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two-white-butterflies · 27 days ago

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the butterfly and the tree | thranduil

Description: Theradis has always been fascinated with the rivers and rocks, cursed with the burden of foresight. This is the story of Thranduil's doomed queen.

Warning: Angst. Slight OC x Annatar if u catch my drift.

Word Count: <5k

A/N: A longer version of my fic 'Cassandra' and 'How Long' this fails the reverse bechdel test. canon diveregent ik but we do it for the plot.

There were things in the darkness that remained unseen. A darkness has been plaguing Theradis’s dreams, it watched her; watched the events unfold, but remained silent. When she was younger, the dreams were tame – one of her brothers breaking their mother’s favorite vase or her sister scraping her knees while running down the halls.

As she grew accustomed to the darkness, the dreams turned grim.

It played in her head repeatedly: Greenwood marred by darkness, and the elves fleeing to Valinor. It left her haunted.

“My child,” her father places a hand on her shoulder, he knew the burden of foresight too well. “Darling,” he whispered again, seeing tears gather in the corners of her eyes.

Despite his attempts in reviving her from the drown, her trance does not break. Theradis remains inside of her dreams. Father’s eyebrows merged together, able to see both fear and sadness in her features. Theradis – Luthien incarnate, and in tears. “Does she wake?” Elladan breaks the silence, both father and son share a knowing glance.

This has been a common occurrence in the household. When the moon is at its peak, and the members of House Elrond are in deep sleep – Theradis wakes, and dreams of the future. “Return to your room, my son. There are things that should be beyond your concern,” Elrond forces a smile on his face, but it does not reach his eyes.

A sigh escapes the younger twin’s mouth.

Theradis will always be his concern. His older sister, who had a gentle disposition and a kind smile. He takes a step forward, sitting beside the plump pillows that surrounded Theradis' body. The mattress shifts to accommodate their shared weight. “When the rain comes we’ll prepare barrels, but do not forsake the sun.” He pleaded, reaching for her clenched fists.

He unclenches them gently. It hurt him to see her like this, haunted by the inevitable, a future that she has no control in.

Almost instantly, her eyes open.

Father tries to calm her from the drown, but it is clear in her features that she is haunted. “Theradis,” Elrond repeats her elvish name. She takes ragged breaths, playing with the hems of her nightgown. She tries to speak but neither a croak or a whisper comes out of her mouth. The darkness was preventing her from speaking – preventing her from unfolding the future.

She claws at her forearm, tears flowing out of her eyes.

“Naneth,” she forces herself to whisper.

Soon after the prophecy, Lord Elrond called for all of his soldiers to follow the path that Lady Celebrian traveled on. Elladan and Elrohir tried to ask her questions, but the words refused to escape her mouth.

She tried to speak, tried to open her mouth – but no sound wanted to escape. She was a prisoner in her own mind – aware of what was to come, yet unable to do anything about it. Everywhere she went, every warning that she was able to muster out, it was useless, for she already found herself there.

Lady Galadriel entered her chambers, a light aura following after her. “Theradis,” Galadriel’s voice echoes throughout the closed chambers. “- you must fight against the darkness, you must tell us where your naneth is.” She added, her eyes focused on her granddaughter.

Theradis knew exactly where Celebrian was, but she could not say.

“I,” the younger elleth opened her mouth to speak, but all breath exited her lungs. Eru Illuvatar, why give me the strength to see the future, if you will not let me save the one that I love the most? “I cannot begin to imagine the sadness that you feel, there is a reason that the Valar make you unable to say, but as your grandmother – I beg of you.” Galadriel breathes.

Galadriel cannot stomach the thought of her daughter sitting inside of a damp cell, starving and stolen the right to bask in the warmth of the sun. All her sufferings, her tryst with Halbrand, the loss of her family – it will all be for nothing if her daughter is unsafe.

“I want nothing more than to tell you, but every time I do – all breath is robbed of my lungs.” Theradis cried, her hands on her chest. She grabs her grandmother’s forearm. “Please make it stop.” She begged, seeing the visions flash through her head in uncontrollable flashing lights of torture.

Galadriel silences her with an embrace.

A month later, Elladan and Elrohir arrived in Rivendell – both carrying the shell of their mother. All remnants of self control evades Theradis’s body, she traps herself inside of her room – not allowing anyone to enter. One night, Lord Celeborn is able to slip through – due to her forgetting to lock the door.

“It is not your fault,” he says, the only thing that she wanted to hear. “Celebrian will heal, and all will be fixed.” He adds, but they both know that it isn’t the truth. She burrows deeper into the warm floral sheets. “There are scars that cannot be healed here,” her voice is partly muffled by the sheets.

Celeborn does not reply.

She removes the sheets that cover her head, meeting the eyes of her grandfather. She sees the same fear and sadness behind his eyes, his pain is unfathomable. What does it feel to lose a child? Unbearable torture, is the only appropriate reply. To raise someone for thousands of years, only for an unworthy hand to pry them away from your hands, is disrespect.

The following day, mother left for the Grey Havens. She didn’t leave any letters, but Lady Galadriel says that she visited the children’s chambers in the middle of the night – pressing a kiss to their foreheads, and she left. Father escorted her to the shores, and it will be a long time until any of them are able to follow.

“You must eat.” Lady Galadriel encourages, her voice filled with tenderness. Theradis’s eyebrows merged together, memories of her mother’s imprisonment – and her appetite was ruined for years to come. “I’d rather not,” Theradis responds sharply.

It would be easier if these dreams left her line of thought, but it is impossible. These dreams have been plaguing her sleep, until the very thought of sleeping made her want to vomit. “You must learn,” Celeborn says – his tone mirroring her sharpness. The others were treating Theradis like a babe, customizing every movement so as to not cause her sadness, but Theradis needed to learn. She needed to tolerate her dreams, it is the only way.

“You don’t understand, adadar.” She whispers, keeping her eyes on the tablecloth. Every child thinks of their parents as indestructible, to see Celebrian in that manner – it broke her. “In any society there must be tolerance, you must tolerate your dreams, only then will you survive.” Celeborn’s voice turns rigid, a reminder of his past.

His granddaughter needed to learn how to tolerate madness, it is what he has been doing all of these years. Shaking hands with the Noldor, shaking hands with the descendants of Feanor – even when they are the cause of his family’s demise.

“I wish I could tell you that it will get better, but it will not. Life is filled with tragedies, Theradis. Luckily, we are elves and have the opportunity to go to the Grey Havens. Your mother is healed, there is no sorrow in her. When will you heal, Theradis? Will we lose you to the Grey Havens too?” He inquired.

Theradis begins to understand.

“I’m sorry for refusing to eat dinner, adadar.” Theradis apologizes. “I blame myself for naneth’s departure, I should have fought against the darkness. I've been victim of it far too long, falling into the illusion of Annatar, and now the dreams.” She whispers, her voice always sounded like a whisper – like a little mouse suddenly gaining the ability to speak. “You are strong, but there are things that you are yet to learn.” Celeborn says in a gentler tone now.

She takes a deep breath.

“I often ask Illuvatar why he gave me this gift, I am not the strongest of my siblings – nor am I anything like my father.” She admits, always insecure about her capabilities. “You remind me of Luthien, my child.” Celeborn remembers.

His cousin from so long ago.

“Luthien was able to bring the Dark Lord to his knees,” he chuckles at the memory. “Then I am nothing like her then, for I am unable to even open my mouth and reveal the location of naneth.” She breathes, not seeking approval but stating the obvious. “You look like her in some lights, she was exactly like you when we were elflings. Her nose was up in some book, refusing to participate in her father’s council until her thousandth name-day, where she finally was interested in the workings of King Thingol’s court. She would have made a wonderful Queen, but alas – she is for Beren.” Celeborn smiles bitterly.

Doomed and blessed Luthien.

“This meekness and gentleness of yours is not a bad trait. Do not blame yourself. I doubt that even if you had the ability to tell, that it would change anything in the future.” He comforts. He’d do anything to lift the boulder of foresight from his granddaughter.

“What a troubled life I must lead, then.” Her eyebrows relaxed.

“Come with us to Lothlorien, your grandmother will cast an enchantment – you won’t be able to remember those wicked dreams.” He suggested.

Lord Celeborn was right!

Lothlorien filled her with tranquility, a feeling of safety that she had previously lost. It felt like a warm blanket, a mother’s embrace, protecting her from the fall. “Thank you for letting me stay here, nananeth.” Theradis smiles, feeling warmth enter her body. “Lothlorien is your home too,” Lady Galadriel answers.

Happiness was beginning to return, starting from her stomach – to her shoulders – to her cheeks, the warmth invading her cold. “- you must rest, it has been a long journey.” Galadriel covers the younger elleth’s body with a blanket, mirroring their routine from when she was an elfling. “The dreams?” Theradis inquires, as it has been nagging her for a while now.

“They will not bother you,” Galadriel asserts, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Goodnight,” Theradis whispered – closing her eyes and falling into deep sleep before her grandmother could reply.

“Look at them, they are precious.” Her husband muses.

Erynlas and Legolas, the twins.

Erynlas inherited her mother’s raven-black hair, and her striking resemblance to Luthien. Legolas, however, inherited his father’s looks – although his mother’s gentle disposition. “A perfect mixture of us,” Theradis smiles, feeling her husband press a kiss to her neck, inhaling her scent of roses. “They are the better versions of us, meleth.” Thranduil breathes.

As if she is aware that this is a dream, Theradis turns around – meeting his amber hues. He has a perfect face, and both masculine and feminine features. He is beautiful. He looks like everything that she has ever desired, and in her heart – she could feel love. A love that does ask, or get jealous – but exists because it can, because it is second nature.

“Theradis,” he whispers her name like it is his breath. “- is all well?” he inquires, and she reaches for his cheeks - cupping it with her cold palms. “Yes.” she answers with a smile.

What more could she ask for?

A few decades later, her dream came true – and a man by the name of Thranduil arrived in Lothlorien, for reasons that she does know. All that she could remember was that she loves him, and has been waiting for him for all her life. “You are fascinated with nature?” Thranduil inquires, seeing her sitting on the riverbank – inspecting rocks and watching the river bend.

“I have always been,” she replied, patting the empty space beside her, inviting him to sit. Thranduil wonders if this is what Beren felt when meeting Luthien, entranced by Theradis’ blue gown, her hair moving to the power of the wind. More akin to Yavanna than elf or men. “- I’ve always dreamed of visiting Greenwood. It must feel good to live in a place where nature is unmarred by war,” she ponders placing the rock down and reaching for a caterpillar.

“It is indescribable, my lady.” He finds that he cannot take his eyes off her. “My grandfather visited once and he says that it reminds him of the first age, where everything was good, I assume.” She made an assumption, causing a chuckle.

Her eyebrows merged together, “Have I done something?” she asks and he shakes his head. “I would prefer to live in this age instead of the First,” he admits. His naneth was still alive then, but the gruesome torture – the fall of kingdoms. It was too much to bear, and he would rather live in solitude in Greenwood than face that again.

“The Valar were in this world, you could feel their fea in every rock and tree, but there was also carnage. Melkor seeking to tear our realm asunder. I find peace now, I believe.” He confesses, the first time that he has told anyone about this.

Behind Theradis’ eyes, he could see kindness – she was the type of elleth who had no meanness, or jealousy. Theradis is good, and Thranduil has spent a lot of time with people to understand their nature. “I feel happy for you…?” she pauses waiting for him to reveal his name, although she already knows. “Thranduil,” he smiles, shaking her hand.

“I am Theradis, daughter of Elrond.” She introduces herself.

He takes a look at the caterpillar that she is holding, “She will turn into a butterfly soon. A big blue butterfly.” He informs. “Really?” She asks, happiness flooding her features. “Yes, when they are at that size, it will only take another day for them to make cocoons.” He explains, moving a bit closer until he could see the caterpillar closely.

“If I could be any other creature, I would be a butterfly.” She admits.

“They only live for a day,” Thranduil frowns.

“What a glorious day to be alive.” She breathes.

She tilts her head, meeting his eyes. “What animal would you be, Thranduil?” She questions her first time uttering his name yet it felt normal. “I would not be an animal. I would be a tree, watching as everything grows – a wise mind that shall live forever.” He answers.

“Oh, how different we are.” She observes. Theradis wanted to live for one glorious day, while Thranduil wanted to live forever – unchanged, unmarred, but wise. “That is not such a bad thing, my lady.” He responds, and thus begins their friendship.

Theradis looked lovely in all the lights, each time that he glances at her, he finds himself taken aback by her beauty. “The trades between our kingdoms will be for the betterment of both realms,” Lady Galadriel explains – oblivious to the Prince unable to pay attention to her words. For he was staring at the lovely Theradis. “ – I hope that we find a middle ground, my prince. Lothlorien needs the fruits, and your kingdom needs grains.” Galadriel breathes, only beginning to realize that the person that she was talking to was not paying attention.

She turns around to look at the object of his attention, and to her surprise, he sees her looking at Theradis. A sigh escapes her mouth. “My prince,” she says much louder. “Lady Galadriel,” the man responds, mouth dripping with respect. “I hope that you convince your father to approve trading between our kingdoms.” Galadriel put it in simpler terms.

“Yes, my lady. I will make sure of it,” he promises.

Thranduil places a hat on Theradis’ head.

“Where did you find this?” She takes the hat off her head, holding it with the tips of her fingers – lest it come from somewhere disgusting. “On the ground,” he responds while nestling on the bottom of the tree branch beside her. “On the ground?” She raises an eyebrow.

Thranduil was a peculiar fellow, he seemed to reach levels of crazy that she herself is unable to reach. “It’s yours now,” he said and a chuckle escaped her mouth. “What if the owner accuses me of stealing this hat?” She queries, placing the hat on the ground. “I asked around and no one claimed it. Celeborn says that I should keep it, but it is unkingly to wear a hat.” Thranduil plays with the tips of Theradis’ hair. “- but you are not a king, and this hat is wet.” She rolls her eyes.

“It came from me! You are disgusted with me.” He accused.

“Yes, I’ve seen you eat something that fell on the ground.” She points out.

“Not on the ground, on the table and it was an orange. An orange that still had a peel on.” He argues with a smile. “Peel or without a peel, I’m not wearing that hat.” She crosses her arms in a huff. “I’ll give it to someone else more thankful,” he taunts.

“I don’t care.”

“You don’t care?”

“Not a single bit.”

“Pfft,”

“Pfft.”

“Fine,” he rolls his eyes.

“Fine,” she teases.

“I’ve not heard the sound of a harp for a long time,” Theradis admits, sitting on the ground beside Thranduil. He was playing with his harp, allowing the soft music to fill the garden with tranquility. “Really? It must be horrible living in silence,” He teases.

He freezes only when he sees that look in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes and she forces a smile on her face. “My mother liked playing instruments. I assume that is where my aversion comes from.” She tells, and he remembers the story of Celebrian’s abduction. Theradis is her daughter, and the pain of losing a mother – is a pain that he knows well. “I cannot remember her, I’ve forced myself to forget.” She continues.

It was a horrible thing indeed, to forsake the good memories just to forget the bad ones. “I lost my mother to the war, and until now I cannot bear to look at her portraits.” His lips pressed into a thin line. “- there will be a day where we long for our mother’s warmths,” She adds.

“And we will receive it in due time.” Thranduil’s hand rests on the arch of his harp. “Would you like to learn how to play the harp?” he suggests, and she answers with a nod.

They were wedded a few years later, in the light of Greenwood with their families as a witness. Their marriage was special – for now the branches of Elrond and Oropher were united. A marriage of love – love that allowed them to just be.

“You know how singers sing other singer’s songs?” Theradis says, and he smiles. “Sounds like a tongue twister,” he mumbles – burrowing deeper into her embrace. “Yep, but what if writers had the chance to write other writer’s books but in their own words.” She states, always able to bring the most unique level of thoughts.

“Like, translators?” He grins, and she rolls her eyes.

“I hate you,” she groans.

He places a hand on her stomach, “Yes, you hate me so much that you have allowed your stomach to swell with a child.” He teases, their love not mellowing to the tune of time. “Not like translators, but remember that poem that Glorfindel wrote with a really good idea.” She reminds and he nods. “The Lament of Winter?” He squints, barely remembering the poem. “Yeah, he made really good points but the words that he used were … juvenile?” She struggles to find the right term to describe it.

Yes, Glorfindel has spent a substantial amount of time complaining about that poem. “He says that if anyone else were to write that poem, they would deliver the message better.” She recites his words verbatim, and Thranduil agrees. “What are we talking about?” He chuckles, walking between a thin line of sleep and consciousness.

She giggles, “I don’t know – random thoughts?”

“Speaking of random thoughts, you were mumbling something in your sleep last night.” Thranduil remembers, and her eyebrows merged together, having long forfeited the ability to remember her dreams. “Is there something that requires my attention? Are those dreams bothering you again?” He asks, his voice gentle and filled with love.

“I have long forfeited my ability of foresight, meleth. I cannot remember any dream.” She confirms, and his face momentarily relaxes. “But you’ve earned my curiosity, what was it that I was talking about?” She asks, he pulls her body closer – allowing his warm body to bring fire to her cold one. “You said that we’d have twins, a boy and a girl.” He informs.

“What a wonderful blessing it would be then,” she smiles, and he presses a kiss to her forehead. “Indeed,” he agreed.

And her dreams were right, again.

Theradis gave birth to twins: Erynlas and Legolas.

In her dreams, she saw their faces clearly – Erynlas’ inheriting her features and Legolas inheriting his father’s. For a moment, everything was well. There was nothing in this world that could stop their golden family, there was nothing in this world unreachable to them as scions of both Lady Theradis and Prince Thranduil.

“She looks exactly like you, my child.” Lord Elrond smiles, seeing his own eyes stare right back at him – through Erynlas. “It may seem that way but she’s inherited her father’s disposition, it is a good thing that Legolas is calm, always sleeping, else we’d lose our heads trying to keep both of them in tact.” Theradis breathes, watching Erynlas play with her grandfather’s gold-encrusted robes.

“Remember your brothers?” Elrond reminds, and she answers with a laugh.

“I’m thankful that my twins are nothing like them, I never understood how you were able to do it.” She remarks, her parents were undoubtedly strong. “Nana,” Theradis cooes, walking towards her mother’s direction, “Yes!” Legolas answers. “Yes yes yes,” Legolas babbled.

Yes, was Legolas’ first word – something that Thranduil did not appreciate. (Erynlas’ first word was Naneth) but Theradis promises that their third child’s first word would be Ada. Both of her twins were in her arms now, talking to each other in a language that only they could understand. “You were right, Ada. In all of it.” Theradis smiles.

Life did not end the day that her mother died, nor did it end when her dreams became uncontrollable. Her life began again, with her husband and her twins.

“You were dreaming last night.” Thranduil wraps his arms around her, filling her body with warmth. “You were mumbling words that I could not fathom, none except the word ‘no.’ I am worried, meleth.” He reports, concern evident in his features. It was clear that her dreams were born from something sinister, and as her husband it was his duty to protect her.

She tries to remember the dream, but it is no use.

A familiar tightness returns to her chest, constricting her lungs and preventing her to speak. “What if something were to happen upon us?” She asks a question of fear. She feared for her children, what if something were to happen to them? “I will not allow that,” Thranduil insists. “- I will add more guards. I will ensure that every movement of our family is monitored closely.” He took active actions against the inevitable.

She reaches for his arms, pulling his body closer until she meets his eyes. “If I have dreamed about it then nothing can prevent it.” She whispers. She has tried to change the future a thousand times, to no avail – for when it is written upon stone, no water can erase its mark. “When it comes between the future and my family, I will exhaust all options to prolong danger.” Her husband promised, and she believes him. Thranduil would move the very mountains, if it meant keeping his family safe.

That is love.

The dreaded day has come.

Theradis awakened in the middle of the night, she lifted the covers off her body. She frowns, not seeing her husband inside of the room, so she decides to visit her children’s chambers. A groan escapes her mouth, feeling a horrible headache form at the back of her head. Could this be? She asks herself.

Is this another one of her dreams?

She walks through the empty hallway, seeing no guards in their posts. Matter of fact, there wasn’t anyone in the entire wing. “Hello?” Her voice echoes through the halls, but she is greeted with an eerie silence.

She takes a mammoth stride towards her children’s chambers. A million thoughts ran through her head, they could be hurt – or starving – or crying – or getting bitten by ants. All the worst possible scenarios brushed through her head, and a sigh of relief exited her mouth when she saw them sleeping soundly.

She presses a kiss to their foreheads.

A mother’s anxiety, she tells herself. It is normal, she reminds.

If this was a dream, then it was a pleasant one.

But she should not have spoken too soon, because a second later a dagger was pressed to her neck. Her eyes trail away from her daughter’s sleeping body, and to the attacker. He had long brown hair that reached his shoulders, blue piercing eyes, and a face filled with scars.

“Who are you?” She asks, glaring at him with the intensity of a thousand stars. “I have many names,” he answered. “You are a man, you should not be here.” She tries to warn him. A man is no match for Theradis, a seasoned warrior. “You do look like her in some lights,” the man mused – still unwilling to reveal his true identity.

“What is it that you require?” She places a hand on his dagger, carefully directing it away from her face but in a swift move – the man cuts her cheek, allowing the blood to trickle down her face. “Still as beautiful as the day I left.” The man adds.

A gasp escapes her mouth.

“You may leave, Theradis of Lindon. My arrival here is not for you.” The man’s grip on her arm does not soften. This scene has already played before, in her dreams but she cannot remember, no matter how hard she tries. “Your arrival is for nothing, for I would rather die than surrender my children to you, Gorthaur.” She breathes, remembering bits and pieces of her dreams now.

Gorthaur lifts his hand and suddenly all fades to black.

Annatar was addicted to her presence, not because of love – no.

Every time he lays his eyes on her, a grand orchestra plays, akin to the orchestra of Illuvatar creating the world. Theradis has so much light inside of her, it reminded him of his home. It tempted him in ways that would lead to the world’s ruin. Is this what Melkor felt when he laid his eyes on Mairon? The deliciousness of innocence, and the temptation to ruin all of it.

“Walking amidst starlight,” Annatar hums, his eyes not taking a second off hers.

“Your compliments do nothing to dissuade my grievances,” Theradis taunts, reminding him of the time that he ditched their meetings in favor of meeting with Celebrimbor. “Allow me to make it up to you,” his eyebrows merge together mockingly pleading with her. “Why do you know so much of this world? I’ve always wondered why you are so informed with dealing with matters of nature and geology,” she asked out of the blue.

Although, it was with reason – as she could not keep up with the other elf’s banter.

“I am an emissary of the Valar, and I have spent the majority of my life studying the happenings of this world. There is a vast amount of knowledge stored in the back of my head, and I am willing to share it with you, as my scholar.” As my wife. As my servant.

“The Valar has always kept to themselves. Sometimes, I feel as if they are slowly beginning to take away the magic of this earth, piece by piece. Since the departure of Melian, since the mortality of Luthien – great sorrow has washed upon these shores.” Theradis laments.

His hands snake down her waist, oblivious to the audience watching them.

“There is great sadness in this world,” he repeats a phrase previously uttered by his master. A phrase that began his defiance, his rejection of Illuvatar’s music. “I was born to serve the Valar,” he lies – but he does it so that she’d begin to understand his side.

He twirls her around again, their bodies pressing close to each other.

“I’ve bared witness to them, watched them create animals and plants – and everything that covers our world. I’ve also watched them create discord, injustice, and pain.” He rambled, staring deep into her eyes – reading her mind like an open book, softening her resolve.

“I’ve thought to myself sometimes, are these the people we worship? Imperfect gods who refuse to blink an eye when entire populations are genocided, when children are pried away from their mother’s hands? I think I would like it better if they never existed, then, I’ll only have myself to blame when something goes wrong.” He chuckles, her eyebrows merge together.

“We cannot measure their goodness or badness in measurements of elf and men.” Theradis breathes, but she is starting to believe his words. “It would be hard to blame them if we didn’t,” Annatar responds with a deep breath. When Melkor tortured him, corrupted his soul, the Valar did nothing, Eru Illuvatar did nothing. He wonders if they ate, and drank, and fucked while he was in agonizing pain. He wonders if they blame him for the corruption.

His power wanes.

Theradis pulls on his collar.

Pulling his face closer to hers so that he’d be the only one listening in to their conversation. “Are you truly an emissary of the Valar, Annatar? I'm beginning to believe that you are not. ” She interrogates.

Theradis opens her eyes to a battlefield. She sees the entire field engulfed in flames, but something shines against the darkness. "Erynlas," she whispers. She was holding the ring in her hands.

But even the ring corrupts the kindest of minds.

"You must take it Frodo," Erynlas opens her mouth and the hobbit nods. "Destroy it," she insists raising a hand and using her powers to fend off the darkness, to fend of Sauron's darkness.

She is his doom. One of the reasons of his fall. That is why he is here.

She wakes up minutes after his enchantment, a mother's love breaking even the tightest of spells. "Annatar." She exhales seeing him lift his dagger but she stops him with a hand. He was weaker in this form, easier to fend off. "She is your doom, I have foreseen it." Theradis states.

He pushes her away, this time his dagger on her neck. Mayhaps, he was beginning to realize that nothing could prevent his fall, and thus decided to aim his anger at her. He takes on another form - from human, he turns into a face that she knows well. Annatar.

She's beginning to realize his resemblance to her husband. Did he use that as a means to control her?

"You are not the only one burdened with foresight, vilvarin." He presses it closer to her jugular, until Theradis had to stop breathing - in fear of death. "I would have stopped at nothing until the entire world has bent to the light of its queen, but you have forsaken me. And that creature from your very womb shall be my doom," he yells.

"It will change nothing." she whispers.

It will change nothing.

#thranduil x reader #annatar x reader #sauron x reader #thranduil fanfic #thranduil imagines #thranduil wife #thranduil #modern thranduil #thranduil imagine #x reader #reader insert #reader insert request #the hobbit #the hobbit x reader #the hobbit smut

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the12thnightproject · 1 year ago

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Chapter 29: Girl Talk. Mai and Katsuko try to pass the Bechdel test.

Mitsuhide x OC; Hideyoshi x MC (Mai)

All Chapters Archived on Ao3

Logline - With Mai, Hideyoshi, and Aki missing, Mitsuhide and Katsuko reluctantly team up. Disguised as a merchant and his concubine, can they outsmart the man known as the God of Deceit?

As the splash from the cannonball rippled out in circles, rocking our boat, I risked standing up to scan the water’s surface looking for something, some sign, proof of life, I guess.

How long could Mitsuhide hold his breath, if that was what he was doing?

What if that blast had knocked him out?

Maybe he was even now sinking deeper and deeper?

Before I could second guess myself, I prepared to dive in, but Kyubei had made the same decision, and made it faster. He thrust the crossbow into my hands and tore off his clothing-

Sploosh!

Right next to us, a geyser of water and Mitsuhide erupted out of the ocean. He took a deep gasping gulp of air. Casually, he folded his arms on the side of the boat, looking like a Sengoku era Kilroy, and into our silence said, "Kyubei? Where are your clothes?

Relief warred with an urge to-

"Far be it from me to point out the obvious, Kaya, but the Mouri ship is over there, and not in the middle of my forehead. May I gently suggest you point that weapon... that way." He gestured to a point over my shoulder.

For one moment, I entertained a rather murderous thought and kept the weapon where I was aiming it for an extra long pause before I returned the crossbow to Kyubei, who had quickly thrown his haori back on. "It's a wonder none of your friends have murdered you yet." I'd addressed it half to Mitsuhide and half to Hideyoshi, who was still sputtering outraged syllables.

"I've often wondered the same about you." Mitsuhide slid into the boat with athletic grace, and then elegantly knocked some water out of his ears.

"Oh that’s easy enough. I don’t have any friends," I tossed it out there without thinking, although I suppose it’s more or less the truth. Unless you counted Sasuke, who was currently five hundred years in the future (right - Mai and I still needed to compare notes once we got out of this situation). Anyway, now wasn't the time to dwell on my friendless state. The immediate danger of the Mouri’s rowboat had passed, but we were still stuck in the lagoon, with a pirate ship blocking our exit.

The morning sun soon revealed that our state had become even more precarious, illuminating the Mouri soldiers who were waiting for us on the shore. Well, since we’d – I’d – burned down their fort, they’d probably be a lovely welcoming committee should we decide to take our chances on swimming back to the island. I doubted they’d be greeting us with a plate of cookies.

Mitsuhide seemed supremely unconcerned by any of that. He'd pulled his clothes back on, though the fabric clung damply to his wet body. I looked away. It wasn’t worth dwelling on. As if nothing major had interrupted the morning, he asked Mai and Hideyoshi if they managed to get any rest.

“Until your pre-dawn swim, I did.” Hideyoshi’s response was a growl, the ‘you self-sacrifical ass’ went unspoken but was still broadcast loud and clear.

After a quick glance at the position of the sun, Mitsuhide scanned the horizon to the north, and nodded as something large and dark glided into sight. Many somethings. "Perfectly on time," Mitsuhide turned to Hideyoshi. "After all your lectures, is it not gratifying to know that Masamune can be prompt when it's absolutely necessary?"

The long dark thing separated into a line of iron hulled warships. The Oda fleet of atakebune. It was obvious that Motanari’s single Portuguese vessel was outgunned. Hideyoshi easily flipped into tactical mode as he gazed at the approaching reinforcements. “What happened to the Mouri navy?”

“We moved up the timetable and got here first,” Mitsuhide said, as Motonari’s carrack raised sails, the blue sash still flying from the top of it, and booked it out to sea.

The Oda fleet, built for coastal defense, didn’t bother to follow.

Mitsuhide smiled and turned his face to the sun. "Lovely day for a sail, would you say?" He didn’t quite get to the point of an ‘I love it When a Plan Comes Together’, but it was implied.

By the time we’d made our way out of the cove to meet Oda’s large vessel, Hideyoshi had apparently either forgiven Mitsuhide for worrying him, or decided that it was all a part and parcel of the entity of Mitsuhide. Conversely, Mitsuhide had not forgiven me for leaving the tree to rescue Mai. I was effectively shut out of whatever conversation there was, and left to sit quietly in the end of the boat.

Probably when we got onboard Nobunaga’s ship, I would be in for a full lecture, without the audience of Hideyoshi and Mai.

Once we were off Kyubei’s little sailboat, Mitsuhide was reabsorbed into his life as Nobunaga’s left-hand man, and I was left on the sidelines. I would have volunteered to do something to help… but they didn’t really need me. The Oda clan, while completely polite, was a mostly well-oiled machine (with one rather clumsy exception). Everyone had tasks, and everyone performed them diligently, with no stopping to rest or relax or socialize. With Motonari having evaded capture and sailed off into the sunset, the Oda warlords were far too involved in what they called “war council,” to find some busywork for me to do (I’d asked Hideyoshi, and been politely told to “take a well earned rest young lady”).

Though Nobunaga formally thanked me for my help, he was of course mostly holed up with Hideyoshi and Mitsuhide, apparently plotting out the next step. The ship we were on, was of Portuguese construction too, so of course it could pursue Motonari, but it was too risky a move to pursue without the support of the shore-hugging atakebune, so we were headed... where?

"Sakai first." The only member of the Oda's inner circle to spend any time at all talking to me was a sweet young man named Mitsunari. He had found me sitting on deck watching the coasts of the Southern islands drift past and had paused to answer my question. In spite of, or perhaps because of, his rather absentminded air, I found Mitsunari a restful companion, and during the few times I was in all the warlords’ presence, I'd gravitated toward his side.

Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t dislike any of them (aside from Mitsuhide, I needed to hold onto my hate like a winter parka in a blizzard) but I didn’t know them well enough to hang out. For the most part, they were all more focused on nurturing Mai. Though she was Hideyoshi's woman, it was clear she was a favorite of all of them. Maybe even their "center" for lack of a better word. Nobunaga called her his lucky charm, and though she was from my time originally, she had become a true Oda Princess in character as well as in name.

I realized that Mitsunari was still talking. Oops. I'd phased right out. "I'm sorry, I missed that." Impolite Katsu!

“Oh. Do you do that too? Sometimes it is hard to keep what is in my head quiet enough to see what is going on around me.” Mitsunari seemed unbothered by my inattention. "Not to worry Lady Kaya. I am certain you have much on your mind too. I asked you if you were coming back to Azuchi with Mitsuhide.”

"Um, I don't know." I didn’t know when Mitsuhide planned to go on to Azuchi. We'd had an agreement. If we didn’t find Aki with Mai and Hideyoshi, he'd promised to keep helping my search. But, would he consider that agreement still valid? The 'tree incident' (for want of a better description) might have invoked a disobedience clause. "I should discuss that with him."

"Hideyoshi asked Mitsuhide if they should prepare one of the guest quarters in the castle for you, but I didn’t hear what the answer was." Mitsunari paused, as if trying to form another question in his head, and then dropped the conversation entirely when a gust of wind grabbed one of his papers and blew it toward the sails.

"I'll get that!" I already knew that we did not want Mitsunari climbing around in the rigging. Over the past couple of days, he'd tripped over a bucket, sending dirty water across the entire deck, nearly garroted himself on a sail line, and had knocked Ieyasu overboard (luckily we'd been anchored at the time).

Just as I was reaching for the paper… I’ve done this before. It was another of those odd not-my-memory memories: a vision of climbing a tree to retrieve one of Mitsunari's papers. I closed my eyes to ward off the image, and that feeling of displacement that accompanied it.

A set of cool hands wrapped around my waist and pulled me back into the present. Into reality. Mitsuhide. I could feel this touch through my clothing. "I realize that you find vertical surfaces nearly irresistible, but I must insist you refrain from scampering about like a demented squirrel." He plucked me off the mast and set me on the deck.

I handed the paper to Mitsunari, and mouthed 'Help me' at him. He simply bowed and wandered away, leaving me alone with Mitsuhide for the first time since the tree incident. Granted, we weren't technically alone. Not with the Oda vassals and sailors scurrying around us, but Mitsuhide had that way of pitching his voice low and quiet and somehow erecting a force field around a conversation. We might have been invisible.

"I wasn't demented. I was helping Mitsunari. Do you really want him climbing around up there?" Besides this time, Mitsuhide hadn't told me not to climb. He was probably just seizing the opportunity to finish his long delayed lecture and — his hands were still holding onto my waist. I took a step back. Even after we broke apart, I could still feel the impression of his fingers, as if I had been clay, and he a sculptor.

"What I would like is for you start using that brain of yours for something beyond fighting me." He tapped his finger on my forehead. "Think before you leap... up... or down."

Feeling unfairly accused, I fell into the trap and spoke without thinking. "And maybe you should listen before you leap to conclu- "

"Kaya!" Out of nowhere, Mai appeared and grabbed my hand. "Finally. I’ve been wanting to talk to you forever." She turned to Mitsuhide and gave him a dazzling smile. "Excuse us. Girl talk. You can have her back later."

Before he (or I for that matter) could respond, she'd tugged me away, keeping hold of my hand until we were safely in the quarters she was sharing with Hideyoshi. That man was nowhere in sight, probably he was still strategizing with Nobunaga.

She slammed the door shut, then looked nervously over her shoulder, as if Mitsuhide could or have teleported through it. Then she sighed. “There.”

Though well timed, her rescue had seemed unprompted. "Did Mitsunari tell you I needed help?"

"Not exactly. He said you were with Mitsuhide, but seemed to have forgotten how to talk, I got curious. And well, I was gonna let the two of you wallow in your u.s.t, but figured you both needed a cooling off period first." She plopped down on the bed (an actual European, raised off the floor bed) and bounced a little. "I wish we could take these back to Azuchi."

Ignoring the odd tangent, I focused on her initial comment. "First of all, a - that was not u.s.t., that was actual anger. It’s hard to tell with him because, b, he is carved from a block of ice, and, therefore, c, a cooling off period is redundant, oh and,“ I counted off on my fingers to make sure where I was in this list, "d, I don’t want to talk about him because it would be nice now that I've found another woman I can talk to, to have a conversation that passes the Bechdel test, especially since you probably actually know what that is." And then, for emphasis, I plopped down on the bed, actually threw myself onto its softness and stared up at the ceiling. “You might have a point about the bed or - at least the pillow." I grabbed the pillow and hugged it to me. “Note to self. Next time I time travel, I’m bringing a pillow.”

“Shhhh.” She suddenly sat up and looked at the porthole… which was sealed shut. "Sorry. Not too many people know my secret. Just Hideyoshi and Nobunaga … and now you. But how did you know I was from the future when we've never met?"

"Sasuke knows, which is how I learned about you." Well more or less. Because it made more sense to start at the beginning, I did so, summarizing the past seven years as minimally as possible.

"Wait. You time travelled to your father, but he didn’t tell you he was your dad? That's kind of,” she seemed to be reaching for a word, but too polite to supply it.

So I did it for her. "Shitty. I know. Anyway Aki’s note mentioned Sasuke, so I hunted him down and we compared notes. Since you, Hideyoshi and Aki all disappeared from Sakai, Sasuke wondered if you all went into the wormhole. Or a wormhole. There could be more than one. Anyway. Details. Sasuke went to the future to see if he could find you there, leaving me to work with Mitsuhide here." I rolled my eyes to remind her of how that was going.

"He can be a tease sometimes but his heart is in the right place." I must have looked clearly skeptical on that, because she added, "The more he teases, the more he actually means what he says underneath."

So. He really means that I'm impossible. Why are we talking about him again? "Look, let's get back to my father, who may or not be somewhere in the future. Did Motonari ever mention Aki- or Akihira- or Yamaoka Akihira?"

She shook her head. "Honestly, we did not spend much time with him. He basically did some moustache twirling, locked us up on his ship, then sent us to that island. We were the only two prisoners, and once we were on the island, I only saw the guard who brought my food." She shivered, and I felt guilty about making her relive it.

Aki's disappearance was probably coincidence. Which meant, even though Mitsuhide had said he'd still help me after we found Mai and Hideyoshi, the chance of him having the resources to do so, if it involved time travel, was getting smaller and smaller. Even if I could figure out how to go through a wormhole on my own, it wouldn’t be right to ask Mitsuhide to come with me. Nor would he agree to leave this era. He was needed by Nobunaga – even, I as an outsider, could see how important he was.

Damn, I Really needed to see the rest of Aki’s letter. Hm. Shot in the dark. "Er. Did anyone mention anything about an Iekane? I think," I tried to recall the contents of the letter we'd found at de Sousa’s so long ago, “he was using the name Kanemori, and claimed to have access to silver mines.”

She wrinkled her nose in concentration – an action I bet charmed everyone around her. “Not ringing a bell. Is he another part of this conspiracy – or whatever it was?"

“He is, but I don't know how. Or how much.” And whether the silver mines were the end game, or something very different – something to do with Aki and time travel. “He’s who ended up with the Oda’s weapons shipment.”

"Sorry. Maybe Hideyoshi might know who he is?" She poked at my sleeve, which had gotten ripped in all the insanity on the island. "I need to be doing something with my hands while I talk. Do you mind if I grab my sewing kit and fix this?"

"You were kidnapped with your sewing box?" I hadn’t seen it when we were escaping.

"No. Mitsuhide had Kyubei bring it from Azuchi with the rest of our clothing. He was that certain he would find us. He had one of Hideyoshi's pipes too." She rummaged through a trunk, leaving me to sit with the memory of a puzzle box containing a pipe and a lock of Mai colored hair.

The sooner I get away from these people the better.

Mai returned to my side before I'd had a chance to move, or even think more clearly about my plans to extricate myself from this contract. Besides her sewing box, she'd brought a yukata for me to wear while she repaired my clothes. I thought of the turquoise one Mitsuhide had given me. Unlike Mai's clothes, my "Kaya" clothes were still in Sakai. That was ok though. I didn’t need to be Kaya, I needed to be Katsu, and I had all of Katsu’s identity with me.

"When we get back to Azuchi, I'd love to design something just for you. To thank you for the rescue." Mai hummed happily as she carefully sewed up the seam.

Ignoring the assumption that I’d be joining them in Azuchi, I simply told her. "If you could make a sports bra, I'd follow you to the ends of the earth."

"I know, right? No lycra in the Sengoku." She frowned." I might be able to rig something with cotton? But anyone who saw it would wonder at it. Besides, maybe it’s a time paradox too. What if some anthropologist found it?"

Given the whole Kenshin, Shingen, Motonari back from the dead, Nobunaga and Mitsuhide still alive situation, I doubted the existence of a sports bra would cause a time paradox. Not to mention… "No one is going to see my underwear." I pulled the sash of the yukata tighter. Mitsuhide had possibly seen everything while I was unconscious, but that had been a medical necessity. And if he had seen everything, he’d politely not mentioned it. A rare case of non-teasing.

Following my chain of thoughts, Mai produced a fairly credible interpretation of Mitsuhide's smirk. "Not even Mitsuhide?"

Ugh. Here we go again.

"We have a contract. We are all business when we're in private. And he's mad that I left the tree to rescue you." When she looked up in confusion, I added, "I wasn't supposed to be the one who broke you out. I was supposed to give them cover while they went in there. When you overpowered that first guard, the commander sent another guard to check it out, so I needed to get you before the second guy raised the alarm."

"I could explain that to him." She shook out the material, examining it for other tears and signs of wear.

"Don't. If he's not going to listen to me, I don't want him to have to take someone else's word first." Besides, in the past I had given him more than enough reasons to distrust me.

She hummed again, but from the look on her face, I suspected she was going to try and intercede anyway.

"Don't." I warned her once again. "It will work itself out one way or another." The another being that I'd be long gone. If these days on the boat had taught me anything, it was that Mitsuhide's life, his future belonged to Azuchi.

Whereas mine… I’d be moving on, looking for Aki, which it appears also meant hunting down Iekane.

@selenacosmic @bestbryn @lyds323 @lorei-writes @tele86 @akitsuneswife

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