Strength

Mellow Soulmate AU.  Thranduil has awakened, but his spirit is still quite broken.  And there may not be any glue that could put it back together.  All Sindarin names in this one.  It is connected up with "Catatonic", but there are a few missing scenes in between the two (as will become obvious).  They might be filled in later, but for now here it is.  Takes place on the eastern side of Ered Luin in the First Age.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Silmarillion

Pairings: (past) Amrod x Thranduil

Characters: Thranduil, Oropher, Valthoron (mentions Amrod and the Valar)

Warning: extremely AU, spontaneous children, slash, past non-con, implied m!preg, severe depression, unhealthy mental states

Song: Where is the Edge

Words: 1,287
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strength (noun): the quality or state of being strong: capacity for exertion or endurance; power to resist force: solidity, toughness; a strong attribute or inherent asset
http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/strength?show=0&t=1370134711

It had been a long month.  A very, very long month.

A very, very long month of staring at the blank walls.  A long month of wondering what on earth he was even doing awake and alive and still fighting.  A terribly long month of hearing the baby crying in the next room and feeling empty and listless.

No longing to hold.  No urge to comfort.  Just crying on and on into the night with footsteps just outside the door, pacing back and forth.

And Thranduil felt useless.

Useless, watching his father bustle about caring for him when he couldn't even shift out of bed without help.  Useless, knowing that when the baby cried in the middle of the night it was his father who went and hushed the child.  Did the feeding, the cleaning, the changing, the bathing.  Of his baby.

Of his baby.

And he didn't even care.

And he didn't think he had ever felt more sickly, more wretched and full of heartache.  Any urge he had once had to rise from bed dwindled.  Hunger pangs wouldn't come.  All the time, he was tired, wanted to sleep, wanted to escape from staring all day at the blank wall across from the bed, doing nothing but "rest" and "recover".

And cry.  And cry.  And cry some more.

But never when Oropher was there.  Never when his beloved father could see.  The shame would have eaten him alive, would have dissolved his innards into slush.

Because what reason would he have to cry like a whimpering, puerile child?  If anyone had reason to be upset, it was the man who had been managing their home, caring for his bedridden son and raising his unexpected, unwanted grandchild all at once without ever complaining.  While Thranduil sat around and did nothing.

And if all he could do was sit still and stare at the wall and make his father's life a little easier, then he would.  He would hide this horrible weakness and remain silent.

And try not to cry.  And cry.  And cry some more.

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That lasted all of a second month.

The house was supposed to be empty at this time of day.  It was always around this time that Thranduil curled himself up into a ball and sobbed out the day's pain while the baby napped away the afternoon in the next room over.  It was the only time that the silence wrapped around him as unforgiving arms, but protective ones nonetheless.  Because it hid him away from the world and allowed all the ash those burning eyes had layered inside him to spill out and blow away.

And Valar, the pain twisting and coiling in his stomach, rising until he felt bile in the back of his throat, and all he wanted was to scream and throw something breakable against the wall, to watch it shatter into more pieces than had shattered his spirit, spilling all over the floor to be stepped on and crushed into dust.

And then the door opened.

"Thranduil?" There was the sound of a tray being set on the bedside table. "Thranduil, my dearest, what is the matter?"  That voice was painfully soft, velveteen and cool.

Weight settled upon the bed at his back, a hand sliding down his shoulder and back as he shook with hiccups of utter shame.  The touch was soothing, and it only made him sob harder, because what right did he have to demand even this small sliver of time when all he did was lie around like a sack of potatoes, lamed and lacking purpose?

"Tell me why you are so upset, little one.  I only want to help."

And Thranduil was so ashamed.

"You help t-too much," he choked out. "I d-don't... don't..."

"Clearly, you are in upheaval." Gently, Thranduil felt himself lifted easily, tucked against a firm shoulder like a young child being comforted. "Come, now, tell ada what has you overwrought." And that hand was combing through his tangled hair, stroking his cheeks in such a familiar manner that the tears came and came with a waterfall of words.

Words about weakness and uselessness and worthlessness.

And why couldn't he get out of bed?  Why couldn't he be hungry?  Why couldn't he want to see his baby?

And what was wrong with him that he almost wished he had died instead of lived to suffer?

Because he was nothing but a burden.

"And you do all the work and I just lie in bed and weep like a child..." Even as he cried. "I just don't understand.  I don't know what to do..."

"Hush, my little one..." Arms crossed about his slender, trembling body firmly, tenderly to his chest. "My sweet darling, do not put such blame on yourself.  I am more than happy to care for you and for little Valthoron.  It is my job to take care of you during such a hard time..."

"But I... I feel so useless..."

"Never that.   You need to rest..."

"I'm weak!"

There was stillness between them, heavy and tense.  Lingering like a shroud of death over their heads.  Choking him with despair like a cork in his throat.  And then a kiss was pressed to his forehead, warm breath washing over his skin as a cool wind. "Believe not such utter nonsense.  You are the strongest person I know, my little one.  Do not slander yourself so."

"Strongest?  I'm pathetic!  I cannot even crawl out of bed to care for my own son!"

Thranduil breathed heavily, sobbing with each gasp of thick air into his clenched lungs.  Because these thoughts had festered and festered and lingered and lingered for so long...

And... And he couldn't sleep anymore... Couldn't live with himself anymore...

Hands cupped about slender cheeks, thumbs stroking under swollen eyes, wiping away the marks of lamentation, and their brows pressed together.  And Thranduil cried and cried because how could his father think that he was strong when Oropher was the strong one?

"There are different kinds of strength," his ada whispered. "When I talked to the healers after... after the attack... they told me that you would never wake up.  That you would fade away.  That perhaps you would live long enough to give birth to the baby, and then you would die."

And his head was shaking...

"But you're here, my darling little one.  You lived.  You survived.  When no one else ever has.  No one has ever been brave enough or resilient enough or strong enough to throw aside the horror of what you have been through.  No one.  And no amount of strength of arms or stubbornness of mind or dexterity at craft could ever compare..."

"No... No, I..."

"It could never compare to your strength.  Never doubt that.  Never." Oropher kissed his cheeks and his nose and his brow, over and over. "No more crying.  You are not a burden to me.  You are a miracle.  A blessing."

And Thranduil couldn't help but cry until he was empty of tears.  Until he was tired and stretched and wanted nothing more than to rest.  To close his eyes and feel the arms of the Lord of Dreams embrace him tightly and safely and guide him into sweet dreams.  Sweet dreams of dappled clearings, of stroking chubby cheeks and seeing blue eyes.  Blessed blue eyes.

Maybe... maybe this rest would not be without recovery.  And maybe with the black pit in his heart emptied, there would be room for something more.

For a new beginning.  Maybe.
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I knew what I wanted to write this prompt about as soon as I saw it, but I had no idea how I wanted to write it.  Originally it was going to be from Oropher's POV.  I had, at one point, envisioned it being about both Oropher and Thranduil, and how they have different sorts of strength, but then Thranduil just sort of took over the whole pity-party and I was seduced away from my original intents.  I can't say I'm entirely satisfied with it, but I never am.  I hope you enjoyed nevertheless.

I'm not certain the song that went with today's prompt is really all that fitting, but it was what I was listening to, between episodes of Downton Abbey (the other reason I was late updating.  Be thankful I'm almost through all the seasons and will be off my new addiction shortly... I hope).  But maybe it is fitting.  I suppose it's for you to decide, yes?  Where is the Edge by Within Temptation.  Their "new" style with this CD is not my favorite, but I still like this song for reasons unknown.

So, even though the story is horribly depressing, it at least has the comfort to counter the hurt.  And if you skip to Divided, at least you know he gets better.  Poor baby.  But I love to pick on him.  I love to make him three-dimensional and human.  Too many people fail, but I hope I'm not.