#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

[fantasydreamland]

Sorceress

legolas greenleaf x fem reader

Summary: You join the three men on the journey to fight against Saruman, and one does not trust you. Legolas is suspicious of you and your perfection, until he admits to himself those feelings were just masking his true feelings that he had quickly developed for you.

Notes: 18+ ONLY!!! Smuttt, enemies to lovers, angst, violence/minor gore in battle scene, alcohol consumption, p in v, fingering, oral (m&f), masturbation (m), fluff, possible spoilers.

Word count: 6k

(I got a little carried away with this one)

masterlist

“She is going to help us.” Aragorn says as he, Legolas and Gimli sit at a table inside the inn while they wait for your arrival. “She is supposed to be a great sorceress. We need her.”

“We cannot trust some old woman we do not even know. Why can we not simply go without her?” Legolas questions with furrowed brows.

The idea of a stranger joining them on their journey left him feeling extremely uneasy.

“Who told you I was an old woman?” They hear a voice behind them.

You lower your hood as the inn door closes behind you. You walk towards the men and they stand to greet you. You give a friendly smile to Aragorn whom you had just recently met and agreed to assist. Legolas’s eyes go wide in surprise as he takes you in. You appeared young and basically flawless, nearly elvish beauty but something even more rare. You had piercing purple eyes and beautiful porcelain skin. Below your cloak your long purple dress clung to your figure, Legolas had to clear his throat to force himself to stop staring.

As Aragorn goes to speak Legolas says- “Forgive me, my lady.” He bows his head. “I simply cannot trust someone I do not know. And I find it rather odd that the other sorcerers I have known appeared quite old in age yet you look remarkably young.”

“Well, I do not trust you either yet. We have only just met after all… And I doubt you have ever met a female sorceress.” You give him a catty smile. “The concept of eternal youth should not seem that odd to you, elf.”

“Hey now.” Gimli cuts in.

“I did not mean any offence, sir.” You turn to the dwarf before turning your gaze back to Legolas. “I have a great admiration for the elves. They can be quite impressive.”

Legolas fought his lips curling into a smile as your eyes remained deeply connected for a moment.

You all sat down at the table and started quietly discussing the plans. Legolas’s eyes kept drifting towards you anytime important information was mentioned, still untrusting of this (beautiful) stranger before him.

**********

Legolas continued to keep a close eye on you, still unsure if he could trust you. He is always skeptical of strangers but there was something too enchanting about you. He felt bewitched every time your eyes would meet. You were too perfect, no one is that perfect.

“We should take the passage through the cave here.” You say pointing to a spot on the map that you and your three companions were hovered over.

“It would be safer to go around. We have no idea what lurks in that cave.” Legolas responds.

“Perhaps, but it will take us three times as long.” You gently argue as Legolas gives you a scowl in response. “Besides, I have passed through it once before. We should be fine but we will remain on our guard for any surprises.”

“Surprises?” Legolas retorts. “How do we know this is not some trap you have set for us?”

“Legolas.” Aragorn says firmly.

“What? I am sorry but this all seems far too suspicious for my taste. How do we know she is not working for Saruman?” Legolas continues with frustration as his eyes go back and forth between you and Aragorn. You just stare at him blankly. “Why is she helping us so willingly if she is not a spy meant to trick us? I do not trust her!”

“I am helping you to fight against Saruman because like all of you I do not wish to see this world destroyed by evil.” You state sternly, tears beginning to fill your eyes that were firmly focused on Legolas. “If you cannot find a way to trust me we are doomed… But if that is not enough, and you remain convinced I am just some horrible evil witch, I will figure out some other way on my own and leave you all alone…”

Legolas simply stares at you in surprise, not quite sure how to respond.

“You may let me know your thoughts in the morning.” You say before he can respond, with a slight shake in your voice as you fight back tears. “I’m turning in for the night.”

And just like that, you walk off without another word or ‘goodnight’ to anyone. Legolas feels a sinking ache his stomach. He could tell you were genuinely hurt by what he said and he felt quite guilty about it now. You had not truly given him a real reason to mistrust you so deeply. He just believed you were too good to be true. Too perfect. Maybe deep down he was simply trying to mask the unwanted feelings he was quickly developing.

“I am going to turn in as well.” Legolas says lowly to Aragorn and Gimli. “Goodnight.”

He walks off to his room which was directly across from yours. His heart and feet stop at the sad sound of you crying in your room. His advanced hearing could hear your soft sobs through your door, though you were clearly trying to remain unheard. Another wave of guilt washed over him.

He felt a magnetic pull towards your door and was nearly about to knock before deciding against it. He retires to his own room instead, unable to find any rest as you overtook all of his thoughts.

**********

The next morning Legolas was quick to rise. He was eager to see you and apologize profusely. He waited anxiously at the table you had been at last night. After some time, his head perked up at the sound of feet approaching from the hallway. His expression quickly sunk when he saw Aragorn and Gimli come around the corner.

“Do you know if (y/n) is awake?” Legolas asks.

“Ay, she is awake.” Gimli responds, giving a knowing side eye to Aragorn, making Legolas raise his brow at them.

“Her room is empty…” Aragorn says hesitantly, avoiding direct eye contact with Legolas. “She must have left in the night.”

“All because you could not keep your mouth shut!” Gimli points out.

“Gimli.” Aragorn says sternly.

The dwarf grumbles an apology. Legolas hardly pays any attention to the insult or the apology as his mind races from the news of you being suddenly gone. He feels sick to his stomach, not completely sure why your absence affected him so deeply. As he goes to say something the inn door opens and you walk inside, your hood up and your bag at your side.

“Forgive me, I was restless this morning and went for an early walk.” You say blankly to the men at the table as you walk over to them.

Legolas lets out a quiet breath of relief. The feelings he had thinking you had left just proved how badly he wanted you to stay with them, with him.

“I trust you have made your decision?” You ask Legolas directly.

“I have.” He stands from his chair. “I have decided to trust you.” He states.

“Oh!” You say in slight surprise. “Well, I suppose that is good then...”

Legolas raises a brow at your dry tone, you notice.

“I was expecting a much different response.” You explain.

“Please forgive me, my lady.” Legolas gently takes your hand in his, you let him. “My behaviour last night was unbecoming of me and you did not deserve that. You have given no reason to earn such disrespect. I am truly sorry.”

Your slightly pursed lips curl into a pleased smile. This was not what you were anticipating at all. You truly thought he despised you. You assumed it had already been decided last night that he would certainly choose to be rid of you. You did not know that he actually had made his decision last night, it was just not the choice you expected. You were oddly relieved as you realized you not only didn’t want to part from the crew, but you did not want to part from Legolas.

“You do not understand how glad I am to hear that.” You smile to him.

He smiles back and places a kiss to the back of your hand before letting go.

“Well then, the adventure continues!” You say to the group of men before you all continue your journey.

**********

Legolas was quite impressed seeing you in battle. Your powers were incredible but what blew him away was how skilled you were with a blade. You stuck closed together during the fight, like magnets. There were multiple times you pulled a brave move that saved his life and he, yours.

One attack had you knocked on your back. You fought hard, pushing against your enemies dagger that was getting closer and closer to your throat. You were too exhausted to use any more magic to save you, your life flashed before your eyes when the tip of the dagger touched your skin. Suddenly, the enemy lets out a pained scream and you see the tip of a sword sticking out of its eye, it’s blood splattered on your already blood coated face. You see Legolas standing over you as he kicks the enemy to the side so he fell to the ground and not on top of you. He reaches his hand out and pulls you up.

“Thank you.” You pant.

“No problem.” He pants back, both of you exhausted from battle.

After the battle you all began to flee back to your meeting spot. You climb on your horse and go to Legolas’s side.

“Climb up!” You call down to him.

“I need to find Arod!” He calls back.

“He is safe! Gimli already took him!”

“That little…” He snarls. “Alright, let me steer!”

“Just get on!” You shake your head at him.

He climbs on behind you, the saddle forcing your bodies to press closely together. You ride off and the friction between you in the saddle begins causing a panic to rise in Legolas as his member quickly hardens behind you. He tries hard to concentrate on absolutely anything else but with your butt bouncing and pushing up against him as you rode, it made it impossible. He prayed to the gods that you would not notice but you were secretly smirking to yourself as you clearly felt something hard pressed against your backside. You casually push into him even more as you continue your journey, your cheeks quickly heating at his desire for you.

**********

You rest and celebrate from battle at a nearby inn. Gimli boldly challenges Legolas to a drinking contest. Several mugs of ale later the dwarf was piss drunk laughing loudly.

“I feel something…” Legolas suddenly says, lifting his hand and rubbing his fingers together. “A slight tingle in my fingers… I think it’s affecting me.”

Gimli cheers loudly, raising another cup as they both continue to drink. After some time Gimli lays passed out on the table and Legolas is stumbling towards where you stood against the wall with your now empty cup.

“You seem to be having fun?” You smirk at him.

“Quite.” He smirks back, a drunk smile stuck on his face. “Do you think you could point me to the direction of my rooom?” He slightly slurs.

You chuckle at him. “Come now, I am heading back to mine as well.”

He follows you down the dimly lit hallways of endless doors and couldn’t help but continuously glance in your direction. He was too busy drinking with Gimli that he hadn’t noticed earlier just how revealing your dress was. The purple fabric wrapped around your body in a way that left your back and arms fully exposed. The sight of the few freckles scattered across your back made his cheeks heat, though that could also be from all the ale. The dress was long and flowed openly as you walked, briefly exposing your bare legs underneath. Then his eyes slowly wandered up to the low cut V of your dress, revealing a sinful amount (he thought) of your large breasts. He felt a jolt go down his spine and shoot directly to his member.

You stopped suddenly and his eyes met yours.

“We are here.” You say a little awkwardly, gesturing to your rooms that sat across from each other at the very end of the halls.

His cheeks darken, unsure how much of his gaze you had caught.

“Goodnight, Legolas.” You smile before leaning in and placing a soft kiss to his cheek.

You turn towards your door when his hand grabs yours.

“(y/n)…” He says in a whisper, leaning in closer to you as your hands remain connected.

“Yes?” You whisper back, eyes searching his.

“I am not sure when I will have the courage again to say this…” He says as his other hand cups your cheek, causing your heart to race. “I think you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. And the most interesting, kind, wild, and courageous woman I have ever met.”

You can’t help the wide grin that spreads across your face at his words. Before you have time to respond he closes the space between you and captures your lips in a searing kiss. It was deeply passionate, hungry. Your hands cling to his shirt as you kiss him back desperately, happily letting his tongue slip into your mouth. His hand moves into your hair as he pushes you back up against the wall. His lips fall to your neck, kissing and sucking gently.

“Legolas…” You breathe.

The sound of his name softly falling from your lips like that just spurred him on. His lips continue to ravish your neck and move down your chest as his hand grabs at your breast. A soft moan escapes you and the need for him fills your veins like fire. You wanted him so badly… but not like this.

“Legolas…” You whisper again, this time gently pulling him off you. “I think we should slow down…”

“Yes. Sorry. Yes, you’re right. I am sorry. I should not have-“ He stutters a bit anxiously.

“No! No. You have no reason to apologize.” You say reassuringly.

“I should not have assumed-“

“Legolas.” You say firmly, cupping his cheek in your hand. “I want you. I want you much more than I would care to admit… But when, or if, that moment happens… I want us both to be fully in the right state of mind.”

“Yes… you are right.” His hand covers the one on his cheek. “I would also like to be able to ravish you… fully.” He gives you a devilish smirk as his eyes drift from your lips back to your eyes.

His words make you blush and he watches as you bite your lower lip. It took both of you all of your will power to finally pull away.

“Goodnight, (y/n).” He says, taking your hand to place a kiss upon it.

“Goodnight, Legolas.” You give a blushing smirk before you turn to walk into your room.

Your eyes meet his a final time as you both go to close your doors. No words are said but the look between you was an unspoken promise for later.

Sleep was difficult to find as your mind races thinking of the steamy kiss you had just shared with Legolas. The thought of your tongues intertwined, his sinful mouth all over your neck and chest. You had a taste of each other and now the desire for him was driving you absolutely mad.

Legolas was in no better shape. The alcohol began to fade from his system but he still felt drunk on the memory of your lips on his. His hard member pressed angerly against his trousers. He couldn’t help himself. He would blame the blinding lust on the alcohol later, when he was completely sober and trying to reason his actions. For now, he shoved shame aside and pulled his aching cock out and began slowly stroking himself. His hand speeds up as intoxicating visions of you flash in his mind. Your revealed skin, the freckles on your back and your long pale legs. His lips on your sinfully exposed chest. The soft gasps and moans that slipped from your perfect lips. What finally pushed him over the edge was your voice ringing in his ears ‘Legolas… Legolas…’ Your soft whispers of his name had his release shooting across his stomach as a choked out moan escapes him.

He cleans up for bed and rest finds him surprisingly fast after that. His dreams were filled with nothing but images of you.

**********

A loud rumble of thunder wakes Legolas in the night. His mind instantly begins to race at the memory of the steamy kiss you had shared just outside the door. He could not resist the strong magnetic force pushing him to go and see you. After several minutes of debate he throws off the blankets, revealing his shirtless upper half and heads towards the door.

He quietly closes his door behind him before stepping towards yours. He was desperate to see you but also did not want to wake you if you happened to be sleeping through the loud thunder continuing outside. He knocks lightly on the door, not to wake you if you were asleep but loud enough you would hear if you were awake.

His heart stops as he hears your footsteps getting closer and watches as the door slowly opens.

“Legolas?” You ask in a sleepy whisper, peaking out the door.

“Apologies my lady, I hope I did not wake you.” He responds quietly, careful not to wake anyone else in the nearby rooms.

“No, the thunder woke me… Though I have hardly been able to sleep.”

You try to ignore the heat pooling between your legs at the sight of his bare toned upper body and his rarely loose hair tucked messily behind his pointed ears. You also notice his eyes scan over your form. He nearly lost all restraint right then and there, at the sight of your nipples poking through your thin night dress.

Before you could ask what he was doing at your door in the middle of the night he says in a whisper- “I could not stop thinking about you...”

You can’t help but smile as your eyes connect, electricity sparking silently between you.

“I have not been able to stop thinking about you either…” You say lowly. “Do you… do you want to come in?”

Legolas smirks and nods before boldly capturing your lips and walking you both into the room as he closes and locks the door behind him.

“Are you certain?” You ask him in a pant, breaking the kiss. He knew exactly what you were referring to.

He knew he was certainly not in his right mind with the way you haunted his thoughts. But he knew he was now completely sober and knew for certain this is what he wanted. You were what he desperately wanted.

“I am certain.” He responds, looking deep into your eyes. “Are you…?”

You nod a little too eagerly, making him chuckle. He kisses you again and you both make your way over to the bed. You boldly pull your night dress over your head, leaving you completely exposed before him. You watch his breath catch and fire flicker behind his eyes as he takes you in.

“Lay down…” He says in a seductive whisper.

You don’t hesitate for even a second before getting into bed. He quickly climbs over top of you and leans in. A nearly silent moan escapes you at the feeling of your breasts pressed against his bare skin. His lips hover just above yours as your noses brush.

“You are… exquisite.” He whispers before capturing your lips again.

This kiss is much more slow, tender. Like he’s savouring every second and every reaction from you. Each gentle flick of his tongue against yours calculated and deliberate. His lips move to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses and then sucking harshly.

“Legolas! You are going to leave a mark…” You yell in a whisper.

“Good. Then everyone will know who you belong to.” He says in a husky voice against your neck.

His words send a shiver through your entire being. He continues his light torture on your skin, sucking and gently nipping his way down your collarbone. Once he reaches your chest he does not hesitate to take your breast into his mouth. You moan as his warm tongue circles around your nipple, he moves to the other breast to do the same before kissing down your stomach, your breathing now rising and falling frantically.

“Tell me if you wish for me to stop…” He says in a rough, deep voice that you had never heard from him before.

You shook your head at him. Having him stop was the very last thought on your mind. He gives you a devilish smirk before his mouth moves down onto your core. You gasp loudly as his tongue instantly begins working against your clit. Your fingers bury into his silky white hair as soft whimpers escape you.

He slowly slides in his long slender finger, testing you before he adds a second. The way he begins to curl his fingers inside you as his tongue relentlessly works at your pearl has you crying out his name. You were grateful for the loud rain and rumbling thunder masking your moans while Aragorn was sleeping in just the next room.

Legolas subconsciously begins grinding against the bed as he continues ravishing you, his achingly hard member screaming to be released. His fingers work faster as he feels your beautiful thighs tighten around his head, warning him how close you are. With a final cry out you come undone, pulsing against his fingers and soaking his face.

He pulls away and you look down at him, his glistening face between your legs, messy hair, cocky smirk and heavy lustful eyes staring into yours. You felt like you could come again just from the sight of him.

You pull him to you and kiss him hungrily, tasting yourself on his tongue.

“I need you inside me, please.” You pant, you could not wait a moment longer to have him.

He growls at your words as you reach for the hem of his trousers. His pants are quickly thrown to the floor and he lets out a shaky breath as your delicate fingers wrap around his length. He glides his tip against your core making you gasp. He smirks to himself before pushing into you. You let out a relieved moan in tandem, both of your mouths dropping open. Legolas stills inside you for a moment, the feeling of your warmth wrapped tightly around him had his head completely spinning.

“Legolas…” You pant.

He looks deeply into your purple eyes and the connection of it makes your heart skip a beat. He presses his lips to yours before sliding out and thrusting back into you. You moan into his mouth as he does it again while continuing to chase your tongue with his. His lips move to your neck as he gradually increases his speed. He can’t help the moans and grunts that escape him.

“Gods (y/n)… you feel fucking incredible.” He groans against your ear, causing goosebumps all over your skin.

You could not remember if you had ever even heard him curse before. You moan loudly in response. Suddenly he sits up, falling out of you causing you to whine from the sudden loss. He lifts your legs onto his shoulders before leaning down and plunging back into you. You cry out and he begins pounding into you relentlessly. The new angle and merciless speed quickly makes you see stars. Your mind goes completely blank other than his name and the amazing feelings he was sending throughout your body. Your nails dig hard into his biceps as your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave. You let out a long final moan that rings in loudly his ears. Loud enough that you were certain the thunder did not mask it.

You are completely breathless as he continues slamming into you, now chasing his own release. He lets your legs fall back down to his waist, wrapping around him. Another orgasm creeps up and threatens to overtake you.

“Fu-ck!” Legolas moans loudly as he spills into you, the intensity of it making him dizzy.

You moan loudly with him as he triggers your release once again. You wrap your legs tighter around his waist and pull him deeper into you as he fills you with his seed.

He rolls over, crashing onto the bed beside you. You both lay there facing the ceiling panting, trying to catch your breath and bring your minds back down to earth.

“Wow… that was… wow.” Legolas says between heavy breaths.

You let out a breathless chuckle in response. He pulls you in close and you cuddle up to him. He places a kiss on your head and softly plays with your hair as you peacefully fall asleep.

**********

The next morning you wake and look to Legolas with a mischievous idea in your mind. You could not stop replaying last nights events in your head. But there was one thing you realized you had not done. With that in mind, you slowly pull the blanket down his body, revealing his morning wood. You begin to place soft kisses all the way down his stomach, making him slightly squirm under your lips.

“What are you doing?…” Legolas mumbles sleepily.

“What does it look like I am doing?” You smirk at him before sucking on his tip, causing him to let out a sound between a gasp and a moan.

His heavy lidded eyes meet yours and his mouth parted, already breathing heavily.

“Do you want me to stop?” You pull away teasingly.

“Gods no.” He breathes before placing his hand on your head, gently urging you back down.

You smirk to yourself before you take him fully into your mouth, forcing a loud groan to escape him. You continue to bob your head, taking him fully down your throat. Legolas’s mind was completely blurred, all he could think of right now was beautiful, magnificent, you… and the feeling of his cock slamming against the back of your beautiful throat. Your actions quickly bringing him to his release.

“Gods (y/n), I’m going to-“ He chokes out.

Just then there’s a loud knock at the door. You pull your mouth off him with a ‘pop’ and look to the door then at Legolas, concern on your face.

“(Y/n)? Are you awake?” Aragorn calls from behind the door and you hear Gimli mutter something else to him.

“Ignore them.” Legolas urges in a desperate whisper, cupping your cheek with his hand. “They’ll go away if they think you are still sleeping. Just… ugh, please do not stop.”

You smirk and give him a small nod before taking him into your mouth once more. Legolas tries to hide his soft moans as his fingers tightened in your hair. He was so, so, close.

Another loud knock. You ignore it and continue bringing him towards the edge.

“(Y/n)?” Aragorn calls again. “Sorry to disturb you, but we cannot find Legolas. His things are still in his room but we cannot find him anywhere. We are worried something may have happened.”

“Oh for fucks sake...” Legolas huffs and storms out of bed, grabbing the sheet to wrap around his naked waist.

You watch from bed as he stomps over to the door, pulling the other blanket up to your chest to hide your exposed body. He swings open the door and you see Aragorn flinch in surprise as he takes in Legolas’s half naked form wrapped in a crumpled white sheet and an annoyed look plastered on his face.

“Legolas? I- I-“ Aragorn stutters and then spots over Legolas’s shoulder you lying in the bed, peaking at them both from under the blanket. “I- I am sorry… Just, um, come meet us at the bar when you are, done- I mean, ready…”

Legolas simply nods, trying to bite back a smile and keep a stern face until they were out of sight.

“Well, that solves that mystery!” Gimli laughs loudly once the door is shut.

Legolas makes his way back to you with a smirk.

“Well, that was incredibly awkward.” You chuckle and get up from the bed, leaving the blanket behind. “I suppose we should get ready.”

Legolas’s eyes flicker with fire as he takes in your naked body now standing right in front of him.

“As they said, we will meet them when we are done…” He says lowly.

He lets the sheet around his waist drop to the floor and your eyes glance down to his hard member before meeting his eyes again. The raw desire in his eyes causes fire to spread throughout your body.

He grabs both of your cheeks and pulls you into a passionate hungry kiss. You whimper at the intensity. He quickly flips you around and leads you back over to the bed.

“On your knees, love.” He whispers sensually in your ear, causing you to shiver with goosebumps, his hardness pressing against your back.

You follow his instructions and get onto the bed on your knees. You bend forward, giving him perfect access to you. He growls at the sight before him. You feel his hands grab your butt and hips. He shoves himself into you and you yelp out a moan. He wastes no time and starts a fast and relentless pace.

“My love…” He pants. “I- I cannot last long.”

You had brought him so close to sweet release with your mouth only moments ago, before you were interrupted, and it was making it impossible for him to last any longer. He was fighting hard to hold back at the very edge waiting for your response.

“It’s alright, my love. Come for me...” You breathe.

Hearing those words in your enchanting voice pushes him right over the edge and he finally lets go of the last thread of restraint. He grunts loudly as he comes deep inside you, his head thrown back and his fingers digging hard into your hips.

He rests against your back for a moment as he catches his breath. He pulls out and you both quickly get cleaned up and dressed. You made sure to choose a high cut dress to hide the many love marks that were spread across your neck and collarbones.

“Ready?” You smile at him.

“No.” He smirks and pulls you close against him.

He kisses you, gentle and slow. His tongue lightly glides over yours only once, before he places a final kiss to your lips and pulls away.

“I wish to stay in this room with you all day and night...” He gently pulls the neckline of your dress down to reveal your skin, before softly kissing your neck, following the trail of marks he had left last night.

“Mmm.” You hum. “I wish for that too…”

It takes all your strength to pull away from him as he nips at the sensitive spot on your neck. Your hooded eyes meet his and he watches as you bite your lip, which causes even more desire to fill him.

“But we cannot…” You sigh, eyes still connected intensely.

“You are right…” He sighs back, reluctantly pulling away from you.

He grabs his things from his room as you gather your own things and head out together.

**********

Aragorn and Gimli were waiting at a table in the bar area of the inn, just where they said they’d be.

“It’s about time!” Gimli calls loudly, Aragorn nudges him to be quiet.

“Apologies gentleman.” You say shyly as you sit down at the table.

Legolas sits in the empty chair across from you and you felt your stomach tighten when your eyes meet. You could hardly focus on what Aragorn and Gimli were discussing. Your mind swirled with the pleasure you had just shared only minutes ago and all the wild memories of last night. The feel of him, the look of his body, the taste of it, his pleasured facial expressions, his moans and sighs… it all flooded your mind. You tried to snap back to reality and focus but your eyes met his again and you could tell by the fire in them and the slight smirk creeping in the corner of his mouth, he was thinking about all of the same things you were.

You bite your lip trying to fight back your own knowing smirk. The action catches his attention and you watch his eyes look from your lips back to your eyes, somehow with even more fire behind them. There were unspoken words behind his gaze that you understood. All he was thinking about right now was being inside of you again and taking you right here on this table. And your lustful stare back at him told him that is exactly what you wanted too.

“Could you please stop eye-fucking eachother? We have important things to discuss!” Gimli yells with a laugh, startling you back to reality.

“We weren’t-“ You clear your throat, choking back the embarrassment. “Sorry. Please continue.”

Legolas simply smirks and shrugs. You both turn in your seats to fully face Aragorn and Gimli as they repeat the plans you missed. For a quick moment you dared to glance at Legolas again and when his eyes met yours, they were full of heated promises for later when you could finally be alone again.

**********

Later that night you find yourself tangled in the sheets with one another. He enters you for the second time that night.

“I have to ask you something.” He mumbles against your ear as he spoons you from behind.

“What is it?” You breathe out as he continues to slowly move in and out of you.

“Did you use some kind of spell… or magic on me?… Because the way I feel about you… the way you completely consume my mind… and my body…” He says between slow thrusts, placing a gentle nip to your neck. “I feel bewitched.”

You chuckle shyly, the confession of his feelings making your heart soar. You turn around, making him slip out of you. He whines at the loss of your warmth but then your lips find his in a fierce kiss as you move to straddle him.

“I did not use any magic on you, my love.” You mumble against his lips.

You grind against his length, causing his hands to grab onto your hips.

“Though, every time our eyes meet…” You say as your eyes meet intensely. “I feel bewitched by you.”

“I feel like I am in a trance whenever I am near you. Your eyes, your lips, your wicked mind, even your scent… You-“ His words are cut off with a groan as you sink down onto his cock. “-intoxicate me.” He chokes out the last words.

**********

You could not get enough of one another. You were all over each other every chance you got to be alone, whether it was time for bed or you had a moment to sneak off somewhere. Aragorn and Gimli could hardly stand to be around you both sometimes with the sexual tension constantly bubbling between you two. But it was not just the sexual desire and lust… the romance, gentleness and love that you shared between you was just as intoxicating as any of it. You fell deeply for your handsome male elf and he fell deeply in love with his beautiful sorceress.

masterlist

[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

[lem0nshark-writes]

"Idiot"

Thranduil x Male Reader

Type: suggestive fluff

Word count: 792

Warnings: cocky reader, flirting, idiot reader, sassy Thranduil (when is he not sassy tho), wound treating

Request: by @unspeakableoftheoscarwildesorr ! 💕 "Me again. Just read this fic and I was wondering if we could see the turns tabled and Thranduil the one being flustered and the reader being the smirking bastard? Again, it’s alright if not. Have a good day x 2!"

A/N: Bit short but I hope you like it!! 💕💕 I dunno if I did your request justice and made Thranduil blushy enough but then again I feel like he's not an overly blushy type hehe But if you don't like it lmk and I can write another one! Have a lovely day! 💕💕

Also Thanos fic coming soon! 👀👀

Along with your fellow elven soldiers of Imladris you were sent by lord Elrond to deal with growing orc problem south to the kingdom of Mirkwood.

Warmly welcomed by their king you all enjoyed your stay, hunted, fought, dined and partied with the hosting wood elves. Each morning bright and early you all went to the south borders chasing, fighting and catching as many orcs as you could and bringing them back to the halls of Mirkwood for interrogation in hopes of getting a glimpse into Sauron's plans. But so far it wasn't much of a success.

This morning, on one of such hunts you had a bright idea to fight a small horde of orcs by yourself, overestimating your skills and catching quite a gash on your side. Your fellow elves were quick to notice the little stunt you pulled and got you out before you could do even more damage to yourself, helping you finish off the remaining orcs.

By returning back to the kingdom you were ushered to the medics but you being you assured everyone you could handle the dripping wound yourself and made your way to a small restroom, getting onto the task, much to their dismay.

"I hear you are refusing care from my medics-" Thranduil's voice mused through the small room as he entered, closing the door behind himself, long lavish robes dragging themselves after him across the dark floor, "Elrond will say I'm not taking good care of my guests-" he eyed you up and down, your naked torso catching him off guard.

"Oh don't worry about lord Elrond, he's used to this," you smirked, hand and needle working a thread through the tender flesh of your side.

"So I hear," Thranduil mocked subtly, eyes staying focused on your bare skin under guise of watching your handiwork. Slight blush creeping its way up his pale cheeks and the tips of his ears, but he thought he played it well, relentlessly keeping a straight unphased face.

You flashed him a grin, not minding the comment one bit as you didn't take it as an insult rather an ode to your adventurous spirit, pausing a moment before musing through a smirk, locking his gaze into your own tauntingly "King Thranduil, I didn't know you were so.. impressionable."

His eyes widened a bit at the unexpected comment, blurting out immediately with an eye roll, "Oh don't flatter yourself idiot. The only thing impressionable about you is your stupidity."

You chuckled at him, swearing you saw his blush worsen as he tried oh so hard to remain graceful and unaffected. You've never seen him this flustered around anyone else, anyone else but you.

But his eyes stayed trained on your hands and how messily they stitched the wound about, blood making a mess out of your side and your hands. Until he had just about enough of that catastrophy and took a dramatic sigh and smacked your hand away from the wound. He grabbed a gauze and doused it in alcohol before dabbing your wound gently with it, cleaning the reddened flesh surprisingly softly.

You sucked in a sharp breath as the liquid stung fiercly but it didn't stop you from smirking at him as the pain slowly subsided, "If you wanted to touch me all you had to do is ask"

"Oh shut it." Thranduil barked tossing the soaked gauze at you softly with a huff and straightening himself before going towards the door, "This is what I get for wanting to help-" he let out dramatically, fake offended making you chuckle.

Before he could leave you smugly let out, "I have something else you might like to touch-" making Thranduil turn his head towards you and roll his eyes with a done glare, going to protest something.

You smirk at him but reach out to the pocket of your coat that sat on a chair beside the table you were sitting on and pull out a valuable diamond encrusted in a tarnished but nevertheless beautiful and intricate silver pendant-like jewlery, seeming of elvish descent and pass it to him, "One of the orcs dropped it, thought you'd be interested."

"..Elvish.." he muttered, examining the precious object under the little light that was coming from the window, mesmerized by the scattering light filtering through.

"Yes, I'll see we catch a couple of the bastards alive and see where they got it from," you gazed at him, happy you brought back something of value to the king.

He smirks at you, "keep that up, if you do I might see you get something you might not be able to resist," he winks at you before elegantly making his way out of the door, leaving you alone and flabbergasted.

[system-to-the-madness]

The Dark is But a Passing - Faramir x Reader

Pairing: Faramir x fem!Reader Genre: fluff Word Count: 1 265 Warnings: fear of the night, mentions of the war and Sauron Summary: Faramir finds you, late at night, keeping watch at a window

You got torn out of your thoughts by the sound of light steps on tiled floor. Even without turning, you knew it was no guard, too light the steps to belong to one of the armoured men guarding the citadel of Minas Tirith.

"I thought I saw light in here," the soft voice of the Steward spoke, as he stepped next to the window seat you had curled up in. "Why are you still awake, my Lady?"

"Sleep evaded me," you responded, finally looking up. Kind eyes met yours, crinkled with a soft smile. "What about you, my lord Faramir? A man as busy as yourself should value his sleep, shouldn't he?"

The look in Faramir's eyes grew distant for a moment, the light in them fading as a dark shadow pulled over his beautiful features. 

"The darkness seems deeper tonight," he answered slowly, "just as it did in the days of the war."

You watched him, as he stood next to you, dressed in a light blue tunic with silver stitching around the hems. His hair fell in soft locks past his shoulders and his water blue eyes carried a deep sadness you could not even begin to understand. The war had taken his beloved brother, and his father, driven mad from the pain had not only taken his own life, but also tried to take Faramir's.

Before you were quite aware of what you were doing, more instinct than anything, you reached over, closing your fingers around Faramir's. His skin was warm in your hand, and his fingers flexed, before he closed them around yours, taking them in a gentle hold. The darkness seemed to fade from his face and the light returned into his eyes. Giving you a small smile, he sat down in the nook next to you, directing his eyes out past the window.

"What drew you to this window of the many in Minas Tirith," he asked almost absentmindedly as he tried to spy what lay within the dark of the night past the glass.

"The view," you answered, tearing your eyes away from him and looking out as well.

"The view," Faramir echoed questioningly. "What view is it you see in the darkness?"

"Not the view I see now but the one I'm waiting for. The sunrise over the mountains in the east." You inhaled deeply, as if to take courage to speak the next words. "It is the longest night of the year, and tonight more than any other night it feels like the sun might never rise again. Like the shadow in the east is reborn in the long darkness of the night and if I were not to sit here, waiting for the sun, it would feel no need to try to fight the night anymore. It is stupid, but…"

"You're scared," Faramir concluded, his voice soft, as he pulled his own feet up into the nook, sitting more comfortably, mirroring your posture. "I understand that fear. It is still unusual to see the sun rise where once nothing but clouds and shadow dwelled. It feels as if tonight the world of men holds its breath, waiting to see if light once again will drive out darkness."

"It feels colder, this night," you mumbled. "I know it's but the winter air carrying the first snow but-"

"It is cold tonight," Faramir nodded. "But sitting against a cold window won't warm you up much when you are tired."

You knew the implication in his words, the unspoken question if it would not be wiser to retire to your bed and sleep under the warm covers to wake up to the sun over the mountains in the east. 

You were about to speak, about to explain that you just could not give in to the urge of sleep and comfort if it meant leaving the dark unattended, but before you could open your mouth, Faramir let go of your still intertwined hands, and reached for a blanket that had been stored in a basket next to the window and threw it over both your bodies.

With wonderment you watched his face as he busied himself with tucking the edges of the blanket into place. You had admired the Steward of Gondor for a long time, your heart tucking you towards his presence with a sweet ache and moments like tonight, not uncommon in the past months, made you wonder if your heart was not the only one that felt such affection. 

Faramir's eyes met yours, a glimmer sparking in them as he saw how softly you regarded him. 

"I would also go fetch a pillow if you wished so," he offered with raised eyebrows, making you shake your head with a smile.

"I should fear falling asleep if I were any more comfortable," you laughed quietly. 

"Then sleep," Faramir encouraged you, "I shall wake you when the horizon starts to brighten. Should it not be enough if one of us kept watch of the dark?"

"I cannot expect you to sacrifice your sleep for my irrational fear of the night," you protested, sitting up on your knees, alarmed Faramir would even offer such a service.

"You wouldn't," he disagreed. "Rather you would do me a favour, if I knew you rested comfortably."

You stared at him for a moment in disbelief. You could not take such an offer, could you? He was an important man, maybe the most important man after the King. He needed to be awake and have his wits together for his daily work. And still, he would offer his sleep for your comfort? But he was a proud man, and even though he would not show it, he would be disappointed if you rejected the offer.

"I wish I could," you answered slowly, still kneeling in front of where he had pulled his knees to his chest. "But I fear the cold of the dark will not let me find sleep."

"We might yet wither it together," Faramir offered, opening his arms invitingly.

For a moment you hesitated, uncertain whether the gesture meant what you thought it did, but when you carefully shifted towards him, he smiled with a nod and opened his arms further.

Settling into his side, between him and the window, Faramir adjusted the blanket over your bodies and gently pulled you closer so you could rest your head against his chest. Your heart was thundering against your rips so loudly you feared he would hear, as you shifted so you could look out of the window, but then you felt Faramir's heartbeat of equal speed, and a smile tugged at your lips. It was comforting to know his heart was just as excited as yours.

"Sleep now," Faramir encouraged, pressing a lingering kiss against the top of your head. "The darkness is but a passing. I shall keep watch and wake you before the first rays of the sun meet the white walls of the city."

"Thank you," you whispered, already lulled in by the warmth his body radiated, and a few moments later sleep had claimed you.

Faramir made sure you had fallen asleep before he inhaled deeply. It felt right, sitting here with you resting against his chest, as right as everything felt any time he got to spend time with you, although he had to admit he had not dared hoping you would welcome his affection. And as he sat staring out into the night, willing the sun to soon lighten the sky with her ascent, he felt the darkness brighten with you at his side.

[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

[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.

[frodothefair]

꧁ Chapter 14 - The Return ꧂

READ ON AO3┃READ FROM THE BEGINNING

SUMMARY : Lothíriel of Dol Amroth marries Éomer King of Rohan, but she despises her new home, with its unfamiliar landscape and customs. She seeks to escape the only way she knows how, but when her plans go awry, she finds redemption in a place she never expected.

CHAPTER SUMMARY : Éomer and Lothíriel reunite after his return, but amid the joy, doubt and hesitation persist.

PAIRING : Éomer / Lothíriel RATING : M┃WORD COUNT : 8.5 k chapter, 93 k total THEMES : arranged marriage, enemies to lovers, angst, whump, mental illness WARNINGS: suicide, medical procedures, medical trauma, violence, death. Overall, the depictions of the above themes are not too graphic. Certain chapters spicy.

ALSO, CHECK OUT THE FANART BY @lonicera-edulis !!!

PREVIEW :

“Lothíriel! My love! There you are!”

His face was glowing with the joy of a thousand meetings, and as he lifted her up, he covered her face with kisses – on the cheeks, the lips, the eyes – and as he pulled away to gaze at her, his own eyes were incomparable: a golden fire radiating with them, and his childishly wide-set cheeks were laughing, as if he had heard the best sort of news and the funniest joke in a single moment.

“Oh, by Béma, I was starting to worry, my Lothíriel,” he exclaimed, pausing in his embraces, “I had nearly thought that you did not wish to see me – or do the Dol Amrotheans always take so long to bathe, being a people of the water?”

TAGS : @konartiste @from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras @emmathefanficgal @dilettantefeminist

[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.

[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?

[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

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

[silme-lorien]

The World Held Its Breath

summary: what might have happened to Frodo between when he passes out on Mt Doom and when he wakes up in Ithilien.

warnings: slight descriptions of blood and pain but nothing too graphic

word count: 2.5k

ps. thank you @frodosrings for beta reading <3

you can read it on ao3 here. enjoy :)

He had fallen down. He did not know how long ago- it didn’t matter, anyway. It was all black. It was smoke and dust and bright, bright lava, relentless and hot and treacherous. Above, everything was thick with a disgusting dark filth, one that looked like it would ooze from the sky and drip right onto his face. He had not seen the sun since they entered Mordor, and now he doubted he would ever see it again. Everything ached, shoulder, neck, back, feet. His finger. Or his lack of one. The space between his forefinger and ring finger pounded, more intensely than any of the dull aches of old wounds or tired feet and joints. He could not bring himself to look at it. 

The world was hot and painful, confusing and horrid. He shook, a violent betrayal from his own body, and sweat ran across his back and face, wetting his hair and stinging his eyes. It was altogether sickening. And there was a pair of hands on him- familiar ones. Strong ones, hands that held him steady as he stretched upon the disgusting rock of the terrible mountain. They had fallen together, choked and defeated by murderous Mount Doom. Hand and hand, like how it had been back in the Shire. But that was not how it was now. It was all too terrible, the mountain was clawing at them, screeching and hoping and begging them to die. This was the objective. He had reached the end of the quest, and now he would die here, with all the horrors of the world around him. All the adrenaline that had coursed in his veins minutes before was now pouring from the bitten stump, the disgusting reminder of his failure. A voice, perhaps his own, cried out. He could not make out the words, he had forgotten how to speak, he had forgotten how to hear, how to move. 

There was nothing but blistering heat and pain and death, death everywhere, it hung in the air like a veil, it lay on the earth, and was a terrible pounding sound that buzzed in his ears. He felt himself slipping away, hoping that hideous and beautiful death had come to claim him and bring him down, down, down to where he belonged, with the wretched creature that had brought him here. The world decayed and was still, holding its breath. And the blackness of the sky swallowed him as he grasped the last thing that kept him from death. 

The morning sun stung his eyes. Closing them again, he reached over, searching blindly for the familiar form that comforted him. Finding it, he pulled his tired body towards the sleeping hobbit next to him and sighed. Movement from the other end of the bed a few moments later finally convinced him to be roused, and he opened his eyes to the lovely sight of tousled blond curls, falling sweetly upon the pillow, crowing the one they belonged to: tan skin and luscious brown eyes. A smile, sleepy and lopsided, crinkled the eyes and stretched the tan skin.

“Good morning, Sam,” he whispered, affectionate in every syllable. 

“Good mornin’, Frodo,” came the quiet reply, spoken through a grin, voice deep with sleep. 

This was how most mornings began, with Frodo languidly waking up to Sam’s arms and legs intertwined with his, the pink and purple and yellow hues of the morning washing over their room through the circular window. Frodo studied Sam’s face- there was a mark where he had lain on the pillow, an indented crease cracking across his cheek. Frodo studied it- tracing it with his finger and laughing quietly. Sam seemed not to care, tiredly accepting the ridiculous gesture. Frodo twisted his body, taking several sheets and blankets with him, and managed to extract himself from the entanglement that he and Sam had previously managed. A small sound of protest came up from the mess of blankets that he had left below him as he attempted to stand. Frodo pulled a sheet away to reveal a still-grinning Sam, smug in knowing that he would only have to ask Frodo to stay a while longer and he would concede. 

“Please, stay. Five more minutes?” Sam looked up with big brown eyes that seemed to shine. “I don’t want you to go yet.”

Frodo sighed and laid back down, defeated but truthfully not all that upset. 

“What will I ever do, when one day I have some pressing matter to attend to and you continue to request five more minutes?” he teased, pressing himself into Sam and laying his face on his shoulder. He took a breath in- he wanted to remember everything. How Sam smelled, every little pit and bump of his skin, the pattern of his breathing, the feeling of the sheets. How the comfort of love both warmed him and gave him goosebumps, and, oh, how being in love felt. The color of it, the taste of it, the sound. Most of all, he basked in the tenderness of the thing. It was disgustingly sweet, it rotted him from the inside out. He was spoiled, given too much of a good thing, and now what? He could never accept a love less eager than this one. Sam had simply done too much for that to ever be possible. 

“When will you ever have to do something so important that you can’t spare five minutes?” Sam retaliated, but Frodo could hear the smile in his voice. His hand had trailed up Frodo’s back, along his spine over his nightshirt, and now came to a rest in his hair. His fingers wrapped small curls around themselves, gently winding around dark hair and pressing into the back of his neck. His chest rose and fell, steady and comfortable, a strong reminder of everything right with the world. The North Star.

“I suppose I won’t.”

And they laid, sighing and blinking and passing in and out of sleep, a wonderful stupor induced by the hot summer and a willingness to be absolutely still and quiet in each other’s presence. There was nothing that could have happened to tear them away from one another, a lazy morning in the midst of a busy life. 

When, in the end, the five minutes (or hour) had elapsed, the begrudging decision was made to vacate the bed. Neither of them bothered to make it, and so it kept the memory of two bodies lying together long after they had left and begun to tend to the pattern of their day. Sam out to the garden and Frodo into his study, both toiling away at their respective jobs. Frodo was scrawling away at fickle pieces of paper, trying desperately to imitate his uncle Bilbo and write a book himself. The words seemed to flit away from him today, however, and he could not catch them. They were unfaithful, words. They evaded one at the very moment in which he needed them. Frodo’s mind ever returned to Sam, in the kind of giddy way that a child dreams of their crush. When he wrote of Sam, the words seemed to pour from his pen onto the paper. The issue was that whenever Frodo began to envision his love, he wanted to do nothing else but think of him. Eventually, tired of fighting this battle, he decided that he had to write something today. So he touched the pen to paper.

An hour later he had emerged, triumphant, with a folded piece of cream-colored paper lightly grasped in one hand and a glass of water in the other. He wound his way through the paths of the garden, careful to not disturb any of the meticulously curated plants, bushes, grasses, or trees. He found Sam tending to a little bed of petunias, blooming and opening up towards him in bursts of red and white, their dark centers like eyes glaring. Frodo gave the glass of water to Sam, who appreciated the cool treat. He sat there in the garden a while, watching Sam diligently care for the small flowers with gentle hands and making the occasional comment or remark. He thumbed the paper that he had brought out with him- unsure of its purpose, now. It was a poem. He had to write it, he had to get it out of his mind. He wanted Sam to know the extent of what he felt. And although poetry was irregular and perhaps a bit silly, it was from his heart. After a few more quips and jokes with Sam, he deposited the paper into his dirt-streaked palm firmly, bestowing ardent orders to read it later. He didn’t think he could bear to watch him examine the thing. 

Frodo paced back around to Bag End, opening the door and allowing the sweet summer breeze to fill the hall with its silvery fingers, touching every surface with the pleasant smell of summer. He pattered around the house, trying to make himself useful- filling the lounging daylight hours with chores and an attempt to cook lunch for himself and Sam, which Sam ended up taking over in the end. As they ate together, Frodo wondered if he had read the poem yet. Dinner was a non-event, languid, and filled with sweet conversation, and yet Frodo wondered.

Eventually, he got an answer. The cream paper reappeared in his study that evening, no longer folded. It was facing upwards, with his scrawling handwriting blotching the smudged white surface. He picked it up, turning it over in his hands. And there it was- a drawing of the blooming vines that snaked around one side of Bag End, wrapping a window in its slender hands and reaching up, up towards the roof. The plant had begun to grow little white flowers, as Sam had exquisitely portrayed in his drawing of the scene. The drawing was in pencil, but what it lacked in color it made up for in life- the drawing was crawling with existence and love and soul. Frodo began to feel a hot tear forming perilously in his eye and wiped it away. He had asked Sam to not cut the vines some years before, and now they had grown wild and unruly, which Frodo adored. 

Night, and the moon shone down onto Bag End, streaming in through the windows and billowing on to the garden. The garden was bathed in an eerie pale light, but its beauty was still unmatched. Though, perhaps Frodo had a bias. Especially for the hobbit responsible for the exquisite display. When he had decided that the window had had enough of his staring, he climbed into bed where Sam was already sprawled. 

“I wanted to thank you for the poem,” whispered Sam, as Frodo pulled his body underneath the wrinkled blanket and had just begun allowing his eyelids to droop closed. “It really was quite lovely.” 

“The drawing was lovelier, my dear Sam.” he grabbed Sam’s hand, laying their fingers intertwined on the bed. And they slept. 

Frodo awoke from a divine dream- or rather, a lovely memory. He could not really decide, as he knew that what he had dreamt of had happened, but it was so wonderful that he nearly didn’t believe that it had truly happened, to him of all hobbits. He opened his eyes, orienting himself. He was in a large, comfortable bed, in a room that seemed far too grand to be that of a hobbit. He sat up, swiveling his head to the right- catching a glimpse of the sleeping form of Sam, in a similar bed to his- and then to the left. To his utter surprise, he saw Gandalf. It seemed for a moment that his heart stopped, and he wondered whether he was dead and was seeing Gandalf once again in heaven. Once he had ascertained that he was, in fact, breathing and living, he spoke. 

“Gandalf?” his voice came from him weak and cracked, like it hadn’t been used in years. Slowly, memory was returning to him. He looked down at his right hand- a white bandage encircled almost his whole hand. And, of course, he had no third finger. Of course. 

Gandalf smiled solemnly, his old eyes twinkling with knowing and bringing Frodo the kind of comfort that he always had. A reminder of simpler days in the Shire, with flowers and fireworks and parties. 

“Hello, Frodo. I’m sure that you have many, many questions for me. However, I implore you to wait until young Master Samwise has awoken to discuss them all with me- I shan’t wish to repeat myself to another inquisitive hobbit.” 

Frodo nodded, slowly, still trying to piece together the events of the previous- well, however long it had been that he had slept. It was returning; the memories of Mount Doom, of Sam carrying him, of the burning and stinging and crying. He and Sam standing, watching the world burn and crumble around them, hand in hand. Hands- his finger. He looked at it again. It seemed foreign. His hand was not his own. It felt like a relic of a different time, of a different version of himself. ‘A version with The Ring,’ he thought to himself, and then shook the thought from his brain as quickly as it had come. He had already spent a year thinking about the cursed thing. It didn’t deserve any more pondering- he had watched it burn and melt, and that was the end. 

He scanned his surroundings- he recognized the place. He searched his mind for any memory of where he was, and then suddenly it hit him. He was in Ithilien. He sighed, remembering his previous venture into these lands. Ithilien had been the last place that he had felt serene. And even then, it was all tainted by memories of battle and war and the great Shadow of Mordor, looming and growing above him until he had finally ventured into it.

He glanced over at Sam- still quite peaceful, breathing slowly and deeply. He settled into the mass of pillows and blankets, glad that Gandalf was not relaying hours worth of information at the moment. He wanted to process what he knew had happened before diving into the adventures of the other part of the Fellowship.

Frodo settled into the bed, still watching Sam. He was more at ease than he had seen him in a year. He was reminded of the day that he had dreamt about, that morning that they had spent together quietly and peacefully. Frodo thought of their first night on the road, the very first time that they left the Shire. How little they had known then of what would come to pass. He wished he could go and rouse Sam, he wished he could climb into his bed and lay his head upon his chest and whisper in his ear about all the things that he did not get a chance to say during their trek to Mordor. He fell asleep again, waiting for Sam to rise. And all was quiet until Sam woke, and Frodo with him, ready to learn of all that they had missed.

[gloomwitchwrites]

The Vampire King

Vampire King Thranduil x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): Vampire AU, horror / suspense, blood drinking, Sauron’s influence, non-consensual biting

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: Requested by @ferns-fics for 3.5k Spooky Bingo (Vampire AU)

Sent by your Lord as the final courier, you venture through Mirkwood toward Thranduil's halls, only to find the place haunted by evil.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // 3.5k spooky bingo masterlist

"We have not heard from the King of the Woodland Realm for some time. I fear the worst."

Your Lord fiddles with the sealed letter in his palm. There is a weariness to his brow that concerns you. For several seasons, the Greenwood has grown ever darker. Mirkwood is its name now, and has been for years, but its shadow has never reached your doorstep.

This is a last attempt. A final outreach of contact with the hope for answers.

"Take this correspondence,” he continues, offering you the sealed letter. “Make sure you hand it to King Thranduil himself. And if that is not possible, try to witness the transfer into his hands. All my others have gone unanswered. But I have no notion of whether or not my earlier attempts went undelivered."

Undelivered is an understatement. Every courier that your Lord sent forth into the Greenwood never returned. There has been no communication from them. Not a breath. While your Lord will not admit it, you suspect that their disappearances might have to do with King Thranduil.

“Of course,” you bow, taking the letter with the knowledge that you might be heading to your death.

Your Lord inclines his head, a sad smile on his face. “You cannot travel by horse. They do not like the trees. But there is a path. One created by the Elves. Follow that road and you will arrive at Thranduil’s doors.”

Within your traveling tunic, you tuck the correspondence away in a small pocket. It will be well hidden even if you are felled and searched. The contents are unimportant. It is the delivery that is paramount. Your Lord needs to know if the Woodland Realm has fallen completely into shadow. If you do not return, it is likely he will reach out to others.

Forming a fist, you place it over your heart, bowing your head. “It shall be done.”

The journey to the Greenwood is uneventful, but when you arrive to its borders, a sudden sense of foreboding greets you, as if the trees themselves are warning you away.

The Greenwood oozes darkness though the tree line appears healthy like any other forest. It is the strangest sensation. Everything looks fine, but from it, all you feel is dread. A sickness.

As you approach the marked path, a swelling sensation emerges as if a gigantic beast is opening its maw to swallow you whole. The Elven path is overgrown yet you can still see the read beneath. It is clear that the Elves of the Woodland Realm have not tended to it in some time. It’ll just be harder to navigate, but not impossible.

Every step and stone are laden with leaves and twisting twigs. You spend much of your walk pushing it all aside with your boot, clearing the path as you go along. The road, at least for a time, is easy to find. Yet, as you follow it further, the path begins to erode. The stones are either completely missing, broken, or blend into the ground as if the magic that protests it has also faltered and decayed.

A dreariness settles over everything. Your movement forward is slow going, and with the canopy, it is unclear as the time of day. It is all the same, like there is no day or night, like you’ve stepped into an entirely different world.

You continue on until the path is broken and shattered. Backtracking becomes a necessary burden. The path will disappear from view only to reappear when you least expect it. Many have complimented you on your tracking skills, but this goes beyond what you’ve learned and honed over the years.

Doubt creeps in.

This is more than simple decay. Perhaps there is another at work in these woods. Something wants you to doubt and venture off the path. Something wants you to get lost—to be befuddled by the changing landscape.

Remaining strong—remaining confident in yourself—is the best option.

It is the only option.

Your Lord is relying on you to deliver his letter and return. And you must rely on yourself to return to the place you call home.

When a large bridge and two massive doors appear, a great relief rushes through you. This is where you’ve been heading. This is where you’re supposed to be.

With a lightness in your step, you approach the bridge and immediately pause. There are no guards. No sounds other than the rushing water. You sniff the air but scent nothing foul. Orcs and other such creatures have a stink about them.

The air is calm. The leaves in the trees stir but not from unnatural disturbance. You detect no ambush and yet the very lack of guards set your senses into overdrive. You are alert as you tentatively take a step forward. Then another.

Vines curl over and around the sides of the bridge. Cracks cobweb across portions of the stone allowing in browning grass. Even here there are signs of decay. It’s a perfect place for an ambush.

But perhaps there is no one lurking in anticipation to attack. Maybe you’ll find a hall of dead Elves. Maybe you’ll find no one at all. Or you might find something far more sinister skulking about. Whatever you find, you intend on returning to your Lord with word of your discovery.

You only hope that you’ll survive.

"I have come on behalf of my Lord and Master. I have word from him to deliver to the King of the Woodland Realm!" Your raised voice carries across the bridge but is met with silence.

Nothing stirs. Nothing moves.

You've come all this way and yet the need to turn back is more present than ever.

Above you, a whoosh of air kicks up a brief gust of wind. You glance up, expecting to see a large bird flying overhead, but there is nothing. A deep dread swells in your stomach, the muscles in your legs tensing for a retreat.

Just as you prepare to return to the forest, the large, ornate gates groan and screech, opening enough for a singular guard to emerge. They are in full armor, and the helmet they wear completely hides their face.

They stand next to the open gate, a silent sentinel.

You call out again. "I seek an audience with King Thranduil."

The guard remains silent, observing without comment. Slowly, you approach, aware that you might need to go on the defensive. With every step, the helmet turns with, tracking your approach and entrance into Thranduil's halls.

There is nothing about the guard's body language to indicate hostility, but you're not comforted. You walk past the guard and through the cracked gates, entering into illuminated darkness. The silent sentinel follows, the gates closing, a sense of entrapment coming with it.

This place is a cage. You realize that now. Your freedom has just been ripped away from you. Stolen.

The guard moves right past you, an invitation to follow. You keep a polite distance, observing your surroundings. Not a single living thing crosses your path. It is utterly silent in these halls. Quiet.

In the throne room, the guard brings you to a winding flight of stairs. Upon the throne is a pale but fair figure with golden hair boarding on white. His robes are a deep scarlet while his crown is a twisting nest of black thorns and dried berries.

King Thranduil. Lord the Woodland Realm.

As you near, his gaze falls upon you, and you're met by pale red eyes that bite into your very soul.

"Welcome, messenger." His voice is soothing. Eerily calm.

You bow deeply. "Thank you for receiving me."

"And where do you hail from?" You tell him, keeping your head bowed. "I see," he replies softly. "He has been persistent."

You glance up, a bit of hope in your tone. "Then you have received his other correspondence."

"I have. Not that I wanted to answer them."

You frown at the revelation. If he has received all the other missives, where are the missing couriers? Did they return to the forest and eventually lose their way?

"He grows worried," you say cautiously. "Without word, he fears the worst. I am the last before he sends for aid."

A soft smirk tugs at the corner of Thranduil's mouth. It's just enough to show a glimpse of sharpened teeth. "How...quaint. As if the Lord of the Woodland Realm needs aid. We are perfectly fine here."

Swallowing down the bit of fear lodged in your throat, you reach into your tunic and withdraw the letter. "I am tasked with bringing this to you."

"And I will take it." You step forward and Thranduil holds up a hand. As if running into a wall, your limbs suddenly freeze, the control of your muscles zapped from you. "Tomorrow," he says. "You should rest. The Greenwood has become treacherous of late."

King Thranduil's demeanor is casual yet you sense a lingering power beneath it. There is no room for discussion. This is not a request but a command.

"Of course," you reply.

Thranduil snaps his fingers and the guard from earlier approaches. Control is returned to you. You've been dismissed and you exit the throne room without further instruction. Again, the halls are empty. Not a soul passes. It is only you, the guard, and the odd quiet.

Brought to a private room, you are left alone until another guard brings you a meal. There is something off about it. Everything appears fresh but there is a sourness beneath the taste that doesn't sit right with you.

You don't remember drifting off. You don't remember falling into bed. You awaken in a cold sweat, a dull ache tugging at your neck. Sitting up, you press your palm to the side of your throat. The room spins.

You drop your hand.

Notice red.

"You should be asleep, courier." Thranduil's voice is like a distant song. It lulls you back toward an endless abyss.

"Why are you here?" Your voice cracks slightly, dipping toward a strangled garble.

Other than a few lit candles on the table in front of him, the room is dark. Thranduil brings a glass goblet to his lips. In it is a dark liquid. Thranduil turns his head, and you're met with glowing eyes. They are piercing, like a blade to the gut. A sharpness seizes you, twisting to the point of pain. You cry out and grab your stomach.

"I like your memories. They are sweet. Flower-kissed. The ones from childhood are always the most...delicious." He sighs as if in serene pleasure. "Shall I keep you? Would you like that?"

It's rhetorical. Thranduil does not seek an answer. You feel it in your gut.

You will stay whether your heart wishes it or not.

taglist:

@glassgulls @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado @glitterypirateduck @foxxy-126

@km-ffluv @sweetbutpsychobutsweet @singleteapot @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei

@cherryofdeath @ninman82 @waves-against-a-cliff @eternallyvenus @beebeechaos

@smileykiddie08 @chaostwinsofdestruction @weasleytwins-41 @thewulf @firelightinferno

@protosslady @thetaekwondofeline

[mountkennedie]

Overcoming Fears

Faramir x fem!reader

Summary: Faramir finally approaches you after hiding his interest in you for some time.

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1.1k

A.N: This is mainly written from Faramir's point of view. Also that title is on thin ice.

A.N Part 2

"My captain, I do not mean to speak out of turn, but I believe staring would be considered shameful for someone of your standing." A fellow ranger reminded Faramir. He was immediately pulled out of his thoughts.

Faramir's gaze left you as he shut his eyes. He slightly shook his head, cleaning his head of the thoughts of you. He looked at the ranger and nodded. The man smiled smugly in response. "Captain Faramir, may I be so bold?"

"You may," his words were tight. He didn't want to be interrupted with his viewing of you strolling the streets of Gondor.

The ranger that was previously speaking behind the captain had moved to face him. "Approach her," was all he said.

"There is no proper occasion for me to approach a lady without cause. Rumors will stir, and it could tarnish her reputation." Faramir spoke with a monotone voice. If it had been a tad bit warmer in tone, he would have sounded more believable.

"I do not believe that is your utmost concern, captain." Many rangers that ride alongside Faramir have noticed how his gaze always lingers on a specific woman in Minas Tirith. Not one of particular status, but comes from a good family. Ever since Faramir saw her meandering the streets, near full basket of goods in hand, he was enamored.

"My upmost concern..." The captain deliberated on his thoughts. He, at first thought, was sending the ranger away for impeding too much. But, when you have fought against evil with a chance of peril with a man, secrets of the heart seem pointless. "I do not wish to tarnish her reputation. I fear there are better men than me to take as a husband."

"How will you know her heart and what it wants, if you do not approach? You are a captain of Gondor. Your status alone should pique her interest. Love may not be found in titles, but titles can open the door to love."

Faramir thought thoroughly through the mans words. After some moments, he looked up and made eye contact with the ranger. "You are wise." He inhaled deeply, "and I will attempt an approach to Lady (Y/n)." The ranger smiled with pride back at his captain. He bowed and left him to thoughts once more.

As Faramir fell back in pondering a way to speak with you properly and privately, he did not notice the rise of cheers from his fellow rangers down the hallway.

♧

Faramir did not feel ready, but alas, here he was, at your father's shop. You were behind the counter, counting coins when he approached you. He waited a moment, not wanting to disturb your concentration. But also, he silently sent out gratitude that blessed him with finding you in the shop alone.

You looked up. "Oh greetings! I apologize, captain, I did not see you immediately." You bowed your head. When you looked back up to his eye level, you smiled. "How may I serve you?"

"My lady, I-" he choked on his words. After clearing his throat, he said, "I am here on no urgent matter. But out of curiosity. Your families work is exquisite." That was no lie. Your family was well known for crafting intricate leather inscriptions.

You smiled again, "We are grateful for your consideration. We also specialize in custom pieces if you have an idea in mind." Oh, Faramir did, but not with leather. However, now he was melting second by second in your presence.

He just wanted you to stay any way he could, "I do. I was referred here by one of my men. My arm bracers are upon their final sunset. I would like a new pair." He was astonished by how smoothly he was able to speak. He had replayed this scenario and many others throughout his mind since he decided to meet you. In all of them, he ended up making a fool out of himself. He was still partially waiting for it to happen.

"A common request. We will be delighted to assist. Let me get the samples." You scurried back to your counter and reached below to fetch various colors of leather. Returning, you placed them all out in front of him. "These are always most popular due to the low price and durability," you said, pointing to the shiny black leather. "However, due to you being a ranger and out in the forests often, I would recommend this dark brown. You would blend in with the foliage much easier."

You were so focused on your task at hand that you had not noticed how Faramir's eyes wandered from your hands to your face. He had never been so close to you before and was now even more entranced than when he first laid eyes on you. "Brown would we more than functional," he responded softly.

"Lovely." You placed the sample to the side and grabbed measuring tape, a notebook, and a quill. You looked up to him again, "If you do not mind, I need to measure your forearm, captain."

"I do not mind at all," he winced at the way the words cascaded from his lips. "I would not mind, do what you must, my lady." He held out his arms before you. You nodded your head and wrapped the measuring tape around his left forearm first. The moment your fingers grazed his arm, he felt sparks shoot up his arm. Even though there was cloth between your skins, it did not matter. Simply having a glimpse of your touch was enough for a lifetime to Faramir.

He did everything he could to steady his breathing as he felt your featherlight touches. When he finished, he felt ashamed by how much he had already missed your touch. "I have finished. Is there a date in mind already for when these should be due?"

"No. Take all the time you need," He smiled warmly at you. When you smiled back, it made his struggle remain calm even more difficult.

"Who shall I summon, when I finish?"

"Come to the castle. You will find that you will always be welcome. I would love for you to deliver the handiwork directly, if possible."

You bowed nervously, "The highest gratitude for your kindness. And I will surely have my sibling watch the shop as I deliver, Captain Faramir."

When his name slid off your tongue, Faramir's breath hitched. He hid his surprise with another smile. Forgetting his need for propriety, his took your hand in his and placed a chaste kiss on your knuckles. "Until we meet again, Lady (Y/n)."

Bonus:

Faramir left the shop feeling fulfilled and elated. Until he looked to his left to see his men lined up to hear how it went.

"How did it go?" Faramir only smiled brightly, turned the other way, and left.

[system-to-the-madness]

All the Time - Elrond x Reader

Pairing: LotR!Elrond x fem!Elf!Reader Genre: hurt/comfort Word Count: 1 818 Warnings: depression/melancholia(?), mentions of the war and Sauron Summary: Elrond comes to search for you when you don’t attend a feast in Rivendell

At the sound of familiar steps approaching the room, you turned your head away from the doorway, facing out into the night covered valley instead. Snowflakes danced in the air, carried on gusts of cold winter wind. The steps halted in the doorway, the Elf who had approached doubtlessly taking in your turned away form, your pulled up shoulders as you were laying stretched out on the daybed, non-verbally making your disinterest in his presence known by not acknowledging him. After a moment’s hesitation, or consideration, he entered the room nonetheless, the gentle call of your name falling from his lips.

You could not help the shiver that went through you, as anytime Elrond addressed you by name. For centuries you had resided in Imladris, and it was more than friendship that bound you to the Elvenlord by now, no matter how long it had gone unacknowledged by either of you.

His steps halted mere inches from the daybed, and a moment later, he lightly placed his hand on your shoulder. Even through the warm layers of the winter dress you could feel the heat of his skin, the weight of his palm soothing the dark ache in your heart. For a few seconds he stood like that, just resting his hand on you, before he gently squeezed your shoulder and drew away.

Almost you expected him to turn and leave you alone again, but you should have known the Lord of Imladris better than that. Instead of leaving you to the weight that still rested on your shoulders, even now that the war was over, he pushed the fabric of your skirt aside and settled behind you, his backside lightly brushing against your calves. It was no offensive contact, but instead one that, as Elrond’s touch did so often, conveyed the assurance that he was with you, and that no matter your sorrow, he would not abandon you.

For a long while you sat like that, feeling his eyes on the side of your face and the warmth of his body against your calves while your own focus was more on him than the snowflakes your eyes were turned towards.

“Why have you come,” you eventually settled on asking, your voice sounding weaker than you meant to.

“Because you have not,” Elrond answered in his ever patient and even tone. There was no reproach in his voice, he simply answered your question. “The celebration is in full swing, and I was missing your presence.”

“Don’t hold it against me, but I do not feel like celebrating tonight,” you mumbled, curling your fingers into the fabric of the pillow your head was resting on.

“As long as you don’t hold my concern for you against me,” Elrond answered, his hand coming to rest on your shoulder again. 

Considering the Elves’ respect for personal space, Elrond had always been rather physically affectionate with you, you thought to yourself. Hugs after hunts, a hand on the shoulder when he was concerned or proud, or on the small of the back when he was guiding you alongside him. Never had his touch brought anything but comfort into your heart, and even now, when all you wanted to do was shut yourself off from the world, you could not help but feel like the soft gesture lessened the weight you felt.

“You have been quiet these past days, my friend, and I dearly miss the light you always carry. Will you not tell what is weighing down your mind so we may share the burden?”

You inhaled deeply, the clean, crisp air of winter, warmed only by the elven magic that encased Imladris. 

“It is not a burden that can be shared,” you answered, finally turning and sitting up. 

Elrond’s hand slipped off your shoulder, but found your fingers instead, cold to the touch, making his eyebrows furrow before he took your other hand as well, bringing them together between his to warm them. 

“Then what kind of burden is it,” he asked, looking from your hands to your eyes, searching for an answer in them.

“It feels like-” You took another deep breath, feeling as if the night outside the windows was suffocating you. “It feels like the dark that came into the world with Sauron still lingers. And the longer the nights grow, the stronger his power. I know he has been destroyed, and yet… the scars he has left on this world have not yet healed.”

“They will not heal for a long time,” Elrond agreed, “Too many have lost their lives, their loved ones, have fallen victim to injury and pain. Too great is the wound Sauron and Saruman have ripped into the face of Middle-Earth. There is no shame to feel that pain, especially not when the sun barely rises over the mountains and stars are hidden from sight by clouds heavy with snow.”

“It makes me think of the clouds over Mordor, even though I fully know the ones here are only filled with snow, not the dark magic or Morgoth’s servant.”

Elrond’s eyes hesitantly pulled away from your features and instead directed outwards where a thin layer of snow settled on the leaves that had not fallen yet. 

“I do not believe there was ever anyone I told this to, but for years, decades even after the first ring war, I felt the same way about clouds,” he admitted. “I sometimes even feared the night when the stars were in the sky, feeling as if Sauron’s armoured hand was clasping around my throat. It was not for a long time before I saw beauty in the dark, star-sprinkled sky again, not until-”

Expectantly you tried catching his gaze, that was absentmindedly directed into the valley of Rivendell.

“Not until?”

“Not until you came here,” he admitted, finally looking back at you. His grey eyes seemed to be glowing in the dim light of candles lighting the room, and another shiver ran through you, one that almost had you throw your arms around his neck and bury your head under his chin to press as close as you might. “It was only then that I felt like the stars were shining again, only then that the dark clouds lost their threat and returned to what they were, clouds. And I so desperately wish I could return the beauty of nature back into your eyes the way you have done for me. But I am not just aware that we are very different people, with very different experiences, but also that close to a century passed before I found the light of the stars again, and that it has only been a few months for you.”

Something in the way Elrond spoke made your heart ache sweetly, and you turned your hands in his so you could hold his hands in yours.

“I’m glad to know I played a part in you seeing the world for its wonders again. And while I grieve for the time you did not, it gives me hope I too will overcome this darkness one day.”

“You will,” Elrond assured you, touching his forehead to yours. “The darkness seems unending, especially when the nights are as long as now. But the sun will rise, and the shadow will be banned from Middle-Earth just as from your heart. If you wish to stay alone for now, I will see to it that you will be disturbed no more, and if you want company, I offer my own. But should you wish to join the celebrations, I would like to join them with you.”

After a moment of contemplation, you nodded. “Yes, I think,” you agreed. “I think I will join you. But Elrond, wait-” 

The Elf had, with a hopeful smile on his lips already pulled away again but was stopped by your words and your hand reaching up to his chin to catch him in the motion. Curious eyes glimmered in grey back at you as your finger brushed over his skin. Making a fast decision, scared your courage might leave you were you not to act immediately, you leant forward, brushing your lips against his, if only just for a short moment. His lips were soft and warm, just like any touch he had ever shared with you, but the euphoria at the small contact was unmatched, especially when you pulled away and he tried chasing your lips, eyes still closed. Giving in, you placed a second kiss on him, one that made the corners of his mouth tuck upwards, before his eyes fluttered open again, and he regarded you with the softest expression.

“Meleth nin,” he whispered into the space between you, as if he were in joyous disbelief at your action. “I take this as the sign that my affections are returned?”

You smiled, the first real smile in weeks since the sun had forsaken the valley and the winter had gathered its clouds. But Elrond would always be the one to bring light into your heart and a smile to your lips. “Was there any doubt?”

“Only a fool’s doubt,” he replied, his eyes searching your whole face, taking in every detail as if he only truly got to see you now. “Yet a fool it seems I am.”

“No fool,” you disagreed gently, “The Lord of Imladris and the one who holds my heart.”

“Then I shall watch and guard the one with as much care and responsibility as the other, since I shall not have to worry about my own heart while it is with you.”

Your smile widened and you shook your head in amusement as you got up from the daybed, Elrond following your motion, his eyes still glued to your face. “Your words are like poetry,” you teased, making him shrug while he reached for your hand.

“How are you to know they are not part of the songs I wrote with none but you in mind,” he responded in the same teasing manner as his fingers intertwined with you.

“Then, I suppose, where those words came from, there are more, and in due time I shall want to hear as many of them as you will reveal.”

“If you wish so, I shall read them to you,” Elrond agreed as he guided you into the corridor and away from the dark windows. “But a word of warning. There are more of them than I would wish to admit even in front of myself.”

“Well, meleth nin,” you spoke lightly, feeling a shiver run through Elrond at the use of the sweet name, before he squeezed your hand tighter, “I do believe we have time for that.”

“All the time we need,” Elrond agreed, guiding you to walk closer to him as he led you through the dark towards the celebration with food and music and dance in the fire-lit halls of Imladris.

[etherealeowyn]

"I feel like this is a path I must follow" - Elendil x Fem Reader

Y/n is saddened by Elendil's choice to sail to Middle Earth, but he feels it is his destiny to help reclaim the Southlands.

Fluff + Angst

Word Count: 888

My requests are always open, so feel free to message me if you have an idea! I'll write for any character from The Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit, or The Rings of Power!

The sound of rough, crashing waves echoed through Y/n’s ears as she sat on the coarse sand, and looked up towards the heavens. Elendil had always told her she could look up at the stars when lonely because he would do the same thing no matter what part of the sea he was sailing. So, she did as he said, picturing his soft eyes looking up while his brown hair blew back from the ocean breeze.

The only difference this night was that he was not halfway across the ocean, rather he was sitting within the confines of his own home. However, this would not be the case shortly, because he had just told Y/n that he planned on sailing over to Middle Earth to try and reclaim the Southlands with the elf and supposed king that had washed up on Numenor.

She had stormed out of the house when he had told her, not because she was angry at his choice, but because Y/n knew how dangerous those lands across the sea could be. She was so consumed with worry that she had to go to the only place where she could truly clear her mind, the sea.

Letting a couple of stray tears fall from her eyes, she took a deep breath, feeling the heartache in her chest. She felt immense guilt for storming out in the manner she did, but it was almost an involuntary reaction. Her legs needed to carry her away from the situation, even if maybe it wasn’t the right thing to do.

Y/n just wanted to outrun her thoughts of losing Elendil.

Elendil’s eyes scanned the shores, looking for any sign of his wife. He had waited a bit before trying to find her because he knew how important alone time was to Y/n. She was always the type of person who needed her own time to work things out in her mind.

He understood the information he had recently given her was a lot to process, especially since it was far from normal for Numenoreans to travel to Middle Earth to engage in battle. They usually kept to themselves; however, this situation beckoned their help. Elendil recognized Y/n’s fears, for he knew if anything were to happen to him the information would not reach her quickly, meaning that she could go months without knowing whether he was safe or even alive. He tried to picture himself in that situation, and he could hardly do so, not being able to imagine how terrible it must be.

But deep down, Elendil knew that even though there were many risks, he had to be a part of this reclamation. There was something about it that seemed to pull at the very fibers of his soul as if it were his destiny.

His eyes eventually locked onto the form of a woman whose hair was tossed behind her by gusts of wind. Her skin seemed to glow under the moonbeams, causing Elendil’s breath to catch within his chest. The keenness of his eyes was responsible for hurting him when he noticed glossy streaks of tears flowing from Y/n’s eyes and down her rosy cheeks.

Walking through the thick sand, he eventually reached Y/n, sitting by her.

“My dear, I apologize if I have hurt you. You know that was not my intention,” Elendil spoke, taking the pad of his thumb and wiping the hot tears from her face.

“I know, you didn’t mean to hurt me, I shouldn’t have run out on you like that. I was just overwhelmed, and quite frankly I still am,” Y/n responded, looking into Elendil's ocean-blue eyes that the stars seemed to dance within.

“Your feelings are completely valid, I understand that what I have told you is quite difficult to come to terms with, but you must know that I feel like this is a path I must follow,” he said, wrapping an arm around Y/n’s shoulder and pulling the woman closer until her head was resting against his body.

She stayed quiet for a second, listening to the rhythmic sound of Elendil’s heart beating in his chest. It always helped to calm Y/n down, and in that specific instance, she needed it.

“As much as it pains me, if this is how you feel, I will support you through this. I would never dare clash with the path that fate puts you on, especially if it’s a path that will cement your name in the histories of not only Numenor but Middle Earth as well,” she spoke, lifting her head slightly, letting her see the small smile that tugged at the corners of Elendil’s mouth.

“You do not know how appreciative I am of your support. I am blessed to have a woman so beautiful, caring, and strong love me so deeply,” Elendil responded, his lips affectionately meeting the top of Y/n’s head, as his hand resting on her shoulder rubbed the side of her arm tenderly.

“I’m the lucky one,” Y/n replied before she pressed a heartfelt kiss on Elendil’s lips.

His mouth separated from hers, and he began to pepper kisses down her neck, the scuff of his beard rubbing against her soft skin. She indulged in the sensation, so much so that the conversation that they previously were having almost completely escaped her mind.