#Mae Govannen

[elis-corner]

Hi my elvish friend!

How have you been doing? How has life been to you recently? Don't forget to hydrate and take care of yourself.

Love, Alice 🌸

Mae govannen, mellon nin!

Life has treated me well, though school has started up again and I am quite exhausted!

Thank you for the reminder. I just realised it's two thirty in the afternoon and I haven't drank all day!

Look after yourself too! Lots of love ♥️

[bookwormjust]

Imagine: Thranduil’s Love

The grand halls of Thranduil’s palace shimmered with the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the intricately carved windows, casting silver patterns on the polished stone floor. The gentle rustle of leaves from the ancient trees outside created a soft symphony that seemed to pulse with the heartbeat of the Woodland Realm. Despite the grandeur of the Elvenking’s abode, there was a serene quiet that made the place feel more like a hidden sanctuary than a fortress.

You stood by one of the large arching windows, gazing out at the twilight-draped forest. The trees, ancient and wise, swayed softly under the cool night breeze. Your long, curly brown hair cascaded down your back, catching the faint light as it danced in soft waves. You could feel the lingering magic of the woods, a gentle hum that seemed to echo with the stories of those who had walked these lands before.

Thranduil approached silently, his presence like a soft breeze, gentle but commanding. His silver hair fell in perfect waves over his shoulders, his regal robes flowing with his every step. He had the kind of beauty that was both ethereal and daunting, a presence that commanded attention and respect. But when his eyes found you, they softened, a warmth spreading across his usually composed features.

“Mae govannen, meleth nîn,” he greeted softly, his voice a melodic whisper that seemed to wrap around you like a warm embrace. He always spoke to you in Elvish, the language flowing as naturally from him as the wind through the trees, each word laced with affection and tenderness that he reserved only for you.

You turned to him, your lips curving into a gentle smile. “Mae govannen, Thranduil.” His name felt like a song on your lips, a familiar melody that had become the rhythm of your heart.

He stepped closer, his gaze sweeping over you with a quiet reverence. Thranduil’s eyes, sharp as a hawk’s and yet softened by the depths of his love, held a thousand unspoken words. You were the only one who ever saw this side of him—the side that was not the aloof, powerful king of the Woodland Realm, but simply Thranduil, the elf whose heart was bound to yours for eternity.

Thranduil reached out, his hand gentle as he tucked a stray curl behind your ear. “Ú-caro naur, meleth nîn,” he murmured, his thumb brushing the delicate curve of your cheek. His words were like a tender caress, their meaning sinking deep into your soul. Do not fear, my love.

You leaned into his touch, the warmth of his palm grounding you in this moment. “Man mathach?” you asked softly, your voice carrying a hint of concern. How are you? The weight of the crown was heavy, and you knew that the burdens of the realm often left shadows on his heart.

Thranduil sighed, his expression softening further as he traced the outline of your face with his eyes. “Cenin tegi nadad, anuir a achenor. A aníron le, meleth nîn.” I carry two burdens—forever the crown, and my love for you. But I desire only you, my love.

There was a fragility in his words, a rare vulnerability that he only ever allowed himself to show when you were alone. You knew the weight of his past, the scars that ran deep from battles both on the field and within his heart. And yet, despite the centuries of loss and hardship, he stood here, offering you all that he was and all that he had left to give.

“I feel it too,” you whispered, your hand moving to cover his where it rested against your cheek. “Your love is all I will ever need.”

Thranduil’s eyes searched yours, as if he were committing every detail of this moment to memory. The flickering light of the fire illuminated his sharp features, casting gentle shadows that highlighted the quiet strength etched into every line of his face. He was a king, a warrior, a guardian of the forest—but here, with you, he was simply a husband, a lover who had given his heart fully and irrevocably.

“Gwedhithon le anann, nín meleth,” he murmured, his voice a soft promise that echoed in the quiet space between you. I will bind myself to you forever, my love.

Thranduil leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. His touch was reverent, as though he were handling the most delicate of treasures. He drew you closer, his arms encircling you with a protective warmth that spoke of an unbreakable bond—a bond forged not only in love but in understanding, in shared loss, and in the quiet moments that you held sacred between you.

The pain of his past was a shadow that lingered, the memory of his lost love a scar that would never fully fade. But you were not a replacement, nor a mere echo of what once was. You were his true mate, his heart’s only desire in this lifetime and beyond. His one and only, as the ancient Elven love songs spoke of, the other half of his soul that he had found once again.

“Ú-moe edhored,” he whispered against your hair, holding you tightly as if you might disappear if he let go. I will not lose you. His voice was steady, but you could hear the unspoken fears laced beneath his words, the quiet desperation of a heart that had known too much loss.

You lifted your face to his, your fingers gently brushing against the strong line of his jaw. “I’m here,” you assured him, your voice a steady whisper that cut through the lingering silence. “And I will always be here. We have eternity, Thranduil. And I choose you—now and always.”

A rare smile tugged at his lips, the kind that reached his eyes and softened the regal lines of his face. “Elye aníra amin ve’ quessir ten’ naur, a aníron amin ú mereth an gwend an le,” he said, his words carrying the weight of a promise only an elf could truly make. You are the flame that reignites the fire in me, and I want no love but yours.

He kissed you then, slow and tender, a kiss that spoke of promises kept and a future intertwined with the threads of fate. His lips were soft against yours, his touch gentle yet firm, as if he were pouring all the love and devotion he held for you into that single, lingering kiss.

When he finally pulled away, Thranduil rested his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with your own in the quiet intimacy of the moment. “Le melon,” he whispered, the words soft and filled with a depth of emotion that transcended the simplicity of the phrase. I love you.

And you knew, in that space where only the two of you existed, that Thranduil’s love was a constant, an unbreakable thread that wove your hearts together, bound by fate and the unyielding strength of an elven soul’s true devotion.

[sindar-princeling]

Strider sprang from hiding and dashed down towards the Road, leaping with a cry through the heather; but even before he had moved or called, the rider had reined in his horse and halted, looking up towards the thicket where they stood. When he saw Strider, he dismounted and ran to meet him calling out: Ai na vedui Dúnadan! Mae govannen!

top ten mental images while reading lotr

[draculasfavoritewife]

Meleth Nín (My Love)

Summary: The very future of Middle Earth may hang in the balance, but a quiet night allows thoughts to stray toward questions of a more personal nature.

Pairing: Legolas Thranduilion x elf!Reader/OC

Warnings: Pining, female language used for reader.

I wrote this a couple summers ago during my brief but intense LOTR phase. "Enelya" is the Elvish name I got from a name generator as a kid so I used it here 😁. Apologies for the length, I got massively carried away. This IS supposed to be x reader, I just wrote it before I was comfortable writing in 2nd person.

(Translations of Elvish phrases at the end)

It is my turn for first watch tonight, an assignment that I do not mind even during normal times, and that I am almost bittersweetly grateful for on this night. I have much on my mind that needs settling, and somehow, I do not think that listening to the grating snores of the sons of Gloin and Denethor would give me more peace than the crisp night air. 

The surrounding woods are still, nothing moving about in the underbrush that shouldn’t be, and I allow my guard a chance at rest, turning my attention to the stars instead of the trees. Crouched where I am on a wide branch, I have a perfect window through to the deep ebony expanse of the sky, and a strange blend of homesickness and excitement blazes briefly through my chest. The stars are strange here, arranged differently than they are back in the Greenwood, yet a few familiar individuals still flicker amongst foreign constellations. 

It reminds me of the first time Legolas coaxed me into climbing his favorite tree back home so I could see the stars. I will never forget the wonder I felt as he pulled me through the last layer of obscuring leaves and the sky unfolded before me, rolling on forever. I’d seen the stars many times in Imladris, but they were different there, blessed with a sense of safety and serenity that everything beneath the watchful eyes of Elrond felt. 

With Thranduilion, high in the crown of the wood, balanced on the very threshold of the sky, with nothing anchoring me except his steady hand holding mine, it suddenly seemed I could reach out and touch the Valar themselves. I remember laughing, simply because no other reaction could express what I felt. Thranduilion laughed beside me; it was late, we were the only two still out after a hunt, and I still am not entirely sure why he took me up there. 

Whatever the reason, that instance changed many things for me. It sparked in me something older and fiercer than I knew, some desire for more than what I had there in the Greenwood, much as I loved it. Some yearning which prompted me to accompany my Prince along on this solemn venture, wherever it leads. 

I’ve tried not to admit it, but that night started changing the way I saw him as well. 

Someone approaches, passage no more than a whisper, only slightly less silent than one of my own people, and there is only one it could be. No guard is needed around one I’ve known since we were both children. 

“Estel.” 

“Mae govannen, Enelya.” He leans against my branch, supported on crossed arms. The others call him Strider, or Aragorn, but to me he will always be my Estel, the companion I spent a couple of decades with after my childhood, before my mother’s people sent for me to return to the Greenwood. Elrond looked after the both of us when our mothers died, and besides my Prince and hunting partner, Estel knows me better than any being in all of Arda. 

Silence hangs between us, draped across the strange stars, until he brushes it aside like a curtain of cobwebs. “What troubles you, Gwathel nín?” 

“Who said I was troubled, Gwador nín?” 

“Your face does, for one,” he replies, voice wry. 

“Manen?” 

“Well, you won’t look at me, Mellon nín. That’s usually a telling sign I’m right and you don’t want to admit it.” He gives no sign of letting up with his persistence. 

I sigh and glance down, taking in the familiar grizzled face and sharp gray eyes. “Mar bedithach, Estel?” 

“I’ll leave when you unburden yourself. I’m sure it’s nothing I haven’t already heard from anyone else on this journey. If you miss the Greenwood, or are having a difficult time restraining yourself from stabbing several members of this fine Fellowship, I assure you, you are not weak, nor are you alone.” White teeth flash in a crooked grin, and I can’t help returning it. 

“Those are both excellent guesses, and I admit to you that such thoughts have passed through my mind on multiple occasions. However,” I cast my gaze back up to the heavens, “I highly doubt that anyone else in this…most distinguished company is suffering from the same unrest of the soul that I am.” 

Oh Valar, don’t let my face be heating up…. 

Estel turns so his back rests against my branch, leaving his hands free to light his pipe. He does so and takes a few long draws without responding to my declaration. 

I wrinkle my nose. “You’re inviting an early death with such bad practices, Gwador nín.” 

“So Legolas has informed me several times over, but without such sisterly concern for my health.” He’s laughing at me on the inside, I can tell. “Speaking of, am I terribly far from the mark in assuming your fair Prince is the source of your ‘unrest of the soul’, Mellon nín?” 

He knows me too well. Even decades apart have done nothing to weaken the bond we shared as children, nor have I mastered any technique of hiding my thoughts that can escape his piercing gaze, it seems. 

“You don’t have to answer,” Estel murmurs. “Your silence speaks more clearly than anything you could say.” 

“I didn’t think I would fall in love with him,” I offer. 

A grunt is his disbelieving answer. “You spend every free minute together, and even the time that is required for patrolling, hunting, and so on and so forth. To be bluntly honest, I’m surprised it took you six decades. I owe my brothers some money, it would seem, if they still recall the wager we made upon your departure from Elrond’s house. Perhaps I won’t remind them.” 

I can’t decide whether to be astonished or angry. “You and the twins made a wager on me?” 

“Not on you,” Estel is quick to clarify. “On how long it would take you to develop an attraction towards Thranduilion.” 

“So you all just assumed I would, hmm?” 

“And rightly.” He sounds so insolent, as if all of a sudden he is once again the younger brother, and not the protective elder he made himself out to be as he reached maturity. “It was only a matter of time, Gwathel nín. You held out longer than I bet, of course, but Thranduilion is easy to like and perhaps even easier to love. My correspondence with you has been irregular, I will be the first to admit, but from the time I learned of your partnership on both the battlefield and hunting grounds, I thought you would find him a kindred spirit, and someone to admire.” 

I shake my head as if to protest, but what is there to protest? Estel sees truth. Far from being pampered royalty, Legolas it was who took it upon himself to teach me the ways of his father’s kingdom. He reawakened the Silvan part of my heritage that had long since been denied its native wildness in Imladris, and instilled in me that ferocious love for the Greenwood that keeps the Silvan people rooted there even now, as we have to scrape our very livelihoods out of the Dark Lord’s overhanging shadow. We get along as well as if we have walked side by side for an Age, not the paltry decades I have been in the employ of King Thranduil’s guard. The Prince chooses me for the majority of his hunts and orc raids, and we have reached an understanding so fine that words need not be exchanged for us to always know where the other is in the thick of combat. 

He is nearly as much a part of my identity as the Silvan and Noldor blood that runs mingled through my veins. 

Is it any wonder, then, that I want more? 

“Enelya.” Estel’s voice is soft as he blows smoke into the breeze. “You can talk to me, you know. I’ll die before I betray your trust.” 

“I know.” I sink to a sitting position and let one leg dangle into space, resting an arm across my other knee. “I’m not entirely sure what else to say, aside from what I’ve already said. I love him, Estel.” 

He nods thoughtfully and taps the end of his pipe against his teeth. “Your eyes betray you when we travel. Ever they seek him out, even as you watch the landscape for danger.” 

Estel almost seems about to say something else, but even minutes of waiting do not draw it out of him, so I go back to the protest I would have made. 

“He does not distract me. I am as deadly as ever.” 

“I did not accuse you of distraction. I only observed that you watch him.” His eyes flit upwards, to my face, before darting away into the darkness again. “As he does you.” 

I stare down into my sworn brother’s shadowed countenance, unsure of whether my ears are playing tricks on me. Estel wouldn’t lie about such things. Surely I heard wrong. 

“He does what?” 

A burst of smoke from between his lips could mean either amusement or irritation. With Estel, the two often travel hand in hand. “Thranduilion. His eyes follow where you go when we are on the move. Always his attention is on you, even as he stands watch over us. You mean a great deal to him, Mellon nín.” 

Trying to tamp down the surge of emotion rising inside me, I shrug, letting the wind run its cool, long fingers through my hair. “I should hope I do. We’ve been through much together, and saved each other’s lives many times.” 

Now I know he’s annoyed with me. “I meant more than that. I don’t have much with which to wager at the moment, but if I did, I might wager he feels similarly about you as you do him.” 

I stare down at Estel, but he’s looking away again. “Well. Even if that were the case….” I trail off, pulling my knees back up to my chest. “There are too many problems standing in our way.” 

“Such as…?” 

“By the Valar, you’ve become so nosy in your old age, Little Brother.” Despite my ribbing, I can tell by the set of his jaw that this ridiculous matter has become of utmost importance to him for some reason, and I know Estel too well to believe he would give up before we have talked this through. I sigh, resigning myself to discussing my nonexistent romance with him. 

“For one, he’s thousands of years older than I, Estel. I’m barely over a century old.” 

“Oh no,” he mutters dryly. “How scandalous, an age difference.” 

Realizing that he and Arwen are also thousands of years apart, I drop my forehead to my knees. “Well, maybe that wasn’t the best reason.” 

“No, it wasn’t.” Another long draw of his pipe sends a misty cloud drifting about his face. 

“His father would never approve of his son taking up with a Silvan and not a Sindar.” This is painfully true. Legolas told me of his father’s harsh objections to his interest in Tauriel quite some time ago. 

“Are you in love with Thranduil?” Estel asks in a monotone. 

I glare at him. “No! Mîbo orch, Estel.” 

He ignores my insult. “Then worry less about what Thranduil thinks and more about what Legolas thinks. He’s as loyal as one could ever be to those he chooses, and more than stubborn enough to stand up to his father.” 

There is wisdom in his words. However, the biggest reason that has kept me silent on this subject for so long still remains. 

“You know Elves only love once,” he murmurs, tone fading to gentle. “And they seldom err in their choice of soulmate.” 

“I know.” The words slip from my tongue, condensing in the cool air. “And he once thought he loved another.” 

Estel says nothing to this revelation, merely sending smoke rings floating up into the night sky. I can’t tell if he’s pondering what I’ve said, or if he truly has no rebuttal for it. 

“You never saw the way he looked at her, Estel. He talked about her many times when it was just he and I on a hunt. No one else was ever allowed to see how deeply he was hurt when she fell for the Dwarf. I can’t be sure, but I expect he’s never been the same since.” It feels freeing, to finally relate all of this to my sworn brother. I keep many secrets, probably the reason Legolas felt he could confide his heartbreak in me. Yet long has that particular burden hung heavy on my own heart, and I am relieved to bare it to the man beside me. 

His hand rests comfortingly on my back, once again the protector he thought I needed when we were young. “None of us are ever the same as we once were, Mellon nín. Much as you resemble the elleth I once knew, even you have been changed by your time in the Greenwood. Your people may not change as swiftly nor as dramatically as mine, and yet not even the eternal can live so long in Arda without being shaped. Six decades certainly influence a lot of things.” 

I nod, turning his argument over in my mind. “You say he watches for me?” 

The small smile that crosses Estel’s weather-worn face is this time not sarcastic nor teasing. “Indeed he does. Whenever the two of you are parted for a time, even if it is just that I sent you off to scout ahead, he is as tightly drawn as his own bowstring until you return. Who knows, perhaps even he hasn’t entirely recognized it yet. But something will come of it, Enelya. Of this I am sure.” 

“And if Elladan and Elrohir were along with us, am I to assume you would all place a wager on how soon?” 

He nudges me with his elbow. “There’s that sense of humor I’ve been missing. Now, I suppose I had better leave you, because as unobtrusive as he thinks he is being, someone else is waiting for you. I’ll take next watch. Losto mae, Gwathel nín.” 

“Nostad lín sui orch, Estel,” I snicker, referring both to the stench of his pipe and what I’ve been telling him since childhood. “And le hannon.” 

He waves as he returns to the light of the fire. “Carnen an gwend, Enelya.” 

I stare back at the stars above me, knowing that if who Estel implied is really waiting for me, he will approach at his own time and no amount of cajoling will bend him my way sooner. 

So I wait as well. 

No more than a sigh of the tree itself heralds his arrival beside me on the branch. 

“Do you wish to be alone with your thoughts, Mellon nín?” 

Gazing over my shoulder, I am met by Thranduilion’s piercing blue eyes as he leans against the trunk of my perch. 

“If so, I will gladly leave you to them.” There is the slightest wistful note beneath his tone; for all his politeness, he wishes to speak to me. 

Did he overhear my conversation with Estel? 

Heart starting to flutter like a sparrow’s wings, I shake my head. “Avo ‘osto, Hîr nín. Baren bar lin, as they say.” 

“What have I done to deserve such formal address, Mellon?” he asks lightly. Though he laughs, warm and cheerful, an undercurrent of hurt runs deep through the words. 

Does it hurt him, truly, to call him so? “Goheno nin, Thranduilion,” I murmur, unable to look away from that intense gaze. “My mind was not in the present moment, I fear.” 

“Ú-moe edaved, Enelya.” His reply is warm, and I cannot miss the affection that wreathes around my name as it falls from his lips. “I am only glad to learn I have not offended you.” 

“Rest assured, I would have let you know in no uncertain terms if you had,” I inform him saucily. 

His laughter at my cheek is bright now, all trace of concern gone. “This is true.” Nodding towards my view of the dark sky, he leans closer, bending so he can see what I am seeing. “Looking for old friends among the new?” 

“Indeed.” I stretch out my spine, careful not to knock him away from my shoulder. “I miss some of our constellations that you pointed out to me in the Greenwood.” 

Legolas stands upright again. “Aphado nin.” He reaches upward for a branch and swings to a higher level. 

I rise to my feet and stare up at him between the leaves. “Am man theled?” 

“To see the whole sky, of course. You’ll never gaze upon the greater picture if you do not climb higher, Mellon nín.” He holds out a hand. 

I take it, allowing him to pull me up to his level before continuing the climb. “You said those very words when you made me climb that tree the first time back home.” 

“I didn’t make you.” I can nearly hear the smirk in his voice. “You were given a choice.” 

It is my turn to laugh now. “Not when you say such poetic and inspiring things, Legolas. Although I was terrified of climbing to the crown of that tree, your way of putting it made me feel I should never be complete until I had seen the whole sky. I consider myself bewitched.” 

He shoves my shoulder as he easily passes me up. “No one is whole unless they have seen the entire sky. Estelio nin. It is truth.” 

“I do trust you. That’s why I climbed the tree with you that night, even though I was still frightened of falling. I knew you would catch me.” 

We remain in silence then until we break through the leaves, pushing through as if to the surface from underwater. I cannot count the amount of times I’ve done something similar with Thranduilion, those late nights after a hunt, but it still takes my breath away, to gaze upon the veil of stars and clouds that rolls ever on to the very edges of Arda. The sight makes the songs of my people flow through my veins, never failing to give me the gift of peace. 

I should thank him for introducing me to the sky more often. 

“I hope I never grow tired of this.” It takes me a moment to realize I’ve breathed the words aloud. 

Legolas is gazing out in the opposite direction, handsome face serene. “You will not.” 

I want to impertinently ask him how he would know, but I swallow the teasing words. He has walked these lands for nearly three millennia, and still finds such joy in it that he felt he needed to introduce me to that joy. He would know. 

“Enelya.” 

“Yes, Mellon nín?” I turn to face him. 

He drops down to sit on a branch that is old enough to serve as a seat. “Will you help me?” 

I know what he is asking for. He’s perfectly capable of doing it himself, but it has been a ritual of ours for years, and I enjoy it as much as he does. “Of course.” I make my way to his side and start to unwind his braids. 

“I’ll do the same for you,” he promises, relaxing into my touch. 

I weave my fingers through his silky hair as I release it to the mercies of the breeze, untangling any knots, minuscule as they are, and drawing out fronds of moss and bits of leaf that have found their way into his tresses. I can’t remember when we first started caring for each other’s hair at the end of the day, but it is always one of my favorite times spent with him. The few moments we have no responsibilities and can just talk about nothing, as friends are wont to. 

“What do you think the others would say, if they knew the truth?” I ask teasingly, moving to the tiny braids over his ear. 

His eyes flash to give me a sideways glance. “What do you mean?” 

I smirk. “Do you not hear them speak of you, in wondering whispers? They all ask how Thranduilion manages to stay so neat, how his hair, long and beautiful as it is, remains free of forest debris and untroubled by tangles. They have begun to speculate that it is some gift from Elbereth, that he looks fresh as the day we set off while the rest of them grow ever more unkempt. What would they say, if they knew it is simply because I re-braid your hair every night?” 

Wicked mischief flashes across his countenance for a brief instant. “They would all come running to you for your excellent services, I imagine. Do you want me to tell them, and so dispel the legends? I would prefer to keep your company in such matters to myself, but perhaps I shouldn’t be so selfish. After all,” he leans closer to whisper, “it might be worth it, to see you running your fingers through Aragorn’s oily mane.” 

I can’t stop the choking noise that comes from my throat. “I love that man, but there are some things I will never do for him, Legolas.” 

His quiet laughter floats into the night. “Nor should you have to.” 

Something pricks my fingertip and I yank my hand away from his hair. “Ai! Is this a burr, Thranduilion? Where on Arda did you find that?” 

He shrugs easily. “It could have been anywhere. Yet I assume it came from one of my solitary scouts. Had the halflings followed where I tread, surely they would have all come away full of them.” 

I try not to laugh at the thought of our four smallest companions drowning in burrs. “It is fortunate you only picked up one.” 

Once my Prince’s hair has been seen to, he turns so I can sit before him and begins the same process on mine. Much as I love the feeling of the wind running its fingers through my hair, it cannot compete with the gentle and nimble hands of Legolas. My eyes close as those hands begin their familiar path, and for some time all that I know is the warmth of his body next to mine and the soft melody of the well-loved song he hums next to my ear. 

Is it any wonder, that I have come to care for him as I do? 

“Mellon nín?” he murmurs suddenly. 

“Yes?” 

“What made you decide to accompany me on this quest? You know you could have returned to the Greenwood.” 

“That I do.” I sigh and let my eyes flutter open again. How much do I say? “But if this quest fails, it will not matter if I had returned to the Greenwood, for even Thranduil Elvenking cannot keep the shadows at bay forever if the Dark Lord triumphs.” 

He is silent for some time, and I let him remain so. I learned long ago that Legolas will not share what is on his mind except at a time of his own choosing. 

“I suppose you are right,” he finally concedes. His fingertips brush my ear, and I shiver at the contact. “It was no doubt my own desire to know you would be safer at home that clouded such truth from my mind.” His voice grows somber. “You do know, Enelya, that we may never see the Greenwood again.” 

“Of course, Mellon nín. Yet through all my time in my mother’s land I have been at your side, and the Valar themselves could not keep me from staying beside you. Even unto the Halls of Mandos, I would rather accompany you than be apart from you.” My breath catches on the last word. Have I said too much? 

His hands pause in their combing to rest upon my shoulders. “I am blessed, then, to have found such a companion as you.” 

“Le hannon, Legolas.” 

When next he speaks, there is a layer of hesitation resting over his tone that I rarely hear from him. “Do you know, I was quite angry when you first insisted on traveling with me.” 

“Oh, I remember. How could I not?” I sniff. “You didn’t speak to me the entire first day of our journey.” 

“I am not proud of my conduct,” he admits penitently. “However, I do realize, since that time has passed, that some good came of it.” 

I feel his long fingers trace my jawline, soft as a breath, turning my face slightly and prompting me to shift so I can meet his gaze. 

His eyes are deep and thoughtful, turned mithril silver by the moon as it breaks from behind a cloud. 

“Do you know, Enelya, how that one day without your company felt to me? Even the torture of seeing you walk at the perimeter of our Fellowship, yet kept from approaching you — by my own stubbornness — made my heart feel sundered from my chest. I realized that day that I could not have endured it if you had indeed returned home as I suggested. One day without your laugh, without your smile on me, was enough for a lifetime.” Legolas’s tone is raw with honesty, and a great many things seem to be making sense to me now. 

It would seem Estel may have been correct, after all, though I won’t tell him so. 

I remember how difficult that first day of the trek was, knowing all too well that Legolas was displeased with my choice. I have seen him angry, at his father, usually, and I knew all the signs too well. I can recall then how delighted and relieved I was when I awoke the following morning to the smell of my favorite fish baking over the fire; Legolas and I have had our fair share of tiffs over the long years, and that is his tried-and-true method of asking my forgiveness when he is at fault. 

We ate our morning meal sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, no one else the wiser of our wordless play of apologies and affirmations. 

Well, Estel probably was. But he doesn’t count. 

“What do you wish to say to me, Mellon nín?” I murmur, lifting my own fingers to brush against his cheek. 

He leans into my touch. “I have thought about you much during these uncertain days, even when we are not given much opportunity to talk. About how sorely I would have missed your presence, and grieved at not being able to feel you at my back whenever we face a threat. About how much I have missed times like this, when there is no one but you and I beneath the stars, sitting in the lap of the heavens.” 

“And what would you have done, without me to braid your hair? Become as scruffy as dear Estel?” I tease. 

He curls his lip in mock disgust. “Gerich faer vara, suggesting such a thing to me! I should certainly think not. I admire your Estel, Mellon nín, but I don’t believe the man has bathed once since we set out from Imladris. Yet he has had plenty of chances!” 

I laugh, leaning back against his chest and settling into my new position, comfortable from countless times of sitting like this. “Estel and his questionable hygiene aside, what were you saying?” 

His hands trail down my arms to my hands, where he weaves our fingers together. His hands are finer, more elegant than a mortal man’s, yet they are still wider than mine, surrounding my smaller ones with gentle fondness. This, too, is a much-practiced gesture between us, though there is a different flavor to it tonight. It feels more intimate, as if it means more than our mutual trust and respect this time. 

He smiles; I can hear it in his singsong words, close to my ear. “What I am trying to say, Enelya, is le annon veleth nín.” 

He gives his love to me? 

“Gerich veleth nín,” I answer simply. “It already belonged to you.” 

His lips brush my hair. “I used to wonder, when I was a much younger ellon, why I never felt the need to find a life partner when I came of age. Indeed, Ada certainly bothered me about it for several centuries, until other more pressing issues caught his attention.” 

I’ve never heard Legolas refer to Thranduil as Ada, and certainly not with the echo of a sigh beneath the endearment. It makes my heart ache strangely, to wonder what long-forgotten love once flowed freely between adar and iôn before they let their rift widen so far. 

But this moment is not to be sullied by mourning what has been lost. 

“Do you believe one can wait thousands of years to find their soulmate?” he asks. 

“I do. I know most can’t fathom such a wait, but for our people, it does not matter.” 

“Truly. I think I never pursued anyone with much seriousness because my heart knew it was waiting for yours.” Legolas turns me slightly, so our eyes can meet again. “I would make up for my blindness, Meleth nín, if you wish it.” 

I rest my forehead against his. “I wish it so, Meleth nín.” 

Then his lips are pressing into mine, and this kiss that I have awaited many years is a summer thunderstorm, warm and wild, washing away everything that came before and paving the way for love to bloom. 

Whatever our perilous path holds for us, I suddenly have all certainty that we can weather it. 

Together. 

Mae govannen = Well met

Gwathel/Gwador nín = Sworn sister/brother

Manen = How?

Mellon nín = My friend

Mar bedithach = When are you leaving?

Mîbo orch = Go kiss an orc

Losto mae = Sleep well

Nostad lín sui orch = You smell like an orc

Le hannon = Thank you

Carnen an gwend = For friendship

Avo ‘osto = Don't worry

Hîr nín = My Lord

Baren bar lin = My home is yours

Goheno nin = Forgive me

Ú-moe edaved = No need to forgive

Aphado nin = Follow me

Am man theled = Why?

Estelio nin = Trust me

Gerich faer vara = You have a fiery spirit

Le annon veleth nín = I give my love to you

Gerich veleth nín = You have my love

[nocompromise-noregrets]

hi! I'd love to hear about the fic where bard fluffs his sindarin and causes an incident lol 💜

hiiiii! This was in response to a prompt by the lovely @myeaglesong and involves Tauriel accidentally teaching Bard slightly more words than she intended to, and Bard then getting two words which sound rather similar* somewhat unfortunately confused when attempting to have a normal conversation with Thranduil, not at all aided by the fact that he is really not at all unflustered whenever he's in Thranduil's presence XD I've done the buildup but have to actually write the conversation with Thranduil, and I got a bit distracted by various things and still haven't finished it, oops >.< so I'm not entirely sure how much of an incident actually occurs, or whether the diplomatic incident is in fact Dáin having kittens over the thought of his two uneasy allies being somewhat more closely allied XD

*it is, of course 'mellon' and 'meleth' :D Here's an extract:

“Now - where do we start?” “I should say, with a greeting,” said Tauriel. “Mae govannen means ‘well met’, and it can also mean welcome, so it’s an appropriate thing to say in your situation, since my King is a guest in your city.” “Mae govannen,” Bard repeated, trying to replicate Tauriel’s accent, though he didn’t think he was managing it very well. “Mae govannen.” He tried again, and Tauriel smiled. “Very good,” she said. “I think your accent helps. You sound like the Men of Dale used to sound.” “This is how my Da sounded, and my grand-da,” said Bard. “People from Lake-town had all sorts of accents, because they came from all over, but the few of us who are left whose ancestors escaped alive out of the ruins of Dale, we sound more or less like this.” He blinked. “I suppose you remember them. I don’t think I’ll ever be used to it, you only look about five years older than Sigrid.” “We traded with Dale,” said Tauriel, “and - well, it was only a couple of hundred years ago, and for us that’s not very long at all.” “I don’t think I’ll ever understand,” said Bard. “You’re all older than I can possibly imagine.” “That’s not to say we can’t forge friendships, though,” said Tauriel. “Which I hope we’ve been doing. And I suppose that leads to another word I can teach you - mellon-nín, which means ‘my friend’.” She chuckled, and took a sip of wine. “Although you have to be careful, because it’s quite close to meleth-nín, which means ‘my love’.” “Oh,” said Bard. “I rather wish you hadn’t told me that second one, because now I’m bound to get the two confused.” He echoed Tauriel’s laugh, nervously, hoping to cover up how hard his heart was suddenly beating, and to distract himself from the thoughts that suddenly wanted to fill his mind. “Anyway, I don’t think either of them are going to be appropriate if I’m talking to your King.” Tauriel took another mouthful of wine and then passed the flagon back to Bard. “Perhaps not the second one,” she said, sounding amused, “but the first one - maybe. It’s presumptuous, to be certain, and he wouldn’t take it from any of us, but you’re technically his equal now, and Sindarin is not your first language and you’re making an effort with it, for him. I think he might find it charming.”

Thank you for asking! <3333333 if anyone else fancies asking me about any of my current WIPs, the list is here!

[hypnoneghoul]

Hiril o Indon

WC: 1,1K

Relationship: Rain & Dewdrop

Tags: The Lord of the Rings AU, Fantasy AU, Elvish (Sindarin), PiV Sex/Anal Sex, Implied Transmasc Dewdrop, Reunion Sex, Elf!Dewdrop, Dúnedain!Rain

Weeks had passed, since they had last laid eyes on each other. Even though weeks, days, even years, were nothing to elves, barely blink of an eye, the longing in both their hearts felt like an endless pit. It had to come to an end, and it would. Soon.

Notes: lotr au, baby, and they speak elvish!

Read under the cut or on AO3.

Weeks had passed, since they had last laid eyes on each other. Even though weeks, days, even years, were nothing to elves, barely blink of an eye, the longing in both their hearts felt like an endless pit.

It had to come to an end, and it would. Soon.

It was night when Dewdrop had awoken with a start, the light of Eärendil enclosed in the pendant on his chest pulsing with what the elf could only assume was need for the one it detected, finally in its—and his—reach.

Dewdrop had stumbled out of his chamber on unsteady legs, running blindly in the direction his heart and the holy light had told him to run in. His shoulders had slumped and his soul had ached as that familiar voice had reached his ears, greeting a guard. He had paused by one of the stone staircases and looked into the distance with a fond smile painted on his face and a glimmer of tears in his eyes.

There, by the gate, two figures, human and an elf, came face to face in the darkness of a new moon’s night, surrounded only in a pale starlight of ever present elven magic.

Oh, how he had missed him.

“Daro! Iston lín?” Dewdrop heard the guard ask the man. (Stop! Do I know you?)

“Mae, im Miste,” Rain answered, revealing his face, and Dewdrop felt his stomach clench. He was so close, the closest he has been in what felt like ages, and yet so far. (Yes, I’m Rain.)

“E herven nîn,” he called out, and both the guard’s and Rain’s heads snapped to look up at him. (He’s my husband.)

“Hir nîn,” the guard bowed to Dewdrop with a hand over his heart. He moved to the side, letting Rain into the elven household. He and Dewdrop walked to each other with grace, Rain’s hand on the pommel of his sword, Dewdrop’s clasped behind his back. (My lord.)

“Cenin tellich.” (I see you came.)

“Hir nîn,” the man spoke, bowing his head as if he was not worthy of looking at the light of Valinor incarnate. (My Lord.)

“Amralime,” Dewdrop whispered. He stepped closer, putting a gentle hand on Rain’s battle-roughed one. “Mae govannen ben cardh nîn. I missed you, Rain.” (My love. Welcome to my home.)

“I missed you too, herves nîn,” the man chuckled and he could no longer keep himself from grabbing a hold of the elf’s hand and leaning down to press his chapped lips to the immaculate skin glowing with Valinor’s light. (My wife.)

“Le tarlanc, you have to stop calling me your wife,” Dewdrop smiled, placing his free hand on Rain’s shoulder. “It is confusing to my kin.” (You’re stubborn.)

“Ú-aniron,” he straightened and locked eyes with his husband, bright with happiness. (I don’t care.)

The elf only shook his head with a light laugh on his lips, “Kiss me, Miste.” (Rain.)

“Be iest lîn,” Rain obliged, cupping Dewdrop’s cheek with all the care in the world, as if he was fragile glass, and leaning down to press their lips together. At last, after so many days apart. (As you wish.)

Silence fell over the valley, interrupted only by the sound of waterfalls and wind carrying the elven voices singing the hymn of Elbereth Gilthoniel. The lovers got lost in each other, finally having a chance to do so, and parting, even for breath, made spikes of hurt stab into both their hearts.

“Le vain,” Rain muttered in between kisses, reveling in the softness of Dewdrop’s robes and his skin where it was generously revealed, his body finally on Rain’s own. (You’re beautiful.)

The elf pulled away, just enough to utter a single word, “Bado.” (Come.)

Rain nodded, and Dewdrop turned to walk back up the stairs, to return to his chamber and give himself to his husband again. 

They would peel off their clothes with reverence, worshiping every sliver of newly revealed skin, adorning it with kisses. Dewdrop would spread himself out in the softness of his elven bedding, soft as feathers. He would not only let Rain, but beg for him to trail his lips down his body and remind him once again of one of the many talents of the man, by breaking Dewdrop apart and putting him back together with nothing but his mouth.

“Herves nîn,” Rain would whisper into the pale skin of his. (My wife.)

“Lîn,” Dewdrop would respond, breathy and high, and with the last flick of his husband’s tongue it would break into a sound so magnificent that Rain would have to bite into his own lip—so hard he would draw blood—to not break himself. He would kiss the crimson into Dewdrop’s mouth, and pull himself up. (Yours.)

He would watch Dewdrop from above, the silver of his hair sprawled out on the pillow like an intense aura of Valinor’s power. It ran in Dewdrop’s blood and Rain had tasted it so many times. He could not believe he was granted such an honor, such a gift. He did nothing to deserve it, he would say.

Then Rain would take himself in hand and push into his lover, shuddering as the warmth of his body would envelop him and squeeze at the same time the coldness of his love already wrapped around his heart would do so.

“Bado,” Dewdrop would tell him again when he would feel Rain’s strong body shake. “Bado, amralime.” (Come. Come, my love.)

And Rain would, never strong enough to not follow disobey any order Dewdrop might give him. He would fall apart and the elf would follow shortly when he would be filled to the brim with a physical manifestation of all the love Rain holds for him.

Rain would stay like that, not having any desire to part with his Dewdrop even for the shortest of moments. They would lay together, relishing in the grace of each other’s presence and affection, whispering soft words, just for the sake of uttering them.

“Renech i lu i erui govannen?” Dewdrop would ask. (Do you remember when we first met?)

“Neuthannem i ned ol reniannen,” Rain would admit, smiling where he would have his face nestled in the crook of the elf’s neck. (I thought I was dreaming.)

“Renech i beth i pennen?” (Do you remember what I told you?)

Rain would never forget, “You said that even if Manwë Súlimo would step down from Taniquetil and said to you you must not give into your hearts desire of tying yourself to a mortal, you would not obey.”

“Sa tîr,” Dewdrop would whisper, kissing the top of his husband’s head. “Gerich meleth nîn, Miste.” (That’s true. I love you, Rain.)

“A gerich nîn, Rosse,” he would reply. (And I love you, Dew.)

“Maer ól.” (Sleep well.)

“Maer dú, hiril o indon.” (Goodnight, lady of my heart.)

[ramoth13]

Sauron, Sacrifice, & Creation Ex Nihilo (Season Two, Episode 1)

Mae Govannen!

It has been some time since my last Rings of Power post and I am excited to post a few new ones.

In watching episode 1 of season 2, I was struck by a motif established in season 1, "creation demands sacrifice" which was exemplified by Galadriel's sacrifice of her brother's dagger to forge the rings.

In order to delve into the lore's implications within this series, a proper preliminary excursion into the source material is necessary. In the creation of the world, the Valar, at the behest of Eru, created the world. It was Eru that created from nothing, so that the Valar could create with something. Thus, it was Eru that "began" the making, but it was the Valar that created most of the known world of Arda. Why is this relevant?

Because each of the Valar were given gifts to augment the world around it. Yavanna made the twin trees of Valinor, which bloomed and bore the fruit of the moon and the sun in later days. Yet, Melkor (AKA Morgoth) did not bestow his augmentation. That distinction is important when considering what accomplishments came later, specifically making dragons. Melkor had to give of his own power to achieve his creations, and was lessened by them (as all of the Valar were, but that was by design; sacrifice was part of the deal).

Maiar cannot create from nothing.

What is interesting about this is that lower Maiar were given less power to begin with than the Valar. Sauron and Saruman both served Aulë originally, and they understood crafting in a way that others (Morgoth included) did not. Thus, while Morgoth gave of himself to augment life and flesh (forging dragons, twisting elves, wolves, men, [trolls have been theorized to have been tainted Ents, but that is not confirmed so far as I am aware] etc.) Sauron only did this once to the ring.

(SHOW SPOILER FOR EPISODE 1 OF SEASON 2)

But in the show, Sauron is "killed" in the first episode, and comes back. The fundamental interest here is how he returns. Not by chance, or luck, but by sacrifice. Notice, he does not return to form by merely remaking himself, or growing bits out of nothing, but by absorbing and sacrificing elements around him. He must slowly build back his power by consuming things around him. Or in other words, the show illustrates a very poignant element from the beginning, his power is limited by what he expends.

Sauron cannot create from nothing, thus his powers are as a battery.

I am excited to see where the rest of the series goes, but this motif is one I have loved and found to be a very endearing and enduring part of Tolkien's original design. I love that they kept it so close to the core of the show.

Galu!

~ Ramoth13

[imtrouble]

On a social media app and receive a friend request from a self-described lord of the rings nerd

I say "Mae Govannen!"

He responds with something he says is "you're beautiful" but actually means "elven book"

A fake. How disappointing.

[thetempleofthemasaigoddess]

Like rivulets of gold

Haldir x reader. Nethel is Sindarin for sister.

The fic was inspired by this imagine by @imaginexhobbit.

This fic is dedicated to the lovely @starlady66!!

*****

Your patrol shift at the farthest corner of Lothlórien has just ended, and while part of you cannot wait to return to your talan for a long and well deserved night’s sleep, the other is much more anxious to see Haldir and your friends.

This is the part that prevails, despite the weariness.

This is why, once you have passed the borders of Caras Galadhon, you exchange a nod and a smile with the guards on duty and without further delay you head for the Wardens’ Hall, a spacious, low-roofed chamber where you and your comrades gather to eat, receive orders from your superiors and, overall, spend time together and relax when you have no duties to attend to. The full moon has risen in the sky at least two hours ago, which means supper time must be over, but you are almost sure Haldir and his brothers are still there; and in any case, making sure will only cost you a few minutes.

The light of the torches shines inside the sparsely decorated chamber, spreading a warm, orange glow; a few guards sit at the tables you usually have your meals at, nursing a cup of ale or engrossed in a conversation. You share a smile and a nod with a few of them while you look around you; Haldir is not here, but Rúmil and Orophin are… and both look in a horrible mood.

“Mae govannen.” you greet them as you approach, and both stand to greet you with a kiss.

“Well met, nethel.” they say almost as one. They have started to call you that five years ago, soon after you and their older brother had begun courting, and it still never fails to warm your heart every time they do it.

“How was patrol?” Rúmil asks as they make space for you on the bench, and you leave your bow and quiver against the wall, letting your poor feet rest for a while.

“Tiring, but fortunately no orcs incursions or anything else to report.” you succintly explain, hoping to quickly conclude the conversation. The last thing you want is to appear rude, especially when you are in the company of two of your dearest friends -and who were such even before you and Haldir began courting- but the Elf you have at heart the most is not here, and you do not want to waste any more time before seeing him “Where is Haldir?”

The two brothers exchange a glance, frowning once more. “He is at his talan. But, (name), I do not think he wants to see you now - or anyone else for that matter.”

“Yes, it is better if you leave him alone for a while.”

“Is something wrong?” you wonder, immediately worried; you and Haldir had not quarreled and he was fine when you said goodbye two days ago, so why should he not want to see you, as it has long been your habit every time one of the two returns from patrol?

“Eithruin.” they answer as one once more, and you think you should have known.

Eithruin is one of your fellow guards, only a few years older than you; mercurial and bad-tempered, she is quite unpopular among her comrades, even though you must concede she is one of the most capable and experienced among the marchwardens. She is also a former, unrequited, suitor of Haldir: a few years ago, she confessed her feelings to him, who -as kindly as he could- rejected her. And that is where trouble began. Ever since, hurt and annoyed by that rejection, Eithruin has taken every opportunity to bother Haldir: she gainsays him every time she can, and takes delight in causing trouble for him or to embarass him in front of your superiors. Furthermore, once you and Haldir have begun courting, you have also become a favourite victim of her malice.

“What happened this time?” you ask with a sigh while Rúmil wordlessly puts a cup of ale in your hands, that you gratefully bring to your lips.

“You remember that tomorrow morning the lady Galadriel will announce her choice regarding the captaincy?”

You did not, which is surprising, since you have thought about nothing else for days, even though the matter does not concern you directly. A month ago it was announced one of the wardens would be promoted to captain; one of the other officers has told you in confidence that Haldir is one of the two guards who has the best chance of being chosen… together with Eithruin.

“I swear, if Eithruin is made captain, I will move to Eryn Galen.” Orophin says as he passes an hand on his face “I am not saying it simply because Haldir is my brother and I want him to succeed; she is so insufferable already, can you imagine what it will be once she can order us around?”

You cannot help but agree; you know becoming captain would mean so much for Haldir, and that he deserves the promotion more than anyone else, but anyone, literally every Elf in Lothlórien, would be preferable to Eithruin… because having her as your superior would be a calvary for Haldir and for those he loves - namely the three of you.

“Go on, please.” you beg the brothers of your beloved, and Rúmil explains that for days Eithruin has been even more insufferable than usual, teasing him every chance she got and even speaking ill of him with one of lady Galadriel’s handmaidens, clearly aiming to cast him in a bad light with the Lady herself. Haldir, who is sensible and level-headed and -usually- above such petty arguments, ignored her like he had done countless times before, and in a couple of cases even turned the insult against her.

But that night, only two hours before your return, irked because she had been unable to upset him or maybe because she feared Haldir would be chosen as captain against her, Eithruin had stooped lower than ever before.

“We were having supper together, and Haldir had just sat after filling his plate.” Rúmil explains “Eithruin walked past him, and said…”

You are squeezing the cup in your hands so hard your knuckles have turned white. “Yes?”

“Oh, (name)… She said… you should reduce your food portions, Haldir, or soon you will not fit in your uniform anymore. You are already fat enough to pass for a Man, if you gain more weight they will mistake you for an Orc.”

You gape, the incredulity leaving you speechless for a minute. “What?” you cry in the end, loud enough that all the Elves in the chamber turn in your direction “That… she said what?!”

Haldir is quite well-liked by his fellow guards -which, in your opinion, would serve him well should he be made captain- but naturally it happens that disagreements arise between him and his comrades; a few times, he even quarrelled with his brothers or with you. But in no case, no matter how angry the other person was, anyone has ever mentioned the topic you all know is most painful for your beloved to think about: his weight. Haldir has always been embarassed by his stocky -you prefer saying strong, but still- build, which is indeed slightly heavier than most Elves', especially since both Rúmil and Orophin are much slimmer; the matter has long been a source of shame and unease for him, something than even his few detractors have respected, but mentioning it in public, to embarass him in front of his fellow guards… it is cruel, and petty, and cowardly, and something you will make sure to punish.

“Is it true?” you ask, your ale long forgotten; you know Eithruin, the depth of her contempt for Haldir and what she could do to hurt him, but still cannot believe she would lower herself to this “Orophin, did Eithruin really say that to Haldir?”

“I fear she did; we were sitting at this very table, and we were all present. Haldir… Haldir said nothing; he rose from the table and left. The two of us attempted to follow him to reassure and comfort him, but he asked us to leave him alone for a while; I think he went back home.”

You nod slowly, feeling your heart break at the thought of what your beloved had to bear; Haldir is not hurt -not physically, at least, not in a way that could endanger his life- but you grieve for him all the same, knowing how painful it must have been for him to be mocked for his weight… and are full of rage for the Elf who ridiculed him and exploited his deepest vulnerability for the sole reason to humiliate him in front of his peers.

Eru help you, when you will be done with her Eithruin will regret the day she was born!

It takes you a moment as you look around the Hall to find her; she is sitting in a corner, alone, engrossed in the book in her hands. You move to stand, and immediately Orophin stops you grabbing your arm. “Stop, (name).” he whispers, clearly unhappy with his own request “Do you not think we also want to teach her a lesson…”

“… and force her to apologize to Haldir? But it would amount to nothing, and he would not want us to get in trouble; remember brawls among guards are severely punished.” Rúmil interjects.

They are right, and while you would be happy, or at least willing, to be reprimanded by your superiors if it meant breaking Eithruin’s pretty nose with your fist, you know Haldir would not thank you for it, but he would feel guilty he is the reason you got into trouble.

“I only wish to talk to her.” you promise with a sigh “I will not touch her, I promise.”

Orophin lets you go, and he and Rúmil look on as you reach Eithruin.

“I thought my opinion of you could not sink any lower.” you begin once you stand in front of her, without raising your voice and, correspondingly, without lowering it to keep the guards sitting nearby out of the conversation “But this time I must admit you surprised me, Eithruin; I did not think you were capable of such cruelty.”

She waits for you to have finished talking before raising her gaze from the book and offering you a flippant smile. “Ah, (name). How was patrol?”

“I want you to leave Haldir alone.”

“I did nothing to hurt him. I did not even touch him.”

I know you have not, because he would not let you, and this is why you hate us both. “I am not talking about physical hurts and you know it well. You need to stop harassing him; this is your last chance, and then I will report you…”

“No, you will not.” you are calmly interrupted; she closes her book, primly resting her hands on it, and a cruel smile folds her lips “Because he would not want you to, and you would not displease him; so you have nothing to threaten me with. After all, Haldir should thank me; I only wanted to open his eyes. He is clumsy, fat as an ox, an embarassment for all the marchwardens. Someone like him is not fit to be made captain.”

Ah. You were sure it would come to this; you are so furious you are almost shaking. “While you do?” you ask skeptically.

“You know it is true; and lady Galadriel knows as well.”

You could really hit her, you suddenly realize. You have not resorted to violence on another Elf since the years of your childhood -ever since, specifically, a playmate took the rag doll your mother had just made and gifted you and decapitated her with a knife; you did not pay him back in kind, but you punched him in the face hard enough to make his nose bleed- and as a matter of principle you try to solve your problems peacefully, but if there is someone in Caras Galadhon who deserves to be torn to pieces, it is Eithruin. Who cares about the consequences, who cares if you are suspended or even expelled from the Marchwardens? No one, not even one of your comrades, not even the Lord or the Lady, can insult and humiliare your beloved and get away with it…

But Orophin was right; worse, Eithruin is right, Haldir would not want you to fight his battles, and especially it would break his heart to know you have gotten into trouble because of him. So you force yourself to remain calm and “We will see about it.” you simply answer; you turn, still burning with anger, and all to aware Eithruin is laughing at you, you nod to the brothers of your beloved and stomp out of the Hall.

When you reach his talan, Haldir is, as you expected, lying on his bed, his fingers interwined under his blonde head; when he sees you climb on the slender rope ladder and reach the wooden platform circling around one of the great mallorn trees, a weak, uncertain smile appears on his lovely mouth, as if, while happy to see you, he did not wish for you to see him in the state he is in.

Which is why, obviously, you have to see him.

“You are back.”

“That I am. I heard from a reliable source that you skipped dinner, and I have brought you something to eat.”

You triumphantly lift the small basket you have filled with the content of your pantry and brought with you; Haldir rises from the bed to reach you, but a shake of his head rejects your offer of food.

“Thank you, I really appreciate it, but I am not hungry at all. To tell the truth… I was thinking I should eat a little less, for a while.”

“This is the stupidest idea I have ever heard.” you brusquely answer; your heart cries knowing Eithruin’s cruel words have hit their mark and your beloved is uncomfortable in his own body, but Haldir can be incredibly stubborn when he wants to, and you have to find a way to make him forget the insults of his former suitor, and see he is perfect the way he is. You rest the basket on the tiny table at the corner of the talan, and then take out a loaf of bread and a small jar of honey “Hand me a knife, please.”

“I am not saying I want to starve, (name), only…”

“Only nothing, Haldir. Please, listen to me…”

You leave the bread and the honey on the table next to the basket and take Haldir’s hands in yours; he is handsome enough to make your heart race, just like he did on the day you first met and like he will continue to do, you suspect, until the end of times. His long blonde hair, falling like rivulets of gold on his shoulders, back and chest, his blue eyes, deep as the coldest pools in the forest and still capable of such warmth, his thin lips, so generous in their smiles and that still, after so many years, have the power to stop your heartbeat when they press against yours…

Eru; you admire his modesty, but how can he believe to be any less than perfect?

“Haldir, there is nothing at all wrong with you, let alone with your build or your weight; you do not need to lose any.”

“I am almost as large as Rúmil and Orophin together.”

“That is not true; and even if you were, so what? No one has ever mocked the Onodrim because they are larger than the other Children of Eru.”

Being compared to one of the Tree-Folk brings a weak smile on your beloved's face, who is still full of shame and guilt for his body. He avoids your gaze, as if he feared to see disgust and distaste in your eyes -you, who know his body as well as your own, and have learnt to love all of it, to find peace and warmth and protection in the secret of his flesh- and, far from being offended by such a lack of trust, you wish you could let him see himself through your eyes.

You gently press an hand against his stomach under his grey tunic, feeling the strong, taut muscles under the skin. “Haldir, how can you not see there is nothing wrong with your body?” you gently point out “You are tall and strong and handsome; Eru has been generous with you. These are gifts, not flaws; and even if they were, you know that the way we look is not important, what is in our hearts is. Or do you care for me simply because you think I am beautiful?”

“Of course not. But…”

“No buts, marchwarden. You have a lovely figure, and an even more precious fëa. What is there to be ashamed of?”

Haldir sighs; your words, your praises as well as your reasonings, have not fallen on deaf ears, but your beloved is not yet ready to forget Eithruin’s hurtful words, seeds fallen on too fertile a ground not to take root. You are alone on the talan, almost hidden in the dark of the full moon night, the silence surrounding you complete but for the melanchony song of a barn owl looking for his mate.

“Sometimes I wish I were different.” he finally confides in you as he sits on the bed, holding your hand in his until you do the same “I know that there is nothing shameful in the way I look, and that what matters is what one is inside, but… sometimes, I just wish I could look like the others; not stand out, even if there is nothing wrong in it. It is foolish, useless as well as ungrateful, but I cannot help it; most of the time I am fine with the way I look, but there are moments… days, even, when I feel I could leave everything behind and live alone in the woods, where no one will see me and judge me because of my bulk.”

“We all have doubts about ourselves, my love.” you gently point out as you squeeze his hand in both of yours “But remember, this is not your heart speaking; it is Eithruin, her envy and her spite.”

“That she wants to hurt me does not mean she is not telling the truth.” he notes, the melancholy in his voice breaking your heart. Haldir has always been your rock, as well as that of Rúmil and Orophin -who he helped raise, even though he was barely more than a boy himself- and of whoever of his friends ever needed help; to see him so lost, so unsure and helpless, pains you more than a dagger in your chest.

“Haldir, you have nothing to be ashamed about.” you insist, circling his large shoulders with an arm until his cheek is resting against your shoulder; it is sad to see your beloved so saddened, fragile and in need of consolation, but you are happy to help, because you want him to be happy, and you know that, were you the one in need, he would stop at nothing to make you smile again “If you are worried your more robust build is an impediment to your duties, you know that is not the case. You are agile, fast, an excellent warrior. Your bulk gives you strength, and this is why you are the best among us in hand-to-hand combat.”

“Eithruin said...”

“Do not pay heed to Eithruin’s words, my darling; you know well she only wants to humiliate you and hurt your reputation because she wants to be named captain in your place.”

“It might happen.” he admits, his expression still bitter under the light of the lantern hanging from the branches above “I have no love for Eithruin, but she is a capable, experienced marchwarden; she deserves an advancement in rank.”

“That she is; and maybe yes, she will be chosen for the promotion.” you concede, and shudder, imagining a future in which you, Rúmil and Orophin and, worse of all, Haldir himself, will be ordered around by Eithruin “But I do not care. You are a worthy Elf, a capable guard and a good friend and brother, and this is what really matters; I do not want you to doubt your self-worth. And if that… that… toad will speak about you in a less than respectful tone once again, she will have me to deal with.”

Finally, a tiny but sincere smile appears on Haldir’s mouth. “In that case, I have nothing to be scared about.” he concedes, and you smile back, happy for that small, private success “Thank you for coming tonight; you must be exhausted, but I feel much better now that you are here.”

“I am glad I could help. You know...” you add in a casual tone once you have both let yourselves fall back on the bed, and are now staring at the roof-like canopy above you; you turn on your side towards him, and begin to lazily caress your beloved’s chest “Someone told me mortal women prefer men of your build.”

“Is that so?”

“Apparently it is. Slender physiques like they are common among our kind are sometimes considered less attractive, because they are a sign of poor physical strenght. A robust body, muscled arms, large shoulders… this is usually what the women of the Edain look for in their partners."

Haldir is now openly smiling - because of your words or your ministrations, you could not say. “Then maybe I should have been born a mortal.”

“Do you really think so?”

“Of course not; in that case, I would have never met you, or at least we could not have hoped for a future together.”

Haldir kisses you once again while his arms circle your hips to hold you closer to him. “Yestereve I received a letter from home.” he says, referring to his parents, who live in another village half a day ride from Caras Galadhon.

“Are your parents well?” you wonder, sincerely interested and at the same time grateful your beloved is thinking about something other than his former suitor’s insults.

“They are. They send their love… and ask whether we have decided to marry.”

You laugh softly, your fingers playing with the golden locks of your beloved’s hair; he is not wrong, you are exhausted after two days of patrol, but his company, and being in his arms, is a better balm than the best night's sleep “They ask that in every letter they send, even those addressed to your brothers; but, Haldir, you know I am happy with the way things are now.”

“As I am. But, (name), we have been courting for five years now; do you not think there is no use in waiting still?" he points out as his fingers play with your hair - something only he is allowed to do "The time of Elves on Middle-Earth is coming to an end, and before sailing for Valinor I would marry you here, in the Golden Wood, our home, where we met.”

You know your beloved was like you fine with a long courtship, and was not in a hurry to wed, but about this, you must admit, you had not thought. “I love Lothlórien as much as you do.” you reflect out loud as you return your beloved’s embrace, your legs intertwining with his “But wherever you go, Haldir, there is where my home will be. When we leave for Valinor, we will do it together, and we will never part as long as the world lasts, and if to announce it to the rest of Arda I will have to put a ring on your finger… well, that is a sacrifice I am willing to make.”

“A sacrifice? Seriously, (name)?”

Haldir laughs; Eru, he is so beautiful! “So it is decided? We are going to wed?”

“We are.” you happily answer; this is not a matter you had planned to discuss today, but the two of you had spoken about it so many times before, and you both know the truth: a marriage ceremony will celebrate your commitment to each other, but even if you chose to go on like you have done for five years already, Haldir knows you love him and you know he loves you, and that nothing and no one will ever separate you. This is what really matters; everything else is superfluous.

Your beloved smiles; he is happier than you have ever seen him. “Ah, meleth nîn... How happy you make me...”

He kisses you, deeply enough to elicit a moan from your mouth that his avidly swallows, as Haldir's weight pushes you on your back; you caress his blonde hair as his sweet lips take possess of you, kissing your face and your neck and leaving a trail of goosebumps behind them. You hold him close, his heartbeat matching yours, and think you do not care what the future will hold, because you know you will face it together.

“I love how tall and strong you are.” you whisper as your hands move on Haldir’s back and shoulders, feeling the smooth skin and strong muscles under his tunic “You make me feel safe and protected.”

His laugh reverberates against your chest, just as Haldir’s hand slips along your leg, his fingertips barely brushing against your skin “You speak as if you were one of the damsels the heroes have to save in the tales. Are you not a brave marchwarden of Lothlórien?”

“I am with my betrothed, I can speak however I want.” you primly answer “A betrothed who is perfect the way he is, and who would be no matter what he looks like, and whatever his weight is. A betrothed who, now that I remember, has skipped dinner, and this will not do.”

Haldir moans - a not unpleasant sound to hear. “I was thinking we could…” he begins, but happily stops when you kiss him once more, tacitly promising there will be time for other diversions, once he has taken care of his stomach.

“Shall we have dinner together? I have not eaten either.” you suggest, and he smiles before kissing your cheek, his blue eyes full of joy and gratitude.

“I would like that.”

On the next day, in a sunny and warm afternoon, you enter the Wardens’ Hall, received by the congratulations and the well wishes of your comrades. Rúmil and Orophin are handing out cups of ale to everyone present, asking them to celebrate the engagement of their brother and the maiden they already called sister, but they stop to enfold you in a single, tight embrace.

“I am so happy; we both are.” Rúmil whispers, voice cracking with emotion “Take care of him, will you? He loves you more than you can ever know.”

“I will.” you promise, heart full of affection for both; how fortunate you are, gaining two brothers as you prepare to marry the love of your life “I will give my life for him if I need.”

“Well, let us hope you do not need to.” Orophin quips before kissing you on the brow, the way a brother would “Personally, I am mostly relieved he finally decided to propose…”

Eithruin, judging from her attire ready to depart for a patrol shift, is sitting with her friends, and she has the look of someone who has just swallowed a lemon. “So… you and Haldir have decided to marry, (name)?” she asks, trying to pretend to be only vaguely interested and failing miserably.

You answer with your sweetest smile. It would be mean to gloat, but you did well not to punch her in the face like you were tempted to last night, you decide; this is a much sweeter revenge, and it will not cost you a reprimand or a punishment from your superiors… including the one who has just received the promotion.

“We did. And you know, Eithruin? In a sense, we have you to thank for it.”

“M-me?”

It is just then that Haldir, smiling and so handsome in his new captain uniform, appears on the doorstep of the Hall, immediately greeted by the congratulations and the pats on the back of his comrades, all happy and proud of him; he waves at you, who answer with a silent smile, your mind and heart still full of the sweet and intimate moment of last night.

Then, you turn your gaze back to Eithruin, fully aware of the cruelty and pettiness of the words you are about to pronounce, and still unable to stop; in any case, you are quite sure she deserves it.

“Exactly; and this is why we hope you will not miss our wedding. And when we are on duty we should refer to him as captain now, do you not think?”

Eithruin turns red with rage at your words, but when she attempts to respond -with, no doubt, one of her usual spiteful remarks- no sounds leave her lips. Pointedly ignoring her, you turn and walk to your bethroted, holding out your hand to take the one he is offering you together with another of his beautiful smiles.

TAGGING @starlady66 and @sotwk!

[tiny-and-witchy]

Okay here we go.. As I promised @entishramblings after this post, I am now here to share my tengwar practice sheets in a little bit more detail. Although, these were initially just for practice so I actually haven't been paying much attention to precision and aesthetics of it.. Well, at least not enough to show them to people in this way so here we go @entishramblings , this is for you!!

(I will be posting this in pieces, I tried to make it into one post, tumblr wouldn't let me so I have to write it all over again, so sorry in advance for all the notifications.)

Here we go:

I started with some well known names of people, elves and places, like Imladris, Galadriel, Glorfindel and so on.. Also there are names of my friends and some half names (I started writing and realised it couldn't fit there) and random letters..

And if we juuust look towards the right side here:

You can see I wrote my name next to Legolas. (I may be not-so-low-key-head-over-heels in love with him..)

And here:

On the left, we see 'Eryn Galen' and 'Eryn Lasgalen', which translates to Greenwood (my baby's homeland how was I supposed to resist). And on the right is 'Celebrimbor', a name again, and 'Mae govannen' which is a phrase of greeting..

[thranduilswifesblog]

Elrond : mae govannen mellon nin, please stay. I'll ask the maids to prepare the best wine for you

Thranduil : Elrond, where's my son?

Elrond : have you tried, Numenorean wine?

Lindir : but My lord, the Numenorean perish thousand years ago

Elrond : SHUT UP!

Thranduil : ....

Thranduil : Elrond. Where. Is. My. Son.

Elrond : errrr....

Glorfindel, wearing his 3d glasses, and holding popcorn : this place is about to blow....

[meluiloth]

Introduction

Suilad, Mae Govannen!

I am a reader, writer, and artist, as well as a lover of all things fantasy and nature! My blog is home to my artworks and writings (mainly fanfiction for The Lord of the Rings), moodboards, aesthetics, and posts about Middle-Earth, along with other bits and pieces. Essentially, this is my scrapbook that I'll fill with things that make me happy.

If you're interested in my fanfictions, I'd love it if you read them and let me know how you like them!

Quotev: https://www.quotev.com/Meluiloth

Wattpad: Woodland Archivist (@Meluiloth) - Wattpad

I am also the host of @elrondweek, a fandom event dedicated to Elrond Peredhel!

My non-LOTR art sideblog is @mels-misc-art

A few facts about me:

ENFP

Aspiring Author

English + Literature Nerd

Middle-Earth fanatic

Obsessed with Greenwood/Mirkwood

Frodo Baggins is my favorite LOTR character

My favorite music artists are Cosmo Sheldrake, Lord Huron, The Oh Hellos, and AURORA

My favorite painter is Van Gogh

I love Studio Ghibli movies, especially Howl's Moving Castle

"If ever you are passing my way, don't wait to knock! Tea is at four; but any of you are welcome at any time." -Bilbo Baggins, The Hobbit

[sotwk]

Welcome to "Sons of the Woodland King" (SotWK)

Last updated: 7/18/24

The Elvenking and Elvenqueen: Commission by beelzeebub

SotWK Masterlists and Content

I've organized all my original content and other fun goodies in the pages linked below:

FanFiction Masterlist

Headcanon Masterlist

Fanfic Request Guidelines

Blog Archive

My Ao3 Page (All works are public)

My Ko-Fi Page (All tips received are used to commission fanart)

Commissioned Tolkien Fanart Gallery (Collection on Ko-Fi)

Summer Campfire Sleepover 2024 (Works written for event) [New!]

Featured Tags:

anon asks - If you sent me an Ask on Anon, and I've answered it, it will be tagged with this. Anon friends, please check here!

sotwk headcanon - Captures all headcanon posts I write, including minor ones that might not be on the Masterlist.

visit Eryn Galen - Photo and aesthetic posts of how I imagine the great forest kingdom of Eryn Galen to look like.

fics of friends - Looking for fics to read? I have super talented writer friends in the Tolkien fandom!

art of friends - I have super talented artist friends too! Please support them (and all artists)!

get to know me - Want to know more about me as a writer and a person? Here are my answers to questions and tag games!

get to know others - Tracks answers from "get to know" asks I've sent to friends and random folks

Other Fun Stuff!

SotWK's Headcanon Ask Game

Ask and Tag Games Archive

SotWK's "Ask Away" Initiative - a post people have reblogged to indicate they'd welcome receiving random asks!

My ASK BOX is OPEN!

I regularly update my masterlists, but please consider becoming a Follower/Mutual! I'd love to connect with you and exchange works--maybe even collaborate!

About "Sons of the Woodland King": a Tolkien AU & Fanfic Series

SotWK tells the story of Thranduil, all the way back from his childhood in Doriath to the final years of his rule over Eryn Lasgalen. There is a TON of history to cover in almost 7,000 years of the Elvenking’s life!

In this version of Thranduil’s story, he falls in love and marries a Noldorin elleth, Maereth, before he eventually inherits the throne of Greenwood the Great. Together they bear and raise five strong sons: Crown Prince Mirion, Prince Turhir, Prince Arvellas, Prince Gelir, and Prince Legolas.

SotWK chronicles their lives together, centuries filled with triumph and tragedy interwoven with the fates of many other famous figures in Middle-earth history.

The Elvenking's Five Sons: (L-R) Legolas, Arvellas, Mirion, Turhir, Gelir

Art: Commission by hffhifjou

About Me: SotWK the Blogger

Mae govannen, mellyn nin!

Please call me SotWK (pronounce an invisible "i" between the "w" and "k"); or you can use Nana/Naneth ("mom" in Sindarin) as some of my mutuals do, if you'd like.

I'm a fangirl in my late 30s, dividing my energy and hours among my husband, our two boys, a full-time job, and my fandom hobbies. I reside in the US (PST).

I have been an on-and-off LOTR fanfic writer since 2003. I started this blog in October 2022 after deciding to dust off and resume my writing project, "Sons of the Woodland King", a fanfiction series focusing on Thranduil Oropherion, Elvenking of the Woodland Realm.

I also write for various Tolkien canon characters alongside my own OCs and take requests for Reader Insert fics.

I reblog media from some other fandoms as well, mostly in the fantasy, period/medieval, superhero, and sci-fi genres. I use meme gifs from my favorite sitcoms a LOT.

This is a PG-13 blog (I do not post or reblog adult/explicit content), so minors are welcome. This blog is meant to be a safe space for everyone regardless of background or belief, and should be conflict and drama-free at all times.

The SotWK mission: for Mutuals, Readers, and Visitors to come together in appreciation for everything Middle-earth (esp. Thranduil and his kingdom!), relax while hanging out with friends, and feel better about the world and themselves.

In the name of the Elvenking--may you and your house always endure!

[powderpinkprincess]

Can't do it [Legolas x human! reader]

I think this one is my longest so far 🤔

Description: Legolas comforts you

tw: mentions of war

Heavy raindrops fell from the sky.

You looked up and all you saw were the grey clouds covering the sky. Misty darkness was all around you, and there was no way out now. You inhaled the thick air deeply. It couldn’t fill your lungs enough. Your hand wandered to your sword. You felt slow. Anxiety gripped your chest and you forced yourself to breathe in again.

Your eyes wandered to Legolas and Aragorn in front of you. They were talking in Elvish so quietly that you barely heard them. Not that it mattered as you spoke no more Elvish than ‘Mae govannen’. On your better days, you could even add ‘mellon nin’. Too bad you didn’t have enough Elvish friends to actually use the sentence. As if Gimli was reading your thoughts, he grumbled at your side.

 “The politeness is appreciable. I feel so honored by them waiting for us and involving us in their conversation.”

You chuckled. It didn’t bother you as much as it used to. You learned that Aragorn and Legolas had much more experience than you did, so there was no point in involving you anyway. You were tired enough to just be grateful for a moment of peace. It was enough if they found out something safe and filled you in later.

Suddenly, Legolas stopped. He placed an arrow on his bow before you could even comprehend that something was happening. He glanced around. You could practically feel his focus on his surroundings. Elves had this strange ability to hear and see things no one else could, so when you listened and heard nothing, it didn’t surprise you. Gimli opened his mouth to speak, but Aragorn raised his hand to silence him. When Legolas sharpened all his senses to find out what he heard in the distance, it was not smart to talk near him as he found it unpleasingly loud.

You even held your breath as you stared at his face, hoping to see any kind of a signal to know if you were in danger. His eyes were so blue. His soft features now looked stiff with concentration. Even in this humid darkness, his hair held a light, sparkling shade of gold that you admired. Next to him, all of you looked so dirty and ugly. At first, it really bothered your sense of confidence that you felt like an Orc when you saw him, but now the feeling melted into simple adoration.

Therefore, when Aragorn gestured to you to come closer, you were still staring at Legolas, not noticing the hole in the ground. You landed on the ground with a thud, and unwanted tears pricked your eyes when you felt the sharp pain in your left ankle. Now you were entirely doomed.

 “I’m sorry,” you whined as you looked up at your companions. Legolas lowered his arrow, and Aragorn reached out a hand toward you.

 “Are you hurt?” the ranger asked with a frown. He pulled you up and sat you on a rock by the pathway.

 “I can walk,” you insisted quietly, though your voice held some uncertainness. You twisted your ankle badly when you fell. Shame and guilt filled your heart. Shame, because if you could take your eyes off Legolas for merely a minute, you would have noticed the hole. And now your companions had to deal with you, too.

Aragorn untied your boot without a question and his eyebrows rose.

 “I do not think you will walk,” he shook his head. You glanced down, noticing how your ankle already started to swell.

 “How did you not see that hole anyway?” Aragorn asked, looking back at the obvious sight on the path.

Your cheeks reddened.

 “I do not know,” you lied immediately, hoping that he will let his question unanswered. He looked slightly amused.

 “I will carry you out. Legolas, how much we have left?” he turned to the Elf, whose expression was unreadable to you. Did he know why you fell? You would die if he did.

 “Not so much. I can already see the end.”

 “Another five hours or so, then,” Gimli mumbled sarcastically. You could tell he was already done with this forest as much as you were. He leaned on his axe, panting slightly. Keeping up with human-sized creatures over a long distance was not the easiest thing for him as his small legs needed to carry him almost as quickly as he was running. You found it really funny when Legolas sometimes turned back to him saying something like ‘come on, Gimli, we need to hurry’, not knowing if the Elf was really that clueless or simply was just teasing the Dwarf.

***

Aragorn ended up carrying you until you reached your spot for the night, which you found impressive. Legolas volunteered to do the first night watch as he needed much less sleep than any of you did. You adored his heart. He stayed up significantly more than the rest of the small companion, even if he could just let you all split the watches equally. Aragorn told him to wake him up on time when it was his turn, though at this point of the journey everyone knew that Legolas would let him sleep in longer. Seemingly the sleep deprivation did nothing to the Elf. He slept three or four hours a night, which was enough for him to function. Moreover, there had been a rough night when you all could not stop to rest, and he did not seem to mind that either.

You fell asleep almost immediately when you got the chance. In the middle of the night, you were awoken by your bladder, and you winced at the thought of pushing off your blanket and finding a bush in the cold darkness. However, nature was calling you, there was nothing you could do against it.

You felt absolutely horrible. Your ankle hurt a lot and you were miserable. Being away from home was always so much worse in the darkness. You glanced up at the stars. They kept shining, no matter what. They held the same light months ago as now, when a war was about to start at any given minute. A war. It was unfathomable to you. You grew up in peace. Even if you would survive a battle somehow, who knew what came after? And what would happen to all the people you loved? You were too small and weak to save them all. Hell, you could barely even protect yourself. Merely the thought of it gave you a feeling of anxiety that led to tears. You were terrified.

You limped back to your blanket, wiping your cheeks and sniffling. You nearly screamed when you saw a shadow moving right next to you.

 “It is just me,” you heard Legolas whisper on your side.

 “Why on Arda are you still awake?” you questioned. Your heart was still racing, and you blew out the air to calm yourself. Elves walked so quietly that your human ears were unable to hear their footsteps. Legolas had scared you quite a few times already.

 “I do not need as much sleep as you do.”

The faint flames of fire gave you a sight of his form. You forced your eyes to see him better. His presence always comforted you.

 “You are crying,” he noted the obvious.

 “I am not,” you replied, and then sniffled again. His lips curved into a small smile. You turned your head away.

 “Why are you crying? Does your ankle hurt that much?” he asked, his eyes puzzled. Not only you had never seen him shed a single tear, but you had never seen him suffer any sort of an injury, either. He could not understand you, yet he tried to put the pieces together, and you found it adorable. You chuckled and wiped your eyes again.

 “No, it really does not. I am just- A little homesick, I guess,” you admitted finally.

Silence fell between the two of you. Legolas took a step closer to you, scrutinizing your form, his eyes deep with thoughts. He did not really know how to comfort anyone that was crying. Elves barely even cried, you knew that. As his glance found yours, a question slipped through your lips.

 “Legolas- Does anything ever scare you?”

He opened his mouth to answer, but then he closed it. You were not sure if he got what you meant behind the words. You were not sure what kind of an answer you looked for, either.

 “Like- The war. Does it scare you?” you breathed out.

 “Of course it does. I am pretty sure it scares everyone that has any living spirit in them here on Middle Earth. Even the trees feel different, you know. They grew silent.”

Here he was, talking about the speaking trees again. Another thing you could not understand. You inhaled sadly, and looked away for a second before finding his blue irises again.

 “What do they sound like?”

Legolas put his palm on your forearm, gesturing towards the fire. You grabbed your blanket and sat down on the ground. He followed you.

 “It is not really a sound. It is more like- A feeling,” he replied to you, deep in his thoughts. “I do not really know how to explain. You can feel them with your whole body. Like the resonations of music maybe. Some are vibrant, some are slow and sad. And these days, lots of them are just silent.”

Before you could speak, he continued.

 “It is not shameful to fear something so devastating. And for you, maybe even unknown.”

A new wave of tears clouded your vision.

 “I do not think I can do this all,” you choked out. Legolas hummed.

 “You would be surprised to see what the race of Men could endure. You are stronger than you think.”

 “Legolas, I have no magical powers, I can not see the enemy coming from miles away, and I have not lived thousands of years to gain enough experience for a battle. I know nothing. I am nothing like you,” you admitted bitterly, this time letting the tears run down your face. Your heart hurt too much to move.

 “You do not even have to be,” the Elf shook his head. You could feel his stare on your face, but you refused to look at him. “Elves do have the experience, but humans have the ingenuity. Your lives are short, therefore you are able to adapt like no one else. You all are strong enough in your own way. Otherwise, the race of Men would have not survived among all the other creatures of Middle Earth.”

You said nothing.

 “And you are my friend, Y/N. If I see that you are in trouble, I will not hesitate to help you out, I promise you. There is no need for those tears of yours. You are safe as long as you are with us.”

His words made your chest feel warm again. Yes, you were still terrified, but the uncertainty felt much less excruciating with someone like him by your side, and you were truly, entirely grateful for that.

[acornsandoaktrees]

Tolkien OC Week, Day 6: Background Characters

this entry was originally going to be for day 4, as a bonus to an old Thalanes fic (my Thranduil's wife OC, certifiably a gap/ghost), but it ended up steering very much towards Haerel and even day 1's worldbuilding instead, so here we are.

within AaOT, Haerel plays the part of spokesperson for the average soldier. he has ties to the main cast, but he doesn't get much time in the spotlight. his only shining moment is a brief (for elves), uneventful stint while Tauriel is AWOL. but it isn't uneventful for him ;)

[nikerym = captain]

>---|-

"Mae govannen, nikerym."

Releasing a shallow breath, Haerel flipped the blade over in his hands a few times. Winter had yet to move on; the golden crossguard stung his skin even through his gloves, and the leather scabbard cracked as it shifted. The shining white jewel set into its pommel glistened like the last of falling snow.

"I do not know if I am ready to bear this weight," he confessed, voice wavering on the precipice of tears. The cairn ahead of him blurred. "Neither of us ever expected it to fall on me, but it has, and I have no choice."

Legs growing heavy, he let his knees bend, and sunk to the ground. The snow was gone, but a young frost still hugged the moss, unprepared for the coming dawn.

"So many left us in the battle. And Tauriel - she had a choice, but she left us, me, too, not for Valinor but for Men. She leaves me with this."

Haerel lifted the blade as if Thalanes could see it through the cairn's thread to the afterlife. It was an heirloom of the station of Captain of the Guard; maintained and passed down through the eons, from a time even the great Oropher had not known. By now, it was too fragile to be anything but ceremonial. It remained as heavy as a soldier's sword.

"It should be yours. Please," Haerel begged, unsure what he was expecting to result of it, "Please take it from me."

@tolkienocweek

[ladysaturnsdust]

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Mae govannen, mellon nîn!

✧ Lya. She/Her. XXII. Spaniard🌻

✧ CEST (UTC+01:00)⏳

✧ English is not my mother tongue, so excuse me if I make any mistakes 🙏🏻

✧ My ori'vod @dairsmuids ❤️ and my nésa @bookworm-with-coffee 🩵.

✧ Sometimes I reblog NSFW stuff so if you're a minor leave my profile ⚠️

✧ Multifandom shithole ✨

✧ Current fixation: SW: The Clone Wars and SW: The Bad Batch 💫

Eywa ngahu!

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