#thranduilmp

[fandom--desires]

Fate Will Decide - Chapter 2

Imagine being a servant in Rivendell, seeing Thranduil during a state visit and falling in love with him, but saying nothing. You fall into trouble and he comes to your rescue, eventually professing his love for you. 

Chapter 1 

King Thranduil quickly consumes your every waking moment and every sleeping moment. You long to hear his voice and see his face, and your longing doesn’t leave when he does. Two decades is nothing to a normal elf, but to an elf in love it feels like an eternity. The others have noticed the change in your demeanour but seem to have believed the lie about being homesick. If they were curious as to why it appeared to last so long they were kind enough to not ask.

You feel terrible for keeping such a secret from them, but it both humours you and scares you. On one hand you’re in love with a king for pitties sake, but on the other hand you’re in love with a king. What would people do when they found out? Other than laugh at you?

You thought that by putting your head down and trying to soldier through you would be ok.

You were wrong.

Celebrían is pregnant. With twins. It’s a cause for celebration and feasts across Rivendell and Lothlórien but it also means that people are arriving from all over Middle Earth to present gifts in person. There have been dignitaries from dwarven kingdoms and human settlements and Galadriel has moved in in the run up to the birth. All the commotion meant that it was only a matter of time until he arrived.

Thranduil arrived a week before the suspected arrival of the babies. No one had told you when we was coming and you suspected the others meant to be kind and not alarm you, but you almost died of shock when you rounded a corner and almost ran into him. With an undignified squeak you scrambled out the way and dropped into a curtsey. Thranduil casts you a glance out the corner of his eye as he passes, but otherwise pays you no heed.

With a face as red as a fresh summer rose you hurry to Celebrían’s room, where she’s been on bed rest for the last few days.

“Is everything alright?” she asks you once you’re safely inside and have deposited fresh bed linen. “You look almost ill.”

“It’s nothing.” you brush her off with a small smile. “Almost made a fool of myself, that’s all.”

“Nonsense.” Celebrían laughs. “You’re a graceful and quiet creature. How could you possibly make a fool out of yourself?”

“Almost ran face-first into King Thranduil.” you mutter, propping open the balcony windows.

Celebrían laughs. “Ah yes, I see how that could cause you some distress. He is very handsome after all.”

You involuntarily tense and cast your mistress a surprised look. She’s observing you knowingly, a small smirk on her face. “I assure you, I don’t know what you mean.” you mumble, helping her to a chair so that you can strip the old bed sheets away.

“Oh don’t tell tales!” Celebrían laughs. “Your friends have betrayed you I’m afraid. Being in love is nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I’m not in love.” you protest, pulling the sheets from the bed a little too hard.

“Forgive me, but I believe that you are. The others tell me of how you’ve been upset since he left last and how you yearn for him. That sounds like love.”

“Well forgive me,” you snap, “but that is none of their concern.” you sigh and stop what you’re doing, pressing your fingers to your temples. “I’m sorry, my lady. I didn't mean to be so blunt.”

“It’s okay.” Celebrían smiles, gently rubbing her very pregnant belly. “I understand how you feel. Feeling as though your love may never be returned is a painful feeling, especially when fate has decided it’s to be.”

“If that’s true then fate is a cruel jokester.” you sigh, gently seating yourself on the edge of the bed. “Why did it have to be him? Of all the elves in Middle Earth, why him?”

“Why is being in love with him such an issue?”

“Because he’s a King and I’m just a common maid”

“Why does that matter?” “Our social ranks alone are enough to ensure he never so much as looks at me twice, let alone entertain the idea of loving me.”

Celebrían smiled encouragingly. “Love works in strange and mysterious ways. Don’t be disheartened just because it’s not conventional.”

“I’m more disheartened because the chances of it working are minimal. Even if it was recuperated no one would want a maid for a Queen. It took you centuries to learn the basics about your role.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it. If it’s meant to be then it will be and you will just learn on the job.” Celebrían winces and shifts a little in her seat. “Now, you may want to hurry with those sheets. I have a feeling tonight will be the night.”

Celebrían isn’t wrong. As the moon passes its peak in the sky there is a knock on your bedchamber door. Having not doubted your mistress’ motherly instincts you were simply napping already dressed, so you waste no time in hurrying down to her bedchambers. Lord Elrond passes nervously outside, pausing for a moment to allow you to slide into the room,

Lady Galadriel is sat on the bed next to her daughter and two birthing maids hurry around the chamber.

You’re immediately put to work fetching fresh towels, clean water and pain relieving tonics. Celebrían is mostly quiet whilst she pushes and strains and you wonder if the ever stoic Galadriel has something to do with that. Each time you open the door to fetch something else Elrond looks up with hope in his eyes.

Finally, just before dawn, Celebrían brings two sons into the world and Elrond is allowed back into the room again. It’s a heart-warming sight to behold as you tidy up the mess. Elrond gently kisses the foreheads of his sons and embraces his wife. As you silently leave the room you wonder if that’s a tear you see escaping his eye.

The others are just rising for the day when you get back to the maid’s living quarters and they’re immediately on you with questions.

“Have they been born?”

“Is she okay?”

“What did she have?”

“What are they called?”

“What was it like?”

“Enough!” you laugh, waving them down. “It’s not my news to tell. I’m sure you’ll hear about it soon, but currently I just want to sleep!”

The others grumble but do eventually let you through to your room, where you flop unceremoniously on the bed and allow the dreams of an elven king to infect your sleep once more.

You’re allowed reprieve from your duties from your duties until the following morning, when you are summoned to the private dining hall of Celebrían and Elrond. It’s been a good day of rest for you. You were able to keep your mind off the elven king for all of it and that gives you hope that it will be a good day.

Until you’re permitted entrance to the dining hall.

There sits Celebrían and Elrond at the head of the table, their two sons swaddled in a crib beside them. Then sits Galadriel and next to her sits Thranduil. You feel your heart jump to your mouth and your knees go weak. Celebrían is up to something and you know it. Judging from her coy smile you’re not wrong.

You drop into a curtsey and wish for the tiled floor to swallow you whole.

“Come, Y/N,” Celebrían rises carefully from her seat, “I don’t think you’ve been formally introduced to everyone.”

You rise from your curtsey and offer her a tight smile. “I don’t believe that’s necessary.”

“Of course it is!” Celebrían smiles. “Thranduil, this is my closest friend and most trusted maid, Y/N. YN, I believe you have met Thranduil in passing.”

“Indeed.” you force through clenched teeth. “A pleasure to meet you, your highness.” you drop into another curtsey, refusing to look at Thranduil.”

“Likewise.” he muses and you wonder if you will drop dead there and then. “I hear we shall be spending some time together.”

“We will?” you curse the squeak in your voice. “Thranduil has very generously offered us the loan of some of the books in his library. We’d like you to accompany him back to the Greenwood to collect them.”

Yes, it’s official. Celebrían hates you.

[fandom--desires]

Not Part of the Routine (Pt.2)

Fandom: The Hobbit

Rating: T Character(s): Thranduil Word Count: 946 Requested by: Anonymous

Prequel

Life was incredibly dull in the tiny Mirkwood cell. You’d lost track of how long you’d spent here, but it must have been several months. You were fed very small meals at random intervals throughout the day, making it impossible to judge what time it was.

The King sees you once or twice a week, and the meetings carry on the way they always have. The only thing that seems to change is the amount of guards which are present at the time. When you had first been dragged before the king the entire throne room seemed to be filled with armoured guards. Now there’s only one behind a closed door. Its….strange.

King Thranduil still terrifies the life out of you, but only when his temper flares up. He’s a king after all, and you’ve been told your entire life that you must please the nobles. But when Thranduil is calm and relaxed his company is almost enjoyable. You might almost admit to yourself that you enjoy his company. Which is almost certainly his plan; keep you isolated for so long that you wish to be in his company more often, and will therefore respond to his interrogation.

You aren’t even sure why you’re still being interrogated. You’re sure the reason was once ‘trespassing’ but you’ve been here too long for that. The King likely doesn’t know either, judging from the current smile on his face.

“Does my presence really please you this much?” You sigh, twisting your hands absentmindedly. Thranduil no longer requests that your wrists are bound for these ‘meetings’, but he’s yet to offer you a seat.

“If it does?” Thranduil lightly swirls a glass of wine in his hand.

“I would enquire as to know why.”

“You have a pretty face, and indeed the rest of you is just as pretty. Can I not take comfort in that?”

“I should have thought that you would be so shallow as to be only interested by looks.”

Thranduil quirks an eyebrow. “Your wit is something most do not desire, but the skill of your tongue does something to the imagination. I believe you also hold a certain degree of intelligence.”

“I do believe that was a compliment.” you smirk. You try to brush it off but you feel a light heat rush to your cheeks.

“Perhaps.” Thranduil takes a sip of his wine and stares at you over the rim of the goblet. “Come here.” Thranduil holds out a hand to you but you daren’t move. “I said come here.” It’s still a request, but not one you want to deny a second time.

You take a few cautious steps to his side and slip your hand into his. Thranduil leans forwards and places his goblet on the table before turning your hand over in his and examining it closely.

“What can I do to make your stay here more comfortable?”

The attitude comes before you can stop it. “Is that supposed to be an honest question?”

“So you will have a proper room. Warm water, fresh food and new clothes. Anything else?”

“The last few months of my life back?”

“A formal apology.”

“To be allowed to go home.”

There is no immediate response. In fact, there isn’t a response at all.

“Did you think I did not have one?”

“I have heard nothing of a family missing their daughter.”

“My family’s voice would not be heard among the clamour of our people. They will be searching for me and I wish to see them.”

Thranduil nods and turns your hand over, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “Then you may leave to see them, but only once the poor weather has passed. There is a storm brewing in their air and no traveller should want to be caught out in it.”

“Deal. As soon as the storm passes I am allowed to leave.”

Thranduil flicks his gaze up to yours, holding your hand so close to his mouth that when he speaks his lips brush gently against your knuckles. “And will you return?”

You blink at him in surprise. “I-I wouldn’t be free?”

“Of course you would, but I would like to know if you would voluntarily return.” “I-I don’t know.” you reply truthfully. The answer should have been a flat out ‘no’, but you know that you will miss the sarcastic banter even if you don’t miss the small stone cell.

“I should like it if you did return to stay here as my guest.” Thranduil pushes himself to his feet, hands still entwined. “I’ve found myself growing quite fond of your company. I would like to make an official friendship with you, as opposed to our previous acquaintance.”

“You mean your pitiful attempt at interrogation?” You quirk an eyebrow and he cracks a smile.

Thranduil bends his head until his mouth is next to your ear, before breathing warmly; “I know of a method of interrogation that would not fail.” The implication is clear and you can’t help the blush that rises on your cheeks. “However I feel that such a method would not be entirely welcomed until our relationship had progressed beyond sarcastic remarks and cold shoulders?”

You can do nothing but nod mutely.

“Then perhaps I can take the first step towards friendship by offering you a glass of wine and a warm meal?”

“Is a bath included?”

Thranduil pauses for a moment. “Would that be a bath to be taken in solitude or a bath to be taken in company?”

The fading heat rushes back to your cheeks in full force. “Do try not to get ahead of yourself.” you mutter.

“Perhaps another time.” Thranduil smirks.

[fandom--desires]

Overcoming Jealousy

Fandom: The Hobbit

Rating: T Character(s): Thranduil Word Count: 576 Prompts: Okay I fully understand if you don't wanna write this since you get SO many Thranduil x reader requests but when I was reading your jealously fic I couldn't help but think of her ex stalking her and thranduil is unaware and her ex attempts (and fails) to win her back. Could you please write a fic like this? Again I'm super sorry for boring Ya with him x

Can I just say your fics are amazing thank you ^~^ and can I suggest a sequel to Thranduil's 'jealousy' where wade and Thranduil get into an argument over the reader & wade is still in love with her & thranduil is worried that he might lose her (but remaining in his stubborn character of course) Thanks xxx

Pleaseee write part 2 of the Thranduil jealously fic! I've never read one where there's an ex before Requested by: Anonymous x 3

Part 1

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After many months of clearing away rubble and rebuilding , Dale is starting to function like a city again. Shops are reopening, jobs are being created and the illness rate has declined considerably. Everyone is playing their part.

Your part has evolved from rubble mover to teacher, and you’ve taken charge of teaching the under 10’s. There’s only three children in your class, but they’re learning well. Lessons run from mid morning to midday, so that the children have time to help their parents with menial jobs around the city before you arrive to walk them to the school. You walk them home again when classes are over, before making your way through the city to your own home.

As you pass under a bridge you hear voices to the side, down an alley shrouded in shadow from the buildings above. You consider just walking on, but you’re certain you recognise the voices. You hope you’re wrong, but as you approach the entrance to the alley you see that you aren’t. Thranduil and Wade a wedged between two stone walls, the former towering over the latter with a simply murderous look on his face.

“What’s going on here?”

Both men turn to look at you. Thranduil’s face remains expressionless as he straightens up and extends an arm towards you and the alley entrance. “Off you go.”

Wade nods mutely and hurries towards you, shooting you a lingering look before hurrying away down the street.

You glance up at Thranduil, before turning on your heel and marching towards your house. You say nothing to Thranduil but you know he’s following you. Anger and frustration runs through you. How long had Thranduil been confronting Wade? What words had been exchanged? Thranduil had promised to leave Wade alone, but he had broken that promise.

Only once the front door has been firmly locked do you turn to the elven king. “What were you doing?” you demand.

The king looks at you blankly.

“Don’t ignore me, Thranduil. What were you doing?”

Thranduil tilts his head, reaching a hand to lightly trace your cheek. “Keeping you safe.”

“Safe?” you laugh, brushing his hand off. “I’m not in danger!”

“Wade is a danger to you.” Thranduil insists. “I wanted to make sure he stays away.”

“He was staying away.” you point out.

Thranduil sighs, cupping your face and stepping closer. “Wade might do something or say something. I don’t… I don’t want to see you go.”

You smile, turning your head to kiss the palm of one of his hands. “Thranduil, you aren’t going to lose me.” you assure him. “Especially not to someone like Wade.”

“Please, give me peace of mind.” Thranduil begs. “Accompany me tomorrow. It’s only for a month.”

“I can’t. You know that.” you smile sadly, stepping as close to him as possible and wrapping your arms around his waist. “I have a duty here. There’s no one else to teach the children if I leave.”

Thranduil sighs, wrapping his arms around you in turn and resting his head on top of yours. “Then I will stay.”

“You can’t!” you argue, holding him tightly. “Your duty to your people is stronger than your duty to me. If you don’t go home then people are going to start getting upset with you.”

“Then I will return as soon as possible.”

Thranduil leaves the following morning the the company of his guard. He leaves you with a kiss and a promise to return as soon as his business is finished. He also promises to write to you, but you don’t expect him to as he’ll be far too busy with politics.

For the first few days your guess is correct as you hear nothing from him. However on the third day you open your front door to find a small parcel on your doorstep. Upon opening it you find a small, delicate bracelet. You recognise it as one from the markets as you’ve had your eye on it for several weeks now. However you had to prioritise your spending and therefore the bracelet remained out of your reach. You made a mental note to later reprimand Thranduil for buying you things, but for now you slide the bracelet over your hand and continue on your way to the school.

The gifts continue over the next few days. Every morning you open your door to find a new gift waiting for you; a bracelet, a necklace, flowers, a new pair of shoes. The gifts make you smile, but at the same time they also make you confused. Thranduil has never given you gifts before, so you don’t understand why he would start now.

A few days after the gifts have started, on the day you receive your first bouquet of flowers, you have the feeling that someone is watching you. It’s not an uncommon feeling as you have some incredibly nosy neighbours, and the first time you met Thranduil he watched you closely to ensure your safety. But this feels different somehow. However you assume that it’s just the elf that Thranduil’s assigned to leave the gifts for you.  He would have been asked to keep watch over you too, right?

But the feeling doesn’t go away. For the next two weeks the gifts keep coming and the feeling of being watched never goes away. You push the unease from your mind, until the monday three weeks after Thranduil returned to Mirkwood. You open the door to find a very large box waiting for you. You bring it inside and lift the lid, exposing a dress.

At first glance the dress is very beautiful; navy blue with gold embroidery. Which is strange, because Thranduil doesn’t like navy blue and gold together. The one time you brought up the combination he spat at the idea, telling you that they were the colours of the House of Durin.

More warning bells start ringing when you take a closer look at the embroidery and find it’s uneven, and that the seams of the dress are just as uneven. When you hold it up, it’s too small for you. Thranduil wouldn’t give you a small, poorly made dress in this colour.

You throw the dress to the floor, rip of the bracelet and the necklace that had been gifted to you and hurry towards the town hall, where Lord Bard carries out most of his business.

On monday mornings Bard listens to the complaints of the townspeople. There’s a long line of people waiting to see him, but your relationship status with Thranduil allows you to bypass the queues.

“Y/N?” Bard stands to greet you, hurrying from behind his desk. “Are you okay? You look a little pale.”

“You have lists of all the elves in the city, yes?”

Bard nods. “They’re recorded as visiting guests and dignitaries. Why?”

“Are there any elves still in the city?”

Bard pulls a face before retreating behind his desk and reaching for a large, leather bound book. He flips through a few pages before shaking his head. “All of the elves left when King Thranduil did. Is there a problem?”

You ignore the last question, turning and running from the room. Bard calls after you but you don’t listen, hurrying towards Ravenhill.

Ravenhill is an extension of Erebor which has been rebuilt over the last few years. It houses all of the ravens which the dwarves use to send letters and small parcels, but Dain has granted the people of Dale permission to use the ravens at their will.

Upon arriving at the top of Ravenhill you scribble a note to Thranduil, begging him to return home early, and send it with the fastest raven that the Dwarves own.

Once you’re back in Dale you call on the houses of your students and apologise to them, lying and saying that you’re ill so you’ve had to cancel your lessons. Thankfully the parents are busy and are thankful for the extra help their children can provide, so they don’t detain you long. Once that has been taken care of you hurry home and lock the doors.

You know now that it’s Wade who has been sending you gifts. Obviously Thranduil’s words didn’t have the desired effect and now that the was away, Wade was going to try his luck.

You weren’t necessarily afraid  of Wade, but you were cautious. There was something wrong with him, and you don’t know what going on in his head. He wasn’t right when the two of you were together, and now that you weren’t there was no telling what was going on in his head.

Your bedroom window overlooks the street, so you take up a seat there. You hope to stay awake until Thranduil arrives, but you fall asleep at some point.

A persistent banging on your front door wakes you, and you hurry downstairs towards the door. You don’t care that you’re still in your clothes from yesterday and that you haven’t showered. There’s not a state that Thranduil hasn’t seen you in, so he really shouldn’t care about this. You unlock the door and pull it open, realising a moment too late that you should’ve checked to make sure that the called was Thranduil.

Because it’s not him.

The hunched figure of Wade pushes past you into your house, stumbling into the living room. You should run out the door, away from this mad man, but you don’t want to leave him alone in your house. “Wade, you can’t be here.” you remain a few feet behind him, pausing in the doorway.

“Yes, yes I can.” Wade turns to you and, not for the first time, his face makes you want to run away. “You want me here, you just won’t admit it.”

“You’re mistaken.”

“No I’m not. You’ve always wanted me here but you left me. It’s okay, I forgive you for that. Commitment scares you, I understand.”

“Commitment doesn’t scare me, Wade.” you almost admit that he scares you, but you stop yourself in time. The last thing you want to do is give him something to use against you.

“Yes it does. You’re in love with me, but you can’t tell me because of that elf.” he spits the word like its poison in his mouth. “But the elf is gone now. You can be free.”

“Thranduil is coming back.”

“No he’s not. I saw him the morning that he left. He looked to happy to be leaving.”

“If Thranduil didn’t want to be here, then he wouldn’t have tried to keep you away.”

Wade lurches forwards and you stumble back, gripping the doorframe to steady yourself. “He doesn’t think you’re worthy of love. He’s trying to keep people away from you, but he’ll never keep me away. I love you too much.”

“Wade, please. Just walk away. I don’t want you here.”

“Yes you do!” Wade shouts. You flinch at his sudden change in tone. It hadn’t ended well the last time he’d raised his voice. “You’re too thick to see the truth! That is why you need me!” He takes a few more lumbering, drunken steps towards you.

You get ready to run, but a hand comes to rest firmly on your waist. You panic for a moment, wondering if Wade’s brought a friend, but then your ex-partner’s face turns the colour of snow.

“Is there a problem here?” Thranduil’s voice resonates through you. “I won’t be happy if there is.”

Wade holds his tongue, trying to cower into himself whilst maintaining eye contact.

“He was just leaving.” you lean back against Thranduil, shooting Wade a warning look. “Forever. He’s leaving Dale and never coming back.”

“Is that so?”

Wade glances up at Thranduil and nods his head weakly.

“Then I suggest you get going.”

Wade stumbles forwards and practically runs for the door. Thranduil pulls you behind him as Wade passes, and the scum disappears out of your door for good.

“You hears most of that, didn’t you?” you guess, wrapping your arms around Thranduil’s waist and resting your head between his shoulder blades.

“Most of it.” he agrees. “I should’ve killed him.”

“No, you shouldn’t. Blood isn’t easy to remove from flooring, and I can’t sell this place if there’s a bloodstain in the living room.”

Thranduil twists in your arms to look at you, cupping your face. “You’re leaving here?” “A few months ago you said I could come with you, back to your home. Does that offer still stand?”

Thranduil nods. “You know it does.”

You stand on the tips of your toes to kiss him lightly. “Then I think it’s time to take you up on that offer.”

[fandom--desires]

Not Part of the Routine

Fandom: The Hobbit

Rating: T Character(s): Thranduil Word Count: 576 Prompt: Imagine Thranduil interrogating you yet again just to secretly enjoy how you try to cover your fear by defiant behavior like asking him if repeated interrogation belonged to his courting habits (imaginexhobbit) Requested by: Anonymous

There are a great many things that are in your agenda, and within that agenda there is a great many things that you plan for. Capture and interrogation at the hands of the King of Mirkwood was not one of those things. Yet here you were, once again being dragged up the steps towards the throne platform. It's was the fifth time this week.  

The guards release you suddenly, but you're prepared and catch yourself before you fall to the floor. Those which escorted you hurry back the way you came. When you first arrived here they stayed to keep you in check, but it quickly became clear that you don't take nonsense from anybody, regardless of their rank or social status.

You arrange your facial features into a stoney mask of indifference, fold your arms as best you can with bound wrists, and look up at the King.

King Thranduil has his legs lounged over one arm of his chair, his heavy coat draped around him. His head is tilted in amusement and a smirk plays on his lips. He is incredibly attractive, for as long as his mouth stays shut. Unfortunately, it never stays shut for long.

“How are you enjoying your stay?” He drawls, one finger absent-mindedly twisting hair around his finger.

You shrug one shoulder, dragging your eyes around the room. As long as he stays in that chair, looking as though he’s bored, you’re safe. “I wouldn’t recommend it to anyone.”

“I’m afraid that you might be here for some time, unless you start cooperating.” Thranduil swings his legs off the arm of his chair and your heart skips a beat.

Stay. You beg internally. He doesn’t.

The King pushes himself to his feet and slowly makes his way down the stairs to his throne, until he is stood right infront of you.

The fear suddenly spikes and you want nothing more than to take a few steps back.

For some unfathomable reason, King Thranduil scares the living daylights out of you. It might be because he’s so thin yet so strong, which caught you by surprise when you tried to evade capture. It might also be that he towers over you. You can’t remember coming across an elf this tall before.

“Do you want to stay here forever?”

“Are you asking?” You quirk an eyebrow, hoping that it covers the fear you’re feeling. “You have a funny way of showing affection. It’s no wonder you’ve never married if this is part of your courting routine.”

The King smirks, tilting your head up with a delicate finger under your chin. “You’re very good at cloaking your fear.”

“I seem to remember this happening every time I’ve been here. Is repeated interrogation also a part of your routine?”

Thranduil smirks again, slowly walking around you. “It can be, if that’s what you would like.”

You force a smirk of your own, though it’s almost painful. Can you be sick through a smirk? You might be about to find out.

“Or perhaps you would prefer dinner and wine?”

“Perhaps I would prefer to be released.” you suggest dryly.

“Start cooperating and I’ll see what I can do.” you might be imagining it, but you swear that you can feel Thranduil’s hand trace across your waist.

“‘See what you can do’?” you laugh. “You’re the king. You can do as you please.”

“And it would please me to enjoy your company a little longer.”

Part 2

[fandom--desires]

... But you were the trouble

Fandom: The Hobbit

Rating: T Character(s): Thranduil Word Count: 2,151 Sequel to: I called for your help…

If your father was brave enough to reprimand you, he’d have lectured your ear off by now. As it is, you’ve inherited the temper that made your mother fearless in battle. Your father leaves you well alone. 

Upon your return to the thrice-cursed woodland realm you call ‘home’, you had grunted a greeting to your father and made a beeline to the quarters that you and your family shared. Here you let off your steam and allowed boiling rage to cool down to simmering disgruntlement. No doubt that by the time Thranduil dragged his sorry behind home (if that sorry behind hadn’t been speared by an orc) your anger would have returned full force. 

You thought it would make you a good match for your mother when she found out what you did. However, three days passed before the elves returned home. By that time you anger had faded to worry, and harsh words had become silent pleas. 

The entrance hall and the immediate surrounding area was off limits to anyone not a trained healer. You joined people on a balcony three floors up to observe the returning crowd. 

A weight lifted off your chest when the king led the way in. The thought that the last words you had exchanged were foul was crushing you with guilt. Though now you knew he was safe the anger was starting to return.

Behind him came the captain of the guard, looking weak and frail. The battle had obviously not ended well for her. Beyond that came carts carrying the fallen and the injured. Your mother and brother were some of the last to enter, closing the doors behind them. 

“I don’t see Prince Legolas.” Someone whispers. “Do you think he fell?”

“No!” Another replied. “The king would look far more grief stricken. We would have heard in advance.”

“Then where is he?” 

“Perhaps he’s stayed behind?”

The conversation may have continued further, but the king chose that moment to flick his gaze up towards the balcony. Even from such a distance you could see he was unimpressed. The crowd hastily departs and you make your way back to your quarters with word for you father about your mother and brother. Whilst your father is pleased to know of their safe return, he knows that your mother will be angry with him for letting you leave.

He is right. 

“I thought I married a man of intelligence!” Your mother throws her hands in the air. “Instead it seems I have married a fool!”

Whilst your father tries (and fails) to defend himself, your brother pulls you aside.

“You should have seen her when she was told.” Your brother grimaces. “The king regretted telling her.”

You frown. “The King told mother?”

“Yes. He came in a flurry of sword and blood, decapitated three goblins in one fell swoop and then berated mother on her parenting skills.”

”He did what?!” Nobody berated your mother on anything. Nobody.

“I almost wished for an orc attack to save the king, but alas, there was none.” 

“But I saw the king return! I was sure mother would kill the one who dared pay her insult!”

“As did I, but she remained silent.I am sure she was too shocked to say anything.”

You flick your gaze across to your mother. She is not but 100 years younger than the king, and has the same First Age attitude that he does. That is to say she takes crap from no one and her rage is terrifying to control. If your mother did now defend herself to the king before then one of two things are soon to happen: the first is that your mother will ignore the king for the rest of eternity, and the second is that she will publicly confront him in the near future. Neither option bodes well for the future of the family. The only thing to do is convince the king to apologise. It will not be an easy task. 

The only way to maintain peace is for you to speak to the King yourself. In the past this would not have been a problem, but now that the king is (wrongly) angry with you he will likely refuse an audience. But the only other alternative is to wait for your mother’s anger to turn to you, and you most certainly do not want that. You offer an excuse to your brother, give your father an ‘I’m-getting-out-of-here-alive’ look and promptly make a break for it. 

You make your way slowly towards the King’s chambers, knowing he will be there but not knowing when he will arrive. You don’t want to get there first and look too eager to see him. You’re angry with him after all.

The Woodland Halls are remarkably quiet and empty as you pass through them. Usually there’s someone walking the same corridor, or the sound of laughter filters through an open door. Now there is nothing. Family are reuniting with loved ones and mourning those who have been lost. You count yourself lucky that both of your family members returned home safe. Upon approaching the door to the King’s chambers you find Beriogelin standing guard. He looks up as you approach. “Ai.” 

“Ai o mae g’ovannen, Beriogelin.” you nod your head in greeting. “You fare well?”

“As well as I can, all things considering.” Beriogelin inclines his head towards the door. He’s careful of his words, as the King has truly remarkable hearing, even for an elf. “You are here to see the King?”

You nod. Beriogelin is often on guard when you visit.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but he will not hold your company.”

“Did he say my name specifically, or was it a generalised thing?”

Beriogelin looks uncomfortable. 

“Then simply withhold my name.”

With a sigh of defeat and a roll of his eyes, Beriogelin lets himself into the chambers. He returns a few moments later and stands aside to let you in. “He is still worked up over the battle.” you’re warned as you enter. “He still wears his armour and keeps his sword close. Be careful.” 

Heeding his warning you carefully make your way towards the main chamber. It’s a large, circular room which is not dissimilar to the family room in your quarters. Except here everything is larger and more extravagant. A darn sight more expensive too. 

Thranduil stands overlooking a window, his back to you. He is indeed still clothed in his battle armour, with his travelling cloak still secured around his shoulders. You step into the room and know from the way his shoulders tense and he stands up straighter that he knows it’s you. 

He doesn’t address you or even acknowledge your arrival. You have to breach the gap. 

‘Thranduil’ is on the tip of your tongue, until you remember his harsh words. You have lost my respect and trust today and no longer have the privilege to address me so casually.

Instead, you settle with a simple ‘Melda tár’.

“I was not aware I had sent for you.” The King states cooly without turning to look at you. 

“You haven’t, Melda tár, I come of my own accord.” You’re careful to keep your voice as emotionless as his. 

“I was under the impression that you were no longer welcome in my company.” 

“I do not come for myself, I come for my mother.” 

The king says nothing and you push him further. 

“You caused her great insult.”

“I told her of nothing but the truth.”

“You questioned her parenting methods!” You cry in frustration. “Have I caused you such insult that you would offend my own mother?”

The King’s answer is swift and blunt. “Yes.” 

You recoil as though you’ve been physically struck. How dare he speak to you in such a tone! “I apologise for the inconvenience, Melda tár.” You take great effort to sound as scathing as possible. “It seems the many years of service that I have offered you truly amounts to nothing.” You glare at the back of the King’s head. He seems quite content to ignore you. “Rest assured that my family and I will be gone by the morn and you need not see us again.”

When the king still says nothing you turn on your heel and march towards the door.

“You are truly going to leave?” 

You pause, but do not look back at him. “You assume I will not?”

“In the past you have threatened me with such things, but never have you carried the threat out.”

“Never before have I been treated so poorly by the one who swore to protect me. Never before have I been made to feel guilty for calling for aid” You turn back to him and find that he has now turned to you. Concern floods you as you can now clearly see the blood that still smears his face.

“I ordered you to stay here.”The King points out.

“And I told you 900 years ago that I will not follow foolish orders!”

“How am I supposed to protect you if you keep throwing yourself in the line of danger?” 

“I don’t need protecting!” You object, taking four steps back as Thranduil takes three steps forwards. “I am a warrior! You have sung my praise a hundred times over! Tauriel and the Prince have recommended me more than any other elf! I have proved my worth ten times over!”

Thranduil swiftly reaches out and grips the top of your shoulders. “I am trying to protect you from yourself! You are young, brave and fearless. You think you have something to prove to everyone, but it will get you hurt or worse.” As you try to pull away from the King his grip tightens and he pulls you closer. “Your beauty surpass that of every other elf to grace these lands. When you pass through a crowd all eyes turn to follow you, but you do not see them. You do not see the ones jealous of your beauty and talent, the ones who hate you for your skills nor the ones who despise you for your connections. You are at just as much risk as I am.”

“So you decided insulting my mother and I was the best way to protect me?” You snap. With a single short, sharp movement you pull away from the King. “I can look after myself. I don’t need your help.”

“I know, but…” Thranduil trails off. Pain flashes across his face before it is replaced by a mask of steely resolve. “If you want to go, then go. I won’t stop you.” He turns from you and stalks back to the window. 

You pause for a minute before realisation dawns on you. 

For the last few decades you have been closer to Thranduil than even his son. Your relationship, kept secret from everyone, has developed into something that cannot be easily severed. You have, rather unexpectedly, taken the place of his wife. Or at least, you’re now equal to her. 

When the Queen died she died

 in agony and humiliation. No elf should have gone through what she had, and no one blamed her when she gave up her fight and let death take her. 

Thranduil couldn’t save her.

The King had tried to keep her safe, and when that failed he tried to find her. It was to no avail. The Queen died alone and in pain, and for many centuries Thranduil couldn’t move beyond her death . You had helped him to recover and overcome the guilt. Now he was trying to protect you from the same fate that has awaited his wife. He meant well, but because he had difficulty turning well meaning thoughts into equally well meaning words, he had come across offensive and disrespectful. 

Your anger slowly ebbs away with each quiet step you take towards the back of the King. “You need to work on your communication skills.” You murmur as you wrap your arms around the King’s chest. “It’s going to get you into trouble.”

Thranduil bows his head and takes your hands in his, lifting them to his face so that he can press gentle kisses to them. “Somehow I think you’ll forgive me.”

You chuckle into Thranduil’s shoulder, the cool metal of his armour pointing through his travelling cloak. “You might want to work on it even so. Other people might not be so lenient.”

Thranduil twists in your grip, moving his hands to your face. “I am truly sorry. You have my sincerest apologies, as does your mother.”

“You might want to give her your apologies in person. She might lead an uprising otherwise.”

Thranduil chuckles, leaning down to place a gentle kiss against your lips. “I will make sure of it. As long as you stay with me.”

You return the kiss with against smile. “Forever and always.”

[fandom--desires]

Arguments with the King

Fandom: The Hobbit

Rating: T+ Character(s): Thranduil Word Count: 1,201 Imagine: Imagine getting into a VERY heated argument with Thranduil that results in you slapping him and fighting to keep him off of you when he tries to comfort you [x]

To you, your sister’s wedding is as important as your own. It is an event that should only be missed if one is on their death bed. This is the only time your sister will ever marry and you are determined to not miss it.

Your husband, unfortunately, does not see it you way.

Party and wine-enthusiast Thranduil holds at least four feasts a year, the most important being the Feast of Starlight. Your sister’s wedding falls on the date of one of these feasts, but as it is not the most important feast of the year, you assumed Thranduil would not mind taking you to the wedding.

You assumed wrong.

“Absolutely not.”

It takes you a few moment to realise that Thranduil has refused you. He never refuses you.

“Thranduil, ninya venno, all I ask is for seven days. You will scarcely notice my absence.”

Thranduil does not look at you. His eyes rest firmly on his kingdom, a view provided from one of the few windows high enough to overlook the forest. “You’re right, I will not note your absence. For I will be required to come too.”

“You do not have to come. My sister will understand.”

“But the visiting dignitaries will not. What message will it send if the King of Mirkwood is not present at the wedding of his wife’s sister?”

You sigh. You care little for what the lesser lords and gossiping ladies will think. Their thoughts disturb hardly a leaf within this kingdom. “Then join me in the celebrations.”

“I will not.” Thranduil replies adamantly. “I have planned this feast for a year.”

“Yes, and you will plan the next one for just as long. Why is this feast so important to you? It falls on no date of importance.”

Thranduil turns to face you know, his brow furrowed deeply. “I would not expect you to understand.” He says shortly, before striding across the room to the door which leads to his private study. He has spent too much time in his study. The recent months have seen him working hard and sleeping little. He is on the brink of exhaustion and he’s stressed to the point of sickness. But you won’t let him order you around.

“Of course I do not understand if you won’t tell me!” you follow him, determined to not let him sway you. “Thranduil, this is the wedding of my little sister. I have no other siblings. Will you not let me say goodbye to her?”

“You will see her after the wedding. She is marrying another elf, not sailing for the Undying Lands.”

You grit your teeth and press your hands firmly against your thighs. For whatever reason, Thranduil has chosen to be stubborn. You need to handle this with care. “Thranduil, please. I have not asked you for anything this important in out ten years of marriage. Will you not let me see her on her wedding day?”

“No.”

The answer is so blunt, so emotionless, so decisive, that you feel as though he has slammed a door in your face. It makes your blood boil.

“You cannot stop me.” You state defiantly. “I am going and if you cannot give me a proper reason as to why I cannot go, then you can give me a proper reason as to why I should return.”

“You will stay here because I demand it of you.” Thranduil snaps, seating himself at his desk as though this is a daily occurrence between the two of you.

“You demand it of me?” You scoff. “I am not some serving girl that you can order around. I am your wife. A queen.”

“You are queen only because I have married you.”

“Yes, because before you I had to beg for my food on the streets.” You glower at him. “I held position and power before you, Thranduil. You have only made me your equal.”

Thranduil looks up at you with cold, unforgiving eyes. “You are to remain here, in these halls, even if I have to lock you in your chambers myself. You are not attending the wedding, you are not leaving this kingdom and you are not going to argue with me about this.”

You consider arguing with him, but your mother taught you that actions speak louder than words. You turn and stalk from the room, intending to fetch your bags from your room.

When you had packed your bags you had not thought that Thranduil would deny you this, but now that he had your pre-packed bags would give you the opportunity to-

A cold hand grips your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.

You turn to argue with your husband, to demand that he lets you go, but your words catch in your throat. There is an anger in Thranduil’s eyes that you have never seen before.

“I am your king.” He hisses. “You will do as I command!”

You try to pull your wrist from his hand, but his grip is strong. “I am your wife!” you retort. “I do not take orders from you!”

“If I hadn’t been for me you would be stuck in that pitiful excuse for a home!”

That hurts more than his long, thin fingers against your wrist. Your home meant everything to you, and you thought he knew that. “I am sorry you had to marry someone from that pitiful place.” You snap. “I will see my sister wed and there is nothing you can do to stop me.”

“You will do as I say or I will lock you in this room!”

“You will not!” you tug your wrist again, but his grip is unyielding.

“I will do what I wish. I am your king. You owe me.”

“I owe you nothing!” You’re speaking through gritted teeth, a result of the frustration and the dull pain.

Thranduil yanks on your wrist, pulling you against his chest. “If it weren’t for me you’d have been married to some peasant like the whore you were mistaken for!”  

Crack!

The elf king stumbles back, his eyes wide and his cheek red. In his surprise he’s released your wrist. The stress and the exhaustion is gone and his eyes focus on you like he’s seeing you for the first time.

“Nine calwa indis.” He whispers, horror lacing his voice. He takes a step forwards and you take two steps back. “I am sorry. Goheno nin.”

“Stay away from me!”

Thranduil is taller than you and he easily closes the gap between the two of you. He reaches for your hand to inspect your wrist, but a smack to his shoulder throws off his aim.

The king is persistent and the following three hits don’t deter him. He cups your face and you have to plant the point of your elbow in the crook of his. The motion has him bending suddenly to the side and you step out around him, giving him a firm push that sends him stumbling.

Whilst he rights himself you run from the room, tears welling in your eyes.

The tears spill over and run down your cheeks and you race down the corridor, ignoring his pleas to stop.

  Ninya Venno – My Husband

Ninya calwa indis – My beautiful wife

PART 2