Deep in the vast halls of the Lonely Mountain, Bilbo Baggins stumbles upon a treasure a thousand times more priceless than the Arkenstone.
(Thranduil x OC)
They say her heart is surrounded by many layers of ice, each intricately placed there by the one who stole it hundreds of years ago.
WITH THE FIRST BREATH SHE TOOK, THE CASKET SHATTERED, AND NOW SHE LIES ON THE STONE FLOOR, IN ALL HER REGALIA, CONFUSED. Was she really awake? Or was this another dream? The blonde did not speak at all. She clutched the hem of her gown protectively, as she was wary of her surroundings.
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With a dainty finger, she pinched her right arm, as a confirmation that this was reality, and that she was finally alive again. Realizing that she was surrounded by multiple armies, she stood up, in the center of the ice, in a protective stance. She took notice of Thranduil, who was only a few steps away, and with wide eyes and a desperate expression, she called out a name, one that was not his.
"Stefan?"
The puzzled expression on his handsome face was all she saw before she was met with darkness and her body met the ground once again.
☀
Not much happened after that. At least, not anything that interested Thranduil. Fighting, killing, war against the orcs whom had made a sudden appearance. Soldiers made of pure ice had sprouted around the blonde female. Attacking any orc within a certain distance. Though the soldiers were there only to protect her, they made it much easier for the other armies against the orcs. During the fight, one name plagued his mind—Stefan. Who was he? An acquaintance? The one who put her in that awful casket? A friend? Or perhaps someone more than that?
And why was his name said only after she looked at Thranduil?
The first moment Thranduil laid eyes on her snow-kissed faced, he thought of a beautiful winter. Raw beauty etched upon her face, like the cold winter he had experienced in various lands. Her voice was enough to render him speechless, for it resembles the satisfying sound of snow landing on the ground softly.
And her eyes, well Thranduil didn't look at them for long, but there was a certain passion in them. Though slightly burnt out, there was fire in her eyes.
Thranduil gazed at the bodies of his fallen comrades. "Recall your company." He told the commander near him. He would shed elf blood no more that day. Mithrandir attempted to stop him, but his decision was firm. He led his army—what was left of it—away from that wretched place.
"You will go no further." Thranduil wanted to roll his eyes. Her, a mere Captain oof the guard, stop him?
"Get out of my way."
"The dwarves will be slaughtered."
"Yes, they will die. Today, tomorrow, one year hence. One hundred years from now. What does it matter? They're mortal."
Tauriel drew her bow and arrow out, aiming directly at his face.
"You think your life is worth more than others. When there is no love in it," she spat. Those words stung. Surely there was some love in him left. He had love for his son, his people, and he did have love for his wife. She was surely spitting lies, right?
"There is no. Love. In. You."
His sword was now drawn too, he had enough of her useless chatter. He slashed her bow in half.
"What do you know of love? Nothing! What you have for that dwarf is not real. You think it is love? Are you ready to die for it?" There was raw emotion on his face. His features were narrowed and tense.
There was an interruption. His son was there. Thranduil's eyes softened visibly, such is a father's love for his son.
"If you harm her...you will have to kill me,"
Darn the care I show to him! Thranduil could only watch, as Legolas chose to follow Tauriel. He let out a sigh.
☀
THE REMAINDER OF HIS ARMY WERE SURPRISED WHEN THRANDUIL WENT TO THE CASKET. They were under the impression that they were to retreat back to Mirkwood immediately. Nonetheless, they reveled in the outside world. Rarely were they given a chance to leave their kingdom. Thranduil gazed longingly at the woman beside the casket, debating whether to bring her back to Mirkwood with him.
He turned swiftly on his heels, ready to leave without her. But a gust of cold wind tugged on is cloak and he said to the soldier on his right without bothering to face him,
"Carry the casket back to Mirkwood."
Turning around again, Thranduil scooped up the woman into his arms, wrapping his cloak around her. He used the back of his thumb and stroked her face gently, before bringing her back to his castle in Mirkwood.
