#S arda

[thelien-art]

✨Him✨

What is he thinking about? You tell me

[nightie-after-midnight]

something something Tyelkormo writhing in ecstasy and Orome literally consuming his insides.

[two-white-butterflies]

❀ - so confusing sometimes | multi

Description: i have a request for some beautiful lotr elves! how would they react to their human s/o being so…human? sleep talking, bumping their hips on a counter, catching their clothes on doorknobs, expressive, etc? REQUEST

Thranduil. Legolas. Elrond.

A/N: I wanted to squeeze as much elves in here but alas I only wanted to make this for the elves that (i feel like) i know.

Thranduil of Greenwood (Sleep-Talking)

He's been having difficulties with sleep.

It all started after the darkness took hold of his kingdom, placing his people's lives in danger. How was he to rest? When his soldiers were risking their lives fighting against the darkness - all while he had the luxury of sleep, on a soft bed with his lady-wife beside him.

His human.

Gods, another reminder of why he cannot sleep.

He fears that time will steal you away from him. Your life was a mere blink of an eye to him, a minute of rain and he'll be thrown back into the barren desert. He cannot bare to lose you. It will consume his soul with grief. It will ruin him. It will kill him.

"Catch the fish, Thran." you mumbled in your sleep.

He raises an eyebrow, believing you to be awake. "It's a big one." you continued mumbling, while burrowing deeper into the sheets. "Meleth," he whispers, wrapping his arms around you. "But I feel bad, we should let it go." you hummed.

He forgets about his fears - his anxiety.

You looked adorable while sleeping - evidently still dreaming about the summer you both spent in Laketown. Before the darkness. Before the clock ticked against your favor.

"I am quite hungry." you bit your lower lip.

Thranduil chuckles, pulling your body closer until your head was on his chest. "Continue dreaming, my love. I hope that you find light in your dreams, as we've been surrounded by darkness as of the late." he whispered, although you were unable to hear.

Still dreaming about the past, and mumbling strings of incoherent words about fist and lunch.

Legolas of Greenwood (Bumping their hips on a counter)

Legolas was perhaps the most hilarious elf in all of Arda. He likes making jokes, sharing anecdotes of all the trees he's had a conversation with. He's always on top of a tree, coming home all covered in mud. He was adorable.

But he was still an elf.

He still possessed grace and elegance. He's never scraped his knees as a child. He never loses his balance. He always has his shoulders squared, and walking in a straight line.

"Chocolate is evidently better than vanilla." he rolled his eyes at you.

"You are an elfling." you say plainly, continuing to mix the batter for his father's nameday cake. "Chocolate is naturally better. When an elfling wants to be happy, they don't reach for the vanilla, they climb the counter and reach for the hidden chocolate." he defends.

But you can see through him. He's a sweet-tooth.

"You told me that Ada's favorite flavor was vanilla." you reminded, referring back to the conversation you had about your good-father.

"- but I am also his favorite child, which means that I will have the biggest piece of cake. I want to eat chocolate." he pleaded.

"You are his only child, Las." your eyes narrowed teasingly. The humans were always quick to point out the chasm between your ages, but Legolas acted more like an elfling sometimes.

"- and you will eat chocolate cake on your nameday" you walk past him.

Bumping your hips on the counter.

"Ow," you flinch, and his eyes widen.

"What was that? Are you okay? Are you hurt?" he wrapped his arms around you, caging you in his warm embrace.

"Are you sick? Is that normal?" he continued asking, concern flashing through his blue irises. The pain subsides, but his concern does not. "Should I call for a healer?" he inquired.

Why was he so worried? You only bumped your hips on the counter. He continues staring deep into your irises, checking your eyes for any sign that you were feeling pain.

You piece his reaction together.

Damn.

"My wife." he repeats firmly, snapping you back into reality. "Las," you say before beginning to laugh.

Your reaction catches him off guard. "Why are you laughing at me?" his eyebrows merge together, his face turning serious. "There's nothing to worry about, I just bumped into something." you comfort.

"There's something wrong with your eyes. We must have it healed." he insists, but you shake your head. "It's normal, Las." you smile.

"- you mean to tell me that you didn't see it?" he was flabbergasted.

His face softens, his eyebrows return to their normal place. You answer him with silence and with silence he understands. You are human, same in face as the elves - but still human nonetheless. "I'm sorry," he apologized, you wrap him in a warm embrace.

Ultimately forgetting about the cake you were baking.

Elrond Peredhel (Catching their clothes on doorknobs.)

Elrond's heart heaves at the sight of that scowl on your face. His lady-wife whose anger quickly turns into sadness. "Meleth, please, talk to me." he pleaded - like a lost little puppy. "I can't believe that you've left me in the dark about the Fellowship." you frowned.

You've been married for a decade, and he's always told you everything. What he ate for breakfast, luncheon and dinner. He even shares with you the types of wine he drank. You trusted each other with even the tiniest details of your lives, but why did he lie?

"I do not wish for danger to happen upon you. The great darkness has been marching against us. I fear that those forces take you." he confessed, keeping his voice low. "- but there is no use in hiding that from you, not when you already know." he breathed.

His eyes were cloudy with tears.

"As Lady of Rivendell, is it not my duty to know?" you explained, suddenly feeling guilty about confronting him all those hours ago.

"I know that it your duty, meleth. I was being selfish. I allowed my fears to consume my judgement." he apologized.

"- while the Fellowship still marches, I urge you to not speak about them, even in the confines of our haven. The darkness has grown in power. I believe that he is strong enough to pierce through my defenses." he reminded.

"Yes, I understand." you pressed a kiss to his forehead. Standing up to close the door, after closing it shut - you turn around to face him, but your robes have been caught in the doorknob.

"Gods," you mentally facepalmed, trying to pull your robes free. "Meleth," he stood up, helping you free your robes but you continued tugging at it - giving him a harder time. "Meleth," he smiled, preventing the chuckle that threatened to escape from his mouth.

The littlest joys.

He frees your robes from the treacherous hold of the doorknob.

"Thank you." you smile in return, already red in the face.

[singstaircase]

Can we become we?

Summary: Jude wonders, just what horrible sin he committed to deserve a punishment like this– being 'coached' by his teammates on how to become a husband. Not a good one, certainly not a bad one but just a husband.

contains: fluff, crack, implied unwanted marriage, use of the word 'forced marriage', Harry Kane and Ancelotti make an appearance, marriage of convenience or is it?

*Mina is Valverde's partner, Luz is Brahim's girlfriend, Ana/Anastasia is Lunin's partner, Laura is Rudiger's wife and Vanja is Luka's wife.

1.

“Why is she even married to a man like you?”

“She's kind of forced to, Luka.”

Jude finds himself bewildered as his teammates discuss his marriage, a topic that seems to have spread like wildfire among them.

He tries to interject, emphasizing the temporary nature of his marriage but his words seem to fall on deaf ears.

Even more puzzling is how they got the information that he let his wife return to Madrid alone after the last El Clasico.

He didn't, he tries to clarify multiple times but despite his attempts to explain the situation and reassure them, his teammates just don't seem to listen. Now, he finds himself enduring Luka’s lecture on marriage and marital responsibility.

An hour ago, his teammates were oblivious to his relationship status, and now they are judging him for being an ‘awful’ husband.

Jude can't help feeling this sudden annoyance about Brahim and Luz. This is all their fault, probably.

He rubs his eyes as Fede says something to him and though he nods, he only half-heard what was said.

Amidst the chaos, the players fail to notice Ancelotti's arrival until his voice cuts through the chatter.

“Bellingham,” Jude straightens up instantly hearing his coach's voice and everyone falls silent. “Go invite your wife to the bus.”

With a resigned “Yes coach,” Jude's attempt to maintain authority is overshadowed by his teammates' laughter.

“(Name)?” Jude calls out towards the stands, where Luz and (Name) are chatting. She turns to him and he gestures for her to come over.

“Let's,” he starts, his voice faltering for a moment. The idea of leaving immediately crosses his mind, but (Name)'s reassuring smile stops him in his tracks. It's warm and comforting, urging him to stay.

Instead of fleeing, Jude clears his throat and continues. “Let's go home together.”

“On the bus?” She asks and he nods. Her smile grows slightly, and she responds with a soft ‘alright' before darting back to Luz.

Jude watches as (Name) bids farewell to Luz and later Mina before her way back to him. “Let's go,” she says, adjusting her bag and reaching for his hand.

Jude looks down at their intertwined fingers for a moment, feeling a sensation he can't explain, before nodding and walking towards the bus with his wife.

His wife, (Name). It has a nice ring to it.

2.

“Jude move a little closer to (Name), please.”

The second time Arda tells him to do so, Jude sighs.

It was bad enough that he was being ‘coached’ by his older teammates and their partners on how to become a ‘husband’, they didn't need to involve Arda into this too.

As Jude reluctantly inches closer to (Name), he wishes he didn't look over her shoulder.

Jude has no idea why Antonio, of all people, is now involved in his marriage antics. He suspects it has to do something with Laura, Antonio’s wife, taking a liking to (Name).

Jude recalls Laura and Vanja instructions before the photo shoot and he wonders if this is what Antonio is trying to gesture with his eyes.

Reluctantly, Jude obeys, not wanting Antonio or Mina or anyone's warning glances.

He hesitates for a moment before draping his arm around (Name)’s shoulders, feeling her warmth against him. She smiles at him, and Jude can't help but return the smile.

Later, as Jude looks at the photos, he can't deny thinking that they do look cute together.

Only a little bit, he swears.

3.

As Jude wakes from his sleep, he feels the weight of (Name)’s body against his. They had fallen asleep while watching a movie and now, she lies peacefully on top of him.

It had been Luka and Vanja’s idea to organize a movie night. Jude was hesitant about it then but now, as he gazes down at (Name)’s sleeping figure, a warmth blossoms in his chest.

With a soft smile, he wraps his arms around her, pulling her closer, before drifting back into sleep.

Maybe, just maybe, this marriage thing might not be so bad after all.

4.

“Jude Victor William Bellingham, if you don't ask your wife for a dance in 10 minutes, I am kicking you out of this party.”

“It's not even yours, Mina.”

“Shut up.”

Jude wonders just what bad deeds he did to deserve a friend group like this.

He halts in his steps for the fourth time, glancing back over his shoulder, and sure enough, Mina and Luz are still standing there. Mina’s glare doesn't relent, so Jude sighs and continues walking.

As he reaches the entrance of the dining hall, his eyes land on (Name) sitting alone on a table at the end of the room. She looks around from time to time, probably waiting for Luz.

‘What a fantastic friend Luz is,’ Jude thinks to himself sarcastically, ‘leaving her friend all alone after begging her to come here.’

A small smile finds (Name)’s lips as she catches Jude walking over to her.

Jude could run away now, pretending he never saw her. But something about her hopeful smile makes him reconsider.

Taking a deep breath, Jude approaches (Name) and clears his throat. With a shy smile, he extends his hand, remembering Fede’s advice to at least pretend he's interested.

“Would you like to dance?” (Name)’s eyes light up with surprise and delight. "I'd love to."

When they step onto the dance floor, Jude's nerves start to show.

(Name) laughs at his clumsy attempts to follow her steps, but her laughter is infectious and soon, he finds himself laughing along with her.

She guides Jude through the steps with gentle encouragement. “Just relax and let the music guide you,” she says, her voice soft and reassuring.

As they dance, Jude's nerves start to melt away.

With each step, he feels himself getting more confident. Their laughter blends with the music as he twirls (Name) around the dance floor.

She has a nice smile, Jude thinks to himself.

5.

Jude is starting to feel a little proud over his development as a ‘good partner’ and credit for none of it goes to any of his teammates or their partners, he likes to think.

He sits in his car, feeling a sense of accomplishment for being the one to drop (Name) off at work. It was his idea entirely and he totally didn't take the help of the internet for it.

As he parks in front of her workplace, he turns to her. “I'll pick you up at five,” Jude says, trying to sound confident.

(Name) smiles in response and nods at him. Her smile seems to have an effect on him lately, he can't quite explain why.

But then, something unexpected happened. (Name)’s hand freezes on the handle for a moment, before making her next move.

She turns back to him, wrapping her arms around him in a hug. Jude is caught off guard, but he instinctively returns the gesture.

Before he can fully process what just happened, (Name) pulls away and waves goodbye, leaving Jude sitting in the car, feeling dazed yet strangely content.

This felt nice.

Jude If you learned that there's something Katie's wanting for a long time but couldn't manage to get, Would you get it her and would it make a good surprise?

Harry I would and it would. Why are you asking?

Jude So, hypothetically if I had a missus and I was you and my missus was Katie in this scenario, I should get it for her cause it would make a good surprise, right? Hypothetically.

Harry Yes, hypothetically.

Jude Thanks.

Harry You have a missus? Jude?

(Name) isn't sure when was the last time Jude looked this nervous. It's a side of him she doesn't see often, not even during the most high stakes of games.

As she approaches him, she can't help but recall the way he had looked at Vanja's birthday. The same nervous energy seems to radiate from him now.

“What is it?” (Name) asks gently, her smile reassuring Jude, who visibly calms down.

Jude closes his eyes, taking a deep breath before opening them again. He takes (Name)’s hand and in a swift move, places a small box in her palm.

(Name) looks at him curiously, then starts to open the box. As she lifts the lid, her expression turns to one of shock.

“I um,” he begins, rubbing the back of his neck nervously, “I heard from Luz that this is something you've been wanting for a while but the tickets weren't available. So, I…” he trails off, waiting for her response.

When she remains silent, Jude calls her name, growing increasingly worried the longer she stays quiet. 

When he calls her name again, (Name) suddenly hugs him, taking Jude by surprise.

His heart races and soon, a smile spreads across his face. He wraps his arms around (Name), feeling their heartbeats syncing.

“Thank you so much Jude,” (Name) whispers into the embrace.

They stand there, held in each other's arms. Reluctantly, (Name) eventually pulls back, a shy but content smile playing on her lips. What she does next stuns him once more.

(Name) gently holds Jude's face and plants a tender kiss on his cheek before leaving the room. 

Jude touches the spot where her lips met his cheek. A smile graces his lips as the sound of (Name)'s excited voice reaches his ears from the other room. 

He won't mind this happening often.

Luka Did you get a ticket for (Name)?

Jude No.

Luka Why

Jude I don't know?

Mina what does ‘I don't know’ mean?

Jude It means I didn't get one for because I don't know if she likes the band.

Ana you don't know what your own wife likes?

Jude you make me sound like an awful husband, Ana.

Vanja No offence but you sound like one Jude.

Jude Unbelievable. I just remembered, (Name) doesn't even like the band.

Brahim He is lying. Luz says (Name) loves them Luka Jude. Vanja Jude. Mina Jude. Ana Jude.

Jude All of you are going to believe Luz over me??

Mina I mean Luz is her best friend and I don't see why she would lie about something like this

Jude ugh. Fine. I got tickets for her. Happy?

Luka Did you?

Luz He did. (Name)’s been telling me for the last few minutes how happy and excited she is.

Jude She is?

Luz yes, very happy and excited. Good job Jode *Jude 👍

The moment Jude turns to the stairs, he feels his breath catch in his throat.

There (Name) stands, at the top of stairs with Mina, her smile lighting up the room in a way that makes everything else seems dim in comparison.

For a moment, Jude is frozen in place. It's as if time stands still, and he can't help but marvel at her beauty.

He feels a warmth spread through him that he can't quite explain.

Fede, Brahim and Luz, who were joking and laughing just moments ago, fall silent as they see of Jude's reaction.

“Jude, are you alright?” Brahim asks with a teasing grin. Jude can only nod, unable to tear his eyes away from his wife.

“Looks like someone's in love," Luz chimes in with a chuckle."

"Yeah, dude, you're making us look bad with all that romance," adds Brahim and nudges him playfully. “And you are supposed to be the awful one at romance!”

“Wow,” is all he can manage, making (Name)’s smile wider.

Jude finally manages to tear his gaze away from (Name) to glance at his friends, who are all watching him with amused expressions.

"She's just...wow," Jude manages to stammer out.

His friends share knowing looks and teasing smiles before Brahim claps him in the back. "Go on, then. Don't keep her waiting.”

(Name)’s lips curl up as Jude finally gathers himself and makes his way towards her. “Hi,” he manages to get out.

“Hey,” (Name) replies.

After a brief pause, Jude musters up courage. “You look…beautiful,” and before he can stop himself, the next words come tumbling out. “So beautiful.”

(Name) continues to smile at him and extends her hand and gestures for Jude to take it.

Jude takes a breath in to calm his racing heart and smiles.

“Let's go.”

Later, when (Name) rests her head on Jude's shoulder at the end of the concert, he doesn't feel the annoyance he would have months ago.

Instead, a smile finds its way to his face as he pulls (Name) closer to him.

Maybe, just maybe, he thinks to himself, he and (Name) can be something special.

One day. Maybe one day.

[camille-lachenille]

I was thinking about how, in fanfictions and in the fandom in general, Elrond is often depicted as a pure Noldorin lord, if not a die hard Fëanorian. And while I do enjoy Fëanorian!Elrond, the more I think about it the more I am convinced Elrond is not the fëanorian one of the twins. Elros is. Elros who adopted seven eight pointed stars as the heraldic device of his whole dynasty, a symbol still used 6000 years after his death. Elros who had Quenya be the official language of Númenor. Elros who decided to leave Arda for an unknown fate after his death; not Everlasting Darkness but not the rebirth in the bliss of Valinor either. He choose to go to a place Elves aren’t supposed to go, just like Fëanor and his sons went back to Beleriand. Elros, the mortal man, who decided to forge his own path in the world.

And I am not saying Elrond didn’t, because Eru knows how much strength, patience and stubbornness Elrond must have to become who he is in LotR. But when I first re-read LotR after reading the Silm, he did not strike me as Fëanorian at all (except for the no oath swearing rule that seems to apply in Rvendell). In fact, Elrond, and all three of his children, are defined by being half-Elven. Elrond is so much at the same time they had to creat a whole new category for him. He is described as kind as summer in The Hobbit, but also old and wise, and his friendly banter with Bilbo in FotR show he is also merry and full of humour. Elrond is both Elf and Man despite his immortality, and this is made quite clear in the text.

But. If I had to link him to an Elven clan, I’d say Elrond is more Sinda than Noldor, and even that is up to debate. Rivendell, this enchanting valley hidden from evil thanks to his power, is like a kinder version of Doriath. Yet, the name of Last Homely House and Elrond’s boundless hospitality make me think of Sirion: Rivendell is a place where lost souls can find s home, where multiple cultures live along each other in friendship and peace.

In FotR, Elrond introduces himself as the son of Eärendil and Elwing, claiming both his lineages instead of giving only his father’s name as is tradition amongst the Elves. It may be a political move, or it may be a genuine wish to claim his duality, his otherness, or even both at the same time. But from what is shown of Elrond in LotR, he seems to lean heavily in the symbols and heritage from the Sindar side of his family, rather than the Noldor one. I already gave the comparison with Doriath, but it seems history repeats itself as Arwen, said to be Lúthien reborn, chooses a mortal life. Yet Elrond doesn’t make the same mistake as Thingol by locking his daughter in a tower and sending her suitor to a deathly quest. Yes, he asks Aragorn to first reclaim the throne of Gondor before marrying Arwen, but this isn’t a whim on his part or an impossible challenge. Aragorn becoming king means that Middle-Earth is free from the shadow if Sauron and Arwen will live in peace and happiness. Which sounds like a reasonable wish for a parent to me.

Anyways, I went on a tangent, what strikes me with Elrond is his multiple identity. Elrond certainly has habits or traits coming from his upbringing amongst the Fëanorians, and he loved Maglor despite everything. The fact he is a skilled Minstrel shows he did learn and cultivate skills taught by a Fëanorion, that he is not rejecting them. There is a passage at the end of RotK, in the Grey Havens chapter, where Elrond is described carrying a silver harp. Is this a last relic from Maglor? Possible.

But while Elros choose the path of mortality and showed clear Noldorin influences in the kingdom he built, Elrond is happy in his undefined zone he lives in. He is an Elf, he is a Man, he is Sinda and Noldo and heir to half a dozen lost cultures and two crowns. He is the warrior and the healer, the only one of his kind in Middle-Earth. And that is why I will never tire of this character and I love so much fanworks depicting him as nuanced and multiple yet always recognisable as Elrond.

[nelyoslegalteam]

@melkors-defense-attorney well it would seem my people will be getting in touch with your people, then. my client has some very serious accusations.

i would stop blocking pornbots if they changed their gimick from beautiful horny women to orcs

[planetpedri]

You got an Arda request about them having a fight and he is sleeping on the couch.

Can you write something with Kenan? Maybe a lil bit different just Kenan being more like a 'baby' and at first he is like you can sleep here but i'm not gonna cuddle and she is trying to open his arms and then he just giving in and cuddle with her

Count to five — Kenan Yildiz.

Pairing: Kenan Yildiz x Gn!Reader

Summary: Though you and Kenan had just argued a few moments prior, you can’t sleep alone. The problem was, Kenan was being… difficult.

Word count: 510

Disclaimer/s: Angst to happy ending.

A/N: Hope this works idk

The darkness of your bedroom was all consuming. You had been tossing and turning for well over an hour by now. The empty bed, besides your cold body, was unsettling. Never in the two years you’d been dating Kenan had you slept alone knowing he was only twenty feet away. It was weird and uncomfortable.

Turning onto your left side, you stare at the white door a few feet away, contemplating. You were still pissed off at Kenan. The argument still very fresh in your mind, but was that a reason to lose sleep?

Just count to five. Chill the hell out.

One… Two… Three… Four..

Slipping out of the bed sheets, you tug on a pair of socks before padding your way through the door and toward the living room. You find your boyfriend sprawled out on the sofa, tousled hair and a pout on his lips. You smile at the sight before flattening it. You were still supposed to be mad.

Five.

Slipping to your knees beside the couch, you gently shake his shoulders. “Kenan.” You hiss, “Babe. Wake up.”

Kenan groans, eyes fluttering open to land on you. “What?” He huffs, narrowing his gaze onto you, concern hidden deep beneath them.

“I can’t sleep.” You sigh, “scoot over.”

Your boyfriend lets out a humorless laugh, “you’re joking?” But he examines your face, eyebrow quirking at the seriousness you depicted.

“Do I look like i’m joking?” You scoff, “scootch.”

Kenan rolls his eyes, doing as told. He makes just enough space for you to get comfortable. Instinctively, your arm comes up to wrap around his torso, but Kenan is quick to shift away. You gasp, “excuse you?”

“No. No, cuddling.” He wags his finger at you, taking your wrist and resting your arm back around your own stomach.

Narrowing your eyes at him, you pinch your lips together. “Don’t be difficult. This is literally why our argument started.” Oh.. bad idea to bring that up..

Kenan instantly stiffens, crossing his arms together. “Hey, it’s not my fault you—“

“Kenan.” You grumble, reaching for his arms and prying them apart. “Let’s talk about this in the morning, yeah?”

Taking a long breath of air, Kenan gives in. He lets you wrap his arms around your waist and your head on his shoulder. “You better not throw us off the couch with your moving.”

“I am not a mover?” You lift your head off his shoulder, coming face to face with your boyfriend. His teeth shine through an amused grin on his lips.

“Yes, you most certainly are.” He argues, his eyes flickering to your lips teasingly.

Huffing out an annoyed breath of air, your watch his gaze shifting between your eyes and lips. “Take it back, and i’ll contemplate a kiss.”

Kenan thinks for a minute, “I suppose i’ll take it back.” He tilts his head to the side, “so..”

“Suppose?” You laugh, “yeah, no. Good night.”

The brunette frowns, “okay. I take it back! I do!” You grin triumphantly, leaning down to press a kiss to his lips.

DTS , @halfwayhearted @spidybaby !

[temporarily-your-saint]

Under the Stars

A Rings of Power fic has been brewing inside of my brain but unfortunately Elrond will be going through so much pain... As if he hasn't been through it enough. :') BUT. I really wanted to give him a soft and sweet moment, so here we are. Our sweet summer boy deserves only love. <3

Word count: 3.8k

Warning(s): none, kissing??, some (lil bit) of spice??? more like suggestive spicy?

Themes: Friends to lovers, mutual pining, sort of submissive elrond??? hehehe

Also all translations are at the end!

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　

Elrond could always be found underneath the golden trees that surrounded Lindon, Írimë could be sure of that.

The elleth watched her dear friend from afar, awestruck by the scene before her. The half-elf seemed to glow underneath the mallorn trees, almost shining while he wrote his poetry and speeches for the king. 

She always admired his passion for the melodic words that danced along the pages and never grew tired watching his quill flick skillfully. After a moment, her legs finally moved through the field and towards the king’s harold.

As she approached, his gaze continued to stay fully enveloped within the binded pages, unaware of her presence. 

“My heart sings to see that not much has changed,” her voice rang, breaking the silence.

Elrond, slightly startled, smiled when he heard the familiar voice. His eyes flickered to her face and then down her body, taking in her figure with a subtle glance.

"Írimë? Is that really you?" He spoke calmly as he stood up from his sitting position atop the tree and stepped forward to approach her. "It's been a while. You haven't changed a single day."

As he grew closer to her, she reached out and placed a hand against his cheek. “Neither have you, mellon nin,” she breathed as her thumb brushed against his skin, tenderly just beneath his eye.

Warmth immediately poured over her as they greeted one another. It had been years since the two had seen one another and by the Valar, she had truly missed his affable smile. While years in the lives of elves passed swiftly and without much notice, she had still ached to lay her eyes upon him once again.

A light blush trickled along Elrond’s cheeks as his eyes danced across her face. “I’ve missed you, my dear friend,” he spoke softly.

She couldn’t help but beam with happiness at his words, a smile never leaving her lips. Her bright blue eyes stared into his gray orbs, not daring to look away.

“And I you,” her voice whispered. The elleth’s heart pumped quickly as her stomach filled with butterflies.

His hands wrapped around her one that had held his cheek and brought it down between them. She could let him hold her there in place for centuries if Eru Ilúvatar allowed it. 

He squeezed her hand gently, feeling the warmth of her touch while his gaze held hers as it shined with merriment and affection.

Gods, had he missed her.

The half-elf studied her features, captivated by the beauty of the elleth. A strange but not unpleasant flutter raised inside his chest. He always thought she was beautiful; any being that roamed Arda could see she was well-favored by the gods, but something felt different now.

“There was not a day that went by when I did not think of you,” he admitted, voice just above a whisper.

His forward words only quickened her pulse more. She wasn’t so sure her heart wouldn’t fully beat out of her chest at this point for she would melt under his gaze if he wasn’t currently keeping her grounded, holding her hand between his two.

“Surely I didn’t cloak your thoughts too much,” she teased him, a smile dancing across her lips.

Elrond let out a soft huff of amusement at Írimë’s teasing. He gave her hand another gentle squeeze and shook his head with an affectionate smile as he spoke, "You know very well that you have always occupied a significant amount of my thoughts," he replied in a teasing tone of his own.

He brought her hand up and pressed a soft, gentle kiss against her palm. It was a small yet intimate gesture.

Elrond had always been fond of the elleth before him. He hadn’t always noticed the peculiar feeling for it only seemed to grow stronger within the past years that had passed. And here she was before him once again. He couldn’t pass up the opportunity this time to tell her.

“Elrond…” she breathed, unable to formulate a witty response. He was being serious.

His lips…His eyes…The way he peered into her soul dizzied her senses. She had noticed Elrond looking at her differently the last time she was in his presence and now…Here he did it once again.

Elrond watched her reaction carefully. He saw the way her breath caught in her throat and he heard the slight tremble in her voice. His heart beat a little faster, his breath catching in return.

His thumb traced idle circles on her palm, the contact between them making his skin tingle. Elrond swallowed tightly, meeting her gaze with a gaze full of sincerity.

"Írimë... I have wanted to tell you... that I..."

His voice trailed off, his words failing him. How could he tell her that he felt for her without sounding foolish?

“Yes…?” Wide eyes stared into his own, searching for answers. Something… anything.

Írimë felt like she was on fire. Blood pumped through her veins that felt like lava—heavy, scolding. Pink lips parted as she licked her lips.

Elrond hesitated, struggling with how to properly articulate the storm of emotions he felt inside. He swallowed again, swallowing his last remaining doubts.

He brought her hand up to his chest, placing it right over his rapidly beating heart. The warmth of her palm pressed against him nearly made him shiver.

"Írimë... I have come to realize...”

Every passing moment made her heart boom louder. Her hand placed over his heart was so intimate, so raw. He wanted her to feel his heartbeat. 

And she did.

Before he could finish, a loud voice came barreling over the hill, running toward them through the grass.

“Írimë! Elrond!”

The voice broke their trance, not allowing Elrond to finish his words. Gods, how she needed him to finish those words.

She stepped back, allowing some space between her and the half-elf before her as she retracted her hand. Her gaze met a familiar figure walking towards them. 

“Vorohil!” She exclaimed, welcoming her old friend.

Elrond's heart felt heavy inside of his chest, the moment stolen from him just as he was about to confess his true feelings. He took a step back as well, his shoulders slightly slumped in defeat.

As Vorohil approached, Elrond looked up, his expression slightly irritated at the interruption. He had been so close to speaking up, so close...But now there was no chance of picking up from where he had left off. The mood between the two souring now that Vorohil had joined them.

"Vorohil," Elrond said in greeting, forcing a small smile.

The ellon acknowledged Elrond with respect and then rested upon the raven-haired elleth. “I heard you just arrived. I have come to fetch you for the feast!”

Írimë grasped her dear friend’s forearm and gave it a light squeeze. “Thank you, my dear friend,” she said softly. Her bright eyes then met Elrond’s gaze, “Shall we join?”

The half-elf let out a soft sigh, his disappointment still evident on his face. However, he offered her a small, reluctant smile and nodded, "Yes, let us be on our way."

As they began walking, Elrond fell into pace beside her, their shoulders brushing slightly. He kept his hands clasped tightly behind his back to stop himself from reaching out to her again. The words that he had wanted to say lingered on the tip of his tongue, yet he held them back once more.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　

The feast was a splendid affair. Food was plentiful and wine flowed freely. Music played in the background, filling the air with cheerful, light elvish tunes.

Elrond walked beside Írimë, though his earlier enthusiasm had wilted slightly. He occasionally stole glances at her but made no attempt to resume their earlier conversation. His heart ached with unspoken words, yet he couldn't bring himself to speak them, not with so many peers around.

Írimë made her rounds throughout the evening. It had been many, many moons since she had last seen the trees of Lindon. How she had missed it so…

A familiar gaze lingered on the elleth though she welcomed it. She knew he watched her. Their keen senses made it near impossible to ignore. She found herself biting her lips more than not, swinging her hair, and smiling more than not as Elrond watched. The half-elf had such a peculiar way of affecting her; it was like she was a young elleth once again the way she yearned for his gaze.

And he noticed it all. The way she strode with more confidence and grace, the way she flipped her waves of midnight hair around, the way her smile glowed.

Every movement she made, every gesture, he absorbed them all, devouring them like a sweet dessert. 

His gaze lingered, continuing to watch her closely, trying to memorize every detail. The half-ellon’s fingers squeezed the chalice he held.

The more time passed, the more his heart longed for her, desperate to reach out and touch her, to speak the words that were dying to leave his tongue.

As the feast went on, Elrond eventually found himself able to slip away. He walked outside into the cool night air, his heart still pounding in his chest. He couldn't stay inside anymore, being so close to Írimë yet unable to speak to her; it had become too much to bear.

He ran his fingers through his curly locks, feeling tired and frustrated as he stared off into the night sky. "If I could just have one moment alone with her," he muttered to himself.

“Who is this elleth my dear friend frets over?” The very voice he daydreamed of rang through the air as she approached Elrond. 

He gave a small huff of laughter in response to her question as he turned toward her, "You heard that, did you?"

Her eyes narrowed curiously at him. As he spoke, he wouldn’t meet her eyes, instead talking into the distance as he turned back away from her.

Taking a sip of the wine he held, he sighed, "She is someone I cannot seem to get off my mind, even for a single moment. She occupies my thoughts from dawn to dusk, filling my heart with a melody I have never felt before."

His words cut into her. Was she being farcical? Was this an unknown lover of his? Or…?

She sighed and took a large gulp of wine from her own chalice. The sweet wine from the First Age coated her tongue and warmed her insides. “A lucky elleth,” her voice strained. “You must write poetry about her…” She whispered as her eyes turned down.

Do not shed tears, she thought to herself. 

Her response startled Elrond. It was almost as if she... as if she didn't seem happy for him. Or, perhaps, jealous? But surely not. He shook his head slightly, his heart starting to pound in his chest.

Írimë stood beside him, looking out into the late evening.

Elrond looked over at her, his gaze fixing on hers. He could see the forced smile spread across her lips and he knew that there was something deeper behind her words.

"I have written many poems about her," he admitted, his voice quiet. "She is my muse, my light, my everything."

Her voice hitched in the back of her throat. His everything… His words echoed throughout her very being.

She swallowed hard and met Elrond’s eyes as she tried her best to hold back tears. “This elleth must feel only warmth and sunlight then,” her voice came out as a whisper.

Elrond could hear the hitch in her voice, the barely concealed pain in her words. His heart ached hearing the sadness that coated her tongue.

He took a step closer to her, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You do not sound as if you are happy for me, Írimë. Do my words cut you?"

Their bodies almost touched. Her heart pounded as the tears began to swell over. Tears streamed down her pink cheeks as blue eyes searched Elrond’s. 

A forced smile still strained on her lips as she spoke, “I wish you nothing but happiness, mellon nin.” 

She avoided the question, only wanting to relieve him but the pain was too much. Until it hit her. I love him. The words ran through her mind as realization kicked her in the chest.

The sight of Írimë’s tears broke him. Seeing the pain in her eyes, hearing her voice crack and her forced smile... He couldn't bear it anymore. But he needed to know why. Needed to hear her say it.

"You wish me happiness yet the sight of me talking about another pains you so," he said softly, taking another small step forward.

He reached up, gently brushing away her tears with his thumb. His gaze pierced hers as he spoke, “Tell me, Írimë. Why does this make you grieve?"

His question echoed through her mind. She had to tell him. Needed to. Though she felt foolish to love him if he was already promised to another. How could she do that to such a friend like him?

But what if she never told him? She would have to endure and watch him love another. Could she handle that?

Trembling lips parted as whispered words fell from her lips, “I remember when we were younger. You always wiped away my tears.”

A wavering smile crept upon her lips as she looked up at him. “You have always looked out for me, even knowing that I did not need it. Always tended my wounds. Always filled my heart with nothing but warmth and joy,” her eyes searched his, almost pleading as she spoke. 

Her hand reached up to cover his own that lingered on her cheek as his thumb wiped away the wet remnants.

“When your face fills my dreams, I sigh with comfort and happiness. When your skin meets mine,” she began as she turned her cheek inward toward his hand, placing a soft kiss in the middle of his palm. 

Her eyes met his again. “A current runs through me as if something becomes awakened when we touch. A wildfire that cannot be contained. A light that can never be diminished. You are as bright as daylight and warm as summer, Elrond.”

Elrond's heart pounded in his chest as he listened to her words. Every sentence, every sentiment... It was everything that he had been waiting for. Every bit of validation that he needed, it was in her words. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

The tear-stained face, the trembling lips, the hand on his... It was so raw, so open, so vulnerable, and yet so beautiful. He ached to say something, anything, but he was frozen in place. He could only stare at her, his face mirroring every emotion that ran through him.

He swallowed hard, his voice barely more than a whisper, "My dear Írimë, I... I never knew...I wanted to…"

His eyes flicked down to her trembling lips, his heart pounding louder and louder in his chest. The hand on her cheek moved down, tenderly cupping her face as his thumb brushed over her lips.

She sucked in a breath at his touch, closing her eyes in the process. A slow exhale left her lips as she slowly looked up at him.

The way she looked up at him was entrancing. Eyes of blue wide, pleading for him yet sad. She had never wanted something so badly in her immortal life. 

His finger brushed against her bottom lip again, softly pulling on it and then brushing it over. An agonizing ache reached below her stomach from the way his eyes bore into hers. He felt her breath hitch at his touch, her eyes closing for a brief moment once more.

“The elleth is you, meleth nîn,” his voice whispered. He placed both hands on either side of her cheeks as she looked up at him.

Everything fell into place at his words. The elleth is you, he had said. 

“Elrond,” her voice squeaked. 

A wave of relief washed over Elrond. Every ounce of tension left him as he heard the relief in her voice, knowing that he hadn't made a terrible mistake. He had never felt so vulnerable yet so complete at the same time. His thumb traced over her cheek gently, feeling the smooth skin beneath his touch.

"Írimë," he whispered back, his eyes roaming her face as if trying to memorize every little fleck of cerulean in her eyes, every curve, and every freckle on her skin.

He bent down and rested his forehead against hers. The two closed their eyes and shared breaths in the silence. She placed her hands over his own, her touch sending yet another shiver through him.

After a moment, she whispered, “Kiss me.”

When Írimë’s whispered words reached his ears, it was like a dam had burst.

The words had barely sunk in before he leaned in and hungrily pressed his lips to hers.

Long, slender fingers gently wove into her hair, holding her in place as he deepened the kiss. Their bodies close, so close that he could feel the heat radiating from her like a fire. All the years of longing, of hidden desires, were suddenly let loose in the kiss. His heart pounded in his chest, feeling as if it had finally found its home.

His other hand slid down, curling around her waist, pulling her in even closer, holding her against his body, as if trying to merge their very beings.

She could almost feel their souls become one as his lips pressed against hers. The hungry kiss released everything she had been feeling for him. Everything she wanted to envelop into words but did not have the ability.

They let their lips speak for them as the kiss deepened and he pulled her tighter into him. She could feel him, feel everything beneath his linens. 

A moan fell from her lips as his tongue danced with her own. She reached up, letting one hand curl into his dark locks. 

“Elrond…” her voice gasped his name. 

He felt every sound that left her lips—every soft gasp, every whisper, every moan. It was like music to him, the most beautiful symphony that his ears and soul had ever composed. Only the welcoming melody to Valinor could compare to this.

His hands wandered over her body as his tongue moved against hers, feeling her every curve, his touch desperate and hungry, yet tender and gentle.

Nothing else mattered in that moment but them. The dark night hid their figures outside, luckily, as their bodies intertwined. 

Her hand slid down through his hair, making its way next to his ear. Her fingers brushed over the pointed tip and she heard him whimper. Finally, she thought. 

The pointed ears of elves were incredibly sensitive, especially when senses were heightened. And they were left only to the touch of those that were promised, only to the most precious of close loved ones.

A jolt of pleasure shot through his body as her fingers glided over his ear. He had never felt something like it before, the sensation so intense, so intimate, that it almost overpowered all judgment. He let out a small gasp against her mouth, his body tensing up briefly before relaxing again.

His mind clouded, his focus entirely on her and the way she touched him. He pulled back from the kiss, breathless, and looked into her eyes, the intensity of his gaze almost dizzying.

"Do that again," he whispered, his voice husky with desire.

She had never heard his voice like this before. It was so gruff yet, he was begging? Or was that a command? She intended to find out.

Darkened eyes stared up into his piercing grays. Her thumb slowly, and barely even touching the tip of his ear, slid across the sensitive skin.

She watched his brows furrow and eyes close. No, she thought.

“Look at me, meleth nin,” her voice commanded, breath against his lips. Her thumb then traced down the outer part of his tapered ear.

Elrond's breath hitched in his throat as she touched him again, his eyes nearly rolling back into his head with the sensation. But the sound of her voice pulled him back into focus, a mixture of command and desire in her tone.

His eyes slowly drifted open, finding hers. He swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest, his lips parted as he let out a shaky breath. His fingers traced along her waist, drawing her as close as he could.

Hearing his song of pleasure spill from his lips rang through her.

His lust-filled gaze peered into her dilated pupils. She had never felt like this before. Her body could not get enough of him; it sang to her as hers sang to him, and she wanted to pluck every note.

Elrond’s breath deepened, his fingers gripping at the fabric of her dress, as if trying to hold himself back. His gaze darkened, the intensity in his eyes burning brighter with need.

He couldn't take it anymore. The fire coursing through his veins demanded something more. He wanted Írimë—needed her. Needed to feel their bodies fuse together, needed to taste her, needed to make her his entirely.

What was this?

Their chests heaved as they exchanged breaths, staring at one another. Desire filled their eyes as heat pooled deep within them.

“Elrond,” she breathed, looking up to him. In the quietness, eyes searched each other.

“We have been gone from the feast for so long,” her voice was unsteady, breath hitched from the shared intimacy.

Hearing her mention the feast reminded him of the festivities that still occurred. The thought of leaving her side to return made him wince, his heart clenching at the idea of being apart from her again.

His fingers flexed against her waist as he held her gaze, his mind and body both fighting against the rational part of him. He knew they needed to return but he didn't want it to end.

"You speak...words of reason," he said, his voice low and uneven.

She reached up, placing her hand against his cheek softly as her eyes peered into his. They both knew they needed to make an appearance once more.

”Meet me under the stars once more tonight…After the feast,” she finished, whispering her words.

His gaze softened as she touched his cheek, the feel of her skin causing his eyes to close for a moment. Elrond then turned to press his face into the palm of her hand, keeping her there for a moment as her words sunk in and he reopened them. 

“Under the stars, melnā,” he murmured, his voice as soft as a whisper against her skin.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　

mellon nin: my friend

meleth nîn: my love

melnā: beloved

Írimë: lovely, desirable

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　

[entishramblings]

The Innocence of Brutality Pt. 9 [Legolas/Reader]

A.N:  I want to especially thank @tiny-and-witchy for giving me such motivation to write this chapter. Your messages of encouragement were so helpful. Also, this chapter is very....interesting. I wanted to focus on character development and the development of learning behavior in a new world. Additionally, as this story follows the events of the lotr films, I didn't want it to be entirely too repetitive. We have all seen the movies and I personally find myself getting irked when I read and re-read the same scene over and over...hence why I wrote certain scenes certain ways. but fret not, there are plenty of things that I included in this chapter that are not a part of the films heh!

Request: none

Pairing: Legolas X Fem!Reader

Summary: The Reader is Rámaitë Mahtar, a warrior spirit race, and she meets the fellowship on their quest to destroy the ring.  

Disclaimer: Any mythology relating to the Rámaitë Mahtar is not canon as I made up Rámaitë Mahtar. Also, all elvish was translated from a translator site—it may not be accurate.

Word Count: 5.6k

Warnings: mentions of war, mentions of torture, violence, fluff, hurt/comfort, blood, injuries, gore, nudity, things get spicy, discussion of sex 🌶️

MASTERLIST | AO3 | WATTPAD | The Innocence of Brutality Masterlist | HERE for OC format

(Y/N) sat still upon a large rock, her eyes fixated on Boromir’s motionless form, as Aragorn and Gimli prepared his funeral boat. Her wings, once radiating power, were now punctured and bloody, Legolas tending to them with care. Still, the pain that rippled among each feather was nothing compared to the suffering and hopelessness in her heart.

The silence among the four was profound, each absorbed in their own grief. Aragorn's face was painted with stoic sorrow, his hands moving with gentle precision as he placed flowers around Boromir's body. Gimli, usually gruff and unyielding, worked the same task with a rare tenderness, his eyes showcasing the break of his heart. With each blossom they laid upon Boromir's chest, a silent tear slipped from (Y/N)’s eyes, running down her cheek and falling to the earth as she once had. The forest, who bore witness to Boromir’s bravery, seemed to mourn beside them—for the trees rustled peacefully, creating a soft song for the Gondorian.

“It is time,” Aragorn spoke softly.

Slowly, (Y/N) stood, her injured wings slipping from Legolas’ healing hands. She approached the boat that now cradled her companion. The Rámaite Mahtar reached for his cold hand. With immense care, she gently unfolded his fingers, confirming that her opal rested inside his loose grip. Blinking back tears, as little rainbows reflected upon the pale skin of his palm, she closed his fist once more.

“Goodbye,” she whispered. 

With a solemn unity, the group pushed the boat into the water, their hearts heavy with grief and reverence. They watched it float away, carrying their fallen comrade to the halls of the gods, praising his bravery and sacrifice. 

In that profound moment, they forged an unbreakable resolve to save Merry and Pippin. They would not let their friends perish to the evil of the Uruk-hai. Therefore, with fierce determination, they embarked on a relentless race across Arda.

As their feet pounded into the soil across the plains, (Y/N) tried to conceal her struggle. Her punctured wings, open and unable to fly and resistant to motion, held her back. The relentless wind battered against them, intensifying her pain and forcing her to push harder than the others, stealing her energy. It seemed to howl in laughter at her suffering. It mocked her. No longer would she let the wind's whispers taunt her. Therefore, despite her injuries, she folded her wings into her form, leaving no feather upon her back, only smooth skin. 

Legolas sent her a look of concern as they ran but she only shook her head and said two words: “The wind.”

He seemed to understand, but kept a careful eye on her as they sprinted. 

Despite this concern, it appeared to be a good thing that she hid away her wings because, only hours after, the group was standing in a circle of men who were high upon their horses with spears drawn and aimed. Legolas assumed that, if they saw her wings, those spears would be through their bodies, for often men fear what they don’t understand. 

The elf was quick to push the Rámaite Mahtar behind him, into the center of the tight, small circle Aragorn, Gimli, and himself formed.

The leader, seemingly so, approached them. “What business does an elf, man, dwarf, and woman have in the Riddermark? Speak quickly.”

Gimli was the one to snip back a snarky reply, “Give me your name, horsemaster, and I shall give you mine.”

The man dismounted, a sneer upon his face as he moved closer towards the dwarf. “I would cut off your head dwarf, if it stood but a little higher from the ground.”

Drawing his bow Legolas replied forcefully, “You would die before your first stroke fell.”

Aragorn was quick to push down his arm, interrupting the interaction. “I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, this is Gimli son of Gloin, and Legolas son of Thranduil.”

The man contemplated the Ranger’s words for a moment, before he dipped his head towards the final member in their group who had not been introduced. “And the woman?” 

The Rámaite Mahtar stood straight, confident, and strong. 

“(Y/N),” she replied simply. 

He inched closer, a frown upon his brow. “Do you choose to be in the company of these men, Miss, or is it under force?” 

She tilted her head, not understanding what he was trying to imply. Her subtle anxiety, slipping her hand into Legolas’, did not go unnoticed by the Rider. 

With her action, he seemed to relax. Nodding towards their folded hands he spoke again. “I apologize, Lady, I did not realize you were the wife of the elf.”

(Y/N)’s brows crinkled in confusion, not entirely sure of the meaning behind the word “wife.” The other three hunters did not dare try to correct the Rider’s assumption for it could initiate a conversation of (Y/N)’s origins—which is something they knew shouldn't be shared. 

Aragorn cleared his throat. “We are friends of Rohan and Théoden, your king.” 

“Théoden no longer recognizes friend from foe,” he gruffed in reply. Taking off his helmet, the spears of his men retreating, he spoke again. “Not even his own kin. Saruman has poisoned the mind of the king and claimed lordship over his lands. 

(Y/N)’s lips parted as a small whisper of recognition left her lips, no other besides Legolas noticing. “The Man of Saru.” 

The rider continued. “My company are those loyal to Rohan and, for that, we were banished.” He then stepped forward, his demeanor changing, showcasing pent up anger and hidden fear. “The white wizard is cunning. He walks here and there, they say. There’s an old man, hooded and cloaked. And everywhere his spies slip past our nets.”

“We are no spies,” Aragorn interjected. “We track a party of Urk-hai westward through the plain. They have taken two of our friends captive.”

“The Urks are destroyed,” he replied. “We slaughtered them during the night.” 

Gimli, his voice wavering, spilled out anxious words, “There were two hobbits! Did ya see two hobbits with ‘em?”

“They would be small, only children to your eyes,” Aragorn added, almost desperately. 

The man paused, solemn. “We left none alive. We piled the carcasses and burned them. I am sorry.” 

The air then changed, transforming the once-refreshing breeze into a suffocating, oppressive force. Thick and heavy it felt, marked by grief and confusion. No longer did it hold hope or whispers of encouragement, only despair. 

(Y/N) glanced between her friends and the horsemen as she processed what the rider’s words meant. She watched as her fellow companions’ faces contorted and twisted, unsureness and shock upon them.

The Rámaite Mahtar’s lips quivered as she blinked back tears. With a breaking voice she spoke again. “No, b-but no. N-not again.” A sob escaped her throat as she desperately whipped her head around to look at her friends for a different answer. “N-not the hobbits.” 

“(Y/N),” Legolas said.

Another loud sob reverberated through her chest, echoing among the air.

“(Y/N),” the Elven Prince repeated, his voice tinged with urgency as he grabbed her and pulled her into his body. Her form practically slammed into his with such a force of sadness, almost knocking the breath out of him. She immediately buried her head in his chest, inhaling deeply as the familiar scent of pine and honey filled her nostrils. Desperately, she clung to him, trying to find solace in the comforting aroma as she struggled to breathe through her heartbreak.

Seeing this desperate sorrow, the Rider whistled, bringing two horses forward. “May these horses bear you a better fortune than their former masters.” Mounting his steed, he added to his statement, “Look for your friends, but do not trust a hope. It is forsaken in these lands.” He then turned to his men, calling out an order. “We ride north!”

With that, the four hunters stood, numb and confused, allowing the feelings to sink in further. 

Eventually, they pulled away from each other. Their bodies moved through motions their minds did not command with urgency, resigned to the belief that their friends were dead and they were only going to retrieve their bodies.

As if in a trance, they mounted their new steeds and took off toward the pile of carcasses, dread gnawing at their hearts as they anticipated the remnants of the flames—and their friends. Each hoofbeat echoed their apprehension, the stench of charred, decaying flesh growing stronger with every step. The eerie atmosphere was marked by the distant crackling of dying embers, reminding them of the devastation they were about to face.

It was then a haze of despair, hope, promise, and relief—an internal turmoil of change.

As they found the hobbits’ small belts, (Y/N)’s throat turned raw from her cries of despair.

As they found the little ones’ tracks, (Y/N)’s lips quivered and her hands shook with hope.

As they found the wizard in the flesh, new and whole, (Y/N)’s heart skipped with promise.

As they found the knowledge of the peace and prosperity of their friends, (Y/N)’s breath steadied and relief ran through her veins. 

There then was direction—purpose—as they rode to Rohan. 

….

The remaining members of the fellowship, reborn and filled with renewed hope, rode through the town of Rohan. Despite the wind, the air felt stale and eerie, as if it were sick and diseased. The townspeople fared no better; they appeared worn and weary, their gazes filled with suspicion as they watched the group trot by. Their eyes lingered on the group’s strangeness, noting the many races and the woman with piercing eyes.

“Why do they stare?” (Y/N) asked.

Legolas, one hand on the reins and the other around the waist of the Rámaite Mahtar seated in front of him, replied softly, “They have lived in misery for too long, never seeing anyone but each other.

“You’d find more cheer in a graveyard,” Gimli gruffed out, earning a look from Aragorn.

When they approached the halls of Théoden, they dismounted and were greeted with that same suspicion. “We cannot allow you before King Théoden so armed, Gandalf Greyham, by order of Grima Wormtounge,” the soldier stated.

Reluctantly, the men began to disarm, (Y/N)’s curious gaze filtering over this action. As her friends handed over their weapons—having to take extra time to disarm Gimli, for the dwarf had hidden quite a few—the men of Rohan’s lingering eyes filtered over the Rámaite Mahtar’s still form.

“And the woman?” the soldier stated.

(Y/N) frowned, tilting her head.

It was Aragorn that spoke. “You believe this woman holds weapons?”

The fellowships’ eyes shifted. She was the weapon.

“I apologize,” he stated, clearing his throat. “I was ordered to confirm every member of your party was disarmed.”

He then turned to Gandalf, “Your staff.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t deprive an old man from his walking stick, would you?” he retorted innocently. 

At this, (Y/N) raised a brow. 

The man huffed, but stepped aside, leading them through the vast doors. 

As they stepped upon the stone, Legolas sent a side eyed look at (Y/N). “Don’t kill anyone,” he whispered. “Only incapacitate them.”

(Y/N) frowned. 

While Gandalf addressed Théoden, a pale and slimy man, Grima, whispered into the King’s ear—likely spilling lies and manipulation. The men of Rohan cautiously crept around the fellowship as they approached; Grima confronted them in the center of the room. It took only a brief exchange between the ghastly man and Gandalf before Grima ordered his men to swarm the fellowship; however, they defended themselves swiftly. One soldier went to (Y/N) directly, likely thinking to take her hostage in his arms and use her as leverage; but, oh, how wrong he was to assume he could. (Y/N) grabbed his bicep and, with a quick motion, flipped him hard onto the ground. Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli immobilized the others, allowing Gandalf the opportunity to pull the poison from King Théoden’s mind. 

All watched in stillness and nervous anticipation as Théoden spoke, his voice carrying the tone of another. Gandalf, his face etched with determination, used his staff to push the King’s body backward and pull Saruman’s poison from Théoden’s mind. Though it took only moments, it felt like hours until they saw the years melt away from Théoden's face, the lines of age and weariness vanishing. It was as if new life was being breathed back into him, Saruman's evil influence violently yanked from his very soul.

A young woman, her face pale with worry but her cheeks burning with renewed hope, rushed to his side to provide aid and comfort. Her hands trembled slightly as she reached out to touch the newly revived king’s cheeks.

“I know your face. Éowyn.” 

A large smile blossomed upon her lips as she wrapped her arms around her uncle. 

Those around them appeared visibly relieved as well, for the King of Rohan, now revitalized, was eager to restore glory and prosperity to his halls.

….

(Y/N) stood in a large bedroom in Rohan. Sunlight flooded through the open windows, casting a warm, golden glow across the room. The gentle breeze coaxed the cream-colored curtains into a graceful dance, while the scent of fresh grass, wildflowers, and the faint aroma of earthy soil and distant smoke wafted in, enveloping the room in a comforting embrace. Yet, to (Y/N), it still felt empty.

"But why?" she asked Éowyn again. "Why can I not be with the others?"

"Lady (Y/N), it is not proper for a woman to stay in a room full of men during the hours of night," Éowyn explained.

“But why?” (Y/N) persisted. 

The Lady of Rohan sighed, retrieving an elegant dress from a large cupboard on the far wall and draping it over a vast wood-carved mirror. "That's simply not our way of life here. I understand it may differ from where you come from." She paused, then inquired, "Where exactly is that?"

(Y/N) simply shrugged. “Far.”

“I see,” Éowyn responded, sensing (Y/N)'s reluctance to share further. Changing the subject, she continued, “Let’s get you out of those travel clothes, shall we? A bath, perhaps? Then this lovely dress and some food. I do make quite a good stew.”

The Rámaite Mahtar huffed but followed the woman into the adjoining bathing room. At the sight of the steaming basin, (Y/N)’s face lit up, for she seemed to take joy in the comforts of water. She quickly pulled off her leather breastplate, followed by her tunic, indifferent to Éowyn's presence. Quite frankly, she still was not accustomed to Arda's perception of nakedness.

Éowyn started to avert her gaze but halted when (Y/N)’s back came into view.

The Lady of Rohan gasped, horror written across her face. “(Y/N)! You’re back–it’s–it’s entirely bruised!” She rushed forward, her gentle hands extending along the woman’s spine. “This–this could be internal bleeding,” she whispered, more so to herself, with worry.

With that, she rushed towards the hall, hollering for a healer, before returning to (Y/N). “Come, come sit,” she ushered, guiding (Y/N) towards the edge of the bed and pulling a folded blanket up to cover the woman’s chest. “A healer will be here in just a moment. Don’t you worry. You will be taken care of. You will be just fine.”

The Rámaite Mahtar frowned, standing up despite Éowyn‘s fretting. She walked towards the mirror, taking the blanket with her. She twisted and turned until the bruising came to her sight. Her lips parted, for she wasn't expecting such a thing. 

It was at that moment that the healer arrived. 

“By Eru—” he whispered, seeing (Y/N)’s back. 

Quickly placing his bag on the bed, he approached her. Extending his hand, he was met with a fierce snarl from (Y/N), causing him to immediately withdraw.

“Lady,” he began cautiously, “I understand you must be in pain, but please know that I am here to help you.” The healer reached out again.

She snapped at him. “Do not touch me!”

“Lady,” he insisted, his fingers extending once more.

(Y/N) spun towards him, one hand clutching the blanket to her chest, the other reaching toward his throat. Her fingers closed around his neck, lifting him up.

Éowyn shrieked in alarm, taken aback by (Y/N)'s sudden aggression.

“(Y/N)!” a deep voice called from the doorway. 

She turned at the familiar voice of Aragorn.

“Release the healer,” he commanded firmly. 

Her intense gaze met his sincere gray eyes,  and she immediately complied, trusting his judgment in this unfamiliar world.

Aragorn nodded at her, a silent understanding passing between them. He then addressed the servants who had gathered, “Please, get the elf,” he stated. One of them ran off at his word.

He approached (Y/N) with no unease. The trust they held as travel companions was evident to Éowyn. “May I take a look, (Y/N)?”

She nodded, turning her back towards him.

Gently, he examined the bruising upon her form. Tracing her spine lightly, he spoke, “Does this hurt?”

She shook her head. “No,”

He continued to run his hand further up her back. She remained stoic until he gently grazed the spot between her spine and shoulder blades—where her wings would normally have protruded. Only then did she wince.

At that moment, Legolas appeared in the doorway. “It’s her wings,” he stated plainly. 

(Y/N) and the elf locked eyes in the mirror.��

He approached her, taking Aragorn’s place. “(Y/N),” he said with a nod, indicating to her that it was safe to extend her wings. 

With that, she slowly began to unfurl her wings from her back, each movement causing her to wince as they stretched out. Dried blood and greenish goo clung to each circular wound where arrows had mercilessly pierced her moments before Boromir’s death. As she extended them fully, her wings spanned at least half the length of the room, their impressive size and the remnants of battle obvious.

Gasps were heard from those in the room who knew not what or who she was. 

Unfazed, Legolas moved to examine her wings. “The wounds must have become infected when you folded them in.”

“They were getting in the way,” she retorted. 

“I know, Starlight. I am not blaming you,” he reassured softly. “I can treat the infection, but they must remain free while they heal.”

“Alright,” she agreed. 

The Prince of Greenwood then took to the healer’s bag, not bothering to ask the man gaping at the Rámaite Mahtar. He was quick to sort through the herbs and other supplies to obtain what he needed. He dipped his head towards (Y/N) before motioning to the bed. 

She obliged to his nonverbal request and sat upon it, her injured and infected wings stretching wide. 

Legolas began gently cleaning the wounds. 

Aragorn, on the other hand, moved towards the healer. “Your assistance is no longer required.” With a nod towards the door, he ushered the healer and the curious eyes of the servants out of the room.

He then turned to Eowyn, who was still fixated on the Rámaite Mahtar. Her soft lips were parted and her eyes were wide with curiosity. Unwavering they were...until she sensed his gaze.

“I apologize, Lady of Rohan, but you too must leave,” Aragorn stated gently.

Éowyn nodded in understanding, gracefully making her way towards the door. Just as she was about to slip through, she glanced back at Aragorn. “What is she?”

Aragorn inhaled through his nose before responding with two simple words. “Rámaite Mahtar.”

With that, he closed the wooden door, its hinges creaking softly. Leaning against the wall, he watched as Legolas tended to (Y/N)’s wounds. He stood guard at the door, for he knew that news of the winged woman they had brought into King Théoden’s walls would soon spread.

….

The following morning, a small group convened in the mess hall to discuss the future and the whispers of the 'disturbance' echoing through the halls. Present were King Théoden, his guards, Éowyn, Gandalf, Aragorn, Gimli, Legolas, and (Y/N).

(Y/N) was keen on wandering along the room, her partially wrapped wings dragging lightly upon the floor. 

In a hushed whisper, mostly laced with curiosity and concern, Théoden spoke, “But what is she?”

With arms crossed, Aragorn replied, “She is a Rámaite Mahtar. 'Winged Warrior' in the common tongue. The Valar created them to cleanse the land that came before us.”

The King of Rohan’s brows furrowed. “So, she is not human, nor elvish.” 

Aragorn nodded in confirmation. 

“Is she—“ Éowyn started, “Is she dangerous?”

Aragorn’s eyes shifted, unsure what to say. 

It was Gandalf who answered. “Yes, probably the second most dangerous force currently existing on our plane.”

“And the first?” She asked. 

“Sauron,” Gandalf replied, his tone laced with trepidation. 

“By Eru,” Gimli gruffed. “Ya make it sound like the lassie is gonna be the next thing to get us! Fret not, Lady, lover boy here—“ The dwarf smacked Legolas’ ass, causing the elf to jump. “—has taught the girl well.” He paused, before clarifying. “She’s on our side.”

“I see,” Théoden stated, suspicion still evident in his tone.

It was then that (Y/N) called out. “Legolas, what do these images mean? The ones made of little colorful stones?”

The King raised his eyebrows, caught off guard by her question.

“Tis a mosaic,” Legolas replied. “It tells the story of the men of Rohan.” 

She turned to look at him. “What is the story?” she asked. 

Surprisingly, Éowyn stepped forward and spoke. “It tells the tale of how we claimed and cultivated our lands. I can share it with you, if you’d like.”

(Y/N)’s face lit up. “Yes, I would like to hear the story.”

Cautiously, Éowyn approached the Rámaite Mahtar and began recounting the narrative depicted in the artwork along the walls.

“A curious creature then,” Théoden stated, simply. 

“Oh, you have no idea,” Aragorn replied, rolling his eyes. 

The King cleared his throat. “It will be best to keep her indoors while she heals. I do not want her to frighten my people. They are already scared enough.”

“Understood,” the Ranger replied.

The group dispersed, some settling down to eat breakfast, others going about their own duties. Éowyn sat with Aragorn and Gimli, while (Y/N) practically drug Legolas by the hand to re-explain the story Eowyn told her. 

In a hushed tone, Éowyn spoke. “She doesn’t seem so dangerous.”

“I wouldn’t take you for one to underestimate a woman,” Aragorn said, sipping from his cup. 

“I wouldn’t, but the way you all described her—as if she was a vile beast.”

“Oi, Lassie, she is,” Gimli stated. “(Y/N) over there could cut ya and half ya men down within a second.”

Éowyn ‘s gaze shifted. “And the elf? Could she cut him down too?”

Gimli nodded in confirmation. “She could cut us all down.”

“Yet he still loves her?” she asked with parted lips.

“Hopelessly,” Gimli grumbled. “Entirely hopelessly.” 

Éowyn turned her head toward the pair. She watched as the Rámaite Mahtar smiled up at Legolas in pure delight, and he returned the affectionate gaze. 

How in a time of war, they could find such love? 

……

A couple of weeks had passed since their arrival in Rohan. (Y/N)’s wings had fully healed and were now neatly folded back into her form. She spent her days with her friends listening in on conversations and debates of war—not that she truly understood. In addition to her time with the others, she found herself assisting Éowyn with various tasks within Rohan’s walls. She learned to bake bread and prepare other provisions in the kitchen. (Y/N) also helped select sturdy fabrics for the men preparing for war. She even assisted in organizing Rohan’s swords and spears—though, admittedly, she only slowed the process for she asked many questions. 

Currently, it was late in the night as (Y/N) wandered through the echoing halls of Rohan. Tomorrow morning, they would depart for Helm's Deep to seek refuge. She was determined to absorb as much as possible about this place before moving on to the next. Aware that war loomed on the horizon, she craved a brief taste of freedom.

For nearly an hour, she had roamed the silent halls, peering into open doors and descending stairs. It was only when she heard unfamiliar sounds that her brow furrowed in concern. The faint echoes of hushed moans and muffled groans drew her curiosity, prompting her to cautiously follow the source.

She followed the noises until she came upon a small, long, narrow window that was covered in intricate bars. Peering in, she saw a vast room adorned in fabrics of pink and red. Soft cushions and beds were scattered about, where men and women laid together in various pairs, two or three people at most. They were bare, their bodies intertwined in intimate embraces, eliciting sounds of pleasure and the music of skin upon skin.

(Y/N) squinted as she watched, unsure of what she was seeing. 

Though as her gaze lingered on their bodies moving together, she felt desire. She bit her bottom lip as warmth began to build between her legs and her limbs twitched with eagerness. 

“Lady (Y/N), what are you doing down these halls?!” A female voice chided in a hushed tone. "I've been searching for you since a servant informed me that you never returned to your chambers."

(Y/N) turned to see Éowyn, then returned her gaze to the window. “What are they doing?” She asked. 

Éowyn frowned. “You do not know?”

(Y/N) shook her head. “Never have I seen people do such a thing.”

“Haven’t you been around for eons?” she asked, confused. 

“Well, yes, but my people did not do this—this…what is this?”

Éowyn awkwardly cleared her throat. "We may go to war in a couple of days. These men, these soldiers, are seeking their last pleasure before they march to their deaths."

(Y/N) frowned. “I don’t understand.” 

The Lady of Rohan pressed her lips together awkwardly. It appeared that she would have to be quite blunt with the Rámaite Mahtar. “They are having sex. This is a brothel. It is where men go to pay women for such things.”

“Why?”

“I have been told that it feels good,” she explained with embarrassment. 

“You have never—?”

Éowyn interrupted her. “By the Eru—no, of course not. Those men in there are perverting an act of love. Sex is an act meant to be between two people who love each other dearly and are wed. Often, it is done in hopes to create a child. I am a Lady of Rohan. I must keep my honor until I am married and fulfill my duty to produce an heir.”

“This is how babies come to be then,” (Y/N) clarified. 

Éowyn nodded. “Yes, sometimes.”

“My kind have never needed to have children. We were all made as we are. Made to kill,” (Y/N) remarked, glancing at Éowyn. “I was told that having babies is why we women bleed.”

Éowyn nodded, trying to understand. “Yes, yes it is. I—I am surprised no one has told how such a thing comes to be.”

(Y/N) shrugged. “Legolas, Aragorn, and the others…they haven’t talked of this sex before.”

Éowyn shook her head, her tone taking on a low level of disdain. “Men. You have only been traveling with men. Of course, they haven’t told you of such a thing.” She inhaled, taking a moment to recenter herself. “Such conversations are between a mother and daughter.” She paused, before awkwardly glancing into the brothel. “Come, Lady (Y/N). This place is not for us.” 

With that, the Lady of Rohan gently tugged the Rámaite Mahtar away from this window; however, (Y/N)’s eyes were reluctant to leave for she was a curious creature indeed—eager to understand the ways of this new world. 

Éowyn sensing (Y/N)'s lingering fascination and being rather uncomfortable with it, swiftly ushered her back into the quiet stillness of her chambers.

The air was heavy with the weight of impending war, yet (Y/N)'s mind was filled with questions. She lay on her bed, unable to find sleep, her thoughts consumed by the scenes she had witnessed at the brothel window. Curiosity gnawed at her, yearning to understand the allure of this intimacy that men sought before their deaths. What made it so compelling? Was it truly their last wish—their last desire?

Her thoughts then shifted. Eowyn had said it was to be done with someone you care for with your deepest heart. She bit her lip. Legolas. 

With that, (Y/N) cast her covers aside, the white fabric tumbled and rumbled carelessly. Her bare feet were cold on the stone floor as she silently slipped out of her wooden door once more—ignoring the previous persistence Éowyn had held in her tone when she had told her to stay put before she left. Stealthily, (Y/N) made her way towards the chamber where the others in the fellowship slept. She peered in, careful not to wake them. Immediately, she spotted Legolas sitting upright with his back against the cool stone wall.

Sensing a presence, he opened his eyes. “(Y/N)?” he whispered. “What are you doing here? What is wrong?” 

“Nothing is wrong,” she replied as he stood rather quickly. “Come with me.”

Curious, he stood and his feet led him towards her. Pausing in the doorway, he gazed down at her, trying to read her expression.

She grinned up at him, desire burning. “Come,” she whispered again, taking his hand and leading him towards her room. 

As soon as she turned the knob and closed the door behind them, she pressed her body against Legolas'. Her lips eagerly met his, savoring the familiar taste of pine and honey that always lingered on him. He responded with gentle caution, lifting his hands to cup her face, unsure where this insistent passion of hers was coming from, nor what it would lead to. 

“(Y/N),” he mumbled against her lips. 

She playfully nipped at him, pulling him towards the bed. With a swift motion, she pushed him onto it and climbed up herself, straddling him.

“(Y/N),” he began again, “What are you—“ but her lips silenced him once more. 

She settled onto his lap, weaving her fingers into his hair and matching her mouth to his. She then started to mimic the movements of the women’s hips that she had seen in the brothel, rolling them in a slow deep motion. It felt good. 

“(Y/N),” Legolas moaned in pleasure, trying and failing to pull away.

She pushed him down, his head falling into the pillows. The Rámaite Mahtar eagerly pulled at his tunic, desperate to get it off, as she continued to grinded on him, feeling a hardness form in his pants. Oh, how she enjoyed the feeling it caused between her legs.

“(Y/N),” Legolas forced out, his lips parting, followed by a couple breathless elvish curses.

At the sound of her name upon his lips, her wings snapped open—a reflex—tearing through the white fabric that cloaked her. 

“(Y/N),” Legolas practically growled, grabbing her hips and pulling himself upwards, his mouth only inches away from hers. Gently, he spoke, “Stop. Please, stop.”

She halted her motions. “Does it not feel good to you?” she asked. 

He closed his eyes, his chest falling and rising quickly as he tried to regulate his breath. “It does, Valar, believe me, it does feel good. But we shouldn’t—we shouldn’t do this. How-how do you even know of this?”

She frowned. “Sex?” 

He opened his gaze, staring intently into hers. “Yes. How do you know of sex?” 

“I found a place. Éowyn called it a brothel. She told me of sex. She said they did it because it felt good and they knew they were going to die.” She paused, “Éowyn said that you’re supposed to do it with someone you love. I love you.” 

Legolas leaned his forehead against hers, still trying to calm his heart rate. “I love you too, (Y/N). But this—we can’t do this right now.”

“You do not want to?” She asked genuinely, pulling her head from his ever so slightly.

“Oh, gods, (Y/N). Of course, I do.” he paused, closing his eyes for just a moment, as he felt her hot breath on his lips. “But you and I are not yet wed.”

“Éowyn said that the people in the brothel were not married,” she breathed out, her mouth just barely grazing his. 

A light chuckle rumbled in his chest. “No, no they were not. That is prostitution. Men pay for sex. In a brothel, they treat it as a service, not as love.” He gently cupped one side of her face, making eye-contact with her. “I was taught that sex is not wrong in any means when it comes from love. You and I, (Y/N)—we do have that love. But, in my culture, elves do not have sex without being wed. And I am a Prince. I have rules I must follow. And you, you are not yet accustomed to this world. I will not take advantage of you.” 

“It is not taking advantage of me if I want it too,” she replied. 

He gently rubbed his thumb upon her cheek. “I know, my starlight, I know. I just do not believe this is the right time.”

She breathed in and nodded slowly—thinking. “Okay. If you want to wait, then we will wait.” 

“Is that alright with you?” 

She dipped her head up and down once again. “Yes,” she replied definitely.  

He smiled gently at her before pressing a soft kiss to her lips then pulling her into a tight embrace. 

“I love you with every ounce of my being, (Y/N). Never forget that.”

She buried her head into his neck and wrapped her wings around his form, as if she were shielding them both from the outside world. “I love you too, Legolas.”

Like that they stayed, feeling safe in the comfort of each other’s arms. 

….

Everything Tag: @lea----b @aredhel-of-gondolin @princecami @the-fandoms-georgie @jazziwritestolkienprimary @swimming-in-stardust @elvish-sky @red-riding @hey-its-nonny @mirclealignr @laneynoir @straysugzhpe @runningfeather @awarwithinitself @finallyforgotten @kaiawrites @commanderawkward @xxbluestrifexx @slytherinambitious @redbirdbluebird333-blog @haylee-e @atokirina-tsuki @misshale21 @calypso888-blog @merlinbtch @lovelybaka @rilezra @sotwk

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The Innocence of Brutality: @carojasmin2204 @therealscarletpumpernickel @noodlenerd101 @acupnoodle @altheanightingale  @altheanightingale @casedoina @goosy-goose @hitherethea

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[thelien-art]

Fëanáro; King of the Noldor and Lord of the Lights

‘Why, O my people, why should we longer serve these jealous gods, who cannot keep us, nor their own realm even, secure from their Enemy? And though he be now their foe, are not they and he of one kin? Vengeance calls me hence, but even were it otherwise, I would not dwell longer in the same land with the kin of my father’s slayer and the thief of my treasure. Yet I am not the only valiant in this valiant people. And have ye not all lost your king? And what else have ye not lost, cooped here in a narrow land between the jealous mountains and the harvestless Sea? Here once was light, that the Valar begrudged to Middle-earth, but now dark levels all. Shall we mourn here deedless for ever, a shadow-folk, mist-haunting, dropping vain tears in the salt thankless Sea? Or shall we go home? In Cuiviénen sweet ran the waters under unclouded stars, and wide lands lay about where a free folk might walk. There they lie still and await us who in our folly forsook them. Come away! Let the cowards keep this city. But by the blood of Finwë! unless I dote, if the cowards only remain, then grass will grow in the streets. Nay, rot, mildew, and toadstool.’

Morgoth´s Ring by J.R.R Tolkien - Of the Speech of Fëanor upon Túna

This took way too long - want a burning version too? or the end of his speech??↓

‘Fair shall the end be, though long and hard shall be the road! Say farewell to bondage! But say farewell also to ease! Say farewell to the weak! Say farewell to your treasures — more still shall we make! Journey light. But bring with you your swords! For we will go further than Tauros, endure longer than Tulkas: we will never turn back from pursuit. After Morgoth to the ends of the Earth! War shall he have and hatred undying. But when we have conquered and have regained the Silmarils that he stole, then behold! We, we alone, shall be the lords of the unsullied Light, and masters of the bliss and the beauty of Arda! No other race shall oust us!’

[apoloadonisandnarcissus]

Amazon: you had the guts to do Sauron x Galadriel. As a Tolkien fan, I admit that’s brilliant and I’m hooked on this ship.

Now, your job is to give us Half-Maia Celebrían.

How could this fit Tolkien canon:

In one of his drafts, Tolkien “kind of forgot” that Celeborn was suppose to be in picture when Galadriel became pregnant (who moves next door around the same time? Annatar/Sauron to forge the rings with Celebrimbor). Yeah, I know Tolkien correct this later, but still. “Half-Celebrían theory” was born in the 80’s;

Poor Celebrían suffered a horrible torture at the hands of Orcs when she was on her way from Rivendell to Lothlórien and she lost her will to live and travelled to Valinor (leaving Elrond and their children behind). How could this work? Revenge for Adar’s death (not all Orcs were enslaved by Sauron);

In some versions of the lore, Elven pregnancies can last between 1 and 100 years (let that sink in);

Sauron loses the ability to take on physical form after the Fall of Númenor, and he’s on Annatar form when it happens;

Sauron not wanting to become like Morgoth, but that’s what happens, in almost every way (his bounds to Morgoth are too strong).

Every living being is a creation of Eru. It has been confirmed that Eru was the one who brought Galadriel and Halbrand/Mairon together in Season 1.

In other post I already explained “Maiar reproduction” according to Tolkien. In order to do this, Maiar need to take on a physical form. The catch: they become bound to it, and are unable to return to their true spiritual form, unless their physical form gets destroyed (to break them free, basically).

We are bound in spirit, lets us bound in flesh, too, my precious?

Tolkien also brainstormed the hypothesis of the Maiar corrupted by Morgoth (Balrogs and Sauron), and what would happen if they were to reproduce. It’s pretty much the same (bound to their physical form at the time). But there’s also, another, catch: if they were to do such a thing (produce child or children), they would be “damned” and “reduced to impotency” if their physical form got destroyed (these are Tolkien’s words, by the way). Meaning, they would lose the ability to take on a physical form, afterwards.

What would happen to Sauron if he did had sex with Galadriel and produce a child? This:

I know Sauron isn’t a ridiculous "giant eye ball" in the books, he's just “formless” and “faceless” (invisible spirit.... "damned" and "reduced to impotency"?), but you get the idea. Amazing how it checks out.

Why did I mention Morgoth? Well, Morgoth end up bound to a physical form because he spent too much of his power corrupting Arda (the world). Sauron thinks he’s smarter than this, and, as far as we know, this was the only way in which he didn’t replicate his former master. He bound himself to the One ring, but it’s a piece of jewelry, not actually flesh/physical form.

Galadriel herself would have a good excuse, because no one would tell the difference:

“A blond Elven child? Of course is Celeborn’s, duh?"

“Rings of Power” won’t go as far as making this theory actually happening, but still, they can play with it.

[halfwayhearted]

Arda Güler fic based on Fallingforyou by the 1975… so friends to lovers w a she fell first he fell harder type deal..

Fallingforyou — Arda Güler.

Pairing: Arda Güler x Fem!Reader

Summary: The TWO times you had to hide the fact that you love him + the ONE time you finally don’t have to.

Word Count: 2K+ (Hi, what the fuck.)

Disclaimers/s — Pining, fluff, angst if you squint, and done!

A/N: I love the ‘the _ times you _, the _ time you _’, ykwim. I also didn’t follow through with the song… just realized… hey. ALSO. They’ve been friends for a while, like, a long time btw.

1. The one where he comes over because you couldn’t sleep.

You never expected to call him, of all people, when you were lying awake during the night.

Though, all your doubts seemed to vanish the second he answered your call. Despite it being three in the literal morning, his voice was hoarse as he questioned, “Hey, are you okay?”

Your face reddened, and you swallowed thickly. “You were asleep, sorry, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Arda quickly uttered your name softly, stopping you from hanging up. “I wasn’t sleeping, I was just finishing my laundry. Swear. You can’t sleep, right? I can come over. I’ll be there in ten, yeah?”

He was quite literally offering to come over for your sake because you couldn’t sleep. You found yourself unable to help the small frustration that bubbled up inside you—not at him, but at yourself. If he kept doing things like this, you were sure you would be officially head-over-heels in love with him… well, not that you weren’t already.

Realizing you had yet to respond, you spoke, “Yeah. Yeah, thank you. Really. You really don’t—”

“Don’t do that. I want to, okay? I promise you.”

“I didn’t even get to finish what I was saying!”

His laugh, small but contagious, brought a smile to your lips. “I know you weren’t. But I know you. I want to. I’ll be there soon, alright? Bye.”

“Yeah—bye, Arda.” With that, the call ends.

True to his word, he arrived ten minutes later. You greeted him at the door, helped him with his coat, and led both of you to your bedroom. He picked a movie; it was the least you could let him do.

With the movie flickering in the background, you noticed your gaze kept trailing back to him. You cursed yourself internally, can you get a grip?

It was when he met your gaze that you snapped out of your thoughts. His bottom lip jutted out, making you gulp. “Something on my face?”

You stammered, “Uh, nope! Not at all.”

“Are you lying to me? You’re lying to me.”

Save yourself. “Okay, I am, I’m sorry,” you grinned sheepishly, leaning forward and using your thumb to wipe off the imaginary residue of the chips you both had been eating. You felt your breath hitch in your throat; Arda didn’t notice. The proximity between the two of you was… stop. Just leave it.

But the intensity of his gaze made your heart ache with the urge to spill your feelings:

I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love—

“Did you get it?” He asked, making you stiffen.

Quickly, you pull back and nod, “Yup! Got it.”

2. The one where he picks you up from a date-gone-wrong.

It had only been two weeks since your almost, semi… slip-up. You decided you needed to get over this, over him, as soon as possible. Now.

It was so very clear that he didn’t feel the same, though you didn’t know how you arrived to that conclusion. He didn’t exactly show that he didn’t, but he also didn’t show that he did. And that right there was enough to make you tighten your grip on the napkin placed delicately on your lap.

That’s the reason you were even here in the first place. You had agreed to your friend’s blind date setup. She had always believed it would be you and Arda, well, forever. However, after countless hours of listening to you vent about how he doesn’t feel the same, she figured this might be the only way for you to finally... get over him.

You hoped it did. You really did.

Alas, not all hopes are fulfilled.

The guy just droned on about himself for hours, completely ignoring you—what you do, what you like, what you love. You were tired and annoyed.

You concocted an excuse to cut the date short, paid for just your meal, said your goodbyes, and slipped out through the back. Of course, it was raining—just your luck! Exactly what you needed.

Whipping out your phone, you hesitated over your friend’s contact. She was busy. You knew she was. Arda wasn’t. How did you know? Because his last message to you was, ‘Have fun, let me know how it goes. I’ll be watching a movie.’

Have fun? Totally. With a brave resolve, you click ‘call’ and quickly press your phone to your ear, tapping your fingers incessantly on your pants as you wait for him to answer. If he answers.

Please answer.

“Hey, it’s done already?” His voice fills your ears. The question makes you sigh in response. He says your name quietly, “Is it—are you outside?”

“What? Oh. Oh, yes, I am.”

What? Even though you couldn’t see him, Arda’s eyebrows raise almost instantly at that. “It’s raining. Where’s your date? Are you by yourself?”

"Well, I left. God, it was awful," you complained, running a hand over your face. "He just kept going on and on about himself, never once asking how my day was. Is that—it was such a simple thing!”

He says your name, “You could get sick.”

“Yeah, I’m aware. My hair took so long to do too.”

“I know, I know—just, go back inside!”

You ignore him, “Can you come get me, please?”

“I’m already on my way, go back inside,” he echoed. The sound of his air conditioning blowing through the speaker made you let out a breath of relief. “I’ll be right there. Don’t go anywhere.”

As if I could, you muttered to yourself while he hung up the phone, wiping it against your sweater and shoving it back into your pocket.

You didn’t go back inside. One, you didn’t want to. Two, you actually couldn’t. It was locked. Closed.

Instead, you found a bench nearby and sat down, your gaze drawn to the neon signs across the street. It wasn’t even raining that badly, it was a slight sprinkle. It obviously didn’t seem that way when he came, parked, and hurried out with an umbrella. “I thought I told you to go back inside.”

“Hey,” you frowned, “It was closed. It’s all closed.”

Arda huffed, holding the umbrella above you both, his expression softening at the sight of you shivering. It wasn’t that bad, just a little. Gently grasping your arm, he pulled you up and took your hand in his, guiding it to the pocket of his hoodie. You welcomed the warmth, your other hand shoved into your jean pocket. Just as you were about to speak, you felt the subtle rub of his thumb against your knuckles. Oh. My. God.

He was driving you absolutely crazy.

You felt like a mannequin being moved around when he walked you to his car, opened the passenger side door, helped you inside, and even buckled your seatbelt. How could you go on dates when the man you truly wanted was right here?

You were so lost in a daze that you didn’t even realize he was taking off his hoodie and slipping it over your head and onto your torso until you heard him ask, “How’s that?”

Looking up at him, you opened your mouth to respond, “Arda, I—” love you. Don’t. Clamping your mouth shut, you nodded and thanked him.

All he did was nod, smile, and shut your door.

Maybe next time.

3. The one where you can’t hold back anymore and confess.

Even after a week, you still kept his hoodie.

As soon as he dropped you off, you stripped it off and washed it, determined to give it back the next time you saw him... but you didn’t stick to that.

You saw him three times. You never gave it back.

It wasn’t because you didn’t want to, even though you really didn’t want to; it was mostly because you forgot. You lacked the warm clothes you needed, and his hoodie fulfilled that need. So—

Your phone rang, making you quirk a brow.

Picking up your phone, a sense of curiosity washed over you when you saw Arda’s contact name and photo on the screen.

With a bit of hesitation, you answer. “Hey… you.”

“Hey, are you home?”

“Yeah, I am! Are you okay? Do I need to pick you up from a bad date or something?”

He laughs, “You wish.”

No. No, you don’t wish. “Yup… I do.”

“I just wanted to call and tell you that I’m out front, can you let me in? Please?”

Out front? “You’re—why are you here? I mean, I’ll open my door, you’re always welcome, obviously.”

“Am I not allowed to visit my best friend?” The moment those words left his mouth, a bitter tinge rose within you. Best friend. Right, of course.

Swallowing hard, you managed to laugh, “Yeah, yeah, you are. I’m on my way. See you in a bit.”

Entering your living room, you grabbed the doorknob and swung the door open. Even though you expected him, the sight of him made your heart skip a beat. As you allowed him inside, Arda muttered a small, quiet “thank you” while walking in, watching as you smiled and shut the door.

“You cleaned, huh? It looks nice. My hoodie?”

“Your—right. It’s warm! And for your information, I always clean,” you replied, “…every other day. Is there anything you wanted to do? I have snacks, board games—oh! Can we watch a horror movie?”

You notice the way the corners of his lips twitch at your enthusiasm. “It is October, isn’t it?”

A hum, “It is!”

“Then, of course. Anything you want,” he said.

Anything you want. His words reverberated in your mind. Did he like you? Did he not?

Arda murmurs your name, his head tilting, and he steps closer. “Hey, are you okay? You seemed to shut down on me for a second there.”

“No, yeah. I’m okay. Just… deciding on which horror movie we should watch. It’s crucial, really.”

A lie. He knew it. “That’s a lie. You’re lying to me.”

“No, I already thought of about five we could watch and finish by tomorrow,” a pause, “We should probably start now if we want to finish.”

He says your name once again, and the way he’s looking at you makes you want to just tell him how you feel. ‘Maybe next time,’ you had told yourself. Now’s the time. But... was it actually?

His gaze flickers over your features, sending a shiver down your spine. It was concern, worry, and… something else. Something you couldn’t quite grasp, but it practically gnawed at you.

You’d reached your limit. “Don’t do that, Arda.”

His eyebrows knit together. “Do what?”

Like you could actually love me, you had thought. Then, when you saw him stiffen, you realized you hadn’t just thought it—you had said it.

Embarrassed. Completely and utterly sick.

“Okay, I didn’t—sorry, I’m sorry,” you sputtered, shaking your head and stepping away from him. “You should go. Yeah, please go. I—”

His hands cupping your jaw were enough to make you shut your mouth. “Stop. Please, stop.”

“I’m embarrassed! This is so embarrassing.”

“Why? Why’re you embarrassed?” He inquired, eyes narrowing, “Hey, listen, I love you.”

No. No. No. “You’re just saying that.”

The man shakes his head, “It’s always been you.”

You don’t believe that. How could you? “Are you lying? If you are, that is so not funny.”

A shaky laugh escapes his lips. “I love you. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to tell you.”

“I have no idea?” You scoffed playfully, still in disbelief. “You have no idea! I was—how long?”

“It was the second you told me you were going on a date, that was… when I realized,” he explains, his face flushed. He lets out a breath. “All I remember was wishing it was me, me who asked you out, me who got to be by your side all night. Hearing how he didn’t care enough to get to know you, it annoyed me more than it should’ve.”

I remember wishing it was me.

You didn’t even know what to say; the only words capable of leaving your lips were, “Does this mean I’m able to keep your hoodie?”

He nods, his tongue poking the side of his cheek, “Yes, you can keep it. Anything you want.”

Likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated ^_^.

DT(s) — @pedrilcvr ! ౨ৎ

[eldamaranquendi]

Arda Botanica by Alma Sairina

+ bonus: Smaug & Rosgobel`s bunny

[malkaleh]

Listen I’m actually team ‘Elrond genuinely has no idea he’s beautiful/thee most beautiful being in Arda along with Luthien and Arwen’ and I have funny headcanons about (like Celebrian does actually think it’s hilarious how people just lose the power of speech around her husband) but also sad.

Because like again, biracial feels. You often feel like you aren’t enough of either side(s) of your heritage. Often you are either exoticized or made to feel ugly or both. And maybe Elrond really felt that growing up. And now he absolutely does not see it.

[kudriaken]

Vaire - The Weaver. The one responsible for weaving the stories of Arda and wife of Mandos. Made her design in pair with Mandos`s one, so they would look like a couple living in the same location - Halls of Mandos.

[dewffin]

soo... I think I accidentally began to make a Silmarillion Fangame...

For some unknown reason i was like "I wanna make textures :D" but i didn't want to model shit, so i just used VROID studio as a painting book... but then i was like "ummm, i never tried to draw a character an then tried to make it 3D in vroid" so uh-

yeah...

and then i was like "let´s drop this bad boy in Unreal to see how he looks" and because, well, i don't know why i decided to try to make him look a bit 2D? like he was drawn? like doing the complete opposite of what i just did?

so this is what he looked when i began to play with post process stuff

and because i wanted to look around and stuff i added a little guy i had, and it turns out that he was really little and i had to make him a box to take pics of Fëanor's face

Then i did more stuff and i ended up with these cute flowers :D

And then I said fuck it, i think I'm making a game...

So the thing is that doing a game doing a game while being a one person studio is a biiiiiit difficult.

By that i mean i had to try to keep my head leveled in what i could do, so I ended up with this...

Tecilwë's Adventures in Arda

(yeah, i don't have a name for this)

So, you play as Tecilwë, a noldorin journalist that travels around trying to document the best stories of Arda. You can find out what is happening around by talking with people, sneaking around or finding clues. Then, you can write your take on what happens, and depending on what you say, how you say it and what secrets do you keep your reputation as a journalist and your relationship with the different character you find can change for better or worse.

A little bit about Tecilwë...

Q Tecilwë Autanna -  S Tegilu

Tecilwë - The one who writes [tecil “pen”, wë “person”] or as i like to call them "El pibe birome"

Autanna - the lost sign, the fool sign [au “away, lost”, aut “fool”, tanna “sign, token”]

A young lore master from Tirion. Studied under Rumil, and is excited to document all that happens in the course of the story. 

Curious and eager to learn. More often than not ends up in trouble for documenting what was not supposed to be seen.

Tecilwë believes in the power of the word, and on how truth is composed by those who write it.

Not often remembered, wants to be remembered as one of the great lore masters. But the curse of the Noldor runs deep…

Basically a player insert

Y alto chismoso

What i have for now in gameplay is that you can run around a location (and you'll be able to travel to different places, but time passes so, for example, if you leave Aman you cannot go back, or if Gondolin fell then you cant go there). There as i wrote you can talk to people and find out stuff, and all what you find you write in your journal, which you can check to remember what you have seen. With all of that you can unlock new dialogues, and when you get enough information you can end the day and write like a newspaper or magazine. If, for example, you found that gasp Maedhros and Fingon are being two love birds behind a tree, you can write about that in different ways. A- You just say thing as they are. B- You say that is great to see the unity in the House of Finwë. C- Accuse Fingon of corrupting the innocent eldest of Fëanor. D- say nothing about this. With A you get lower relationship points with Russingon for exposing them. B gets you a good realtionship with them, but lower with Fëanor. C gets you a good amount of points with Fëanor, but the other two will hate your guts. And with D, nothing changes, but you can confront them about their relationship and tell them to be more careful if they want to keep it a secret.

Also if you write a lot about gossip stuff you will lose credibility and that is kinda a way to not being remember as the great Lore Master you want to be...

Also i love how FIngon's hair is coming out. This is like a first draft but it was fun to make.

Also this motherfucker is so fucking tall

And this is one of my favourite screenshots from when i had Fëanor as the playable character

(also here is really noticeable that i added lights to their eyes, and it switches form golden to silver light)

In short, a gossip simulator

Also i cannot wait to make the "Who is Gil-Galad's dad" level

Version 0.1.0

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