Goheno nin [Thranduil x Loki]

Prologue

Author's note: Hi all! This is my first Thranduil x Loki fanfiction that has been stuck in my head for quite some time now, and while I'm in uni, starting this felt like a good idea so I could continue to practice my writing. I'm extremely excited and I hope you guys will bear with me! Please leave comments, votes, and follow. Also, constructive criticism is always welcome! I'm writing this as I go, so if you have any thoughts or ideas please let me know! I might even incorporate them in the story, hehe. Anyway, here we go! <3

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Asgard, 2015 

"I've come to reclaim something of mine," the calm, low voice of the Elven king resounded in the great hall. His tall and gracious form stood ground, perfectly composed. Standing amidst his guards, his wide, infuriated, piercing blue eyes threatened; more he did not need to chill the air and intimidate the prince in front of him into submission to his demand.

"Know this, Oropherion. You cross me, there are deadly consequences. Do you really want to bestow another war upon your people?"

For a moment Thranduil's gaze lingered in disbelief, his cheek twitching. The insolence of the young prince irritated him, even though there was a point to his argument. He was a man of great patience, but not when tested deliberately, and especially not if it concerned his wife. The southern border of Mirkwood was already weak, and war lingered in the air with Sauron's army gaining ground.

"You dare threaten me, Laufeyson?" Thranduil folded his hands behind his back, enfolding in its embrace the grey velvet of the cloak that hung from the pauldrons resting on his shoulders.

Loki snickered, a smirk resting on his face, but he said nothing.

Having known Thranduil for ages, Elenya knew where this was going. If Loki would further provoke him, either by his careful consideration of words or mischievous action, there was nothing she could do to stop her king. She had abused his trust, she understood that, but a war was the last thing she wanted. Descending the steps of the great palace, she approached her king in an attempt to ease his temper.

"My king. I plead, please listen. The gems, I-"

"Get out of my way," his lips barely moved as he spoke.

All warmth that she had grown accustomed to was gone. The affectionate words, the sweet embrace of his comfort, the friendship she had shared with him and now longed for, pleaded to, all absent. His voice directed her as it did all those who were regarded a waste of his time. She knew. He had always been a benevolent king, caring about his people and loving in his address, but those considered outsiders did not know Thranduil to be anything else than cold, difficult, and indisputable. His face was frozen, bitter, blind to her reason.

Elenya stood, stunned into a disbelieving stupor. Another word and her fate would be sealed. Her blood would drip and stain the steps of the throne room, and swords would be drawn, war and bloodshed would befall the citizens, and all for what? A couple of white gems. The white gems of Lasgalen. Tokens of a wife long lost, a remembrance that she had hoped would have brought closure, a commemoration for which she had needed to convince him to let her go and retrieve them to help him in his mourning. To let him move on and see that there was another willing to bestow upon him all her love and affection. She had wanted to be his, but not like this. She did not want to live in the shadows of a woman who held the majority of his heart, and always would.

And now here she stood, in between he who, in her absence had begun to open his eyes to her but whose trust was now shattered forever, and a man who desired her; a prince who made no secret of his aim to indulge her.

"Thranduil. You promised to let him live," Elenya whispered, knowing this was not only about the gems anymore.

"I did," he spoke, looking up at Loki in irritation, his face framed by the silvery locks of his hair, held in place by the circlet that denoted him King of the Woodland Realm, Thranduil, son of Oropher. "I will not free his head from his miserable shoulders if he returns what is mine."

"Mock me if you dare," Loki stepped down. His green magic began to broil in his fists. "You desire your precious little gems? They're gone, Elven king. Perished."

"Loki!" Elenya swung around, but it was too late. The sharp sound of metal drawn from its sheath breached the tense silence, and made her realise that she had failed most gruesomely. Blood would be shed, lives would be lost.

She never meant to inspire war.