Chapter Text
The world came into focus slowly, the edges of your vision blurring as though you were emerging from a long and heavy sleep. The first thing you noticed was the light—golden and soft, filtering through something green and alive.
You tried to move, but your limbs felt foreign, heavier than they should. A pounding headache pulsed at the back of your skull, and your stomach churned with unease. Slowly, you blinked, taking in your surroundings. You were lying on a bed, carved of pale wood and draped with silken fabrics. Around you, towering trees stretched high into a vaulted ceiling of golden light.
Voices, low and melodic, reached your ears. They spoke in a language that was both beautiful and incomprehensible, their tones urgent yet restrained. Panic began to creep in as you realized you didn’t recognize this place.
And then you saw him.
A figure stood at the edge of the room, cloaked in a regal air of authority that made your breath catch. His long, platinum hair fell in perfect waves over his shoulders, and his sharp, angular features seemed carved from stone. He was dressed in a robe of muted silver and green, his presence commanding but not unkind.
His eyes—piercing, ice-blue—were fixed on you with an intensity that made your heart race. There was something in his gaze that felt like a weight, heavy with longing, pain, and disbelief.
“Who are you?” you croaked, your voice barely above a whisper.
The room fell silent. The other figures in the room—tall, elegant beings with pointed ears and ethereal grace—looked at the man, waiting for his response. He stepped closer, his movements deliberate, as though each step carried immense weight.
“You do not remember,” he said softly, his voice deep and smooth, laced with a sorrow that seemed centuries old.
You shook your head weakly, your breath trembling. “I do not … Where am I? What is happening?”
His expression faltered, a flicker of something raw crossing his features. “You are in the Woodland Realm,” he said. “In my halls.”
“Woodland Realm?” you repeated, your heart pounding as a sense of wrongness settled over you. “I do not understand.”
At that, the man’s jaw tightened, and he glanced at the others in the room, motioning for them to leave. They obeyed silently, their footsteps whispering against the floor. Once the room was empty save for the two of you, he turned back to you, his gaze softening.
“You may not understand this now,” he said quietly, “but you are my wife.”
The words struck you like a physical blow, and you froze, staring at him in disbelief. “Your… wife?” you stammered. “No. No, that is not possible.”
He knelt beside you, his presence overwhelming in its intensity. “It is true. You were lost to me long ago, taken from this world by death itself. I have grieved you every day since. And yet, here you are, alive before me once more. How?”
Your breath came in short gasps as you shook your head, tears pricking at your eyes. “I am not her,” you said desperately. “I do not know who you think I am, but I am not your wife. I do not recognize you. I do not even know how I got here.”
His eyes softened, though the sadness in them deepened. “Your words… they cut deeply,” he admitted. “And yet, I cannot deny what I see. You wear her form—her face, her presence. Even your voice… it is hers.”
You turned your head away, unable to meet his gaze. Your reflection caught your eye, and your stomach dropped. A tall mirror stood nearby, and in it, you saw yourself—or rather, someone else entirely.
The woman staring back at you was strikingly beautiful, her hair a rich, dark brown that cascaded over her shoulders in soft waves, pointed ears peeking through. Her features were sharp yet delicate, her skin luminous in a way that seemed almost otherworldly.
“No,” you whispered, tears spilling over as panic surged through you. “That is not me. That cannot be me. I do not recognize this face.”
The man reached out, his hand hesitating before gently resting on your arm. “You are unwell,” he said, his voice filled with quiet concern. “Whatever force has returned you to me, it has left you disoriented. But you are here. You are real.”
“I do not understand,” you cried, your voice breaking. “I do not belong here. I do not know this place, and I do not know you.”
He pulled back slightly, pain flashing in his eyes, though he kept his composure. “I am Thranduil,” he said. “King of the Woodland Realm. And you… you were my queen. My wife. My love.”
The weight of his words pressed down on you, suffocating in their intensity. “I do not remember,” you whispered, clutching the silken fabric of your gown as your hands trembled.
Thranduil’s expression softened further, and he leaned closer, his voice gentle. “I ask for nothing but your presence,” he said. “You do not need to remember. You do not need to become anyone but yourself. That is enough.”
You looked at him, tears streaming down your face. His sincerity was undeniable, yet it only made the confusion and fear in your chest grow.