Thranduil Imagines

Imagine: Thranduil realizing that you're still alive, years after your death

Request for: Hobbit_Is_Da_Best

3rd person pov:

Seconds before the weary Elvenking opened his eyes from his unfulfilling slumber, he remembered what today was. He had unceasingly tossed and turned throughout the night, fond memories of his short years with her riddling his thoughts. For today was the thousandth anniversary of his only compatible partner's death. His late queen.

Thranduil slowly rolled into her side of the bed and filtered a large breath of air through his nostrils.

Many times he claimed that he would not commemorate her this year— the grief lingering in the shadows of his soul had grown, forming an inner monster that forbade joy and the ability to be fully content anymore.

Luckily, Thranduil could tame the figurative creature, restraining it from finishing blaming him for not being able to save his queen. But, he could hold it off for only so long.

"Please, my darling....wherever you linger in the Undying Lands, help me tame the beast that is grief for just this day, so I may reflect on the wonderful memories you have aided me in creating. I beg of you, Y/N." Thranduil whispered as he looked to the ebony ceiling of his once shared bedroom, all the while attempting to hold back the onslaught of tears wailing to be set free

Quickly regaining the composure he was on the verge of losing, Thranduil left the bed and took careful steps towards the cupboard he only opened on this day, no matter how tempting.

In the locked cupboard were a few sentimental objects with an abundance of memories.

In there was the Queen's wedding ring, her favorite dress, her crown, and most importantly, her aura.

With hesitant, trembling fingers, Thranduil took hold of the cool metal band and slid it onto his ring finger, above his own wedding ring, where the two miniature circlets intertwined, appearing as one ring forged by a skilled blacksmith.

He proceeded to gingerly lift the dress that was worn by her on the day of their marriage and he twirled it. He twirled the beautiful, white gown around his forearm, it now resembling a rope made of silk.

He had her now, right around his arm.

"You're not going anywhere, my starlight. I've got you now. No one will ever hurt you again..." The grieving king whispered, tears pooling his eyes

Thranduil knew he would break if he reached for the crown sitting alone on the wooden shelf— the Queen's bloodied, trembling fingers had handed it to him when at the edge of death. She did not want the Orcs surrounding them to steal it away and exchange it for riches and power.

Even when faced with death, she was concerned for the circlet that grazed the platinum hairs of her husband's ancestors, not the crimson blemish that seemed to grow by the second in the midst of her abdomen.

Thranduil had not dared to wipe away the vermillion streaks against the cerulean stones embedded among the circlet, he would be, in a way, wiping away part of her if he did. 

Knowing that within seconds he would reconsider and call everything off to hide away behind the locked doors of the bedroom, Thranduil quickly rose to his feet and carefully put the dress back into its rightful place as well as the now warm ring and locked the cupboard, not to be opened for another year.

Yes, a year to the elves felt like a few days, and a hundred years felt like a few weeks. But, one second without his Queen felt like eternity.

He slowly exited the bedroom, finally having come to terms with what this day signified, and made his way outside, where the ceremony would be held.