thorns-and-starlight

[thorns-and-starlight]

96 - Nice

Thranduil x OC

・❥・“Kindness from you is suspicious.”

It was subtle at first.

The way Thranduil had arranged for her favorite herbal imports to arrive early.

The way the guard at the gate began greeting her by name, rather than title.

The way her preferred wine — one she had only mentioned once — suddenly appeared at meals without request.

At first, Elenariel assumed it was coincidence. A series of fortunate accidents.

But when she found a fresh satchel of rare mountain lavender waiting on her desk, she realized: this wasn’t chance. This was him.

She sought him out near the eastern watchtower, where he was surveying patrol formations with his usual air of detached regality. His silver circlet glinted in the afternoon sun, his expression unreadable as always.

She crossed the field quickly, boots crunching against gravel, stopping just beside him with narrowed eyes and folded arms.

“Why are you being nice?”

He didn’t look at her. “Define ‘nice.’”

“Oh, don’t you dare,” she warned, stepping into his line of sight. “The gifts. The wine. The lavender. The change in how the guards speak to me. What is this? What are you doing?”

He raised a perfectly sculpted brow. “I was under the impression that kindness was not a crime.”

“Kindness from you is suspicious.”

His lips twitched, but he controlled it well. “Perhaps I’ve grown weary of our games.”

Her eyes narrowed further. “You’re lying.”

“Am I?”

“Yes,” she said, stepping closer. “You don’t do nice. You do strategic. You do deliberate. You do... infuriating.”

He let out a quiet hum, thoughtful. “And what if,” he said, lowering his voice just enough to soften the air between them, “this is deliberate?”

She blinked.

“You’ve spent so long expecting my fire,” he continued, finally meeting her gaze, “that you never once prepared for my warmth.”

Her throat tightened.

“That’s... cheating,” she muttered.

His smile now was slow, dangerous, and deliciously victorious. “You never set the rules.”

Elenariel huffed, turning on her heel, willing her pulse to settle. “I’ll get you back for this.”

“I know,” he called after her. “I’m looking forward to it.”

And stars help her, so was she.

[thorns-and-starlight]

95 - What? {pt.2}

Thranduil x OC

・❥・He drew back with the ghost of a smile. “You’re terrible at hiding it.”

A continuation from yesterday's post.

It was supposed to be a routine audience.

A visiting envoy from Gondor — gracious, formal, dull — had arrived to discuss trade, alliances, the usual political tapestry that required Thranduil’s attention but rarely his true interest.

Elenariel stood at his right as always, offering her counsel when needed, listening carefully when not, content to let the meeting pass without incident.

Until the envoy’s assistant walked in.

Young. Beautiful. Bold.

And very interested in the Elvenking.

It began innocently enough: a lingering glance, a softened tone, the brush of a hand against Thranduil’s sleeve when it was certainly not necessary. But what startled Elenariel most was that Thranduil did not correct it.

Oh no — he leaned into it.

Politely. Elegantly. Entirely in control.

When the assistant complimented the artistry of his crown, he did not brush it off — he inclined his head. When she called his eyes “the color of winter rivers,” he smiled—a rare, quiet, dangerous smile.

And when she finally — finally — placed her hand upon his forearm to “steady herself,” Elenariel’s patience cracked.

By the end of the meeting, Elenariel was silent, her posture perfectly still but vibrating with unspoken words.

Thranduil, of course, noticed.

“Is something the matter?” he asked as they walked side by side toward the gardens.

She didn’t look at him. “Not at all.”

His lips twitched. “You’ve been unusually quiet.”

“Perhaps I’m learning restraint.”

“Unlikely,” he murmured, amused.

They paused near a fountain where sunlight filtered through the leaves, dappling the stone in warm gold.

“Do you know what I realized today?” she said sweetly, folding her hands behind her back.

“That patience is a virtue?”

“That some people,” she said, turning to him with a look of deadly calm, “find you… irresistible.”

“Ah,” he mused, feigning surprise. “So you noticed.”

“Oh, I noticed.”

His brow lifted, but the glimmer in his eye betrayed his satisfaction. “You sound… bothered.”

She stepped closer. “I simply hadn’t realized your royal duties now include entertaining admirers.”

“Would you rather I be rude?” he asked, tilting his head. “It was hardly diplomatic to reject her interest outright.”

“Oh, by all means, accept her interest.” Elenariel’s smile was sharp now. “In fact, if you’d like, I can personally arrange for her to accompany your next patrol.”

He chuckled, low and velvet. “You’re jealous.”

“I am aware,” she said coolly, “that I don’t like sharing my company.”

His gaze softened just enough for her to see it.

“And yet,” he murmured, stepping closer, “you are the only one who knows how I take my wine. The only one who knows I cannot bear the scent of clove. The only one I allow to see me outside my crown.”

His voice dipped, dangerous and soft. “You are the only one who could make me forget myself.”

The space between them tightened.

Then he leaned in, just close enough for her to feel his breath on her ear.

“I would ask you,” he whispered, “what was that all about?”

She exhaled shakily, lips twitching. “Revenge.”

He drew back with the ghost of a smile. “You’re terrible at hiding it.”

“And you’re terrible at being subtle.”

They held each other’s gaze, the storm quiet but very much alive.

“Shall we call it even?” he offered.

“Not yet.”

And with that, she turned and walked away—leaving him watching her with the distinct feeling that the game was, delightfully, far from over.

[thorns-and-starlight]

94 - What?

Thranduil x OC

・❥・“Ah,” he said softly. “There’s that fire.”

The great hall had never felt so suffocating.

Not for Thranduil, of course. He reclined in his carved throne with the lazy precision of a king who knew no discomfort, a goblet of wine in hand, eyes half-lidded but alert beneath his crown of intertwined gold and carved leaves.

No, the one who was suffocating was Elenariel – beneath layers of diplomatic restraint and the weight of whatever that had been.

She stood just to his right, flushed from a meeting that had spiraled into absurdity. A visiting dignitary from Dale had, quite suddenly and with unprompted gallantry, offered her a carved brooch “to match the fire in your eyes.” He had taken her hand. Bowed low. Lingered.

And Thranduil… had said nothing.

Nothing.

Which would’ve been fine if he hadn’t spent the next twenty minutes smiling.

That smile. Cold and polished and predatory.

Now, the council was dismissed, and Elenariel walked beside him down a marble corridor lit with moonstone sconces, her arms folded tightly across her chest.

Thranduil finally broke the silence. “He was quite taken with you.”

She halted. “What was that all about?”

He turned, a picture of regal calm. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Oh, please,” she snapped, gesturing back toward the hall. “The staring. The hovering. The offer of an heirloom. And you – you just sat there with that smug little smirk like you’d orchestrated the entire scene.”

“I did nothing of the sort,” he said silkily, stepping closer. “But I admit, it was… entertaining.”

“Entertaining?” she repeated, voice sharp.

He nodded. “You looked quite radiant when flustered.”

Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “You–!”

Thranduil reached out and gently straightened the brooch, still pinned to her shoulder. “A bit garish,” he murmured. “But I suppose it suits your fire.”

She slapped his hand away.

He didn’t flinch – he grinned.

“You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re easily provoked.”

“I am not–”

He tilted his head, eyes glinting. “You’re doing it again.”

She groaned and turned on her heel, storming away.

Thranduil followed a step behind, sipping his wine. “Shall I arrange another meeting with him? I’m sure he’d be thrilled to see you again.”

She whirled back around, eyes blazing. “Do it, and I’ll personally see to it your crown ends up in the soup pot.”

Thranduil paused.

Then smiled wider.

“Ah,” he said softly. “There’s that fire.”

[thorns-and-starlight]

Well, safe to say, I failed my 365 day writing challenge 😅 Will that stop me from sharing their story? Nope! I will continue updating this blog -- now gunning for 365 microfics 😎

[thorns-and-starlight]

93 - Misstep

Thranduil x OC 

・❥・.“I would never,” she said innocently, already backing away, “but stars help me — I enjoyed it.”

Note: A continuation from the last post.

It had taken three days, but Elenariel finally found her opening.

She waited patiently for the perfect moment when Thranduil was at his most untouchable, most poised, most convinced of his divine right to stride through the world as if no stain could cling to him. That moment arrived on a clear morning, golden light filtering through the trees as the Elven king walked through the village market.

He moved like a vision — flawless robes, impossibly golden hair, a quiet, reverent hush parting around him as villagers bowed or dared only to admire from afar.

What he did not see… was the child.

A toddler. Tiny.  Sticky-fingered, determined, and clutching a honeycake as if it were a sacred artifact.

Elenariel saw him toddle forward, aim set straight for the king’s path. She did not stop it.

The child collided — gently — into Thranduil’s leg.

It was not dramatic.

It was catastrophic.

The honeycake squished against the pale fabric of the king’s lower robes with an audible, syrupy smear. Bits of it clung, molten and warm, to the fine embroidery. The toddler blinked up, unbothered. Somewhere nearby, a vendor stifled a laugh into their apron.

Thranduil looked down slowly, as if he were beholding a corpse.

Elenariel stepped in, plucking the sticky child up with feigned horror. “Oh no,” she gasped, cradling the giggling culprit, “you’ve assaulted royalty. That’s exile. At least.”

Still, Thranduil said nothing. His hands hovered as though afraid to sully them by touching his own robe.

She walked up to him sweetly, reaching into a flower cart and selecting a small red blossom. Then she leaned in and gently pressed it over the honey-stained patch of fabric just above his knee.

“There,” she murmured. “A royal seal. To mark the occasion.”

He finally looked at her, ice-blue gaze dark with outrage and something else.

 Suspicion. Calculation.

“You planned this,” he said coldly.

“I would never,” she said innocently, already backing away, “but stars help me — I enjoyed it.”

The flower stuck. The syrup held it fast like a badge of crime.

She disappeared into the crowd.

And Thranduil, standing regal as ever with a child-sized smear of shame on his leg, stared down at the ruin of his robes where a single crimson bloom bloomed like mockery.

He would have his revenge.

Oh, it would be quiet. Icy. Exquisitely timed.

But not today.

Today, Elenariel had won.

[thorns-and-starlight]

Day 92 - Dignity

Thranduil x OC

・❥・. “Well. That would be a terrible waste of commentary.”

The morning had started peacefully.

Birdsong laced the trees. Dew shimmered across the forest floor. Elenariel had taken advantage of the rare lull to wash her clothes by the stream near the edge of the woodland village, wrapping herself in a spare tunic and loose belt while the rest dried on a sun-warmed stone.

Everything had gone to plan.

Until the villagers’ hound – massive, mud-soaked, and jubilantly disobedient – barreled straight into her.

A yelp, a splash, and a spectacular skid through wet earth later, Elenariel found herself sitting in the middle of a ruined puddle, her spare tunic utterly soaked and clinging in unfortunate places. The belt had snapped loose in the chaos. Her dignity?

Likely floating somewhere downstream.

She cursed softly under her breath, pushing hair out of her face as she stood and tried to shake the mud from her hem with little success. Just as she reached for her drying garments, a familiar voice rang out behind her.

“I do hope this isn’t your new diplomatic ensemble.”

She froze.

No. No, no, no.

Thranduil stood at the edge of the clearing, his arms folded, one brow lifted like he had just walked into the finest comedy performance of his reign. He was, of course, immaculate. Silver-threaded robes catching the light like moonlight incarnate. Not a speck of dust dared touch him.

Elenariel didn’t turn.

“You saw nothing,” she called evenly, gathering the clean tunic and attempting to shake it out with what grace she could muster.

“I saw everything,” he replied, “and I must say, your technique for repelling overzealous hounds is... creative.”

She tugged the clean tunic over her head, cheeks warm. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Deeply.”

She turned then, glaring as she tried to pull the fabric straight with what remained of her composure. “You could offer a cloak. Or a compliment. Or silence.”

He stepped forward slowly, hands clasped behind his back. “A cloak would deprive me of the view. A compliment would ruin the fun. And silence…” He paused, gaze drifting pointedly to the torn belt hanging around her hips. “Well. That would be a terrible waste of commentary.”

Elenariel narrowed her eyes. “You are impossible.”

Thranduil gave a sweeping bow, utterly unrepentant. “And yet here you stand, half-dressed and unwilling to flee.”

She huffed, brushing her hands off with as much dignity as she could manage. “It’s only because I have mud on my legs and no boots. Don't flatter yourself.”

He circled her once, languid and amused, stopping just behind her. “Next time,” he murmured, low and velvety, “you might consider dressing for battle if you plan to bathe in a war zone.”

She turned her head over her shoulder. “And you might consider not spying on maidens bathing.”

He met her gaze, all smugness and silver flame. “I only spy when the view is worth it.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it.

No clever retort. No quick save. Just heat crawling up her neck and his unmistakably victorious smile.

“Oh,” he added over his shoulder as he walked away, “do let me know if the hound returns. I would hate to miss the encore.”

[thorns-and-starlight]

Day 91 - Rematch

Thranduil x OC

・❥・Elenariel smirked. “Loser has to admit one truth.”

Note: a continuation from yesterday’s story

The mirror was smug.

It glinted in the sunlight like a co-conspirator, resting between them on a flat stone as Elenariel leaned back on her elbows and stretched her legs out in the grass. Thranduil sat across from her, long limbs arranged in a posture that screamed composed indifference. His expression? Somewhere between this is beneath me and I intend to win.

“You’re taking this very seriously for someone who claims not to care,” she said, twirling a sprig of mint between her fingers.

“I take many things seriously,” he replied coolly. “Decorum. Precision. And the deeply satisfying art of being right.”

She rolled her eyes. “Then I suppose it’s only fair that we raise the stakes.”

He tilted his head. “Go on.”

Elenariel smirked. “Loser has to admit one truth.”

His gaze sharpened. “Any truth?”

She met his eyes. “Any truth.”

For a moment, she thought he’d decline. But then – 

“Agreed,” he said softly, voice like silk sliding over a blade.

The mirror remained between them, angled perfectly so any blink, no matter how sly, would be reflected. A silent judge. An impartial witness. A very shiny source of mutual paranoia.

They began.

The staring resumed – fierce, still, and somehow... intimate. The kind of silence that wasn’t really silence at all. Birds sang overhead. A bee bumbled lazily past. But between them: a war of wills wrapped in pointed stillness.

And heat.

Oh, there was heat now. Not just from the sun.

Thranduil’s eyes held hers, piercing and pale. Regal. Unrelenting. But hers were steady, too – dark, warm, stubborn. Human, yes, but not easily broken.

Minutes passed.

A leaf drifted between them and landed on Thranduil’s shoulder.

He didn’t move.

But Elenariel saw it.

The tiniest twitch.

A blink — so fast it could’ve been a flinch.

She gasped, eyes still wide. “You blinked!”

“No,” he said, voice low.

“Yes,” she said, already rising to her feet in triumph. “You blinked. The mirror caught it. I saw it. That was a blink, and you know it.”

His expression darkened by the slightest degree. Then... shifted.

Resigned.

“Fine.”

Elenariel clapped her hands together. “Excellent. One truth, Your Majesty.”

He stood, brushing a nonexistent speck of dust from his sleeve. “What makes you think I intend to answer honestly?”

“Because,” she said, stepping closer, “you agreed. And if there’s one thing you value more than being right — it’s keeping your word.”

He tilted his chin, regarding her for a long moment.

Then leaned in, voice just above a whisper.

“One truth,” he said. “I like the sound of your laugh.”

Elenariel blinked.

It wasn’t what she expected. It wasn’t sharp. It wasn’t a jab disguised as honesty.

It was warm.

Real.

And suddenly — unexpectedly — dangerous.

Because it made her laugh again.

And this time, he smiled with no attempt to hide it.

[thorns-and-starlight]

Day 90 - Stare

Thranduil x OC

・❥・ And that’s when she realized: Oh. We’re doing this.

It started, as most things did with them, with a disagreement.

Elenariel was seated cross-legged on the grass, polishing a small carved bowl gifted by a village child. Thranduil stood nearby beneath a maple tree, arms folded, watching her work with the air of someone far too elegant to be that idle.

“I still maintain it is not technically yours,” he said, arching a brow.

Elenariel didn’t look up. “And I still maintain you’re being ridiculous.”

“It was offered as a gift to both of us,” he countered, tone level, “yet you accepted it alone.”

She tilted her head. “Because you waved it away like it was sticky.”

“It was sticky.”

“Children are sticky. It’s not a flaw, it’s a phase.”

He stepped closer, casting a shadow over her lap. “It was presented with honey still on the rim.”

Elenariel finally looked up, eyes narrowing. “Do you want it?”

“No.”

“Then what exactly are you arguing for?”

There was a pause.

Then, a shift in the air.

Challenge.

Their eyes locked.

Neither moved.

Neither blinked.

And that’s when she realized: Oh. We’re doing this.

A staring contest.

With an Elven king.

The absurdity almost made her smile, but she fought it. He would see that as weakness. She straightened her spine.

Thranduil, for his part, didn’t seem remotely fazed. His expression remained infuriatingly serene, lips just barely curved – not quite a smirk, but very nearly one.

They sat in silence, wind rustling the maple leaves, somewhere in the distance a bird singing a maddeningly cheerful tune.

Elenariel’s eyes burned. She blinked.

“Ah,” he murmured, victorious.

“You blinked too!” she argued immediately.

“I did not,” he said, walking away with infuriating calm. “You imagined it. Your fragile mortal eyes must be playing tricks on you.”

She rose, pointing after him. “You absolutely blinked! I saw it. A full shutter. Slow and guilty.”

He didn’t turn. “Prove it.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Next time I’ll hold a mirror.”

That earned her a low chuckle from him. Almost fond. Almost.

The next morning, he found a small mirror placed delicately on his saddle with a single word carved into the back:

“Rematch?”

He smiled.

[thorns-and-starlight]

Day 89 - The Quiet

Thranduil x OC

・❥・Their gazes met and something unspoken passed between them. Not tension, not exactly. But awareness. That strange, heavy warmth of two people who had let the walls slip for just one night.

Note: this is the conclusion of the last three pieces.

Morning crept in slowly, like it was afraid to disturb them.

The cottage was hushed, the embers in the hearth still glowing faintly, casting soft orange light across the wooden floor. Outside, birds had begun to stir in the trees, but the world remained wrapped in that gentle stillness that only comes just before the day begins.

Elenariel woke first.

She sat on the edge of the low bench, blanket wrapped around her shoulders, hair slightly mussed, the scent of smoke and flour still clinging to her skin.

Thranduil was across from her, seated in the high-backed chair by the hearth, his head tilted slightly to the side, long lashes casting shadows across his cheekbones.

He looked… peaceful.

Not distant. Not armored. Just still.

She didn’t move for a long time.

Because she knew the moment would vanish the second she did.

But the fire gave a soft crack, and his eyes opened.

Clear.

Sharp.

Watchful.

Their gazes met and something unspoken passed between them. Not tension, not exactly. But awareness. That strange, heavy warmth of two people who had let the walls slip for just one night.

And now, morning had come to ask what they’d do with it.

Elenariel stood slowly, tucking the blanket tighter around herself. “There’s tea in my satchel.”

He didn’t respond right away.

When he finally rose to his feet, he did so without his usual regal precision. Less a king, more a man who’d slept near a hearth and dreamed of things he couldn’t name.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

She turned. “For what?”

“For the bread,” he said, a faint curve at his lips. “And for not speaking of last night.”

She paused. “I think we did speak. Just not out loud.”

His eyes searched hers. “You always have a response.”

“And you always know what I mean.”

They stared at one another, two people caught somewhere between something real and something they weren’t ready to name.

Then, as if by mutual silent agreement, they moved past it. He stepped toward the door. She moved toward the satchel.

Walls slipping back into place.

But lighter now.

Looser.

Because even if neither of them said it, they both knew something had changed.

They just weren’t ready to hold it yet.

[thorns-and-starlight]

Day 88 - Burnt

Thranduil x OC

・❥・“I don’t write poetry,” he murmured, setting his hands neatly in his lap. “But if I did, it wouldn’t be about burnt bread.”

The bread didn’t rise much.

It was a little uneven, slightly burnt on the edges, and filled the cottage with the warm, imperfect scent of toasted flour and over-roasted fruit.

They ate it anyway.

She tore it into rough halves, handed him a piece without ceremony, and he accepted it as though it were a gift from the Valar themselves.

He didn’t speak as he chewed. Neither did she.

But she caught the slight lift of his brow when the sweetness of the fruit hit his tongue. The way his gaze lingered on the steam curling from the loaf. The way he finished his portion down to the last crumb.

And still he said nothing.

“Not bad,” she said, reclining against the edge of the hearth.

“It was passable.”

She gave a soft laugh. “From you, that might as well be poetry.”

“I don’t write poetry,” he murmured, setting his hands neatly in his lap. “But if I did, it wouldn’t be about burnt bread.”

“Then you’ve clearly never been hungry enough.”

That silenced him.

The fire crackled between them, throwing gold against the worn cottage walls, painting Elenariel in the glow of warmth and shadow. She looked content. Not regal. Not composed. Just… real.

Thranduil watched her, unblinking.

“You could have stayed in Lindon,” he said quietly.

She tilted her head. “I didn’t want to.”

“You could have had a chamber in the palace. Comfort. Position. Safety.”

“And rules,” she added. “And expectations. And too many people watching everything I did.”

A pause.

“And you,” she added with a grin, “would have driven me mad.”

He scoffed faintly. “I believe that’s mutual.”

She looked at him then, really looked, her voice softening.

“But you came with me today. You could’ve stayed behind, but you didn’t.”

His eyes held hers. “You didn’t ask.”

“I didn’t need to.”

He looked away — just for a moment. As if the fire gave away too much.

The rain had stopped outside. The world was still. But neither of them moved.

Finally, his voice broke the quiet again — low, almost reluctant.

“I don’t quite want this night to end.”

Elenariel’s breath caught.

Not for the words but for the weight of them. For the truth hiding in their quiet simplicity.

Neither did she.

But instead of saying it, she leaned her head against the stones of the hearth and whispered, “Then let it stay a little longer.”

And for once, he didn’t argue.

He just stayed.

With her.

[thorns-and-starlight]

Day 87 -Bread

Thranduil x OC

・❥・Thranduil watched her move about the kitchen space — no ceremony, no magic, just quiet rhythm. 

It was raining.

Not a storm, just a soft, steady fall that draped the forest in silver mist. The kind of rain that muted the world and made everything feel closer.

They’d taken shelter in a modest cottage. Abandoned, but still standing, with a stone hearth and faded curtains that fluttered when the wind found its way in.

Thranduil stood near the door, arms folded, watching the trees blur beyond the window. Elenariel, in contrast, was kneeling by the hearth, coaxing a fire to life with practiced ease.

“There’s no need for that,” he said, glancing back at her. “The rain will pass.”

“I know,” she replied, tucking a strand of damp hair behind her ear. “But I’m cold. And I’m hungry. And you, apparently, can live on pride and air.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “It’s worked for centuries.”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “I’m baking something.”

“Out of what?” he asked, finally turning to face her.

She gestured toward the small table. A bit of flour. Water from her satchel. A sprig of something green. And a small pouch of dried fruit she kept for long travels.

“It’s not a feast,” she said, rising to her feet and dusting her hands on her skirt. “But it’ll be warm. And it’ll smell like something real.”

Thranduil watched her move about the kitchen space — no ceremony, no magic, just quiet rhythm. Measuring. Mixing. Kneading dough with her sleeves rolled up and her brow furrowed in focus.

He couldn’t look away.

“You enjoy this?” he asked at last. “Cooking?”

“I enjoy making something with my hands,” she replied. “Something simple. Something that disappears because someone needed it.”

There was a silence behind her. A weight.

And then, softly:

“I’ve never baked.”

She turned, eyes surprised. “Truly?”

“I have always had others who handled such… tasks.”

Elenariel studied him for a beat. Then smiled gently. “Then help me.”

He blinked. “Help you?”

“Yes.” She stepped aside, offering him the dough-covered board. “Come. Touch something imperfect.”

He hesitated.

But then — slowly — he moved toward her, shedding his outer cloak and rolling up his sleeves with exaggerated reluctance.

“You will mock me.”

“Only a little.”

He pressed his hands into the dough. Too stiff. Too careful.

She covered his hands with hers, guiding. “Like this.”

And for a moment, the world was quiet.

Rain tapping on the roof. Fire crackling. Their fingers moving together through soft, sticky flour.

A mortal moment.

And yet he stayed.

[thorns-and-starlight]

Day 86 - Kite

Thranduil x OC

・❥・“It’s a very human thing.”

The village sat nestled in a valley of soft hills and wild thyme, its homes modest and sun-warmed. Thranduil rarely visited such places — too small, too loud, too human — but Elenariel had insisted on checking in with the local apothecary. Something about cooperation. Outreach. Roots.

He had followed, not quite begrudgingly.

Now, he stood at the edge of the square, robed in muted silvers that still looked entirely out of place, arms folded as he observed the humble bustle of daily life. Chickens wandered freely. Smoke drifted from chimneys. And laughter — unrestrained and bright — rippled across the field where children played.

One of them held a spool of string.

Above them danced a kite.

Bright red, with blue trailing ribbons that snapped in the breeze. The child ran, guiding the kite higher and higher, shrieking with delight.

Thranduil was about to look away when he heard it:

Laughter.

Her laughter.

Elenariel stood not far from the field, one hand shielding her eyes, watching the kite climb. She wasn’t poised. She wasn’t guarded. She was smiling — soft, wide, young.

He found himself staring.

“They used to be made from reeds and paper,” she said suddenly, sensing him behind her. “When I was a girl, we’d tie scraps of fabric to the tail. My mother helped me make my first one.”

Thranduil was silent.

She turned to look at him. “Have you ever flown one?”

“No.”

Her smile turned knowing. “Too undignified?”

He didn’t answer, but the look he gave her was unmistakably regal.

Elenariel turned back to the children. “It’s one of those things that feels bigger than it is. Like the wind listens only to you. You don’t forget that feeling.”

A pause.

Then softly, without teasing:

“It’s a very human thing.”

Thranduil didn’t reply right away. Instead, he studied her profile — the way her eyes softened, the wind tugging at her hair, the way her body leaned toward the field as if she wanted to run with them.

“You miss it,” he said quietly.

“Sometimes,” she whispered.

He looked at her differently then.

Not as a healer. Not as an irritant. Not as the clever, infuriating woman who sparred with his pride.

But as something fleeting.

Breakable.

The kite swooped low, its shadow rippling over them.

Elenariel smiled again, gently. “If I had one now, I’d fly it.”

He said nothing.

But when they returned to the village the next week, she found something waiting at the apothecary.

A box.

Inside: polished wood, bright red fabric, and silk ribbon tails.

And no note.

None was needed.

[thorns-and-starlight]

Day 85 - Unseen

Thranduil x OC

Words: 369

・❥・It was something no one was meant to see.

The glade was still in the morning mist.

Dew clung to the wildflowers. A soft breeze stirred the leaves overhead. The little fawn, now on its feet but still cautious, moved gently through the grass, sniffing at blossoms as though tasting freedom for the first time.

It did not notice the figure standing just beyond the edge of the trees.

Thranduil remained motionless, draped in a silvery mantle that made him seem almost part of the mist itself. His crown was absent. His sword, left behind. The sharp angles of his posture were softer now, like the edge of something once dangerous but worn smooth by time.

He watched the fawn take a tentative step forward.

Then another.

His hands were clasped behind his back. Not in the rigid stance of command, but in quiet restraint as if unsure what to do with them.

And then—

A faint smile.

It came and went like a sunbeam slipping between clouds. Barely there. A flash of something unguarded. Something warm.

Something no one was meant to see.

Except someone did.

Elenariel stood behind a willow, unseen.

Watching him.

She hadn't intended to follow. But when she saw the faint marks in the dirt – bootprints not hers, leading toward the glade – curiosity had carried her steps.

And now… she couldn’t move.

He looked so still. So mortal, in a way she’d never thought possible.

She watched as the fawn turned its head toward him. He didn’t approach, didn’t call to it. He merely inclined his head.

Respectfully.

Like a king offering silent thanks to a creature that had no crown to wear.

When he turned to leave, his path curved near her hiding place. She stayed still – barely breathing – until he passed.

But he paused.

Not looking at her. Not reaching for her.

Just… speaking, low and dry as morning fog.

“You’re not nearly as quiet as you think, Elenariel.”

Her lips twitched. “You didn’t seem to mind.”

He didn’t turn.

“Next time,” he said softly, “say what you came to say.”

Then he disappeared into the trees, leaving behind only mist and hoofprints.

And a single, fragile truth:

He had stayed. He had come back. Even though he would never say why.

[thorns-and-starlight]

Day 84 - Instincts

Thranduil x OC

Words: 366

・❥・“And what happens when you have children? Will you wait until they can form alliances before deciding they’re worth saving?”

note: this is one of my favorites. Also threw in some foreshadowing.

The fawn was trembling.

Its leg was twisted at an unnatural angle, and its side was slick with drying blood from a shallow graze — likely from a hunter’s stray arrow. It shouldn’t have made it this far, but somehow it had limped into the clearing just beyond the village outskirts.

Elenariel was already on her knees in the tall grass, sleeves rolled to her elbows, hands stained red.

“Hold its head still,” she ordered sharply, not looking up.

Thranduil remained where he stood, cloaked in white and silver, expression unreadable.

“It is wild,” he said. “If it cannot survive the wound, that is the law of nature.”

She exhaled hard through her nose. “Thank you for your insight, Your Majesty. Now hold its head.”

He didn’t move.

The fawn kicked weakly. Elenariel caught its legs with one arm, murmuring soft words in a tongue older than the hills, pressing her palm over the wound to staunch the blood.

Her eyes flicked up to him. “Or do you only protect the beautiful things that can speak your name?”

That earned her a glance. Cool. Unfazed.

“I protect what I am responsible for.”

She turned back to the fawn, fingers working with careful speed. “And what happens when you have children? Will you wait until they can form alliances before deciding they’re worth saving?”

The silence between them stretched thin.

Thranduil’s jaw tightened.

“I do not intend to have children,” he said at last, voice low. “I have little desire to subject something so fragile to this world.”

Elenariel didn’t look at him.

She continued working.

“You say that,” she murmured, “but the day may come. And when it does, I hope — I truly hope — you find the instinct to care for something that cannot repay you.”

The wound was cleaned now. She reached for the small satchel of herbs she always carried. “Because if you wait until it can offer you something, it may already be too late.”

Behind her, she finally heard the rustle of movement. His boots stepping through the grass.

Then — softly, unexpectedly — he knelt beside her.

Long fingers, ungloved, reached to gently cradle the fawn’s head.

“Teach me,” he said simply.

Elenariel paused.

Looked at him.

And nodded.

[thorns-and-starlight]

Day 83 - The Crown Slips

Thranduil x OC

Words: 405

Note: This is a continuation from the last two days and the final piece. Also, it’s 1:29 am and I’m still maintaining my streak by uploading this very late.

Elenariel waited.

Not with haste, not with fury but with precision. If Thranduil wanted to play games of elegance and image, she would answer not with petty revenge… but with something far more potent:

Public spectacle.

It began on the morning of the midspring festival – an event steeped in tradition, viewed by nobles and commoners alike. Thranduil, of course, was to give the opening address from the high steps of the palace. A perfect opportunity to assert his usual grandeur.

She simply needed to adjust the scenery.

With help from a few overly chatty stewards and one sympathetic gardener, she made her move.

When the Elvenking stepped into the light of the gathering crowd – resplendent in white and silver robes, crown of living branches on his head – he did not yet notice.

Not at first.

Not as he walked the long path toward the steps, nodding to assembled guests. Not as he raised his arms to greet them.

Only when the wind shifted—

Only when the laughter began—

Did he catch it.

The garlands.

Woven between the stone pillars flanking his podium.

Bright wildflowers.

Bees.

Dozens of small, carved bees had been subtly, intricately, lovingly threaded into the decorations.

Some shimmered with golden dust. Some rested in blossoms. And one, perched quite deliberately on the edge of the lectern, wore a tiny circlet.

Elenariel, standing in the crowd below, folded her hands behind her back and tilted her head.

Thranduil paused.

His expression did not change.

But the silence that followed his arrival was filled with a very specific kind of attention: amusement… and admiration.

He scanned the garlands, his gaze sweeping the court.

And when he found her?

She smiled.

Not coy. Not smug.

Warm.

He blinked.

And just barely, just briefly, his mouth twitched.

The speech went on. He delivered it flawlessly.

But when it was over, and the crowd began to disperse, Elenariel found herself intercepted before she could slip away.

He appeared beside her, soundless, as always.

“You decorated my podium,” he said, voice low.

“I enhanced it,” she corrected. “Symbolism is important, after all.”

“Symbolism,” he echoed.

“Bees. Flowers. Unity between chaos and control.”

Thranduil arched a brow. “You’re quite proud of yourself.”

“I am.”

He studied her a long moment, unreadable.

Then, with the faintest incline of his head: “So am I.”

She blinked.

“You wore it well,” he murmured.

And with that, he walked on — leaving her stunned.

[thorns-and-starlight]

82 - Royal Interference

Thranduil x OC

Words: 274

・❥・She thinks she’s in control.

Elenariel was busy.

Not in the usual way – sorting herbs or tending wounds – but focused, hands deep in a tray of delicate seedlings in the glasshouse. Spring was at its most stubborn stage, and coaxing certain medicinal flowers to bloom early required concentration. And patience.

Which was why she noticed nothing at first.

Not when the steward delivered a new set of gloves. Not when a few of her notes mysteriously rearranged themselves – tidied, improved. Not when a courier arrived bearing a “gift from the archives”: a pristine copy of her damaged herbology tome, lovingly restored in gilded ink.

It wasn’t until the third “coincidence” that she narrowed her eyes.

She returned to her chambers after a long day to find a new herbal shelf had been installed. Quietly. Elegantly. Crafted from rare ashwood with silver inlays in the shape of bees.

At the center, carved in graceful, Elvish script:

Efficiency is divine. Order is strength. Enjoy your new system. – T.

Elenariel stared at it.

“No,” she whispered. “He didn’t.”

She turned to her desk and froze.

Everything was labeled.

Her scrolls. Her dried leaves. Her writing quills.

Each had a delicate silver tag written in his impeccable script.

“Unfiled but tolerable.”

“Rare. Dangerous. Familiar.”

“Frequently used. Unnecessarily frayed.”

One tag sat in the center of the table.

Unattached.

It simply read:

“She thinks she’s in control.”

Her jaw dropped.

“Thranduil.”

That night, she stormed toward the throne room only to be stopped by the steward, who handed her one last note.

Folded. Blank on the outside.

Inside, just four words:

Your move, herb queen.

Elenariel stared at it.

Then slowly – dangerously – smiled.

He wanted a game?

She’d give him one.

[thorns-and-starlight]

Day 81 - Poetic Justice

Thranduil x OC

Words: 302

・❥・It smelled like wildflowers and smugness.

Thranduil should have known it was coming.

The calm that followed his honey-laced retaliation was too quiet. Elenariel didn’t snap, didn’t sulk, didn’t even glare. She simply smiled, nodded, and carried on with her work.

Which, for her, was terrifying.

He waited. A day. Two. Nothing.

Until the fifth day, when he entered his private study and stopped dead in the doorway.

The room had been transformed.

It wasn’t drastic—not at first glance. But the scent hit him immediately. Not overpowering, but intentional.

Lavender.

Roses.

A hint of honeysuckle.

Subtle. Familiar.

He turned in place.

His desk had been cleaned. Organized. Disturbingly organized. Scrolls stacked by size, quills sharpened, ink wells polished to a shine. His ceremonial circlet had been moved—only slightly—but it gleamed.

And everywhere… flowers. Pressed flowers.

Tucked between pages of his ledgers.

Inserted into unopened correspondence.

Even delicately placed atop his war map, right where Greenwood met the riverlands.

There was a card on his chair, in handwriting far too elegant to be anyone but her:

I’ve taken the liberty of scenting your surroundings to match your new aura. Serene. Balanced. Obsessively controlled. You’re welcome. – E.

Thranduil stood very still.

He picked up the card. Turned it over. Blank.

He sat down slowly, eyes narrowing.

The faint scent of honeysuckle rose as he did.

That was when he noticed the final blow: a small vial resting beside his inkwell.

A custom-made fragrance.

Labeled: “Resin & Royalty.”

He opened it cautiously.

It smelled like wildflowers and smugness.

The steward entered a moment later to deliver the day’s correspondence. He took one look at the king’s expression, paled, and nearly tripped over himself leaving the room.

Thranduil sat for a long while in silence.

And then… he laughed.

Quiet. Real.

She had struck perfectly.

And the game?

It was far from over.