At Your Mercy
The harsh winter in Mirkwood and the absence of a certain Elvenking do not leave you any other choice than hoarding all the blankets you can get.
Rating: General Audiences Fandom: The Hobbit Prompt: Imagine how Thranduil convicts you of late-night blanket stealing. Pairing: Thranduil Oropherion x Reader Type: Reader insert, one-shot, fluff Date: 16th February, 2015 Words: 1977 Warnings: Pure unadulterated fluff. A way too cheesy plotline. Overprotective Thranduil. Grammatically questionable Sindarin: “my love” (meleth nîn), “sweet dreams” (elei velui) and “love of my life” (meleth e-guilen). A/N: This is the first and the only story that made it through my gigantic writer’s block. It is not more than an apprentice piece I wrote two years ago based on an imagine on @sindarinkisses, a now inactive Tolkien writing blog. Beta’d: @jezvontesse
You cursed under your breath as you finally managed to close the window made of heavy crystal glass with a thud and a clink. You exhaled heavily and watched how your clouded breath began to melt some of the frost tracery on the window panes. You were beyond tired. Wanting to close your eyes just for a moment, you felt how your forehead slowly met the cold glass.
A sudden shiver went through your body as the wind blew, causing the window to clink again as snow grains were sprinkled against the glass. The winter held the Woodland Realm hostage. As much as you enjoyed the peace and light the snow brought about that tormented forest, the icy cold winter nights in the caverns and great halls of the castle being delved deeply in the underground were something you could not get used to.
You have retired late for the night, but the private quarters you share with your husband, Thranduil, the King of the Woodland Realm, in the upper levels of the castle had not been prepared yet. The daily life in the palace has become subject to the council which the King was actually hosting. It was an urgently rushed meeting with delegates who worried over the recent signs of the darkness and the rumours about an upcoming menace from beyond the borders of your realm.
The cracking of a fire being lit by a servant at the fireside suddenly distracted you from your thoughts. Since the council began, you have taken over the duties of the King in addition to your tasks as the Queen. You were exhausted beyond measure. As the subtle, yet tangy scent of pine needles slowly filled the room, you felt weighted down with weariness. A maid entered to bring towels and herbs, and you did not wish for anything more than to immerse your body into a hot bath to warm up your cold muscles, your stiff fingers, your numb toes and to get rid of that frosty coat which seemed to separate your bare skin from the warming fabric of your winter dress. You shivered slightly from the cold and tried to supply your fingers with blood as you chafed your hands and followed the maid.
A sudden twinge of sadness hit your heart as your thoughts went out to Thranduil in the lower levels of the castle. You doubted you would get to see him anytime soon. It troubled you that you have not had any opportunity to talk to him since the council had begun three days ago.
The hot scented bath did not fail to have the desired relaxing effect on your body, but you still were dwelling too much on your worries and the events of the day to go to bed. You sighed with relief as you finally let yourself sink in one of the huge sofas surrounding the fireplace. You wore a simple, yet regal warm tunic and fitted trousers. You smirked as you wiggled your toes while thinking of Thranduil who often could not resist jesting on your utterly un-regal thick woolen socks.
Unfortunately, the socks were no remedy for your cold feet. Not long after you have grabbed a book and wrapped yourself up in a cozy richly quilted blanket, you felt your toes getting cold again. It was an annoying, but familiar feeling to you. You knew one blanket would not be enough to keep you warm over time, but you hesitated to call for a maid to get you another one. You were so tired of talking to others; you did not feel like asking for something or even give a simple order. You sigh. There were so many guests to play host to, it would be a pointless quest to even try to find a servant. You frowned and decided to ignore your cold feet.
Although the fire kept cracking and burning, the cold would not want to leave you. As the chills started crawling up to your knees, you tuck up your legs and cuddled up tighter in your blanket. As the freezing cold raised your hackles and sent shivers down your spine, you have not been able to focus on reading any more. You snapped your book shot and strode from the room, heading out for the nearest empty guest rooms to retrieve the additional blankets from the closets. You were going to just take one or two. You were aware your plan contained the risk of damaging the reputation of your hospitality, but you were not willing to freeze to death either.
Thranduil entered your private quarters swiftly and silently, eager to close the door and shut his obligations out. The council had taken a toll on him. Agreement had only been reached on conducting the negotiations without displaying any regalia of power and royalty: No weapons, no crowns. Thranduil needed quiet, but he doubted the realm was going to grant him this privilege for more than a couple of minutes.
Sleeping deeply, you did not hear the surprised chuckle he led out as he spotted your sleeping form in a pile of blankets on the sofa. You ended up hogging most of them in yours arms to use them as a body pillow while lying half on your side, half on your stomach. Your back was uncovered. Your feet and your legs were tightly wrapped up; the blankets looked all tangled up as if they intended to keep you their prisoner.
He would never tell you how much he enjoyed it to watch you lying there, peacefully smiling at the result of the battle of blankets which must have taken place some hours ago. You have been stealing blankets from Thranduil since your very first night together, and since then he has been bearing with you. He had tried a lot to avoid being robbed of covers and sheets every night, but you kept on outsmarting him.
You were too exhausted to wake up from the rustling of his robes as he gracefully paced across the room, a compassionate smile unfolding on his lips. You were too tired to feel the sofa dipping as he slowly settled at your side, careful not to startle you. He reached forward to tenderly stroke your face.
“Y/N….” Prickling trails from your temple to your jawline caused your features to grimace involuntarily. You switched from lying on your stomach to lying flat on your back.
“Wake up, meleth nîn.” His deep voice forced the sleep to retreat and pulled you out of its embrace. He continued to caress your skin as he cupped your cheek with one hand.
“T-thranduil…?” You muttered wearily. “I’m tired.”
“I know.” He stated while running his fingers through the strands of your hair. “Y/N, this is no proper place to sleep. You are going to feel uncomfortable soon. Let us get you to bed.”
“The council… any progress?” You ask low-voiced, not able to open your eyes. You tried to clear your blunt mind.
“It seems like I have finally convicted the criminal.” Thranduil stated this with all the sternness his voice could muster while trying to suppress a chuckle.
“A criminal? At the council?” Startled, your eyes snapped open. Feeling light-headed, you were giving your husband a puzzled look. He quickly reached forward to firmly press your shoulders down to restrain you from falling off the sofa.
“No.” He smirked at your confusion and loosened his grip on your shoulders. “Right in front of me.” He locked eyes with you. “You have stolen all those blankets from our guest rooms, have you not?”
“Hmm… guilty of that.” You mutter and slowly blink, eyelids heavy. Thranduil’s hands on your shoulders sent waves of warmth over your chilly skin.
“You must feel very cold.” Thranduil slightly tilted his head and removed his hands from your shoulders to gently stroke up and down your arms. The sudden loss of his warm touch made you instantly shiver and reminded you of how much you were freezing.
“Those blankets are sheer traitors.” You frowned, trying to catch the affectionate glimpse in his intense blue eyes.
“In what way?” Thranduil suppressed another chuckle and cupped your cheeks, not breaking the eye contact.
“They are collaborating with the cold. They let the frost… assassinate me.” You mutter against his chest as he leaned forward to plant a soft kiss onto your forehead. You smelled the warm and spicy notes of cypress and cedar in Thranduil’s scent.
A hurried beating at the door followed by a messenger entering the room and stammering his apologies interrupted your intimate moment. Startled and vexed about the bold invasion of his privacy, you felt Thranduil’s muscles tense up as he squared his shoulders.
“Lower your voice!” He hissed sharply through clenched teeth in direction of the door. With rapid strides, Thranduil approached the messenger. You closed your eyes as sleep dragged on you. You were too tired to focus on the spoken words, but you already knew your husband would have to leave you for all-night negotiations at the council.
Thranduil would never tell you that he sensed your discomfort like he felt every leaf moving in the forest of the realm. He would never let you know how it was subtly unsettling him. He could not bear the thought of leaving you there, all tangled up in merely useless blankets with your body still tensed up and uneasy. Before he headed back to the lower levels of the palace to attend a council being at risk to shift the main points from diplomacy to war, he wanted to assure that at least you were well.
“Meleth nín, let this go.” Demanded his deep sounding voice. His light hands and deftly fingers twitched the fabric out of your hands. “Leave those traitorous blankets with me.”
With swift movements, he started unfurling the blankets to get you out of the tangle. He needed to use enough force to set you free but had to stay gentle enough not to fully wake you up. Thranduil may be used to your blanket theft, but he never grew fond of talking down his startled grouchy sleep-deprived wife after reclaiming sheets, covers, and blankets too roughly.
“Uh-uh… no…” You muttered incoherently. Your hands were blindly reaching out to reclaim the blankets. “I got this … under control.”
Thranduil brought his lips close to your ear. “I do not doubt that. But given that this is a case of high treason, it is utterly my task to carry out the sentence.” He stated his voice comforting and warm like velvet.
“Please … stop it!” You plead while he removed the last of your blankets. “I’m freezing to death!”
“Do not be afraid, Y/N. It will be much better soon.” He tried to soothe. He loosened the clasp from his oversized red cloak and took it off before settling at your side again.
“Give them… back!” You were about to lose your temper, but neither your mind nor your body wanted to cooperate. “They are… at my mercy… you…”
Thranduil who was about to spread out his cloak over you abruptly held his movement. The rustling of the heavy embroidered fabric stopped immediately as he lowered his hands.
“I have always been… at your mercy.” He simply stated.
You only noticed his husky voice, but you did not catch the content. With one swift movement, Thranduil draped the cloak over your sleeping form. As he wrapped you up, you felt your body relaxing under his touch. The cloak had stored his body warmth as well as his scent. You recognized the familiar spicy notes of cypress and cedar and the fruity notes of cassis and red berries.
“Elei velui, meleth e-guilen.” Thranduil murmured, before he tenderly kissed your forehead. Sleep had finally embraced you, as he was taking his leave.