#(mithril)

no one fw mirumisu the way I fw mirumisu… i love them dearly… give me scenarios to draw them in… please… or don’t… idc

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Thranduil’s voice carried over the clash, commanding, “Hold the line! Protect the archers—!” But his words faltered the moment he saw you.

You were there in the fray, light glinting off your blade, your hair tangled with sweat and ash. You moved with grace, with fury, your mithril necklace—a gift from Thranduil-catching the firelight like a shard of starlight in the darkness. The one piece of beauty amid the ruin.

But amid the chaos, his eyes sought only one figure. You.

You fought with the brilliance he had always feared and adored—blade singing, your hair tangled with smoke, your necklace of mithril glittering like a fallen star against your throat. That jewel was the symbol of your vow to him, of the love that made kingdoms feel like small things.

And he felt terror seize him, because you were too close to the dragon’s shadow.

“(Y/n)! Fall back!” His voice tore across the battlefield.

You turned at the sound of him—your husband, your king. For a moment, time seemed to halt. Blood on your cheek, sweat dripping down your temple, yet your eyes met his with steady fire. “If we fall back, they will burn,” you called, nodding to the wounded scrambling behind you. “I can hold them long enough—”

A roar split the air. The dragon’s wings unfurled, blotting out the sun. Flames coiled in its throat, an inferno gathering, hungry to consume.

Thranduil’s heart dropped. He surged forward, cutting down any foe in his path. “No stay where you are! Do not face it alone!”

But you only smiled through the smoke, the faintest curve of lips that belonged to every tender night you had shared. “Do not weep for me, meleth-nîn,” you whispered, words only he could hear, carried on the wind.

The battlefield was a sea of fire and steel. The stench of blood and burning wood rolled with the smoke, curling into the air as cries of Elves and beasts alike shook the ground. The flames of the North Dragon licked the sky, staining it a furious red.

His heart seized, because he knew you were too close.

The dragon’s roar split the world.

Then the fire came.

It was not red but white, a torrent of pure ruin that engulfed the earth. Heat slammed into him, blistering, tearing at his flesh. You turned, eyes meeting his across the chaos—wide, steady, a flicker of farewell in them.He reached for you—he swore he could still see your silhouette, reaching back—but the world dissolved in flame.

“Y/n!”

Thranduil ran. He cut through friend and foe alike, desperate, his hands outstretched. For one moment, it seemed you would make it—your lips parted, as if to call his name.

He screamed your name.

When the fire cleared, the battlefield was charred black. No body remained—only a seared imprint upon the earth where you had stood, and scattered fragments of your necklace glinting weakly in the ash.

And then the fire swallowed you.

The world fell silent in his ears, as if sound itself had been burned away. The heat struck him down, blistering skin, searing his vision, but he pushed forward into the inferno until strong hands dragged him back. He fought them like a madman, but all he saw was where you had stood, now only flame and ash. He went in the fire,his face was burning off. the smell of burning flesh hing in his nose as he let the most agonizing scream.

First his father

Now you

When the smoke cleared, there was nothing. Only the scorched ruin of the earth, and scattered fragments of the mithril necklace glinting faintly in the soot. He fell to his knees, hands trembling as he tried to gather the broken chain, the jewel cracked from the fire’s fury. His voice broke against the wind:

Thranduil staggered forward, fell to his knees. His hands shook as he gathered the broken chain, the cracked jewel warm with the dragon’s fury. His vision blurred, but no tears fell—his grief was too great for even that release.

“Meleth-nîn… my starlight…” his voice rasped, breaking against the silence. “Forgive me. I should have”

But there was no answer. Only smoke curling into the sky, carrying with it the last traces of you. He face stung. He saw the worl only through one eye.

From that day, he carried the memory of you like a wound that would not close. He sought the necklace from the Dwarves—not for greed, not for gold, but because it was the last echo of you. A piece of starlight lost in flame, the one promise of beauty left to remind him of what he had once held, and what the dragon had stolen forever.

''Ada?''

Thranduil opend his eyes and saw Legolas. His eyes went to Legolas clothing but spefically the necklace.

After the war with the Orcs he got it,at last.

The last Jewerly you wore

Of the person Legolas never met

''....I will be off now''Legolas said.

''...Yes.....travel during daylight, avoid the-''

''I know, Ada.//I know Thran...I will be fine//..I will be fine. I will meet Aragorn in Rivendell.He awaits me''

He watched Legolas turn his back and rush out the halls.....the same smile....the same wiff of hair....the same words.....

Welcome to Deranged Tolkien Lore Posting where I get ridiculously fixated on a random thought and stalk it though every published piece of work.

Today I am challenging the popular throw away joke that Frodo is wearing Legolas’s baby clothes because obviously he is wearing Eärendil’s.