He loved her - he really loved her.
She was so beautiful, no, the word beautiful couldn't even describe her in his mind. Outstandingly gorgeous beyond belief might just do the trick. No, before anyone said it, he denied that he was shallow, even he couldn't fathom the reason why she married a fool like him in their younger years. But she was just as beautiful as she was the day he met her, on a crisp autumn evening in his fathers Kingdom of Mirkwood.
She had long platinum blonde hair that cascaded down her shoulders like the waterfalls they would used to visit, and just as smoothly as his fingers went through the rushing water, his fingers went so smoothly through her tresses. It was something he grew to love. She had the most beautiful, flawless porcelain skin he had ever seen - when the sun shone down upon it, he swore he went blind. (Though it clearly faded away afterwards.) And how could he not remember - those beautiful sparkling blue eyes that always seemed to have a mischievous twinkle in them. He found love in those eyes, he found comfort when he stared into them, he felt as if her loving arms were wrapped around him in a tight embrace, he felt like he didn't need a home because he had her by his side.
That's when he knew he loved her - when he found that safety and closer in that pair of beautiful glowing orbs.
There was something she used to make down by the river when they were younger, from little round berries she happily picked off ripened bushes along the stream, and little green leaves from the adjacent bushes. Sitting contently upon a large mossy rock, she would sit for hours upon hours, her nimble little fingers weaving twigs together in a quite royal manor. When finished, she weaved the smaller twigs that held the ripe berries and decorated the longer twigs, making sure they were evenly spaced out. She would place one upon her head, and one upon his and when she was finished, and he saw that glimmer reappear in her eyes, because he saw that these were something she truly loved to make.
But that was then. When she was a happy young elf that fell head over heels for the son of Oropher, when she still had that glimmer in her eyes, when she was bounding down the great halls looking for her love with such a joyous step. When she would awaken every morning to take a stroll through the castle and down into the forest to see what she could collect. When she would find a secluded spot overlooking the castle gardens and play her flute. She was always so full of life. She grounded him in his time of needs and frustrations and when he needed something to lift his spirits.
When he pressed his hand upon her tear stained cheek, he saw no life left in the elven woman he fell for. His trembling hand pressed against the soft flesh of her cheek and his thumb gently rubbed across almost hesitantly. The bright eyes he saw a day before were now gone - replaced with half lidded, dull, lifeless eyes he did not know. The glint was gone, blown away from a single hit she took.
"No.." He whispered almost inaudibly as fate smacked him across the back of his head - realization came hard and fast when she stared lifelessly at him - but she could not see anything. Gently picking her head off the cold hard ground, he brought it closer to his chest, he now took rapid shallow breaths in.
Her once beautiful untangled hair was now made a mess, matted together with slowly drying blood that had erupted from the corners of her mouth. Her porcelain skin was now stained with the steady streams of blood that drooled down the sides of her face, trickling down into her hair and onto the floor of the castle foyer. Weaving his fingers through her hair lovingly, he never tore his eyes off the woman he loved - because for whatever reason, he believed that her eyes would flicker with life and gaze up at him once more. Pulling her body against his chest, he held her closer than he ever had before.
He paid no mind to her blood soaked abdomen that now bled through to his silken robes, he paid no mind that blood still gushed from her open wound, even if he still believed she could still survive this. He paid no mind to the guards and castle servants that looked down upon them from their duties, with wide open eyes and shocked parted lips.
Taking a deep breath in, he pulled himself away from her rugged body and inspected the damage - not that he needed to. The fact that his beloved wife and Queen had passed on, no longer able to grace everybody's presence with her heart warming smile. Right smack in the middle of her abdomen was a gushing, torn, bloody wound. It was most likely a sword through the back or a dagger through the front, was what the Elven King could muster through the mass jumbled thoughts that soared through his mind.
The one thing that he needed in life was gone - ripped away from him in a matter of moments. He no longer felt safe when he was around her, he no longer felt like this castle was his home, but rather a dungeon that would always remind him of the love he once had. What did his title mean now that he had no love to share it with? What was a King without his Queen? What if he had never accepted the title of King of the Elves, would she still be alive?
With a furrowed brow, he gently laid her back against the cold flooring of his castle, hesitantly at that. That would have been the last time he held her, the last time he ever felt her body against his, the last time he would have ever ran his fingers through her silky locks of gold. He gulped thickly and fought the tears back - because he was a King now, and he needed to act like one. But as he reminded himself of that, his fists balled up, his knuckles became white, and they shook almost violently.
No. He told himself mentally. It isn't worth it.. Standing up, his glossed over eyes looked over her body once more before cocking his head to the side and staring at a guard with a stoic expression. "Have her body taken to the morgue for cleaning and preparation." His face became sullen as the words escaped his mouth. She was to be buried in the earth for good, and here he was ready to leave her body to the servants.
Oh - but he just couldn't bear to look at her hurt, bloody body any longer!
Spinning on his heels, the Elven King strode away from the scene of the crime, only now letting the tears well up in his eyelids. "Search the perimeter. I want every guard on lookout for the rest of the night." He finally announced as he climbed the steps to his empty throne, yet something interesting caught his eye. Something that he needed to protect with his life now - something that the estranged attackers might be after.
Striding over to the large piece of furniture next to his throne, he licked his now dry and cracked lips in a nervous anticipation - will he see something he wouldn't like? Wrapping his fingers on the railing of the fitting, he peered down with nervous eyes and a sporadically beating heart. In a split second, it all died down within him - not shutting down like when he had first seen the love of his life sprawled across the floor of his castle with a pool of blood around her, but more like something was reincarnated within him - something to strive for!
A tiny little body lay within the confinement of the elegantly made crib, peering up at the man with his big curious eyes. It was his son, their son. His face remained stoic, yet on the inside he let out a heavy sigh of relief - the attackers had not killed his son! The only remnant of the woman he had left! Slowly reaching inside the crib, he brought his son up to his chest and gazed into his eyes worriedly. Had they slipped him something poisonous? Perhaps gave him a cut? Carefully checking his son all around, he concluded that no, the attackers had not injured him physically.
Legolas... The Elven King sighed and cradled his child close to his chest once more, a heavy weight now lifting off his shoulders. His son was only a few weeks old - and his mother was snatched away from him! How cruel a fate for his little elfling!
Taking a few steps to the side, the King sat upon his throne that he very much adored, but at the moment he could not admire it's gracefulness. He didn't even notice it. Letting his eyelids flutter shut, he was lost once again in his thoughts - something he found verily dangerous. He tried to look at the plus side - his son was alive and well (from what he could tell). His brows furrowed because that was the only reason he found.
He sighed and cracked his eyes open for a moment, clutching the little bundle closer to his chest protectively. How am I to carry on without her?
AN: Just how I imagined Legolas' mother and King Thranduil's wife to be. (Well, how she was.)
Disclaimer: I don't own any of Tolkien's works like The Hobbit or Lord Of The Rings.