Thranduil Sneezed
This was once meant to be the beginning of a Thranduil/Eol story, but somehow it turned into its own little thing while I wasn't looking.
The characters belong to Tolkien. I'm just playing with them.
~~~~~~~~~
Thranduil sneezed.
He hadn’t meant to do such a ridiculous thing. Puppies sneezed when they stuck their noses where they didn’t belong; horses sometimes sneezed and shook their heads when they emerged from a shady forest to a patch of bright sunlight; it was even quite possible that those strange man creatures sneezed when they fell prey to the age sickness. But he had never heard an elf sneeze. Certainly not. Thranduil wondered if he were somehow abnormal.
It had happened at the most inopportune time, too. He had been crouching behind some snow-blanketed underbrush just downwind of at winter-thin stag. Of course, his family’s attic at home was filled to the brim with salted and smoked venison, and the herd would be weaker for the loss of the stag come spring, but he could practically taste the fresh meat just by looking at the beast. Nellas, crouched right in front of him, had echoed his soft sigh. He'd looked at the little girl shivering there in her inadequate clothing and wondered when she had last eaten. Nellas looked thinner than the pathetic deer. He had reached back for an arrow for his quiver, meaning to stand up silently, aim, and shoot in one swift moment. He had done it a thousand times before. It should have been so simple.
But no. Just at that moment, a wind rustled in the treetops. Nellas, the deer, and he all looked up at the sound. Down the wind came, blowing cold snowflakes onto their upturned faces, Thranduil looked down just as the wind whipped past them, catching a strand of Nellas’s hair and blowing it directly into his nostril. First it tickled, then it itched uncontrollably, and finally an unaccustomed pressure built up behind his eyes. His nose exploded violently. At least, it had felt that way. Now, he reached up to feel it just to make sure it still resided on his face.
He looked through teary eyes at the hind end of the deer disappearing into the woods. Nellas regarded him with astonishment.
“What was that?”
“Uh, nothing”
“Right.” Nellas rolled her eyes. “Really, Thranduil, you’ll never be a march warden like your father if you can’t keep quiet when you’re stalking prey.”
“I don’t want to be a--“ he scowled. “Never mind. Let’s just get you home. It’s getting colder out here by the moment.” He turned and started to walk toward home, not bothering to see whether she followed.
Nellas looked at his retreating back curiously for a moment, then ran to catch up.
“If you don’t want to be a march warden, what do you want to do?”
Thranduil shook his head. Everyone expected him to be a march warden just like his father, and it was best not to shatter that illusion--he rather enjoyed the little girl‘s hero worship. Besides, she might be years younger than he, and extremely shy to boot, but that wouldn’t prevent her from laughing at him.
What he really wanted to do was make jewelry. Well, not exactly make jewelry so much as have a lot of jewelry, but he figured becoming the greatest jewel smith in the history of Arda was as close as he could reasonably come to achieving his ambition. Nellas would think he was kidding. His father would think he was mad.
"Oh," Thranduil answered breezily, saying the most ridiculous thing he could imagine so that he wouldn't have to tell the truth, "When I grow up, I'm going to be the king."
"Sure, and I'm going to be a maia. You're so stupid sometimes."
"I know." Thranduil grinned. "Royally stupid."
On fanfiction.net
On AO3
The characters belong to Tolkien. I'm just playing with them.
~~~~~~~~~
Thranduil sneezed.
He hadn’t meant to do such a ridiculous thing. Puppies sneezed when they stuck their noses where they didn’t belong; horses sometimes sneezed and shook their heads when they emerged from a shady forest to a patch of bright sunlight; it was even quite possible that those strange man creatures sneezed when they fell prey to the age sickness. But he had never heard an elf sneeze. Certainly not. Thranduil wondered if he were somehow abnormal.
It had happened at the most inopportune time, too. He had been crouching behind some snow-blanketed underbrush just downwind of at winter-thin stag. Of course, his family’s attic at home was filled to the brim with salted and smoked venison, and the herd would be weaker for the loss of the stag come spring, but he could practically taste the fresh meat just by looking at the beast. Nellas, crouched right in front of him, had echoed his soft sigh. He'd looked at the little girl shivering there in her inadequate clothing and wondered when she had last eaten. Nellas looked thinner than the pathetic deer. He had reached back for an arrow for his quiver, meaning to stand up silently, aim, and shoot in one swift moment. He had done it a thousand times before. It should have been so simple.
But no. Just at that moment, a wind rustled in the treetops. Nellas, the deer, and he all looked up at the sound. Down the wind came, blowing cold snowflakes onto their upturned faces, Thranduil looked down just as the wind whipped past them, catching a strand of Nellas’s hair and blowing it directly into his nostril. First it tickled, then it itched uncontrollably, and finally an unaccustomed pressure built up behind his eyes. His nose exploded violently. At least, it had felt that way. Now, he reached up to feel it just to make sure it still resided on his face.
He looked through teary eyes at the hind end of the deer disappearing into the woods. Nellas regarded him with astonishment.
“What was that?”
“Uh, nothing”
“Right.” Nellas rolled her eyes. “Really, Thranduil, you’ll never be a march warden like your father if you can’t keep quiet when you’re stalking prey.”
“I don’t want to be a--“ he scowled. “Never mind. Let’s just get you home. It’s getting colder out here by the moment.” He turned and started to walk toward home, not bothering to see whether she followed.
Nellas looked at his retreating back curiously for a moment, then ran to catch up.
“If you don’t want to be a march warden, what do you want to do?”
Thranduil shook his head. Everyone expected him to be a march warden just like his father, and it was best not to shatter that illusion--he rather enjoyed the little girl‘s hero worship. Besides, she might be years younger than he, and extremely shy to boot, but that wouldn’t prevent her from laughing at him.
What he really wanted to do was make jewelry. Well, not exactly make jewelry so much as have a lot of jewelry, but he figured becoming the greatest jewel smith in the history of Arda was as close as he could reasonably come to achieving his ambition. Nellas would think he was kidding. His father would think he was mad.
"Oh," Thranduil answered breezily, saying the most ridiculous thing he could imagine so that he wouldn't have to tell the truth, "When I grow up, I'm going to be the king."
"Sure, and I'm going to be a maia. You're so stupid sometimes."
"I know." Thranduil grinned. "Royally stupid."
On fanfiction.net
On AO3