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The water lapped gently at Thranduil’s shoulders, its warmth seeping into his skin, unraveling the tension coiled deep within him. Steam rose in languid tendrils, carrying the fragrance of crushed lavender and linden blossoms - scents chosen with care, meant to soothe and soften the edges of his weariness. The soft glow of lanterns flickered across the floor, their golden light casting wavering reflections upon the still surface of the bath.
For once, the halls beyond were silent. No urgent summons, no matters of court clawing for his attention. Even the forest, ever watchful, seemed to hush its whispers tonight, as if granting him this rare moment of solitude. He tilted his head back against the curved edge of the bath, closing his eyes, letting himself drift just for a while.
How long had it been since he last allowed himself this? Since he last surrendered to quietude without the weight of duty pressing upon him? The years had stretched long, filled with war and grief, with burdens he could not set down. But here, in the embrace of warmth and stillness, he could almost forget the weight of his crown, the weight of loss.
He let out a slow breath, the sound of it merging with the faint echo of water trickling somewhere in the vaulted chamber. Beneath the surface, his limbs floated, weightless, unbound. His mind wandered to memories of gilded autumns long past - festivals beneath canopies of golden leaves, the laughter of his people, the touch of a hand he would never feel again.
His fingers trailed absentmindedly across the water, disturbing its glassy surface, sending ripples outward like echoes of a life once lived, a love once held. But he did not chase them. Not tonight.
Tonight, he allowed himself to rest. To simply be.
And when the dawn came and the world called for its king once more, he would rise - renewed, if only by a fraction.