her hands in her lap. “Sorry...” She whispered.

Thranduil set his book aside and rose from his own chair, graceful as ever, and floated across the room towards his children. He crouched down in front of Calithil’s chair, his hands moving to close over hers.

“Beautiful daughter... look at me.” He said softly, watching her eyes lift to meet his own. There were tears shining in them.

He smiled sadly. “Your mother would not want you to neglect yourself... neither of you.” His gaze lifted to meet his son’s, who he knew was pushing himself to the point of punishing out in the forest. Legolas lowered his gaze guiltily. Thranduil gave another sad little smile and sighed, removing one of his hands from his daughters and reaching out to take one of his son’s.

They sat like that - father, son, daughter - for a while, before Thranduil found the strength to finish what he had been saying.

“She has left this world for the next and, whilst we are allowed to feel sad about that, drowning in such anguish is not acceptable.” He gave Legolas a look to shut him up when he noticed his son opening his mouth to speak. “And I know that I, too, am guilty of this, yes.” He admitted, sighing again.

“Listen to me.” Thranduil continued. “Sellig. Ionneg. We three remain. And we three must endure, we must persevere.” He looked between the two of them, his entire world wrapped up in these two beautiful beings. “And so we shall. Together.”

#thranduil x oc #thranduil fanfic #lotr x oc #the hobbit x oc #legolas x oc #lotr fanfic #thranduil oropherion #thranduil's daughter #thranduil's wife

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his-majesty-the-elvenking · 2 months

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There are gems in the mountain that I desire, white gems of pure starlight...

#thranduil #thranduil's wife #the hobbit #elvenking #lotr #lee pace #fancast

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glorf1ndel · 9 months

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@lotrladiessource's LOTR Ladies Week || Queen of Mirkwood

Jumping in on the last day of LOTR Ladies Week with an edit for Legolas' mother and Thranduil's wife 💜 Face claim is Stevie Nicks!

#lotrladiesweek #lotrladiessource #lotr #lord of the rings #the hobbit #legolas' mother #thranduil's wife #legolas #thranduil

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lordgrimwing · 1 month

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Smut #04

Sexy time for Thranduil and Hithundil doesn't always go as planned with a four-year-old in the house.

Word count: ~1400

“And how does this one look?” Hithundil asked, holding up a piece of lingerie with metal beads that could hardly be called a bra.

Thranduil hummed and looked at her for a few long seconds from his place stretched out on their bed. “Very fun,” He shifted around a bit and she caught a sparkling glimpse of the buttplug he’d texted her a picture of before coming to pick her up after her afternoon work meeting wrapped up.

She let the small towel fall from under her arms, exposing her dark skin to the cool air. She did up the bra’s clasp behind her and slipped her arms into the straps, watching her husband’s expression as she adjusted the beaded lace to sit more comfortably over her breasts. He cocked an eyebrow at the scrutiny. She trailed her fingers over the beads and let a shiver run across her skin.

“Playing on your own tonight?” He asked.

Her other hand slid down her side to rest on her hip. “Maybe I will.”

He gave a shrug of practiced nonchalance. “I have two hands,” He said with the confidence of someone whose hands were not currently tied to a ring on the headboard.

Toeing the towel to one side, she walked over to the bed and slapped lightly at his feet. He bent his legs, making space by his knees for her to settle. The mattress sank under her weight. She crawled over his body so she could reach his face. Her thigh brushed across the side of his erection. He sucked in a break but didn’t shift against her. She kissed his neck. The bra rubbed between their chests.

“Delightful,” He murmured into her hair, inhaling deeply.

She had to agree. Beads pressed around her nipples, the cool points in sharp contrast to the heat from his skin. Straddling his waist, she sat back on her knees and looked down.

He was naked beneath her. He stripped earlier at her suggestion, making a show of it while she loosened her mane of hair from the thick bun she put it for work. The only things adorning him now were the silk cord keeping his wrists above his head and a simple copper ring pierced through one nipple. The muscles of his chest and abdomen tense as he smirked back at her.

“Entertaining yourself?” He asked, shifting his shoulders to demonstrate that he wasn’t in a position to help her this evening.

“Yes,” She said and then settled down on his hips, letting the shaft of his cock slide against the cleft between her buttocks.

He thrust when she landed, lifting her for a second before dropping back to the mattress. She bounced when she landed. He grunted.

“Guess I should have tied you down a little more.” She flipped her hair over one shoulder and then set her hands on his chest.

“Don’t tell me you want to do all the work after being at the office all day?” He shifted beneath her.

“I could find someone else to join.” She played with his pebbled nipples and then fingered the ring, giving it a light tug—teasing more than anything else.

He twitched. “You could. I’ve seen a few people who could be fun,”

“Where would you possibly go to see people like that?” She demanded, free hand reaching to grip under his jaw.

He shuddered. “All kinds of places.”

The smolder between her legs grew hot. The beads rubbed against her breasts as she shifted.

They kissed, then, and she bit his lower lip. He licked her teeth when she released him and she let him come inside, driving the connection deeper. Pulling back just further than he could reach with his arms pulled over his head, she broke the kiss.

“That’s what I want to hear: making yourself useful.”

“I’ll be even more useful if you untie me,” He said, dancing his fingers at her.

She opened her mouth to deny him when she was suddenly pushed off balance by his knee smacking her bottom and thigh. Toppling forward, she just managed to put her hands up and catch the edge of the headboard to avoid landing on her bound spouse’s unprotected face. Her ass stung and her core clenched.

“That was mean,” She smirked, face inches away from his.

“You got slick on my leg.” He said it like that somehow made them even.

She sat down hard on his tense abdomen, keeping well away from his cock and spreading her legs so her wet folds pressed just above his navel. “Don’t worry about it.”

He made a disgusted expression and pressed up into her, back arching as he lifted her. “That’s nasty. I’ll have to take a shower.

She rolled her hips when he settled back, flexing the muscles of her stomach and legs as she ground against him. “I said,” She repeated firmly. “Don’t worry about it.”

Curling forward as he scoffed, she brought a bead-covered breast to his face. He met her eagerly, nuzzling and lapping at the beads to make them roll, then wiggling his tongue between the loose lace of the bra to lick her salty skin. A little distraction was all he needed to forget about the sticky spot she left as she rubbed against him.

“Be still,” She groaned into his hair and pulled back, letting the warming beads of the bra roll between them, sliding down him until she felt his cock press against her folds.

His hips twitched beneath her in restrained excitement.

She pinched his unpierced nipple, then rubbed the heel of her palm over the extended muscle of his chest and around his arm to grab the back of his head. “Now, be an obedient husband and—”

The creak of their bedroom door opening interrupted her.

Hithundil rolled off of Thranduil, tumbling onto the bed next to him as he pulled himself up into more of a sitting position. She tossed a pillow over his groin and grabbed a second to cover herself just as little hands reached up and grabbed the bedspread. Their four-year-old son wriggled onto the bed. Wide-eyed, he darted into the space between them, wiggling about until he was wedged in securely.

“Hey, little buddy, what’s up?” Thranduil asked. His arms were still bound behind him but he’d started picking blindly at the knots.

Legolas twisted around until he freed his hands and asked, “Mommy, Daddy okay?”

“Yes, we’re okay,” Hithundil said. She pressed her hand to his thin nightshirt, feeling his heart beating quickly beneath her fingers. “Are you okay?”

He nodded and then shook his head. “Scary monster.”

Thranduil, one arm freed, laid his hand on the child’s head and smoothed his pale hair. “In your room? Should I tell it to leave?”

“No. Want to stay.” Legolas’s hands were quickly growing clumsy with sleep.

Hithundil looked at her husband. He had more experience interpreting sleepy hands than she did.

“He just wants to stay here,” He explained in a soft voice, watching little eyelids struggle to stay open.

She leaned down and kissed the child’s cool forehead. “Go ahead and get comfortable while we get ready for bed.” She scooted aside so he had room to pull down the covers and wiggle under.

“Hithundil,” Thranduil said as she moved to slide off the bed. “If you could just…” He waved his tied hand at her.

Since Legolas was still twisting around under the sheet and blanket, she dropped the pillow she’d been holding and quickly reached across the bed to free him, murmuring a teasing, “I would have kept you there all night.”

“Next time,” He said in a hushed voice.

She left to use the bathroom and slip into a short shift. When she got back, Legolas was asleep, snuggled against his dad’s side. She slid under the covers and pulled the relaxed child to her so he wouldn’t be disturbed as Thranduil got up and disappeared into the bathroom to take care of himself. He returned in briefs and an old T-shirt.

Neither of them normally wore much to bed, but when Legolas was quite little, he tended to grab and pinch things while sleeping. They continued keeping covered as he grew out of the habit both for modesty and the occasional relapse.

Thranduil turned off the light as he walked back to them, settling on Legolas’s other side in the dark. He wrapped his arms around his son and wife.

Hithundil pillowed her head on his shoulder, curving her body to accommodate the child curled up between them.

He kissed her hair. “Good night.”

“Good night,” She murmured back.

The chirping of crickets and the whisper of other nocturnal creatures drifted in through the open window, lulling them to sleep.

#they're all a bunch of silly little elves and i love them #thranduil really likes being tied up #his wife really likes tying him up #can't fall off the bed during sex and get hurt if you're tried to the bed #nonverbal legolas #lotr smut #twdd au #grimwing writes #lotr #nsft #thranduil #thranduil's wife #legolas

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tathrin · 1 year

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Here’s another “too short to do anything real with” snippet that popped into my head, so I’m once again sharing it with tumblr (maybe I should start a story that’s just Short Snippets In Aman and post it on AO3 that way? hmmm).

❧ When Thranduil Sailed At Last ☙

When some four thousand years of the Fourth Age of the world had passed, and Elves had faded out of the memories of Men and into their legends and stories instead; when the Dwarves who remained had buried themselves so deeply within their mountain halls that only the echoes of their singing sometimes emerged to haunt the waking world; when the forest of Eryn Lasgalen, once called Mirkwood, once called Greenwood the Great, was finally empty of all elvensong save in memory and bewitchment, and those elves who had refused the Call of the Sea and the Grace of the Valar for all time were but faded and fey whispers of what once they had been, flitting through the shadows of their trees with bewitching laughter—then, and only then, did Thranduil, the last King of the Elves, at long last cross the Sea.

He was but a shadow of himself then, for his people were all gone or faded into the greenwood, and his trees barely whispered to him now; but every league he traveled along the Straight Road restored him somewhat in face and form, as the fair light of Valinor stretched gentle fingers towards his proud and weary face.

Thranduil was not wholly pleased by this restoration, for he had spent his life standing against the Shadow of the Valar's broken promises and errant deeds without their aid—or at least, without any aid of theirs that he had taken willingly—and it would be another ten thousand years at least before he would be healed of the pains of his past enough to forgive them for all the blood they had brought to his Middle-earth. He was not wholly pleased, but he did not turn back; he had changed that much, at least, in those four thousand years of Elven Fading, and he could put aside his stubborn pride for his family's sake, if not his own. It was them he sailed to find again, and not the Valar nor their Grace. He had no wish of either, but for the sake of his kin, he would endure their blessed light.

He was the last Elf to leave the forest that had once been Greenwood the Great.

When he set foot upon the White Shores, he was greeted by one of the first.

"Mae govannen, meltha-nín."

Thranduil stood in the foam of the waves and stared at the elf-woman in front of him. She was short and slim as a sapling, with cheeks the soft brown of an oak and hair only a shade lighter. Her grey eyes were bright as sun-kissed iron and her smile was as small as a half-grown flowerbud. She was dressed in flowing robes of green in many colors, as though she walked clad in all the shades of a summertime forest. Her hair hung loose and unbound, so long that it kissed the sands under her bare brown feet. Fine silver clasped her wrists, un-bejeweled but clearly of skillful Dwarven make.

"Angmeril?" Thranduil gasped.

She laughed and spread her arms and he ran up the sands into them, crying out with joy and ancient grief as he caught her up and swung her three times through the air. Those who had known the elvenking in later days would have gaped to see him cavorting so carefree upon the shores, an untroubled laugh upon his lips and a smile altogether unconstrained across his face.

"I almost did not recognize you," he murmured, when he set her down at last.

"It has been that long?" Angmeril said archly.

"Your hair is so long," Thranduil breathed, lifting a soft brown lock with bewildered awe.

Angmeril's smile cracked wider, twisting crooked upon her face; it was the sort of smile that was kept often hidden and could only be teased-out by a rare and secret jest.

"Well," she said, "you did take a very long time to join us."

Thranduil frowned. "I am sorry—"

"I am not," she cut him off harshly. "I am not. I tried to swim back seven times, my love. Ulmo got very tired of me."

Thranduil laughed.

"Had you come even a minute before you truly wanted to leave; if I suspected even now that you had come for me rather than yourself," Angmeril cautioned him fiercely, "I would gut you even now upon these shores and you would have to wade your way back to us through the Halls of Mandos."

Thranduil beamed at her brightly enough to for a moment outshine the sun. He bent to press his lips upon her brow. "Oh my love," he breathed, "I have missed you so."

"Well, you are stuck here until the ending of the world now, like the rest of us," she retorted, "so we shall have plenty of time to make-up for our lost years now."

"True," said Thranduil, and they set off arm-in-arm across the grass. Thranduil kept sneaking glances at the elf-woman at his side, as though he could not believe the truth of his own eyes. She caught him looking and raised her eyebrows in a wry, silent question. "Ah, my iron-flower," he explained, "I still cannot help but marvel at your hair!"

"As I said," Angmeril replied coyly, "you took a long time to join us. I did not want to cut it again without you here."

"Ah," said Thranduil, and a crooked smile to match his wife's teased its way across his face.

"You enjoyed witnessing the reactions so much the last time, after all," Angmeril teased. "And that was a grim army in the midst of a terrible siege. How much more shocked and outraged will all these fine Lords and Ladies be, here in fair and peaceful Aman where they say no ills or hurts can ever find us?"

Thranduil's laugh rang out loud and long across the dunes. "Oh," he said again, "I have missed you so."

They smiled together, the onetime Queen and King of Mirkwood, and walked forward together into forever, whether the rest of the dwellers of Aman were ready for them there or no.

{ read more of my lotr fic on AO3 here }

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agathne · 10 months

Text

CHAPTER FIVE | THERE'S MILLIONS OF ME DARLING

Description: Thranduil and Legolas are transported to the past - where the late Elvenqueen was still alive - minor hiccup, she doesn't know who they are.

series masterlist | chapter four

"Where are you going, naneth?" the young elfling asked while attempting to bury his head on your skirt. "Off to war, my darling." you reply, kneeling down to his length. Oh, there were millions of things that an elfling was supposed to do with his mother - watching her go to war wasn't one of them.

"And will you return?" he inquired, playing with the silver necklace on his neck. You reach for his chin, lifting his face with a false smile. "The question my elfling is; will you?" you whisper - placing a kiss to his forehead. "I am always here, do not worry." you add, while rising to your full height. "This isn't goodbye, my leaf." you remind with the wave of a hand.

Legolas plays with the same necklace - inching the pendant in between his fingers while the pressure relieved his palms of the itch. He couldn't believe that he was in Lindon - he couldn't believe that he felt alive at the smell of real flowers.

"A silver coin for your thoughts? Legolas." you lean on the pillar beside him - watching as a smile stains his lips.

"I was thinking of my mother," he admitted - refusing to stare at your features, as they were too familiar. "I'm sure that she longs for your return," you comfort - looking up at the balcony above you - seeing the shadow of your Adar and his newfound friend.

"She was taken by war," he informs, feeling his heart drop to the floor. "- I was an elfling then. I wouldn't stop crying for her." he bites the inner corners of his lips. Legolas knew that he was nothing compared to the thousands of children that the war orphaned - nor was he anything out of the ordinary - but his grief was far too strong. He longed for a mother that he knew in the earlier stages of his life.

You place a hand on his shoulder - a silent gesture of comfort. "She waits for you in the shores of Valinor, I'm certain." you comfort again, feeling his posture soften at your words. "I can only hope," he breathed - eyes interlocking with yours. You always told him that he had the same hues as his father's - it was his first time in a thousand years to gaze upon your eyes once more.

"I- this may seem strange," he began - throat threatening to release bile. "What is it mellon?" you frown and he takes another breath. "Can I request your embrace?" he pleaded, and you open your arms - wide and welcoming him.

He has forgotten this feeling.

Thranduil swears to all his subjects that he has no memory of you - that he cannot remember the sound of your voice. He lies to his subjects. At night - he is forced to relive the memory of everything - forced to stare into your eyes, to hear your voice, to see your smile. He often wondered if the memory serves to give him bliss - or the darkest of agonies.

"You do not understand, Galion." he clawed at his chest, unbuttoning his robe. "I-I cannot remain in Arda - the sea calls for me." he breathed - not understanding why he longed for the Shores of Valinor. "She calls for me." he added. His entire room was in disarray - entire shelves taken down, and paper scattered everywhere. It resembled a pigsty more than the King's bedroom.

"She does not, sire." Galion answered in a matter-of-fact tone.

"What you feel is longing and grief - but the Queen does not desire to see you this soon." Galion replies - taking another step forward. "She would want you to take care of Prince Legolas - to rebuild the Kingdom that the darkness has destroyed. She wouldn't want you to join her - because she knows that there is a greater destiny for you here." the butler explained, squatting down.

"Adar Elrond can raise my son - he does not deserve a father like me. An ada who allowed his mother to die at the hands of -" Thranduil ranted, unable to utter the name of Sauron. "Thranduil," Galion refers to the King in his elven name - void of any titles. Thranduil. The name he bore when his father was yet to be king.

"Ada!" Legolas yells with tears running down his eyes. The King's door was ajar, leaving enough room for the elfling to enter. "Legolas," he whispered opening his arms to provide his son a deep embrace. "Naneth," he cried while burying his face deep in his father's chest.

Galion and Thranduil exchange a meaningful stare.

"Do not cry, my leaf." he pressed a kiss to the boy's forehead.

Galion was right, he couldn't leave.

Thranduil opened his eyes again, mind floating back to reality. "You used to be older than me," he began with a chuckle - fingers playing with the stem of his goblet. "- and now I am older than you, yet my wisdom does not allow me to grapple the calamity of the situation." he adds, taking another sip of his wine.

"I need to return, Ad-Lord Elrond - we know nothing of what my return has brought. What lesson it stands for." he added - tongue leaking with wisdom of old age. He stands up while dusting his robes.

"If you will excuse me - I wish to pray to the Valar."

next chapter>>

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#thranduil x reader #thranduil x oc #legolas' mother #thranduil's wife #thranduil x elrond's daughter #thranduil x elrond daughter

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