#Mereth Nuin Giliath

[kai-janik-art]

Mereth Nuin Giliath - 2023

An A2 size painting I made for this year's celebration themed Oxonmoot exhibition.

[sotwk]

Hello! No pressure and admittedly self serving ask (since I’m writing a fall chapter): do you have any headcanons about Silvan holidays/celebrations?

Ooooh this question! Festivals in Eryn Galen is a BIG TOPIC, in my opinion, because those Silvans love to party! Writing an extensive post describing the annual feasts and festivals throughout each of the seasons has been on my Headcanon To-Do List for a while, and because of your Ask, I'm going to return my attention to that.

While I work on it, for purposes of your fic, here are my basic headcanons about....

AUTUMN CELEBRATIONS IN ERYN GALEN

Mereth Nuin Giliath: The Feast of Starlight

This is the biggest and arguably the most important of all annual celebrations in Eryn Galen for three reasons:

It is the oldest of all Silvan feasts--older than the Woodland Realm itself. It commemorates the awakening of the Elves on the shores of Cuiviénen--literally the first event in the history of the race. Although the manner of feasting and traditions have changed over the millennia, it has been observed for as long as the eldest of the Nandor could remember.

It celebrates the light of the stars and the Queen of the Stars, Elbereth Gilthoniel. The Silvans may admire Oromë most out of all the Valar, but they still highly value and honor Varda as the source of light, goodness, and protection.

On a more personal note, Elvenking Thranduil met (SA 1358), was betrothed to (SA 3262), AND married (SA 3265) Elvenqueen Maereth all during the Mereth Nuin Giliath. Therefore it is an important anniversary for the royal family, which they choose to celebrate with the entire realm throughout their rule.

Art credit: Miriam Ellis

Mereth Nuin Giliath is celebrated both in Eryn Galen and in Lórien. In the SotWK AU, Thranduil and Maereth meet for the first time during the Mereth (see fic: "Sins of Our Fathers"). In Chapter 1 (the only chapter, so far) is the most I have attempted to describe this celebration.

The feast is held during the "Middle Days" (Enderi), for 3 straight nights, roughly during the first week of October.

It involves three nights of eating, singing, and dancing under the stars. With the entire kingdom invited, it is always the most well-attended community event.

In Eryn Galen, when its population was at its peak, this meant tens of thousands of revelers gathered in one place!

Although technically hosted by the King, the whole community pitches in and works together to arrange everything.

Harvest directly precedes the Mereth, so the realm is well-stocked with food for the massive celebration.

Hunting season comes after the Mereth, so food is additionally replenished for the coming winter.

These are just the basics, so more details will follow in the complete "Celebrations by Season in Eryn Galen" post. Coming soon...hopefully! :) I will tag you, @dilettantefeminist -- thank you again for prompting me to think about this!

OTHER USEFUL LINKS:

Introduction to SotWK

Main Headcanon Masterlist

Fanfiction Masterlist

sotwk headcanon - This tag captures all SotWK headcanon posts, including minor ones that might not be on the Masterlist.

[larkoneironaut]

✨As many times as there are stars✨

Revia from my Thranduil romance fic Rising Iridescence (only on AO3)

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Mereth Nuin Giliath, or The Feast of Starlight, takes place every month on the night of the new moon, when that celestial orb is not illuminated and when stars can be seen at their brightest.

Festivities vary from region to region. Some are more restrained with celebrations, while others have grander affairs. Elves spend this night first giving honor and praise to Varda, Queen of the Stars. Then they will recite poetry and songs and tell stories, especially stories of the stars themselves. Families, friends, and lovers will go out to stargaze if it is safe enough to do so.

[tamurilofrivendell]

Hello, I very much enjoy your works! I would love to see 15 from the list you reblogged with Thranduil if you feel so inclined. Thank you! :)

Thank you so much, I'm glad you like reading my silly little writings! This is what came out so hopefully this isn’t too awful for you!! <3

title: First Kiss

pairing: Thranduil/Reader

summary: Reader's father is a valued council member to King Thranduil and Reader has had feelings for the king for a very long time. Turns out the king may just return those feelings.

prompt: (#15 on this list). It’s in bold in the text below.

It was Mereth Nuin Giliath and you were the most excited you had been in a long time as you readied yourself for the celebration that was to come. It was one of your favourite festivals and you could not wait for the night of dancing and feasting and singing that lay ahead.

The night passed in a beautiful blur of colours and laughter and exquisite wine. You had just finished twirling with a friend on the dancefloor before excusing yourself. You rushed out of the great doors of the hall and out into the night, seeking some fresh air. Your cheeks were flushed from the warmth of the hall and the alcohol courtsing through your veins. Leaning against a railing, you turned your gaze skyward and sighed contentedly.

“You looked to be enjoying yourself.” Came the deep voice from somewhere behind, causing you to nearly jump right out of your own skin. Turning, your gaze fell upon the tall form of the Elvenking pacing carefully towards you.

Immediately dipping into a little bow as your eyes went wide at his appearance. You had seen him across the ballroom a few times but he was engaged in deep conversation with many different people as he always was at these kinds of events. “My Lord Thranduil!” You looked up, nodding quickly. “Oh, I--I was. I am! It is wonderful.”

“Then why do I find you out here all alone, hm?” He questioned, moving to lean against the balcony himself, peering out at the view though it scarcely interested him as much as you standing beside him.

“I just need a moment to catch my breath, my lord.” You explained, sending a little smile his way. “I seem to have imbibed a little too much wine.”

No matter how many times you would come into contact with the king, he never failed to make you so uncontrollably nervous that it was downright embarrassing. It had to be obvious, you knew it, though ever the gentleman he had never drawn attention to it, never mocked you, looked down on you. You just thought he was... perfect. There was no other way to put it. King Thranduil had been the unwitting object of your affections for too many years for you to count. Your father was a prominent figure on his council, a trusted friend in truth, and so you had had a great many interactions with the king over the years. As awkward as you felt you could be around him, it never made in his presence any less thrilling.

“I hope you do not mind if I keep you company?” He inquired, glancing back over his shoulder towards the hall where the festival was still in full swing before he turned back to you and leaned in conspiratorily. “I am afraid that I tire of all the boring political small talk and would much rather hide out here with you.”

You giggled at his tone, his words warming you even as you told yourself it meant nothing, following his lean as you whispered back. “Do not worry, my lord. I will not tell a soul.”

Thranduil grinned as he leaned back and you did your best not to mourn the loss of his closeness. You went quiet, studying him for a few moments, though did your best not to be overly obvious about it. His crown was sitting atop his head and he was clad in a perfectly fitted green and gold brocade tunic, a matching robe, and his favourite boots over plain breeches. Your eyes followed the wave of his fair hair over his broad shoulders, wondering what it would be like to run your fingers through it.

However, when you lifted your gaze to his face, you found that he was already watching you and probably had been the entire time. There was a kind smile on his face but you felt mortified nonetheless, turning your head to look back out at the view, biting your lip. Oh, Valar, you could have burst into tears of embarrassment right there and then!

Thranduil shifted beside you, his hand coming into view as he gently tilted your chin towards him with a finger, urging you to look back at him. “Do not be ashamed.” He murmured, gaze roaming across your face for a long moment before he spoke again. “I fear, my lady, my motives for leaving the party are not entirely as pure as I made them out to be.”

You were pretty sure that your face was bright red at this point but you dare not look away in case you upset him by defying him. Not that he had actually given you a direct order to look at him but still... your mind was all over the place. “Wh--what do you mean, my lord?”

His finger was still under your chin and you gasped a little when his thumb came into contact with your mouth, gently brushing across your lower lip. The two of you stood like that for a long moment, just sort of looking back at each other, as you tried to calm your now reeling mind.

“But...” You breathed, a soft frown clouding your expression as your gaze briefly dropped from his face to the collar of his tunic. “I have never kissed anybody before.” The admission slipped from your mouth before you could even think about it, cheeks immediately heating up once more when you realised what you had said. First of all, he hadn’t actually said that he wanted to kiss you, what if you had simply misunderstood?! Secondly, it just felt embarrassing to say it out loud to him, though you were not sure why exactly.

Thranduil didn’t speak for a moment, he simply looked back at you, studying your face like he was committing you to memory. You really started to think that you had misunderstood and he was trying to decide how to let you down easy, when he finally spoke again.

“I see. Well, if that is the case, my lady...” Thranduil’s perfect mouth curled into a devastating smirk as he gazed back at you. “...I can show you how it works.”

If you had still been drinking, there was no doubt that you would have choked on it. Your gaze snapped back up to his face again, wondering if this was some kind of joke or if you had started hallucinating all of a sudden. Your tongue flicked out over your lower lip as you did your best to calm yourself, doing your utmost to stop your whole body shaking as you looked at him, up into the eyes of the king, which were full of gentle humour as he looked down at you. He did not look like he was playing with you. Yes he looked amused but he also looked kind. His gaze dropped to your mouth when your tongue flicked out and you realised, to your absolute horror, he had not yet moved his thumb and you had just licked it!

You immediately began to stammer out an apology, trying to jump back away from him in pure mortification, but Thranduil gently reached for your wrist and tugged you back to him, shaking with soft laughter as his other hand moved to your waist. The fingers around your wrist released you and returned to your chin, tilting your face gently so you were looking at him again.

“Do not be ashamed.” He whispered, echoing his earlier sentiment as he leaned in, closing the now minute distance between the two of you, and pressed his lips to yours in the sweetest kiss you could ever have imagined. Your lashes fluttered as your eyes closed and you practically melted into him. If it hadn’t been for him supporting your waist, your legs might have completely just given out beneath you.

He kissed you a few more times this way before, when he felt no resistance, he started to kiss you a little harder and began to silently ask for entry into your mouth. You were not sure what to do but when he, sensing this, nipped at your lower lip, you gasped and he took the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. The new sensation overwhelmed you but it was not horrible and, as his tongue sought out yours, you found that you enjoyed the dance.

You became a little bolder, following his lead but feeling a little more confident when he seemed to enjoy kissing you. When you heard something close to a low growl rumbling in his chest, you moved, pushing yourself closer to him, fingers clutching the fabric of his tunic. He seemed to like this if the way he grabbed your hips with both hands and pressed you back against the nearest pillar, deepening the kiss hungrily, was anything to go by.

You had no way to gauge the time that had passed until he finally pulled back and broke the kiss. You opened your eyes, trying to hold in the whine that you felt bubbling up at the loss. You didn’t quite manage and your disappointment was plain to see on your face as he smirked softly down at you.

“Do not worry, my darling.” He whispered, reaching up to brush a stray wisp of hair back into place. “This is only the beginning.”

[meluiloth]

Just saw your post for the greenwood headcannons (lemme first tell ya, I also love them to a fault, such a shame we have almost nothing on them that is cannon), and do you have any thoughts about holidays or parties they might have? We know of the Feast in The Hobbit book where Galion drinks himself unconscious lmao (iconic of him btw), but seeing as they are apparently a very happy population in general, I'd wager they have more than just that one yk

Thanks for the ask!

I think the Silvan Elves are a very celebratory people, and will take any opportunity to partake in feasting, wine, and song. There are banquets and parties often, sometimes for no occasion other than to make merry (as is seen in The Hobbit, where the Elves host parties for many nights in a row!) That being said, I do think there are also holidays of special significance throughout the year and are commemorated differently than the common feast. Birthdays, for example, are a citywide affair, as are marriages and new babies; the Elves are a very family-oriented community, where everyone pretty much knows everyone. Aside from those, I've compiled a small list of holidays the Silvan Elves would celebrate!

Among the most well-known and extravagantly celebrated holidays are the Seasonal Masques, which are festivals that take place at the height of each of the four seasons. The Elves honor the bounty of nature and the beauty of every season to the fullest, and a lot of preparation is put into these four festivals.

First is the Spring Masque, which is focused on the joy of new blossoms and blooming fruit after winter. They dress mostly in white during this festival, so as to devote their full attention to the vibrant colors around them, and all of the food is found fresh in the wild: berries, fruits, and greenery in particular. There is no meat consumed during this festival, to preserve and honor the new life in this season.

A few months later is the Summer Masque, which is held on the longest day and is a celebration of the lushness of the forest; this day is full of dancing and song to display the excitement of the wild. The outfits of this festival are quite extravagant, featuring a lot of animal and flower motifs.

When the days shorten and the forest is completely covered in the colors of fall, the Autumn Masque arrives, bringing with it a bounty of harvest, changing leaves, and preparation for colder months ahead. The colors of this festival are warm and rich, and there is plenty of hot food and aromatic spices in every dish.

Finally comes the Winter Masque, and the end of the cycle of seasons. The Elves gather inside the Elvenking's Halls, where it is warm, making this a quieter and gentler holiday illuminated with candles, starlight, and snow; the forest is sleeping, so the festivities are quieter to avoid disturbing it. Often, there is a hunt, and the costumes are very fur-based to keep warm, and fresh spiced venison and wine is served.

There is also the Feast of Starlight (or Mereth Nuin Giliath in Sindarin) which takes place in the early winter, when the trees are bare and the stars are clearest; this is the feast that is featured in The Hobbit films, and, as its name suggests, it is a commemoration of Arda's dearest creations.

However, not all of the Silvan Elf holidays are joyful. Lû-o-fuin, or Time of Darkness, is a period of mourning for the Mirkwood Elves; it is a week-long fast in honor of all the lives lost during the War of the Last Alliance. Though the rest of Middle-Earth celebrates this time for the fall of Sauron, the Silvan Elves remember it for the grief it caused to their people - they lost King Oropher and an overwhelming number of their army, and this also marks the time in their history when the Necromancer first came to Greenwood and the trees began to wither. To honor this loss, the Elves do not eat or drink for a week, and wear only ash-colored robes. On the last day of mourning, they go to the Forest River, where they make small boats out of leaves and set them floating in the water, to signify the souls of those who died returning to Faerie (Valinor).

Those are some ideas for Mirkwood Elf holidays! I hope you like them (because I spent a lot of time thinking about these and even longer looking for the right images...), and thank you so much for giving me the opportunity to share this!

If you're interested in my imagining of the Silvan Elves in Mirkwood, check out my mirkwood headcanons tag! If there's a headcanon you want me to explore that I haven't already, my ask box is open!

[dracwife]

rites.

ship: curumo (saruman)/ídhril

word count: 1035

summary: idrhil and curumo get a moment alone during an elven festival. see the end for some explanations/clarifications, this has quite a bit of weird lore stuff to it that takes place far before any of the films!

They watch the feast celebration, from the far comforts of one of the high balconies of the Royal Family's Court -- Ídrhil's dwelling, granted to him for the purpose of training. In other words: His room, as appointed by the King, his father. 

He stands stiffly, next to the tall, dark-haired Maia -- a god, or as close as you could get, and yet there he too waits, next to the Woodland elf whose small commune was far from his native land -- whose bandages wrapped tightly around his torso, and who still aches in places, even after months of healing. He could, at least, walk now with ease. Together they watch the crowd that has gathered on this cool night, amongst the repurposed Elven village. A line of children, young men and women, and a few adults even stand in line, with fathers and mothers once at a time guiding their children through their ritual -- that of choosing a new name, an important step in their lives, a sign of maturity and independence. Their King stands just beyond them, the highest honor for the families that participate. 

Curumo hopes he is remembering it all correctly, for Ídrhil had explained it all rather quickly the night previous. He can barely make out the voices from afar. 

"What are they saying?"

Ídrhil mumbles a long string of something similar enough to Sindarin, not so much repeating as he is reciting. He finishes in tandem with the distant child and after pauses, raising his glass slightly.

"Drink to me, for I am born again. And alone do I walk this path in life, sure and strong will I forge ahead my own way."

Curumo hums, intrigued. 

"It is a rite of passage, then? This festival, this Mereth Nuin Giliath."

"Not so much as it is a celebration. The words, they are the rite. As is choosing a new name, befitting of your nature. It is an important part of my people's culture."

"What does yours mean?"

The elf turns his head, meeting the other's eyes.

"Ídrhil, one who longs, or desires."

"You chose this name?"

He nods, to which Curumo questions him again: "What do you long for?"

"To travel. To learn. Wandering is in my nature, it is what my clan does, but we never go far enough to meet anyone else; We do not fare well with strangers, you saw that for yourself when you awoke here. It frightens them, I think. The idea that we are not the last of our kind."

"And you?"

"I believe there are others. That there must be. I wish to find them, and even if there are not, I wish to try. There is so much out there, beyond Valinórë, and even beyond Middle-Earth. I want to go there. I want to see it for myself."

"An admirable quest. If you ever go, I would wish to go with you."

Ídrhil smiles.

"Curumo, it is Quenya, is it not? 'Skilled one,' if my memory serves."

"Where ever did you learn Quenya?"

"I would sneak out when I was young, when we would settle near the abandoned Vanyar camps. Sometimes there were scripts there -- I deciphered what I could from them. I fear my father has a far better grasp on the language than I, not that I would ever admit to him I knew any of it at all."

"In that case, I am pleased to say you remember quite well."

"Thank you," Ídrhil bows his head. When he raises it, their gazes meet again.

A moment passes.

"Curunír, in my tongue." 

"...I quite like the sound of that." He raises his glass with a smile, "Will you not drink to me, then? Is that not the custom?"

Ídrhil nods with a chuckle, sips from his cup finally. Curumo -- Curunír -- does the same. He sucks in a breath at the bitter taste.

"I've not ever tasted such strong wine."

"It is not our usual drink, I thought it might suit a Maia better than the tastes of the Tawarwaith traditional wine."

"Is that so? May I decide for myself?"

Ídrhil offers a glass that is all but empty, "I'm afraid I've had the majority of my own, I did not get much for I do not drink often --"

"That's alright," Curumo hushes him. They face each other, the light of the moon scarcely illuminating the balcony they stand on, and it is then the taller of the two takes a small step forward, with what little space between them collapsing and leans down, hesitating only slightly in anticipation before pressing his lips to the elf's.

The kiss is bitter, not in the way Ídrhil expects but in the familiar taste of the strong ale he's brought his companion -- alongside it mint, and the milk and honey of the sweet batter they'd shared earlier that evening as a traditional dessert -- and he melts deeper into the kiss as the cup falls from his hand and shatters against the marbled floor; He sighs, his hand coming to rest against the Maia's cheek and then shortly after tangles into dark hair as he indulges finally in the touch he's craved for so long. When Curumo finally pulls away, he's grinning, cunning as his name suggests and he licks the last of the wine from his own lips.

"Wine has never tasted so sweet, I think."

Ídrhil feels his face flush, and from trembling lips falls more broken Sindarin, but Curumo is smart enough to decipher it this time around --

"Kiss me again, please."

And he does, wrapping his arms around Ídrhil and pulling him close this time. He brushes a stray hair out of the druid's face just after. Neither say anything, and months of time, though but a fleeting moment in both their lives for as long as they have lived come rushing back to Ídrhil, and for once so does a future, a forever, worth living for.

"Le melin," the elf breathes, his head still resting against the immortal's.

Curumo tilts away inquisitively, awaiting again a translation, but Ídrhil does not offer one, shaking his head with a solemn smile, "Perhaps we best get back to the feast."

"If you so wish."

Silmarillion Jr., or:

A couple of translations/explanations because I know this has some weird deep universe lore to it.

Maia(r): A race of ancient immortal beings that helped create all living things.

Curumo: A Maia, who would later be sent to Middle-Earth as the much more recognizable Saruman.

Sindarin: The language of certain Elven races, generally what most people refer to as Elvish.

Mereth Nuin Giliath: Sindarin, "Feast Under the Stars."

Valinórë: The Kingdom West of Middle-Earth, where immortal beings such as elves and Maia reside.

Quenya: Another Elven language, spoken commonly in the Elves of Valinórë.

Vanyar: A race of Elves.

Tawarwaith: The Sindarin name for Wood-Elves.

Le melin: "I love you."

[lovefairymina]

Dear Beleg,

You remind me of the moon, far and out of reach. Your grace and beauty is incomparable to any other I have seen in my years of living. I would like nothing more than to be able to kiss you, hold you and call you mine. If you would be interested in meeting, I will be waiting for you at the feast for Mereth Nuin Giliath with a green ribbon tied to my wrist.

Faithfully awaiting your presence,

Your secret admirer.

His eyes widened as they roamed the letter, absorbing each word and meaning. He felt as though there were wings sprouting on his nack at the acknowledgement of having a secret admirer. What had the Marchwarden done to deserve love from an unknown person? Surely, you had to be someone he was familiar with. “Well then, looks like it's time to tidy up and appear decent to swoon someone.”

[arethinn]

Mereth Nuin Giliath by Kai-D-Janik on DeviantArt

[delicatenightfury]

Star of the Mountain: Chapter 17

Warnings: fluff, angst, canon-level violence, spoilers for the Hobbit films

Pairing: OC x Thorin Oakenshield

Beta'd By: @mistys-blerbz

Author's Note: please do not steal my work! I do not own the Hobbit or the characters, but I do own my OCs and the parts of the plot that are not part of the movies. I have worked very hard on this fic. Please be respectful and do not steal.

Please comment, reblog, and like!

Masterlist - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Vedis refused to look back at the guard behind her, the one pushing against her shoulder every now and then to continue walking. As if she had reason to resist. They were armed, and while she could probably handle them, she was not about to make the situation worse than it already was. 

She kept her eyes on Oreliell, who was being led ahead of her. She could tell that her sister was worried. Oreliell hid it well, but they were sisters and they could read one another like a book. A blessing and a curse sometimes. 

Mere moments after Bilbo had fallen down into the river to join the rest of the company, Tauriel and a group of guards appeared. They had been detained quickly, chains clasped around their wrists once again. One of the guards left to alert the prince and not long later, an elven horn was sounded.

Now, the two were being led back through the prison and the vast halls toward the throne room. Tauriel had gone to join the pursuit of the dwarves, taking a squad of guards with her - there were reports of orcs in the woods.

“Oreliell, are you all right?” Vedis asked.

She saw Oreliell shrug ever so slightly. 

“I will be.”

The guards nudged them again, moving them closer to the throne room. The halls were quiet now, the music from Mereth Nuin Giliath having died down several hours before Bilbo had arrived. The celebration had gone on long into the night.

Vedis slowed to a stop as they neared the throne, and had to resist pulling her arm away from the guard as he jerked her to a stop.

“{Wait here.}”

Vedis gave a short nod of acknowledgement before turning her head away from him. She heard them move down the steps but stop at the bottom to stand guard. The sisters stood quietly, neither speaking to one another. Vedis was trying to determine where they went from here. She had her suspicions about what was about to happen once King Thranduil arrived and she knew that Oreliell’s mind was too preoccupied to be focused on that.

She did not have to read Oreliell’s mind to know that she was worried. She was swaying ever so slightly and her hand lay at her neck. They had offered to stay behind to distract the elven king, only for the company to encounter guards outside and an orc pack. They did not know what state the dwarves were in. Were they alive, dead, or injured? Had they been captured again, had they gotten away, or were some of them separated? There were too many unanswered questions.

Vedis glanced over her shoulder at the sound of footsteps. Thranduil was approaching, his cloak flowing freely behind him. She was a little off-put by how close he was, but she supposed that was what happened when they had been traveling with dwarves for so long.

Thranduil climbed the stairs, stopping only a few feet away from Vedis. He did not speak. He simply observed the two of them, though his gaze lingered longer on Oreliell. Vedis cast a small glance at her sister. Oreliell didn’t seem to realize that Thranduil was standing with them. Vedis felt her heart ache slightly. She looked back at Thranduil; the elf king looked on silently, seemingly pondering how to begin.

Vedis took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. The movement caught Thranduil’s eye, drawing his gaze to her. Vedis paused for only a moment before offering him her hand. He stared at her before he looked at her hand. His piercing blue eyes darted between her face and her hand twice, eyebrow raising slightly. When he made no movement, she rolled her eyes and extended her hand a little further, wiggling her fingers slightly.

Thranduil seemed to get the message and took hold of her hand. Vedis breathed deeply again and did her best to focus.

“I apologize for the unconventional approach, my lord, but this was the easiest way we may be able to converse.”

Thranduil’s eyes widened. He glanced down at their joined hands for a moment before looking back at her.

“Interesting,” he said. Vedis resisted another eye roll. “Your sister appears to be distracted.”

“Yes.” She would reveal nothing about where Oreliell’s thoughts lay, but she knew Thranduil had his suspicions. “It is the reason I have offered this link of communication.”

He nodded.

“Your company managed to escape my dungeons. How?”

Vedis smirked.

“A halfling.”

His eyes narrowed slightly.

“And how did a halfling manage to get past my guards?”

“I am told that they are quite light on their feet.”

“What was your purpose in staying behind?”

“We had hoped to reason with you.”

“After the dwarves had already escaped?” He huffed a small laugh. “I assume you’ve already heard about the orc attack at the river.”

Vedis nodded.

“I will not lie, I wish one of us had gone with them.”

“I would hardly think you two would separate from one another.”

“You do not know us, my lord. We will do what it takes to protect the company.”

“Evidently not, seeing as you are here and they are running on borrowed time with an orc pack on their tail.”

“As I said, I wish one of us were with them.”

He hummed.

“Earlier, your sister claimed that you joined Thorin Oakenshield of your own free will. Is that true?”

“It is. We met Thorin several years ago and befriended him. We went our separate ways for a time, but reunited on the road. He asked if we would join him, and we agreed.”

“And why is that, I can’t help but wonder.”

Vedis narrowed her eyes slightly.

“It is what any friend would have done,” she replied.

Thranduil looked as if he were about to ask another question when a look passed over his face. It almost looked like concern.

“Are you all right?” he asked. She raised an eyebrow at him in confusion. “You are beginning to pale and your hand is shaking in mine.”

It was then that Vedis realized that she was shaking. She could feel her strength starting to wane and she cursed herself for being careless. She was pushing herself too hard. She subconsciously gripped his hand a little tighter, trying to keep herself upright. Thranduil reached for her with his other hand, apparently noticing her weakening state, and wrapped his arm around her back.

“Do not strain yourself further,” he said aloud.

Oreliell’s head suddenly whipped around, all of a sudden realizing that they were not alone. Her eyes quickly darted between Thranduil and Vedis before they widened in shock.

“Vedis!” she said. She started rushing toward the two of them, but at the sound of her call, the two guards came rushing up the stairs to come between her and their king. “Let go of me! What did you do to her?” Oreliell demanded.

Thranduil straightened himself but kept a firm hold on Vedis.

“I have done nothing to her. She brought this upon herself.” Oreliell’s eyes were filled with fire as she glared at Thranduil. The king ignored her and turned his gaze back to Vedis. “Are you all right?” he asked again.

Vedis took a deep breath before she looked up at him. She could feel her strength draining. She couldn’t continue for much longer, not unless she wanted to lose consciousness. But she pushed forward a little more to give one last message:

“Do you not think that Thorin will fight for what is his, just as you fight for your wife’s memory?”

With that, she severed the mental link between the two of them. Thranduil stared at her. His face gave nothing away, but she could tell in his eyes that he was shocked by her words. 

Suddenly, another guard quickly approached them.

“{My king,}” he said. “{I bring news.}”

“{Speak.}”

“{The dwarves have passed beyond our borders and the orc pack still pursues them. But Tauriel and Prince Legolas have captured one of the orcs. They are on their way now.}”

Thranduil finally looked away from Vedis to look at the guard.

“Have them bring the orc here,” he said. “I will question it myself.” He then looked at the guards that still held Oreliell back. “Take these two to one of the guest rooms, and do not bother separating them. Bring them food so that they can regain some of their strength. I will speak with them later.”

The guards bowed their heads in acknowledgement. One grabbed hold of Oreliell’s arm while the other approached Vedis. Thranduil looked down at her once again before handing her over. The guard was far gentler this time, apparently understanding from Thranduil’s own treatment that she was weak. 

The sisters were led down the stairs and out of the grand hall. In the distance, Vedis could hear the growls of an orc. Vedis was led down the hall first, followed by Oreliell. She heard Oreliell trying to get her attention, but she felt too weak at the moment to try and respond.

They eventually came to a set of large doors. The guard next to Vedis pushed open the door. He led Vedis inside and tried to guide her to a seat. Vedis tugged her arm away, glaring slightly at him before gently waving him away. When he tried again, Oreliell quickly stepped up to them.

“I’ll take it from here,” she said, practically growling at the ellon.

The guard stared at her for a long minute before nodding. The sisters watched as the guards pulled away and stepped out of the room, shutting and locking the door. Oreliell turned her attention to Vedis, her eyes scanning over her.

“Are you all right?” she asked. Vedis nodded. “What were you thinking?”

Vedis simply closed her eyes. 

“I-”

“No. Don’t talk. You’ve used too much energy already.”

Vedis nodded. She knew that Oreliell wasn’t going to be entirely pleased with what she had done, but Vedis would not change what she had done.

A short time later, someone came by with food, which the sisters picked away at. They sat in silence, both trying to figure out what to do next.

Suddenly, the door unlocked. Oreliell stood up as the door cracked open. The sisters could hear a familiar voice dismissing the guards. They exchanged looks with one another before Tauriel stepped into the room. Her back was straight and there was a look of determination in her eyes.

“Your friends are in danger,” she said. “I am leaving to help them. Will you join me?”

Vedis followed after Tauriel, lightly moving over the rocky terrain along the river. Her strength was still coming back to her, but she was more agile now than she had been when they left Mirkwood. Oreliell was close behind her, keeping a close eye on her. No one said anything as they passed a deer carcase. They had tracked the orc pack to the end of the river, which let out into a lake. In the distance was Lake-town.

The trio slowed to a stop, taking in the lake and its floating town. They were not still for long before they each reached for their weapons, Tauriel with her bow and arrow drawn and the sisters with their swords. Standing several yards away was Legolas, bow also drawn.

“{I thought you were an orc,}” Tauriel called to him.

“{If I were an orc, you would be dead.}”

Vedis exchanged glances with her sister before they sheathed their swords. She was grateful that Tauriel had returned their blades to them as they departed from Mirkwood. They would need weapons to fight against the orcs.

“Tauriel, you cannot hunt thirty orcs on your own,” Legolas said.

Oreliell scoffed.

“But I’m not on my own,” Tauriel replied.

“You knew I would come.”

“And I brought backup.”

She motioned to the sisters. Vedis gave the slightest nod before looking back at the lake.

“The king is angry, Tauriel,” Legolas said, coming closer toward them. “For six hundred years, my father has protected you, favored you. You defied his orders; you betrayed his trust.” He glanced at the other elleths standing with them. “{Come back with me. He will forgive you.}”

“{But I will not. If I go back, I will not forgive myself.} The king has never let orc-filth roam our lands. Yet he would let this orc-pack cross our borders and kill our prisoners.”

“It is not our fight.”

“It is your fight,” Oreliell snapped. “It will not end here.”

“With every victory, this evil will grow,” Tauriel continued. “If your father has his way, we will do nothing. We will hide without our walls, live our lives away from the light, and let darkness descend. Are we not part of this world? Tell me, mellon, when did we let evil become stronger than us?”

Legolas stayed quiet. Oreliell turned to Vedis, glancing at the lake.

“What do you see?” she asked.

“They seem to have gotten a ride.” Vedis motioned to the dock up ahead. “The bargeman must have taken them into the town.”

Oreliell turned back to the Mirkwood elves.

“Is there another way into town?”

“There is a singular bridge that leads into town. But it is at least a full day’s journey.”

“When does the next boat arrive?”

“Not for some time.”

“Then we have no choice. Let’s get moving.”

[queenmeriadoc]

Never mind it's going to be

Mereth Nuin-Giliath

@lady-of-imladris

Legally changing name to

Mereth Aderthad

[sotwk]

The universe has graced me with one (1) thought just now brought on by your post:

Is Mereth Nuin Giliath literally just ...a birthday party? But for all elves??? Maybe since they get so old, they all collectively stopped counting and remembering birthdays because EVERY day it's SOMEONE'S birthday and instead just decided to celebrate the birthday of all elvenkind?

I never thought about it that way, but that is such an EXCELLENT POINT! :D If we mere mortals eventually get "blah" about birthday celebrations, surely Elves quickly get sick of it too as an annual celebration??

I LOVE IT. Makes total sense. You may have just blown my mind.

Mereth Nuin Giliath is a collective, race-wide "birthday" celebration observed by Silvan/Woodland Elves.

[im-way-too-many-fandoms]

Just finished The Hobbit Trilogy❤️ It was amazing and I immediately had to draw an angsty Thranduil during Mereth Nuin Giliath✨ Maybe I'll write a story to this picture?

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Part 4

Pairing: Thranduil x Fem. Reader (Elf/Noldor |Third Person POV)

Themes: Minor angst | Soft-ish ending

Warnings: Alcohol use | Weapons use | Injuries | Betting

Wordcount : 2.1k words

Summary: During the feast of Mereth Nuin Giliath, Thranduil tries to apoligize for hurting y/n

Minors DNI

A/n the previous chapters can be found here: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Thranduil POV

Mereth Nuin Giliath began as it always did, with evening prayers after the first star for the night was seen.

Thranduil, garbed in silks of pale blue with a crown fashioned to look like glittering stars sitting amidst his hair, walked just behind his father as he led the procession to Varda’s shrine. The lamps had been dimmed, and the candles had been snuffed out. All the windows were opened to the night sky, and starlight slowly flowed in.

It was a somber affair, to be sure, and long and tedious. Still, Thranduil willingly played his role in all that was required of him and conducted himself in a manner befitting a crown prince during the rituals.

Once the solemnity of this affair is over, he reminded himself, the merrymaking can truly begin.

And the solemn affair did come to an end, much to the quiet relief of many involved. Then the elves poured out of the shrine and walked in twos and threes and more, making their way past lofty halls and vaulted ceilings and into the grounds that had been prepared for the evening’s contests.

The braziers had already been lit by the time Thranduil took his place by his father’s side in the gallery while the others took their places on the field. Then he looked around for y/n. The maid was standing behind them all with a pitcher of wine in hand. She startled and turned her gaze toward her feet when she found the prince’s eyes resting on hers. The sleeves of her new livery reached up to her wrists, but he was certain the bruise that had been an inadvertent gift of his was still there.  

“You stare at her, my son,” Oropher remarked, though not harshly. “May I ask why?”

“No reason, father,” Thranduil returned and turned to face the field again, his voice perfectly calm. Deep within, he was haunted by feelings of guilt.

The king studied him keenly for a while. “The maid is quite fetching, I grant you,” he allowed, albeit rather reluctantly. “But do not allow yourself to grow too attached to the likes of her. She is one of them, after all.”

It was Thranduil’s turn to startle. Does he truly think I am drawn to her? He thought. Does he not know what happened?

Feren had assured him—after expressing his disappointment with the prince’s behavior, of course—that no one in the kitchens had been the wiser. Y/n had not uttered a word of what took place in the gardens that day.

“I am not attached to her, my lord,” he replied. And he had to reply. His father was waiting on an answer. “There is no cause for you to worry on that score.”

Oropher, gratified, nodded. Then the master of revels came forth, and the first of the contests began in earnest.

It was a mock battle, and it was fought on soil that had hardened due to a late autumn frost. The elves that took part protected themselves with shields and armor and blunted swords, and yet, more than one fell to the earth, crying out from pain. Cheers and loud gasps followed each blow and each loss, and healers stood nearby to aid those in need of them.  

While elves fought and laughed and cursed out on the field, beneath canopies of green and gold velvet, food and wine flowed freely for those who watched. The stars burned brightly that night, as if the Star-Kindler herself was watching the spectacle taking place beneath the night sky. Thranduil, however, did not savor the magic of the night. He paid little heed to the rousing cheers that greeted those who did well, and the encouragement shouted down to those that fared poorer. He did not see the last warrior stand to accept their victory, the archers that took the field after a series of targets were neatly arranged at the far end of the field, the courtiers who parted with their jewels or the others who readily accepted purses full of gold coins. All he did see was the maid going from noble to noble, pouring wine and clearing dishes whenever it was asked of her, without saying a word in return.  

“Y/n,” Thranduil called softly before he could stop himself. “Wine, if you please.”

She obeyed and came to him. He watched her discretely, how her hands trembled even as she poured more wine for him. Then her sleeve shifted ever so slightly, and the bruise came into view. Thranduil kept his composure. He felt his father’s eyes on him.

“My thanks,” he replied, then turned his attention to the two remaining contestants. Feren and Angon were all that remained of the archers, and the next few moments would decide who would be the victor.

A hush settled upon the field, and the throng went silent. Angon was the first to nock his arrow. He took a deep breath, and then took aim. When he breathed out again, the arrow flew toward its target, and everyone watched, breathless. A soft thud was heard. The arrow nearly found its mark.

“A fraction too far from the center,” Oropher observed to his son. “But I wonder if it is close enough.”

“Feren still has to take a turn, father,” Thranduil replied. “Anything can happen.”  

They waited with bated breath while a herald called Feren to come forth. Thranduil’s steward took his position, nocked his arrow, and breathed in. When he exhaled, the arrow flew true to its aim, and all who had gathered erupted into thunderous applause when the arrow struck the target in the center.

“A pity we did not hold a wager, you and I,” Thranduil smiled, rising.

“A king does not partake in wagers, not even with his son." Oropher’s steely eyes glinted with amusement. “Come. It is time we rewarded the victors and prepared ourselves for the feast.”

While the service of prayers was a somber affair, the feast itself was not. Minstrels walked from table to table strumming harps and playing viols and flutes, while servants brought forth dishes of quail and venison and boar roasted in honey and herbs. There were heaping platters of cheese and pears and wild berries and apples and apricots, with golden flagons of wine and ale and mead for anyone who had a thirst for it. Many of those present ate and drank their fill. Some drank more than they should, and they gathered together in groups of threes and more to sing vulgar tunes that would have made even the bawdiest sailors amongst the Edain blush.

His father saw no harm in such amusements. He would have participated in them as well, had he not been king. More than once, Thranduil caught him drumming his fingers against the table and humming along to songs that caught his particular attention. Then he made his excuses and left the dais, and Thranduil watched while his father stopped by one table or the other to speak with their guests. The prince joined him not long after and waited his turn to be introduced to those he had never met before, unwed maidens in particular.

Father still clings to the hope of my wedding and producing an heir, Thranduil thought with affection. Ever since he attained the age of majority, his father spoke to him about prospective brides and encouraged him to form friendships with them. And while the prince was ever willing to indulge his father where friendships were concerned, he practiced greater caution when it came to his choice of bride.

I will make my own way when it comes to marriage, Thranduil thought to himself. And after I have finished establishing a household for myself. 

That household was a vast cave system north of Amon Lanc, and the work to make it a suitable home for a crown prince was nearly complete. His father encouraged it, thinking it was high time his son established a proper home for himself.

“Will you stay for the dancing, my lord?” A nobleman inquired of Oropher.

“Alas, my featherbed calls,” Oropher replied in jest. “And I fear that for tonight, I must answer it.”

The others laughed softly, then bowed when the king took his leave of them and retired to his chambers for the night. Thranduil remained. He returned to his seat on the dais, his golden hair limned by the flickering light of clear, amber lamps. Then the music changed, and the singing stopped. The time for dancing had come.

The prince had to leave his place a second time and he joined the others, graciously asking one lady to dance with him before turning to another after the music stopped and partners changed. His eyes widened like anything when Angon finally mustered the courage to ask Nitiel to dance with him in full view of his mother and father, and he quickly turned the other way when the general found him looking and flushed all over.

So it has happened, Thranduil realized after seeing thin bands of silver gleaming around their fingers. He has finally made the lady his wife. But will his mother and father accept his choice?

If Angon’s mother and father were displeased by their son’s brazen act, they did not show it. They simply rose and joined the others in dancing and exchanging pleasantries with their son’s lady. Then he became distracted by the sight of Feren walking toward the few remaining servants that had gathered at one end of the feasting hall. His steward approached y/n and then asked her to dance with him. Perhaps it was out of pity, as many of the others had been asked to dance. Or perhaps, he simply asked out of kindness. Either way, it did not alter the fact that Feren asked the lady to dance with him, and she, after a great deal of reluctance, agreed.

Thranduil gracefully led his own companion on more than one turn around the hall, but his eyes were on Feren and y/n most of the time. The maid proved to be a skilled dancer, and she followed Feren’s steps with great ease. When the music changed, partners changed, and whenever a change took place, Thranduil found y/n dancing with Angon, and then Galion, and then Elros, a wet-behind-the-ears elf who pledged himself to the king’s service only a turn of the moon ago. The elf’s countenance was bruised; he was one of the unfortunate warriors to take a blow to the face during the mock battle.

The music changed again, and this time y/n danced a turn with Amdír. The king of Lórien was a splendid dancer, and he made her laugh more than once. It was the first time Thranduil heard her laugh, and he shivered despite himself. Then, when the music changed for the final time, the prince himself had to dance a turn with y/n.

“My lady,” he bowed, for all eyes were on them now. “Would you do me the honor?”

“I… Of course, my lord,” y/n returned, and she dipped to her knees in a deep curtsy. When the music started, she placed her hand in his, and they danced in a circle around the floor.

While kindness or perhaps pity drove Feren to ask y/n to dance, shame over his own conduct led Thranduil to talk.

“You dance uncommonly well, my lady. Was it your mother who taught you how to dance?”

“My father… my lord. My mother… she said that was how father caught her eye. By how good he was with dancing.”

“I see,” Thranduil commented. “And how do you find life in Amon Lanc, my lady? Is it to your liking?”

Y/n was startled. “I do not understand my lord. Has… has someone said something? Has the king said something?”

She was frightened; it would have been plain to anyone who saw.

“No one has said anything against you,” he said softly in an effort to dispel her fears. “I merely wish to know if you are happy here.”

“I… I suppose I am happier here,” she replied.   

“Good,” Thranduil said. Then he felt her palm against his. It trembled. The hand resting on his other arm shook even as he held her steady. “Are you afraid of me?”

She was quick to shake her head and declare otherwise. Thranduil was not fooled, however, and whispered, “You are afraid of me. And I know my own actions have led you to fear me. Please, allow me to make amends for my behavior.”

“Why?” She asked after a while, in great confusion. “You are the crown prince of this great realm. I am Noldor, and I am the daughter of a kinslayer. Why would you even wish to do such a thing?”

Why indeed. Thranduil did not understand why the notion of asking for forgiveness entered his thoughts, only that it was there and that he would know no peace until he did.

“I do not know myself,” he confessed. “All I do know is that I truly desire to make amends for my behavior from before. Please grant me the opportunity to do so.”

tags: @deadlymistletoe @lemonivall @coopsgirl @tigereyesf @thranduilseyebrows​ @cupids-got-me​ @jane0error @asianbutnotjapanese

[heartmira]

Greenleaf ｡ﾟ･ Thranduil x Fem!Reader

Summary: In which Legolas asks her Naneth ( Reader ) how she and his father met each other.

A/N: This is the first time I'm writing fluff and a fic for middle-earth, so it must be weird lol. I'm more confident when I write angst.

tw: arranged marriage and soulmates (marks/tattoos)

ion - son , naneth - mother , adar - father , mereth nuin giliath - feast of starlight

word count: 1,042

"Naneth, how did you and Adar met each other?" Little Legolas asked, beaming at his mother, who smiled at his question, stroking his white hair. "It is a rather long story, ion. Would you really like to hear it?" Y/N, the Queen of Mirkwood, said.

"I promise that I'll halt my archery lessons for a week if you'd tell me, Naneth," Legolas promised, raising his right hand as if to pledge. "All right, ion..." Y/N chuckled before trailing off, starting her story as Legolas listened intently.

Thranduil, Prince of Mirkwood, was in a sour mood ever since the night his father, King Oropher, called him upon his study, disclosing him of his agreement with the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn, that when their children are finally of age, they would be arranged for marriage to strengthen the alliance between Mirkwood and Lothlórien further.

Thranduil, a faithful believer of soulmates and their bonds, immediately turned down his father after unconsciously touching the green leaf mark on his wrist. But, unfortunately, the agreement was already made even before he and the daughter of the Lord and Lady of Lothlórien were born into Middle-Earth.

When the day that the party of Lothlórien was due to arrive, the elves of Mirkwood worked in such haste, for they dusted every corner of the castle, arranged the best chambers and suites, and organized their large dining halls, rivaling the beauty of it during the celebrations of Mereth Nuin Giliath.

As one of the guards of Mirkwood announced the arrival of the Lothlórien party, Thranduil's eyes wandered over every individual that stepped into the throne room, trying to find the Lady who would soon be his wedded wife, but as the greetings between the Lord and Lady of Lothlórien and King Oropher ended, Lady Galadriel turned to him.

"I understand your nerves, Thranduil Oropherion. My dear Y/N is also lost in these decisions and has just learned of its existence just as your father had told you so. You'll find her somewhere in these woods, for she wanted to clear her thoughts before she faces you." Lady Galadriel spoke in his mind, and with a slight nod to the Lady and his father, he excused himself from their presence and walked out straight into the forest.

Thranduil searched for the Lady of Lothlórien for about half an hour, going circles over the stone path and listening for any indication of the Lady's whereabouts, but he found none. However, when he was just about to give up and walk back in the direction of the underground castle, his ears heard a dulcet tone humming a soft tune right just where his 'secret' place is.

As he reached the source of the melodic sound, his eyes wandered over Y/N, who sat upon a large stone Thranduil frequented, staring at the shade of the sun from the sleeping trees. She was too absorbed with the sound of her voice to hear the soft stirring of the leaves around her as Thranduil slowly walked towards her.

As soon as Y/N turned her head in the direction of Thranduil, she squealed out of surprise, almost falling off her back, but balanced herself in the last second and immediately took out a dagger from her dress' pocket, aiming it at the stranger in front of her who stood with both his arms raised. "Who are you, and how did you find me?" She questioned, her voice firm yet soft.

"I'm Thranduil of the Mirkwood realm, and your mother told me you'd be here somewhere." Thranduil answered, and with a small 'oh' from Y/N, she offered the space beside her and stared back at the sun. "This is my favorite spot in the entirety of Mirkwood."

"It is a good place. Quiet, peaceful, and hard to find." Y/N remarked, turning her gaze towards the prince as he stared at her. "I don't want this as much as you don't. My original plan was to journey through middle-earth to find my soulmate like my sister and every elves I've ever known."

"We're not different in that case. I'd be truly delighted to know who bears the same mark as mine does." Thranduil confessed, kicking a pebble at the ground. "You know, I think I have the strangest mark."

"Why do you think so?" Y/N asked curiously, mindlessly staring at every feature of Thranduil's face.

"Others that I've known typically bears a mark of words written in Tengwar, but mine is rather simple; a green leaf." Thranduil explained, raising the hem of his robes to reveal his soulmate mark. "It's rather strange, isn't it? I heard from past visitors from Lothlórien that yours are different too. Would it be alright if I could take a look at it?"

Thranduil looked at Y/N after noting her silence, and he saw how she stared at him with a mixture of anxiety, surprise, and happiness. He watched as she quickly folded the sleeves of her dress before practically shoving her wrist at Thranduil out of excitement. The two of them stared at each other's wrists for quite some time, their eyes darting towards one another wrists like they couldn't believe their eyes.

After a while, they raised both their head in unison, and without a second thought, Thranduil enveloped Y/N in a tight hug. And after overcoming their initial shock, the two decided to walk back to the castle. Those who passed by them stared in amazement as they've noted their intertwined hands and the bright smile on their faces.

Once they've reached the dining hall where their parents were sitting, they did not seem shocked, for they took terms to envelop the two in a warm hug as King Oropher welcomed Y/N to their family, and so did Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn with Thranduil.

"And that's how we met, ion. I suppose that also answers your questions about how your name came to be." Y/N beamed, bopping Legolas' nose as he laughed. "I'd like to hear more stories about how you and Ada were before I was born, Naneth." Legolas requested, showing his puppy dog eyes as Y/N rolled her eyes with a laugh. "Perhaps someday I'll tell you about how your father once mistook my Naneth as myself."

[selenavtl]

Travels of a Broken Heart ( Thranduil x reader) DISCONTINUED : Prologue

My name is Y/n. I was born in Rivendell, 3215 years-ago, and raised by Lord Elrond, until my fate took me away. My parents died so early in my life that any memories of them disappeared with time, and all that is left, are the powers I inherited from them. From what Elrond told me, my mother was a healer, but he never really spoke about my father.

When I was old enough, Elladan and Elrohir, Elrond’s sons, started taking me out of Rivendell. We went searching for herbs, and occasionally, we would hunt down packs of Orcs coming from the mountains. I instantly knew I was meant to be outside, and not in the beautiful safety of the Hidden Valley.

As a result of those trips, I started training with Elrond’s soldiers, and quickly became one of the best archers. These fighting skills, along with my healing abilities, made me “the most powerful edhel on Arda”, as Elrond says. 

Life went on and on, peacefully, for hundreds of years. I’d be sent away on political trips, or charged to rid areas of Orcs and other disgusting creatures, almost every day. 

Until darkness took over the world and the War of The Last Alliance took place. Men and Elves, fighting together against the forces of Sauron, for years. This is where I first saw him. 

Amongst the thousands of men, elves and Orcs’ dead bodies, the Prince of the Woodland Realm, Thranduil. Fighting two cavern Trolls by himself, with for only weapon his bleeding sword.  Even swollen in black blood and dirt, his long white hair shined like a ray of light, in the dark fields of Mordor. Seeing him was like being struck by lightning, and that’s when I knew he was my One. 

Elves already have a special vision of love, only having a single lover for the eternity that is their life. But a One, is more powerful than any possibe feelings one could have. Once you find it, your souls are bounded until death, and when the end comes, whether you die together, whether the remaining  beating heart breaks. That is, if the feelings are mutual. Which wasn’t the case for me, since the Prince was already married. 

When the war ended, and Sauron died ( or at least that’s what we thought), I decided to not go back to Rivendell, the main reason being that it was too far away from the Woodland Realm, and from Thranduil who was now King considering his father died during the War. 

Though, Elrond was still too saddened and traumatized by the Battle, so he told me to go and find a wizard, Gandalf the Grey. Finding him was easy, but living with him was not. We were always on the road, from North to South, and East to West, taking care of situations only a wizard could handle. I was happy since I was travelling the world, but the ache of being far from my One only grew harder to bare. We travelled together enough time for Gandalf to become a father to me, just like Elrond. 

One year, we were (mostly Gandalf) invited to Mereth Nuin Giliath, the Feast of Starlight, by the Elvenking Thranduil himself. The prospect of seeing him again was relieving, but also worrying considering that he was not even aware of my existence, nor that I would come along with Gandalf. 

It occurred that I was right to worry. I never felt so unwelcomed and out of place in my life, and yet, it felt like home. The realm was dark, but warm and inviting, candle light illuminating every bridges and trees. We were led to the throne room as soon as we arrived by an elf named Feren. He also was fighting against Sauron back then. The room was huge, but what impressed me the most was the large and high wooden throne, ornated by what seemed to be elk antlers, and covered in silk drapes. Two guards were standing before it, and two other ones arrived, escorting the King. 

Seeing Thranduil again was like I was reborn, all the pain and feeling of emptiness leaving my body as he welcomed Gandalf. Our eyes met for the first time, his icy blue ones piercing into my E/c ones. He seemed surprised at first, but finally welcomed me as well. 

We never exchanged a word, even when I was sitting by his side during the dinner that took place that night. Gandalf, who sat next to Thranduil’s wife, was recounting our adventures, which allowed me to embrace the relief my body felt. 

The King was as stunning as ever, the wooden and spiky crown on his head made him look even more regal and majestic, yet he seemed somewhat older, and more similiar to his father. Gandalf told me that evening that a crown can change a person in many ways, a statement that confirmed itself many times all along my story. 

I made the biggest (and worst ) decision of my life later that night. Gandalf was already asleep, and possibly a bit drunk considering the amount of wine he drank, but I, on the other hand, couldn’t sleep. I decided to head to the library Feren showed us earlier, but didn’t suspect that the King would be there, and very much alone. We didn’t speak much, but it was enough for me to tell him that I felt incredibly good in the realm, and for him to tell me to try and stay here for a while. 

And so I did. I lived by his side for years, and it was better, better than being away, but still not enough. I barely saw him, barely talked to him, and his wife was never truly nice with me. To this day, I still wonder if she suspected or even knew my feelings toward Thranduil. The only friend I ever made in the kingdom was Feren, who knew all of it, and who was always here whenever I needed an advice. 

Until one cold day of October, my feelings and pain became unbearable, so I decided to tell the King everything. How I felt, what he was to me, everything. He didn’t believe me at first (and I don’t think he ever did), but his wife knew it was true. She rejected me, banished me from the realm for my feelings and he watched, silent from up his throne. She made the guards escort me out, with no weapons, no food, nothing. I ran and ran, out of what was still Greenwood, until I felt it. The pain of a heart, literally breaking. No wound I’ve ever gotten was as intense and painful than that. The only thing I remember is  crying out of pain in the middle of nowhere, and then eveything went black.

When I woke up, the wooden elven walls were replaced by cold, stone columns. Actually everything seemed to be made of stone, even the bed felt like it. The room was empty, besides a few candlesticks here and there, and a desk covered in fresh food. Then I noticed a young dwarf, with black hair and a beard quite short for his kin. His name was Thorin, grandson of the King of Erebor, where he brought me. I knew Erebor because of the stories about golden rooms that people talk about. He told me he found me a few days before, unconscious near the forest, and brought me to his kingdom. 

Thorin quickly became my best-friend as I recovered for more than a month. The pain was still here, going back and forth, but I felt better as the days flew by. I was ready to leave, far away from all of this, but Thorin almost begged me to stay. So, I did. 

I lived peacefully, away from the world, in Erebor for years, and it becamr the closest thing I ever had from a home, since Rivendell. 

The first time I heard about Thranduil again was when a messenger from the Woodland Realm came to the mountain, to inform us that the Queen died. He was carrying a box, full of white gems that were hers, and that Thranduil wanted to be made as a necklace. He came to Erebor when it was done, but Thror, who was already consumed by sickness,  stole them from him. 

We didn’t hear from him again, until the dragon came and took our home away from us. We were all hurt and desperate, and he just watched, and left. Thorin never forgot, nor forgave, but I did, somehow. 

But here I am, today, in a place I didn’t even knew existed called The Shire, in front of a small, round wooden door, marked by a certain grey wizard, waiting to go take our home back.

Elvish translation:

Edhel = elf