Various Array of One Shots ✔️

Of The Flames >> Thranduil X Reader

Title: Of The Flames

Paring: Thranduil X Reader

Sequel: Yes. This is part two of three. The next is called 'Of The Stars', and can be found in my other one shot book, 100 More One Shots.

Warnings: violence and fire, angsty fluff

Spoilers: none

______________________________

He had waited graciously for a week. And then two. He had attended to much more buisness than what needed his attention. He kept himself awake most nights thinking of how his late wife was so much like the newly named Lady ______ of the Scribes. Held herself like her. Was as shy as she had been when they had first courted. How she looked like her. Talked like her.

"My lord?" he was roused by a servant.

He must have fallen asleep at his desk once more. Internally, Thranduil scolded himself, but remembered why he had been there. He had been studying the culture of Man. Not as he had seen it over his many years, but by a tome that had come with Lady _____ when she had arrived at Mirkwood.

"Yes?" He mumbled, wiping a bleary eye. The servant didn't make a move at all. "Well? What is it?" He frowned.

"It's -," the servant swallowed, "It is Lady _______. She -,"

He stood quickly, losing the grace that being an elf came naturally in his movement. "What of _______ of the Scribes?" He inquired.

The servant blushed, having trouble finding words. "There has been an incident in the library, your majesty," he paused, "She's been -,"

Thranduil pushed past the servant, each step bounding through the path to the door, the hallways toward the library. What had happened? What incident had occurred that he, the King of this godforsaken castle and wood hadn't been notified for? In no time it seemed, a sleep-rumpled Thranduil was down by the entrance, flabbergasted.

Ashes.

Torn covers.

Destroyed books. Ancient knowledge. Lost.

"My king!" He turned to see a male elf, arms full of dusty tomes, saved from the disaster. He must have noticed the blank expression on Thranduil's face, and added, "I can only guess you know nothing of what has happened here."

He nodded.

"This rebel happened, my king," he turned to see the red haired captain of the guard, Tauriel, and his son, Legolas, holding an infuriated elf. "He lit the fire, with the intention that the emissary Lady _______-,"

"Mirkwood is a place for the elvish, not human filth! She is nothing but a leaf; she will not live like us, the tree!" The arsonist protested. "Leaves die, trees prevail."

"Do not speak in that manner to your king!" Legolas growled.

The arsonist grinned. "She is human, my king; if we are stars, they are candles, and if you are not careful, she'll go out."

Outraged, Thranduil motioned for his son and Tauriel to take the elf away, turning his head away to attempt to not hear the protests.

He turned to the elf who had had his arms full of saved literature, and inquired levelly, "Would Lady ______ have been taken to the infirmary?"

The elf nodded, "She would. The last I saw of her, my king, she was badly injured." He went to bow respectfully, but paused, adding, "I do not know if the healers would allow you in."

"Thank you," he told the male elf, "and may the stars shine brightly tonight so  that many of these ancient tomes have survived." He bid him.

"And may the moon see it that Lady ______ of the Scribes is safe, my king," he bowed.

__________________________________

He worried. He fretted. He fretted about the frown he worried with. And then he was unsure of whether the stress-induced frown marks he had just furrowed into his brow were to be permanent.

How has a simple human woman done this to me? He deliberated, pacing outside door for the infirmary, aware the healers were quickly working to save ______.

The elf who caused the fire was right, we are starlight, long and eternal. And humans are like little candle flames. He took a deep breath and glanced from the hallway to the window that looked out over all of Mirkwood. But that does not mean her fire is any less precious than an elves.

"My king?"

He turned sharply.

Two healers in the simple robes of stood there, the elves with their heads bowed respectfully. The female elf stepped forward and gestured to the infirmary. "Lady ______ of the Scribes has been incredibly strong, my king. Such a traumatic experience like the one she experienced would harm an elf, but she, my king...she -,"

The male healer stepped forward to continue her speech, "Lady _____ will have scars of today, but because of how her human skin's dynamics, we were able to work it quickly." 

"Will she be alright?" He asked them.

There was no hesitation. "She will recover, my king, she is tired, spent by her attempt to save the books."

"But you may see her, if you wish," the female elf bowed, "I believe she wishes to see you also."

"Thank you," he bid them, and moved past to enter the healing chamber, anxious of what he had allowed his precious scribe to become by his lack of security.

There she lay. Almost too still, like she were deep asleep or dead. All that moved under the thin blanket was her chest, softly, rising and falling rhythmically, giving an illusion of peace to her inert form. Thranduil moved to the chair beside her bed, watching her with sorrow-filled eyes.

He had allowed her to be hurt by his lack of attention.

Why has a human have such of a hold over you? He wondered internally. You've not known her long enough for these emotions. She's -

His thoughts were interrupted by a shaky exhale.

"My King, I wasn't aware I was important enough for a visit," her words broke the ice in the air. Glancing up, he saw her head had turned toward him, those (e/c) eyes on him like a wild deer in the forest. "I jest, my lord, I don't mean to be rude as to your presence," she blushed, "or lack thereof. I -,"

"I'm glad you're safe," he managed to say. The words she was about to speak died on her lips. "I came as soon as I heard, and I wish to give you the largest and most sincere of apologies because of my lack of attention. I -,"

"You're a busy man, I mean, elf," she corrected herself, "and I should have been more careful. I would have left the library, but I was trapped. The flames were all around me." She went to move, but winced.

"________, take care, you are injured," he laid a hand on her cheek, staring into her eyes.

"I know," she breathed, and after a pause, whispered, "I used to like fire, my King, but now, I never wish to see it again."

Thranduil nodded. He felt the same way after Smaug had maimed him.

"It's okay, _____, you are safe now. I have dealt with the arsonist, and you must heal. I understand if you wish to return to your land, you may; nobody wishes to stay in the place they were harmed -,"

She tittered. He'd never heard such a laugh as that, but he had, and it was from her.

"What is so amusing?" He inquired.

"The notion, my king, that I could leave you." She smiled softly. "For I feel an emotion for you so strange."

"Call me Thranduil," he reminded her once more.

All she did then was widen her smile, one of the things he loved the most about her, one of the many things, "I love you, Thranduil."