desolation of smaug

“Bilbo and Thorin were in love,” I say into the mic.

The crowd boos, yelling at me to get off the stage. I begin to walk off in shame when a voice speaks and commands silence from the room.

“They’re right,” they say. I look for the owner of the voice. There, in the 5th row, stands Richard Armitage himself.

Don’t imagine the elves of Mirkwood watching their king change after their queen’s death.

Don’t imagine Thranduil going mad with grief and loss and putting on a stone façade so nothing will be able to hurt him as much as this did.

Don’t imagine him chugging wine down to erase all the good she gave him.

Don’t imagine him drowning in alcohol to erase the memory of her.

Don’t imagine him working himself half to death every day to distract himself from coming back to an eternally half empty bed.

Don’t imagine young Legolas, still grieving over his mother, having to put his feelings aside and care for his father, emotionally unavailable and delusional, because he’s the only thing close to family that he has left.

Don’t imagine Thranduil quietly asking young Legolas to sleep in his room to fill the other side of the bed because he can’t stand subconsciously waiting for his wife to fill it.

Don’t imagine him panicking because the smell of her is fading off of her pillowcase and clothes; and no matter what he does, he can’t make or preserve the same smell and feeling that she left behind.

Don’t imagine him sobbing into her pillow, cursing himself for not being able to be the safety blanket he promised her he’d be and not being able to keep the one good thing in his life alive.

Don’t imagine him in a drunken stupor, stumbling around his room and crying out for his wife to “please come back” because he just can’t take it anymore.

Don’t imagine Legolas standing outside of his father’s bedroom and hearing his father’s cry out elvish words of immeasurable agony and thinking that this is what love really is.

Don’t imagine him and all the times he’s come dangerously close to fading because he got too sober to bear the weight of life on his shoulders.

Don’t imagine Thranduil not being able to tell his son that he loves him because he’s too scared of being attached to someone that might break him all over again.

Don’t imagine Legolas bottling every one of his emotions up for the next hundreds of years because he can’t afford to feel when trying to heal his father.

Don’t imagine Legolas knowing that, despite everything he might say, that deep down, his father loves his little leaf more than he can say.