Thranduil Imagines

Imagine: You, Thranduil's wife, being self conscious

Request for: @ThorinFiliKili_Bae

Warning: Talks of insecurity and low self-esteem

A/N: If any of you ever feel like this, know that you can always talk to me, but most importantly, you are beautiful and loved.

After fabricating a story, in which I told Thranduil that I was too ill to attend the annual Feast of Starlight, I relocated to the library, having always found solitude in having thousands of stories surrounding me, waiting for my curious hands to take hold of their ancient spines and be brought to life within my subconscious.

I've been more than displeased with myself as of late, lingering before every mirror for too long and absentmindedly adjusting my dresses, but most frequently comparing myself to all the beautiful elleths that may come and go through Mirkwood, leading me to the small corner I now reside in within the library, against a towering shelf of books, not wanting to make an appearance at all tonight.

As a queen, my actions would be deemed unjust and childish, but I cannot help but feel...worthless and hideous.

Slowly, all of my emotions linked to this horrid depression gathered in the midst of my saddened soul and danced in an insurmountable ensemble, making me weep vociferously, my trembling body putting my entire being at risk, due to the towering bookshelf that my shaking shoulder was pressed against.

Carefully, I pushed myself a few inches away and picked up the random book I plucked from one of the many shelves earlier, hoping that I could distract myself from everything for a while.

I didn't realize how similar my bearings were to the woman in the book until it was too late.

The ruthless author seemed to know I would reach for his book, years after its publication, and further taunted me by including a beautiful, yet gruesome painting of what the poor woman had done to herself as a result of the betrayal and heartache she suffered. Sick to my aching stomach, I choked on my own sobs and slammed the book shut, tossing it as far away from me as I could, not daring to reach for another, the fear of it containing the same theme haunting me.

I pressed my shaking knees to my chest and rested my throbbing head between them, feeling far worse than before I entered the library.

"Oh, Thranduil," I wept grievously to myself "what makes you think that I am worthy enough to be wedded to you?"

"Everything..." a dejected, broken quiver of a voice answered.

I jumped slightly in alarm, then slowly and shamefully looked up to meet Thranduil's eyes that wallowed in their own tears.

In an instant, he sunk to his knees and took me into his arms as if I were a lost child, weeping for her naneth.

I lay there, at first frozen in his arms, but then I felt so vulnerable, so weak, that I shut my eyes that burned with fresh tears and nestled as far as I possibly could into his chest, wanting to disappear as I wailed even louder, making him clutch my convulsing frame even tighter as he repeatedly murmured "Everything, everything, everything..."

"I have failed you, my rose. I have failed you. I did not show you how much you mean to me, leading you to believe that you are unworthy. It is I that is unworthy of your love. My heart hammers for you and only you, my love. And here you sit, reading tales of the tragic death of Ophelia, rejected by her heart's desire and grieving her father's death, leading her to take her own life. There is no one to blame but myself..."

Slowly, Thranduil pried me off of him and held the sides of my face as he looked into my red and swollen eyes.

"It is I and only I who has caused you to think these horrid thoughts, Y/N, and I thank the Valar that I was not too late in discovering your faltering heart. Look at me, I beg of you to look into my eyes, despite what I have caused." He wailed, noticing that my eyes lay fixated in an unseeing stare at the dull bookshelves

Slowly, I dragged my eyes up and met his gaze

"You are beautiful, wholesomely unmarred, blessed by angels in your creation. If any other living creature possessed even an ounce of your beauty, they would boast about and seek all the attention their slight hands could muster. But not my Y/N, not my starlight She is more kind and gracious than anyone or anything, even so that if an ugly toad asked for a bit of her beauty, she would gladly, unquestioningly give it—"

"You're only saying that because you're my husband," I intervened, a slight lilt of a giggle in my rebuttal.

"Because I'm your husband," he marveled. "My words should be the most sincere and matter the most to you," he finished, his brow creased and sunken in utter devotion to his every word.

Overcome with unfathomable joy and graciousness for the ellon I had the honor of calling my husband, I threw my arms around him, kissing his temple before thanking him for everything, absolutely everything.

~°~

I hope you liked it

The story, information, and painting from the book the reader looks into in the library is based on William Shakespeare's play titled Hamlet and also one of its main characters, Ophelia, of course

The label info/credit for the painting above is listed below:

Ophelia by John Everett Millais, 1852

(If you didn't already know, said painting is the one the reader sees in the book)

Fun fact: I'm deathly afraid of frogs, like, if I see one I start to have heart palpitations and I run for my life.