#Haldir fic

[gloomwitchwrites]

Gentle Dark

Haldir x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: romantic tension, yearning, passionate kissing, fade to black, admission of feelings, fluff, light angst

Word Count: 1.3k

On a patrol together, Haldir confronts you about your feelings for him even though you’re promised to another.

A/N: For @childofyuggoth

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist

The stars twinkle through the gnarled canopy. White. Bright. Bathing the forest floor with iridescent light. You close your eyes and inhale deeply, savoring the scents of the forest around you. Caras Galadhon dwells behind you, sleeping and silent in the peaceful dark.

You are attuned to every sound in the deep wood, and as you filter through it all, you find nothing out of place or suspicious. But the disturbance of the wood is not of your immediate concern. There are greater trials and closer bodies that seek your attention other than the animals that softly move through the underbrush.

Haldir of Lórien is a beacon in the dark. You sense him before you see him, standing just shy of your right shoulder.

“The night is quiet,” he whispers.

You open your eyes, turn to face him. “It is indeed.”

Haldir’s gaze casually drops to your lips and then back to your eyes. A gentle heat radiates up your body to encompass you in its embrace. You have little control over your body’s reaction to him.

The answering of your flesh when he is in your presence is unfair. It is a cruel joke. You are promised to another, but not one of your choosing. If you had a choice, you would pick Haldir.

Always.

But that is not to be. That is not the path set out before you.

Him standing here next to you, alone in the gentle dark, is agony. The heat of him is so near, so alive that it sends your senses tingling with anticipation. The clashing beat within you is a deafening drum.

Can Haldir hear the racing of your heart? Can he sense your need and your aching tremble?

You hope he can’t, but you also silently hope that he does. What would he do then?

Haldir’s gaze finally leaves you to glance out into the wood. “We should begin the patrol.”

“Of course,” you murmur, inclining your head, allowing Haldir to take the lead.

He returns his gaze to you briefly before taking a step forward to walk between two trees. You follow him at a short distance, watching the distance, keeping a constant pivot. The two of you walk in relative silence, moving like phantoms amongst the towering trees.

At a small clearing, Haldir pauses. You cozy up beside him, a question starting to form on your lips.

“Do you remember this place?” he asks softly, gaze fixated at the center of the clearing. A sharp beam of moonlight illuminates the ground. The flowers glow under its lunar light.

You do know this place. On one of your many patrols with Haldir, he confessed his love in this very clearing. He held your hands in his, kissed your knuckles and each of your fingers. He whispered in a longing of gentle song that soothed your nerves and calmed your soul. In that moment, you didn’t want anyone else, you only wished for him.

But how things change.

“It is etched upon my heart,” you answer truthfully.

Haldir’s silver hair shines like starlight. “I’d like to stay here. My memories of this place are happy ones.”

The two of you have come to this clearing on multiple occasions. It is no coincidence that Haldir’s patrol includes you. He selects you on purpose, and you go with him willingly because you desire the closeness. It will not last forever, not when you’re promised to another.

“We can only linger here for so long,” you remind him.

Haldir sighs heavily, and turns to face you. He has always been stoic. Calm. Even in your presence, even when he whispered gentle words of love to you, Haldir never appeared…desperate.

The look on his face now is anything but calm. It is intense—a billowing storm tightly contained.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you murmur, startled by the sudden change.

Haldir’s gaze goes to your lips, lingers, and then flicks up to your eyes. “Why do you deny yourself what you want?” he asks.

You swallow and tuck your clenched fist behind your back. Haldir’s directness is too much. He knows that this is not of your own choosing.

“You cannot ask this of me,” you answer, hating yourself for sounding so weak.

Haldir entirely shifts his body in your direction. Taking a step forward, he moves into your space. Your back bumps up against the tree next to you. Haldir places his hand against the trunk next to your head.

You are trapped, but by all the stars in the night sky, you do not care.

His scent is woodsy and clean. You lean in a bit, inhaling, attempting to remember his smell since this might be your last opportunity to do so.

“You stay loyal to him.” Haldir bends at the elbow, pressing in. “And yet you know that he lusts after another.” The center of his brow furrows slightly. “Why not be with someone who will always worship you?”

Him. Him, meaning, your betrothed. The one you’re supposed to be with in the end. The selection made for you. This is an expectation placed upon you.

And Haldir is right. He does not love you. While you intend to be loyal in your upcoming marriage, you also know his heart will yearn for another. But you also yearn for someone else, and Haldir is standing right here, questioning all of this, wanting to know why you won’t pick him.

“Sometimes duty comes before happiness,” you reply softly, gaze cast downward.

“Does it?” he counters quickly.

You keep your face turned toward the ground. Stare at your feet.

The two of you have lain in this clearing, limbs draped over and around each other. There has always been closeness between the two of you. There has always been touching, skin pressed to skin, lips brushing but never fully meeting. Yet, the two of you have never completed the act itself.

That is binding. That is forever.

But you see it in Haldir’s eyes now as you sneak a peek of him. That desperate hunger. The desire to be with one person for the end of your days. It is an arrow through the heart, piercing and sharp and stinging.

You wish to satiated it, to admit to what you want most in this world. Because it is him. It is Haldir that you crave more than anyone else.

“I would be breaking my oath,” you reply softly, finally having the courage to look at him directly.

“Would you?” he asks. “You have made no vow. You have created no bond. The choice is yours. Utterly.” He gestures at himself with his free hand. “And I am right here.”

With a shaking hand, you reach up to cradle his cheek. Haldir turns into your touch, sighing gently, and that snaps your resolve, dissolves it like the winter snows melting in the sun. Haldir must sense the change, because the two of you meet, lips finally joining in what they’ve been longing for.

He tastes perfect. Wonderful. A match made for the ages.

Haldir’s hand upon the tree departs, leaving the bark to encircle your waist, to draw your body against his. You do not resist. You surrender to him, opening like a flower, wanting nothing more than to forget all your fears and sorrows in this little clearing.

The night is long, but it is not forever. For now, the two of you can have this.

Haldir drags you even closer, pressing you firmly against him as he learns the contours of your lips. His hands discover the planes of your body, and yet it’s not enough for him. Haldir is charged like lightening across the sky.

The two of you have been denying these mutual feelings for far too long.

This is a tremor. Earth-shaking. A star bursting into dust.

Haldir guides you to the center of the clearing, easily removing his cloak with one hand. He breaks away a moment to lay it down on the dewy grass, reaching for you the moment it fans out to hold the two of you.

You sink down with him, buckles and straps, and armor disappearing as you go.

It is everything.

It is nothing.

It is all you need in the gentle dark.

taglist:

@foxxy-126 @glassgulls @km-ffluv @firelightinferno @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @protosslady @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado @berarenado @therealbloom @ninman82 @thewulf @ferns-fics @beebeechaos

[errruvande]

Haldir (as his beautiful face was everywhere) and wool.

(this is for the drabble!)

Emma, thank you for your participation 💖

This ended up being heavy on the ficlet side, then a drabble, but oh, what should I do 😅

It was a long few weeks of Haldir's absence. Being married to him for almost a millennium, you grew almost comfortable with your husband's frequent absence. After all, you knew who you were marrying, you knew exactly how little of him you'd get in your life, from his duty was to scout the borders of your beautiful home and, if needed, to lead the army of the elves of Lothlorien into battle, thought you've been brushing the last thought from your mind, for the horror would lie too heavy on your heart if it comes to that end.

In lack of Haldir by your side you found yourself a hobby to keep you busy, distracting your eager mind from the gloomy thoughts of your husband's wellbeing.

Once the market in Caras Galadhon was full of new items from both Lothlorien and the lands further south, such as golden fields of Rohan and distressed Gondor, you decided to buy some wool to weave yourself a warm cloak. Then, it was a challenge to reckon with. One day, when Haldir returned from his scouting, he rashed to your shared talan only to find you tangled in the yarn, the weaving wheel laying on it's side on the floor next to your whimpering figure.

Now, you were well known as a marvelous weaver, and have been making cloaks and gowns for all the elleths in Lorien.

You were sitting at the table in your talan, weaving yet another grey cloak, when you heard the door creaking, light steps becoming closer and closer to you.

“Meleth nîn!” You would recognize his scent, the way he breathes and walks with your eyes closed. You jumped from your seat to welcome Haldir, as he finally came home from another patrol.

“Y/N…” Haldir cupped your cheeks, bowing his head just slightly to touch your forehead with his, and slowly succumbed into a long desired kiss.

After every patrol you kissed him for the first time in your life, the kiss is so intimate and soft, it feels like a gentle breeze caressing your lips. You missed this. With every inch of your being.

Your hands were resting on his chest, softly brushing the thin material of his tunic, as he lowered one of his hands to take in your palm. “I've missed you terribly, meleth”

You felt so desperate, letting his lips part from yours when you only wanted them to linger and take all the air away from your lungs, that feeling alone made you whimper silently.

But that was the time, when Haldir took your hand in his and lifted it to look at your palm closely, your fingers shaking a little from the long days of weaving, little blisters shining on the their tips.

“You should take some time off, love.” he didn't hesitate to press your palm to his lips and kiss it softly, moving along each of your fingers, pecking them in tiny little kisses. “You should not work at a loss of your health.”

“I would gladly not work at all, my love,” you watched him grazing your hand with kisses, his clear blue eyes locked on yours. “but then I would be thinking about you without a rest, and that will cause more loss of my health than a slightly shaking fingers”

Haldir chuckled softly, bringing the second palm of yours to his face and kissing the tips of your fingers gently. He started walking on you, leading you away from the wool and the weaving wheel, so you could stop thinking about your work at least for a few minutes.

“Is that new?” He noticed a blanket spread on top of the big bed, blue with a deep green ornament on it. You nodded.

“Made it a few days ago” you glanced over the bed, tugging your palms out from Haldir's grip and placing them around his waist, that fitted so perfectly between your hands, and pressed yourself to his body.

“Shall we test if it is soft enough?” You saw his face lighted with a smile, a light chuckle leaving his mouth, as he made another step, pressing your calves to the bed.

“Meleth, I have work to be done…” Haldir could definitely hear a note of disappointment in your airy voice, as you sat on the bed, looking him in the eyes, hands still curled around his muscular waist.

“Your husband just returned from a month-long patrol.” He reached your face with his palm and grazed your cheek with his soft fingers carefully, sending a light shiver down your neck. “I think they will understand.”

You stretched one of your arms beside you, leaning to your back and watching Haldir bending over you to gift you a soft kiss on the neck. The woolen blanket feels soft and delicate under your touch, just as the kisses your husband showering your naked areas of skin with, forcing a little whine to exit your mouth.

“Perhaps they will”

Send me a word and a character: LOTR/TH, TLK or VIKINGS - and I will try and write a drabble or ficlet ✨

[ourlonelymountain]

Bereft

“You will never be unloved by me. My heart will always find its way back to you, Marchwarden.”

The steady, gentle breathing light lit her tranquil face, in shades of orange and gold. She was resting peacefully while he felt numb. Staring blankly at his hands, he found himself unable to feel anything anymore. Not even the terror or rage he felt when he found her small, bloodied body lying contorted among dead orcs. The gruesome image of such pure and perfect beauty lying between those abominable creatures will haunt him for eternity. His love was swept away from him.

[errruvande]

MOMYYYY I JUST- I-I LOVE THAT 😭😭😭

Always so gentle and observing Haldir my beloved, he did it again, he invaded my heart ❤️

I love to pieces how you showed us the marchwarden's gatherings and all of these conversations we overheard? Brilliant ahahah

My favorite thing in Haldir fics is to see the changes in his behavior once he's comfortable enough with a person, and you showed it perfectly 😍

Three Weeks on the Nimrodel

Well, here it is. My first (and oldest) piece of fic. I'm going against my brand here by posting something set in Lorien when Rohan is really my jam. But this is the first thing I ever wrote, so it seems fitting that it should be the first posted, too.

Pairing: Haldir x reader (The reader is gender neutral beyond 2 uses of the descriptor "beautiful", which is still neutral to me but your mileage might vary.)

Genre: Romance, I guess

Summary: Two elves who are frequently misunderstood by others find the joy of having someone really see and value them for who they are.

Inspiration: This all came from the well loved gif above, in which Craig Parker does beautiful work communicating a whole emotional arc (surprise, confusion, acceptance, appreciation) when Aragorn unexpectedly shows Haldir some loving affection. In that half-second of screen time, I see an entire book of backstory about Haldir's character--about being someone who is very reserved by nature, who isn't necessarily comfortable freely expressing feelings and innermost thoughts, but who still feels deep emotional connections to others that can come out under the right circumstances. As a very reserved person myself, I can relate--if you tend to keep your thoughts and feelings close to the vest, people will make a lot of assumptions and judgments about you that probably aren't right, and that can be exhausting. When someone finally does understand you and allows you to be comfortable enough to open up on your own terms, it's a life changing experience. So that's what I tried to write.

Word count: approx 3200 (~ 6 pages)

**********

It is still early when you arrive in the center of Caras Galadhon, joining the crowd of elves waiting to find out where they will be posted for the next few weeks of guard duty. Most in the group are veteran marchwardens, deeply familiar with each other and the daily routine of life near the borders. By contrast, you are a city warden, often dedicated to the direct protection of the Lady of the Wood. But you have been asked to serve a temporary rotation on the borders while several of the regular marchwardens are away with Lord Celeborn on a visit to Mirkwood.

The change of pace is not unwelcome to you. While you love Caras Galadhon and are honored to spend time in the service of Lady Galadriel, you frequently find yourself craving distance from the city in favor of the quiet outlying areas, where it is easy to hear clear birdsong, the rustling steps of small animals scampering by, and the patter of light raindrops falling on mallorn leaves.

The crowd begins to murmur as the deputy captain appears and begins handing around sheets of paper with duty assignments. As the pages spread through the crowd, the murmurs turn to both sighs of disappointment and quiet expressions of satisfaction.

“All I want is to avoid the Nimrodel,” you overhear the elf next to you mutter to a friend of his. You recognize him as Calendil, who, like many of his companions, is well known for carousing around Caras Galadhon any time he is home on leave. As a group, the marchwardens are a boisterous company who seem always determined to pack several weeks of fun into the few days of free time they’ve been given. “Three weeks posted with the captain is more than can be asked of me.”

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise at this mention of Captain Haldir. You know him a little–everyone in Lorien knows the leader of the marchwardens–and have never before heard a negative word uttered about him. Your path does not often cross with his, but you admire his impressive record of achievements and have never seen him treat another elf with anything but courteous respect.

“You speak truly,” replies Calendil’s companion. “I cannot spend so much time with someone who has so little to say. That much silence is enough to drive one a little mad.”

A wave of indignation rolls through your body. It is undeniably true that Haldir is very reserved. He says little that isn’t necessary to the conduct of his duties, and what he is truly thinking behind his large blue eyes is often a mystery. But that has never seemed a negative trait to you. Indeed, you appreciate that he does not talk simply for talk’s sake and that he does not seem concerned with always making his own opinions known. What’s more, you recognize a fair amount of his inherent reserve in your own nature. If you didn’t often force yourself to satisfy others’ expectations by taking on a more outgoing, sociable persona, perhaps your own wardens would describe you just as these elves have described their captain.

Calendil’s conversation comes to an abrupt end as a copy of the assignment sheet makes its way into his hands. Peering over his shoulder, you quickly find your own name allocated to a remote post near the edge of the Dimrill Dale. A glance further down the list confirms what you already know from the quiet groan that has just escaped from Calendil’s lips: he has been assigned to the Nimrodel post.

An idea quickly forms in your head, and you tap him on the shoulder. Why should he spend three weeks feeling miserable with his posting–and, no doubt, making anyone around him miserable as a result–when you have no particular attachment to your own assignment? Calendil can go to the Dimrill Dale, and you will spend your posting with Haldir instead.

“If such a trade is permitted within your ranks, I will gladly make the exchange,” you offer. “I have always loved the river. And I have no objection to the company of someone who takes his duty seriously and does not revel in idle chatter.”

Calendil’s face registers a moment of regret as he realizes that his prior conversation has been heard by others, but it is quickly replaced by a wide, beaming smile that reflects his rapid change of fortune. “It is permitted,” he says, “and I happily accept. Remind me the next time we are both on leave, and I will reward your generosity with some of my own!”

You doubt that whatever reward he has in mind will suit your inclinations, but there is no need to worry about that now. Calendil has already sprinted off toward the deputy captain to report the change, and you turn toward home to gather your supplies.

****

Two days later, you are approaching the Nimrodel post, which is located in a lovely old mallorn tree with twisted roots that hang over the river’s edge. You raise your hand to your lips and whistle the signal. The return call echoes off the trees before a slim rope ladder drops from the branches above you. You run lightly up the rungs, making easy work of the climb to the talan perched near the great tree’s crown, where it commands a wide view of the river and much of the western section of the border.

As you hoist yourself and your pack onto the platform, you look up to see a single figure standing a few feet away. It is Haldir, leaning against the wind screen with his bow slung loosely over his shoulder and his white-blonde hair blowing gently in the breeze.You are surprised to see him there alone; wardens generally keep watch in pairs or groups of three for safety. You are there to relieve Arthalion, who is due now to return home for a break, but there is no sign of Arthalion or his things.

“Mae govannen, Captain,” you say, placing your hand on your chest and bowing your head slightly. “Is everything well?”

Haldir returns the gesture with a small smile. “Yes. It has been blessedly uneventful. Perhaps it is the threat of the weather.”

This makes sense. Just last month, an orc party attempting a surprise attack during a thunderstorm found themselves nearly washed away by sudden flooding from the Celebrant. Since then, even the hint of rain has tended to keep them at bay.

“And Arthalion? Is he out on a task?”

Haldir shakes his head. “I sent him back early. You might have passed one another in the forest except that he planned to meet a small hunting party further north. As I said, things here were quiet, and he was anxious to join his friends.” He gives a small shrug and looks down. “I will do the same for you, if circumstances allow and you desire it. I do not wish to keep anyone from their enjoyments unless duty requires it.”

You permit yourself a brief moment to wonder what Haldir’s own enjoyments might be. You have heard that he is a talented artist, making detailed pencil sketches of the forest, but he does not often show his work to others.

“That is a thoughtful offer,” you say. “But I have no pressing need to return, and I would not have you out here alone, even if there is no other elf in Lorien better able to protect himself.”

He acknowledges this compliment with a modest smile and gestures toward a small shelf where you can store your belongings. His own are few in number but neatly stacked or folded with military precision. You note that he does, in fact, have a small bundle of pencils and a notebook, but, as expected, there is no sign of any actual drawings.

After stowing your things, you settle into a position opposite him on the talan, and a silence ensues. It is of no bother to you–you’re enjoying the smell of the damp air and the touch of the light wind on your face–but you soon notice that Haldir is looking increasingly discomfited as the quiet minutes slip by. His gaze shifts frequently between the horizon, his hands on his bow, and your face.

“Was…your journey here pleasant?” His face is studiously neutral, but his voice sounds strained and he picks at a splinter on his bow. You realize that he is trying to make conversation for your benefit, to fill in the noticeable silence with casual talk that clearly does not come easily to him. You feel a sudden rush of affection for him, this intensely quiet being who is making himself uncomfortable so that you will feel welcome. You wonder how best to put him at ease.

“It was very pleasant,” you reply. “I am so rarely outside of the city these days that any chance to enjoy the forest is a gift. I can understand why being a marchwarden is an attractive job, at least during times of relative peace.”

He looks up, reappraising your face, and nods his agreement.

You hesitate before speaking again, unsure about how directly to address his uneasiness.

“Captain,” you begin, “it sounds like we may have an uneventful tour here. If that is the case, please do not feel that you are obligated to occupy my time. I am quite comfortable with quiet activity and my own thoughts and would gladly afford you space for the same if that is something you wish.”

His cheeks and ears flush slightly but, despite his apparent embarrassment at being accurately perceived, he seems immediately relieved as well. “Thank you,” he says. “If you are as good a warden as you are a reader of people, I feel myself in safe hands indeed.”

The next several days pass by peacefully. Between occasional scouting trips up or down the riverbank and regularly monitoring the view from the talan, you mostly spend the time together in companionable silence. You take turns preparing simple meals, and during breaks in the intermittent rain you make minor repairs to nearby rope bridges and other hidden defenses in the area. In the evenings, you read a book by lantern light while Haldir sits next to his own lantern and sketches in his notebook, occasionally transferring completed drawings into a closed leather folio at his side. Every so often, you both glance up at the same time, and you give him a warm smile when your eyes meet before turning back to your respective pages.

*****

One evening, as you clean up the remains of your small dinner and take out your book again, Haldir lightly clears his throat.

“That book seems to engage you much,” he says. “May I ask what it is?”

Surprised, you hold it out to him, and he takes it, examining the cover and flipping through a few pages.

“I do not recognize this script,” he says, looking at it with curiosity.

“It is a representation of Rohirric,” you tell him. “My brother was a skilled linguist who passed on some small portion of his knowledge to me. He spent many months visiting a friend in the court at Edoras and helped them to start preserving some of their oral traditions with a system of letters. This is a copy of one of his first completed projects–the story of the founding of Rohan–which he sent to me as a gift.”

Haldir looks again with renewed interest at a few pages before handing the book back to you. “Your brother sounds like an impressive scholar,” he says. “Does he remain in Rohan?”

You hesitate slightly before responding. “In a way. Two years ago an orc band in search of horses raided a village near the Limlight while my brother happened to be visiting. They caught him and his hosts unaware. The Rohirrim buried his body in a place of honor with their people, though his spirit has surely gone to Mandos.”

You relate this with downcast eyes, tracing over your brother’s name on the cover of the book with your thumb. After a few moments, you look up again, expecting to see Haldir withdrawn from the conversation. You know that many elves are uncomfortable with death, which is an unnatural state for your kind, and there is nothing in your interactions so far to indicate that Haldir will want to continue such a personal discussion. You are surprised once again, however, to find that he is looking at you intently.

“I am deeply sorry,” he says. “Working as I do, I have known many elves who met a similar fate in battle, and it is never easy. My own brothers are a treasure to me, and I cannot imagine losing them. I hope I have not contributed to your suffering by unwittingly bringing up a painful subject.”

You blink back a few tears and smile. Through your sadness, you are moved by the warmth of his response and honored that he was willing to share something personal of himself. “Of course not,” you say. “Talking about my brother is one way to keep him with me. Thank you, Captain.” You reach forward and squeeze his hand. He flinches slightly at the unexpected touch, but then gently returns the squeeze.

“Please,” he says, “call me Haldir.”

*****

After that night, things are different between the two of you. You both speak more often, tentatively at first but then with increasing comfort. You trade stories about old adventures and talk about the joys and frustrations of your daily lives. You discover that he has much to say when he finally feels more at ease. He is even quite funny, with a dry wit that you did not expect but thoroughly enjoy. You walk together in the forest and rest your feet in the waters of the Nimrodel during the day, and in the evenings he asks you to read to him from your book. You happily relate tales of Cirion and Eorl and the coming of the Northmen to Calenardhon as he draws quietly, occasionally interjecting a question or a brief comment.

The time passes quickly and easily, and soon your rotation will be at an end. You realize there is a growing pain in your heart each time you think about your imminent departure. Your old life suddenly feels dull and uninteresting to you now. You do not want to go back to a time without his companionship. You debate whether to say this to him, but you cannot imagine how he might react to such a confession. Paralyzed by uncertainty, the last days of your assignment tick by.

On your final evening, you are preparing for one last opportunity to enjoy what has become your nightly routine. Just as he is about to settle with his notepad and folio, however, he notices your canteen is empty and insists on climbing down to fill it for you. As he reaches the ground and disappears over the riverbank, the wind changes direction and a sudden gust rips across the talan, flinging back the cover of the folio and sending papers flying out in all directions. You cry out in dismay and throw yourself desperately onto the pages whipping around you, seeking to hold them down long enough to gather them safely together.

It is only after you have retrieved all the loose pages and are preparing to neatly stack them that you first look at the drawings themselves and are stunned by what you see: beautiful illustrations of the stories you’ve been reading to him, the words of your brother’s book brought to vivid life in graceful pencil lines and delicate shading. You leaf through the stack in awed amazement only to nearly drop the whole pile again when you turn a page and find an image of yourself as you must look to him each night, sitting by your lantern with your book in your lap. You keep turning pages and find more of yourself…braiding your hair first thing in the morning, standing at the wind screen and scanning the horizon, unlacing your boots at the end of a day. Your breath catches in your throat as you absorb these images. You have never looked more beautiful than you do here, seen through his eyes.

A sudden noise behind you tears your attention from the papers in your hand, and you turn to find Haldir standing there. You are immediately overwhelmed by panic and begin to stammer out an explanation for how you came to be holding his personal things, violating his privacy. “I…the wind…they were blowing away and…”. Hot tears well up in your eyes and are soon spilling down your cheeks, partly from embarrassment at the situation but mostly as the feelings you’ve been keeping pent up threaten to come flooding out all at once. “I was not trying to…I…”. An involuntary sob robs you of the ability to finish your sentence, though you aren’t sure how you would have finished it had you been able.

At the sound of your sob, he moves forward, quickly closing the distance between you. He hesitantly cups a hand under your jaw and uses his thumb to brush a tear from your cheek. “Please do not cry,” he says. “I would not ever see you in pain if it were in my power to prevent it. I am not upset. These drawings were for you, for your book. You were meant to have them, except the last few, which I hoped to keep as a reminder of these days and how happy I have been.” Your eyes snap up to his face, searching for confirmation that you have correctly understood his words.

“You know that I am not much for talking,” he continues. “But I am a very good observer. I know that you see me for who I am, just as I see you. I see all of the ways that you are kind and interesting and intelligent and beautiful. I have no expectation that you return my feelings, and if all I ever have with you are these three weeks then I will cherish the memory of these weeks through all the long ages of my life. But I would….”

Before he can complete his thought, your body reacts on its own impulse, a pure release of elation. You throw your arms around his neck and bury your face in his broad chest, still crying but now with tears of joy. You hear a sharp intake of breath as he processes your reaction, and for a fraction of a moment he stands motionless and silent before breaking into a smile and wrapping you in his arms. You could live in those arms forever, and now perhaps you will.

[dancerinthestorm]

Fic Recs: Haldir Edition

I‘ve been having a lot of Haldir Feels lately so I thought I‘d finally collect my all-time favorite stories about this elf in one place.

While all rather different in mood and style they are all equally brilliant and I just cannot recommend them or their wonderful authors enough. Thank you so much for creating these beauties, guys, and for sharing them with us! 💕 You are absolute rock stars!! ⭐️✨

@esta-elavaris : „Spun together“

All the yearns and exquisite pining of a 300 page Austen novel compressed into less than 6,000 words.

And if, like me, you just cannot get enough of Haldir and Liawyn check out „As the World Falls Down“, the truly haunting and equally fantastic sequel about Haldir leaving for Helm‘s Deep.

Haldir x OFC. Rated: Teen and up. 5,900 words.

~*~*~*~

@glassgulls : „Sweet Conversations“

Night time in Lothlórien. A member of the fellowship on the run, Haldir giving chase.

I said it once, I‘ll say it again: one of the most amazing kisses recorded in literary history. Ever. And no. That’s not up for debate.

Haldir x fem!reader. Rated: Teen and up. 5,400 words.

~*~*~*~

@from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras : “Three Weeks on the Nimrodel”

This story and Haldir and his fellow marchwarden on their talan will forever be my happy place. There just isn’t a single thing I do not love about this beautiful, quiet and utterly amazing piece about falling in love without needing a lot of words.

And if you are loath to let go of this truly perfect incarnation of our favorite elf: check out „The Guardian“ (which I still haven’t caught up with myself yet... aaaah!!!)

Haldir x gen!reader. Rated: G. 3,200 words.

~*~*~*~

@gloomwitchwrites : „Gentle Dark“

So short, so intense, so utterly beautiful. Star-crossed lovers of the best AND worst kind. It's truly amazing how such a short little thing left me so absolutely devastated.

Haldir x fem!reader. Rated: M. 1,300 words.

~*~*~*~

@nocompromise-noregrets : "In the Fountain Garden"

A quiet moment in the gardens of Imladris for Haldir takes a rather unexpected turn with the arrival of Glorfindel. Not Glorfindel, "hero, twice-born, slayer of the Balrog, vanquisher of the Witch-King of Angmar, sent back to Middle-Earth for a purpose only the Valar knew". Just... Glorfindel.

Calm, competent and slightly star struck Haldir meeting @nocompromise-noregrets's utterly unique incarnation of Glorfindel is a thing of absolute beauty.

Haldir x Glorfindel. Rated: Teen and up. 3,600 words.

~*~*~*~

@sotwk : „The Baker from Lórien“

My most recent Haldir discovery and an instant addition to the list of fics I will never ever get enough of. This story is a pure shot of serotonin in written form and I will never not be in love with the idea of gorgeous, ridiculously competent (he bakes!!), kind Haldir being totally oblivious of a host of besotted ellith following him around Thranduil's palace whenever he visits his mum there.

Gen. Rated: G. 1,100 words.

~*~*~*~

So much for my favorites. How about yours? If you think "Nice enough list but how can she be missing XXXX" I'd love to hear about your own favorites! ^_^

[almostavenger]

hesitation

frank/karen - first kiss in a fictional (please make it canon) season 2 scene i direly need to happen read on ao3

•·.·''·.·• •·.·''·.·

Blocked by Frank's body, Karen felt the bite of the counter against her back, her palm pressed against the sharp corner. She looked nowhere but his face and he looked everywhere but hers.

Frank was either a man of few words or could spill a speech in his gravely tones that gripped and didn't let go.

He said nothing, his hand blocking her in, fingertips against the countertop. Karen sucked in a breath, studied his face, unsuccessfully willed her body to wilt from him rather than search him out like the sun.

But she…she could not do this. She could not linger, could not allow herself to stay open here if he was unwilling to meet her.

Moving away was the hardest thing she'd done in years, dipping her head and side stepping. "I should go," she said softly, afraid to speak and break something.

Frank's heart, or her own.

A whisper, a shift, a fumbled graceful movement.

"Kare…Karen." Frank's voice shattered and he reached out for her. Rough fingers at her wrist.

A hook lodged in Karen's chest yanked, stopping her and spinning her around. He looked at her then, fleeting, feverishly, darting as if he were a prey thing and not what he was.

"Karen," he said again, a plea, a pray, the only thing he could say. There was nothing else.

A wave cascaded through her from head to toe; a chill, a shiver, a volley of heat. She twisted her hand in his gentle grip, guided his palm to her waist.

Her name repeated in her ears, around the pulsing of her heart.

She trailed her hand up from his wrist to his shoulder, seeking his other with hers. She controlled the storm, he was a waves-battered ship. His hand, rough against the soft column of her throat. Her hand joining the other behind his neck.

He whispered her name, pressed his thumb against her delicate collarbone.

God, okay, she was going to have to do this. To push him to the edge.

Karen tilted her head, lips slightly parted, brushed against his—or did they? They were too close to tell.

A moment's hesitation, a strengthening of the grip at her waist, the back of her neck—

The storm inside both of them broke.

Their hearts scrambled to break free of their cages, the heat suffocating them both. Frank's hands firm but still. Karen's arms crossed at the elbow, her body caving into his form, all hard edges, more scar than man.

A parting of lips and gulp of air.

Unsteady, Karen's eyes fluttered open, Frank moving his hands to her arms, holding him captive.

"I can’t—"

…be what you need. …leave a blemish on your skin with my blood soaked hands. …stop.

"Karen, I want—“

…you to go. …you to stay. …you.

Karen, intaking short, hot breaths, shook her head, pushed herself closer, curling her arms around the back of his head, sinking her fingertips into his hair.

"Shut up, Frank," she murmured. "For once in your life, don't give a speech and torture yourself. Just be here. With me."

She was not leaving. How could she?

A storm restored, Frank was.

He kissed her.

And then he kissed her, working hands sinking into her hip, her waist, her back, her silky tresses.

Karen held tight and kissed as fiercely as she argued.

Together they stumbled into a table. A clatter of equipment. Karen breathed laughter into his lungs and he almost couldn’t stand it.

But there was no turning back this tide.

[quillofspirit]

2023 fic recs

If there's one thing to know about me, is that I love to read! and I love to share the good fics, so I figured I would put them all on one list💚

pssst! it's my first time doing anything like this, so if you have recommendations for the format, please do leave them in the comments or drop me a message! thanks xx

Key 🍬 fluff 🧯 spicy 🌡️ smut ⛈️ angst 🌪️ all

For people I have tagged, please let me know if there is anything you’d like me to add or remove — like a link to another account. It’ll be my pleasure☺️

Lord of the Rings (and related)

⛈️🧯Fuck the Forbidden pt. 1 by @entishramblings

Boromir x mermaidfem!oc Teens and Up but read the warnings carefully 9,500 words

Now I want mermaids in everything. why aren’t there mermaids in everything? The descriptions are so well done, everything is so vividly easy to visualize, oh I just loved it.

I am so hyped for pt 2!!

🍬⛈️ Healing Touch by @ass-deep-in-demons

Boromir x fem!oc Teens and Up 4,350 words

My film studies degree was very happy about the descriptions of movement in this one - it’s a little specific but hear me out. It’s much easier to see the actors playing the scene when it’s described this well! THAT ENDING, I have to say I joined Legolas, and I don’t have excuses.

I cannot wait to read the rest of the adventures of Joanna!

🍬 I Might Need to Kiss You by @fizzyxcustard

Thorin Oakenshield x fem!reader 400 words

I was squealing, this is so sweet. like the perfect little pick me up when you need a reminder, and Thorin is nothing if not a good king to his subjects 😇

🍬 Sweet Conversations by @glassgulls

Haldir x fem!reader Teens and Up 5,360 words

did I almost break my mouse when I clicked on this? noooo

Would I do it again? approximately 5 times since ☺️

Who doesn’t love sneaking around and kissing pretty elves, especially when they propose the idea so nicely… Just read it, you’re welcome

⛈️🧯Transformed by @sotwk

Thranduil’s son OC x fem!reader Teens and Up 2,400 words

There are at least two werewolves! When I tell you I read it three nights in a row, just to truly catch all the little things that made me go absolutely feral this so lovely to read. Yes, there’s gore (only a little bit) and there’s angst, but there’s also dialogue that would be made into gifs were it a movie.

Pirates of the Caribbeans

🌪️Catch the Wind by eriathiel (@esta-elavaris)

James Norrington x fem!oc Explicit 418,000 words

101 chapters of epic, pirates, and sweetness. The definition of you will suffer and you will like it. I finished this in like two days, because I couldn’t put it down, like a child on Halloween night going through their whole bag of candy.

⛈️🍬 Fallen Through Time by eriathiel (@esta-elavaris)

Catch the Wind AU Mature Ongoing; 34,000 words

12 Chapters so far, but it’s probably going to make me want to read everything about Theodora again. I am very normal about this character. 😌

Other fandoms

🌡️One of Those days by @capricornafterdark

Jason Todd x fem!reader Explicit 750 words

Sometimes you need to be taken care of, and sometimes its easier to take care of others.

🍬Patience by @velvetcloxds

Charlie Swan x fem!reader Just straight cuteness 600 words

A cute yet serious conversation with Charlie

🌡️That Takes Trust Darlin by @capricornafterdark

Jason Todd x transmasc!reader Explicit 1,950 words

It takes a lot of trust to tell a person about your desires, and even more when you spend your time catching villains.

🌪️ What Happens After You? by StrengthBeforeWeakness

Ominis Gaunt x fem!oc Mature 219,000 words

A badass Ravenclaw, sweet sweet Garreth, and dark!Sebastian. I am tempted to say it’s almost a Hogwarts Legacy AU because the lore in this fic is so incredible, it feels new again.

These are my headers and dividers, please do not use them.

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

whenever Haldir or Éomer are on screen

[elithilanor]

The Unfinished Drafts

Aka my thoughts on gender and elves isn't super concrete anyone and here's an exploratory draft I had going in themes of forcing myself to write more and get over my imposter syndrome and also it's pride

Aka Haldir is having Thoughts about Gender and Elrond is everyone's dad

Unfinished drafts are things I probably won't complete due to some reason. In this case, my stances on elvish gender have changed so it's not really relevant anymore to my thought process. But it also makes me happy so here it is.

Haldir had spent the better part of a year ruminating over this conversation and yet he found the words still wouldn’t come to him.

“I cannot Shapeshift.” He finds himself blurting out.

“No. I wouldn’t have supposed you could.” Lord Elrond responds, a small tilt of his head as he assesses the Warden. “That is a fairly restricted gift of lineage.”

“Yes, correct. But are there -“ Haldir pauses, his heart pounding in his chest. His hands flutter before he smooths them down at his side.

“Haldir.” Lord Elrond says gently, kindly. He is always gentle and kind; surely he would not think less of him even if it were not possible.

Elven gender is not like the race of Men; they are much more fluid. But he wasn’t changing his role in society or the wardrobe he wore. He was changing the very foundation of his gifts from Illuvitar.

“I - are there ways to change the body's form? Without shifting one’s body? Perhaps… permanently?” He focuses on the roses below the balcony. He finds himself unable to look at the Peredhel Healer.

He’s sure his brothers have guessed, maybe others, perhaps the Lady Galadriel even knows. She has had that mischievous look in her eyes for the past three weeks and his finding Lord Elrond without any additional guests at his side had been surprisingly easy for how busy he was.

But it’s different to say it out loud.

Different to say it out loud and mean it. Different to change things as they are. To change things to what they should be.

He hears Lord Elronds robes brush his legs as he walks away and Haldir’s heart drops. He closes his eyes. Perhaps the whole notion had been ridiculous. He supposes he could try himself, but it truly was a bit too ridiculous to contemplate. Battlefield medic he was, not an elf with the gifts of his Lady.

“There are more than you might think.” Elrond says warmly, squeezing Haldir’s shoulder reassuringly as he appears back in his line of site. Elrond presses a goblet into Haldir’s hand and firmly guides him to the settee. His legs are much less sturdy than he had thought they were. He finds the hand Elrond has on his shoulder the only point of grounding; he feels as light as air.

“Shifting one’s form magically is rare, which means that for ages, others have had to find other means to do. Usually surgically as magic is not precise enough and can cause a host of negative effects. To name a few who have undergone a form of transition to their bodies: Maeglin, Caranthir, King Fingon, Círdan. Elves who farm, and hunt, and clean the floors, and sew garments. Elves who prefer staying in the background; elves who rise in the ranks of the Galadhrim. Elves of all genders changing to what matches their feäs.”

Haldir nods, mind racing. He wasn’t alone. He wasn’t alone.

“I can reach out to some of the others for you? They often like to meet the new and assist with recovery afterwards.” Haldir nods again, eyes wide.

“Please.” He whispers, feä scrubbed raw.

Elrond hums softly and wraps an arm around the younger elf’s shoulders. Some of the tension seeps out of Haldir’s chest.

[errruvande]

I'm gonna lock myself in my room and write these fics as if my life depends on it

[stormchaser819]

Chapters: 16/16 Fandom: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Aragorn | Estel & Haldir of Lothlórien Characters: Halbarad, Aragorn (Tolkien), Haldir of Lothlórien (Tolkien), Dúnedain of the North, Rivendell Elves, Original Orc Character(s), Elladan (Tolkien), Elrohir (Tolkien), Elrond Peredhel Additional Tags: Fornost, Action/Adventure, Torture, Mind Control, Nazgûl | Ringwraiths, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, True Companions, Blood and Injury, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Held Prisoner, Third Age of Arda (Tolkien) Series: Part 8 of Invictus Summary:

When Haldir fails to return from a seemingly short reconnaissance north of Rivendell, Aragorn, haunted by nagging unease, sets out with a Dúnedain contingent to find him. What awaits plunges them into grave peril and the deepest heart of darkness.

[esta-elavaris]

Have officially written so much BS that I see a comment on a fic in my inbox and I'm like "huh? what the fuck is that?"

[tathrin]

A response to this ask; taken from this prompt; anyone can feel free to send other numbers in at any time, I don’t care how long it’s been. (Just maybe add some context to your ask if it’s been like a month or more since I posted this, because otherwise I won’t know what to do with the random number in my inbox).

#28....as a lie.

*technically this one picks up after the end of this story if you want to read that first, although you don’t need to; it’s as much a self-contained snippet as any of the others, it just happens take place in a setting within the events of a specific fic, that’s all.

Gimli’s eyes were drawn ever and again to the elvish dancers, even as he was drawn several times into brief conversations as friends and acquaintances paused at the table he now shared with Gandalf to exchange a few words and toast their well-wishes together for Gondor’s king and queen. Gimli was glad of the toasts, at least, for they brought fresh mugs of cool ale, and the heat of so many cavorting bodies had raised the temperature of the hall to near-dwarven levels, despite the cool white stone and tall windows through which a summer’s breeze still wafted.

Legolas’s hair shone like a sunrise in the rich torchlight, and his eyes gleamed like starlight on pale clouds. Gimli was amazed that anyone could long look elsewhere, with the shine of him whirling there to draw the eye.

He was not amazed that the other elves twirling on the dance floor were drawn to him; of course they were. How could they help but be lured in, dull drab moths circling that golden glow? Long hands ran up and down Legolas’s lithe limbs and pressed against his slender waist, long fingers twined through the streaming locks of his unfettered hair and curled possessively around his braids—

The mug in Gimli’s hands gave a crack and shattered, soft metal collapsing in on itself in his grip. He stared at the mess in his hands, numbly grateful that he had at least drained it already and so there was no ale left to spill out across his lap, and then he hurriedly shoved it onto the table behind him. He could feel his cheeks burning hotter than any torch in the hall.

Gimli chanced a sideways glance at Gandalf, who was watching the dancers with every evidence of placid enjoyment on his old face. Had he seen? Had he heard? He said nothing, but that did not always mean anything with Gandalf. Perhaps Gimli should speak, should craft some excuse...

“Flimsy human metal,” he muttered, and glanced at the wizard again. Gandalf nodded absently, but did not otherwise react.

Gimli let out his breath in relief—and then a second later he nearly choked on it, as Legolas suddenly bounded out of the tumult to perch on the bench beside him. His eyes danced as merrily as any of the revelers and his smile beamed bright and clear upon his beardless face.

“Will you not dance with us, Gimli?” he asked. His voice was light with laughter and with joy and his thin chest heaved from his exertions. Gimli found his eyes drawn upwards to the bare lips above that smooth and hairless chin.

“What?” he said.

“Dance with us, Gimli!” Legolas repeated. “Come, you can teach us dwarven steps and I will show you the ways of elvish revelry up close.”

“No,” Gimli answered automatically, his heart stuttering in his throat. “No, I—I am quite comfortable here, thank you.”

“You do not seem comfortable,” Legolas observed, and Gimli felt his stomach drop like a stone. He could not stop himself from glancing behind him at the ruined mug, even though he knew the gesture was a dead give-away; if Legolas had not seen it before, he surely would now, with Gimli’s gaze to lead him to it like a map—or a swift arrow.

“I am perfectly fine,” Gimli insisted. “Gandalf and I are enjoying the dancing quite well from here, thank you.”

Legolas spared a glance at the unmoving wizard but his eyes soon fixed on Gimli once more. “You are bothered by something,” he said quietly. “I can tell. Will you not tell me what? Perhaps I can help.”

Gimli’s mind stuttered with the possibilities of the help that Legolas might offer, and he quickly shied away from the idea. “No!” he blurted. “No, I—as I said, I am fine. It is merely warm in here.”

Legolas laughed. “Warm!” he cried. “But you are a dwarf!”

“Aye, a dwarf,” said Gimli, “and one who is enjoying his ale from his comfortable seat, and has no need to go whirling about like some flighty elven dandelion!”

Legolas should have laughed; Gimli knew his friend well enough to know that much. He should have laughed, but he did not. Instead his pale eyes narrowed sharp and keen on Gimli’s face, and Gimli could feel himself blushing beneath that tight scrutiny.

“Does it bother you,” Legolas asked in a low voice, “to see me frolicking so with these other elves?”

“What?” Gimli exclaimed. His hands clenched convulsively, and he was glad that he had already broken his mug; had he still been holding it now, he would surely have turned the thing into a flattened disk of over-stressed and useless metal. “Bother me! Of course it does not!”

To prove it, Gimli made himself laugh and shake his head, as though Legolas had spoken some ridiculous jest. He even lifted the elf’s lean brown hand and kissed the smooth knuckles as more evidence of how thoroughly unbothered he was. “Go back to your dancing, Master Elf!” Gimli chortled. “I am doing quite well watching it from afar, thank you!”

Legolas stared at him for another moment, his smooth face unreadable . The tips of his ears were flushed dark red from all of his cavorting and his pale eyed looked very wide with no beard to frame them.

Then he shrugged, and said, “As you like, then!” and squeezed Gimli’s shoulder once before bounding away and throwing himself back into the whirl of the merry elvish dancers.

Gimli let out a shaky breath and flexed his hands a few times, getting the blood-flow back into them.

"Lying will do no good for either of you," Gandalf declared calmly. "And it is hardly fair to Legolas; he will take you at your word, whatever you tell him."

Gimli could feel his cheeks burning hotter, shame coming along to add its kindling to the blaze. He managed to force an unintelligible grumble of disagreement from his lips, but nothing more articulate than that; he felt as though he was already strangling on all the words he would not, could not, say.

"He will," Gandalf insisted. "The elvenking might be able to spot a lie from 300 leagues and skewer it as neatly as his son ever has an enemy with that bow of his, but Thranduil's people are another matter. Lies are not generally told in Mirkwood. It is not a place for dissembling, or oaths, or scheming. The Wood-elves are a simple, honest people. And you are Legolas's friend." Gandalf pulled his eyes away from the dancing and fixed his gaze on Gimli instead. His bushy brows were drawn very low atop them, making his eyes glint like embers in deep shadow. "If you tell him something, he will believe you, Gimli. And you will have none but yourself to blame for the results."

Without waiting for Gimli to muster either the courage or the wits for a response, Gandalf swept to his feet and strode off into the tumult of the party.

Gimli slumped low on his bench and stared miserably at the dancing elves.

Legolas was still so impossibly vibrant and noticeable against the duller backdrop of the others. Gimli's eyes fixed on him at once. He seemed to be moving now with even greater abandon than before, if such a thing were possible.

And if such a thing were not impossible, Gimli would almost have said that Legolas kept glancing back at the table where Gimli sat as well—but he was not, of course, and so Gimli put the thought from his mind.

He had more than enough to think of anyway, when a tall elf of Lórien slid up behind Legolas and snaked her arms across his narrow shoulders, leaning in low to murmur something into his finely-pointed ear.

Legolas laughed and turned to face her, their long lithe arms entwining as close as any dwarven lovers. They swayed and swirled together with the music, and the elf-woman’s hands slid up from Legolas’s shoulders to tangle in his braids. Legolas smiled up at her and said something that Gimli was too far away to hear, but it made her laugh. Then Legolas gave one of her dark braids a gentle tug, and Gimli realized that he was growling low in his throat as though facing down a horde of goblins.

He turned away blindly and reached for his mug, realized that it was both empty and broken, and turned back around just in time to see the elf-woman twirl away into someone else’s arms as another pair of hands took Legolas by his trim waist and plucked him out of the center of the tumult to pull him in close against their long lean body, and—

And it was Haldir, Mahal curse it. Gimli’s mouth went dry, his blood pounding in his ears like drumbeats as the March Warden leaned in close and lowered his mouth to Legolas’s ear, whispering something. He took one of Legolas’s braids in his hand and rubbed his thumb across the heavy golden strands, like a dwarf might test a metal for its quality. Haldir was hardly dancing; only swaying a little as he stared down at Legolas, who stood balanced before him on his toes like a bird paused on the edge of flight.

Gimli was on his feet before he realized it, about to start forward and—and what?

His hand was at his belt, which was empty of course; a wedding was no place for weapons. And why was he reaching for his axe, anyway? He sat back down on the bench with a heavy, hollow thump. What was he thinking? What was he doing?

He had had too much ale, clearly. It was the only explanation for his strange behavior tonight. His throat was dry, but he would not drink anymore tonight; he had drunk too much already, clearly, and it was clouding his thoughts. Making him think strange, impossible things. Making him dream things that—that were not, that could never...!

Legolas laughed and rose up onto his toes to press a light kiss to Haldir’s lips.

His head reeling, Gimli watched as the March Warden took Legolas by the hand and led him, smiling, towards the door. If Gimli thought that Legolas paused on the threshold and looked back, somehow finding Gimli’s eyes across the crowded room and glancing at him hesitatingly, questioningly, even hopefully—well, then that was just another sign that he had reached the night’s limit for ale; reached, and more than passed.

Gimli held himself very still, schooling his expression to a placid calmness that might have rivaled Gandalf’s, and then he forced a smile and a nod—just in case Legolas was really looking; just in case he could really see him.

A shadow seemed to flicker across those bright elvish eyes, as though one of the torches near the door was on the verge of guttering; although when Gimli looked at them, they both appeared to be burning tall and strong still.

When he looked back, there was only a faint fading flicker of golden locks flowing around the corner as Legolas vanished into the night and Haldir’s arms.

Gimli sat there for several minutes, staring into the empty darkness of the door. The noise of the wedding revels that had once filled the hall with such bright merriment seemed to have faded now, somehow; he heard it from a distance, like echoes from some far-off cave. Eventually he forced himself to rise, and murmur unintelligible farewells as he passed his friends, and trudge his way across the long white hall towards the other door.

He stumbled back to the rooms the Fellowship shared, alone.

[quillofspirit]

There’s a rumor going around that Haldir was my first true love from LOTR, and I would like to say that it’s true and I have good taste.

Mayhaps one day I'll be able to explain it. Once I've stopped hopelessly staring

[elronds-meleth-nin]

@bigblissandlove1 I still very much have a lorge crush on this gorgeous elf, so I feel that

get to know me meme → [5/5] favourite male characters

↳ haldir

“The dwarf breathes so loud we could have shot him in the dark.“ 

[twosomeofcuteness]

In my head, I'm still thinking about Tauriel/Haldir.