#&& legolas

[i-am-pinkie]

Oh the confusion between the races... 😂🤣

How to Tell

by ttanner2448

[silme-lorien]

when is legolas finding the time to braid his hair. like i know that shit got fucked up after every battle. imagine boromir getting increasingly annoyed at legolas for doing his hair every morning and gimli and aragorn defending him because they know the importance of hair/braids to elves

[saphronethaleph]

The Dragon's Fire

Smaug, the Dragon Dread, the Terror of the Lonely Mountain, furled his wings and chuckled slightly as the last of the smoke rose from his muzzle.

That, he was sure, was one wizard who was not going to be sniffing around here again. Gold was scattered all across the floor to the sides of his mighty hoard, coins and artworks that he had piled up to serve as his bed and that had been cast aside when he had burst from the gold, but the surprise had been either total or as near as made no difference at all.

Leaning down, Smaug examined the scorch mark, which was glowing faintly as the stonework cooled and which had a drift of ash around it… unfortunately, his experience with the clothing of mortals was not sufficient to actually work out in any detail what he was dealing with here.

Clothes, perhaps? In the moment’s glance at the wizard, as his intense flames reached out, he had seen… robes, a hat, and a staff that glowed with light and might and power.

Perhaps it was the staff that was part of it?

Regardless, either the wizard was dead or he had received a clear warning to never return. The light was dim, here in the depths of Erebor, and there was smoke aplenty, but the glow from the scorch mark was sufficient that Smaug could identify two of the burning cinders as parts of a snapped wooden staff.

But there was something else odd, as well, and Smaug leaned more closely.

The glow of his scales, sign of the flames that burned within him, flared a little lighter. It illuminated the stonework, and Smaug’s paw picked up the metal circlet.

In the dim light, it looked… quite pleasant, really. Understated, a golden band with a red ruby set in a housing. Perhaps it was some sort of diadem, if wizards were prone to wearing such things… and, more than that, it was a trophy of his victory.

Toying with it, Smaug realized after a few seconds that it was of a size to fit onto his foreclaw, and slid it into place. It fit quite snugly, and he chuckled.

If wizards were going to bring him such trophies, he could almost look forward to the next visit.

-Smaug awoke with a jolt.

His paws clenched into claws, and he growled, then shook his head.

There had been something he was dreaming about – something that had woken him up.

But what had it been?

He tried to remember, turning his mighty mind to the task, but it was a struggle… for all that he tried, it seemed that the details attempted to slip away regardless of how much effort he put into holding onto them.

It had involved… flying, Smaug was sure. Soaring above the earth below, with clouds all around him, such as he had not done since he had first burned his Devastation many years ago. Flying, wings caressing the air, carrying his immense but light form in sweeps through the clouds.

And there had been… other dragons, as well. Drakes of different sizes and colours, winged cold-drakes and fire-drakes alike, soaring between the mountains that ringed the Withered Heath…

...but as he tried, the last elusive details slipped through his claws, and Smaug’s paw smote the gold of his hoard. Gold coins and halves of gold coins flew everywhere, and there was a minor avalanche, but Smaug cared little.

There was an ache in his heart, and it took him a long moment to work out what it was.

Loneliness.

He growled, and thrashed his tail against the wall.

He was a mighty fire-drake, greatest of the dragons. He should not be feeling this pain over loneliness!

Smaug needed nobody else.

Smaug had nobody else.

And that had never bothered him before.

The faint light filtering into the hall told Smaug that it was during the day. The dwarven hall was well designed, and it allowed shafts of light in so that the burning torches that would have thrown light were an adjunct, rather than truly necessary. They would have needed them by night, but not while the sun was in the sky or even when the clouds veiled it.

And Smaug rested his great bulk up on one of the high places, a mezzanine thirty feet and more above the main hall which was filled with his hoard, and he glowered down at it.

As if it had offended him.

As if it posed an impossible challenge.

Because… in the final analysis, what was he going to do with it?

He was a mighty dragon, that much was obvious. The greatest of the dragons that yet lived upon Middle-Earth. He had won this hoard, mighty gold and treasures almost beyond counting, himself.

It was his.

And yet… since winning it, all he had done was sleep in it.

“This is foolishness,” he growled, then almost winced at the echoing sound of his own voice – so long had it been since he had had cause to speak.

But it was foolishness.

He had everything a dragon could ever desire! As a young drake in the Withered Heath, he had dreamed of wealth, and the hoard of the Lonely Mountain was greater even than he had dared to dream.

And all he had done was sleep on it, sleeping away a hundred years and more. He wasn’t even sure of the exact number, just that… he had dreamed his dragon dreams submerged within the wealth that had been his goal, and it no longer brought him the least pleasure.

It might as well have been a pile of rocks.

After a moment’s thought, Smaug shook his head, for – no, it was not the case! Gold was gold, and rock was rock, and no dragon would ever sleep on a pile of rocks!

Except… all the others.

If there were others.

His thoughts were going around in circles, and he growled, then looked down at the hoard again.

What was he going to do with it?

Sleep here, buried in gold that would never again do anything, until he was too large to fit through the door? Or until the ages of Middle-Earth had turned again, and again, and the Lonely Mountain itself wore away and there was nothing left? Never gaining anything from the gold beyond a sleep that was troubled by unquiet dreams anyway?

Or go elsewhere, use the gold to do something?

The idea felt like a sore tooth.

Anything else he tried to do with it would mean giving it up, surrendering it, letting it slip out of his control. It was… a sickening thought, one that made his stomach roil.

What else could a dragon value but his hoard?

But… in what way could a dragon value his hoard?

It was a bed.

A bed.

Smaug yawned, wings half-flaring, and clambered down from the mezzanine.

He was tired, and sleep might bring him more insight. Or a solution to his conundrum.

Though it would… probably not. He had had these thoughts too often, lately.

The feeling that something was missing. And that what he had was… nothing.

Sunlight slashed into the main entrance of Erebor’s dwarf hold, and Smaug held a fine coat of silvery mail in the light. It was tiny, to him, a mere trinket.

But he knew what it meant.

He knew, roughly, how it would have been made.

Every one of the links was made of mithril, a metal that was difficult to find and difficult to smelt. First it would need to be mined, the ore taken from the ground, by miners who tunnelled through the rock with pickaxe and hammer and chisel, and that would give them rocks.

To smelt the metal would have required… charcoal, or coal, cut and burned once to make it into truly black material that could be used in a forge, and then burned again to fuel the forge. Turning the ore into a bloom of the metal, then shaping the metal into wire, then turning the wire into links of tiny metal.

The links of this particular coat were so fine that Smaug could barely see them, even when he looked his closest, and there were a lot of them.

Then they would all have to be fit together, tens of thousands of rings, all assembled and held together with tens of thousands of rivets.

And it was just one item. One part of his hoard.

The artisans of Erebor had been able to make so many things, with their skills at working wood and metal and stone. Beautiful things. So many things that were so beautiful, not merely mining out gold but then shaping it into the things that were far more appealing.

He would not have been so pleased with a bed of lumps of solid metal. It was that they had been turned into coins, or finer things, that gave them much of their value.

And… he had killed so many of those dwarves. Struck them down with flame and tail and claw, and driven out the rest.

For what?

For his hoard, of course, which was his by right. But… Smaug could not help but look at this tiny, exquisite suit of mail.

And wonder what they could have made for a dragon.

Wonder if something that had been made for him, at his direction… would have closed the ache inside him.

Wonder why he had never even considered it, before.

“Are you sure that this is a good plan, exactly?” Bilbo wondered, looking up at Thorin.

Thorin grumbled.

Bilbo supposed that, really, that was all he could hope for.

The original plan had been for each of them to get an enormous part of the share of a dragon’s hoard, and Bilbo’s role had been… well, to put it simply, to be a thief.

But they had been captured by Elves, and one thing had led to another, and after a rather significant amount of negotiation and a rather more significant amount of arguing between Thorin and Balin and Gloin, with Bilbo’s assistance, the way it had all worked out was that now the shares they were going to get of the dragon’s treasure were somewhat less enormous – but still sounding like quite a large amount of gold, all things considered.

The Elves would be getting some, for their own help – a fine way of saying that they would release the Company from captivity and accompany them to Erebor, while keeping them safe from spiders and goblins alike in the dangerous Mirkwood – but they would not be getting the Arkenstone that Thorin so valued and they would not be getting the mountain itself, either.

Bilbo still remembered the decisive question that had turned the trick – which was when Balin had asked Thorin what he would give to restore Erebor to its old glory.

And Thorin had admitted… he would give much. Even, when pressed, half the treasure from the dragon’s hoard… a deal which Thranduil had rejected, as too generous to the Elves.

Bilbo didn’t quite like Thranduil, because he could only compare the Elven king unfairly to Lord Elrond of Rivendell who was rather more like the sort of Elf that Bilbo liked. But he was rather taking a shine to the Prince.

Not least because Legolas seemed willing to actually tell him things.

“Is it a good plan?” he asked, then, looking back at the noble Elf.

“Perhaps,” Legolas replied, with a slight shrug. “A lot depends on if there is a dragon there.”

“Do you think that likely?” Fili asked.

“It hasn’t appeared in over a century,” Dori noted.

“I think it more likely that goblins have moved in,” Legolas suggested. “And if they have, we will be glad of our outriders.”

He looked up. “...though it seems trouble may be on our way.”

“Why do you say that?” Thorin asked, roused out of his general sullen mood.

“Hoofbeats, moving fast,” Legolas explained, then looked around. “There’s a ridge – there. We should get a good look.”

He scrambled up the rock with a grace that was enviable for anyone, and especially enviable when the one doing the envying was a Hobbit, and Bilbo did his best to follow.

Then Dori picked him up, and did his best to follow, which worked a little better.

By the time they reached the top of the ridge, though, Legolas was already scanning the northern horizon in worry.

“There,” he said, pointing, and Bilbo squinted.

There was a sort of smudge, he thought.

Thorin’s expression was stormy.

“A goblin host,” he said.

“Yes,” Legolas agreed. “I make it eight or nine thousand.”

Bilbo looked back at the Elven army, which was significantly weaker – maybe sixteen hundred, all told. They were better armed and equipped, he knew, but a difference of this size was going to be a large problem.

“We should find a place to deploy,” Balin said. “Set up where they can’t-"

“They’re closer to the Mountain than us,” Thorin pointed out. “If they’re going for it, we need to try and head them off.”

“They have wargs and warg riders,” Legolas warned. “We have scarcely a hundred horse, we don’t want to fight in the open plain.”

He pointed. “Our outriders are coming in. Father will be asking them…”

His voice trailed off.

“What is it?” Thorin asked. “Out with it.”

“Dust, on the horizon,” Legolas said, nodding to the northwest. “There’s another army coming this way – I doubt they’re friendly to us.”

“It’s the wrong direction for the Iron Hills, that much is true,” Balin said.

Then a flash of movement caught Bilbo’s eye, and he turned to look – and his jaw dropped.

A massive creature with red-golden scales was emerging from the mountain, huge wings flaring, rising into the air like a hawk taking flight, and it had to be well over a hundred feet in length though Bilbo didn’t have a great sense of scale. It circled once, then swooped down towards the goblin army, and Thorin made a grim sound.

“We will have to sell our lives dearly,” he said. “Elvish prince – can you or your elves put an arrow through the scales of a dragon?”

“It’s not something I’ve tried yet,” Legolas admitted, as the dragon – as Smaug – hovered over the goblins, presumably having some sort of fell conversation. “But I’m sure I can find my mark.”

He reached for his bow, then paused.

“Look!” he said.

Bilbo followed Legolas’s gaze, and a jet of green and scarlet flame flashed down from the enormous dragon… and doused the goblin army in flame.

“They were loosing arrows at it,” Legolas said. “At him. Then he just… destroyed them.”

Bilbo could only see smoke, now, hovering over the ruin of what had once been a mighty force of goblins. Then Smaug’s wings cut the air, sweeping away the smoke in coils, and he approached them at speed.

It had to be at least two or three minutes that the dragon took, to reach them, but to Bilbo it felt like an onrushing avalanche. Then the massive creature landed on the far side of the slope, wings flaring before they furled like those of a bat, and Bilbo found himself regarded by a head that rivalled for size the largest entire creatures he had seen.

“Greetings,” Smaug said. “Hmm… two Elves, thirteen Dwarves, and a creature I know not. And an army, besides… what brings you to the Lonely Mountain?”

“Revenge,” Thorin replied.

“Revenge, is it?” Smaug asked, sounding quite amused. “Revenge, on me, I’d assume? Well, I’ll admit that I assaulted your mountain, and slew many Dwarves – and Men, as well – but I don’t recall killing any Elves, and nor do I know what that other fellow’s race is at all. So what brings hither the Elves, and their army, terrible with banners?”

Thranduil had ascended the hill, as well, and Bilbo realized that Legolas must have informed his father about the… battle… that had its smoking ruins in the distance.

“We are here in alliance with the Dwarves,” the King of the Mirkwood Elves declared, and Smaug nodded.

“A reasonable thing to do,” he said. “If, that is, you were planning to fight goblins. But one of the goblin armies here has been destroyed, for they made the mistake of attacking me – and that is something I will not abide.”

His eyes flashed. “Of course, I could leave you to fight the other goblin army yourself, if you wished. They seem at least twice as strong as the one I destroyed, and I do not think you would have brought so few to fight so many… so let us dispense with the subtleties. You are here to reclaim the Lonely Mountain, and to take from me the hoard that I took from the Dwarves of Erebor so many years ago. Am I wrong?”

“Revenge is not the least of our motives,” Thorin said, displaying a lack of concern for his own safety (and the safety of everyone else who was in flaming range) which quite worried Bilbo, but Smaug raised a paw to his chin.

“But not the most of it, either, I think,” he replied. “As you would have brought far more if you wished to fight me.”

Incongruously, Bilbo noticed something on Smaug’s forepaw.

It was a ruby ring, which caught his eye, though he knew not why.

“So consider this,” Smaug went on. “What makes me different from someone else, who came in with fire and the sword to conquer a land and make it their own? The Men and Elves and Dwarves did the same, as did the Orcs and the Goblins – history is a long tale of battles fought and agreements made.”

“Do not try to bewitch us with your words, worm,” Thorin said, and Bilbo noticed that several of the other Dwarves were edging away from him.

“Would you prefer we argue?” Smaug replied. “But, very well, then… the mountain is yours, and the contents.”

It was such a sudden shift that Bilbo practically fell over.

“...what?” Thranduil asked, completely baffled, and not the only one.

“However,” Smaug continued. “I will be offering protection, in return for which I would appreciate tribute. Not acres of gold, but… fine things, few in number and wrought with a purpose.”

“You give us back our ancestral home, and then ask for some of our wealth back?” Fili asked. “I’m – don’t get me wrong, I’d rather not be set on fire, I’m just very confused.”

“What is a kingdom?” Smaug asked, his voice stern. “An empire? Any state, or monarchy? It is, at the core, farmers who grow food, and an organization which takes the surplus food from them, in the form of tax. Surplus Men and Elves and Dwarves, to work its armies. And it uses that food to support those who do not farm, for a purpose… and that is how art is made, and how you all can enjoy yourselves, and march to war wearing weapons and armour and clothes that would take you all years or decades to make yourselves… if you can. You offer protection, and you take tax, and sons, and horses, and that is how your kingdoms work.”

He stretched his wings.

“I am proposing the same thing… but I will not demand sons. All else, all the specifics, are negotiation.”

Thorin still did not look happy.

But… Bilbo had seen that expression before.

It was quite possible that the Dwarf could be… brought around.

The peak of the Lonely Mountain was just the right size, and – after decades – there was now a ridge around it, in just about the right place. It was perfect for a dragon to rest on, and to curl around, and that was exactly what was happening.

King Smaug the First, Smaug the Golden, King Over Mountain and Dale and Lake, was looking out over the Long Lake, at the spot about halfway from the nearer end to the further.

Water splashed and fire spurted, and though it was far too far for him to hear, he could imagine the shouts of laughter and growls of protest rippling across the smooth waters of the lake.

Two of the six young dragons down there, he was fairly sure, were his children. His journeys to the Withered Heath had resulted in a few dalliances, and a few recruits only, but… the example was slowly taking hold.

The amount of gold and treasure a dragon got from the new arrangement was far less than it would have been under the old. But he now bore a chain of electrum and gold around his neck, and a mail coat of his own, and they were really quite precious to him.

The other four young drakes down there… cold-drake or fire-drake, they were young, and they were interested. And, right now, they were playing.

Smaug lay his muzzle on his paw, feeling fond, and lounged in the evening sunlight… then his head twitched, as he heard the sound of someone ascending the stairs.

A white-robed figure, white-bearded and carrying a slender white staff with a latticed shape at the top, came into view, and halted some steps below the top of the mountain.

“Greetings, King Smaug,” he said, sounding pleasant enough. “I must ask you the same as I asked King Thorin – have emissaries of the Dark Lord come this way?”

Smaug considered, then nodded slightly.

“They did,” he confirmed. “I bade they leave immediately.”

Smoke leaked from his nostrils. “Then they offered me one of the remaining Dwarven Rings, and I set them on fire.”

The white stranger nodded.

“I see,” he said. “Thank you for your answer.”

Smaug tilted his head, slightly.

“You are Gandalf, aren’t you?” he asked. “At first I thought you Saruman, but the staff is wrong…”

“Quite,” Gandalf confirmed, pleasantly enough. “I also wished to ask you if you were willing to help with the defence of the Free Peoples, beyond the Mountain, Dale and Lake. There is a war coming, and it is not known where the Enemy will strike.”

Smaug frowned.

“I will think on it,” he said. “I have a responsibility here.”

Then something occurred to him, and he raised his paw – showing the ruby ring.

“Do you want it back?” he asked. “I… suspect that this is yours… originally, at least.”

Gandalf smiled.

“I don’t think I do,” he said. “You have been gaining quite the benefit yourself, and I would not wish to punish you for becoming who you always could have been…”

[i-am-pinkie]

Legolas, a "pointy-eared Elvish princeling" 😁😅

Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers (2002) dir. Peter Jackson

[essenceofarda]

WIP! -> practicing drawing more stylized designs for LOTR, Starting with The Fellowship! I'm quite pleased with these (except the hobbits, which in particular merry and pippin need a bit more working). The theme of this project is "Design for TV Animation" so i'm trying to keep the shapes clear and the designs simple :)

(also i'm going to be designing their outfits as soon as i solidify their body shape designs--So i feel the need to clarify that they're NOT naked lol, this is just how i build 'underdrawing form' for bodies haha)

[thranduilofsmirkwood]

ᒐoɾᑯ oƒ tᖾᥱ ᖇɩᥒɠ⳽ ᙏᥱຕᥱ⳽ & ᘜɩƒ⳽

Ʈᖾᥱ ᕼoᑲᑲɩt ᙏᥱຕᥱ⳽ & ᘜɩƒ⳽

𑁍༘༘⋆༘𑁍༘༘⋆𑁍༘⋆𑁍༘⋆𑁍༘⋆𑁍༘⋆𑁍༘⋆𑁍༘⋆𑁍

𑁍༘༘⋆༘𑁍༘༘⋆𑁍༘⋆𑁍༘⋆𑁍༘⋆𑁍༘⋆𑁍༘⋆𑁍༘⋆𑁍

𑁍༘༘⋆༘𑁍༘༘⋆𑁍༘⋆𑁍༘⋆𑁍༘⋆𑁍༘⋆𑁍༘⋆𑁍༘⋆𑁍

𑁍༘༘⋆༘𑁍༘༘⋆𑁍༘⋆𑁍༘⋆𑁍༘⋆𑁍༘⋆𑁍༘⋆𑁍༘⋆𑁍

𑁍༘༘⋆༘𑁍༘༘⋆𑁍༘⋆𑁍༘⋆𑁍༘⋆𑁍༘⋆𑁍༘⋆𑁍༘⋆𑁍

𑁍༘༘⋆༘𑁍༘༘⋆𑁍༘⋆𑁍༘⋆𑁍༘⋆𑁍༘⋆𑁍༘⋆𑁍༘⋆𑁍

[eden-falls]

i WILL put those old men in whimsical situations. im sure tolkien would approve

i have been reading the books! i finished fellowship already and im at the point where merry and pippin meet treebeard. i have deeply enjoyed legolas being far more silly than he was depicted in the movies. "sure gandalf i will go and find the sun!" (prances back an hour later after leaving everyone to freeze) "she said she's busy ://". its like he was designed for me to be obsessed with

[wife-of-legolas]

You know what yes, I am going to publicly state that I think elves have natural hair oils that essentially work as conditioner and shampoo 24/7. Sue me.

[sadperipatetichobbitartst]

I don’t even ship them but I said I’d drawing Legolas and I also have to live up to my namesake or else who the hell am I

Anyways this was made originally with them the same height then I thought to myself “but aren’t elves supposed to be like really tall” and so this is my headcanon

[itsmeyaboialma]

my roommate made me watch the lord of the rings because i have not watched them before. and oh my god i have down a rabbithole with it. i absolutely love it and i am sad that i did not watch it before this week. if you see me reblogging lotr or hobbit posts, don't worry about it lol

[silme-lorien]

in my brain legolas is just a silly teenager who has seen way too much for his own good and also somehow can shoot a moving target from 800 feet away

[earthlybeam]

The reader (you) , with your bratty personality, loved teasing the elves. You always find ways to get their attention at the most inconvenient times, often by reaching out to touch the elf’s sensitive ears. (For the elves, it was more than just a simple touch—such actions were seen as intimate, a signal of courting, and a serious one at that also incredibly sensitive to pain and pleasure. If the reader (you) didn’t get the response you wanted, you’d torment the elf’s ears further, pinching or tugging until their target finally relented. You knew just how to push their buttons—always with a smile and a glint of mischief in their eyes.)

Legolas, Elladan, Elrohir version below

🍃𝓛𝓮𝓰𝓸𝓵𝓪𝓼

The wind whispered through the trees, the quiet murmurs of the forest seemingly too peaceful for what was unfolding just beyond the shade of the thick boughs. Legolas stood silently beside the campfire, the flickering orange light casting shadows over his strikingly ethereal features. He was already tense from the long day’s journey, every movement measured and graceful as ever. His attention seemed divided between the distant sounds of the forest and the mundane chatter of his companions, a lull in the evening as they prepared for rest. But for you, the calm before the night had become the perfect opportunity for mischief.You had always known just how sensitive Legolas’s ears were. Elves, as you had come to learn, were not just beautiful beings with unmatched grace and skill—they were deeply attuned to everything around them. His hearing, in particular, was finely honed to a point that even the smallest shift in the air could catch his attention. And you were about to put that to the test.

You slowly slid closer to where Legolas stood, pretending to focus on the task at hand, but in truth, you were scheming. The forest around you was still, and the other members of the fellowship were too wrapped up in their own thoughts to notice the game you were about to play. You took in the fine detail of Legolas’s posture—the way his brow furrowed slightly as he observed the world around him, how his perfect jawline shifted ever so subtly with his quiet sighs. A mischievous grin tugged at the corner of your mouth as you leaned in just enough to be barely noticeable to the others. You reached up, your fingers just grazing the delicate, pointed tip of his left ear. His body stiffened, just the faintest sign of a reaction, but he didn’t look your way. A small victory, but not enough for you. You had to push him further.

Your fingers circled the edge of his ear once, twice, and then, with a bit of added playfulness, you pinched it lightly between your thumb and forefinger. Legolas froze, his hand pausing in mid-motion, a sharp intake of breath barely audible to anyone but you. His gaze remained ahead, but his pulse quickened, and you could feel the tension radiating from him. He didn’t move, but there was something in his stillness that betrayed his surprise. “You…” His voice was low and controlled, but the hint of annoyance flickered beneath the surface, evident even in his careful tone. But you, ever the brat, had no intention of stopping. If anything, you found his discomfort all the more delightful. You continued, now gently running your fingers along the sensitive shell of his ear, tracing the delicate lines and curves that had always been a point of fascination for you. It was almost too easy to get him to respond—his hearing was so acute that even the faintest touch sent a tremor through him.

When you finally pinched his ear again, harder this time, his breath hitched audibly. He turned his head, his piercing blue eyes narrowing at you, though the cool facade he tried to maintain didn’t quite mask the flush spreading along his high cheekbones. His lips parted, but no words came out, his patience waning just slightly as he tried to decide how to handle you. “Enough,” Legolas finally said, though the command came with a slight tremble, his voice unable to fully mask the effect your teasing was having on him. He shot you a pointed look, and for a moment, you swore you saw something playful in his eyes—a challenge. But just as quickly, he regained his composure, raising an eyebrow. “You know better than to behave so recklessly, my friend.” But you were far from finished. The fact that you were getting under his skin, that your mischievous antics were rattling him in ways he didn’t like, was too tempting to resist. Your next move was daring—before Legolas could speak again, you took advantage of the moment and ran your fingers delicately along the side of his ear, brushing lightly against it as you teased him, your touch barely perceptible, but enough to send waves of sensation through him.

This time, the reaction was almost instant. His whole body stiffened, and his breath came out in a sharp exhale. Legolas took a half-step back, but his gaze flickered down to your eyes, searching for some sign of remorse—or perhaps an apology. But there was none. In fact, you smiled even wider, enjoying the power you held over him, even as he tried, and failed, to conceal his growing agitation. “You’re still not paying attention,” you teased, raising a hand to touch his ear once more. “I’m beginning to think I’ll have to try harder.”

Legolas’s patience was clearly at its limit. His voice, when he spoke again, was barely more than a growl. “Stop. Now.” His eyes were not as serene as usual, his usual calm demeanor cracking slightly, and you could see his mind racing—probably wondering how long you would push this before he’d have to take matters into his own hands. But something in his gaze betrayed that he wasn’t truly angry. There was a quiet amusement lingering beneath his tension, a flicker of reluctant affection you knew he wouldn’t voice. But you knew the rules by now. You could torment him with his sensitive ears all night if you wanted, but eventually, he would find a way to turn the tables on you. And sure enough, before you could react, Legolas moved quickly. In one swift motion, his hand shot out to gently but firmly grasp your wrist, halting your teasing fingers in mid-air. His eyes locked with yours, no longer playful, but serious now.

“Enough,” he said, his voice soft but final. His grip tightened slightly, just enough to assert his control, but not painfully so. You looked at him for a long moment, a mix of admiration and mischief still burning in your gaze. “You know you love it,” you said with a sly grin, fully aware of how much the playful game had gotten under his skin. For a moment, Legolas said nothing. His hand still held your wrist, but his gaze softened, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. There was a flicker of amusement in his eyes, despite his efforts to appear annoyed. “You are impossible,” he said, but the slight smile that tugged at his lips betrayed him. He let go of your wrist, his hand lingering for just a heartbeat longer than necessary before he turned to face the campfire, the warmth of the flames casting a soft glow on his face. You leaned back, crossing your arms in satisfaction, knowing you had won this round—though, you were well aware that Legolas would find a way to win the next.

⚔️𝓔𝓵𝓵𝓪𝓭𝓪𝓷

The day had been quiet, peaceful even. The golden sunlight filtered through the trees of Rivendell, casting dappled shadows over the grounds where Elladan and the reader were seated. He was deep in thought, his keen eyes trained on the distant horizon, though his mind was far from the tranquility around him. He was always watchful, always vigilant, as any child of Elrond would be. But you had other plans for him that day. With a sly grin curling on your lips, you sat beside him, the faintest of chuckles escaping your throat as you studied the back of his head. You knew what you were about to do would drive him mad, but that was the point. Your fingers, agile and mischievous, hovered near the soft, silken tip of his ear. You had heard the stories, seen the subtle tension in Elven faces when someone dared to touch or play with their ears, and now you wanted to see it firsthand—test Elladan’s patience. The fact that it was a vulnerable, intimate gesture to him only made it more enticing.

Elladan had been ignoring you for far too long, his attention stolen by matters that, frankly, you couldn’t be bothered with. So, you had to make your own fun. Without warning, your finger lightly traced the curve of his ear, just grazing it with enough pressure to make him flinch. Elladan’s back stiffened, and his sharp, silver eyes flickered over to you, narrowing as if trying to gauge whether you were teasing or being truly intrusive. His breath caught, but he kept his composure. “What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, his tone playful but laced with something more—something you could only describe as a quiet warning. His gaze flickered between your fingers and your face.

The smile on your lips only grew wider. “Oh, nothing,” you replied, nonchalantly, but you couldn’t suppress the glint of mischief in your eyes. “Just curious.” Before he could say anything further, you leaned closer and, with a swift motion, pinched the delicate lobe of his ear. The movement was soft, but it caught him off guard, and the air around you both seemed to grow still as his head jerked toward you. “Stop that,” Elladan muttered, his voice tight, though his lips twitched with a suppressed grin. He tried to pull away, but you were already closer, your fingers once again toying with the sensitive, pointed curve of his ear.

You didn’t stop there, of course. What fun would that be? As the teasing continued, you could see the frustration building in his expression, but his restraint was evident. His sharp Elven hearing had no doubt picked up every sound, every movement, including the softest brush of your fingers against his ear. His pupils flickered with the same intense focus you always admired, but today, you’d be the one to disrupt his concentration. You weren’t about to stop until you got what you wanted—his full attention, the way he always gave when you played with his patience like this. If anything, the subtle resistance only encouraged you further.

Elladan’s voice softened, turning from playful reprimands to something darker. “Do you think it’s funny, tormenting me like this?” Your teasing grin was full of mischievous defiance. “Maybe. A little.” He caught your wrist suddenly, his fingers warm against your skin, but he didn’t squeeze. Instead, he locked eyes with you, a soft sigh escaping his lips. “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that.” He almost seemed amused, but there was an edge to his words now—an edge you were pushing against.

The corner of his mouth quirked, the playful spark never quite extinguishing. “You do realize what you’re doing, don’t you?” he asked, his tone shifting into something that, to you, was both warning and challenge. You knew exactly what you were doing. You weren’t just teasing him anymore. You were deliberately provoking him, testing just how far you could push. “I’m not doing anything, Elladan,” you said, voice sweet as honey but your eyes filled with mischief. “Just… getting your attention.” That was all it took. As if his patience had finally reached its limit, Elladan turned fully to face you. His grip on your wrist loosened, but his eyes remained locked onto yours, a mix of playfulness and something far deeper.

“You like playing with fire, don’t you?” he murmured, leaning in, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. You could hear his breathing now, controlled and steady, but there was an undeniable warmth in his voice. You bit your lip, tempted to answer, but Elladan wasn’t waiting for you. In an instant, his hand slid to your other ear, a slow and deliberate motion that made you freeze. The touch was gentler than you expected, yet still enough to send a shiver through your body. You hadn’t expected him to turn the tables quite like this. “Your teasing has consequences,” he murmured, and suddenly, his fingers began to trace the sensitive edge of your ear in a way that made you feel like you might lose control of your breath.

You gasped, unable to stop the small, involuntary shudder that ran through you. The sensation was far more intense than you had anticipated, and for a moment, your teasing faltered. But Elladan’s eyes were playful, almost triumphant, as if he had won some small victory. “Not so funny now, is it?” he teased softly, his lips curling into a smirk as his hand lingered at the side of your neck, where the sensitive spot just beneath your ear was. His touch was light but had a way of making you feel utterly exposed.

Your hand instinctively moved to pull away, but you couldn’t help but feel drawn to him in that moment, a sense of vulnerability and something more—something that, despite your bratty antics, made you realize just how powerful this connection was. You both remained silent for a moment, the playful tension between you undeniable. And as you finally pulled your gaze away from his, your fingers lightly brushed against his own ear, sending a small jolt through his body. He didn’t immediately stop you this time, but there was a trace of amusement and something deeper—something more serious—lingering in the air. “Let’s see who’s really winning, hmm?” he said quietly, and with that, you knew the game had only just begun.

⭐️𝓔𝓵𝓻𝓸𝓱𝓲𝓻

The atmosphere in Rivendell was peaceful that day. The sound of the river flowing nearby mixed with the hum of nature, but none of that could soothe Elrohir’s growing irritation. He stood near the stone wall, gazing out at the tranquil landscape, attempting to focus on the task at hand: reconciling his thoughts. It was meant to be a quiet moment—until you decided otherwise. You had been lurking nearby, watching him for several moments as he lost himself in contemplation. Elrohir was always so serious, so composed. You couldn’t resist the urge to make things interesting. After all, what were your few minutes together if not for mischief? With a sly smirk, you approached him from behind, your footsteps light and deliberate. The sound of his breathing didn’t even change; he was still far too focused on the distant hills. That’s when you saw it—his ears, so perfectly pointed, his vulnerability written all over them. That was your target.

Without warning, your hand shot out to gently pinch the soft curve of his ear. Elrohir froze, his breath catching slightly. “Did I get your attention, Elrohir?” you teased, feeling the slight twitch of his ear under your fingers. His body stiffened, and you could see the slow, controlled exhale that escaped him. He wasn’t one to lose his composure easily. “I believe I warned you about your behavior before,” he murmured, his voice a low, smooth warning that you only found amusing. You grinned wickedly, unfazed. “What can I say? You looked like you were having too much of a quiet moment.”

Your finger traced the delicate outline of his ear, just grazing the sensitive tip, knowing well that every movement you made would send a shiver through him. Elrohir’s breath hitched slightly, his lips pressing together tightly in an attempt to keep his cool. “You truly have a knack for getting under my skin,” he said, still calm, though his eyes were narrowed with a mix of irritation and something else—something you could only describe as amused exasperation. “Aw, come on,” you pressed, now daring to flick the edge of his ear just enough to make him shift uncomfortably. “Don’t be like that. You know you like it.” You punctuated your sentence with a tiny, teasing pinch, more forceful than before.

Elrohir’s jaw tightened, and he spun around swiftly, his eyes meeting yours with a quiet intensity. You could tell he was trying to regain control of the situation, but his ears betrayed him. His pupils were slightly dilated, and you could see his chest rising and falling quicker than normal. “Enough of this,” he muttered, though the sternness in his voice didn’t quite mask the edge of impatience that had begun to creep in. But you were persistent, always. A devilish smile curled on your lips as you leaned closer to him, this time brushing your hand along the length of his ear again, your fingers skimming the sensitive area just beneath the tip. You felt the way his body stiffened, the faintest tremor running through him.

When Elrohir gave a low, breathy sigh, you decided to go for broke. The teasing had been fun, but you wanted more. With a mischievous gleam in your eye, you lightly tugged at his ear, a pinch coupled with the pressure that only heightened the sensitivity of the delicate flesh. Elrohir inhaled sharply, and you couldn’t help but laugh softly. “So sensitive,” you murmured. “I think that proves it. You’re enjoying this more than you’re letting on.” Elrohir’s hand shot up, catching your wrist in a vice-like grip before you could pinch him again. His eyes were darker now, intense, as though your playful antics had crossed some line. But even so, there was a glint of something playful behind the sternness.

“You have a lot of nerve,” he said, his voice lower now, yet thick with tension. “I could turn the tables, you know.” His grip loosened slightly, and you could tell that it took a great deal of willpower for him not to retaliate, not to playfully bite back in kind. He was an elf, after all. But this game had been entirely on your terms so far, and he was going to make sure that balance shifted. You cocked your head, leaning even closer as you could feel his warmth radiating from him. His tall, commanding frame towered over you, but you still held your ground, defiant and unafraid. “Turn the tables?” you whispered, your voice taunting, testing the waters. “How? You wouldn’t dare.”

For a moment, his gaze softened, and there was something almost predatory in the way his eyes traced your face, assessing you like a hunter watching its prey. Then, suddenly, he tugged you closer with surprising strength, his other hand now resting lightly against the small of your back. “You never know what I might do when you push me far enough,” he whispered in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. His voice was a dark mix of warning and promise. Before you could even react, his fingers brushed against your own ear in a teasing, deliberate motion, and for the first time, you froze. The sensitivity of your own ears, never fully appreciated until this moment, registered with full force, and you immediately felt a surge of heat spread through you.

You gasped, your attempt at teasing faltering as the same sensation that had driven you to torment him was now turning against you. “Well,” Elrohir said, his voice a low, satisfied murmur, “it seems you’ve learned a valuable lesson, have you not?” He gave your ear a quick, soft pinch that made your breath catch in your throat. You stared up at him, unable to fight the rush of feelings now swirling inside you. A blush colored your cheeks as you glanced down, both embarrassed and amused by how easily your own teasing had backfired.

Elrohir’s smirk deepened, and he leaned in, his lips brushing the edge of your ear as he whispered, “You may be playful, but remember… not all games end in your favor.” You shot him a mock pout, but it was clear now that you would never forget this playful, yet intense exchange. Elrohir was not one to be easily manipulated, but in his own way, he had returned your teasing with something more—something that left your heart racing and your mind wondering if perhaps you’d bitten off more than you could chew. “Fair enough,” you muttered, trying to regain your composure, though you knew better than to underestimate him in the future. The game, it seemed, was only just beginning.

[amightythwack]

[sotwk]

YES! I get so excited when one of the esteemed Tolkien experts validates my visions. 😂

When things start to get bad in Mirkwood in the Third Age, Thranduil refuses to put the lives of his people in further danger or duress. Even though his people adore their King and they would literally walk through fire for him, Thranduil would not send them to battle during those years, not even for Cirdan.

But his sons... that's a different matter. The Thranduilions are always willing to fight and to serve and give of themselves and make their parents and kingdom proud. So, things that are "too dangerous" for their people are not off limits to the princes of the realm.

Thranduil's rule has always been, he would never send his people into a battle he would not send his own precious sons into. And he always puts the Thranduilions at the frontline. They are there to protect, not be protected.

So Legolas going off with the Fellowship on a dangerous quest is actually just another regular business day for him.

Hello! I was wondering, since Círdan has something of a place in the sotwk au, whether you're intending to write anything featuring him? (I ask casually, with very normal feelings about Old Ship Elf McGee)

I. LOVE. CIRDAN. If I ever stop being intimidated by the Silm fandom, I would LOVE to write a Círdan fic someday! XD My writing will never reach the exquisite quality of most of Silm writers I know (that includes you, @hobbitwrangler), but hey--maybe someday I will drum up the nerve to take the leap!

Círdan has more than just "something of a place" in the SotWK AU; he's a significant player! He participates in the lives of Thranduil's family many times throughout the ages, so there are plenty of storytelling opportunities. The Lord of the Falas and Master of the Grey Havens was never an idle bystander, and he was certainly not a lonely, solitary old man. In the SotWK AU, he had family from the very start.

Círdan's Roles in the SotWK AU

FIRST AGE

Círdan the Husband: He did love and marry someone--Eäriel, a granddaughter of Olwë and cousin of Galadriel, a headstrong and adventurous elleth who also crossed the Helcaraxë with her cousins. She soon realized that the destiny that called her to Middle-earth lay with Círdan, who loved her from their first meeting.

SotWK Fancast: Olivia Hussey as Eäriel

Círdan the Father: Círdan's beloved son and only child, Eärondir, was the gentlest and most reluctant soldier to perish in the War of Wrath. Although his tragic death caused his mother to fade, it did the opposite to his father; Eärondir's self-sacrifice inspired Círdan to remain and devote his life to the service of the Valar and the peoples of Middle-earth. Círdan's fondness for both Eärendil the Mariner and Elrond Peredhel was because they were deeply good-hearted, and reminded him of his son.

Turhir Thranduilion is said to look remarkably like his grandfather Eärondir in both face and figure, which gets him just a tiny bit of favoritism from great-grandfather Círdan.

SotWK Fancast: Alexander Skarsgård as Eärondir; Sam Heughan as Turhir.

SECOND AGE

Círdan the Grandfather: Círdan transferred all the love he had for his late son to his daughter-in-law, Laurinwen, and surviving grandchildren, Maereth and Calinondo. When Laurinwen sailed for Valinor, Círdan took over guardianship of her children when they chose to remain in Middle-earth. Even after Maereth and Calinondo left the Grey Havens to pursue their own destinies, Círdan continued to guide them from a distance throughout their lives.

Círdan advised Maereth through her hesitations surrounding Thranduil's marriage proposals, and even traveled all the way to Eryn Galen to attend their wedding.

THIRD AGE

Círdan the Great-Grandfather: As the great-grandfather of Maereth and Thranduil's children, the Princes of Eryn Galen, Círdan found himself in a special position of power. At any time and for any cause, he was able to seek military aid from Thranduil and his sons, and could always rely on a swift and valiant response. No other person in Middle-earth, not even Elrond, could boast of such an alliance. And a handful of Thranduilions were an army all on their own!

Círdan's influence was responsible for the participation of the Thranduilions in several historic battles during the Third Age, most notably throughout the centuries-long Angmar War. Whenever they answered their great-grandfather's summons, the Princes fought under his command and the banner of Lindon, so there was no historical record of Mirkwood's participation in these events.

When Turhir left Mirkwood in TA 2601 (after the deaths of Mirion and Arvellas) with the intention of sailing across the sea, Círdan took him into his home and counselled him for many years about where his true destiny might lie. (Hint/spoiler: It was NOT in Valinor. Yet.)

tldr: Middle-earth owes a great debt to Círdan's wisdom and foresight, and his unique influence on Thranduil's family is just a small part of it!

Thank you again for the ask, @hobbitwrangler! <3 I know this was WAY more information than you asked for, but it felt good to write it all out. Hopefully some of these will turn into fics someday.

Want to learn more about the SotWK AU?

Introduction to SotWK

Main Headcanon Masterlist