It was innocent, as innocent as somebody as she and he could get after having named the battlefield their home, the blood of their enemies rose petals floating on the surface of the water they went under without a moment's thought. A simple request, although said more like a demand and a fact than anything, followed by a cheeky grin before the female sprinted, getting further and further away from him and without even thinking, he was on her tail, shouting her name and threatening everything she holds dear under the sun. She didn't stop and Thranduil is more than sure that he didn't expect her to from the beginning.
It was also innocent when she started peeling off the dress she wore in a rushed manner, almost tearing it apart as her toes wiggled in the dirt, body convulsing more and more with each second wasted on the tedious task of getting naked and in hindsight, he should have turned around and walk away from the scene and from her and from all the promises she made, all the things she had to offer, but he didn't and the moment she entered the water, head thrown back as the cold water enveloped her in its arms, he was working on his trousers with the same impatience as she had only that his calm expression remained painted on his face.
But now, as he towers over her, the water just barely covering her bosom, Thranduil thinks he might have just walked straight into his own doom, closed the door behind him and locked it like a prepubescent kid lying his eyes on the object of his affections. She's Persephone disguised as Aphrodite, fire waiting to engulf everything in its path in its merciless claws, she's everything he has avoided and feared and staring into her eyes, the prospect of burning away doesn't sound as bad.
"See, this isn't so terrible, now, is it?" Her voice is like silk, covering him and protecting him when the nightmares come and knock on his door. He has to clench his fist not to raise his hand and cup her cheek and do something he won't find forgiveness for.
"It's preposterous and laughable that you think this little escapade of yours will do anything good to me."
She merely giggles, shaking her head with a twinkle in her eyes that tells him she knows something he doesn't and tempted he is to lean into her and have her whisper the secret into his ears, to have her make him sin and abandon everything in order to get ruined and destroyed by her, to make his palace crush and burn. He's failed his people already, his son is on the run and he's not getting any closer to him and his love is buried amongst orcs, somewhere in Middle-Earth and he's got no place to mourn her. Or perhaps his love is in front of him and he's just too blind to acknowledge her, although he is sure love wouldn't feel this perverted, this disturbing and wrong.
"Oh, Thranduil." She sighs, turning her back to him and watching in silence as the sun sets and night takes the throne.
And the, all of a sudden, she's too close to him, body turned and her eyes peering into his with a streak of innocence he's doubted she had just moments ago. Her scent is poisoning his lungs. Rotten, rotten rose petals fall from her hair and into his hand and he squeezes them, sees blood drip in the water and tinting it red, but the pain is as sweet as the kiss, as enjoyable and welcomed as the hand cupping his cheek while the other runs over the width of his shoulder, fingers putting pressure on all the right spots.
He might as well have drowned and wouldn't had minded it as long as she was the weight pulling him down, pinning him to the bottom of the lake and watching him take one last breath with a satisfied, pleased smile.