Elves are beautiful. They are not vain, but they are proud. It is a fact in Middle Earth that there are no creatures that could compete with the Eldar in terms of physical beauty.
Thranduil's line were a bit above normal Elves in terms of physical appearance. Oropher had been a stunning king, taller than his son and broader. He commanded the attention of everyone in a room, no matter their race or sexuality. But he had none of the heart that Thranduil had, none of the delicacy of feature or warmth of touch.
Legolas, the Princeling, was quite small, like his mother, and his hair was more golden than his father's (also a gift from his mother). He was agile and the least vain of all his kin. Despite knowing he was pleasing to the eye, he was never conceited. He did not want to be known for his beauty, but for his talents with a bow and arrow.
The Elvenking himself was considered the absolute epitome of beauty. He was tall and lithe, with skin as fair and soft as silk and eyes of crystal, along with long, starlight-kissed hair. When he had been the prince, he had been much desired, and he knew it. He knew the power just a look from him had. He had never used it to his advantage sexually-that was forbidden-but he had used it to his advantage as a prince. He always got what he wanted, and what he really loved was compliments.
His appearance was arresting and everyone complimented him on his hair, his body, his cheekbones, lips and eyebrows. He was used to people, when they first meet him, being momentarily speechless after one look.
And then he fought against Gostir.
After the fight, he did something Elves rarely do: he fainted. His body and spirit were exhausted after the long, harrowing battle where he had seen his father slain, and then back home, where he held his dying wife in his arms.
The Elven healers (one of whom was Tauriel's father, which was the reason why Thranduil treated her with preference, not that he ever let anyone know that) stopped his bleeding and cleaned his wounds, assuming that the natural Elven regenerative ability would kick in once the new king had rested. They covered his face with a clean cloth to keep the wound protected from germs and kept him in a dark, cool room so his eyes could adjust.
When Thranduil woke up, the first thing he noticed, even before the pain, was that he could not see properly. Tirnel, Tauriel's father, had been sitting with him, watching to be sure that his condition did not degenerate.
"My Lord, do you know where you are? Do you remember what happened?" Tirnel asked.
"I know where I am you fool," Thranduil snapped. It was when he spoke that the pain hit him and he cried out, squeezing his eyes shut against the tears that threatened. Celeblasbes… He remembered, yes. How could he forget the horror he had just seen? "Melamin…" he gasped out, hands gripping the sheets beneath him in anger and grief. He opened his eyes again, and again he realised he was not seeing as he could.
"Tirnel, what is wrong with my left eye?" he questioned, going to reach up and feel around it.
Tirnel stopped him before he could touch the raw, bloody flesh.
"The fire, it burned me… How bad is it?" Thranduil asked, gesturing to his face and part of his ear, which hurt viciously. The pain was burning, gnawing. Any lesser creature would have been a mess without the aid of herbs, but Thranduil was a hearty Elf and could take pain. This pain, however, nearly broke him. He had never felt anything like this. It hurt even to frown.
"Tirnel? Why am I still in such pain?" Thranduil wanted to know. "Should I not have healed at least partially by now?"
"Lay still, my lord, and let me look again. Do not speak or you will agitate the injury more," Tirnel warned. He took the formerly white bandage from the king's face and couldn't hide his grimace. The flesh was not as bloody as it was, but it was not healing as it should be. The healer wondered if it was cursed, like a wound made with a morgul blade would be, but the wound showed no sign of evil influence. It was just a very deep burn. "Tanka harwar."
Defying orders, Thranduil again demanded to know what his condition was. "I have a kingdom to run. I cannot spend time convalescing. And my son, who is taking care of him?"
"He is with my daughter in the nursery, being watched by guards. Rest, my lord. You are not healing as you should be," Tirnel informed him. "It concerns me."
"I do not have time for your concerns," Thranduil said. "I have duties to perform and do not have time to rest."
"Thranduil, your son needs his ada," Tirnel said. "If you do not heal, he will be an orphan."
That got through to the Elvenking's thick skull. He let Tirnel and another Elf look at him, assessing his wounds. They did not bother hiding their concern from him.
"His hair has already grown back and his ear is healing well," the second Elf commented.
"I doubt he'll ever regain his full sight in that eye," Tirnel said with a sigh. He pressed fresh herbs used to promote skin health to the edges of the wound in the king's cheek and nothing happened, except Thranduil screamed in pain.
"Why is it so raw?" he asked.
Tirnel just stood there, confused. "I do not know. I have never seen anything like this. My lord, I have sent for Galadriel. Perhaps she will have some insight."
"I cannot wait for her," Thranduil protested.
"And you need not wait," a soft voice said and Thranduil had to turn his head to see to whom the voice belonged. And there stood Galadriel, the only Elf who ever rivaled him in beauty. Her gown was long and her face was grim as she crossed the threshold. That was when he saw the old man behind her. But it wasn't really an old man, of course.
"Mithrandir. To what do I owe this pleasure?" Thranduil asked with as much sarcasm as he could muster.
"Charming as ever, I see," the Wizard commented, stepping up to his bedside next to the Lady of Lorien. "By the Valar…" The sight of the king's burned face startled even the unflappable Istari. "That was from Gostir?"
"No, I held my wine too near the fireplace and had an accident," Thranduil scoffed. "Well? Can either of you fix this? Or at least tell me why I can't heal?"
They both examined him, and then they retreated where he could not hear to have a conversation. Through his good eye, he could tell they were concerned. Well, so was he! This was unheard of.
Eventually Mithrandir went to talk to him. He started with the obvious, "Your hair has already grown back and your ear has healed. Unfortunately, I do not believe that you'll ever regain sight in your left eye, and if you do, I doubt it will ever be the same. Eyes and hearts are the only organs Elves can't regenerate."
"Tell me something I do not know already," Thranduil said.
"Very well. Your face will never heal."
That statement got a real reaction from the king, who flew up in bed, looking even more imposing than usual with his wounds. "Mani ume lle quena, you old fool?" His heartbeat was racing and he was now very afraid.
"It may stop bleeding, and you probably won't get any infections, but your flesh will never heal," Gandalf said sadly.
"But why? Galadriel, what is the meaning of this?" Thranduil felt his nails dig into his palms, and felt his face burn with every movement his mouth made.
Galadriel took his hand gently. They were related...sort of. He had married her husband's relative, and she did consider him family in a way, despite his aversion to socialization outside of the Woodland Realm. She wanted to tell him this as gently as possible.
"It is not so much the wound that will not heal. You lost half of your heart when that fire hit you. You lost your wife. It is symbolic of that loss. You can't ever regain what is gone to the Valar." Her voice was soothing; her words, not so much.
The Elvenking was thrown into a fit of grief. He demanded to be left alone and when everyone had gone, he got up and went to a mirror. His body was fine, as if he had not just fought a war against Orcs and battle with a dragon twenty-four hours prior. But he was horrified by what he saw in the glass.
His face muscles were perfectly shown, red and raw. The skin was frayed at the edges, and it looked like a cavern in his face. He reached his hand out to touch it before remembering that it was still raw. It stopped at the edge of his mouth, went over his left eye and ended at his left temple. The other half of his cheek was untouched.
It wasn't so much as he was that vain that he couldn't handle the way he looked, though that is what everyone assumes. No, even as it pained him to see how monstrous he appeared now, that was not what caused him pain. It was knowing he was alive, when his wife had died in his arms. When he had lost everything, and yet now had to wear this constant reminder of his loss on his face for the rest of his immortal life.
"Bes," he whispered his nickname for his wife. "I failed you. I deserve this punishment and more for not protecting you." The tears that fell burned his wound, and he welcomed the pain. He was glad to have it. He deserved it and much more. He could not handle looking at his reflection anymore and his fist flew, shattering the glass and making his hand bleed.
"Amin delotha lle!" he shouted at his own reflection before he broke the mirror.
The noise brought everyone back into the room, and they realised he was in no danger except from himself. He did calm down when they entered the room, appearing as the ice king he would now become.
Gandalf was able to help him with his appearance, for which he was grudgingly grateful. He used an old world spell that Thranduil could easily keep up for himself, karn aduamin, so that his subjects would never know the pain and disfigurement he would have till his dying day.
To this day, Thranduil rarely showed his scars to any except for those occasions he wanted to intimidate his enemy. (As he would in the near future when a certain Mountain King would be held prisoner in his halls.)
But there was one more setback with concealing his face: he could not be seen in a reflective surface, lest his scars be shown plainly. Because the spell was "mirror image", that meant that being reflected would show everyone what he was hiding with simple glamour. So he took great pains to have very few mirrors in the common halls or throne room of the Woodland Realm.
Linwe knew about none of this, of course. The younger generation of Elves was kept ignorant of the trials their king went through. Only Legolas knew, and what he knew was rudimentary at best. His father never spoke of his mother or his grandfather. Had it not been for Galadriel, he might never have known about any of it.
Linwe wanted to pull her weight around the kingdom, despite Thranduil's protests. He didn't believe that a princess should be doing commoner's work, but she was insistent, so he allowed her to assist Tauriel in her duties.
Tauriel, along with being captain of the guard, was tasked with making sure all weaponry was neat, clean, and generally in order. Linwe loved learning how to keep weapons clean and sharp. That way she'd never have to count on Elrond for anything. She did not need his permission, because he need never know she was a better warrior than she was a princess.
"Beautiful," she murmured when she came upon a long, intricately engraved blade. "Which guard uses this one?"
"That's Thranduil's," Tauriel replied with a snort. "Even his weapons are gaudy. …Look, Linwe would you mind taking care of it? And bring it right to him? Last time I sharpened it, he claimed I nicked the handle. Like I could ever be so careless!"
Linwe sighed. "Calm, Tauriel. I'll take care of it for you."
"At least he won't reprimand you unnecessarily," Tauriel commented.
Linwe wanted to ask what her friend meant, but decided not to. She simply fixed up the sword and brought it to his chambers. She stopped short of entering the room, in case the king was...indisposed, as he had been the last time she'd been there.
"My lord?" she called. "I have your weapon for you." She did wonder why he needed a weapon, since he never left the halls.
"Tula," he said, and she walked into the room that was almost as large as a small town in itself. There was the bed she had seen, a hot spring made into a bath, a living area, and a workspace with a desk. Thranduil was seated at the desk, writing something.
"Where would you like me to leave this?" Linwe asked.
"Lean it in the stand near the sofa," Thranduil said, gesturing. She did so, and he turned to watch her. Despite her commoner's clothing, she still looked regal. Her circlet was in her black hair, holding it away from her fair face and she wore a single pendant with a starlight gem, the mate of which Arwen would one day give Aragorn.
She turned towards him and caught him watching her. She still wondered if the king liked having her underfoot or wished she would be gone. He was so dark, secretive, she could not read him like she could most other Elves.
"Tell me, what words would you use to describe your time here so far?" Thranduil asked. "I am writing Elrond, as he requested to be kept informed of your time here."
"Keeping a watch on me even when he is miles away," Linwe sighed. "I am...happy here, my lord. I have been here for three months now, and I have never been more content than I am here in your halls. And if Adar truly wishes to know my feelings, you may tell him that I find you to be a better ruler than he has ever been."
Thranduil's thick brows rose in amusement. "I would start a civil war were I to write him such things."
"You are the one who asked for my feelings," Linwe reminded him.
"Yes. Remind me not to do that again." Thranduil turned back to his papers, trying to hide the smirk forming on his lips.
The chair he sat in was high-backed, with purple velvet cushions and Linwe wanted to go and sit in his lap, lean his head against the cushions and kiss bruises into his pale flesh until he couldn't take it any longer. There was a window to his left, one of the few in the kingdom. They were high in the forest, and the view was breathtaking: the Long Lake, the tops of Esgaroth's dingy buildings and the peak of the Lonely Mountain. The sun shone through the glass, and somehow the effect made the surface reflective.
Linwe had to look twice to be sure that she was really seeing properly when she gasped out the king's name.
He looked up, wondering what was wrong, and he saw Linwe's already pale face ashen, her dark eyes wide open and her mouth dropped with shock. "What is it? What do you see?"
"Your face...in the glass…" She was worried, now that the shock was beginning to wear off. His face was hollow, open and raw from a wound that never healed. Was it some trick?
Thranduil closed his eyes, ashamed and embarrassed. All these years he had kept his deformity and shame hidden, and sunlight, of all things, had to sabotage his secrecy in an instant. He sighed, and slowly dropped the glamour, showing Linwe what he really looked like.
She stepped up to where he sat and faced him. He still had his eyes closed and his face was downcast in shame, looking as wounded as he felt. This was a new side of the Elvenking, a side Linwe was positive precious few ever saw. He was not the great ruler, but instead was the Elf he had been before ascending to the throne. He was so vulnerable, so sad and so very beautiful.
Not realizing just what she was doing, she gently placed her hand on the Elvenking's chin and tilted his head upwards to face her. He opened his eyes and her heart broke, seeing the white film over the left eye.
"Can you see?" she asked him.
He shook his head. "Everything is a milky white glaze. I can barely make out shadows from my left eye."
Her hand left his chin and ghosted over the wounds. They were vicious and deep, healed but forever prevalent. "Does it hurt?"
Her voice was barely a whisper, filled with a kindness and compassion Thranduil had never before heard directed at him. It went straight to his heart like an arrow, and he felt a weight there as if he wanted to cry.
"It is but a dull ache now. At times I do not even feel it," he replied, lying. It was a constant, itchy burn that he felt even in sleep. That was his sentence for not being a better son and husband: eternal pain and irritation.
He felt her cool palm cup his good cheek, her fingers tracing the skin she had always wondered about. His skin was as soft as it looked, the cheekbones sharp beneath the softness. This was not normal behavior for Elves: it was too intimate. Thranduil felt stifled by the closeness, but he would never dare to dream to ask her to move away from him. Despite being unused to the close proximity, this soft touch was welcome and sweet, as comforting as mead in the cold winter months.
"Can no one heal it?" she asked her voice even softer. He shook his head no. Her thumb traced small circles on his cheek, sending pleasant shivers through his body. They never lost eye contact. Her other hand came to rest in his hair, twining the silken strands between her fingers.
"Everyone has tried. It is my penance," Thranduil said, barely able to get the words out. He had never felt like this before. In fact, he didn't think that any Elf ever had. He had never been touched so sweetly and tenderly before, and he had never, ever felt such love in his heart.
Linwe wanted to ask what it was penance for, but didn't want to pry any more than she had. This moment was surreal, beautiful, and she knew it would not last forever. She didn't want to waste it talking. She had gotten a glimpse into the locked soul of her king, and she wanted nothing more than to heal all of his wounds, physical and emotional.
Thranduil put one hand on the small of her back and the other played with her long, dark hair. Her skin was warm through the thin clothing, inviting. He knew all he needed to do was stand up and walk her a few yards to the bed and she would not protest, but something stopped him. This moment was more sacred than sex; they were sharing an even deeper bond, if that were possible.
The sunlight came through the window, turning her pendant into starlight, and reflecting in his one good eye, making it sparkle like a jewel.
"Do you think badly of me now?" he asked her quietly.
"Badly? Why would I? Because you were once injured?" Linwe's thumb traced his pouty, pink bottom lip. "You are a brave warrior, my king. I respect you even more for soldiering on even though you are in constant pain." Yes, she knew he had been lying. There was no way that this scar did not still hurt him.
He took her hand in his, letting go of her hair, and kissed the palm softly, eliciting a soft gasp from the princess. He looked up at her and she felt her heartbeat continue to speed up. He let her hand go and cupped her face in his hand. He was about to pull her down and finally feel her lips on his when they both heard Tauriel in the hall, calling Linwe's name.
It broke the spell they were under, and Thranduil released Linwe from his grasp, putting his glamour back up and looking as perfect as he always did, save for a light blush across his cheeks.
"You must go," he said, his voice hiding all of his regrets. He was the cold Elvenking again, all traces of the Elf she had just been with vanishing in a split second.
She nodded, and bowed to him before leaving his chambers, her mask also in place. How alike we are, melamin, she thought as she entered the hallway, meeting the guard Elf and halting her frantic search.
"What happened? I thought perhaps you had gotten in trouble," Tauriel said worriedly.
"No. Thranduil was writing a letter to Adar, and he asked me to add a few lines," Linwe lied easily. Tauriel continued to talk, but Linwe was not listening. Her mind was instead on soft skin and even softer lips that had touched her just moments ago.
That was my chance, she thought. What if I never get another?
Thranduil held his head in his hands, his skin on fire with desire and his heart racing. While he was ashamed of himself for his actions and his thoughts, he was regretful that that lowly Elf had to come and ruin the most magical moment he had ever had.
He had never laid himself bare like that emotionally. What had happened in those moments? He checked the sun. It had barely been fifteen minutes, if that, but it had felt like an eternity for him. What had Linwe felt? What was she feeling now? Had he only had another few minutes to speak to her...
Note to self, he thought, have someone install a door on my chambers!