LOTR/ TH Imagines

Lost?-Thranduil

"Miss? Where did you come from? Are you lost?" A voice rang in your ear. You slowly opened your eyes to see a tall, blonde elf sitting infront of you. You opened your mouth to speak but no words came out. All of the horrible memories came rushing back.

As a child, too young to remember, you were taken to Mordor after an orc raid. Growing up you were tortured and forced to be a slave. You were scarred beyond recognizing. You didn't know where you were, who you were... or even what you were.

There, in the dark, sunless towers, you didn't have a name. The orcs just called you, 'filth' or 'slave.'

Each day you only got a morsel of what they ate, you slept upon nails, and you were burned and battered each hour.

One day you got the first look of yourself in the water you were washing the floors with... Your hair was tangled, dirty, and had many split ends; Your dull eyes had no life or spirit; You were scrawny, it seemed like there was no flesh over your bones. The flesh you did have was burnt, red with wounds, white with scars. Immediately, you had flinched away from your reflection.

It was only luck that you got to escape after the ring was destroyed. Running faster as the ground beneath you fell away. You never stopped running, you ran until you passed out, you ran until you were free.

"My Lady, can you tell me your name?" The elf pressed further. He was wearing nice robes and a crown. You opened your mouth again and only air came out. It had been so long since you had been allowed to talk, you might have forgotten how!

"I-I d-don't have a name," you replied shakily, your voice hoarse. At that moment tears came streaming down your cheeks. You quickly wiped them away, ashamed. "I can't- remember if I ever had one."

"Thranduil, this may be more than she can take.  She looks very weak." A new figure approached.

"One moment," snapped Thranduil. The other elf bowed and walked away. "Where did you come from?"

"I-I don't know," you sniffled. "It was d-dark and cold. I have always lived there as a slave. They hurt me, every day- the foul creatures." Words came tumbling out of your mouth. "I don't know who I am, or where I am, or even what I am."

"Please, calm down," soothed Thranduil. "By the looks of it, you could be an elf. You are in Mirkwood. I am Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm. If you don't have a name, would you like one?"

"My master's called me 'Filth' or 'Slave,'" you suggested.

Thranduil looked angry, his fingers twitched and you worried that he would hurt you like your masters did.

"No one as beautiful as you should have a name like that. How about Y/N?"

"I like it, thank you."

Weeks passed and thanks to the medicine of elves your burns and scars faded away. You were fed and color returned to your cheeks. Your hair was cut and washed daily, now falling into lovely y/h/c waves. You were finally free and your eyes reflected the light of your new world.

Thranduil was the first to welcome you out of the infirmirary, helping others except your addition to their lives.