Author's Note: I wanted to write a drabble for a tumblr imagine that entails Thranduil being secretly in love with Tauriel. If you're interested, I've posted this along with a lot of my other Thranduil/Tauriel fics at my blog le-petit-creationist dot tumblr dot com. I struggled with keeping this short! Also, Silmarillion and A Song of Ice and Fire references abound. The only Sindarin word I've used here is "Reitho" which is a cry for help. This takes place a while after BoTFA and requires a little reading in between the lines, since the strict word count limit prevented me from going into great depth.
Any and all feedback is welcome, and most definitely appreciated.
"Reitho!" The shouting resounded through the Halls. All who heard gave pause to their activity and sought from whence the commotion came. A small crowd gathered at the tall doors, opened wide to receive the King's retinue. Feren, Captain of the Guard, led his soldiers inside. "Send for the lady Nestadeth at once!"
Tauriel watched from the winding bridge above. The King's party comprised of ten soldiers on horseback. Her breath caught in her throat when she beheld Thranduil unsteadily seated on his mount, the Rhovanion elk he so favored. It stepped into a gentle halt only when the doors behind it were pulled shut.
Thranduil slumped forward against the beast's neck, unconscious. Before the small crowd could stir itself into true panic, Feren wisely ushered his soldiers and king away to the privacy of the royal quarters. Before she knew her own mind, Tauriel broke into a swift run. She cursed her gown, wishing she was allowed her old captain's shirt and breeches for their ease.
She arrived at the king's antechamber, breathless and tense. Feren and Galion were in hushed conversation within. She lingered by the door, close but out of sight.
"His Majesty rode past his vanguard when he saw a child at the mouth of the Enchanted River. The child's father fell—by what madness the king was overtaken I do not know. He leaped into the water to save the father and stayed awake long enough to pull him to safety." Feren never looked so distraught.
"What remedy exists for such prolonged exposure? None who've fallen in that corrupted river come away with their minds intact." Galion lamented.
Tauriel waited until a lull in their discussion before she came forth.
"Is the king…?" Her voice died at their grave expressions.
"Tauriel, you should not be here." The captain said.
She ignored him. "Let me see him, I beg you." No doubt Feren was taken aback by her strange desperation. To him, Tauriel was but dirt beneath the king's boot. No wonder her concern seemed bizarre. Unbeknownst to all but her, it was the memory of another that compelled her. Warm, laughing eyes and the promise in a simple runestone. She could not stomach another loss.
Nestadeth sat at the king's bedside, pressing a damp cloth to his temples. His sleep was troubled. Tauriel's presence unsettled the healer at first. At Nestadeth's questioning glance, Feren just shook his head.
"His Majesty slumbers. It is common among victims of the river." The healer's voice was curt. Many wounds had she tended, though none quite like this.
"How long will he remain in this state?" Tauriel asked. She was transfixed by the candlelight upon the king's pale skin. "What have you done for him?"
Nestadeth pursed her lips. "All that I can. There's nothing more to do than wait for him to awaken."
They left her there not long after. Tauriel hardly realized she was alone. Contemplating the slope of the king's forehead and nose, Tauriel knew this was the only circumstance where she could bring herself to directly look at him after her mutiny.
Thranduil took care not to come into her presence often. Tauriel did not fault him for it. Sharp words left deep wounds in them both. She was stripped of her title and rank but her banishment was lifted. The nobility sneered at her humiliation. Still, there were many who looked at her with unvoiced deference. Tauriel spoke truth to power and watched her king rise to the occasion. Leading sorties against the fell creatures, it became clear why Thranduil needed no ring of power. No warrior could eclipse his prowess, none could challenge his reign.
Awaken, she silently willed him.
She heard him stir in the darkness. She hurriedly lit a lantern and watched his startled features come to life. Tauriel never saw the king so discomposed.
"Water…please." He murmured. She filled a glass and took it to him. He drank deeply before she accepted the empty glass back and set it on the nearby table.
"My lord, you've slept for nigh on six days." It was all she could think to say. She wanted to take his hands, stupidly, giddily. He grasped the thick duvet that covered him and pulled it closer. Without his array of rings, it was easy to see he had beautifully shaped hands.
"Six days?" Thranduil repeated, resting upright against the cushions. Something was wrong. "I cannot recall the course of events that resulted in my convalescence."
Uncertainty colored his speech. Tauriel sat at his bedside again.
"There was an attack on our western border. You saved a drowning man from the Enchanted River." It tumbled from her mouth. She could not understand what she felt—grief, hate, love, it all fused into some raw, pulsing thing that threatened to overcome her.
The king frowned in confusion. "Who are you?" Thranduil asked. She knew not how to respond, whether his condition was real or if he was testing her. She bristled at her foolishness then. The king was never so willingly open with anyone.
"I am Tauriel, my lord." She watched his hands unclench from the fabric.
"Tauriel." The way he pronounced her name brought tears to her eyes. How many centuries had it been since he'd said her name so kindly? Since it had been benediction in his tone rather than order or command?
Nestadeth ceased her visits since Tauriel stayed with him. He spoke of the elder days, of Doriath and Melian and Thingol's court before its collapse. His memory of that time was pristine. She had no difficulty imagining the scenes he painted with his words.
"In Doriath dwelt she with hair like autumn." The king mused quietly one day. Tauriel's eyes flew to his face. "She was called Elenya, companion of Beleg Strongbow. Her hair streamed behind her like Arien's flame as she rode. Her joy in the hunt was unrivalled."
"What became of her?" Pain long hidden surfaced in his glance at her blunt query.
"When Beleg Cúthalion fell by Turin's hand, she gave into despair. She perished in the first sacking of Menegroth." Thranduil's voice was low as he recounted the autumn maiden's fate.
Tauriel took her king's hand. He stared at their interlocked fingers and it made her ask, "Did you love her?" Her heart picked up a thrumming cadence against her sternum.
Piercing blue eyes met hers. It was impossible to breathe. Perhaps the king was himself all along and truth was disguised in each exchange. Kíli perished as Beleg had, but she was no Elenya. She was made stronger all the more.
Strong enough to hear his answer.