Thranduil's fury blazed like wildfire through the forest, its ancient trees bearing witness to his anguish and rage. The aftermath of Smaug's greed and destruction still lingered in the scars, a reminder of wounds that had yet to fully heal. But today, it was not the dragon's legacy that fueled Thranduil's ire.

Silence filled the air, punctuated only by the faint rustle of leaves stirred by a gentle breeze. Thranduil's voice, dripped with venomous restraint. His words were not shouted but spoken in a chilling whisper, each one carefully chosen to inflict as much pain as he himself felt.

Even as an elf who had chosen a mate for life, and you were his, his queen—the object of his love and fury alike. Thranduil rarely lost control, but when he did, his thoughts inevitably returned to the Lonely Mountain, where his desires clashed with the weight of history.

You had mentioned the treasure, a symbol of your bond and his promise, only to have him snatch it from you with a violent motion. The necklace, not forged by dwarven hands nor kept under Smaug's talons, shattered on the stone floor of the private balcony. Sterling silver and precious crystals cascaded in a rain of broken dreams at your feet. Thranduil leaned back, his eyes as cold and unforgiving as the winter's frost. You remained stunned. The shattered gift—a symbol you treasured, amidst treasures lost under Smaug—was a poignant reminder. You had survived Angmar, endured the orcs in Gundabad, and even Thranduil had saved you. But perhaps what hurt him more than anything was that you were alive, and he could not fulfill his promises to you. Instead, he had destroyed the one thing he had given you.

In a voice barely above a whisper, you finally spoke, your words carrying the weight of sorrow and regret. "Melethron nîn..."

His voice was steady, a torrent of emotions held barely in check. "Do not speak. The treasures of Erebor were promised, yet I could not protect even this."