TOLKIEN; imagines

46: Stay Your Tears - Thranduil

Based off: Person A is trying to show person B how much they love them and they overhear that they like roses so they go to a rose bush and grab a handful and end up hurting themselves. When person B walks up and notices the blood on their hands they ask them what's wrong and person A reluctantly shows them the handful of roses. How person B reacts is up to you. (from otpprompts on tumblr)

A/N: I SAW THIS PROMPT AND AWWW. And I apologize, this was supposed to be fluff but I have a problem with writing just fluff, because it always seems to not really have a plot. What I'm trying to say is I threw a bit (a lot) of angst in there, but it still ends in fluff.

Translations: Meleth: love, Gornon, valiant one, Meleth e-guilen, Love of my Life, Miluis, lovely one.

Warnings: Thranduil tears (they are sacred and need to be preserved) and mentions of blood and minor injury.

Words: 1600

Ever since the Battle of Dagorlad and the War of the Last Alliance, Thranduil attended to the duties forced upon him with a frown upon his lips and sorrow in his heart, his father's crown weighing heavily upon his luscious platinum locks, and mourned the loss of his king and father under the light of moon and star, weeping to the roses in the gardens, all memory of me, his lover, having faded from his beautiful mind the moment Thranduil had seen the point of a sword pierce his father's heart, and protrude from his armored chest. I was supposed to be at his side, ready to offer comfort the moment he was in need of it, to clear his mind with the gentlest and most tender of touches, but alas, he refused me, insisting that I should not see him in the state he was in, insisting that no one should. And contradictory to his wishes, I wanted to show him how much I loved him, how much he meant to me, and how I couldn't stand by and which his heart whither and die.

I suppose that was how I found myself walking about the bushes and clumps of verdant shrubbery and blooms of all shades, searching hastily for the alabaster roses my beloved cherished so dearly, seeing as the golden light of day that normally dusted the forest floor was beginning to fade, the luminescence of night taking its place, the silver glow that Thranduil lamented beneath drawing ever near.

My eyes soon found the bush, the pallid blooms and the decay that surrounded it looking like death itself under the now sterling light and although the sight brought me a great regret, and overwhelming heartache, I approached, my fingertips resting gently upon the velvet petals, as I sank to my knees beside the thicket. I went to pluck the single flower from its accomplices, but stopped when I saw the deadly thorns, the points an ebony hue, dark as the dead of night was frightful.

This is for Thranduil, these feeble things make him happy, I thought, a soft sigh escaping my lips. For Thranduil.

I closed my fingers around the pointed stem, tears pricking my eyes as a rivulet of crimson trickled down my hand, staining my wrists with its color. I pulled the bloom from the bush with as much delicacy as I could manage, transferring it to my other hand, the same stream of color escaping my fingertips and palm again.

Again I grasped the stem of another, sickly beautiful flower, and again I placed it in my other hand. I did not stop the repetition, despite the ever growing pain and bleeding cuts that soon littered my hands, until I had a handful of seven flowers. I looked down to the matted down, ochre blades of grass, the dirt beneath, drops of my blood blotching the long dead plant life as I sniffed, tears falling from my eyes to join the blood.

"Y/N," A familiar voice, regal, sweet, and full of melancholy gasped from behind me, "w-what are you doing here."

I stood, turning to face him, to see the celestial form of Thranduil, clothed in the same dark shade as my dried blood upon the ground, his pale hair unadorned and unbraided, his milky skin seeming to glitter in the moonlight, his eyes already brimming with tears.