One Shots » LotR

The Tears of a King

"I have seen dragon fire."

Thranduil gazed into the mirror, running his fingers over untorn cheek. Something in his steel eyes flashed-- a pain, long since forgotten.

Slowly he pulled his hand away, closing his eyes. A sharp tingling claimed his skin, followed by a sudden excruciating pain.

The skin melted away with the very same agony of the first time, but Thranduil only ground his teeth harder together.

Rolling his shoulders back, he slowly opened his eyes, glaring with a silent hatred at the mirror.

Flesh, bone, and a milky white eye glared back.

For a moment, the screams of the battle from so long ago echoed in Thranduil's ears. The broken cries of those fallen, the pleading of kin as their loved ones faded.

Stop it, you fool.

Briskly, Thranduil turned from his reflection. His eyes roved over the dim room-- to the window, where the night seeped in through the glass.

He remembered it all.

The sunlight gleaming off fiery red scales. The golden eyes that gleamed with malice. The hissed laughter and smoke in the air.

"Are you ready, elven prince? To die this day, burned to nothing but ash in the wind?"

Wincing, Thranduil tried to shake off his thoughts. He squared his shoulders, a deep coldness claiming his eyes once more.

Reaching up, he prodded a gentle finger against bone.

He remembered the terrible roar that shattered the air. The death of his childhood friend, crushed under the clawed talons of the dreaded firedrake that they faced.

Thranduil couldn't remember whether or not he had wept that day. Perhaps he had not.

After all, future kings did not cry.

Suddenly, the bedroom door banged open, little feet slapping on the cool stone floor. Thranduil whirled around, his steel eyes flashing.

The elfling in the door abruptly drew back, the book that he had held slipping from his hands. "A... Ada?"

It took Thranduil a moment to realize the bright blue eyes were locked on his face. Yet there was no fear in the elfling's eyes.

Only a shocked, curious worry. 

"Legolas," Thranduil quickly turned away, facing the window once more. His hand drew up to cover his face. "What is the meaning of this?"

For a moment, silence met his curt words. Then gentle feet padded closer and Thranduil heard the book being picked back up.

"I was hoping you would read to me."

Thranduil straightened. A knot formed in his throat and he stared hard out the window-- the stars glowed brightly in the night sky.

Of the flames, claiming the battlefield. The blistering heat, the deep rumblings of the dragon. Taunting, laughing.

"Ada?"

Kings do not cry, Thranduil ground his teeth together until they gnashed, the words playing over and over in his mind.

He felt a small presence draw to his side, and then innocent eyes lock on his own. A small hand grasped his free one, warm to the touch.

Thranduil tensed even more, but did not draw away.

Slowly, he gazed down at his son. He was painfully aware of the scarring across his left side-- but the elfling's eyes were not on them.

The memories continued to churn in the back of Thranduil's mind. They never fully left.

Then he blinked hard, kneeling down to his son's level and forcing a smile. Kings do not cry, Thranduil.

"Why are you sad, Ada?"

Furrowing his brow, Thranduil realized his smile was not fooling the elfling. "How come you think I am sad, Legolas?"

It was the innocence in his son's eyes that took his breath away. Then Legolas shrugged, gazing sideways at the book he clutched in his free arm. "I can see it."

A blinding flash, followed by excruciating agony. Feeling his flesh sear off his bones, the entire world going up in flames.

Tears pricked at Thranduil's eyes and he blinked harder, lowering his gaze. "Goheno nin, my Greenleaf." 

Legolas looked back at him, then reached forward, his fingers hovering only inches from the gaping wound. Then he drew back.

Thranduil turned partially away, gazing back at the stars. "Kings do not cry," he whispered hoarsely.

Yet despite his words, a single tear slipped down his cheek.

Wordlessly, Legolas released his hand, setting down his book. Then cautiously, he reached up, brushing the stray tear away. 

Thranduil closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of his son's fingertips ghost across the unharmed side of his face.

The knot in his throat unraveled slightly.

Then he took his son's hand again, leading him toward the window and pushing it open. The night air was cool, crisp.

For a moment they both stood there in silence. In Thranduil's ears, the screams died away and the memories faded back to nothing.

He allowed another tear to slip, facing the pale moon that shone so brightly above the thick green treetops. 

Clutching Legolas's hand tighter, Thranduil felt blue eyes turn back to his face. Slowly, the skin began to close back together.

Down his cheek, a third cold tear fell. But this time, he didn't hold back the numbing pain, pulling Legolas close to his side as the breeze swept through the window.

For Kings did not cry. But beings of flesh and blood? 

They wept.

One-shot number three. I have recently realized how much I enjoy writing these-- tis quite fun to take a stab at unshown or ghost scenes from Tolkien's lovely world.

Like always, I adore hearing the readers thoughts. Feel free to comment away or if you want to see a certain one shot, shout it out! I'd love to hear your ideas and love the have new inspiration.