Chapter Text
To you, your sister’s wedding is as important as your own. It is an event that should only be missed if one is on their death bed. This is the only time your sister will ever marry and you are determined to not miss it.
Your husband, unfortunately, does not see it you way.
Party and wine-enthusiast Thranduil holds at least four feasts a year, the most important being the Feast of Starlight. Your sister’s wedding falls on the date of one of these feasts, but as it is not the most important feast of the year, you assumed Thranduil would not mind taking you to the wedding.
You assumed wrong.
“Absolutely not.”
It takes you a few moment to realise that Thranduil has refused you. He never refuses you.
“Thranduil, ninya venno, all I ask is for seven days. You will scarcely notice my absence.”
Thranduil does not look at you. His eyes rest firmly on his kingdom, a view provided from one of the few windows high enough to overlook the forest. “You’re right, I will not note your absence. For I will be required to come too.”
“You do not have to come. My sister will understand.”
“But the visiting dignitaries will not. What message will it send if the King of Mirkwood is not present at the wedding of his wife’s sister?”
You sigh. You care little for what the lesser lords and gossiping ladies will think. Their thoughts disturb hardly a leaf within this kingdom. “Then join me in the celebrations.”
“I will not.” Thranduil replies adamantly. “I have planned this feast for a year.”
“Yes, and you will plan the next one for just as long. Why is this feast so important to you? It falls on no date of importance.”
Thranduil turns to face you know, his brow furrowed deeply. “I would not expect you to understand.” He says shortly, before striding across the room to the door which leads to his private study. He has spent too much time in his study. The recent months have seen him working hard and sleeping little. He is on the brink of exhaustion and he’s stressed to the point of sickness. But you won’t let him order you around.
“Of course I do not understand if you won’t tell me!” you follow him, determined to not let him sway you. “Thranduil, this is the wedding of my little sister. I have no other siblings. Will you not let me say goodbye to her?”
“You will see her after the wedding. She is marrying another elf, not sailing for the Undying Lands.”
You grit your teeth and press your hands firmly against your thighs. For whatever reason, Thranduil has chosen to be stubborn. You need to handle this with care. “Thranduil, please. I have not asked you for anything this important in out ten years of marriage. Will you not let me see her on her wedding day?”
“No.”
The answer is so blunt, so emotionless, so decisive, that you feel as though he has slammed a door in your face. It makes your blood boil.
“You cannot stop me.” You state defiantly. “I am going and if you cannot give me a proper reason as to why I cannot go, then you can give me a proper reason as to why I should return.”
“You will stay here because I demand it of you.” Thranduil snaps, seating himself at his desk as though this is a daily occurrence between the two of you.
“You demand it of me?” You scoff. “I am not some serving girl that you can order around. I am your wife. A queen.”
“You are queen only because I have married you.”
“Yes, because before you I had to beg for my food on the streets.” You glower at him. “I held position and power before you, Thranduil. You have only made me your equal.”
Thranduil looks up at you with cold, unforgiving eyes. “You are to remain here, in these halls, even if I have to lock you in your chambers myself. You are not attending the wedding, you are not leaving this kingdom and you are not going to argue with me about this.”
You consider arguing with him, but your mother taught you that actions speak louder than words. You turn and stalk from the room, intending to fetch your bags from your room.
When you had packed your bags you had not thought that Thranduil would deny you this, but now that he had your pre-packed bags would give you the opportunity to-
A cold hand grips your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.
You turn to argue with your husband, to demand that he lets you go, but your words catch in your throat. There is an anger in Thranduil’s eyes that you have never seen before.
“I am your king.” He hisses. “You will do as I command!”
You try to pull your wrist from his hand, but his grip is strong. “I am your wife!” you retort. “I do not take orders from you!”
“If I hadn’t been for me you would be stuck in that pitiful excuse for a home!”
That hurts more than his long, thin fingers against your wrist. Your home meant everything to you, and you thought he knew that. “I am sorry you had to marry someone from that pitiful place.” You snap. “I will see my sister wed and there is nothing you can do to stop me.”
“You will do as I say or I will lock you in this room!”
“You will not!” you tug your wrist again, but his grip is unyielding.
“I will do what I wish. I am your king. You owe me.”
“I owe you nothing!” You’re speaking through gritted teeth, a result of the frustration and the dull pain.
Thranduil yanks on your wrist, pulling you against his chest. “If it weren’t for me you’d have been married to some peasant like the whore you were mistaken for!”
Crack!
The elf king stumbles back, his eyes wide and his cheek red. In his surprise he’s released your wrist. The stress and the exhaustion is gone and his eyes focus on you like he’s seeing you for the first time.
“Nine calwa indis.” He whispers, horror lacing his voice. He takes a step forwards and you take two steps back. “I am sorry. Goheno nin.”
“Stay away from me!”
Thranduil is taller than you and he easily closes the gap between the two of you. He reaches for your hand to inspect your wrist, but a smack to his shoulder throws off his aim.
The king is persistent and the following three hits don’t deter him. He cups your face and you have to plant the point of your elbow in the crook of his. The motion has him bending suddenly to the side and you step out around him, giving him a firm push that sends him stumbling.
Whilst he rights himself you run from the room, tears welling in your eyes.
The tears spill over and run down your cheeks and you race down the corridor, ignoring his pleas to stop.