#Lord Of The Rings FanFic

[elfy-elf-imagines]

Tolerate It | Thranduil

▹ Pairing: Thranduil x Human!Reader

▹ Genre: Angst

▹ Words: ~2k

▹ Summary: A political alliance makes you the new wife of the elven king Thranduil, trapping you in a gilded cage of elven craft.

▹ Notes: I couldn't get this idea out of my head.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

The banquet hall of Eryn Galen was buzzing with high energy. 

The lights were bright, the drinks flowing. Each guest was too deep in their cups as the band played jaunty tunes that kept spirits high. You sat at the end of the table, to the direct right of Thranduil, Legolas seated directly across from you to the king's left. 

Everything was beautiful, similar to what you imagined heaven may look like. The celebration had been highly anticipated, the steward meticulously planning for months to ensure the night would be perfect. 

Each guest had dressed to the nines, and you had been no exception. Silks that flowed like a languid river, braids woven throughout your hair, and glittering jewels that rivaled the stars in the sky. You’d felt quite pretty after your handmaidens finished, taking in your appearance with rapt attention. 

Yet as the king - your husband - met with you, he barely paid you more than a glance. Not a single compliment or acknowledgment slipped from his lips, just the stiff offering of his arm and a cold demeanor you’d never been able to break through.

Not even the bitterness of the red wine you drank could ease the pain festering inside you. You glanced at Thranduil, his attention on his steward whispering something in his ear. Regal and commanding, you’d thought marriage to the elven king would be something out of a fairytale. Yet your story became twisted, and instead of a happy ending, you were trapped in a doomed marriage. It was like a wall separated you from him; you’d tirelessly beat against it with a hammer; Thranduil was on the other end, reinforcing the stone. 

You glanced down at your dress, the pale green fabric, Thranduil’s favorite shade. Even still, you were desperate for his validation and approval, like a child tugging at their father’s sleeves. A stray hair fell in front of your face, and you pushed it behind your ear, hands ghosting over your rounded ears. Maybe if you’d been an elf and not a human, he might view you as an equal and not a consolation prize. 

One hand below the table closed into a tight fist while you downed the rest of your wine in one gulp. 

Legolas met your eye from across the table with an almost apologetic grin. You returned it with a tight smile you tried to make pleasant. Legolas knew all too well the neglect his father could inflict, so he often preferred the forests over the palace. There was an understanding that made your pain more bearable. 

The handmaidens you brought from home and your stepson, who was older than your eldest living relatives, were all that kept you from falling into true despair. 

Like clockwork, a servant filled your chalice, and you gladly drank. This wine was sweeter and less sharp than the red you were expecting. Once again, you looked towards Thranduil, no longer speaking with his steward but quietly watching the party play out. You reached out, delicately placing your hand over his, only for his to push it away, not bothering to pay you a glance. 

The blatant rejection stung, always taking up too much space and time. Would Thranduil even notice if you’d stolen away into the night? If you pulled the dagger your marriage embedded in you, breaking free and leaving this miserable life behind. What might it be like to shed the weight of Thranduil’s cold disposition and an overly suspicious, judgmental, elvish kingdom? You’d be free and weightless for the first time in years. 

Yet, just as soon as the fantasies came, they fizzled out with the weight of reality. You had no money of your own, no survival skills, and nowhere to go. If you returned home, your father would ship you back to Thranduil. The dark forests and the creatures that lurked within would kill you. There was nowhere to go. No freedom to be found. 

You didn’t bother hiding the frown on your lips; no one in the room paid you much mind. They looked through you as if you were a phantom that clung to the residence of its former life. How was it possible to be in such a crowded room and yet still be so alone?

"How much longer do you believe this will go on for?"

At some point, Legolas had moved from across the table and was now seated to your left, watching the crowded room with thinly veiled discomfort.

" I hope for not much longer. I've never been amendable to crowds so large as this one."

Legolas laughed, the noise swallowed by the noise of the room. "And yet you are queen; should you not be used to such raucous parties?"

You tilted your glass towards him, a slight quirk on your lips.

"I could say the same about you, prince."

He nodded in silent agreement, quickly drinking from his glass, which you noticed was filled with water and not wine.

"I get to run off to the forest. How do you deal with all of this?" The smile on your face fell as your eyes dimmed, a reminder of your current standing.

"No one pays me mind. A blessing, I suppose." You attempted to laugh it off, but you couldn't keep the somberness from your tone. You were trapped in a gilded cage, a prisoner in your own home.

"Then I suppose I'll need to take more respites in the castle."

"You don't need--"

"I insist; what kind of friend would I be if I didn't check on your wellbeing."

So warm and inviting, it made you wonder how Legolas could be the son of Thranduil; he must take after his mother. You wondered, if only for a moment, how different your life might be if you'd been married to Legolas instead of his father. He was the more age appropriate option and if he didn't love you he'd at least respect you. But those thoughts were pointless; you'd been married to Thranduil and not Legolas.

"I think I'm technically your stepmother."

"But you feel more like a friend."

You didn't bother to argue, placing down your wine chalice to take a cool water drink. It was refreshing, soothing the burn the wine had created.

"Then I am glad we are friends."

Before he could respond, a member of his guard called his name. The elf enthusiastically waved him over, yelling something in elvish too slurred for you to understand.

Legolas shook his head, refusing the call, but you placed a single hand on his shoulder.

"Go, enjoy the night. I'll be fine over here."

He tried to discern if you were being dishonest but found nothing but sincerity. Just because you were miserable didn't mean he should be. With a single nod, Legolas left the table to join the group forming in the corner of the room.

Left in the chaos with no one to speak with, you picked up the chalice with wine. At some point during your conversation, Thranduil wandered off, talking with some of the higher-ranking nobles.

Thickly, you swallowed, hiding your face as you slowly drank from your glass.

When would this torment end?

---

The night dragged on at an impossibly slow speed. Your sorrow brought time to a near halt. By the time the crowd began to thin and Thranduil had escorted you back to your shared chambers, you’d forgotten how many glasses of wine you consumed. You managed to keep your composure and pride, not letting you show how light and lethargic the alcohol made you. 

Now, you sat before your vanity, preparing for bed as did Thranduil. There were so many pins placed in your hair that you struggled to pull them out without ripping your hair. Your head throbbed, and your frustration was building; you just wanted sleep. A cold hand pushed yours away, tangling in your hair. With practiced and fluid movements, Thranduil began to take down your hair. He was quick and efficient, his hands in your hair almost soothing.

The action was oddly domestic, and it caused a pang of pain in your chest. If the gods had been fair enough to bless you with a husband who loved you, this would be a nightly occurrence, not a rare show of care. 

“There’s too many pins in your hair.” Always critical; nothing would ever be good enough. 

A beat of silence passed; did he even want you to speak?

“It was a special occasion; I wanted something different done to my hair.” 

Clink. He placed the last pin on the table and stepped away from you.

“It was a bit gauche.”

Expression tight, you stared at your reflection, focused on your dark hair that tangled too quickly and your nearly pallid complexion. Gauche and graceless, the elves would never view you as their own. 

“I thought it looked nice.” 

His answer was to silently turn his back to you, moving to the other end of the room. The silence was maddening. Your attention never moved from your reflection, lips downturned as your eyes hardened. Pain turned to rage, pity becoming an all-consuming fire that threatened to turn all in your wake to ash. 

“Why marry me?” Your tone was harsh, firmer than you could remember speaking.

Thranduil let out a sigh, seemingly annoyed at your mere presence. Normally, his disregard made you shrink, and maybe it was the wine, but it only made you straighten your back, meeting his eyes through his reflection in your mirror. 

“To seal an alliance with your kingdom, you know this.” He was always condescending; he was so much older and wiser. 

“I understand political marriages, but why marry me? You’ve managed political alliances without offering your hand in marriage; you even have a son to marry off. So why--” You slowly stood from your chair, turning to face him directly. “-marry me?”

“Would you have preferred to marry Legolas?” 

“I’d prefer you answer my question. So I’ll ask once more: why marry me?” You strode towards him, eyes narrowed.

“To ensure an alliance with your family.”

“That is it? For no reason other than that.”

Thranduil looked down at you, his lips tight.

“Did you hope to hear differently?” He tilted his head, eyes ice cold and bitter. “Ours was a marriage of convenience, not love.”

You clenched your jaw, swallowing thickly. All of it for nothing, a marriage he knew would never succeed. He may have been content with a loveless life after the passing of his wife, but he knowingly dragged you into it. To turn your life into a void--

You wanted to scream, to yell obscenities at him, to spit all the vile venom his careless behavior filled you with. But it would do no good. An emotional breakdown wouldn’t mend your rift; there was no foundation of respect to rebuild. It was just endless nothingness. Standing at the precipice, you would simply fall into a never-ending pit. 

“I see.”

A hint of shock made his eyes widen a fraction, expecting an outburst like the one you fantasized about. Humans weren’t known for patience, yet it wasn’t patience that kept you silent. It was dejection; you'd given up hope of anything better than what you had.

You dared not move, not even blink until Thranduil turned towards the door.

“I think I will ensure the keep is secured. Goodnight.” 

Head turned, yet your eyes remained where he once stood; you remained silent. The door opened and quietly shut behind his retreating form. Only then did you exhale the breath you’d been holding. 

The bed was plush under your body, and the comforter was like a cloud, yet you’d never felt more miserable. You turned your back to the side Thranduil would take when he returned to the chambers. Eyes shut, soothed by the darkness, you dreamed of something more.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Tags: @jmablurry | @lunatichaotiche | @aearonnin | @emiliessketches | @vibratingbones | @moony-artnstuff | @ranhanabi777 | @kenobiguacamole | @ceinelee | @thranduil | @samnblack | @abbiesthings | @Strangebananabatranch | @bitter--fruit | @keijibum | @lifestylesleep | @themerriweathermage | @im-a-muggleborn | @sweetheart-syndrome | @boyruins | @AwkwardBecomesYou | @delyeceamaitare

[ironmandeficiency]

the fellowship + romance

characters included: aragorn, boromir, gimli, legolas, pippin

word count: 1177

summary: just some soft shit bc these men are all sappier than any tree in the greenwood

a/n: there’s still an overwhelming lack of gimli content that needs to be fixed and i will do my part

aragorn 🗡️

aragorn’s quiet presence is the warmest blanket on a cold night, the first bite of a meal you slaved over for hours, every comfort you’ve ever experienced

he’s never been one for overwhelming displays of his affections; instead, he shows you in simple ways that add up - giving you the more full bowls of broth, laying his blanket over you if he notices you shivering during night watch, sharpening your weapons (this one had gimli nearly brought to tears by the devotion it spoke of), anything that helps your days pass easier

he grew up around stories of elves who committed astounding feats in the name of those they loved, fighting wars and risking their lives with alarming frequency. but none of them ever talked about the everyday ways they showed love. his mother taught him what she could about those things, stories of his father’s steady presence and stalwart love for his family. a young aragorn took these lessons to heart and used them when the time was right

it was why, when he caught his heart skipping beats around you, he let his actions do the speaking for him. without fail you would thank him with a soft smile, slowly coming to realize that aragorn felt something much deeper for you than camaraderie. when you woke up early one morning to find your weapons sharper than they were the day before (not for the first time), you went straight to aragorn and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek. he nearly dropped your bowl of stew in his flustered state

having your affections secured didn’t mean he stopped his small acts of kindness, it did quite the opposite. it just made him bolder and more confident in his actions

boromir 🍻

this man is so damn tactile it’s ridiculous

if you’re the cuddly type like he is, it makes him all the more eager to always have some form of physical contact with you, no matter where you may be

unless you tell him to back off, he is always touching you one way or another. a gentle hand on the small of your back, your pinkies interlocked, an arm wrapped around your shoulder, anything to keep you close to him

his favorite time of day eventually becomes the end of it, because that’s when he can hold you close and whisper soft words of love in your ear while he holds you. he makes it his goal to give you a goodnight kiss every night you spend together

the best cuddle position in his mind is you leaning your back against his chest, one of his hands resting on your hip where his thumb rubs small circles above the bone, and his chin resting on your shoulder just right to where he can turn his head to kiss your cheek or burrow his face into your neck

gimli 🛡️

valiantly is the best way to describe how gimli approaches any situation he comes upon, including (and especially) matters of the heart

this is a dwarf who says what he means & means what he says, who does nothing that he wouldn’t be proud of the next day. because of this, you couldn’t find it in you to not believe him when he professed his love for you with such unwavering confidence you were nearly brought to tears. gimli never said anything just because his lips could move so you simply had to believe him

will do you favors big and small simply because he wants to help you however possible. you can’t remember the last time you carried your own pack or made your own bowl of soup. if you encouraged him (which you wouldn’t), this romantic fool would not let you lift another finger for as long as you both live

he grew up watching his parents with keen eyes, his adad showing him by example how a true dwarf treats their one. he embodies these lessons with every interaction with you, striving to be the one you deserve him to be. it ranges from the ferocity of his protection to opening doors for you. may mahal strike him down if he ever hurts you

he just wants to be a dwarf you’re proud to love, proud to call yours

legolas 🏹

physical affection can be difficult for him, but one thing legolas is good at doing is speaking his mind and his heart

if you thought his regular speaking pattern was overflowing with poetic descriptors, you’ve heard nothing compared to when he’s being truly romantic. no one you’d been with before had ever described you with such beautiful prose, never whispered soft poetry about your eyes to lull you to sleep

and he’s a cheeky bastard about it too! it’ll be a regular conversation between friends, nothing important, then BAM! he’s making quippy one-liners about your overwhelming skill/beauty/personality that catch you off guard and has your friends cackling at your flustered reaction to his flattery

even better, his praise will often include sindarin and on the off chance you don’t speak it, you’ll have to gauge the meaning from the silent looks shared between your dear elf and aragorn (doesn’t really work). eventually legolas tells you what some of them mean; after all, he needs to have an element of intrigue about him or his name isn’t legolas thranduillion

he carries a lot of pride for you and will brag about you to anyone who listens, his melleth being one of unparalleled skill and beauty and bright laughter that carries his soul on great wings

pippin 🥕

his already strong need to be silly and foolish grows exponentially when he finds out how happy it makes you

pip doesn’t care what it is you ask of him, he will do anything to hear your laugh. he’ll put baby carrots in his nostrils, respond to conversations exclusively in farm animal noises, he will even do his spot-on impressions of the rest of the fellowship and make them say all sorts of silly things

the best one to date is him doing an aragorn impression that consists of all the different ways he says legolas’s name

you’ve never heard such astounding colloquialisms from anyone until you met pippin - “don’t eat half the berries and say the pie shell’s too big,” “his cornbread isn’t done in the middle,” “if brains were leather, he wouldn't have enough to saddle a junebug” - and each time he says one, there’s always a not-so-subtle look to you so he can see your reaction. the ones that get the most laughs are used a little bit more, just enough to not lose their appeal but enough to hear your laughter all the more often

there is a single-minded determination to hear your snort when you laugh at something he says, and he will not rest until you do. his personal goal to do this resets each time you do actually snort, him now aiming for the next joke or prank that will bring it out again

[gloomwitchwrites]

Flower Crown

Aragorn x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): fluff, light angst, kissing, non-descriptive intimacy

Word Count: 2k

During a spring festival, the man you love returns unexpectedly.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // spring 2024 masterlist

The sky is a cloudless, endless ocean above your head.

You breathe deep, savoring the scents in the air. Newly bloomed flowers, freshly baked bread, and roasting chicken all infiltrate your nostrils, reminding of you the celebration that’s about to begin. Anticipation buzzes under your skin like a swarm of startled bees. You’ve been waiting for this all winter. Spring is finally here, knocking, ready to be greeted. The flowers are in full bloom, and the trees have awakened from their solemn slumber.

Every year the small village in which you’ve lived your whole life celebrates the changing of the seasons. A community-wide festival is held. Each person is involved in their own way, and the duties are often assigned at the beginning of winter to allow everyone to prepare. Sometimes, these responsibilities shift, but a few remain the same.

Last year, you attended the baker in their duties to provide baked goods. This year, you were tasked with sewing new dresses for all the unmarried young women. The base fabric, an off-white cotton, remains the same. It’s like a blank page awaiting colorful paint or black ink, each dress ready to be designed with every young woman in mind. You, and several of the married women, take great care in personalizing each dress to the young ladies’ personalities.

It is not by chance that this happens. It is more than tradition. Rebirth and renewal are the themes of the festival, and with that comes an influx of weddings. The dresses are for that very reason, as a form of matchmaking, along with the presented flower crowns and the festival itself. You’ve always thought it silly but never truly commented on the matter. Fortunately, with you on sewing duties, you were able to work on your own dress.

With the dresses come flower crowns. They are given to the young women by unmarried men of the village. It is always the married women and village elders who quietly determine which man will gift what crown to who. They’re intuition is almost always correct. It is rare for a pair to not eventually marry. Sometimes it is quick, and sometimes it is years later before either realizes they belong together.

And the flower crowns are the true beauty. Another group handmakes each one. But because you know how intricate they are, you did nothing for your dress. It is simple. Plain. Just because you’re forced to be part of this tradition doesn’t mean you want to try and find a husband. You’re perfectly fine alone, because the man you do want is far away.

He isn’t avoiding you. Not on purpose. Aragorn is a ranger. He thrives in the wilds, seeking out the darkness to rid it from the world. But you do miss your wanderer. He tries to travel through your area as often as he can just to see you.

Over the years, the friendliness has grown, becoming heat and tension.

None of the other men in the village make you feel the way he does, and they likely never will.

In the shade of a tree, you smooth out the front of your dress. The tips of your fingers itch and you need to move them just to calm yourself. That alone is silly. What do you have to be nervous for? The process is always the same, always consistent, so why do you feel like this?

The young, unmarried women begin to congregate near the arch of flowers. Breathing deep, you march forward, finding your spot where it always is. You can taste the eagerness in the air. The women around you are just as nervous, nearly bouncing on their toes. They whisper to each other, giggling, but none of them glance your way or address you.

All day, and not even one has thanked you for your work.

But you won’t let it eat away at your resolve. Today is a good day. You’ll drink berry wine and gorge yourself on delicious food while listening to the married women gossip about their husbands.

As the village elders arrive, all talking ceases. That is the cue, and just like the women in line, you curtesy. You’re not allowed to look up, to glance into the face of the man who will place a crown upon your head. You keep your head bent and gaze on the ground.

There is shuffling, the rustling of hands lifting crowns. You focus on the green grass beneath your feet. You’re the only one up here not wearing shoes. You breathe in, and out, watching as so many pairs of polished boots pass by.

When someone does stop before you, the boots are not clean. They are muddy and have seen travel. You almost want to laugh but really, you’re curious. Who is this? Who would be so bold to come to the crowning with filthy boots?

In the next moment, the crown is placed upon your head. You don’t move. Don’t breathe. The stranger’s fingers brush the underside of your chin, pressing gently. You respond. You can’t resist. It is natural to do so.

Your gaze takes in this stranger as your head lifts. And when you see his face, you realize that this is no stranger at all.

“Aragorn,” you whisper, and his response is a smile.

There is applause, and good-natured cheering all around, and yet you respond to none of it. It is only him, this man you’ve been missing, standing before you.

“What are you doing here?” you ask just as the music starts up. It’s too early. Aragorn often arrives in the fall when the leaves start to change.

Others are already wandering off together or going their separate ways. You’re left staring, happy to see him but not understanding why.

“To see you,” he replies.

To see you. To see you. Whatever nervousness you felt before is gone, replaced with a giddiness that sends heat right to your cheeks.

When you don’t reply immediately, Aragorn frowns. “Have I upset you?”

“No!” You reach for him, grabbing his upper arm, taking a step forward. “Not at all. I’m just…surprised.”

His gaze softens, and you could fall into his depths. “Didn’t think I’d come?”

“You always visit when the weather begins to cool.”

“I do,” he agrees. “Couldn’t stay away.” Aragorn says this almost absently as his fingers toy with a white ribbon on your dress.

A young woman shrieks with delight, and you and Aragorn both turn as she’s hoisted in the air.

“Would you like to dance?” he asks.

The answer is immediate. “Yes.”

He presents his hand, and you take it. His palm is warm. Strong. Aragorn leads, and then you’re moving, matching the correct steps. It’s not an intense dance but it isn’t slow either.

“Did you just arrive?”

He smiles. “As they were distributing the flowers.”

“Is that why you’re so dirty?” Aragorn laughs as you lean in and sniff, making an exaggerated expression. “And smelly?”

“I thought you liked the way I smelled after a ride.” Aragorn wraps his arm around your waist, turning as he does so.

“A ride,” you correct. “Not a journey.”

The music swells, dips, and then increases in pace. You’re left focusing on your feet, going through the motions. But Aragorn knows what he’s doing, and he leads you through it effortlessly. It’s difficult to speak, but his hands do enough talking. Aragorn’s touch lingers. He might squeeze slightly or allow his hand to wander. It stirs something hot in your belly that travels lower until you’re blazing everywhere.

When the music comes to an end, and the two of you are out of breath, Aragorn places his hand on your lower waist and guides you away.

“Something to drink?”

“Please.”

Berry wine is had before Aragorn takes your hand again, the two of you strolling off into the nearby orchard. Between the trees, there is privacy, the two of you walking in gentle silence. It’s just your hand in his and the warm breeze that stirs up your dress.

“I’m glad you’re here,” you say, stopping next to an apple tree. There are leaves on its branches but no blooms.

Aragorn comes to a stop beside you, his chest nearly brushing your shoulder. “Glad? That is all you feel?” With a soft touch, Aragorn turns your head in his direction. His head is angled downward, and there is no escaping what you see in his eyes.

There are times when the two of you have found a bit of quiet, some peace only with the need to explore the other. As you gaze upon his face, you are entirely aware of what he wants, but Aragorn is an honorable man. He will not push or insist on more unless you’re the one who seeks it out.

The berry wine is warm in your blood. Aragorn’s nearness is just as intoxicating. His fingers play with that same ribbon, and you lean into his touch until your noses brush lightly against each other.

“There is plenty I feel,” you reply, your voice a whisper amongst the birdsong and breeze.

“Is your heart willing to share?” Aragorn tugs lightly on the ribbon, loosening a portion of the bodice.

“Is yours willing to hear the truth?” you counter, knowing that you’d give him anything in this moment.

Aragorn tugs on the ribbon again, loosening the bodice further. Air rushes into your lungs as your chest receives a bit of freedom. “Tell me now. Under the trees. Let the sky listen.”

“You’re far too sweet to be a warrior,” you laugh, and Aragorn grins, closing the distance. The kiss is chaste and lovely, sending heat down to your toes and up to the crown of your head.

Your fingers find the front of his tunic. They curl inward, pulling of their own accord, seeking his closeness. Aragorn indulges, deepening the kiss until your bodies are pressed together. His hand rises, clutching the back of your neck. There is only you and him and your repeated meetings.

When you finally break apart, your lips are raw, and you hunger for more. You ache for deeper things, and long to tell him so.

“Is this all right?” he asks, fingers brushing against your exposed collarbone.

“Yes,” you murmur in reply, shivering under his touch.

Aragorn returns to your mouth, and you open for him. Your own fingers explore as much as his, but it is Aragorn’s fingers that venture beneath fabric.

You inhale sharply, and his hand retreats. “Apologies.”

“Don’t stop,” you say, grasping his wrist to guide his hand back to your skin.

Under the shade of the apple tree, Aragorn follows your lead, the two of you finding a dance. Although time has not been kind, keeping the two of you parted, there is no need to rush. You are happy simply existing with him, taking time to explore and savor what you’ve missed over the last few months.

Every caress is a song, and each kiss not only satiates but fuels the hunger that sits low in your belly. Fingers press and dig into skin. Clothing opens or falls away. There is no one else around, and Aragorn’s warmth is all you seek.

“Will you stay?” you ask between kisses.

Aragorn pauses, drawing back slightly. “For a few days.”

A few days. A few days with him and then separation. With Aragorn arriving now, will he return in the fall? Or will this be your new normal?

Even as these doubts swirl in your mind, you know the truth.

You don’t care.

As long as he comes, as long as he returns to you when he can, that is enough.

taglist:

@foxxy-126 @glassgulls @km-ffluv @firelightinferno @glitterypirateduck

@tiredmetalenthusiast @protosslady @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado @cherryofdeath

@berarenado @therealbloom @ninman82 @thewulf @ferns-fics

@beebeechaos @hantheconqueror @miaraei

[frodothefair]

Husband: I kind of want to write a short story about a person tends one of the more… rural beacons of Gondor.

Me: You should do it! Because it’s remote, you can make your protagonist as unhinged as you like.

Him: Okay. I’ll think about it.

Me: If I get 100 notes on a post on tumblr about this will you do it?

Him: …………..

…………

Ok, fine.

[two-white-butterflies]

★ — cassandra | thranduil

Description: Cassandra: shining upon man, a name bestowed by the mortals that surrounded your husband's kingdom. Being bestowed the gift of foresight, you have seen things in motion - that is until a tragedy happens. One that you did not foresee.

"What is it like to be a prophet? Everywhere Cassandra went she found that she was already there."

Pairing: thranduil/reader. (elrond's daughter)

Genre: angst [major character death]

Warning: I make my own timeline.

There were many things in the darkness that stayed unseen. The darkness plagued your dreams, a tangible darkness that watched in the background beside you as the events unfolded. As a child, the dreams were tame - Elladan breaking your mother's favorite vase or Elrohir scraping his knees while running down the halls.

When you grew older, the dreams turned grim. The tangible darkness that used to watch beside you now became a character of these dreams. It played in your head repeatedly; Greenwood marred by darkness, the elves fleeing to Valinor.

It haunted you.

"My child." Ada places a guiding hand on your shoulder. One of the few elves that shared your burden of foresight. "Darling," he whispered seeing the tears pool on the corners of your eyes.

Despite his gentle nudging, all attempts of reviving you from the drown - the trance does not break. You remain inside your dream. Elrond furrows his eyebrows, sensing fear and sadness in you.

"Does she wake?" Elladan leans on the doorframe.

This has been a common occurrence in the household. When the moon is in clarity, and the members in deep sleep - they get stirred awake by the sound of your tears - by the sound of objects falling from your room. "No," Elrond responds seeing your tight grip on the bedsheet - mumbling curses that he could not fathom.

A sigh escapes the younger twin's mouth.

He takes a step towards the bed, sitting beside the plump pillows that surrounded her body. "You must jump off the boat now," he mumbled, reaching for your clenched fists - opening it slowly. "When the rain comes we'll prepare the barrels, but awaken and enjoy the warmth of the sun." he pleaded.

Out of all the siblings, Elladan admired you the most. His oldest sister who had a gentle disposition and a caring voice. He did not like seeing you in pain; haunted by the inevitable.

Almost instantly, your eyes opened.

Father tries to calm you down but you are haunted. You tried to break free from the haunting, but something prevents you to speak. That tangible darkness that continued to hold you back.

You clawed at your forearm. In disbelief of what's to come.

"Naneth," you managed to whisper out. At the end of the night, you weren't alone in the haunting.

Soon after the prophecy, your father called for all his soldiers to trek the dangerous road that your mother was travelling on. Elladan tried to ask you questions, but there were no words that left your mouth. You tried to speak, tried to open your mouth - but no sound escaped.

'Everywhere Cassandra ran, she found that she was already there.'

A month later, Elladan and Elrohir arrived carrying the shell of your mother. All remnants of self-control leaves your body.

"She'll live. Your father is the greatest healer in all of Arda." your grandsire comforts, you burrow deeper into the sheets.

Celeborn takes a deep breath.

"There are scars that cannot be healed by time." the first time you spoke in months. You turned your body to look at him. Seeing the very same fear, sadness and anger in his eyes.

There were titles bestowed to people with deceased parents. There were titles bestowed to people with deceased lovers. But there were no titles bestowed to those with deceased children, for they shall be title-less and the greatest honors be taken away.

The following day, mother left for the Grey Havens. She left no comforting words or letters, but she kissed your foreheads in the middle of the night and father escorted her to the shores.

"My child," Galadriel smiles warmly, seeing you leaning on the doorframe as she broke her fast with your siblings. "- sit, you must eat." her voice was filled with tenderness.

Then suddenly memories of your mother's imprisonment flash through your eyes - your appetite is ruined for years to come. Galadriel tries to open her mouth again but you run away.

You run away from the dreams that plague your mind.

"Will she be alright?" Arwen inquires. They were used to your terrible dreams, even admired the times that you'd push through with a smile on your face, but this reaction was new to them.

Fleeing and disassociating with reality.

With their mother gone and their oldest sister drowning.

The family was lost too.

Lady Galadriel takes a sip of her tea, watching as her good-son attempts to mask his sorrow. That's what they were all doing, anyways. Hiding their grief because it's much easier than facing the truth, that Celebrian is in the Grey Havens and they are alone.

Alone again.

Alone until they decide to flee; it will be a long time. It will take centuries and thousands of years.

"She must come with me." she breathes.

Elrond's eyebrows merge together. "My daughter must stay here." he argued, not wanting another member of his family to be out of reach.

"She dreamt of her mother. She's seen the atrocities of which Celebrian refuses to speak of - I know that you have experience with this too but her dreams are different, not detached verses of massacres and war but personal deaths. She needs my help, and the love that I bare for her is deep and true. I feel her pain." Galadriel continues. She wanted to protect you. Forever.

"- my daughter was scarred, wounds inflicted upon her soul. I fear that these dreams may happen again, that she may dream of a future that we cannot see - and we'll lose her." she whispered.

Elrond reluctantly agrees with Galadriel's plan.

Your father was right!

Lothlorien filled you with tranquility. A feeling of safety that you've lost to the abyss. It felt like your mother's embrace, caging you and preventing the fall. Lady Galadriel continued monitoring you - keeping the darkness at bay, ensuring that you wouldn't remember your dreams even if they were to happen at night.

Soon after, happiness returned.

One night, while you were sleeping - your dreams were able to seep through the web of your grandmother's enchantment, and you dreamt of an elven-prince.

He was fair in the face, his hair was long and golden. He wore a crown of flowers and his voice was like honey to the ear. His name was Prince Thranduil of Greenwood, and he was to be yours.

(AMON LANC)

"What causes your joy, meleth?" Thranduil wraps his arms around your waist, allowing the moonlight to illuminate your features.

"I remembered something." you hummed, burying your face in his chest. The smell of vanilla and sandalwood invades your nose. You continued inhaling his scent, a scent that reminded you of home. "Pray tell," he whispered - allowing the peace to settle in your chambers. "The birth of our twins," you smiled.

The happiest day of your life. Erynlas and Legolas were born, they were born in the longest summer of Greenwood. Your father told you that it was a good omen, that your children would bring good harvest. The locals of Laketown were quick to send gifts down the river for the elfling, and all was well in Arda.

"I remember your panic-stricken face." you pointed out, he responded with a small chuckle. "I was afraid, but seeing our children brought relief." he admitted.

"We must enjoy it while it lasts. I remember Elladan and Elrohir, they grew up swiftly and my parents were left longing for the days when they were elflings." you continued. "Our children inherited your gentle disposition," he noted.

"- and none of your petulance." you were quick to retort.

"None yet." he smiled, as if knowing something that I didn't.

There was silence between them; the kind of silence that persevered between two people who understood one another.

"You were dreaming, yesterday." he opened his mouth, unable to see your face that was buried in his chest. "Dreaming about what?" you raised an eyebrow, long having forfeited the power of remembering your dreams. "You were mumbling things, kept saying 'no'." he reported, concern was evident in his features.

As much as you tried to remember the dreams, you couldn't.

"Was it your foresight that made you dream such?" he inquired. Your eyebrows merged together, and that familiar tightness on your chest returned. What if something was to happen on your family?

You had to exhaust every possible option to keep them safe. "I-I don't know, but it could've been just a nightmare." you comforted him. You pulled away from his embrace, opting to stare at his face.

"- and if it wasn't then I promise to keep us safe." you promised.

"I promise the same." he vowed, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "- but you must rest, for we shall have an early morning tomorrow." he noted, reminding you that you were about to leave Amon Lanc to escape the darkness that wished to take hold of Greenwood.

You awakened in the middle of the night. Lifting the covers off your body, you frowned, not seeing your husband so you decide to tiptoe towards the children's rooms. A groan escapes your mouth, feeling that horrible headache forming at the back of your head. Could this be? This must be another one of your dreams.

Your husband was telling you about the words that escaped your mouth whilst sleeping. Was the truth about to reveal itself?

You walked through the empty hallways, seeing no guards on their post. Peculiar. Your hands danced through the fabric of the tapestries that littered the walls. Weaves of forests and elves.

Even art created by Thranduil.

You entered the Twins' bedroom, seeing them slumber peacefully in their beds. Erynlas, the heir, inherited your husband's features. Her long flowing locks and piercing blue eyes, a copy of your husband.

Legolas, was the same, although he had your eyes and your demeanor. He was always patient, allowing his sister to play with his toys, not shedding a single tear when she grabs it from his hands.

You pressed a kiss to both of their foreheads.

If this was a dream, then why isn't anything happening?

Have your dreams evolved to find a different form? That tangible darkness wasn't watching or standing beside you. The darkness wasn't in this room. Have you found peace?

You shouldn't have spoken too soon, because a second later a dagger was pressed to her neck. "Look what I've found," the human opened his mouth with a chuckle. They were mercenaries. You've seen that crest before, but you couldn't remember where.

"Idiot, the bounty says that we're supposed to kill the prince." the other man rolled his eyes, but the man holding a dagger to your neck chuckled. "I think this ones an elf, a princess methinks." he took a slice of your neck, allowing little blood to trickle down your nightgown.

This scene has already played before, in your dreams, but you couldn't remember it - you couldn't remember until it's already happened. And wherever you went, you found that you were already there. "I wonder how much they'd pay for her head." he pondered.

"The Lurgburz would give us a fortune, but we were sent here to kill an heir. She is not an heir." the other man responded. You wanted to speak, but the darkness prevents you from raising your voice. 'I am an heir too. Lord Elrond's.' but the visions make you mute.

There were tears spilling out of your eyes. You felt weak. Hopeless against them.

"Then let's kill the prince's heir. Much easier than killing the prince. He's a great warrior, I've heard and if his wife's awake. Won't he be awake too?" the man continued holding the dagger on your neck.

"Which means that we have to make this quick." the other man reached for the dagger in his pockets. "Which one's the heir?" the man stared at you, and he'll forever be haunted by that look in your eyes. Red, wide, in fear.

"No," you mumbled watching as the other man stands in the middle of their cribs. "If you don't tell us then we'll kill them both." he threatened and air runs out of your lungs.

"No," you continued to mumble. They found joy in toying with you. They found joy in threatening a creature that was older than them. The other man lifted Erynlas' blankets, seeing a pink nightgown on her body. "This one's the heir," the other man stated.

"We should kill the boy, a boy is more valuable than a girl." the man surmised, forcing his mortal standards unto your elvish ones. "No, not the boy." you whispered - your subconscious knowing something that your conscious mind didn't.

Your subconscious knew that Legolas was the key to Arda's freedom. That he'd be a part of the Fellowship, and thus, he couldn't die. "She speaks," the other man teased, raising his dagger pointing it on your daughter's neck. And the tangible darkness that used to haunt you, that used to watch beside you, became a guiding hand.

Told you to grab Legolas and run.

The man's grip on you softened, he walked towards your daughter's crib. "No, no...." you mumbled, staring at the room once covered with leaves and little toys that you bought from Laketown.

You reluctantly reach for Legolas in his bed. Lifting him off the mattress while he continued his slumber. The darkness told you that Erynlas was born to die, while your son was born to live.

You walked down the stairs, about to return to your chambers but the darkness stops you from doing that. Instead leading you towards King Oropher's chambers. You open his doors - to your surprise they weren't locked tonight.

King Oropher stirs awake, seeing a figure enter his chambers. "Good morrow?" he paused, thinking that it was his handmaidens that had come to wake him. But once his vision turns back to normal, he realizes that it was you - and he sees the tears in your eyes, lips mumbling words that he could not fathom.

He repeats your name, seeing you sit on the floor - rocking your body back and forth. He was about to speak again, but you prevent him from doing so. "They took the heir." you cried out - unable to even speak like a mother, in fear, forced to speak like your perpetrators.

A/N: Made for my own self-indulgence. Inspired by EP1 of HOTDS2.

[socksracoon10]

Waiting For Nothing

Pairing: Legolas Greenleaf x F!Reader A/N: I haven't written for LOTR for a while, so I thought I'd make ya'll sad with this angsty Legolas fic. Have fun! The hearts of the warriors are often small; they've grown accustomed to fighting and death. And in each battle they fight, a layer of their heart sheds off. It falls to the ground, and rejoins the earthly soil to be reborn in another's. The scars remain, but the feelings behind the memories will slowly fade, until there is nothing more than the shell of a man who attained glory with his rotting heart a testament to the last sliver of hope that echoed in the beating of his heart.

Your heart was rather large. Having lived most of your life as the poor peasant girl with no relatives by blood, Edoras welcomed you into open arms. You were friends with almost everyone, especially with Théoden's niece, Éowyn, who quickly became your best friend - Théoden even considered you his niece as well because of how close you two were. The two of you would go riding on horses, galloping around in joy as you remained oblivious to the impending doom that would soon terrorize the entirety of Rohan in just a matter of a few days.

"I can hardly see why you roam this castle so willingly when we know your place is outside in a small hut…" Grima Wormtongue spat when you had walked past him. You glanced at him over your shoulder, your lips sharply turning into a scowl. The audacity of that vile creature to even speak in your direction. You huffed out in annoyance, biting the inside of your cheek as you chose your next words, carefully.

"Bold words coming from a creature that is more disheveled than an Orc," You snickered before haughtily marching off.

Within hours, you were kicked out of the palace and exiled from Rohan. You were back to being an orphan, right where you had started. Éowyn had looked at you with such pain in her eyes but she knew that if she were to act out against this cruel decree, she would face a similar fate and nothing could be done to save the Kingdom she so dearly loved.

Living in the outskirts was not as easy as you had initially thought it to be. In your mind, you had foolishly assured yourself that since you had been in this condition before everything would come naturally. It wasn't until the first hour passed did you sorely miss the place you once called home. With nowhere to go, you wandered around aimlessly, circling the borders of Edoras repeatedly to keep your mind occupied. By the 5th day, you swore you were dying due to starvation and thirst. You could barely move, your body lay stricken on a rock as you gasped for air. Your head tilted slightly to your right, the pain in your stomach blooming to elsewhere in your body and from afar, you noticed three horses charging towards you. You couldn't even sit up properly to examine the incoming invaders, and you weakly lifted your hand, silently begging for help.

The three horses revealed their masters on top of them, a tall dark haired man, another being that resembled a wizard and on top of the third horse was a dwarf, and in front of him the most beautiful elf you had ever seen. You had heard stories of elves before in your life, ones that were told by Éowyn, but never once did you think one would be standing right before you. If you were to die in this exact moment, you would've been very pleased that you at last saw an elf.

The man jumped off his horse and crouched down to your level, feeling your forehead before turning to the elf,

"Legolas, fetch her some of your Lembas bread, and you Gimli give her your water." The man instructed; not knowing whose name belonged to which creature, you looked between the four beings with curiosity, despite being so near to death's door. The elf crouched down besides you, allowing you to drink some water before chewing on his bread. Your hunger knew no bounds and you chewed and chewed, swallowing whole lumps of bread as you slowly began to regain some of your health. The man sighed in contentment, giving you a soft smile before standing up to walk towards the Wizard. The elf, on the other hand, stared at you with a gentle smile on his face and kept offering you food until you said no.

"What's your name?" The man asked,

"My name is (Y/N) (L/N)," You whispered, taking another sip of water. You coughed a few times, swallowing thickly before meeting his gaze.

"I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn. This is Gandalf the White, that is Gimli, son of Gloin and over to your left is Legolas of the Woodland Realms." Aragorn exclaimed, gesturing towards the elf beside you. You glanced back to face the elf, a small smile forming on your face. After acquainting yourself with the 4 beings, they heard your pitiful tale and realized that Rohan deeply needed imminent change. They allowed you to accompany them, seating yourself behind Aragorn as the horses charged forward.

Your eyes, however, remained glued onto the elf. You noticed his soft features, the way the wind seemed to swirl around him and only him, and his piercing eyes that scoured the land before him with diligence. His silence captivated you, and you did not know why.

With Grima Wormtongue out of the way, and your adoptive uncle restored to his glory, it seemed that you were finally welcome in the castle. Éowyn had rushed forward, capturing you into a warm embrace before kissing your forehead. She grinned at you, holding onto your arms ecstatically as she danced to and fro, dragging you deeper into the throne room. As she tugged at your hands, you glanced to your right to find the elf conversing with the dwarf, the both of them walking in the opposite direction with concern glazing their eyes. You wanted to listen, you wanted to be a part of them… but you did not know why. You yearned for the chance to just be alone with him, and whether it was good for Rohan or not, the chance soon came when everyone was ordered to seek shelter at Helm's Deep.

"You're rather quiet," You chirped, catching up to Legolas. The walk to Helm's Deep was excruciating and you feared that the boredom would kill you before starvation or even worse - the Uruk-hais. Legolas smirked, his lips curving ever so slightly upwards before he turned to face you,

"Forgive me. I am not one to converse so easily in such pressing times. Though, of course, must you include Gimli in our conversation, I shall pass a few jokes at his expense." He glanced over his shoulder to face Gimli atop his horse; the dwarf shook his head and grumbled,

"I'd cut yer pointy ears off if ye try to embarrass me in front of this lassie," He scoffed and you let out a laugh, before turning to Legolas,

"Come now, surely you would be able to carry a conversation without teasing the poor dwarf!"

"Perhaps, but I do not know for sure," He sighed, before resuming his silence as he watched the horizons.

Legolas knew. He could sense your attraction towards him, but he chose not to say anything about it. He hoped that it would pass, that you would not be bound at his feet, desperate for his affection. Because it would never work, and he did not have the heart to admit that he did not have any feelings for you. You were trying so hard, trying to spend more time with him. You were trying to distract yourself from the doom that lay ahead of you because everyone knew how big your heart was; all you could ever do was dream.

Éowyn and you had both tried to convince the King to let the two of you fight. There was nothing for you to lose, you both loved your Kingdom, tremendously. But as Aragorn reminded Éowyn of her duty, you turned to face Legolas whose piercing eyes never once left you. His lips formed into a thin line, and he followed Aragorn out of the room, leaving you in your thoughts.

"She's very affectionate towards you," Aragorn pointed out as they were leaving,

"I'm well aware," Legolas responded.

"What do you plan to do about it?" The man questioned.

"Nothing."

"Nothing? Legolas, perhaps-"

"Perhaps we do not speak of it." Legolas jeered, his brows furrowing at the rightful heir to Gondor. "We have more pressing matters to deal with, the lives of 100 thousand men are at steak tonight."

"Ignoring her will only heighten her love for you, she will be desperate. She will be fooled into thinking that she has a chance. If you are going to reject her, at least have the courage to tell her directly!"

"That wee lass will be devastated," Gimli chimed in, fixing his helmet, "You sure you don't feel anything?"

"I'm positive, I do not." Legolas grimaced and shoved past his two friends to grab his arrows. The incoming surge of Uruk-hais was his primary concern, but the guilt he felt as he killed one after the other tormented him. With each arrow he shot, he felt his burden increase tenfold. Aragorn and Gimli were right, but why could he not bring himself to tell you the truth? To tell you that he had no feelings for you?

Because… then he would be lying. He watched you from afar at times, watched the way you'd dance with Éomer, your arm wrapped around his as you skipped around. You'd stand beside Théoden to catch a breath, your eyes searching for Legolas and when they landed on him, he'd instantly look away - as if he wasn't staring at you. As if he wasn't infatuated with you the same way you were with him. He was lying to himself, he wanted to break free. He wanted to stand near you, to hear you constantly chittering about something; his heart ached at the sight of you fondly playing with some children. His mind roamed to thoughts that turned into dreams; dreams of you and him together. But this was wrong, all of this was wrong. He would only live a short life with you, and when you died, he would spend the rest of his life in solitude.

He'd seen it with his father. He'd seen the way his mother's death impacted him; he was not a man of many words, but his cold demeanor lingered around Legolas, a constant reminder of the similar fate he'd feel if he decided to indulge in his present feelings. He decided that he had to do something about it, even if he couldn't face it himself.

"Would you like something to eat?" You asked, toying with an apple as Legolas tended to his horse near the campsite. He glanced over his shoulder, looking at you with solemn eyes. You could've sworn a tear drop cascaded down his pale cheeks. He harshly took a deep breath in, and shook his head,

"It is alright, I do not need anything to eat." He responded, his fingers wrapped around the reins of his horse.

"Well, perhaps I could offer you something? It is not material…" You began, stepping forward with hope in your eyes. It pained him, it pained him more than anything else in the world. He could not bring himself to do this, but at the same time, it would be even worse to accept your affections.

"Lady (L/N), please." Legolas exclaimed, finally meeting your eyes, "Do not continue. I… I cannot accept your affection."

You paused in your tracks, looking at him with wide eyes.

"I do not… envision a future of us two living a happy life." He was searching for proper words, his head turning around the room as if he was physically swimming through his thoughts, "I… My heart is heavy, I have never felt this way for anyone. I do not want to be the one to burden your heart, but I am afraid that you must keep those feelings to yourself. There is nothing that I can do. Nothing we can do."

"I… You… You don't even know what I was going to say…" You reasoned, and Legolas let out a huff,

"I do not need to hear you say it, I already know. I've seen the way you look at me, the way you tend to me. I am forever in your debt for your kindness, I thank you for it. But, it cannot continue. Aragorn, Gimli, and I will be leaving tonight." Legolas murmured, tugging on the reins as he drove his horse forward and away from you. Your heart sunk at his words, unsure of what was happening.

This couldn't be happening to you. Not before you even had the chance to tell him how you felt. What if he realized how true your love was for him? What if this was the last time you ever saw him?

"I shall be waiting for you." You stated, swiftly turning on your heels to face his departing form.

"Don't, you'll be waiting for nothing," Legolas whispered, his eyes softening at your words.

"Nothing is… indeed something," You breathed, your fingers linked together as you began to fidget, nervously. "Perhaps, you'll understand. Perhaps you'll… come back."

"Perhaps, but I would not count on it." Legolas sighed, before hopping onto his horse and riding off, leaving you alone for the night.

"I see you've told her how you felt," Aragorn had asked Legolas when they were far from Rohan, "Does it feel as if your heart is lighter now, with nothing to worry about?"

Legolas paused, hearing Gimli grumble a few curses under his breath regarding the elf. He opened his mouth to speak, before closing it. The elf thought deeply, his mind was utterly blank and he hated it.

"I feel…" He began, "I feel as if I've only made it worse. Not just for her, but... for me as well." He swallowed, thickly, before glancing over his shoulder to take one last look at Rohan. The wind was still, there was not much that he could hear.

Except for the beating of a very large heart that painfully yearned for him with each fleeting second.

[mlmxreader]

Home Is Where You Are | Fili x gn!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ Hi can I request the prompt "It ain't home without you" with fili please? ❞

: ̗̀➛ It's your job to protect him and to keep him alive, but it isn't your job to worm your way into his heart.

: ̗̀➛ brief mentions of war and violence

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

It was a lonely and cold night, and unable to get warm enough in your spot at the edge of the camp, you settled for instead heading over to the small fire where Fili was sat; in the moonlight, his pretty blue eyes looked electric.

Alight with thousands of stars that you could not see, and aflame with the soft crackling fire as it reflected the orange and yellow hues.

You sighed as you sat beside him, shuffling forward slightly so that you could rest your head on his lap; gazing up at him as he flinched for a moment at the sudden contact.

But he soon settled, relaxing and letting his hand drift to your forehead as he felt the soft head radiating from your skin. Of all of the Company, you were closest to Fili without a single doubt.

You had been with the Company since the beginning, hired by Gandalf to protect Fili and Kili and to ensure that the two brothers survived everything that was thrown at them; but what you had never expected was that you would end up becoming rather attached to one of the brothers, and that every time you looked into his beautiful eyes, you would feel like you were finally home.

You shifted around a little, almost nuzzling into his stomach as you got comfortable against him; Fili didn’t mind, although he couldn’t help but to smile.

He knew that you had a reputation to uphold, after all, you were famous throughout Middle Earth - from the Shire through to Rohan - for being essentially fearless.

A warrior so strong, you had fought in many wars, and had been decorated by your King accordingly; those who bore white flags with red crosses were terrified of you, and would cower at the mere mention of your name.

They knew who you were; the warrior with the red dragon on their breastplate and the sword made of dragon bones. The warrior who spoke a language older than Elvish, and who would stop at nothing to defend his homeland from those who carried the white banner with the red cross upon it.

The warrior who spoke the dragon’s tongue, and who had charmed their way into Fili’s heart so easily.

Fili knew your reputation, but he also knew Thorin’s words about you, as they echoed in his head every time you were close.

“Be careful of that one, those who sell their swords sell their souls along with it.”

But you weren’t like that, Fili knew that. You accepted the job because you owed Gandalf a favour, and that was all. You didn’t sell your sword at all, you were hired to fulfil the end of a favour.

That was all, and you made it incredibly clear that you would never accept another job offer of the same or similar calibre again.

But Fili’s uncle’s words weighed heavily upon his shoulders, even if you did feel like home every time you were close to him; even if the soft warmth of your forehead felt the same as coming home to a familiar bed.

He knew, though, nothing could or would ever come of it.

You wriggled a little, humming softly to yourself for a moment. “Fili?”

He nodded, a soft thrum coming from the very back of his throat as he lazily looked down at you. “Yes?”

“Is it odd that I feel like it ain’t home without you?” You asked quietly, all but twiddling your thumbs as you stared up at him so gently, your gaze all too soft on him.

But he shook his head, daring to lick his lips as he tilted his head slightly to the side. “No… in all honesty and truth, I can’t help but to feel the same - I feel as if the softest of touches from you is the same as coming back to my own bed.”

You could only smile as you let out a quiet yawn, stretching ever so slightly. “And what about your uncle? Thorin doesn’t exactly seem all that keen on me.”

Fili shrugged as he dared to smile back, slowly shaking his head. “Allow me to handle Thorin. I can deal with him, I can convince him that you are not what he thinks you are.”

You frowned a little, swallowing thickly and hoping that he didn’t see how you were struggling to get through to it. “But how confident in that are you, exactly?”

“Very,” Fili nodded, daring to grin at you as he gently stroked your cheek. “As long as you are my home, I will be yours, and I will do everything I can to convince my uncle that we belong together.”

Struggling to sit up, you rolled your eyes when he laughed at your efforts before pulling you onto his lap; letting you straddle his waist as he rested his hands on your thighs and tilted his head to the side, humming ever so softly. Gently, he ran his hands up and down your thighs. 

“Tell me that I am yours,” he whispered softly. “And I will tell you that you are mine.”

You nodded, clasping your hands behind his neck as you stared at his mouth for a moment. Your voice coming out as a mere whisper. “I am all yours, Fili.”

“And I am yours,” he murmured gently, his hands trailing up so that one rested on your middle and the other rested at the back of your neck. All too tempted to pull you in closer. “Always.”

“Always,” you repeated. “Are you sure you don’t want my help with confronting Thorin?”

Fili nodded slowly, licking his lips as his gaze dropped to your mouth. “I might need you to keep me alive.”

“That’s my job,” you laughed gently. “Isn’t it?”

He laughed along for a moment, but when you leaned in slightly, he could not help but to close the distance. His kiss was so soft and tender, and when you kissed him back, you could not deny: you were home. 

[essenceofarda]

The Three Eowyns from my 1920s Middle Earth au, "A Dance at the Palantiri"!! The White Lady of Rohan, Dernhelm, and a flapper dancer!

aka the three personas of Eowyn that Faramir falls in love with simultaneously without realizing that they are all, in fact, the same person LOL

Fic Summary: It's the 1920s in Middle Earth, and Éowyn just wants to get away. Just for a week, to be able to truly be herself, not just an esteemed Princess of the Riddermark. When she escapes under the disguise of a man named Dernhelm to Osgiliath, by fate she crosses paths with Lord Faramir, an infamous playboy and partygoer, who manages to rope her into becoming a bartender at his equally, if not more, infamous club and bar, The Palantiri. The Palantiri is more than meets the eye, same as its owner, however. Éowyn quickly realizes that the club is not just for people to lose themselves, but to lose their secrets too. There's more than meets the eye of Faramir, too, she finds. Suddenly, Éowyn finds herself neck deep in a years old secret operation in the war effort, and must do so while keeping up the guise of a man.

Trying out and having fun with a different to my usual style "very stylized" style :D

Also should I update this fic?

[sadlvrgrrl]

𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 (𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋 𝐕𝐄𝐑.)

a daemon targaryen love story

Every night, when the moon is full and bright, he dreams of the one he calls his light.

disclaimer: daemon is extremely ooc

𝘸𝘤: 723

・❥・

𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐋𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

Daemon Targaryen, the rogue prince of Westeros was far from pure. He was ruthless, stubborn, arrogant, and most of all, powerful. His blood was equivalent to a dragon, forged from the fiery pits of the seven hells. He was the deliverer of chaos and destruction, and no one was able to tame his savage inferno.

All until one; her.

She was the epitome of ethereal, a beauty so delicate, so pure in a way that she was too perfect for this world— too perfect for him. She was an angel forged of the purest light with hair as bright as the moon, skin as white as snow, and her eyes—

her eyes held magic.

Full of light, full of innocence, full of stars.

Starry eyes that had him hypnotized.

Starry eyes that made him stumble, but it was her smile that made him fall.

Starry eyes that had him vow to do anything in his power to keep their light kindle endlessly. 

She was a blessing from the gods. A wish upon a shooting star. If he could, he would tear the whole world apart just to rebuild it brick by brick to a standard he deemed worthy of her existence. Worthy of her light— worthy of his light; Celethiel.

・❥・

Daemon follows the elen wisps through a sprawling forest, letting them guide his way with their light to their keeper. The tall trees towered over him, reaching into the heavens. Their branches weave together a dense canopy, shrouding the forest in shadow and only letting strings of moonlight spill through the gaps, filling the forest with a soft light.

As Daemon enters the clearing, his violet eyes instantly fall upon Celethiel sitting on a stone bench under a white willow tree. She was clad purely in white, and her hair was long and bright; like a moonlight river cascading down her back, casting a glow around her like a magical veil. The sight of her beauty was utterly spellbinding and mesmerizing, and Daemon was enchanted.

“Why do you linger in the shadows, my prince?” Said the enchantress. Her voice was silvery and melodious, like the sound of a fine harp.

“I only linger in the shadows not to hide from you, but to admire the beauty you emit, ñuha ōños.” said Daemon. “For you are a treasure of all treasures worth worshiping.”

A musical chuckle was the response; short and breathy. It filled Daemon with excitement, making him wanting more; more of her sweet melody of a harmonious mixture of grace and elegance.

While his eyes were fixed on her; hers was on the moon, gazing at it with a distant look of tranquility and longing. Daemon envied its fortune, for it had become the object of affections of the one he loved the most. Desiring nothing more than to be in the moon’s place so he can feel the touch of her eyes upon his own face. He walks up to Celethiel, and slowly kneels on the ground in front of her. Gently, he takes her hands in his. His warmth instantly melts the chillness of the night as their fingers interlace together.

“My love?” He said softly, his voice almost a whisper.

“The moon...it's light shines brighter than ever before,” She said. “Mother must be happy.”

“I believe it is you that shines brighter, my love.” He said, his voice filled with tenderness and love. But her eyes have yet to stray away from the moon.

Daemon sighed, feeling defeated by the hold the moon had over his light. He slowly brings her hands up to his cheeks, wanting to feel the softness of her touch. Then his lips met with her smooth and delicate skin, and it felt as if he was kissing the finest silks in all of Arda.

“Celethiel…please…please look at me,” he spoke timidly. “kostilus.” 

Daemon Targaryen, a man known for his arrogance, had willingly turned his pride into sand. A man known for his steel strength is now bent by his passion. Upon his knees, he begs his beloved for her love. His whole world is consumed by the one he desires most; his light.

Then suddenly, as time seemingly to stand still, her gaze has finally met his. And for the first time that night, he saw the stars that graced the night sky.

(𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑬𝒏𝒅.)

a/n: a little story info, celethiel is a valar; daughter of manwë and varda. instead of varda being associated with the stars, she represents the moon. i really hope you guys enjoyed this, and I'm so sorry it's short. i just haven't been getting enough inspiration and motivation to develop a fixed plot. maybe one day i'll come back to add on to this story.

[local-crying-boy]

Fell In Love With You

Legolas X GN!Reader

——————————————————————————————————

Pairing: Legolas x Gender Neutral!Reader

Genre: One-Shot, fluff, comfort fic, childhood friends to lovers

Warnings: poorly translated Elvish

Summary: The first time you and Legolas confessed your love for each other after you assumed he was in love with another for years.

Trope: childhood friends to lovers

Word Count: 840

——————————————————————————————————

Elvish Translations:

Legolas, how ceri- cin fare? = Legolas, how do you fare?

Im am far tríw, Y/n = I am quite fine, Y/n.

Im cannot n- os- cin, ú- ir im cannot ab- hin emel = I cannot be around you, not while I cannot deny these feelings.

Mellon = Friend

——————————————————————————————————

Elves only fell in love once, most knew of this. It had barely come as a shock to you when you realised you had deep feelings for your old childhood friend, Legolas. As the two of you grew up, you became inseparable, you trained together all the time and hung out more than that.

You had always caught yourself staring at his beauty ever so often, even in your younger years. Though, you had always brushed this off as simple admiration for the Prince. However, almost as soon as you realised your feelings, you also realised the way he looked at Tauriel.

It caused you great pain to stay by your side, knowing that he'd never feel the same about you, but you still stayed by his side no matter what.

You had learnt the hard way that, sometimes, love can cause only pain and misery. You continued to stay by his side, though, continued to laugh and talk as if nothing had changed, fought and protected the same as if your feelings had never surfaced.

You had told yourself long ago that, no matter what, you would stay by Legolas’s side. Whether that was in battle, to comfort him or give him advice, you would be there.

You sit with your back to a tree and your sword in your lap with a sharpening steel in your right hand, the others sitting and chatting amongst each other. You have no desire to talk to them tonight.

“Y/n.” Legolas calls you, causing you head to turn towards him.

You hum in response, “Yes?”

He stares at you for a few, long seconds, “Are you feeling well?”

No, you thought, but simply nodded, “Yes. Are you feeling well?”

He stays quiet, settling beside you. You watch as he sits beside you, his hair slightly getting in the way of his flawless face.

“Legolas, how ceri- cin fare?” You ask, worry clear in your voice when he takes too long to reply.

He meets your gaze once more a offers a small smile, “Im am far tríw, Y/n.”

You nod, your eyes wondering back to your sword that lays still in your lap, how long had you been sharpening the damned thing?

The two of you sit in an awkward, but also normal, silence. A silence that can be awkward at first, but slowly turns into a silent, comfortable company.

"You have been distancing yourself." He says, his voice lowered.

You glare at the elf, "I have not, I have been conversed with the others, I have created a strong companionship."

He shakes his head, "Not distant to our new travelling partners, you have been distant to me."

This time, when you look up, your eyes lock with his. There's a sort of sadness in his eyes, a sorts of pain in not talking to you like you used to.

You look back to the sword in your lap, guilt pulling at your heart strings. How were you meant to tell Legolas that you’ve distanced yourself because you loved him?

“Im cannot n- os- cin, ú- ir im cannot ab- hin emel.” You mutter, “It pains me, mellon.”

“Pains you? In which way?” Legolas questions, “Have I offended you in some way, Y/n? Have I wronged you to make you distant?”

You shake your head, “Quite the opposite, you have made me incredibly infatuated with you in a way that makes my heart beat for you and only you, Legolas.”

A look of shock appears on the blond’s face, he freezes. For once in his long life, he freezes. You made The Prince freeze up, you!

You shake your head once more, “And it pains me to be spend my waking mornings and my days and nights with you when I know perfectly well that you are in love with Tauriel and see me no more than a trusted companion.”

"I have never been in love with Tauriel." Legolas simply states, "It has always been you."

Stunned, you simply stare him before muttering out, "Pardon?"

“It has always been you, Y/n.” Legolas repeats, his voice a melodic sounding tone, “I have always been in love with you.”

In disbelief, your eyes does not falter from Legolas’. Though, you noticed his hand rise to your cheek.

“If I may?” He asks, though he did not need an answer as you crash your lips onto his.

A sound of shock is muffled by your lips, but he quickly gets used to the feeling and kisses you back. The moment is full of complete passion and bliss, like everything that was going wrong faded away for those few seconds.

When the two of you pulled away, it was silent, the two of you simply looked into each others' eyes. Legolas' hand remained on your cheek, brushing away the hair that was near your face.

"I have wished to do that for many centuries now, though, I never knew how to confess to you." Legolas mutters, had it not been to your elven ears, you would not have heard him.

You let out a small laugh, almost like a sigh, "You know not how much I have desired to do that, my Prince."

"Perhaps, now, you can no longer distance yourself from myself anymore." He smiled.

You nodded, "Perhaps I will."

Masterlist

[shrubdaddy]

elucidative | l.greenleaf

↳ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: elucidative |. /ih-loo-si-deyt/ | verb | to make lucid especially by explanation or analysis | y/n is only a little dumb

⇢ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: legolas x reader

⇢ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fluff

⇢ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: none

⇢ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.1k

a/n: Hiii - Sorry I've been MIA - work has been a bit more hectic and I've been having a hard time finding time to write! I could not stop thinking about the Bridgerton scene with Charlotte and George. Lightly inspired by @reality-warp 'Rávamë’s Bane Trilogy', quite literally one of my all-time fave fics and authors in this fandom and is a literal queen in world and character building so check out her fics if you haven't already!

copyright © | please do not repost my work.

“Manwë’s breath, how much higher can this wall get?”

Reaching for yet another tendril of the vines climbing up the wall, you attempt to climb higher up the stone wall.

It was a precarious situation — one in which you did not expect to be but were not entirely surprised to find yourself in.

You scaled the stone walls attempting to reach the top of the wall to escape yet another suitor. With flowing sleeves laced with snagged threads and leaves woven into your hair, you don’t quite know how long you’ve been attempting your half-scattered escape plan. At this moment, all you knew was that you’d been in this dreaded courtyard for over an hour and you would not be waiting another minute to be trapped and shackled for the next “prince” to come around.

As a ward of Lord Glorfindel, you were of course expected to adhere to the life of a lady in every way possible. You’ve studied every subject, attended every lesson from etiquette and mannerisms to reading and writing in Khuzdul, and attended each and every dreadful social event your father has encouraged.

Feeling your grip falter yet again, you stumble backward and glare at the very metaphoric yet also a very real wall in front of you.

You have always strived to be the perfect daughter in every way possible. However, in regard to love and courtship, you refuse to follow the ancient, decrepit tradition. Between the many years of dodging conversations and offers of marriage, you’ve reached way past the age of courtship, spending many years avoiding each and every suitor thrown your way.

Rather than bubbling with excitement, you felt the fear of the unknown settle in. Having so much to live for and not enough time to experience, you think of your time spent with the twins and the Rangers of the North — time spent traveling, exploring, and living.

You remember joining the twins and meeting Aragorn… meeting Legolas. He was an elven ranger you befriended through Aragorn. He was strong and sturdy, and for a moment you thought you were in love. The camp up North was a place where not many talked of their past but where they all focused on the present. It was a simple life but it was the life you were able to create for yourself.

Lost in the thoughts of the slow spiral of your sanity, you didn’t hear the footsteps coming up behind you as you reached yet again for the closest, protruding stone on the wall —

“What in the world are you doing?”

Without turning to even see who it is, you let go of one hand waving your intruding guest away.

“Please mind your own business, sir. You can escort yourself out — possibly, somewhere that is anywhere but here.”

You continue your ascent without a second thought but slipped down the wall as stone slowly tore up your hands. Stepping back, you place your hands on your hips and take a look at the growing annoyance in front of you. This stupid wall.

You hear an exasperated sigh behind you and felt someone lightly, grab your shoulder, pulling you from behind.

“Excuse me, sir. But you will unhand or you risk losing your… Legolas?”

Turning around, you were shocked by the familiar face of someone you were completely and utterly infatuated with over the past couple of years. Paralyzed and flustered, you couldn’t help but notice how clean and ethereal — you have never seen him this clean before; his muddied boots were somehow clean and the ragged pants you were so used to was exchanged for a less holey look. Somehow these fit even better. You feel your eyes gaze up but froze — you were staring too long.

“Lose my what?” he asked with a little smug grin.

“Nothing! Absolutely nothing. On the contrary, you can keep everything… It was nothing…” you rambled as you quickly turned around.

You hear him step a bit closer, coming behind you on your side to examine the wall you were so desperately climbing less than a second ago.

“What in Arda are you doing here, Y/n?” he said with his curious, blue eyes. Though a few feet away, just his presence causes your mind to go in a scramble.

“Me? What are you doing here?” you exasperated. Fiddling with your hands, you begin pacing back and forth, pretending to examine every bit of the wall, looking anywhere but him.

Look anywhere but his eyes, Y/n. That is how we’ll survive his cursed beauty.

“You are climbing a wall. If anyone should be questioned, it is you,” he bit back.

You quickly move your shoulder to release his grip and turn around.

“First of all, I live here. Second of all, please do mind your business, Legolas. I am quite a bit … oof … I’m quite a bit busy here. and I’m running out of time.”

Stepping towards the wall, you begin to attempt to climb yet again. If anything, it was to break free from his distracting grip on your body. Ignoring the growing warmth on your cheeks, you couldn’t help but notice how large and warm his hand was and how one touch made you feel like hot honey dripping down your body.

Shaking off the startling moment, you were determined to leave. And even he could not stop you.

“What in the world are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re doing something.”

“I am not”

“Yes… you quite obviously are are.”

“I am n o t.”

“Yes… you are,” he said firmly.

Relenting — you turn back around to face him. Beautiful face and all. You notice how his head is turned slightly down, his eyebrows furrowing just the slightest beginnings of a small smirk staring down at you.

“Fine,” you relented. “If you must know, I am trying to figure out the best way to climb over this disgustingly high wall and escape this dreaded meeting with this so-called ‘prince.’”

“You’re trying to what? With who? Whatever for?”

“Well, the first thing — hmph …” you grunt as you turn back around to attempt to climb for the fifth time in a row. “The first thing is that my dearest father has been parading me around to different suitors, a Lord here, a Duke there — and now, um, it’s apparently another ‘prince’.”

You take a step back because rather than focusing on climbing, you feel a sense of frustration overcome you. The situation of late has finally dug its claws into you... feeling a greater weight on your shoulder than you have originally led yourself to believe. You feel him standing behind you — the burning intensity of his stare on your back.

“No one has spoken of him… no one has spoken of this so-called Prince of Mirkwood?” You continued, “What if he has the personality of a gremlin and the looks of a troll? The Valar knows the little patience I have for men.”

“Gremlins and trolls aside — does what he looks he really matters to you? ” he asked.

“No… Of course not. It’s the not knowing and the fact that I do not know him or his heart that I do not like.

You take a step back to take a look once more at the wall in front of you. Glaring with all of your might, in hopes that your internal rage can burst a whole through these dreaded walls.

“Y/n —you must know... “ Legolas began.

Your eyes run through all the nooks and cranny’s vine-covered stone beast, ignoring Legolas’s words for only a second. There it is. A protruding stone just two feet away from the top. You found one last way you have yet to try.

“Thank the Valar! I think I found a way.”

You walk towards the wall once again, mapping out the new path of vines and protruding stones.

“I think if I can just reach this stone I can lift myself up! If you lift me just a little, I believe I can reach that vine and use these stones to climb up,” you said excitedly.”

“You want me to lift you up… so that you may… escape?”

“Yes, obviously. Did you not hear of threatening the gremlin-troll prince? Please, Legolas.”

“Your father will know that you are missing? The twins have just arrived as well?”

“Those are tomorrow’s problems, Legolas. The prince will be coming today,” you whined.

As you begin your ascent, you feel your foot slipping from the stone. Despite this, you stretched your hand above your head to grab the vine. As you reached, you feel the stone beneath your foot crumble and in a matter of seconds you find yourself falling.

“Lego—”

“Y/n,” he cuts you off. “I have no intention of helping you escape.”

Standing a little too close, you can feel the warmth emanating from his body. As you gaze up to his face, you see he’s wearing an emerald green tunic, soft and silky — something far nicer than the typical garb you always see him in.

“And why not? There is little time to —.”

Your finally glance up to look him in the eyes and —

“You’re wearing a crown,” you blankly stated.

Confused, you oh-so-slowly begin to piece the puzzle together.

“Yes, I am wearing crown,” a small grin appearing on his smugged face.

“Where in the world did you get a crown?”

“It was given to me,” he said as he looked around feigning boredom.

“By who?!” you retort.

“My father.”

“Your father? What does— is he like a king?”

“He is a king,” he said frankly.

“Which makes you a — “ you slowly piece the information together.

“A prince? Yes, a gremlin-troll prince to be exact,” he retorts with now a full grin and staring down at you.

“And you said nothing?” You frantically exclaimed.

“I figured you’d realize at some point,” he chuckled.

You stood there reflecting on all your life decisions at once. Every conversation, every hidden glance. He was a prince.

“I thought it was common knowledge and that you knew of my title,” he said quietly. “I apologize for not disclaiming it sooner.”

“So if what you’re saying is true…” you teased. “You just assume everyone thinks of you as royalty? That’s quite the assumption”

“Y/n, you know I did not mean it like that,” he groaned.

With a little giggle, you stepped away from him and asked “Should I call you, sir?”

“…Y/n, what?”

“Oh my, I’ve never bowed.” Your voice shifts into worry, “Is this grounds for beheading?”

“Y/n, no.”

“I should bow.”

“No— you should not.”

“I’ll bow.”

“Y/n — stop.”

“Please sir, I am merely a lowly peasant. Have mercy, your highness,” you exclaimed as you lower your head and drop into the deepest curtsy.

As he attempts to stop you, he reaches for your arm hoping to put an end to your jester.

As you back away and dodge, you look at him, batting your eyelashes, and cry “My liege, spare me from this punishment I only wish to live.”

Ears turning red with a desperate voice, he begs “Y/n, please.”

As you step back once more, he’s quicker this time and grabs your arm, pulling you close. your chest crushed against his, he drops one of his hands to your waist and the other to your back. You were so close you felt his breath caress your face. As you look up, you find him staring intently at you.

As you stare at each other, you couldn’t help but break into giggles over the preposterous situation. As you begin to giggle, he looks away trying to hold in his laughter, only to also laugh at the situation.

It felt nice — to feel free and silly, if only for a moment.

As both your laughter calms down, he looks back down at you asked, ”So what do you think of the gremlin-troll prince?”

“Nothing too horrid, he’s actually quite dashing,” you teased.

“Dashing, hmm?” he chuckled.

Unaware of everything around you, you were both startled to hear the courtyard doors open with footsteps following. Jumping from each other's arms, you separated a good distance away only for you to see your father and Elrond turn into the corner section you were standing in.

“Oh, good. You’ve met!”

[elfy-elf-imagines]

To Meet Under the Stars | Thranduil

▹ Pairing: Thranduil x Elf!Reader

▹ Genre: Fluff

▹ Words: ~3k

▹ Summary: In light of the stars, Thranduil finds himself entirely enchanted by a mysterious masked woman.

▹ Notes: I love masquerade balls, that is all. Unedited because we die as men.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

The light of starlight was something sacred to the elves. 

In the times of old, before the moon and sun had been created, Varda placed the stars in the sky, illuminating the world for the elves to see. For all other races, stars were just light that guided their way at night, but they were so much more for the elves. They held the promise of life unsullied by the evil of Morgoth. A beautiful display of glistening diamonds that held the light of creation. To honor the stars was to honor Varda herself.

Under the canopy of stars, the wood elves of Eryn Galen celebrated the first night of the autumn equinox. The moon was full and high in the sky as lords, ladies, and commoners alike gathered for the party. The echo of minstrels ensured there would be no corner of the kingdom not lit with joy. Dragonflies darted across ponds, and crickets hid in the forest, chirping to the beat of the lute. There were festivities all throughout the kingdom, but the main attraction was the masquerade ball held within the palace of King Thranduil. Only guests of high esteem were invited to dance under the lush canopy in the company of the royal family. 

And there you were, with summer in your hair and winter in your eyes. Dancing through the crowd, illuminated in the silver light of the moon, you were the vision of a goddess. A soft halo shone upon your silver-gold hair, pinned in an updo with stray pieces that cascaded down your back. Flowers in purple, blue, and silver hues were placed upon your head like a crown, creating the silhouette of a queen. A silver mask encrusted with enough jewels that it glittered under the light concealed the top half of your face, two holes allowing your eyes to glow in the dark. A grin born of pure ecstasy was outlined by the lipstick on your lips. 

No one could recall who you were nor when you’d arrived at the celebration. It was as if you were always there, lying in wait and dancing with the ghosts of the open-roof ballroom. A laugh rivaling the minstrels' songs hung in the air where you stood and followed your every sweeping move. 

From the high table, with a glass of wine precariously hanging in his hand, Thranduil watched you. He couldn’t help it. It was as if you were weaving some sort of spell, casting it upon all who watched, paralyzed by your song and enraptured by your dance. You were beautiful, quick as a whip, and light as a feather. Each step seemed calculated and purposeful, yet so loose it could only be natural.

Thranduil couldn’t recall ever meeting you, so certain he’d know your laugh even if he couldn’t see your face. His advisors tried to make idle conversation as Legolas spent his time with the other members of the guard, drinking and laughing. Thranduil couldn’t be bothered to even pretend to listen, intently focused on the way your summer blue dress flowed like water around you. It nearly felt sacrilegious to directly look at something so beautiful, like staring at the face of Varda herself. 

“It is a beautiful--” his advisor beside him began to speak, talking so slowly it made Thranduil’s lips curl in slight irritation that was hidden by the goblet he held. He watched as you threw your head back in laughter, finding amusement in whatever the elf lord you were speaking with said. It took all his willpower not to roll his eyes as he drank more sweet wine. 

The elf lord offered you his hand, which you gracefully accepted. Instead of dancing through the crowds alone, you twirled in the arms of another man. It made Thranduil’s stomach turn in a way it hadn’t for centuries. 

You and the elf lord you danced with would flit in and out of his vision, yet the merriment never left your expression, and when the face of your dance partner would face Thranduil, he could see just how enchanted the man was by you. His grip on the goblet tightened, knuckles turning white. 

The song seemed endless, drawing out the end of it for as long as possible. Part of Thranduil was tempted to bark at the minstrels to begin a new one in hopes you would once again be left alone, but he didn’t. A king needed to maintain his composure, even if everything inside was screaming not to. It seemed silly to be so taken by a woman whose face he couldn’t even see. 

“Have you tried one of these cakes yet? They’re quite--” 

“Galion.” Thranduil interrupted the man previously speaking, gaining the attention of his butler. The advisor that had been interrupted scowled yet said nothing else as Galion stepped closer to Thranduil. 

“Yes, my king.”

Thranduil pointed at you, Galion’s eyes following his finger. “Who is that?”

His eyes narrowed as Galion leaned closer to try and get a better look at you. Yet not a glint of recognition twinkled in his eyes. Did anyone here know who you were?

“I’m afraid I am unfamiliar with who she is. Would you like me to fetch her, my king?” Galion asked, his attention returned to Thranduil, whose eyes furrowed in mild annoyance. 

“That will not be necessary, Galion.” He waved his hand, and Galion returned to his previous seat. It would be easy to bring you to him, he was the king, after all, but he didn’t want your meeting with him to seem forced upon you. He already had enough of a reputation as a cold, unfeeling man; it wouldn’t do any good to give you a reason to believe them. 

The song ended, and you stepped away from your partner, lowering into a curtsey that he returned with a bow. Thranduil stood, the legs of his chair scraping on the floor; he didn’t bother giving a weak excuse for his exit. If he doesn't act soon, you might slip from his fingers. Thranduil took long strides down the platform and disappeared into the sea of elves. 

He pushed his way through the crowd, most too lost in the magic of the music to pay their king any mind. He could see you, dancing alone with your eyes shut. The grin on your face was wide, never wavering in the slightest. The distance separating him from you was dwindling, the anticipation making his palm sweaty. The crowd parted, and he could’ve pulled you into his arms if he wanted to. 

But as he opened his mouth, you disappeared into the crowd, so preoccupied you never saw him coming. Thranduil’s eyes narrowed, his misty eyes searching the crowd for you, but you were nowhere to be seen. Had you merely been a figment of his imagination conjured by the trickster spirits rumored to hide in his forest? Perhaps you had been, but Thranduil was determined to comb through the crowd hoping to see you again.

Then, a flit of blue brightened the corner of his eye. He turned, seeing you dart from dance partner to dance partner, now on the other end of the room. A cat-like grin appeared on the edges of his mouth; he’d found you. Once more, he pushed through the crowd, not moving his eyes from you for one second, afraid you’d disappear without a trace if he did.

The crowd would pulse, and you would get closer to him before suddenly spreading out towards the treeline. Thranduil would get close enough to smell your floral perfume, but you'd dart in another direction before he could take your delicate hands in his. He wasn’t entirely sure if it was on purpose; you probably hadn’t even noticed him. Your eyes never locked with his that never strayed from you.

But the gods seemed to smile upon him that night, and as the crowd came closer, Thranduil snatched your hand. Your body twisted to face him, the grin on your face never faltering. The perfume you wore was distinctly jasmine, vanilla, and something sweeter, tantalizing enough to bring him closer to you. His hand was rough in comparison to yours, much larger too. 

“May I have this dance, my lady?” His voice was velvet smooth. Thranduil stood out like a sore thumb as the only one in the crowd without a mask. 

“You may, my king,” you curtsied before placing your other hand on his shoulder as his hand found its place on your waist. Wasting no time, the two of you twisted and spun through the crowd in an airy waltz. You had the grace of a swan, maintaining a poised elegance with a child-like grin. Thranduil felt himself falling deeper into whatever spell you had cast. 

A witch, that’s what you had to be. There was no other explanation for the hammering of his heart or the delight your touch elicited. 

One step back, one step forward, one to the side, and repeat. Another spin, extra flourish added for flavor, and the movements continued. Neither of you spoke, eye to eye, unable to look away from one another. Thranduil found himself counting the flecks in your eyes, convinced they held a thousand little stars in them. 

Perhaps you hadn’t been an illusion placed to taunt him but a gift from the Valar themselves. 

All too soon, the song ended, and the dance was finished. As he watched you do before, you stepped back from Thranduil and lowered into a sweeping curtsey. He wanted to ask you to stay with him, not only for the night but the rest of eternity, but he found himself tongue-tied.

“It was an honor to dance with you, my king.” Your voice was soft and warm, like the spiced tea he would drink before bed. He wanted your name, to lift the mask you wore and lay his eyes upon your face entirely. He needed to see the face of the woman that would surely haunt his every dream. 

Thranduil blinked, and in the brief time, his eyes weren’t on you, you’d disappeared. He half expected for there to be stardust left where your feet had been, but the only proof you’d existed was the imprint of your heels in the grass. His eyes scanned the crowd, twisting his body and craning his head, yet you were nowhere to be seen. But this time, instead of seeing flashes of your dress or silver hair, you were nowhere to be seen. You’d disappeared entirely.

Thranduil stood in the crowd a moment longer, hoping for a glimpse of you before deciding to return to his seat at the table. Perhaps from the high crowd, he could ascertain where you were. Thranduil returned to his seat, acting as if he hadn’t suddenly rushed from the table to dance with you, ignoring the questioning glances from his advisors. His goblet of wine in hand, eyes on the crowd, Thranduil sunk into the music and lost himself in thought. All of them were plagued by you. 

And there he stayed as the hours ticked by, seemingly in a trance. No one at the table bothered to strike up a conversation with Thranduil anymore; it was like trying to converse with a brick wall. So they settled in silence, occasionally remarking about the party with the other guests. 

“My king,” Galion returned to his side. “The lady you danced with has stepped away to the gardens.” Galion’s tone was even as if he were merely commenting on the weather. Thranduil side-eyed him, noticing the tinge of mirth on Galion’s smile. Thranduil tilted his head to the side, then slowly nodded. 

“Perhaps I should ensure our guest is enjoying the festivities.” 

Thranduil stepped away from the table and followed the path toward the garden’s you just slipped into. He took long strides to reunite with you sooner. This time he was determined to get your name and to peek beneath the mask you wore. 

When he finally stepped into the garden, he saw your back turned to him, fingers dipped in the fountain's water. Your posture was relaxed, hair loose and flowing, no longer pinned in the updo it once was. It flowed like liquid silver, furthering his conspiracy that you were a celestial being born of the gods. Precariously hanging in your hand was the mask you’d been wearing, thumbs rubbing against the ribbon that tied it in your hair. The minstrels were now a distant hum, the flowing water, and the chirp of crickets the only song in the gardens.

He stopped a few steps from you, trying to find the words to say. It’d been so long since he’d been made to feel like a shy elfling, nervous about approaching his first crush. A king should be dignified and confident, but he felt all of that crumble in your presence. 

Your ears twitched as Thranduil shifted in his spot, head raising at the sudden intrusion. Slowly, you turned, unsure who to expect would intrude upon your solitude. But of all the people you imagined stepping into the garden, you never anticipated it would be the king. He nearly seemed awkward and unsure in his place, fingers smoothing wrinkles on his robes that weren’t there. 

Immediately you lowered into a curtsey, but the king didn’t acknowledge the movement. His eyes were wide and mouth slightly agape as he stared at you. As he looked upon your face, this must’ve been how the first elf to gaze upon the stars felt. The curves and lines of your face were soft and delicate, the vision of beauty. Your eyes seemed even brighter in the dim lighting, an unsure, shy smile curling on your lips.

“My king.”

He remained silent, too wonderstruck to speak. 

“If you require to be alone, I can--” You began to walk towards the exit, but as you passed Thranduil, his hand reached out and caught your arm. You turned to face him, uncertain. Thranduil’s hand trailed down your arm and intertwined with yours, a soft smile on his lips.

“Of all the people who desire my presence, yours is the one I desire most.”

You swallowed thickly, your mouth suddenly dry. You’d been close to the king only hours ago, sharing a dance with him. Yet the privacy of the gardens and the sweetness of his words, it all felt much more intimate. 

“Then I shall stay.”

Thranduil’s grin widened as he guided you further into the gardens. The flowers were vibrant and lush, a true testament to the skills of the elves. A canopy of trees diffused the moon's light, reflecting off the fountain and casting a spotlight on you. 

“I have a confession.” Thranduil suddenly stopped, eyes intently watching your face, noticing how your lips slightly parted and your eyes glowed with curiosity. “I have found myself quite enchanted with you, my lady. It seems foolish, not knowing your face until this moment and not having your name.”

“It’s Y/N, my king.” You interrupted, a charming smile curling your lips. The hammer of your heart matched the tempo with Thranduil’s. 

“Y/N.” He muttered your name quietly, your name on his lips making your stomach curl. Of all the ways you anticipated this night's end, strolling the garden with the king was not what you could’ve predicted in your wildest dreams.

“Y/N. If I may be so bold, I would like for this to not be the last time we meet. I desire more of your company.” 

Thranduil stepped closer, the heat he radiated warming your chilled skin. Gossebumnps followed where his hands touched, a shiver rushing down your spine. Subtly you pinched the back of your leg, convinced this was nothing more than a dream. Yet you didn’t wake; this moment was real. 

“If I may speak freely, my king?”

Thranduil nodded his head. “Please, you may call me Thranduil. No need for such formalities.”

You tipped your head at him as the smile on your face brightened. 

“If I may speak freely, Thranduil.” You corrected, with an almost mischievous lilt to your voice. “I would much desire more of your company as well. I have heard many rumors of your cold and detached demeanor. I’ve heard of how harsh you can be, yet I have seen nothing of that.”

“I’m glad the whispers of the court haven’t scared you away, my lady.” 

The smile on your face curled into a teasing smirk, eyes illuminating. “You’ll find it’ll take more than malicious rumors to scare me away.”

Thranduil's finger twirled around a lock of hair that framed your face. He seemed relaxed and more at ease than you'd have imagined. 

"A strong will and a fair face, Varda herself must've crafted you."  

His words made your face flush red, so deep it was seen in the dim lighting of the garden. 

"Pretty words you speak, my king; I'm eager to learn if your words match your heart." 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

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[hobbitwrangler]

Victory in Defeat

Summary: Éowyn discovers that sparring with Faramir is even more fun than expected.

Character(s): Éowyn/Faramir

Rating: T

Word count: 3k

“Oh well,” she said brightly, “there are some who say I am the greatest warrior since Helm Hammerhand. That is bound to impress some people.” The light in Faramir’s eyes told her that she had touched on exactly the subject he had hoped to broach with her. “In that case, would the greatest warrior since Helm Hammerhand do me the honour of sparring with me?” The question took Éowyn by surprise, although she now noticed the two swords slung over his shoulder. She had been expecting him to invite her to the stables, maybe to do some work with the young colt who had caught her eye, or to discuss some alteration to the plans for their new home. But sparring … In truth, it had been a while since Éowyn last picked up Wuhhung with any intent. The first six months of her time in Ithilien had been marked by a great deal of violence as the Rangers set to cleansing the forests of the Enemy’s servants who yet lingered. And then, with the first spring since her wedding, building work had begun, and with it the difficulties of planning for Ithilien’s displaced inhabitants to return. The skills of war that her brother and cousin had taught her had been replaced by the skills that her uncle had taught her and, when she had the time, the skills that Gwaedhon had taught her, helping with the construction of their hall. For those first months, there had been no need to spar and more recently, there had been no time. “Of course,” she agreed.

AO3 link - lovely dividers by @saradika-graphics

[gloomwitchwrites]

We Won't Be Missed

Legolas x Female Elf Reader

Content & Warnings: mild sexual content, fade to black, kissing, sneaking away, flirting, fluff

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: Dedicated to @firelightinferno

During a celebration in the Woodland Realm, Legolas suggests that the two of you sneak away for some alone time.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist

Above you, the stars glimmer.

You don’t know how Legolas managed it, but the night sky is there, twinkling through pockets of canopy. Perhaps he sang to the trees, promised them sweet water or fair winds for their leaves to dance in. Whatever he did, they have opened up, revealing the dark sky and silvery bursts of light that break the inky expanse.

Smiling up at the dazzling lights, you twirl gently in a tight circle, the sheer fabric of your dress spinning with you. All around you, your fellow Elves dance by themselves or with a partner. Music plays, and there is gentle, contented laughter everywhere. It is a moment of celebration and of peace.

Warm hands grab hold of your waist but you’re not startled. Instead, you step into it, inhaling. A familiar woodsy scent fills your nostrils and then your lungs. Twisting in said grip, you find a face that you’d know anywhere.

His name hardly leaves your lips before he pulls you close.

“Legolas,” you breathe, voice nearly a sigh.

“My star,” he replies softly.

Heat creeps up your neck to inflame your cheeks. When it comes to public affection, Legolas is not one for boldness. He is typically subdued and reserved, and this singular moment is enough to surprise you.

“You’ve outdone yourself,” you compliment, gesturing outward to indicate the room.

Legolas blushes slightly under the praise.

It is true, and he should take pride in what he has accomplished. The large hall is beautifully decorated, hinting toward the oncoming summer that will draw forth warmer weather and the migrations of different creatures. The forest will shift, and new life will emerge. Everything is in bloom. Everything is earthy and rich.

“Your approval is a comfort,” he responds in that soft tone.

You turn to face Legolas completely. “But is my approval the only one you seek?”

The answer is already known to you, but you want to remind him why he’s done all this in the first place. Birthdays are not often celebrated by the Elves because time moves differently. For those who have dwelled for hundreds if not thousands of years, birthdays become insignificant. They are small memories, sometimes completely forgotten.

Yet Legolas decided to celebrate anyway. For his father.

Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm, hasn’t celebrated anything since the death of his wife. Since that time, he has been stoic and cold. There has been celebrations and other such occasions, but Thranduil has either been absent or only made a brief appearance.

This party is a surprise. A way for a son to show his father that he cares.

Legolas turns in the direction of the throne, and you follow his gaze.

Thranduil is surrounded by his people. He is talking. Animated. A gentle smile on his face. The raven-haired woman sitting beside him says something, and Thranduil laughs, his smile widening.

You haven’t seen him this expressive in years.

“Do you think I’ve made him happy?”

You turn back to Legolas who gazes upon his father. The middle of his brow is tightly pinched.

“Your father?”

Legolas hesitates and then nods, like he isn’t entirely sure his father is appreciative of his efforts. When you don’t answer, Legolas tears his gaze away from his father and gives it to you. Before you is the man you love seeking validation.

“What do you think?” you ask softly, nodding toward the throne.

Legolas sighs and then glances back at his father. As Legolas watches, his features melt from hardness to peaceful contentment.

“You’ve done well,” you say. “He is happy.”

“He is,” sighs Legolas, a dreamy look on his face.

Smiling, you rest your head against his shoulder. Legolas wraps an arm around your waist and starts to sway to the music. Time passes, the two of you simply moving together, breathing in the essence of the other.

Legolas turns his head slightly, placing a quick kiss to the crown of your head. “Would you like to slip away?”

You pull back enough to glance up at him. Legolas’ smile is a bit sultry and it immediately warms you everywhere.

“What did you have in mind?” you ask curiously.

“We won’t be missed. We should take advantage of the opportunity.”

Private moments between the two of you have been scarce. Legolas may be your betrothed, but you hardly see him. Duty comes first, and sometimes that doesn’t always include you. A few hours alone would be nice. Perfect.

“I agree,” you answer, and Legolas beams. “Lead the way, my love.”

Legolas’ smile turns into a delighted grin. Sliding your hand into his, he guides you away from the dancing bodies and past the large casks of wine. No one turns to look or to question where the two of you might be off to. There is only your hand in his, and the teasing way he stops to push you into dark corners for chaste kisses before taking off again.

This boldness is new, and you find that you like it. He leads you to his private quarters, the place that will soon by your home. When the door completely shuts, Legolas pulls you into him, arms wrapping around your body like vines.

This time, his kisses are not chaste.

They are liquid heat and from it comes a burst of fire in your chest.

“Legolas,” you murmur, a hint of need in your tone. “My love.”

He only draws back enough to look into your eyes. His eyelids are heavy like he wants to devour you. A stuttering exhale leaves him, and then Legolas is grasping the side of your face, pulling you back to him.

Your bodies are pressed close. Hands roaming.

Elves mate only once. Legolas is it for you. There is to be a ceremony, but that is just a formality. To be skin to skin, to accept him into your body, is your acceptance of him.

Legolas’ hand slips between the delicate folds of fabric to graze over your bare thigh. You inhale sharply and Legolas steals the exhalation, his tongue delving for a taste. Your dress is nothing in his hands, the sheer material bunching as he touches.

“Is this too much?” he asks, voice raspy with need.

You shake your head, fingers digging into his shoulders. “No. I want more.”

Legolas hungrily draws you back to his mouth and your heart hammers in your chest. It is so loud it is all you hear.

To seal the bond, the two of you must become one. To be bare. Open.

The ceremony is only for the people.

“I love you,” murmurs Legolas against your lips. “With all my heart and all the stars in the sky.”

You grin. “And I love you. I never wish to be apart.”

Legolas makes a little purr in his throat. It sounds like contentment. “That will no longer trouble us come the end of summer.”

“Must we wait?” you ask softly. You slide your hands off his shoulders, bringing them to the twisted straps of your dress. You pull on them, drawing them over and down your shoulders. “I do not wish to.”

Legolas’ pale skin flushes before his mind catches up. “I cannot resist when you ask this sweetly.”

“That is why I asked,” you reply, matching his tone.

The dress falls from your body landing in a pool at your feet. His sultry gaze morphs into appreciation. His fingertips lightly trace over your flesh, leaving a trailing heat behind.

“Are you certain?”

“You are my betrothed. It is not wrong to want this.”

Legolas runs the back of his knuckles down your throat and over one breast. He leans forward, and sucks the nipple into his mouth. You moan, arching into him, one hand sliding to the back of his head. His other hand delves between your thighs, and that too twists your stomach into knots.

He brings that nipple to a stiff peak, and then moves to the other, his other hand still moving between your legs. That too springs to life, and then Legolas’ mouth trails further south over your stomach. Lower still to kiss between your thighs.

You gasp. Groan. Shudder as he learns your taste and brings you to an endless sea of stars.

“You are perfect,” he nearly growls, his words drifting upward to caress.

“I am yours,” you gasp out, fingers tangling in his silky hair.

He continues to explore with his tongue, and then he’s standing before you, removing his formal tunic, shedding all this clothes to match your own bareness.

“Let us go to bed,” you murmur, palms pressing against his bare chest.

Legolas’ hands slide to the backs of your thighs. He lifts and you’re locking your legs around his waist as he carries you to the bed. You cling to him, tasting yourself on him.

The bedsheets are cool against your back.

Legolas nuzzles the side of your face, his lips pressed against your ear as he speaks. “I shall give you no rest.”

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[drearydaffodils]

Forevermore

Boromir x GN!Reader

Tooth-rotting fluff <3

Drabble: 500+ words

Boromir melted into your arms in the instant he was upon you. A soft smile marked his war-torn face as you moved one hand to gently stroke his cheek and moved your other hand to flip through the pages of your leatherbound book. You were radiant in the dim candlelight, and he couldn’t help but let his eyes wander along your cheekbones and the scars that marred your skin—and the newfound redness that sprung upon your face in the instant his eyes flickered to your lips.

“Boromir…” Your eyes wandered from the elvish script of your book to the radiant depths of his eyes, and your hand fell from his cheek. Your voice was soft, as if you were afraid you would shatter the massive man should you ever raise your voice. Your eyes reflected such deep kindness that it made Boromir’s heart ache, and he did naught but grumble in response to his name and rest one of his hands upon your thigh. His uncharacteristic silence caused you to shift from where you sat, and you gently closed your book. His eyes trailed your movements as your hands moved to rest on his chest. He was sitting beside you, his gaze piercing into yours. “Is everything alright, my love?”

Boromir was lost in a trance as his fingers rubbed gentle circles onto your thigh, but he hurriedly snapped into reality as your melodious voice brushed past him like a soft breeze.

“I am alright, dear, but you are.. Valar, you are beautiful. I can hardly think much less speak around you.” Boromir muttered, his raspy voice causing nervous laughter to burble out of your soft lips. Your amused reaction only caused him to grow flustered. “I’m–it is serious, truly serious.”

“Incredibly, love.” You muttered as you leaned in to press a chaste kiss to his chapped lips. “I would never doubt you for a moment.

Boromir grunted in approval as he kissed you tenderly, his hands shifting to rest on your hips as yours found the roots of his hair. The feeling of his warm, calloused hands shifting beneath the fabric of your dress caused heat to rise within your body, and your breath hitched.

"Boromir." You spoke softly as the man moved to press kisses down your jawline and towards the base of your neck, gently unraveling your focus bit by bit. “I love you, honey, but I must finish my translations for the council.”

“That’s unfortunate.” Boromir said between kisses, and you ran your hands through his brown, soft hair, shaking your head softly. He only continued to kiss you wherever he could, the touch of his lips igniting warmth across your body.

“It truly is.” You murmured as you dipped down to connect your lips to his. He stared up at you as you broke the kiss, utterly entranced by your angelic features. “Perhaps.. if you let me finish my translation tonight, I will be yours.”

“I am not sure I can wait that long, my dear. Your absence will torment me.”

You laughed softly as Boromir cracked a wide smile before he regretfully stood up from his chair. He stared down at your reddening cheeks and parted lips and prayed to the souls above that he would not lose you—that he could kiss and praise you forevermore.

“I’ll see you tonight, Boromir. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

[acefaun]

Can you write a drabble about my King Under the Mountain, Lord Smaug? 🔥🔥You need more dragons on your page, mlady Faun 🐉

Smaug~ Treasure Hoarding

Synopsis: Accidentally coming across the lonely mountain in one of your escapades, you find your idol, Smaug, the King Under the Mountain. Making a deal with a dragon who hoards treasure would be beneficial for a little thief like you, wouldn’t it? 

🍃Masterlist🍃 Gender neutral MC!

A/n: I should never expect less from a dragon… Well, my liege, I hope you're impressed! You were a bit vague on the details… but I assumed you wanted something good and not an angsty piece about after his death… 😁 So, you get a dragon friend! …Or whatever Smaug is to you!

–Word Count: 2,359 –

The wind practically whistled beside your ear as the arrow brushed past your head. You should have used a little more caution when passing through the little fishing town, but it was nothing you couldn’t handle. Well, they weren’t shy in pursuing you well outside of their city, but they were certainly falling behind. You thought men on horses would have a better chance against someone on foot carrying bags of gold. To be fair, you had more than a few bags, but the rest of your collection was waiting for you beside the mountain just across the lake. As soon as these men left you alone, you wouldn’t squander your chance to get back there and add your recent findings. 

Lucky for you, those humans seemed to know when enough was enough and failed to follow you closer to the mountain. 

You jovially hummed to yourself, heading over to your hidden wagon, dripping with gold coins and various other treasures and jewels. Though, you knew your beloved treasure would get attention, so you decided it was time to find a good hiding place to settle down. Nothing, you thought, was better than a mountain where humans were wary to follow. Besides, if you were lucky, you’d find treasure already in there. All you’d have to do was fight off whoever owned the treasure. Then you’d have both treasure and a mountain to hide. Besides, this had to be one good mountain for a thief considering no one else dared approach.

Densely neglecting and disregarding the surrounding scenery, you excitedly entered the entrance of the mountain, a wide opening which looked like it should have had closed gates. Lucky for you, this seemed to be a mountain abandoned by dwarves. Giddy with excitement, you pulled your load of treasure behind you, traveling deep into the mountain. You’d only settle for the best hiding place for your collection. After all, you couldn’t have someone just happening across your belongings and mistaking them for unclaimed things; they were yours. 

However, it seemed the deeper you went, the heavier the air became. It was as if some magic hung over this place… Ah well, that was none of your concern. If there was a foreboding presence, then there was no doubt your treasure would be safe from intruders.

Standing in the door to another hall, you paused, your eyes glittering. With the lone bag on your back, you abandoned your cart in the hall, sprinting for the large doors before you. Your wide eyes scanned the room you found yourself in, flickering to and fro across the sea of gold. You’d have missed it before had it not been illuminating the entire area with a sheen of golden light. 

This was perfect. If those humans didn’t dare enter and find this trove then how could they dare to follow you and find yours? Feeling cocky and certain of yourself, you left your wagon at the door, carrying with you a few bags of gold, the start of your collection if you were to find a good hiding place. You didn’t want to just dump it in with the rest of this collection, you’d never be able to sort yours from the ones already here. Besides, you were prideful and wanted to keep track of how much treasure you personally collected before happening across this magnificent trove of sparkling wonders. 

The path was tricky and you, too many times, slipped upon the piles of gold. It was more difficult than walking upon sand dunes; these coins would like to devour you whole. Though, you thought you were having a fairly easy time of it, until the ground beneath you shifted. 

Frantically, you clawed at the mountain of coin to gain proper footing, but it was all in vain. Tumbling down, down, and further down the clattering gold, you were nearly buried under the tumbling coins. It was all you could do to keep your head above them, scrambling to free yourself. You suppose people weren’t exaggerating when they said too much gold could kill a person. You hadn’t taken it literally before now as you dug your way free from your shimmering prison. 

Feeling a puff of air blow your hair into your face, you froze in place, realizing just why no one had pursued you. This mountain… was the lonely mountain. You were in Erebor. And this dragon that gazed down upon you as if you were a mouse was none other than Smaug, the King under the mountain.

You should have been terrified, you should have feared death, but you could only kneel in awe of your idol from the stories. Once again, your eyes were glittering in delight, and this dragon seemed to sense that odd emotion coming off of you—it wasn’t fear. 

The great dragon hissed, “What mortal dares to enter the domain of the Great Smaug?” He meant to intimidate you, but you adored the intensity of his voice. He had astonishingly accomplished the complete opposite of what he intended.

“My Lord Smaug,” you praised him as though he were a god. “I should have realized sooner—an embarrassing mistake on my part that I shan't make again,” you promised vehemently. Despite your mortification at not recognizing the domain of this great King, you soon collected yourself as you continued to praise his magnificence, “The stories speak for themselves, your excellency! The ability to steal a trove of treasure but in a single moment…” You trailed off, ogling the great dragon. 

“And you dare threaten to steal from me?” Smaug tilted his head, regarding you with his sharp, serpentine eyes. “I will not part with a single coin; not one piece of it.”

“Of course not, my Lord!” You waved him down from a near tantrum, well aware of just how territorial dragons could be of their gold—you weren't all too different from him, after all. Eagerly, you presented your bag of treasure to him. “I… have a request, otherwise,” you timidly suggested. “I'm not here to steal, but rather… I'd like to strike a deal with a wise and powerful dragon. If you were to permit me, your excellence.”

Your heart raced as his head drew nearer to you. He was so much larger when he was hardly a foot away from you. But the sudden puffs of air that fluttered your hair made you quickly come to realize that he was sniffing you.

“This treasure is not of this mountain,” he huffed, pulling away and laying back atop his hoard. Luckily, you weren't perceived as a threat for the moment. “Speak, mortal.” 

“Well, then, my Lord, I just so happen to be a distinguished thief! Similar to you, my great excellency, I, myself, have accumulated a vast wealth of treasures over my time!” You proudly proclaimed your accomplishments, despite many of those treasures being lost. “Well… I've had the misfortune of never having a great place to safekeep them exactly… Until now! Great Smaug, with all your wisdom, would you allow me, a poor soul, to add my bountiful treasures to your hoard for your safekeeping?” 

It was quite agonizing for you, waiting for him to deliberate and contemplate. However, only after willingly displaying your wagon of treasure was a deal struck. You were a fortunate soul to be able to store your various treasures in the hoard. Of course, you had your own pile, separate from his on a ledge that hovered over the large trove. 

And day after day you would leave, sometimes you wouldn't return for days, but when you did return it was always with trinkets and treasures and gold to add to Smaug’s unnoticeably growing treasure hoard. 

However, your back and forth traveling only leads others to become interested in the abandoned, lonely mountain. After all, if someone like you could go in and come back out alive then surely the dragon had either fled or perished. So certain of their beliefs, they entered the mountain after their notorious thief, determined to get back their gold and steal from the limitless and bountiful riches within the depths of the mountain.

Unfortunately for them… You led them to exactly where they wanted to go, only to vanish the minute they lost themselves in the heaps and mountains of gold. 

“L- Look at all of this… We'll never have to work a day in our lives!”

“But that bastard thief… We can't have ‘em snatchin’ our gold. Where's that little rat?!”

“Here,” you announce, revealing your position atop a pile of gold, high above where they stood. You held a sword in your hands, but you weren't intending to use it. Your eyes narrowed, but the smile on your lips betrayed your glee. “You've made a mistake in coming here. This gold is not yours for the taking.”

“We're not here to ask for permission, thieving scum!”

“I can't pity a poor soul like you,” you solemnly replied, unconcerned with their approach. “Your excellency, these mortal men mean to steal from you.” 

The men froze at the foot of the gold lump, their eyes widening as the gold coin began cascading down like a waterfall. However, the more gold that fell, the more horror filled them. 

“That… That’s the dragon, that is!”

“Smaaaauug! We're gonna die!”

Their squeals didn't last long as blazing heat filled the room, burning the foolish men to a crisp. The sight enthralled you as you grinned, standing atop the head of your beloved King under the mountain. “We surely make a great team, my Lord.” You hummed in content, sitting down as you leaned against his horns. He too burrowed himself beneath the cool coin that surrounded him, relaxing atop his hoard. “You know,” you added thoughtfully, “I put a lot of my stuff in here and I really owe you for taking me in and protecting all of it. If there's anything you ever want, lemme know! Nothings off limits!” 

Though Smaug remained silent, his inaudible rumbling revealed his intrigue to your offer. Finally, he revealed his desire, “There is a golden ring that interests me… A golden ring of power. It is easy to recognize… Should you come across such an invaluable treasure as this, I should command that you bring it to me.”

“Yes, sir, my Lord! That ring is as good as yours if it ever crosses my path!” Your promises are always well kept, though he knew the chance of you coming across the ring was slim to none… He had to demand it. 

Well beyond that day, you continued to bring to him your trinkets and treats for months… years… centuries. Such a long, long time. Smaug would have otherwise not cared for the passage of time were it not for your coming and going, and his occasional leaving the mountain. 

Again sitting with you amongst the piles of gold, he commented, “You… are an odd human.”

You inclined your head curiously to regard his larger figure. “Human? My Lord, I'm half human.” 

His hums of intrigue vibrated the gold you sat upon as he mused aloud, “That explains the odd inhuman scent that follows you. An impressive little mortal.” Only being half human, it was no wonder you could accomplish the feats you did and bring back as many gifts as you have the past centuries. 

“I’m sure I smell profusely of dragon and gold at this point,” you couldn’t help but joke in response. But even if you did smell of nothing but dragon and gold, you were proud of it. You’d wear this scent like a badge of honor, proud to be the mortal companion of the great and powerful King under the mountain. “I’m glad to be with you, my King.”

You sat relaxed atop a gold hill, a reddish scaled tail trailed around you, peeking out from beneath the thousands of golden pieces. Beside you was a full view of your dragon friend amidst his hoard. You were determined to stay by his side and continue bringing him treasures until you found the ring he once mentioned. It was the only desire he’d ever named to you and you were determined to one day come across it and gift it to him.

Smaug, on the other hand, was content with you going and coming with your menial treasures as if you, yourself were a mouse-sized dragon with your own nest-sized hoard. You were oddly adorable, something he didn’t imagine he could feel about another living creature. Knowing what he knew… it was safe to say he was fond of his little half-human. 

His tail coiled further around you, not ensnaring you or trapping you, but comfortingly surrounding you, claiming you. “My precious little treasure…” His voice came out as a low rumble as he buried his head further in his pile of gold. 

You were convinced he was muttering about his hoard of gold, ignorant to the way his tail curled possessively around you, the scales nudging against your back. You simply took this as an affectionate brush, leaned further against his tail, patting his scales in return. How were you supposed to know that you’d suddenly become a part of a dragon’s hoard? And should you fail to ever return to him… Well, those unfortunate cities would understand why it is unwise to part a dragon from his treasure.