Fandom: The Hobbit, The Silmarillion Relationships: Thranduil x Wife Rating:T Author’s notes: This is my take on one of the decisive moments in Thranduil’s life and I interpreted the canon quite loosely here, with a bit of the inspiration from The Hobbit movies. Please bear with me
Warnings: Canon character death. Oh, and there is angst. You have been warned.
Summary: Medieval AU - Forced to marry Thranduil, you have to learn to tolerate each other
Warnings: Forced marriage Tarot prompt will appear in bold
My father was calling for me first thing in the morning, which likely wasn’t a good omen.
“He’s here!” he says in an excited whisper once I come to my bedchamber door.
“Who is here?”
“Your future husband, the King of Mirkwood.”
My stomach dropped through the floor. I had thought my family would’ve stopped persisting with their arrangements for marriage when I very clearly took the stablehand into my room in a show of defiance. I didn’t want some pampered royal to wed, I didn’t even want to be married at all, least of all to the King of Mirkwood.
The little I knew of him was from maids who’d fled his service to come to my family’s estate. They described him as cold, callous at times with no interest in any kind of romance beyond the need for release. He simply had no time to properly woo a queen, nor did I think he had the inclination.
“Then he shall be sorely disappointed when he has to return. I will not be marrying him.”
Summary: Thranduil reminisces over the time you had together
Warnings: Angst, grief
*Please do not replicate/rework/translate my work anywhere*
The decades and the centuries have gone by and still I cannot bear my memories of you.
Time has healed nothing, soothed nothing and the wounds carved by grief bleed their tears of loss even now. I remain hollow, toughening the exterior to hide the void beneath because a king must lead, a king must serve and a king must never show weakness.
A single statue showcases to Mirkwood your face but the stone is lifeless, the eyes blank and the pose stoic. That was not you. That was never you. The Queen of Mirkwood was famed for her spirit, her fire and her passion. I almost tore it down but it is the only thing that remains to remind me of your features.
The years erode my recollections of your appearance like those waking moments after a dream. Our son bears more of myself in his face than you so that is denied to me also but he carries your smile, not that I have given him cause to smile for some time.
Summary: Thranduil reminisces over the time you had together
Warnings: Angst, grief
*Please do not replicate/rework/translate my work anywhere*
The decades and the centuries have gone by and still I cannot bear my memories of you.
Time has healed nothing, soothed nothing and the wounds carved by grief bleed their tears of loss even now. I remain hollow, toughening the exterior to hide the void beneath because a king must lead, a king must serve and a king must never show weakness.
A single statue showcases to Mirkwood your face but the stone is lifeless, the eyes blank and the pose stoic. That was not you. That was never you. The Queen of Mirkwood was famed for her spirit, her fire and her passion. I almost tore it down but it is the only thing that remains to remind me of your features.
The years erode my recollections of your appearance like those waking moments after a dream. Our son bears more of myself in his face than you so that is denied to me also but he carries your smile, not that I have given him cause to smile for some time.
Summary: Thranduil reminisces over the time you had together
Warnings: Angst, grief
*Please do not replicate/rework/translate my work anywhere*
The decades and the centuries have gone by and still I cannot bear my memories of you.
Time has healed nothing, soothed nothing and the wounds carved by grief bleed their tears of loss even now. I remain hollow, toughening the exterior to hide the void beneath because a king must lead, a king must serve and a king must never show weakness.
A single statue showcases to Mirkwood your face but the stone is lifeless, the eyes blank and the pose stoic. That was not you. That was never you. The Queen of Mirkwood was famed for her spirit, her fire and her passion. I almost tore it down but it is the only thing that remains to remind me of your features.
The years erode my recollections of your appearance like those waking moments after a dream. Our son bears more of myself in his face than you so that is denied to me also but he carries your smile, not that I have given him cause to smile for some time.
I treat him as my father treated me, too cautious, too protective but he is all I have left. The single member of my family, my sole legacy. The greatest gift you ever gave me.
I remember the day I met you very fondly. I had already rejected many elven maidens that my father had presented to me. I was too sheltered, too used to be alone, too comfortable in my own company. I was arrogant.
I needed no one by my side so no person could ever meet my standards.
It was an ambassadorial visit when I discovered that someone could achieve the impossible. My father and I were in Rivendell, meeting with Elrond but my attention wandered and instead I found myself drawn to an argument nearby.
That was the first time I saw you and I never told you I fell for you instantly in that moment.
You were nobility, that was obvious from the way you carried yourself but from a smaller kingdom. The shade of your skin was unusual this far north and not many of our kin remain in the turbulent south.
I leaned behind an archway to listen to your ire, withering a White Council member with words as sharp as blades. I gave myself away when I laughed at the poor councilman’s ineptitude in the face of your fury. At first you mistook it for mockery but I gave you cutting words of my own that we parried between us until I believed you held some interest for me also.
Our courting was not proper, not traditional. In a single day and night you gave me your favour by the great waterfalls and honoured me with a kiss. You did not even care I was disfigured by dragon fire, caressing the scars so reverently I felt truly loved for the first time in my life.
I had never felt such strong emotion, as though my chest might burst and so, I asked for permission to marry you, you who had stirred this unmoveable heart to song.
My father was against it at first but, when he saw the depth of my affections, how I pined at being apart from you, he relented. Under the weight of the adoring letters we sent to one another, he could not refute we were a good match.
So I married you and made you the Princess of Mirkwood.
It took time for my people to warm to you, the Woodland Realms were mistrustful by nature but your unerring kindness, devotion to your role and witty tongue won their affections. Children would give you woven bracelets they had made, flowers they had picked and you wore them all as much as you could. When each would fade or collapse, you would mourn each gift and just when I did not think I could love you more, my heart would grow.
The kingdom no longer had an arrogant prince, an overly practical politician, now they had a gentle ruler who would make time for their worries and the festivities in our lands.
When my father passed, you held me for nights on end, allowing me my grief and giving me comfort also. As the king, I had duties that needed my attention but the sorrow I felt kept me from them.
My dearest one, my forever heart, you shouted at my council when they demanded I listen to tedious matters. You defended me, bought me more time to accept my new position and took care of the middling tasks in my absence.
I had always known you’d be the perfect queen.
We ruled for many years, the envy of the elven kin with our love that burned as bright as the sun. So many happy years that only became happier once you told me you were carrying my child. I cried such tears of joy that members of our own council wept with me.
From that moment on, I never left your side. My father’s paranoia had seeped into me, infected me and I was desperate to make sure our child would be unharmed, that you would be unharmed now you were vulnerable.
That is the biggest argument I can remember I had with you.
“You are overbearing and suffocating! Give me peace, husband!” You hissed at me, throwing cushions in my direction. “I am with child, not infirmed! Get out of our chambers and do not come back this night!”
The indignity of a king having to sleep on his throne but I would not have changed a single thing about it. Your comfort always came before my own.
It was on that night that the dark creatures of Middle Earth showed their true intentions, sneaking into our realm, ready to strike at me as I slept. It is only good fortune that our son was restless and thus, you were restless also, wandering the halls in the early morning to soothe him within you.
You saved my life, fought even though you were less gainly in your state. You did not even have a weapon. Such skills I have never seen and will never see again.
It was me who needed comforting, shaken by the blatant attempt at assassination, terrified I could have lost you and our son. I was desperate for closeness as the sun rose and I would not stop touching you, caressing you, being inside you like I needed to remap your body to prove to myself you were unharmed.
“Thranduil, if you do not stop, you are going to make me expire,” the words twisted from your lips into delicate moans.
“I will never stop, hiril vuin,” I remember telling you. “Every day we are alive I will never stop.”
That morning was the first time I let you braid my hair. I had never seen the need to do the elaborate hairstyles of my kin, the extensive upkeep of it. The second you wielded that comb against me I was yours utterly.
You had found a weakness I did not know I had.
From then on, you would comb my hair whenever I was in a foul temper, when I was ired beyond belief but those gifted hands drew the rage from me. In return, you were able to style me whichever way you pleased.
You started new fashions in our kingdom based on the whims of your hands in my hair.
Now it remains untouched, unbraided, unwoven. I cannot even bear the thought of myself trying to replicate your artistry and I would give all of Middle Earth to feel your fingers brush against my ears just once more.
The birth of our son was difficult but you bore that burden with grace. Our perfect little prince. Our little “Green Leaf” as you named him, a reminder of the unusual pairing between us in the language of his name.
Legolas.
I was a fretful father and I am a fretful father still. The more dangers I heard about from the South, the more I trapped my people in the woods, the more I guarded my family.
You had less troubles on your mind, would provide Legolas with the revelry he desperately needed as a child while I prepared for the worst should Dol Goldur strike unexpectedly. It is no wonder he took to you more but I was never resentful of that.
Strains on our marriage came when he reached the age of training. I was insistent he learn the sword and only the sword. You were insistent he add archery to his skills.
I wanted him to be a master of one weapon rather than spreading his focus but you went against my wishes, on your own path as you’ve always done and taught him the bow in secret.
I caught you once, though I never made a sound as I watched you help our son hit his very first target and I watched the confidence in him grow until he rarely missed. I was proud, incredibly proud of you both and I am sure you wondered why I was more affectionate that evening, why I was more attentive with Legolas.
It brought us together, your act of rebellion.
He still has the bow you made for him. Far from being a master of a sword, he became a master archer and I should imagine you would’ve laughed at that turn of events.
My family flourished, even with the constant threat of battle and our trade with Erebor and Dale only increased. I gave the dwarven king Thror the White Gems of Lasgalen to make into a necklace for you, a token to show my love and gratitude for your steadfastness for the people of Mirkwood.
You did not even suspect, even when I had the line of Durin in my meeting halls. Now those gems lie under the belly of a great fire drake, hoarded and forgotten.
I can never retrieve them.
The attacks increased and came from the North also. Unbeknownst to myself, you had been leaving the kingdom with your troupe of loyal warriors and purging the threat from our borders. Each time you would range a little further, drive the enemy back.
You didn’t even receive a scratch as you did this and so, I was none the wiser until the day you never returned home.
I have replayed that moment a thousand times and I will play it a thousand times more in my long and cursed lifetime. It was my failure that led you to Gundabad and the failure was small with fatal consequences.
We had argued that morning about arranging a match for Legolas. You were adamant he find someone naturally, as we did. I wanted to secure more alliances for us because I could see we were being surrounded.
“His life is not something you can barter for armies!” you lost your temper, pushing me into the wall of our chambers. “I will not force him into a loveless marriage. Why should you escape that fate only to bestow it onto your son?”
“Because our love is a once in an age affair!”
“You are above such petty arrogance! Ours is not unique! Our son can have that if you will just let him!”
“I do not wish to speak any further on it,” I closed the conversation down. “I am only trying to save this kingdom and our family.”
“You will destroy them both if you continue to grasp too tightly.”
It was a spark, a moment of clarity that has since eluded me. I was too protective of everything in my life and I knew it. I resolved to work on my faults the next day.
“Now kiss me, Thranduil. I do not like to start a morning on bad terms. You know this,” you demanded.
I am glad you did. I am glad the last moment I had with you was a kiss goodbye or I would’ve ended my long life out of shame.
I had believed you were speaking with Thror about materials for their forge in Erebor that day but it was not until one of your warriors came limping in my halls bloodied and nearly dead that I found out what happened to you.
In your anger you had taken them to Gundabad, intent on rooting out the orc leaders, intent on providing us safety from the North so our land and son would stand a chance of leaving this wooded prison we keep ourselves in. I was the reason you were killed, I was the reason our son is motherless. I stoked your pride and fierceness so much that you thought this was the only option.
You saved as many of your forces as you could, a true Elvenqueen but fell to the Pale Orc to give them the chance to flee. For many days after that I tried to retrieve your body but was beaten back every time. I chose to accept defeat and I chose to strengthen the borders, trapping us once more behind forest walls.
My beloved, my hiril vuin I was a shell of myself. Our kingdom suffered and Legolas suffered. I was selfish in my grief and could not share my emotions with him, support him. I grew distant, even though I could see he was desperate for affection, approval.
I remained in a widower’s shroud for years, decades, centuries slowly forgetting the bad memories, gilding the ones precious to me. I barely remember your flaws.
Though you may not approve, I have never loved another since, never even entertained the idea. My heart only bloomed for you and now the petals lay withered, curled and blackening. They are destroyed beyond repair.
I see our son becoming close to another, an elf of no nobility. I can hear you saying to me that he deserves love, the chance to choose but our kingdom is under further siege and could face ruin when Thorin Oakenshield wakes the great dragon Smaug. There is no time to afford him the luxury of romance.
I fall further and further into isolation and there is no way out but to hope Thorin is successful, that he takes back the Mountain and rebuilds Dale. Perhaps then I can seek to rebuild myself, to be the king you believed I was, the elf you believed I was.
I am not a callous creature, a cold one. I have warmth, I have kindness and one day I might find that again, just like I found it when I met you all those years ago.
For now, I will write you this letter, as I do every decade to remember you, to remember our story. I never want to forget, I never want to lose the memory of you.
In ten years, I will write another, I will tell you what became of Erebor, I will tell you what became of Legolas and Tauriel and I will tell you I miss you. With every breath I miss you still and that will never change, not even until my last gasp.
My dearest heart, my beloved, the only elf I will ever love.
