#Thranduil Fanfic | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

itsonlydana · 4 months ago

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Noisy Neighbors | hobbit

pairing: Thranduil x fem!reader x Bard 👑 [king's special]

Your new neighbors have been the bane of your existence - or rather sleep - for the last few nights, always keeping you up with their extensive love life. When you go up to confront the couple, you find another solution to the problem.

warnings/tags: NSWF! THIS IS ADULT CONTENT ✋️| [modern!AU] threesome, oral (f receiving), anal sex (m receiving), unprotected p in v, slight choking, brats (reader & Thranduil), mocking & dirty talk, Thranduil being a snarky bitch, he bites a bit, spitting, one ass-slap, praise, pet names, dom!bard, [reader is described with hair no further, no use of y/n]

word count: 6,2k

an: *lifts hands into the air* I'm sorry but writing Thranduil bitchy in this trio is what comes naturally, alright? I've been powering through this whole Sunday and between watching f1 and eating watermelon and packing up for a vacation, this surely made this day better. (not proofread, just wanted this baby out)

+ masterlist + rules + 🌿 reposts and comments are much appreciated, they motivate me a lot and keep me writing <3

They’re at it. Again!

Another night and you’re yet again held up by your neighbors fucking for the second time; on a Tuesday no less.

It’s 1 am and nearly seventy-three minutes – timed and noted down in your frazzled brain – after the noise had stopped the first time but now the moaning upstairs continues; this time accompanied by the banging of probably a bed frame that, if the force is anything to go by, is close to smashing in the walls.

You haven’t seen the new neighbors that had moved into the apartment above you, there had been moving trucks, a handful of handsome and very good-to-look-at guys carrying furniture around the garden and blocking the elevator for hours, leaving cigarette buts around and ringing at yours so often you doubted it was an accident every time, but there had been no one who introduced themselves.

Well, not personally.

Or rather in person, because what you hear every night is as personal as it gets.

As you lie in your bed, alone one might add, you wonder who this couple is.

Not that you have anything better to do. They’re the reason you’ve been either sleepless or fallen asleep to a lovely ASMR of two guys moaning that slowly snuck itself into your dreams; if anyone dares to say it isn’t appropriate or normal to think about the – sex – life of your neighbors you could counter that you had every right! Especially you.

They’re probably young, you figure, not by the number of times they’re going at each other and the length, god, it has been a good while, that stamina is astounding, but by whatever coherent words you can understand now and again, their voices delimited the range of possible ages.

And you had seen a pair of laced-up thigh-high black boots walking up the stairs after you had once heard the front door open and raced to peek through the peephole. Another time there had been a pair of very shiny and tight boxers left in the washing room downstairs and while you felt like a creep expecting them hanging on the line a few feet away from you, your basket clutched into your hands as you thought of the other renters here and how often you had seen their underwear, you concluded this must be one of theirs. The shoes as well as the boxers could belong to some older couple but that was most unlikely adding the different factors.

The names on their doorbell say ‘Oropherion & Bowmann’, though no Google search has brought up anything forth that could be them, nothing around this area anyway.

Another moan rips through the night, guttural and raspy, and by now, that sound’s imprinted into your mind as well as the gasp and shout that follow. A few seconds of bed rattling later the boyfriend/husband/lover roommate with lots and lots of benefits reaches his peak as well in a deep moan that reverberates in your bones and sends a heat to your face and much lower.

When silence falls, there’s an embarrassing moment of clarity as you release a shaking breath and quickly stand up on shaking legs to open your window, inhaling the cold air outside to fight against the urge to look up some porn and follow their example.

They’ve gotten to your head, twisted up whatever the stress at work had left to be corrupted into this perverse lust. On the one hand, you’ll do anything for a night of full sleep but on the other hand… what you wouldn’t do to – no, no, no, this route is just a spur of restlessness. Leftover frustration over the last few exes, and dates being unable to bring out whatever your neighbors clearly had no problems with.

They’re so vocal in their pleasure, that the last experiences of grinding against jeans in dingy club bathrooms or hookups ended in an unsatisfied call to a cab firm makes laying there, listening, fantasizing, even more unbearable.

Not just because of the few residues of your consciousness, the blaring ‘this is so wrong’ -sign lighting up neon red in your head, but taking in their noises travels a long way through your body and you’re short of actually snapping and resolving the issue of the throbbing inside your pants yourself.

The silence and air luckily help the cooldown; body and mind alike, and you wait, breathing in and out, calming down. Being up this late (or early) grants you the advantage of hearing the cicadas, the constant clicking, the low buzz of the aircon, and the distant rush of cars passing by. Somewhere there’s laughter, across the street, a TV light flickers through the white curtains fluttering in the opened window.

People and animals are still up. Life’s going on. Another night of losing sleep isn’t the end of the world, even if the long day ahead will try defiling this feeling of peace that you conjure, brain hooked on the few meditation videos your friend has shown you recently. The stress of this situation manifests in an uncontrollable grumpiness that slips over your tongue and spills out of your eyes like thunderous weather clouded once bright skies – suddenly, one sentence meant nice gets on your nerves.

You sigh and trot back to the pushed-back covers of your single bed, slipping your naked legs under the thin sheet. This is fine. Completely fine. You just need to close your eyes and concentrate on those damn sheep you had been counting before the rude interruption.

One sheep …. your shoulders sack into the pillow, relaxing slowly.

Two sheep … a heavy yawn breaks through your lips.

Three sheep … finally, you’ll be able to fall asleep. A few hours aren’t preferred, yet they’re better than no sleep at all.

Four sheep — and is that another. fucking. moan?

You sit up in your bed fast enough for dizziness to take over but that isn’t stopping any of the rage that switches your body to autopilot. In seconds after the godforsaken long moan echoes, you’re taking long and hard steps across your apartment, not caring one bit that you’re wearing neither shoes nor a long enough shirt to barely cover your ass and you haven’t even met them so this was neither an appropriate outfit nor emotion to confront them for the first time but fuck propriety!

“Fucking men,” you mumble underneath your breath as you waltz through your front door, – taking one step back to carefully push a sandal in between door and frame –, and then you’re up the stairs. Each step is fueled by that anger, the restlessness that pushes you over. In no other world would you have gotten this infuriated to completely ignore the otherwise introverted side of you, though they have taken it too far, “Just you wait.”

You basically fly across the corner of the stairway, rushing up the last few steps until you see the dark door, boots standing in front of it, and before you can even think about what you’re about to do, your fists already collide with the wood once, twice, three angry times.

Four for good measure.

Five just because they’re surely taking their time.

Before your hand knocks another time, the door is being ripped open and you’re suddenly face to face with the nightly disturbers of your peace. Or rather face to chest. You’re certain your eyes are still angry because when you lift your chin to look away from those sweaty chests and find their faces, the man closest to you flinches the tiniest bit.

“You’re fucking loud,” you point a finger firstly at them, then down, pronunciation making it clear that you aren’t swearing per se, “I’ve been trying to sleep for so fucking long and I’ll give you one guess why I’m still up and about? Huh? Ever heard of compassion for neighbors or– I don’t know, holding in some of the noises?” Your chest heaves at the row of complaints that spills over your curled lips, cheeks hot and very possibly just as red as they feel.

There is a second of silence where your voice carries through the hallway, bouncing along the walls.

You take the opportunity to give them a quick once-over, adding a wealth of new details to the mental picture you've been building. The man in front has dark brown, messy hair pulled into a ponytail, with some silver strands curling and sticking wetly to his forehead and temples. He sports a scruffy beard, with stubble on his pinkish cheeks and a thicker mustache over his lips. His body hair trails down, covering his defined chest, and extends further into the tight black boxers you saw in the basement.

The other one is strikingly different. Tall as well, towering over you though this has to do with the ice-cold and annoyed look that bores into you out of blue-grey eyes under heavy eyebrows. Long blonde hair falls over his lean chest, slightly ruffled but that’s no wonder after the two-and-a-half rounds in their bed. His lips are stuck together, adding to his attitude.

Both of them are gorgeous, dressed in nothing but boxers, and their bodies are marked by fingerprints and scratches. And while they surely are a bit older than you, that gap couldn’t be much.

“Wow,” the blonde, the one leaning against the wall behind his partner, the one being more long legs than anything else, rolls his eyes, “Aren’t you lovely?”

You swear you nearly feel a vein pop.

“Lovely?” you bring out between clenched teeth.

The brunette shoots a look over his shoulder, getting a shrug out of the taller one in exchange that most likely means he doesn’t care one bit, and then he turns back to you, offering a crooked smile that sinks in the edge of the right corner, an apology pulling the plush lips down. “I’m sorry,” he starts and nudges his head back, “an’ excuse Thranduil, he can be very – bratty.” The thick accent that curls around the words slightly surprises you but you’re back on track fast.

One eyebrow raised you stare at them. “Sure,” sarcasm drips over your tongue, “and to shut him up you dick him down or what?” In the morning, you’ll probably very much regret this crude language, the dismissive tone that resembles more a hiss than anything else.

“Yes, actually,” Thranduil cuts in and pushes his sharp chin up, looking down at you over the bridge of his nose. One of his hands, gods, they’re huge, lazily pats the broad shoulders of his partner, long and ringed fingers clanking together. He’s laying down heavily on some possessive shit you couldn’t care less about.

“Bite the curb or turn the moaning down,” you snap back, brows furrowed together.

“Maybe –”

“I’m Bard, by the way,” the brunette interrupts him and holds out a hand for you to shake. Hands, that had been who knew where a few minutes ago. Both of you seem to realize this at the same moment and while he cringes and pulls back, you offer your name, only looking at Bard and ignoring Thranduil, draped over Bard's back like a prying cat.

“Nice to meet ya. Thought about coming down a few times but never caught you home,” Bard says, attempting small talk. His effort is overshadowed by the sharp look-over Thranduil gives you, and it's clear that this is not the time to play the friendly neighbor.

You make that clearer by crossing your arms in front of your chest, unconsciously bunching up your shirt, and revealing the black string of your panties. Bard swallows, heavily.

“Well, nice to meet you,” you echo back dryly and cock your hip, “Can I go back to sleep in peace now? Are we done with this?”

Bard’s smile is pained, a bit embarrassed if you have to guess. “Sure, sorry again.”

“I’m not.”

Thranduil hasn’t even looked at you as he whispers loud enough into Bard’s ears that it’s definitely meant for yours as well. And that piece of shit has the gall to flutter his lashes, his mouth ghosting over the hickey right against Bard’s neck, the offending lips curled into a smirk you want to wipe off.

The sigh that leaves Bard is deep and deflates his whole chest, his shoulders following the drop of his arms. “Thran–”

“Oh, is that right?” On the contrary, you push your shoulders back and tip your head, sizing up the neighbor who, in your opinion, can move right back out again. No matter how pretty and unfairly sexy he is, that mouth of his ruins it. “Where do you pull out this fucking behavior? I just came here because you two have been going at it for hours and haven’t bothered to think about anyone else. I'm so sorry that –”

“Apology accepted,” Thranduil grins. His grey eyes are gleaming in amusement at your noticeable anger and he makes a high sound out of the back of his throat that sounds a lot like a giggle.

“Fucking hell, Thran!” Bard slaps his hand back, the flat of his palm meeting flexing muscles of Thranduil’s thigh, and lowly, sensually, Thranduil moans. This man is the walking definition of shamelessness.

That sound, the low vibration that usually comes through your walls, shoots to your core so fast that you sputter on the next breath. Hot curling heat makes itself comfortable in your lower stomach and you can’t help but blush – a feast for the unabashed man.

“If I had known we had such’ prude for a neighbor we would’ve found another place,” Thranduil says, most likely just to tease, because in the few minutes you’d known him, he’s definitely a teasing brat.

Ready to fight for yourself you shake your head and furrow your brows further. “I'm not prude –”

“It’s okay” A Cheshire cat-like smile disproves the false compassion, making it all sound much more patronizing. Thranduil has gotten under your skin, an itch you yearn to scratch however you can, “Nothing to be ashamed of.”

“No, but I’m not a prude!” You lick your teeth, stepping closer to their door as if that will make your point more convincing than the tight vintage shirt you’re wearing, with a fading Care Bear printed right over your tits.

In mocking, Thranduil rests his chin on Bard’s shoulder, holding your slowly wavering gaze. “Not everybody is comfortable with such an active sex life.”

With ease he smothers every bit of self-control you have left, thinning out your resolve to stand higher than him. You glower, all the thoughts of failed one-night stands pressing onto your tongue and loosening it faster than you can realize what you’re spitting in front of their feet – one statement powerful enough to change the entire atmosphere into another type of tension:

"I would be if I would get it!"

“Woah, let’s take it a notch back, shall we, hun?” Bard’s soothing voice could have been directed at each or either one of you two, and you notice how heavy your breathing has become, how much your hands twitch pressed against your breasts, and how Bard’s eyes flicker over where the shirt stretches tighter.

Interesting…

The hand on Thranduil’s thigh wanders higher, immediately capturing your attention and it's the tanned color of it against ivory white that gets you. The difference in softness and hardness, obvious callouses moving over smooth skin.

As subtly as possible, you shift your weight to squeeze your thighs together, heightening the throbbing evoked by every inch of skin in front of you.

Neither Thranduil nor Bard misses it. You can tell it by Bard’s eyes darkening, Thranduil’s smirk widening dangerously and their stance, Thranduil’s arms slinging across Bard’s taut stomach, fiddling with the silky band of his boxers, as well as Bard leaning more right – opening up the way into their dark apartment.

“What if –,” Bard starts, fingers digging into Thranduil’s thigh.

Ice-cold eyes that suddenly burn with hot interest look you over, stopping right where the hem of your shirt exposes your underwear, “You could join us?”

The offer shuts down your body as soon as your mind comprehends what Thranduil’s lowered, honeyed voice had presented to you and unfortunately, the inquiring “huh?” sounds much more like a whimper than originally planned. This question, this golden opportunity presented on a silver platter is fuel to the aching arousal pooling in your stomach and you can’t deny that, while lying in bed at night, listening to their intimacy, hadn’t evoked that dirty thought in you.

Flushes of heat spread from your pelvis. You lick over your teeth.

“What?” you laugh nervously.

“You’ve heard us right,” Thranduil’s hand stills over the v of Bard’s hips. That he doesn’t move is nearly as taunting as the constant toying, wandering, and scratching he had done till then.

“Pff as if –,” you stutter stubbornly, even if the pooling of wetness in your underwear betrays you, “as if.. as if I'm gonna waltz into the apartment of two strangers.. two men! You could do whatever to me!”

“Yeah, and you heard exactly what we could bring out of you”

Their moans and the bed slamming against the wall are pretty good arguments against a case already won in their favor, despite how you’re still trying to grasp for straws.

“My organs when you strip me to the bed and murder me silently?”

“Jeez, you have an imagination woman. Is the stick this far up your ass that –”

“Babe!” Bard’s elbow lands in Thranduil’s side, warningly and soft just like his voice.

“No, let him finish” you glare at Thranduil, “I’d like to know what he thinks about presumed stick in my arse and its results.”

“I think you are prude and underfucked, jealous and so stripped up tightly you won't admit that a good fuck – and honey, I’ll deliver nothing less – would loosen you up,” Thranduil finishes his speech with a tip of his head forward, daring you to talk back and gosh, you wish you had some comeback, anything to prove him wrong, however, the wetness that sticks syrupy between your legs strikes out all other thoughts except:

You want them. You want both of these men.

“So—so what?” you retort, knowing they're right, a pout forming on your lips and a persistent crease of defiance. “That's such a testosterone-driven answer; typical man, thinking their cocks are the miracle cure to a woman’s dry spell.”

Even Bard tuts now, his soft eyes falling to your underwear. “You sure? Hun, you can whine all ‘bout but I can see your cute little panties being all wet – oh come on, don’t blush, I see them alright?” And sure, the material may cling to your cunt and the breeze in the hallway coming from an open window enhances that feeling, but– “Darlin’,” Bard chuckles, “Stop thinking, ‘s not that hard to accept you want it. Come on in, let Thranduil apologize sincerely for his hissy fit.”

You huff.

Thranduil breathes a kiss toward you, pink lips forming a cute heart, and you only think: “Fuck it.”

Thranduil’s mouth, as he proves a few minutes later, is quite good at apologizing, fantastic even.

You’re spread on your back across their bed – ironically you find out it’s directly above yours –, legs opened up by his large hands, the metal of his rings biting ice-cold into the heated flesh as he kneads his fingers into your thighs and teases you most annoyingly by kissing all around your clit. His arms are wrapped around you in a way that's confining you to lie there and take whatever he decides to give you, or not in some moments.

“Pretty girl –,” Thranduil murmurs into the sensitive and practically vibrating skin, “Should’ve known there’s something sweet about that sour tongue.” His tongue is just as bitter, licking straight through your folds, gathering the absurd amount of wetness and ending shortly before your clit to press a wide opened mouth kiss into you.

Your hips buck upward in desperation and at the same time exhilaration and Thranduil’s biceps flex to pin you down again; giving you no wiggle room.

“Better lie still,” Bard whispers and tilts your head back by the hand he wraps loosely around your throat. It’s not hard enough to blur your vision, but just hard enough to remind you of the power he holds over you. His fingertips close in together, putting the right amount of pressure on your windpipe for you to gasp for air; then he pounces in and takes over your lips in a heated kiss.

Your behavior, because you do in fact give it your best to stop your legs from crushing the head between your legs, is rewarded by Thranduil with the assistance of his tongue finally flicking over your swollen clit, first playfully then in earnest. He closes his lips around the bundle of nerves, grazing his teeth slightly over it and your head would’ve fallen back if it isn’t for the hand holding you to Bard. “Oh fuck,” you whine and grasp down.

The second you burrow your hands into Thranduil’s hair, twirling some strands around your fingers for a better hold, he moans into you. Hot air meets the wetness of your pussy and the tips of your nails dig slightly into his hair roots. It turns him on more, that you grind yourself desperately against his face, your hands weaved into his hair to get back control and Thranduil’s tongue swipes over your pussy, diving in to plunge the tip into your entrance.

“That’s it,” he gasps, sending the words straight through you while he fucks his tongue back into you a few times. Then he switches back to sucking on your clit and doesn’t stop; no matter how your thighs shook and fought to shut close, he stayed on his task of taking you completely into his mouth and rolling his tongue in figure-eights, circling in closer and closer.

The sounds of Thranduil eating you out are pornographic, slickness from your spit and wetness, his ever-constant breathing and relentless swirls through your pussy that have your back in a wonderful arch. Bard’s lips swallow most of your whimpers up, and when he starts to lick his tongue against yours, teeth playfully tugging on your lower lip, you feel the stars before you see them.

It starts up fast, heading toward you at full speed and you choke out your orgasm in a broken wail, fingers tightening in Thranduil’s hair. When he doesn’t stop and stimulation becomes overstimulation, your eyes flutter to escape the nearly drunken stare of his gray eyes hidden under long lashes and finally, he slows down. Bard too, leaves your lips in one last, dragged-out kiss that you want to chase after; his mouth is too sweet and gentle, a perfect harmony of caring and hunger.

“All attitude until the attitude drips down her legs and messes up our bedsheets,” Thranduil laughs huskily and wipes the back of his hand over his glistening lips and chin. He puckers his mouth, a wide grin on his face as he crawls up to you. “Now, how do you want this?”

Breathless, you look up to Thranduil and Bard, the latter already moving to shed himself of his boxers. When you see what Bard packs under the tight black underwear a wheezing laugh escapes your throat.

“Yeah,” you scoff at his arched eyebrow, “I would be fucking that multiple times as well.”

His cock stands heavy against his stomach, thick and bobbing, white precum rolling down the veins. “Like what you see?” Bard teases, one hand wrapped around himself, leisurely stroking up and down. “I’ll let you have a taste if you’re good.”

A large palm spreads over your abdomen and Thranduil slides two fingers down to pinch your still sensitive clit so you yelp and scowl at him. “You won’t be getting any of that tonight,” his voice sounds threateningly possessive, and at the sight of his much taller body towering over yours and that look in his eyes, your stomach flips. “Don’t think I’ll let you hop on there after you disturbed us. Tonight –,” Again, that word that emphasized like he did promises more nights after this, “tonight he’s mine.” The last bit he whispers into your ear, the soft locks of his hair brushing your still-covered chest.

All that Thranduil had time to undress you for, had been your underwear and those had landed ripped into two somewhere in the darkness of their bedroom. This meant you would have to borrow some of theirs or rush downstairs with your cunt on display and after this should be over, you have no idea if you would even be able to walk.

Thranduil, by the feeling of his bulge pressing into your stomach, isn’t small either. That cockiness had to have a source somewhere and they don’t call it that for no reason.

Bard’s laughter interrupts the staring contest you two have going on, otherwise you’re not sure how long it would’ve gotten on or who would’ve quit first; not you, he could poke his cock into you however he wants. The other man walks around the bed, heading to the end where Thranduil’s long legs hang off and by the sudden twitch in the body crowding yours into the mattress and the cry Thranduil lets out, you strongly think there has been a tickling involved.

You laugh as well, the sound dying swiftly when Thranduil turns back to you and grinds his hips into you. All that comes out then, is a straggled whine.

“Fucking asshole,” you grumble and pull on his hair again, forcing his head down for you to kiss his wet lips.

Able to taste yourself on his tongue, you greedily open your mouth further, and Thranduil wastes no second to dominate. He takes over the kiss, distracting you just enough that you don’t notice Bard taking off Thranduil’s boxers until the cock against your stomach twitches at a particular noise out of the back of your throat and precum dribbles onto your skin.

“Someone’s eager,” you tease.

Thranduil promptly bites you in return. “Says the slut moaning under me,” he retorts, scratching his canines across your neck. “Now, take that skimpy shirt off or I’ll rip it like that sad excuse of underwear.”

You roll your eyes but follow his demand, pulling the tight shirt off and flinging it away. Free for him to touch, Thranduil’s fingers of one hand find your right tit, and, putting the rock-hard pebble in between them, he steals the air out of your lungs pulling and twisting your nipples. “At least, oh fuck you –!”

Your attempt to speak gets drowned out by a cry of need and suddenly, you’re getting crushed into the mattress by Thranduil’s heavy weight, his fingers still tight around your nipple and his mouth close to your ear. His ass is the only thing not forcing you down.

Bard, who has been silently chuckling and observing until now, decided the time’s right to move this forward and over the head of blonde hair pushing itself into the crook of your neck, panting hotly and frustrated, you see Bard circling his rim with two fingers.

“So that’s what shuts you up,” you whisper for Thranduil to hear.

He lifts his head slightly, though the angry eyebrows fall quickly at another moan.

Behind Thranduil, illuminated by the moonlight outside, Bard looks positively majestic and dominating, his shoulder-length hair free from the ponytail, falling ruffled into his face as he inhales and forcefully spits down to where his fingers are slowly pushing further into the ass presented to him.

“That’s good, Darlin’,” he praises and Thranduil keens, eyes full of hearts, “Push back a bit, makin’ it easy for me, aren’t you? Go on, sweetheart.” At your gasp – you’re not unaffected by the praise, not at all and if you weren’t coming down from a sensational orgasm that had your clit in flames.. – Bard looks up and winks at you. “Go on. Wonderful, you’re just the best. Look at you, beautiful.” He’s obviously talking to Thranduil but you follow his command despite it; the aura around Bard makes it impossible to do anything less than obey.

Lying there under these two men, feeling their weight, hearing their moans and the rasps of their deep voices, and being clouded in the smell of sweat, cum, and body odors mixing, is fulfilling fantasies you hadn’t been creative enough to think up.

“Oh – Bard, can you – hah, yes, there –” Thranduil arches into the touch catlike, his back up in the air and the curve of his spine glistening, now that a few drops of sweat are decorating the skin, marked in pink trails of fingernails of a hand that twists slightly and adds another finger.

Your chest is full of blonde hair, platinum after another inspection, strands perfect to comb your hands through. Thranduil’s lashes flutter beautifully. His lips open up, puffing out airy breaths, pink plush lips coated in spit after he runs his tongue over them.

Biting down a comment of how he had been right about the ‘shutting up and dicking down’, you act without thinking. The kiss is much slower and sensual than the last, maybe to distract Thranduil from that pain/pleasure that Bard afflicts on him, opening him up four fingers at one time. Soon though, the grind of Thranduil’s hips becomes too much to endure, he already left a wet trail of precum all over you and while you’re still gasping into his mouth, you blindly reach between your bodies.

“Goddamit,” you grunt, angling your hips slightly, “You’re no help at all.”

“What?” Thranduil groans and everything vibrates, “I’m the one having four fingers up my arse, can’t you just wait a fucking second?”

“Mhm, no.”

“You’re such a brat,” he leans down, hair fanning over you and trapping you in a bubble where it’s just you, his panting breath and the fire in his eyes; he’s gorgeous. “I’m sorry but –”

“Apology accepted,” you cut him off, smiling sweetly.

A second later you swear you’re being ripped apart; immediately tears spring into your eyes, hiding Thranduil’s satisfied smirk behind a watery curtain as he pushes his cock in further, stretching you past known limits. The only proof that you’re still breathing is the pitchy moan, the whine that follows the stretch of inch after inch.

“Fuuck–”

It’s going on forever. The rocking of Thranduil’s hips. The slow drill of his cock pushing its way through you, carving a spot into your clenching walls. Surely it’ll come out of your throat.

You blink fast, regain your vision, and look down.

“Oh my fucking god,” you slap a hand against Thranduil’s shoulder, trying to get a grip on reality, “How are you this big?”

“He’s a mouthful,” Bard pitches in, grinning, and finally reaches a point where he has prepared Thranduil enough. He spits again; once into his hand, which he immediately closes around his cock again, and once between the globes of Thranduil’s ass, watching it trail down. Bard gathers some of Thranduil’s long hair to gently push it over his side. “Are you ready, my love?” he bows down for a soft kiss to the protruding bones of Thranduil’s arched spine.

Ironically, that's what finally gets you and Thranduil on the same page.

A page that was full of unintelligible curses, punctuated by groans and underlined by hands grabbing for each other.

Your hand digs itself into Thranduil’s back as he finally bottoms out, buried so deep you can feel him in the back of your throat – or that’s the pressure from that massive cock bullying your insides – and he stills, hipbones digging into you as well as if he hasn’t already marked you up enough with his girth.

Bard reaches forward, thus pushing in faster than Thranduil expects it and your fingers intertwine over the blonde's back. Electricity zips through you, starting from your toes pressing into the sheets, up your shaking thighs to your clenching cunt, and higher up your spine into your head.

Thranduil, fully sandwiched between you, can do nothing except follow the unforgivable rhythm Bard sets.

The bed creaks as he rocks into you, just when Bard pushes in. The start is messy, lots of “There–” and “Fuck, slower–” until they change it up.

Thranduil’s breathing is ragged and erratic as he moves against you, his hips pistoning against yours in a steady, firm rhythm. His arms hold you in place, his body covering you completely, lips moving along your neck and shoulder. You, being just on the receiving end, take everything he gives.

“Finally out of complaints, aren’t you?” he angles his hips to thrust harder. “A – ahh – all you needed was a good cock to shut you up.”

You almost gag on a whine, proving him just right. “No– so-ohh – not true.”

A fleeing look to Bard and you’re silently begging. For what you don’t know. Maybe his support. Maybe to fuck Thranduil hard enough he swallows his words.

“Oh, Thranduil,” Bard starts and you truly think he’ll be on your side, “If she’s still trying to mouth back you’re doing something – fuck – wrong!”

Thranduil laughs, fucking laughs. Each snap of his hips fills the room with shameless sounds, and as painful as it is to admit, his low baritone causes your pussy to clench tighter, dripping arousal. The fire they started burns higher when he wedges one hand down between your legs, somehow landing on your clit perfectly despite the brutal pace of his and Bard’s thrust.

“You should’ve come up the first day you heard us,” Thranduil spits out, “Could’ve had this cock making you happy every night. You needed this, right? Someone, to fuck you stupid? Did you lie awake all night and listened to Bard fucking me, fiddling with yourself as if your dumb little fingers could ever come close to this?” His middle finger demonstratingly flicks your clit up.

“Please, oh– please, please,” you sob, the messy circles he’s rubbing with his thumb dumbing you down to a mumbling mess. Pleasure dances in every vein, lights up nerve endings in white-hot fire.

"Gosh, I think I’m feeling that stick I had been talking about,” Thranduil rasps, pressing his palm against your lower stomach, bringing out another wail, “Oh wait no, that's just me giving you exactly what you needed."

You’re wringing out his cock, every stroke sends him deeper and deeper, crushing your g-spot, urged on by the slaps of Bard’s balls. He’s taking it slower, staying against Thranduil’s prostate and spreading his hands in the long hair to control when his boyfriend slams into you.

“C’mon, honey. Be good and come on Thran’s cock, won’t you? He’s so sorry for his bratty behavior but as you can see –” Bard sends his hand down swiftly, shocking you as his palm lands flat on Thranduil’s right cheek with a loud ‘smack’; a scream of pleasure and Bard pats the already reddening skin, “he’s insatiable.”

That’s what does it for you, in the end.

Already spiraling toward the edge with Thranduil’s pace and his fingers slipping, rubbing, flicking in all directions, it’s the calmness in Bard that sends you over. The relaxed hold in Thranduil’s hair, how he thrones above you, patiently waiting for his turn because he’s already fucked Thranduil twice tonight – what are another few minutes of watching you slurring their names?

If Thranduil’s cock broke you in half, the orgasm that spikes through you angrily and into every cell splinters whatever’s there to shred. It’s blinding, hot and cold, a wildfire and ice bath. It’s the strongest you’ve cum in a while and your brain shuts down.

Thranduil groans as you clench around him, but, sensing – or seeing it in your fucked out expression – that you can’t take anymore, he drags his cock out of you.

Half conscious your head drops to the side as you try to catch a breath that isn’t sweat and hair. Through blurred eyes, you have a front-row seat to the change in Bard. He swiftly lifts his head once, shaking back his hair and exposing the long column of his throat and the muscles that flex in his shoulder, before he’s sprawled atop Thranduil, grabbing the red and heavy cock wet with your cum and fucks him.

Raw and unapologetic.

Fingers pull on Thranduil’s hair, forcing his head back into his neck and Thranduil groans, arching his back closer to Bard. It’s a glorious sight, their hips meeting again and again, Bard’s hand wrapped around Thranduil’s cock, pulling and jacking him off in that same rhythm that Thranduil had rubbed you earlier.

Bard’s panting as well now, grinding more than thrusting and watches himself disappear inside Thranduil. “You feel so good, Thran–” he mumbles, “one more time for me, alrigh’ gorgeous? You did perfectly tonight, taking me three times.”

The praise continues to rain, hailing down like the short and precise twitches of Bard’s hips and when Thranduil hits the bed in a low moan of Bard’s name, coating the bedsheets underneath him white, Bard follows shortly after; buried deep inside his boyfriend.

For a while, the room is filled with efforts to catch your breath. Sweat clings to your body like a second skin, glistening on Thranduil and Bard lying close to each other next to you as well.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, “the neighbors are gonna hate us.”

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tamurilofrivendell · 1 year ago

Text

Arranged | Thranduil x Reader

Read on AO3

Pairing: Thranduil x Female Reader

Summary: The Mirkwood courts having successfully pushed Thranduil into accepting a new queen through an arranged marriage. However, he cannot seem to help comparing them to his former wife. When tensions run high and reader calls the whole thing off, Thranduil realises the error of his ways.

Content etc: Thranduil being a little bit of an ass I guess. Angst. Fluff.

Prompt: number 32 & 39 on this list

requested by anonymous (I’m sorry this took literally forever and I’m sorry if it isn’t exactly what you wanted!)

word count: 4.6k

tags: @firelightinferno, @achromaticerebus, @coopsgirl, @birbixo0912, @desert-fern, @ancient-rime, @lady-of-imladris, @weepingdreammarvel, @asianbutnotjapanese, @deadlymistletoe

“This is wrong.” Thranduil’s voice snapped you out of your tangled thoughts and you lifted your head with a confused frown, looking back at him.

"What is?" You asked, not even having had any clue as to what it was that he was working on over there on the sprawling couch of his large private library.

Thranduil looked up and met your gaze. "The guards you have picked." He gestured to the paper in his hands as if it should be obvious. "They are not of a high enough level to guard the Queen."

“Oh.” You gave him a quizzical look, tilting your head. You weren’t entirely sure about levels and the like. Nobody had said anything yesterday. Nobody had even really told you much at all, in all honesty, you had been sort of left to fend for yourself. “I... didn’t know anything about that. I just had to watch them fight and pick, you said. They appeared good enough for me. I think they would do just fine.”

The Elvenking blinked at you for a moment, his thoughts more critical than he would have liked. If you had not been sure, why had you not asked? Deep down, he knew that you could not possibly have known to ask because he had not told you that you could, or should. He’d told you to pick your own guards and then left you in the training grounds to attend a council meeting. However, Thranduil had simply assumed you would have asked for help or clarification if you had needed it. And clearly you had if this list was anything to go by. As it was, you had not wanted to cause a fuss, or look foolish, or add more work to the king’s heavy load. The soldiers showing off their skills had seemed capable enough and that had been all you’d thought you needed to look for. Besides, how would you know anything about their levels? You still did not yet know everybody here.

Thranduil’s silence was uncomfortable but then he simply tsk'd and lowered his gaze again. He shrugged, almost to himself, but he did not sign off on the document. He simply scored something out before setting it to one side to go back to later. He would pick, he decided. If he let you choose low levelled guards, how would they protect you?

She would have chosen better, he thought, though it was there and gone again so quickly that he did not notice he’d thought it at all.

You eyed him for another long moment before you moved to leave the library, heading away down the corridor. He had been in a fairly strange mood all day and you supposed you should leave him to it. Not bad, exactly, just... distracted, perhaps.

Most likely he was still struggling a little with this entire situation and you couldn't really blame him for that because it was still so very strange for you too. To have wound up in an arranged marriage with the King of Mirkwood. You yourself were from Lothlórien, daughter of an important elf in the Lord and Lady's court.

While unexpected, you could see the positives in such an arrangement and, truthfully, you liked Thranduil. He had been kind to you, at least when you first met and agreed to this. However, now that you had actually moved here, it seemed a little like he had been taking offence to every single decision you made. He’d give you things to do and then seem unsatisfied with the way you had done them. It was frustrating but you could only assume he was stressed and that he would soon relax.

You went to sleep that night hopeful that tomorrow he would be in a better mood.

You found him in his study the following afternoon and felt relief when he looked up and smiled at you. "I hope you slept well. Are you prepared for the feast tonight?" He asked, holding his hand out to bid you closer.

"Mostly. I just have to decide what to wear." You told him, moving into the room and seating yourself beside him. “It is still between two dresses.”

He sat there looking at you with an expression that you couldn’t quite decipher and it was almost as if he was studying something in your very soul. “Oh? You are not... set by now?” It seemed far too late to not have the entire outfit prepared.

You shrugged, always having been a bit more carefree and lazy in your decision making. You were a bit of a procrastinator and did not altogether mind if you left things to the last minute. Sometimes this was simply because you just... forgot. A far cry from the King beside you, of course. Also unbeknownst to you, a far cry from the Queen who had come before.

Thranduil raised an eyebrow but said nothing more. His displeasure, however, radiated from him in waves in the silence that followed as he looked back down at the paperwork on the desk before him.

"Thranduil?"

"What?" He did not look up.

“Something troubles you.”

He responded with a non-committal grunt and you frowned at him, watching as he pretended to read whatever was on the desk but you could tell his mind was now elsewhere. You sighed and stood to leave the room.

As you turned, Thranduil’s hand suddenly reached out and grasped your own. You turned to find him looking at you, a soft smile on his lips once more. “You will look beautiful whatever you wear.”

Returning his smile, you ducked your head to hide the blush you could feel about to spread over your cheeks, and quickly took your leave.

Thranduil watched you go and then leaned back in his chair with a heavy sigh. He liked you, he always had, but you were not quite what he had expected when he had finally relented to the pushing of his court to take a new Queen.

He had obviously agreed you would be a good choice. Your station in Lothlórien, your family tree, put you in a very good position to knowing how things worked... yet not entirely, it seemed. Something was a little... off now that you were actually here in Mirkwood with him.

Oh, you were beautiful, there was no doubt about that. You made him laugh. He enjoyed your company. There was simply something niggling at him in the back of his mind, something he couldn’t quite figure out.

The feast came quickly, too quickly for you as the time just flew past. You had gotten caught up doing something completely unrelated and frowned when a maid rushed in to find you. Her relief was palpable but you didn’t understand it until you realised the time and she had ushered you back to your room to get ready.

Thranduil was irritated. There had been a delay - nobody had been able to find you - and you were not ready for the feast. You were not here, and it took so long that he had to walk into the room alone and act as though nothing were amiss. He had promptly sat down and thrown back a rather large gulp of strong wine, irritated by the hold up.

When you entered the room - finally - you were a vision. He took in your hair, the ornamentation in it and around your neck, and the royal blue dress with pleased eyes that did much to allay his frustration.

Then, you went and tripped over the hem of the damned thing because you had not bothered to see that it had been properly fitted.

Luckily, you were close enough to the table at this point for him to grab you by the arm and keep you upright, but his irritation only grew at the scene that your little stumble had caused. The attention you caught was not the type he wished for, nor were the titters of laughter around the room.

She would never have left the fit of the dress to chance, nor would she have embarrassed him as such.

This time, Thranduil did catch the thought, but he quickly dismissed it as a simple stray musing that did not mean anything.

“Are you alright?” He asked, a little tersely, as he refilled his glass of wine.

You nodded, hardly noticing his tone yet as you willed the embarrassed flush in your cheeks to go away. You felt like the entire room had seen that and you cursed yourself for not even thinking that the dress might need proper attention. It just had not occurred to you.

“Yes. Thank you.”

He grunted and you finally looked up at him and noticed the frustration he was trying to bury shining in his eyes. You frowned, feeling even worse. He could not be... angry at you? Could he?

After picking at the food on your plate and watching one dance (you dare not join in with your dress!), you rose and made your way from the table out of the room without a word. You were not in the mood now. Reaching up, you tore the circlet from your head as you walked down the hallway as quickly as you could.

“Where are you going?” Thranduil’s voice came from the door you had just exited and you realised that he had followed you out.

Turning, you eyed him cautiously for a moment, trying to ascertain his mood, but once more he was quite the mask. “I am tired, Thranduil. I am going to bed.”

He nodded, moving closer. His gaze dropped to the circlet in your hands. “You could not have waited until you were behind a closed door?”

“What does it matter?” You asked, shrugging at him.

Thranduil didn’t respond but his brow creased just the slightest bit. Did it matter? He began to walk down the hallway and you turned to walk with him since it seemed that he was heading in the same direction you were anyway.

“Are you upset?” You ventured after a while, watching him come to a halt as your question reached his ears.

Thranduil blinked. Was he upset? He supposed that he was feeling frustrated. Annoyed. Angry, perhaps. Why? He turned his head to look at you, a soft frown of confusion on his face as he shrugged. “I suppose I am. A little.”

“What’s the matter?”

He didn’t answer right away because, truthfully, Thranduil could not fully put into words what his problem was. What had gotten him so riled up over something that, logically, he told himself did not truly matter. Thranduil shook his head. “I am not rightly sure.” He offered his arm then. “Come, I will escort you to your room.”

But you would not be shut down quite so easily, and you shook your head. “You must know what is wrong.” You insisted. “How can I help you if you do not tell me?”

Thranduil frowned at you, his frustration growing once more. “I do not need your help.” He stated firmly, moving his arm closer so you would take it, but you still did not take it.

“Well, you need something. You-”

“Stop. Please.” He snapped lightly, dropping his arm since it had become clear that you were not going to take it. He turned around and took a step away, not wishing to engage in this right now.

“Thranduil!” Was he truly going to just turn away and leave? In the middle of a conversation? You could not quite believe it. “Just tell me what is wrong! Tell me!”

“She would not behave thus!” He thundered as he spun back to face you, and then immediately fell silent. Horror seemed to fill him as he realised what he had just said.

You frowned softly back at him, shaking your head. “Who-” Your mouth snapped shut as you stared back at him, suddenly understanding with a sick sort of certainty.

She. Her. His deceased wife.

She would not behave in this manner. She would not behave how you were behaving. She would do things ‘the right’ way. She would do better.

You could not hide the hurt that bled across your face as the two of you stared back at each other in the long, deathly silence that followed. Thranduil seemed to be frozen, utterly stricken, but you did not see it past your own dismay. Then, you were gone. Turning and fleeing from him, away down the corridor towards your own rooms.

Thranduil did not see you for two days.

He tried to seek you out that same night but he had not been able to find you and, so, retired to his chamber to wait until you were ready to talk. However, it seemed that you were not willing to talk at all as, two days later, he received word that you had been seen sneaking into the stables with a bag full of your things.

Had it not been for you carrying your own belongings, Thranduil might have dismissed it and told them to simply follow you from a safe distance to keep you safe. As it was, he was immediately up from his chair and out of the door before the guard who reported to him could blink.

He rushed to the stables, finding you still trying to attach a bag to your horse, clearly frustrated that you could not get it secure. The animal, too, seemed unamused with your attention - blowing air through its nostrils and scuffing its feet.

“Going somewhere?” He asked quietly from the doorway, causing you to jump because you had not even heard him arrive, too focused on your irritation.

You stared at him for a second and found that looking at him hurt. You did not respond, you just turned your attention back to the horse and continued fiddling with the bag but nothing would attach the damn thing to the animal so you eventually huffed in exasperation and let it drop to the floor of the stall.

A silence followed.

You could feel Thranduil’s eyes on you but you did not look up at him.

“I never meant to hurt you” Thranduil said softly after another moment and you could hear the regret in his voice but you still didn’t look up at him.

Instead, you shrugged. “But you did.”

“Yes.” He agreed quietly, sighing. “I did.”

Of course, you did not resent him thinking of his wife. How could you ever? She had been a good Queen and an even better wife from all that you had heard of her. You had never met her, not even on a trip she’d taken with the King long ago to Lothlórien. But you had heard a lot about her and she sounded amazing. She was the love of his life, the mother of his only son, and you truly had never expected to replace her but to have him compare you in such a way... it had hurt, you could not deny that.

You were so different, you understood that, but... you were two completely different people and it did not feel fair for Thranduil to hold you to this standard that you had not even realised you had to meet. Yes, you were to be a queen and yes, you had a lot still to learn especially about Mirkwood and its own politics... but you were trying. You really were! All you needed was his help, not criticism. How could he not see that?

“Please just talk to me.” He said, his voice full of obvious unhappiness. His eyes dropped to the bag on the ground. “Where are you going?”

You held in a sharp comeback about why you should be expected to talk to him when he did not wish to do the same two nights ago. At his question, your gaze turned to the bag and you sighed, shaking your head. You bent down to pick it back up and began once more attempting to fasten it securely to the horse. “Home.” You said.

Thranduil blinked. “This is home.”

You frowned and your head snapped up to look at him. “This is your home... and clearly I am not welcome in it.” You hated how your voice shook just a little. You wanted to sound brave and firm, not like a hurt little girl. “I am returning to Lothlórien. You can call off all the arrangements.”

Thranduil stared at you then, watching while you struggled with the bag, as the reality hit him. You were going home, you were... calling off the wedding?

His arm shot out and he took hold of the bag, wrenching it gently but firmly from your grip. You gave a sigh and lifted your eyes to his face. Gods, why did he have to be so handsome? You shook your head at him, throwing your hands up in a defeated manner.

“Do not leave.” He said, his voice quieter than he would have liked. He was certain it shook a little... but you did not notice.

“Why?” Was all you could ask, scoffing a little as you shook your head again. “Why should I stay here, Thranduil? I did not come here because I have no other options, I came here because I... I like you and I trust you and...” You trailed off, lowering your gaze for a moment, one of your shoes (which were absolutely not suitable for riding a horse in the first place) kicking at the straw covered ground. “I will not... settle for a life where I am never good enough, where I am always second best. A life in the shadow of a memory. A beautiful memory, do not misunderstand, and one I would never want you to forget... but I am not her, Thranduil! I am not her and I never will be and I am sorry but... I cannot stay here, not like this.”

Another silence filled the stable.

You looked away, at the horse, running your fingers through its mane. The animal was no longer in a mood now that you had stopped messing with the bag. You watched as it lazily chewed on some hay. Thranduil still had your bag in his hands, his fingers anxiously fiddling with the strap, his eyes on his hands. He felt ashamed and for a long moment he could not speak.

“You were never second place to me.” He whispered eventually, his eyes filling up with tears as he realised just what he had done. What he had made you feel. What he had made you think. “Never. You are not. I...” He faltered, grasping for the right words but he could not find them. “I know... what I said, what I have done, it was wrong. I cannot excuse myself, I do not even know why I...” He paused, frowning.

You didn’t look up, though you could see him in your peripheral vision. He seemed to be struggling. He was not always good with words when it was not about politics or battle.

“I did not realise I was doing it at first,” he continued after gathering his thoughts once more. “There is no excuse and I do not say this to make one. I simply... she is the only queen to have ever graced my rule. I was thrust onto the throne so quickly... and I was grieving and she had to... truthfully, she had no choice but to take control of many things until I was more... present.” More in the moment after watching his father die, after that dreadful day, after suddenly becoming a king. “My mother died long before I even began to pay real, proper attention to anything... royal. I... my wife was the only queen I have ever known here, I remember how she did everything, I grew used to it. I forgot that you... do not know and I did not help you properly when I know that I should have. So I compared you to her and it was not fair of me. You did nothing wrong. I am sorry. So, so sorry.” He did not really expect forgiveness, he did not feel that he deserved it, he did not feel that he should receive it. To have hurt you... it pained him. “I love you.”

You turned your head from the horse to Thranduil’s face, the shock evident as you stared back at him for a few very long minutes. Had you heard that correctly? Did he... did he say...?

Over this time, you had developed your own feelings towards the king. He was not perfect, though to outsiders he may look it, but that was probably part of why you’d fallen for him in the first place. You had not been able to help yourself.

In the beginning, after he had approached you and your father with the idea from his council of an arranged marriage, it was not something either of you had rushed into. He had spent some time getting to know you better, for he did not wish to wed somebody he did not at least get along with. He’d been clear on that with his councillors and advisors. He’d written you letters after he returned to Mirkwood, he arranged visits for you to come and spend time with him. He showed up in Lórien once with no other reason than to offer you a bouquet of wildflowers he had picked himself, then he took you on a walk through the forest and the two of you just... talked. After all of that, it had been so easy. To say yes. To agree. Though you had known, you had known, that he would never love you. He cared for you enough, you knew that, but as a friend. He would never love you as he loved her. At least that’s what you had presumed.

“You...?” Was all you could say, still staring at him in absolute shock.

Thranduil nodded, the tears in his eyes that he’d managed to keep at bay finally beginning to spill down his cheeks as he blinked. He glanced down, embarrassed, lifting his thumb to his face and swiping away a tear. “Yes.” He whispered. “I... I should have said it before, I should have... shown it better. I am so sorry... but please.” He lifted his head again, his eyes wide as he looked at you quite desperately. “Stay. Please... do not leave me.”

You were staring at him, frozen for what felt like a long time, and Thranduil began to lose hope. You would leave and he would never see you again all because of his own stupidity. He knew you did not love him that way, that you had agreed to this as his friend, but he needed you to stay here, he could not bear to lose you.

When your voice finally came, it was but a whisper, and there were now tears in your own eyes to match Thranduil’s. “...I love you too.”

Now it was Thranduil’s turn to stare at you. He looked like he could not comprehend what had just come out of your mouth. He looked like he did not dare believe it. You stepped towards him, your hand dropping from the horse as you reached for the bag in his hands. He let you take it and you swung it up onto your shoulder out of the way, taking one of his hands in yours. You were still hurt but you could not believe this had happened... and maybe this was just something you both had needed to go through, to be able to get past it. Something his mind had needed to work through.

“I love you.” You said again, a little louder. You felt his hand squeeze yours and you lifted your free one to his face, wiping away his tears. He looked like he dared not even hope that what you had just said was true.

“You do?” He asked then, his eyes softening as he gazed down at you while you wiped his tears away. His heart was threatening to burst out of his chest as he looked back at you. He was not fully sure he had even entirely admitted to himself that he loved you until right now. He’d felt it, he’d been aware of how fond he was growing of you despite those other thoughts, but he hadn’t fully come to terms with his feelings - he had not felt such love in a thousand years.

You nodded, your anger fading away, leaving both your hurt and your love behind. “Yes... I do.” You confirmed, sighing as you took his other hand. You heard his breath catch in his throat and you gave him a sad little smile. “I’m sor-”

“Don’t.” Thranduil said immediately, shaking his head firmly as he cut you off. “Do not. You have nothing to apologise for, you did absolutely nothing wrong. I am the one who was in the wrong. You will make a good queen. I should have told you this... I should not have gotten upset over such trivial things. Dresses...” He scoffed at himself. “None of that matters.” He said, glancing down shamefully. “I do not want you to think that I... that I do not appreciate you for who you are or that I wish you to be somebody else... because I do not.” He shook his head. “I love who you are, I love everything about you. I am so sorry.”

You could practically feel your heart soaring to the heavens. You simply could not believe that Thranduil felt this way about you and, despite your hurt over his words, you were quite overjoyed. You finally smiled and Thranduil took a steadying breath before he moved. He leaned towards you, slowly so you could turn or pull away if you did not wish it, but you stayed perfectly still and waited for him to kiss you.

When he finally did, it was like electricity. It was like something you had been missing your whole life suddenly clicked into place and you removed your hands from his to loop your arms around his neck and pull him closer. His own tentatively moved to hold you gently by the waist. When he broke the kiss and you opened your eyes again, you could tell by his expression that he truly felt the same, that he was floored by all of this, and you could see how deeply he regretted hurting you, making you feel inferior, second best.

“You will stay?” He asked then, still sounding a little uncertain, despite the fact you had kissed him and admitted you felt the same way. He was worried he might have ruined everything before he even got the chance.

You gazed up at him and you nodded. “Yes... I will stay. Of course I will.”

There was still a sadness in your eyes that broke Thranduil’s heart to know that he was the one who put it there and he vowed to do everything in his power to make up for what he had done.

“I will never make you feel that way again.” Thranduil told you, his voice extremely firm, his gaze sharp but loving. He lifted a hand to your face, cupping your cheek. “I promise.”

You smiled and he kissed you once more before he took your hand, leading you from the stables and back into the palace, back to the future with you that he was more grateful than he could ever express to have not forever ruined.

#thranduil x reader #thranduil x you #thranduil fanfic #lotr x reader #hobbit x reader #thranduil fanfiction

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faeriichaii · 10 months ago

Note

Heyyy, I hope you are doing alright!

I wanted to request a kinda mean but later soft Thranduil x Shy Fem!Reader smut ♡ in which the Reader loves to read and sneaks into a forbidden part of the library and gets caught by Thranduil ;) ♡

Bookworm ~ Thranduil x Fem!Shy!Elf!Reader

A/N: Omg never did I ever expect to see a Thranduil request (even more shocking that it is a smut request🤭) But sure, I can do that for you <33 (Ngl I was very scared about writing this cause Thranduil is like such a hard character for me to write but I obv still appreciate it when I get him requested <33)

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Warnings: Smut (MDNI), unprotected sex, bj ࿐ྂ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Words: 3k ࿐ྂ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Request: Yes <33 ࿐ྂ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Hiril vuin ~ My Lady ࿐ྂ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Meleth Nin ~ My Love ࿐ྂ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Agórel vae ~ You did well ࿐ྂ

Summary: Legolas let the secret of a restricted area in the library slip, which makes you of course very curious. So after deciding to enter the forbidden part, you get caught by none other than the elven king himself.

Enjoying the serene chirping of the birds, you turned the page of your book. You sat under a tree in the beautiful garden of Mirkwood. The book in your hand only had a few pages left and you just had to know how the story of the princess goes. Does she get her happy end or does the prince of hearts decide to take her down? You don’t know yet, however you are very keen to find it out. A soft gasp left your lips, as your book was taken out of your hands. “Isn’t this one of the books in the restricted area?” Legolas asked, as he turned the book around to quickly skim over the summary. His finger was still placed between the pages, in order to not make you lose the spot you have last read. He once did it by accident and he still hasn’t really recovered from the hell that you let loose upon him.

“Restricted area? I never saw a restricted area.” You said, as you stood up from your place on the ground and snatched the book out of Legolas’ grasp. “I probably shouldn’t have mentioned it.” The prince began to walk away from you, however you couldn’t just let him go after he dropped this very important secret. “Wait Legolas! You can’t just walk away now. Where is this restricted area?” A sigh left his lips as you stood beside him and looked up at him with your big eyes. “My father would kill you if he spots you in there (Y/N). It really isn’t even worth it. The only person who walks in there is him and I sometimes join him, and let me tell you, the books are mostly on history about middle earth and nothing special.” He tried to reason with you, but you were insisting on finding this so-called restricted section.

“Legolas, we have been friends for more than just centuries, you do know me and you certainly know that I know the layout of the library better than anybody else. So how come I have never seen the restricted area?” Legolas stopped walking, which made you also stop in your tracks. “There is a mechanism to it. You have to pull a lever in order to open the restricted area and enter it. But (Y/N)…” He turned towards you and grabbed your shoulders tightly. “You really can’t enter. If my father finds out, that you have been in the restricted area, then he will certainly send you far away or set an even worse punishment upon you.” His worried eyes locked onto your own. You gave him a reassuring smile, before shaking his hands off from your shoulders. “Don’t worry, I will not go in there. I promise.” What the prince didn’t saw, were your crossed fingers, that were hidden away in the pages of the book you now desperately wanted to return to the library.

After you said your goodbyes to Legolas, you decided to take a detour to the library. Just to put away the book you still held onto tightly. No other reason. Opening the big wooden doors, you walked towards the designated shelf and put away the book. Turning around, you scanned the whole room for any kind of lever. You walked towards the few golden candle holders, that were attached to the wall. Letting your fingers graze over the cold metal, you carefully tried to pull it, however it didn’t budge. A sigh left your lips as you continued to stroll around the library. You have been walking around for quite some time, until you noticed a little shelf that is tucked into the corner of the room. Examining it, you decided to try and search through the books, if they possibly could be the lever, you have been searching for.

Your eyes focused on a dark green book. The golden edges almost seemed to glow, as you let your fingers trail over the intricate design. Gently pulling on the book out of the shelf, you heard a click. The shelf started to move to your right, opening a small staircase to you. A smile spread across your lips, as you decide to walk down the few steps. Your eyes widened at the few shelves, that lined the stone walls of the small room. Each of the shelves were filled with various books and scrolls, some even in a language you can’t read. ‘How to Brew the Perfect Concoction’ or ‘Middle Earth: Past, Present and Future’ were only a few of the titles you have read on the spines. You took out a dark blue book, dusted it off and read the title. ‘The Golden Egg: A Guide for Dragons’. You didn’t even know that there was a book, explaining how to care for dragons. Putting it back on the shelf, you continued to stroll around the room. Time flew by quickly, as you read various pages of different books, and scrolls, until you found one you really wanted to take back upstairs. Tucking it in your small bag, you walk back up the stairs, pulled the lever that was attached to the wall and walked out. It only took you a few steps until you realized that the king himself was browsing through a shelf that was a little too close to the opening of the restricted area. His eyebrow raised, as he spotted you walk out of the direction of the small shelf. A blush dusted your cheeks, as you quickly did a curtsy and muttered a ‘My King’ in greeting. He mustered you from head to toe, until he noticed the small book that was peeking out from your bag.

You were ready to quickly exit the library, until Thranduil began to talk. “You did not perhaps take a book from a shelf you are not supposed to touch?” He asked, almost daring you to lie to him. The blush on your cheeks intensified, as you looked up at him. “I don’t think I understand, my king. I just took this book from a shelf that I have inspected earlier.” His eyes moved from your own, towards your bag again. “Well, I do hope so. If you would ever enter places, you are not meant to be in, than you will leave me with no choice but to set a punishment upon you.” He spoke, authority dripping with each word. A shudder spread through your body, as your mind registered his words. “Of course, my king. I would never do such a thing.” You smiled softly at him, before politely curtsying and leaving him be in the library. After walking through the big wooden doors, you let out a deep breath you didn’t even knew you were holding. Hopefully the book will be worth the trouble.

A few days passed and you devoured each and every single word, that was written on the pages. Hence you were once again standing in the middle of the restricted area, searching for another book to pass your time. You were at the furthest corner of the room, intensely reading a scroll, that you have found, until you heard the sound of the shelf moving. How come the shelf is moving? Your eyes widened, as the sound of footsteps walking down the stairs echoed throughout the room. Quickly shoving the scroll back into the shelf, you hid behind the burgundy armchair, that was tucked in a neat corner of the room. Holding your breath, you watched as Legolas entered the room together with his father.

“Why are we down here father?” The prince asked, as he let his fingertips glide over some of the dusty books. “We need to search for a scroll. It should be wrapped with a red ribbon around it.” A shudder went down your spine, as you spotted the red ribbon you have removed earlier from the scroll on the ground. In the exact same moment, Legolas picked it up from the floor and wrapped it around the scroll you carelessly shoved into the shelf. “I think I have found it.” He said and presented the item to his father. The king raised an eyebrow at the unravelled scroll. “Did you start reading it already?” “No, not yet.” Legolas answered, wrapping the ribbon around the paper and walking towards the stairs, in order to leave the room. He tilted his head, as he noticed that his father didn’t follow him. “Do you need something else?” “Yes, but you can already start reading the scroll if you want.” Thranduil said, his eyes still carefully scanning the room. Your head was ducked, in order to not get spotted by his hawk-like gaze.

The fading footsteps of Legolas leaving the room made you feel a little bit more relieved. However, you still felt Thranduils looming presence in the small space. “There is no need to continue hiding Hiril vuin.” His voice still seemed a little too far away for him to have spotted you. “You think I didn’t know you took the book from this very room?” Steps slowly started to approach your hiding location, making you duck even further behind the armchair. “I was the one who sorted through the books and scrolls and decided if they would be fit for this restricted area of the library. You weren’t even supposed to know of its existence. So how exactly did you find this room?” His feet stopped in front of the burgundy armchair. “And how dare you lie to me and still hide away like a little mouse.” A shameful blush dusted your cheeks, as you slowly stood up from your position on the floor. “My king, I can explain-“ He waved his hand, signalling you to stop talking. His eyes were filled with rage, as he deeply looked into your own ones. “You lied and now expect me to listen to your pathetic excuse?” You swallowed thickly, looking down at your feet. “You leave me with no other choice but to banish you.” “Banish me?” Your head whipped up, eyes wide and lips parted. Your heart beat faster and faster, as the punishment of your actions settled into your brain.

“Please my king, don’t banish me! I will do any other punishment that you are willing to put me through, but I am begging you, don’t banish me from Mirkwood.” Hands clasped in front of you, you fell down on your knees in front of him. Tears were lining your vision as slight panic settled into your body. You can’t get banished. You have family and friends in Mirkwood and where else are you supposed to go? The king raised an eyebrow, as you kneeled in front of him, pleading him for mercy. “You are willing to do anything?” You quickly nodded at his question. Hope filled your mind and soul as you stood up from the ground. Thranduil took a step closer to you. His right hand wiped a tear away, that escaped your eyes. Heat spread through your body at the realization of your close proximity.

“Show me how much you want my forgiveness.” He whispered, his fingers holding onto your chin. A shaky breath left your lips, as you let your eyes trail down to his own. The magnetic pull towards him was almost unbearable. The urge to just put your lips over his own and entangling your hands in his hair driving you crazy. You looked back up into his eyes, that were glistening over with unspoken want. Grasping his shirt, you quickly pulled him down, encasing his lips with your own. His hands held onto your waist, pulling you closer. You let your hands slowly trail from his chest to his neck, as you opened your mouth, letting your tongue entangle with his in a passionate kiss.

Thranduil separated from you. Your cheeks were bright red, as you took a few breaths to relax from the heated kiss. “Can’t you take more than a mere kiss Hiril vuin?” His head tilted to the side, as mockery dripped from every word he muttered. A huff left your lips. “I can take more than you think.” And with that you pulled him down once more, kissing him even more feverously than before. His grasp on you tightened, as he approached the armchair. Parting from you, he sat down on the plush furniture. His legs were slightly spread, as his arms leaned on the armrests. Your eyes trailed his form, until they stopped at the slight tent, that seemed to grow in his pants.

“Let’s see how well you listen to my orders now. Take off your clothes.” Your hands went to your shoulders. Fingers grazing over the fabric, you took your time pulling the sleeves off of your body. Your dress gently slid down your body, as it pooled on the ground. Eyes still focused on the king who sat in the armchair, you hooked your fingers into your panties. Pulling them down, you stepped out of the pile of clothes and began to approach Thranduil.

His eyes trailed over your body, leaving a hot trail as they go. Your walls clenched around nothing, as you inspected him. “What do you wish me to do next my king?” A chuckle left his lips. His fingers motioning you over. “I want you to prove your statement. You said you can take more than I think, so I want to see how much you can really take.” Thranduil unbuttoned his pants, lifted his hips from the chair and discarded the garment on the ground. His cock was long and thick. A soft gasp left your lips. You moved down on your knees in front of him, your mouth mere inches away from his tip. “My king, will you allow me to take a taste?” Innocence laced your voice, as you looked at him through your lashes. He nodded at your suggestion.

At the approval, you wrapped your hand around his base. Your mouth encased his red tip, gently sucking on it. A shuddered breath came from Thranduil, as he held onto the back of your head with one hand, making you moan softly at his touch. You took more of him into your mouth, gagging slightly at the process. Your tongue stroked the vein of his cock as you slowly started to bop your head up and down, hand covering the part of him that didn’t fit into your mouth. Groans could be heard from the elven king, as his piercing eyes stared at how well you took him with your mouth. Your walls clenched around nothing and you could feel your wetness almost drip onto the floor. Craving to be touched, you let your free hand wander to your clit. “Don’t you dare touch yourself.” Retreating your hand from yourself, you let out a sad whine. Thranduils hand pulled on your hair gently. You let his cock go with a ‘plop’ and tilted your head to the side, awaiting your new order. “Sit down.” He said, patting his thighs.

Standing up from the ground, you placed your legs on each side of his. Cold air hit your dripping core, making you gasp. Thranduils hands grasped your hips tightly as the tip of his cock grazed your swollen clit. A whine escaped your lips at the intimate touch. “I want you to ride me. Work for it and earn your orgasm.” His lips brushed against your ear. You took his cock into your hands and aligned it with your entrance. Slowly you sank down, the feeling of the stretch making you part your lips in a silent cry. A groan from Thranduils lips bounced off the walls. You tightly held onto his shoulders, as you let yourself settle down and embrace his sheer size inside you completely. He was longer and thicker than you expected. After a few seconds of letting your pussy adjust to his size, you started to slowly move up and down. The elven kings hand trailed up your body, to grasp your boobs and twirl your nipples between his fingers.

Moaning at the feeling of his cock hitting your cervix and completely filling you up, you connected your lips to his. The wet squelching sound of your pussy filled the small restricted area of the library. A familiar warmth spread through your lower region. Thranduil detached himself from your lips and leaned towards your ear. “Are you really already close? Is my cock so satisfying to you?” He gently bit into your elven ear, making you gasp out loudly. Your walls squeezed him tightly, welcoming him even deeper into your core. The king let his hand travel down your body, his fingertips gently leaving a trail. He drew circles on your swollen clit, making you arch your back.

The knot tightened, as your walls clenched on his dick. “Don’t cum yet. You have to wait. After all, it is still a punishment.” A whine left your lips at his words, only wishing to let the orgasm wash over you. “Please.” You begged him, as he even start to move his hips upwards, matching your rhythm. “What do you want Hiril vuin? Use your words.” “Please Thranduil, let me cum.” The sound of his name leaving your lips makes his dick twitch inside you. His hand grabbed your chin and pulled you in for another quick kiss. The heat that travels through your body is unbearable, as you try to hold back your orgasm. “You can cum Meleth Nin.” And with that, the knot unravelled and you came, squeezing his dick inside you. His big hands moved towards your hips, shoving you up and down on his dick at a relentless pace. Whining at the overstimulation, you buried your head in his neck. After a few more thrusts, you felt his cock twitch, as he filled you up with his seed.

He continued to move inside you for a few more times, before pulling out. His cum mixed with your own slowly started to trickle out of your core. “Agórel vae Meleth Nin.” Thranduil held your warm face in his hand, thumb drawing circles onto your cheek. He gave you a gentle kiss on the lips. “Do you still wish to banish me my king?” You asked him, arms wrapped around his neck. “I think you proved that you definitely deserve my forgiveness Hiril vuin.”

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two-white-butterflies · 1 month ago

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the butterfly and the tree | thranduil

Description: Theradis has always been fascinated with the rivers and rocks, cursed with the burden of foresight. This is the story of Thranduil's doomed queen.

Warning: Angst. Slight OC x Annatar if u catch my drift.

Word Count: <5k

A/N: A longer version of my fic 'Cassandra' and 'How Long' this fails the reverse bechdel test. canon diveregent ik but we do it for the plot.

There were things in the darkness that remained unseen. A darkness has been plaguing Theradis’s dreams, it watched her; watched the events unfold, but remained silent. When she was younger, the dreams were tame – one of her brothers breaking their mother’s favorite vase or her sister scraping her knees while running down the halls.

As she grew accustomed to the darkness, the dreams turned grim.

It played in her head repeatedly: Greenwood marred by darkness, and the elves fleeing to Valinor. It left her haunted.

“My child,” her father places a hand on her shoulder, he knew the burden of foresight too well. “Darling,” he whispered again, seeing tears gather in the corners of her eyes.

Despite his attempts in reviving her from the drown, her trance does not break. Theradis remains inside of her dreams. Father’s eyebrows merged together, able to see both fear and sadness in her features. Theradis – Luthien incarnate, and in tears. “Does she wake?” Elladan breaks the silence, both father and son share a knowing glance.

This has been a common occurrence in the household. When the moon is at its peak, and the members of House Elrond are in deep sleep – Theradis wakes, and dreams of the future. “Return to your room, my son. There are things that should be beyond your concern,” Elrond forces a smile on his face, but it does not reach his eyes.

A sigh escapes the younger twin’s mouth.

Theradis will always be his concern. His older sister, who had a gentle disposition and a kind smile. He takes a step forward, sitting beside the plump pillows that surrounded Theradis' body. The mattress shifts to accommodate their shared weight. “When the rain comes we’ll prepare barrels, but do not forsake the sun.” He pleaded, reaching for her clenched fists.

He unclenches them gently. It hurt him to see her like this, haunted by the inevitable, a future that she has no control in.

Almost instantly, her eyes open.

Father tries to calm her from the drown, but it is clear in her features that she is haunted. “Theradis,” Elrond repeats her elvish name. She takes ragged breaths, playing with the hems of her nightgown. She tries to speak but neither a croak or a whisper comes out of her mouth. The darkness was preventing her from speaking – preventing her from unfolding the future.

She claws at her forearm, tears flowing out of her eyes.

“Naneth,” she forces herself to whisper.

Soon after the prophecy, Lord Elrond called for all of his soldiers to follow the path that Lady Celebrian traveled on. Elladan and Elrohir tried to ask her questions, but the words refused to escape her mouth.

She tried to speak, tried to open her mouth – but no sound wanted to escape. She was a prisoner in her own mind – aware of what was to come, yet unable to do anything about it. Everywhere she went, every warning that she was able to muster out, it was useless, for she already found herself there.

Lady Galadriel entered her chambers, a light aura following after her. “Theradis,” Galadriel’s voice echoes throughout the closed chambers. “- you must fight against the darkness, you must tell us where your naneth is.” She added, her eyes focused on her granddaughter.

Theradis knew exactly where Celebrian was, but she could not say.

“I,” the younger elleth opened her mouth to speak, but all breath exited her lungs. Eru Illuvatar, why give me the strength to see the future, if you will not let me save the one that I love the most? “I cannot begin to imagine the sadness that you feel, there is a reason that the Valar make you unable to say, but as your grandmother – I beg of you.” Galadriel breathes.

Galadriel cannot stomach the thought of her daughter sitting inside of a damp cell, starving and stolen the right to bask in the warmth of the sun. All her sufferings, her tryst with Halbrand, the loss of her family – it will all be for nothing if her daughter is unsafe.

“I want nothing more than to tell you, but every time I do – all breath is robbed of my lungs.” Theradis cried, her hands on her chest. She grabs her grandmother’s forearm. “Please make it stop.” She begged, seeing the visions flash through her head in uncontrollable flashing lights of torture.

Galadriel silences her with an embrace.

A month later, Elladan and Elrohir arrived in Rivendell – both carrying the shell of their mother. All remnants of self control evades Theradis’s body, she traps herself inside of her room – not allowing anyone to enter. One night, Lord Celeborn is able to slip through – due to her forgetting to lock the door.

“It is not your fault,” he says, the only thing that she wanted to hear. “Celebrian will heal, and all will be fixed.” He adds, but they both know that it isn’t the truth. She burrows deeper into the warm floral sheets. “There are scars that cannot be healed here,” her voice is partly muffled by the sheets.

Celeborn does not reply.

She removes the sheets that cover her head, meeting the eyes of her grandfather. She sees the same fear and sadness behind his eyes, his pain is unfathomable. What does it feel to lose a child? Unbearable torture, is the only appropriate reply. To raise someone for thousands of years, only for an unworthy hand to pry them away from your hands, is disrespect.

The following day, mother left for the Grey Havens. She didn’t leave any letters, but Lady Galadriel says that she visited the children’s chambers in the middle of the night – pressing a kiss to their foreheads, and she left. Father escorted her to the shores, and it will be a long time until any of them are able to follow.

“You must eat.” Lady Galadriel encourages, her voice filled with tenderness. Theradis’s eyebrows merged together, memories of her mother’s imprisonment – and her appetite was ruined for years to come. “I’d rather not,” Theradis responds sharply.

It would be easier if these dreams left her line of thought, but it is impossible. These dreams have been plaguing her sleep, until the very thought of sleeping made her want to vomit. “You must learn,” Celeborn says – his tone mirroring her sharpness. The others were treating Theradis like a babe, customizing every movement so as to not cause her sadness, but Theradis needed to learn. She needed to tolerate her dreams, it is the only way.

“You don’t understand, adadar.” She whispers, keeping her eyes on the tablecloth. Every child thinks of their parents as indestructible, to see Celebrian in that manner – it broke her. “In any society there must be tolerance, you must tolerate your dreams, only then will you survive.” Celeborn’s voice turns rigid, a reminder of his past.

His granddaughter needed to learn how to tolerate madness, it is what he has been doing all of these years. Shaking hands with the Noldor, shaking hands with the descendants of Feanor – even when they are the cause of his family’s demise.

“I wish I could tell you that it will get better, but it will not. Life is filled with tragedies, Theradis. Luckily, we are elves and have the opportunity to go to the Grey Havens. Your mother is healed, there is no sorrow in her. When will you heal, Theradis? Will we lose you to the Grey Havens too?” He inquired.

Theradis begins to understand.

“I’m sorry for refusing to eat dinner, adadar.” Theradis apologizes. “I blame myself for naneth’s departure, I should have fought against the darkness. I've been victim of it far too long, falling into the illusion of Annatar, and now the dreams.” She whispers, her voice always sounded like a whisper – like a little mouse suddenly gaining the ability to speak. “You are strong, but there are things that you are yet to learn.” Celeborn says in a gentler tone now.

She takes a deep breath.

“I often ask Illuvatar why he gave me this gift, I am not the strongest of my siblings – nor am I anything like my father.” She admits, always insecure about her capabilities. “You remind me of Luthien, my child.” Celeborn remembers.

His cousin from so long ago.

“Luthien was able to bring the Dark Lord to his knees,” he chuckles at the memory. “Then I am nothing like her then, for I am unable to even open my mouth and reveal the location of naneth.” She breathes, not seeking approval but stating the obvious. “You look like her in some lights, she was exactly like you when we were elflings. Her nose was up in some book, refusing to participate in her father’s council until her thousandth name-day, where she finally was interested in the workings of King Thingol’s court. She would have made a wonderful Queen, but alas – she is for Beren.” Celeborn smiles bitterly.

Doomed and blessed Luthien.

“This meekness and gentleness of yours is not a bad trait. Do not blame yourself. I doubt that even if you had the ability to tell, that it would change anything in the future.” He comforts. He’d do anything to lift the boulder of foresight from his granddaughter.

“What a troubled life I must lead, then.” Her eyebrows relaxed.

“Come with us to Lothlorien, your grandmother will cast an enchantment – you won’t be able to remember those wicked dreams.” He suggested.

Lord Celeborn was right!

Lothlorien filled her with tranquility, a feeling of safety that she had previously lost. It felt like a warm blanket, a mother’s embrace, protecting her from the fall. “Thank you for letting me stay here, nananeth.” Theradis smiles, feeling warmth enter her body. “Lothlorien is your home too,” Lady Galadriel answers.

Happiness was beginning to return, starting from her stomach – to her shoulders – to her cheeks, the warmth invading her cold. “- you must rest, it has been a long journey.” Galadriel covers the younger elleth’s body with a blanket, mirroring their routine from when she was an elfling. “The dreams?” Theradis inquires, as it has been nagging her for a while now.

“They will not bother you,” Galadriel asserts, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Goodnight,” Theradis whispered – closing her eyes and falling into deep sleep before her grandmother could reply.

“Look at them, they are precious.” Her husband muses.

Erynlas and Legolas, the twins.

Erynlas inherited her mother’s raven-black hair, and her striking resemblance to Luthien. Legolas, however, inherited his father’s looks – although his mother’s gentle disposition. “A perfect mixture of us,” Theradis smiles, feeling her husband press a kiss to her neck, inhaling her scent of roses. “They are the better versions of us, meleth.” Thranduil breathes.

As if she is aware that this is a dream, Theradis turns around – meeting his amber hues. He has a perfect face, and both masculine and feminine features. He is beautiful. He looks like everything that she has ever desired, and in her heart – she could feel love. A love that does ask, or get jealous – but exists because it can, because it is second nature.

“Theradis,” he whispers her name like it is his breath. “- is all well?” he inquires, and she reaches for his cheeks - cupping it with her cold palms. “Yes.” she answers with a smile.

What more could she ask for?

A few decades later, her dream came true – and a man by the name of Thranduil arrived in Lothlorien, for reasons that she does know. All that she could remember was that she loves him, and has been waiting for him for all her life. “You are fascinated with nature?” Thranduil inquires, seeing her sitting on the riverbank – inspecting rocks and watching the river bend.

“I have always been,” she replied, patting the empty space beside her, inviting him to sit. Thranduil wonders if this is what Beren felt when meeting Luthien, entranced by Theradis’ blue gown, her hair moving to the power of the wind. More akin to Yavanna than elf or men. “- I’ve always dreamed of visiting Greenwood. It must feel good to live in a place where nature is unmarred by war,” she ponders placing the rock down and reaching for a caterpillar.

“It is indescribable, my lady.” He finds that he cannot take his eyes off her. “My grandfather visited once and he says that it reminds him of the first age, where everything was good, I assume.” She made an assumption, causing a chuckle.

Her eyebrows merged together, “Have I done something?” she asks and he shakes his head. “I would prefer to live in this age instead of the First,” he admits. His naneth was still alive then, but the gruesome torture – the fall of kingdoms. It was too much to bear, and he would rather live in solitude in Greenwood than face that again.

“The Valar were in this world, you could feel their fea in every rock and tree, but there was also carnage. Melkor seeking to tear our realm asunder. I find peace now, I believe.” He confesses, the first time that he has told anyone about this.

Behind Theradis’ eyes, he could see kindness – she was the type of elleth who had no meanness, or jealousy. Theradis is good, and Thranduil has spent a lot of time with people to understand their nature. “I feel happy for you…?” she pauses waiting for him to reveal his name, although she already knows. “Thranduil,” he smiles, shaking her hand.

“I am Theradis, daughter of Elrond.” She introduces herself.

He takes a look at the caterpillar that she is holding, “She will turn into a butterfly soon. A big blue butterfly.” He informs. “Really?” She asks, happiness flooding her features. “Yes, when they are at that size, it will only take another day for them to make cocoons.” He explains, moving a bit closer until he could see the caterpillar closely.

“If I could be any other creature, I would be a butterfly.” She admits.

“They only live for a day,” Thranduil frowns.

“What a glorious day to be alive.” She breathes.

She tilts her head, meeting his eyes. “What animal would you be, Thranduil?” She questions her first time uttering his name yet it felt normal. “I would not be an animal. I would be a tree, watching as everything grows – a wise mind that shall live forever.” He answers.

“Oh, how different we are.” She observes. Theradis wanted to live for one glorious day, while Thranduil wanted to live forever – unchanged, unmarred, but wise. “That is not such a bad thing, my lady.” He responds, and thus begins their friendship.

Theradis looked lovely in all the lights, each time that he glances at her, he finds himself taken aback by her beauty. “The trades between our kingdoms will be for the betterment of both realms,” Lady Galadriel explains – oblivious to the Prince unable to pay attention to her words. For he was staring at the lovely Theradis. “ – I hope that we find a middle ground, my prince. Lothlorien needs the fruits, and your kingdom needs grains.” Galadriel breathes, only beginning to realize that the person that she was talking to was not paying attention.

She turns around to look at the object of his attention, and to her surprise, he sees her looking at Theradis. A sigh escapes her mouth. “My prince,” she says much louder. “Lady Galadriel,” the man responds, mouth dripping with respect. “I hope that you convince your father to approve trading between our kingdoms.” Galadriel put it in simpler terms.

“Yes, my lady. I will make sure of it,” he promises.

Thranduil places a hat on Theradis’ head.

“Where did you find this?” She takes the hat off her head, holding it with the tips of her fingers – lest it come from somewhere disgusting. “On the ground,” he responds while nestling on the bottom of the tree branch beside her. “On the ground?” She raises an eyebrow.

Thranduil was a peculiar fellow, he seemed to reach levels of crazy that she herself is unable to reach. “It’s yours now,” he said and a chuckle escaped her mouth. “What if the owner accuses me of stealing this hat?” She queries, placing the hat on the ground. “I asked around and no one claimed it. Celeborn says that I should keep it, but it is unkingly to wear a hat.” Thranduil plays with the tips of Theradis’ hair. “- but you are not a king, and this hat is wet.” She rolls her eyes.

“It came from me! You are disgusted with me.” He accused.

“Yes, I’ve seen you eat something that fell on the ground.” She points out.

“Not on the ground, on the table and it was an orange. An orange that still had a peel on.” He argues with a smile. “Peel or without a peel, I’m not wearing that hat.” She crosses her arms in a huff. “I’ll give it to someone else more thankful,” he taunts.

“I don’t care.”

“You don’t care?”

“Not a single bit.”

“Pfft,”

“Pfft.”

“Fine,” he rolls his eyes.

“Fine,” she teases.

“I’ve not heard the sound of a harp for a long time,” Theradis admits, sitting on the ground beside Thranduil. He was playing with his harp, allowing the soft music to fill the garden with tranquility. “Really? It must be horrible living in silence,” He teases.

He freezes only when he sees that look in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes and she forces a smile on her face. “My mother liked playing instruments. I assume that is where my aversion comes from.” She tells, and he remembers the story of Celebrian’s abduction. Theradis is her daughter, and the pain of losing a mother – is a pain that he knows well. “I cannot remember her, I’ve forced myself to forget.” She continues.

It was a horrible thing indeed, to forsake the good memories just to forget the bad ones. “I lost my mother to the war, and until now I cannot bear to look at her portraits.” His lips pressed into a thin line. “- there will be a day where we long for our mother’s warmths,” She adds.

“And we will receive it in due time.” Thranduil’s hand rests on the arch of his harp. “Would you like to learn how to play the harp?” he suggests, and she answers with a nod.

They were wedded a few years later, in the light of Greenwood with their families as a witness. Their marriage was special – for now the branches of Elrond and Oropher were united. A marriage of love – love that allowed them to just be.

“You know how singers sing other singer’s songs?” Theradis says, and he smiles. “Sounds like a tongue twister,” he mumbles – burrowing deeper into her embrace. “Yep, but what if writers had the chance to write other writer’s books but in their own words.” She states, always able to bring the most unique level of thoughts.

“Like, translators?” He grins, and she rolls her eyes.

“I hate you,” she groans.

He places a hand on her stomach, “Yes, you hate me so much that you have allowed your stomach to swell with a child.” He teases, their love not mellowing to the tune of time. “Not like translators, but remember that poem that Glorfindel wrote with a really good idea.” She reminds and he nods. “The Lament of Winter?” He squints, barely remembering the poem. “Yeah, he made really good points but the words that he used were … juvenile?” She struggles to find the right term to describe it.

Yes, Glorfindel has spent a substantial amount of time complaining about that poem. “He says that if anyone else were to write that poem, they would deliver the message better.” She recites his words verbatim, and Thranduil agrees. “What are we talking about?” He chuckles, walking between a thin line of sleep and consciousness.

She giggles, “I don’t know – random thoughts?”

“Speaking of random thoughts, you were mumbling something in your sleep last night.” Thranduil remembers, and her eyebrows merged together, having long forfeited the ability to remember her dreams. “Is there something that requires my attention? Are those dreams bothering you again?” He asks, his voice gentle and filled with love.

“I have long forfeited my ability of foresight, meleth. I cannot remember any dream.” She confirms, and his face momentarily relaxes. “But you’ve earned my curiosity, what was it that I was talking about?” She asks, he pulls her body closer – allowing his warm body to bring fire to her cold one. “You said that we’d have twins, a boy and a girl.” He informs.

“What a wonderful blessing it would be then,” she smiles, and he presses a kiss to her forehead. “Indeed,” he agreed.

And her dreams were right, again.

Theradis gave birth to twins: Erynlas and Legolas.

In her dreams, she saw their faces clearly – Erynlas’ inheriting her features and Legolas inheriting his father’s. For a moment, everything was well. There was nothing in this world that could stop their golden family, there was nothing in this world unreachable to them as scions of both Lady Theradis and Prince Thranduil.

“She looks exactly like you, my child.” Lord Elrond smiles, seeing his own eyes stare right back at him – through Erynlas. “It may seem that way but she’s inherited her father’s disposition, it is a good thing that Legolas is calm, always sleeping, else we’d lose our heads trying to keep both of them in tact.” Theradis breathes, watching Erynlas play with her grandfather’s gold-encrusted robes.

“Remember your brothers?” Elrond reminds, and she answers with a laugh.

“I’m thankful that my twins are nothing like them, I never understood how you were able to do it.” She remarks, her parents were undoubtedly strong. “Nana,” Theradis cooes, walking towards her mother’s direction, “Yes!” Legolas answers. “Yes yes yes,” Legolas babbled.

Yes, was Legolas’ first word – something that Thranduil did not appreciate. (Erynlas’ first word was Naneth) but Theradis promises that their third child’s first word would be Ada. Both of her twins were in her arms now, talking to each other in a language that only they could understand. “You were right, Ada. In all of it.” Theradis smiles.

Life did not end the day that her mother died, nor did it end when her dreams became uncontrollable. Her life began again, with her husband and her twins.

“You were dreaming last night.” Thranduil wraps his arms around her, filling her body with warmth. “You were mumbling words that I could not fathom, none except the word ‘no.’ I am worried, meleth.” He reports, concern evident in his features. It was clear that her dreams were born from something sinister, and as her husband it was his duty to protect her.

She tries to remember the dream, but it is no use.

A familiar tightness returns to her chest, constricting her lungs and preventing her to speak. “What if something were to happen upon us?” She asks a question of fear. She feared for her children, what if something were to happen to them? “I will not allow that,” Thranduil insists. “- I will add more guards. I will ensure that every movement of our family is monitored closely.” He took active actions against the inevitable.

She reaches for his arms, pulling his body closer until she meets his eyes. “If I have dreamed about it then nothing can prevent it.” She whispers. She has tried to change the future a thousand times, to no avail – for when it is written upon stone, no water can erase its mark. “When it comes between the future and my family, I will exhaust all options to prolong danger.” Her husband promised, and she believes him. Thranduil would move the very mountains, if it meant keeping his family safe.

That is love.

The dreaded day has come.

Theradis awakened in the middle of the night, she lifted the covers off her body. She frowns, not seeing her husband inside of the room, so she decides to visit her children’s chambers. A groan escapes her mouth, feeling a horrible headache form at the back of her head. Could this be? She asks herself.

Is this another one of her dreams?

She walks through the empty hallway, seeing no guards in their posts. Matter of fact, there wasn’t anyone in the entire wing. “Hello?” Her voice echoes through the halls, but she is greeted with an eerie silence.

She takes a mammoth stride towards her children’s chambers. A million thoughts ran through her head, they could be hurt – or starving – or crying – or getting bitten by ants. All the worst possible scenarios brushed through her head, and a sigh of relief exited her mouth when she saw them sleeping soundly.

She presses a kiss to their foreheads.

A mother’s anxiety, she tells herself. It is normal, she reminds.

If this was a dream, then it was a pleasant one.

But she should not have spoken too soon, because a second later a dagger was pressed to her neck. Her eyes trail away from her daughter’s sleeping body, and to the attacker. He had long brown hair that reached his shoulders, blue piercing eyes, and a face filled with scars.

“Who are you?” She asks, glaring at him with the intensity of a thousand stars. “I have many names,” he answered. “You are a man, you should not be here.” She tries to warn him. A man is no match for Theradis, a seasoned warrior. “You do look like her in some lights,” the man mused – still unwilling to reveal his true identity.

“What is it that you require?” She places a hand on his dagger, carefully directing it away from her face but in a swift move – the man cuts her cheek, allowing the blood to trickle down her face. “Still as beautiful as the day I left.” The man adds.

A gasp escapes her mouth.

“You may leave, Theradis of Lindon. My arrival here is not for you.” The man’s grip on her arm does not soften. This scene has already played before, in her dreams but she cannot remember, no matter how hard she tries. “Your arrival is for nothing, for I would rather die than surrender my children to you, Gorthaur.” She breathes, remembering bits and pieces of her dreams now.

Gorthaur lifts his hand and suddenly all fades to black.

Annatar was addicted to her presence, not because of love – no.

Every time he lays his eyes on her, a grand orchestra plays, akin to the orchestra of Illuvatar creating the world. Theradis has so much light inside of her, it reminded him of his home. It tempted him in ways that would lead to the world’s ruin. Is this what Melkor felt when he laid his eyes on Mairon? The deliciousness of innocence, and the temptation to ruin all of it.

“Walking amidst starlight,” Annatar hums, his eyes not taking a second off hers.

“Your compliments do nothing to dissuade my grievances,” Theradis taunts, reminding him of the time that he ditched their meetings in favor of meeting with Celebrimbor. “Allow me to make it up to you,” his eyebrows merge together mockingly pleading with her. “Why do you know so much of this world? I’ve always wondered why you are so informed with dealing with matters of nature and geology,” she asked out of the blue.

Although, it was with reason – as she could not keep up with the other elf’s banter.

“I am an emissary of the Valar, and I have spent the majority of my life studying the happenings of this world. There is a vast amount of knowledge stored in the back of my head, and I am willing to share it with you, as my scholar.” As my wife. As my servant.

“The Valar has always kept to themselves. Sometimes, I feel as if they are slowly beginning to take away the magic of this earth, piece by piece. Since the departure of Melian, since the mortality of Luthien – great sorrow has washed upon these shores.” Theradis laments.

His hands snake down her waist, oblivious to the audience watching them.

“There is great sadness in this world,” he repeats a phrase previously uttered by his master. A phrase that began his defiance, his rejection of Illuvatar’s music. “I was born to serve the Valar,” he lies – but he does it so that she’d begin to understand his side.

He twirls her around again, their bodies pressing close to each other.

“I’ve bared witness to them, watched them create animals and plants – and everything that covers our world. I’ve also watched them create discord, injustice, and pain.” He rambled, staring deep into her eyes – reading her mind like an open book, softening her resolve.

“I’ve thought to myself sometimes, are these the people we worship? Imperfect gods who refuse to blink an eye when entire populations are genocided, when children are pried away from their mother’s hands? I think I would like it better if they never existed, then, I’ll only have myself to blame when something goes wrong.” He chuckles, her eyebrows merge together.

“We cannot measure their goodness or badness in measurements of elf and men.” Theradis breathes, but she is starting to believe his words. “It would be hard to blame them if we didn’t,” Annatar responds with a deep breath. When Melkor tortured him, corrupted his soul, the Valar did nothing, Eru Illuvatar did nothing. He wonders if they ate, and drank, and fucked while he was in agonizing pain. He wonders if they blame him for the corruption.

His power wanes.

Theradis pulls on his collar.

Pulling his face closer to hers so that he’d be the only one listening in to their conversation. “Are you truly an emissary of the Valar, Annatar? I'm beginning to believe that you are not. ” She interrogates.

Theradis opens her eyes to a battlefield. She sees the entire field engulfed in flames, but something shines against the darkness. "Erynlas," she whispers. She was holding the ring in her hands.

But even the ring corrupts the kindest of minds.

"You must take it Frodo," Erynlas opens her mouth and the hobbit nods. "Destroy it," she insists raising a hand and using her powers to fend off the darkness, to fend of Sauron's darkness.

She is his doom. One of the reasons of his fall. That is why he is here.

She wakes up minutes after his enchantment, a mother's love breaking even the tightest of spells. "Annatar." She exhales seeing him lift his dagger but she stops him with a hand. He was weaker in this form, easier to fend off. "She is your doom, I have foreseen it." Theradis states.

He pushes her away, this time his dagger on her neck. Mayhaps, he was beginning to realize that nothing could prevent his fall, and thus decided to aim his anger at her. He takes on another form - from human, he turns into a face that she knows well. Annatar.

She's beginning to realize his resemblance to her husband. Did he use that as a means to control her?

"You are not the only one burdened with foresight, vilvarin." He presses it closer to her jugular, until Theradis had to stop breathing - in fear of death. "I would have stopped at nothing until the entire world has bent to the light of its queen, but you have forsaken me. And that creature from your very womb shall be my doom," he yells.

"It will change nothing." she whispers.

It will change nothing.

#thranduil x reader #annatar x reader #sauron x reader #thranduil fanfic #thranduil imagines #thranduil wife #thranduil #modern thranduil #thranduil imagine #x reader #reader insert #reader insert request #the hobbit #the hobbit x reader #the hobbit smut

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madwomansapologist · 3 months ago

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Autumn Thunderstorm | Chapter 11 - Starlight

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series synopsis: Thranduil thought the recent attack of spiders on a periphery village was the only thing deserving of his attencion. If he could've imagined what he would found there, who he would found there, the Elvenking would wait a millenia in front of that river so he could see her sooner. Or: how Gandalf managed to keep a secret for 14 months.

eleventh chapter synopsis: Surrounded by pain and grief, Thranduil found himself willing to be something more simple than a king: he was just a man in love. [2K]

warnings: female!reader. pre-Smaug. angst. hurt no comfort. trauma. baby boy is having a difficult time.

notes: so, here i am. i wrote this chapter and it was so, so, so sad i had to actually rewrite it. like it was sad to the point y'all would ask me if i have something against love.

glossary: Idril: Treasure, sweetheart┆

Most days he can ignore the discomfort. There was once a time Thranduil would fear being unable to stop himself from tearing his face appart. A time long gone by now.

“The Elf-path was affected in multiple points”, his advisor continued the report. “Fallen trees and dead spiders block the way. Give the order and we are ready to clear the path.”

Today is not most days. The cold breeze feels like needles piercing his face, like smoke penetrating his nostrils. The collar of his robe rubbed against the sensitive skin of his neck. The perfected illusion spell hid so much of him. It recreated the bone structure of his jaw, the fat of his cheeks, his left eye. It even covered the smell of rotten flesh.

“There is no need to clean the path”, Thranduil waived his hand, dismissing the emergency council. How luck. During a tornado, one that was able to bring the oldest of trees down, the only blood spilled in the Elvenking’s domain was his own. “We are not expecting any visitors.”

We are not welcoming any visitors, he left unsaid. Soon winter will reach Woodland. The sindars, knowing the forest’s secrets, are free to cross it whenever they wish. Others will have to wait until spring.

Or die trying to reach his Halls.

“What an interesting statement”, Tuor smirked. With the other members of the council far away, nothing stopped Tuor from leaving his place as a captain and acting solely as a friend. Thranduil sighed. “A winter without visitors. No carriage or wagen crossing our land. No one enters.”

“And those who try shall face winter’s cruelty”, Thranduil descended from his wooden throne. He paused near Tuor, then continued his way down the hall. “Nature has always protected us from the rotten, my friend. Do not forget it.”

“I agree, my king. No wanderer daring to deal with wild’s harshness can be trusted near our people.” Tuor glared at Thranduil’s back before following him. Just one more thing to burn Thranduil. “It surprises me. That only now I realized something else.”

“And what is it?”

“That if no one enters, no one leaves.”

Thranduil stopped walking. He turned around, his robe sliding against the stairs. “What are you implying?”, he asked, staring at Tuor from bellow. As if he did not already knew. It was the only thing he could do.

“A new jewerly came from Erebor. One that is not on display”, Tuor walked down the stairs keeping him away from his friend. It felt wrong to look down at a king. Unnatural. “And she did not slept on her chambers.”

A blush made to Thranduil’s long ears, who so easily forgot his place as a king. “Are there any rumors-“

“No”, Tuor interrupted him. “I went looking for her this morning, to inform our trainings will cease for a while. Her reputation continues immaculate, but only because a tornado stole everyone else’s attention. You should had know better, Thranduil.”

Oh, he knew. Thranduil knew it was not right. It was not a behavior a king should manifest, not a sort of request an elve can speak out loud without feeling ashamed. Thranduil knew a lover deserves respect. That the bare minimum one could do is care for the other’s comfort and safety.

And still, he did not stopped himself.

“Stay”, Thranduil whispered. “Please, do not leave me alone.”

Your gaze burned him. For so long you stared into his eyes, and for the whole time Thranduil felt that you could see something beyond him. Where you searching for his intentions, for any hidden meaning, for a way of stopping whatever this is from continuing? Thranduil confessed, stripping the very fabric of his soul naked for you. His heart, bare for you to do as you wish.

That is why it took me so long, Thranduil admitted for himself. How vulnerable it is to not hide the truth.

Your fingers continued steady against the doorknob. He feared you changed your mind again. Thranduil averted his gaze, head turned towards his balcony. The destruction was long gone, but the wind was cold and strong still. What a privileged vision of a chaotic night.

It is late. Past midnight. It has been hours since you decided to not walk away. Enough time for you to decide it was a bad choice. Enough time for you to regret ever laying your eyes on his dead skin and putrid scars. Enough time for you to realize Thranduil is as disgunting as he thinks, and your sweet home is better than this ancient one.

The bed creaked, and his eyes immediately found a way towards yours. Slowly, as if every move had to be delibered, you lay down besides him. Your eyes glistened, the moon reflecting on them, returning his gaze. You smiled, and something inside him froze.

“I feel the same”, you confessed, voice soft in the night. “About everything.”

Thranduil gasped. His throat ached, a sudden need to cry almost taking over him. “Oh, what a relief”, he whispered again. There was no need to, you both were alone. “Thank you, idril.”

One of your hands found a home deep into his long hair. A caring stroke. As the minutes passed, you intertwined your fingers with his. Such a cold hand. Thranduil brushed his open lips against your knuckles, breathing warm air against your skin.

The sweet carress came to an end, so Thranduil looked up. He saw your eyes closed, lips appart from one another. The night was darker. The moonlight felt so cold now. You looked calm.

Gazing upon you, the Elveking rested.

Was he being scolded? A king being lectured by a captain. That would be enough to guarantee Tuor some time in the dungeons. Or it would have been, if he was not right. In the absence of a response, a chuckle came out of Tuor’s throat. “Does that means you finally confessed?”

“Enough,” Thranduil growled.

Tuor heard his king’s words. For the sake of his amusement, he simply ignored them.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

There is no medicine for his pain. After the fire went out, what remained there to be healed already was dealt with. His face itches, the ligaments of his muscles twitch, the burning on his face is constant. Meanwhile the pain is there, his body is not.

Where does a leg begins? One might say right before the thigh. Other would chose the pelvis, or at the basin. Both would be wrong. It starts and ends in the brain. Lose a leg and all the nerves shaill remain there searching for something that ceased to exist. A mind griefs, a brain does not.

His cheek is gone. His neck is gone. His left eye is gone. And it hurts. It feels cold and hot, it tingles and shocks. He can feel muscles that do not move, the need to scratch a skin that is not there. It is a real, anatomical pain.

Thranduil cannot stop it, no medicine can end a fire that is not there, but a few things can help.

Near his chambers, mere minutes away from his bed, a private garden embraces him when pain and worry is too much. Surrounded by this controlled nature, Thranduil breathes the smell of roses and wysteria. The perfume calms his nerves down.

Looking at the box between his hands, the stiffness came back to his shoulders. Inside it was a request, one the dwarves of Erebor carefully crafted. A necklace made of pure starlight. Each of the almost endless white gems came from the Elvenking’s personal collection. Except by one.

That pendant he found back in Rivendell. A tear shaped crystal, with snow locked inside it. Such a beautiful jewel. Such a cruel reminder of the time you both stayed appart, shattered.

Thranduil wondered about the moment he would be able to look at you, aware that you understood his feelings. He dreamed about you looking into his eyes, feeling the same. But Thranduil never imagined it would happen as it did. Yesterday was… not how it was supposed.

You found him crying, bleeding, deep into a filthy dream disguised as memory. You heard his screams, felt his warm blood against your skin, saw his true face. You held him, kissed him, and for a second almost ran away from him.

Thranduil can do more. He can be more.

The doors creaked open, and Thranduil forgot about how worried he was.

A sweet perfume welcomed you into this garden you have never seen before. Usually you would have admired it, but all you did was to look straight into his sore eyes. They fell towards the arms that held you close last night. To the war knuckles resting on top of an armchair.

“Your quartermaster said-”, as you noticed what filled this room, your voice betrayed you. “-you called me.”

In front of Thranduil, there was a table covered by green linin. You saw pearly folded napkins and golden cutlery. In such a intimate place, a proper supper was served. Meat and pies on display, bows with fruits and deserts. So much wine.

Thranduil breathed deep. “Would you join me for this evening?”

It was not different from any other meal you both shared. From the very first meeting, it was always the same. Thranduil would hear, you would talk, and the rest of the world would be successfully ignored. And like always, it was good. It was right. To be just the two of you.

But it was so different too. Impossible not to feel your face heating up, hands soaking in sweat. You saw the tip of his ears bright red. That made you bite back a chuckle.

How could Thranduil look into your wonderful eyes without becoming tongue tied? Or how could you look at the hands of a king serving you more wine and not remember how right they felt against your cheeks?

Listening about the destruction of the tornado, you noticed that he tastes like fine wine. Hearing you speak about your trainings, Thranduil kept on trying to discover what was the scent of your perfume.

As you tried to finish the apple pie on your plate, Thranduil moved on his seat.

“I made…”, Thranduil hesitated. Never before he felt difficulty speaking out loud. Decided to not make a fool of himself, he placed the box besides your plate. “You are so dear to me. I hope the beauty of this gift can make you as happy as you make me, idril.”

Speechless, you alternated your gaze between Thranduil and the masterpiece in front of you. Truth be told, any gift would have make you rejoice after what he said. And still, the beauty of it made you stutter. “Is this really for me?”

“I can… Help you. With it”, Thranduil managed to said. He felt the need to punch his own face, but decided that would make his situation even worse. “If you want me to.”

Looking at him, you used all your courage to answer. “Only if we agree to stop being so awkward. I want to be here. With you. And I know you feel the same. I do not want to ruin this by thinking too much when there is nothing to think.”

“You always says the thing I last expect you to”, Thranduil whispered. Biting the insides of his cheek, he nodded. “I agree. I want to be with you. Nothing else matters.”

You had to stop yourself from jumping on him. Instead, you placed the necklace at the base of your throat and turned around. It was so heavy. If it fell on your lap, it would have bruised. His fingers were so careful. So right against your skin.

Thranduil should have wanted to see how it looked on you, but he could not move his hands away from your shoulders. You should have wanted to show him, but you did not wanted to move away from his touch.

You both knew it was perfect.

AUTUMN THUNDERSTORM: @ferns-fics @notanalienindisguiseblink @rayrlupin @elvyshiarieko @graniairish @whore-of-many-hot-men @h0ly-fire @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @homewhereitsat @instantnoooodles @hungrh4yyy

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#madwomansapologist #autumn thunderstorm #thranduil fanfic #thranduil oropherion #thranduil headcanon #thranduil of mirkwood #thranduil fanfiction #thranduil #thranduil x reader #middle earth #mirkwood #thrandaddy #thrandilf #the hobbit #the hobbit x reader #the hobbit fanfiction

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mismaeve · 12 days ago

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Ashes of the Heart

↳ Ashes of the Heart, Thranduil x Fem!Reader, modern AU ↳ Requested by @fizzyxcustard Word Count: 2.3k TW: heavy angst, cursing, graphic descriptions, references to death A/N: This was such an amazing request to write, I enjoyed myself so much! I didn't know I could produce such angst, but here we are so read at your own peril. Any feedback is always welcome and much appreciated. Enjoy! 𓋼𓍊 Backstory: Thranduil who works in military as elite special operations leader, is leaving his lover to oversee a Navy SEALs mission. It's something he has done countless of times, only this time - his lover has a bad feeling about it.

«For how long?»

Your question was one that you had asked many times before. Always the same. A question without an answer as you watched him pack his duffel-bag, barely anything inside it, save for a few shirts and clean socks, and boxer briefs. His lack of an answer hung heavily within the four walls of your spacious bedroom.

“I see,” you sighed heavily. You knew well enough to trust that if he could, he would tell you. Begging and pleading would change nothing, and you had quickly adapted to a life of being kept in the dark. What you didn’t know couldn’t hurt you, but it could drive you mad during those lonely nights when your fear for him became your greatest enemy. Scenario after scenario of every little thing that could have gone wrong – the image of your beloved injured or worse…

You shuddered.

“What is it, my love?” concern filled his pale eyes as his hand clasped your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against the softness of your skin. You closed your eyes, savoring his touch for the solitude that was to come.

“It feels different this time,” you confessed, your eyes dropping to your hands – a jumble of nervous fingers.

“How do you mean?” Thranduil asked softly.

“I feel like something bad is going to happen to you,” you whispered, your admission sending a painful jolt through your heart and filling your stomach with lead.

“Oh, my sweet, you know-”

“Yes, I know you’re never on the ground yourself. Believe me, I know this. But I can’t shake this feeling,” you interrupted him, desperately wanting him to understand and accept your concern.

You always let him go, never fussed or begged him to stay. You knew how important his work was to him – to the entire country and maybe even the world. His brilliant mind was the one hidden behind every successful operation. How could you keep him to yourself when everyone’s safety – including your own – depended on him?

You had adjusted, not only your life but your expectations as well. Only tonight, the sickening feeling of dread was like poison inside your mind, spreading its bile throughout your entire body.

“Oh, my darling,” Thranduil pulled you into his arms and kissed your hair. You held onto him for dear life, afraid of what might happen if you were to let go. Your premonition of tragedy only growing with each gentle stroke that trickled down your back, causing your skin to break out in goosebumps.

“I always come back to you, do I not?” he whispered against your hair, his body rocking yours back and forth slowly and tenderly, a simple motion meant to soothe your growing worry.

“But you never promise,” you pointed out. “You never promise to come back because even you know that there is still some danger to what you do and where you go,” you insisted, pulling away to look at the man you loved beyond any reason and doubt.

His pale eyes held yours, the understanding gleaming through from the depths of his own soul. He knew you were right.

“Believe me when I say that no force in this world would keep me from returning to you,” Thranduil said. “You are my home, my peace from the destruction that is our world. You’re my haven during a raging storm. Nothing will keep me away from you.”

You bit back the tears that had come unannounced and nodded. If only to please him, you would muster the last of your courage and strength. You swallowed the bitter lump of foreboding and forced yourself to smile. He deserved a proper and loving good-bye, not tears and childlike pleas.

“Be safe, will you?” you said softly and placed your palm to his cheek. Thranduil leaned into your touch with a reposeful sigh, his eyes closing briefly while he cherished this last moment between you.

“Always,” he whispered.

An hour later you were sat on your bed alone.

Days turned into weeks which turned into months. Not a phone call or a text, no letters of any kind – Thranduil appeared to be fallen off this Earth entirely. It became harder and harder to remind yourself that he wasn’t allowed to communicate while planning and overseeing an operation. With each day that went by without a word from him, your unease had turned malignant – eating and tearing away at your mind like a disease for which there was no remedy.

You had a number to call in case of an emergency, but you couldn’t bring yourself to use it. This wasn’t the first time when he had been gone for months on end, you had survived that, surely you would persevere this time as well. If only it weren’t for that pesky feeling that wouldn’t go away. Without knowing how or why, you knew with crystal-clear certainty that something was wrong. You had known it long before he had walked out the door.

Another month had gone by without any news of his whereabouts when you awoke with a scream, tiny beads of sweat covering your forehead. Your heart was pounding inside your ribcage, threatening to burst any minute with every shallow breath you drew. Wheezing and gasping for air with tears streaming down your cheeks, you tried to catch your breath while still being held captive by the nightmare that had just haunted you.

You jumped at the sound of the doorbell, a yelp escaping your trembling lips. Fumbling with the light, your fingers still shaking from your vivid dream, you struggled to switch it on. Tumbling over your own sheets in your rush to get out of bed, you nearly fell out with your face first.

With your heart lodged inside your throat, you rushed to the door and peered through the tiny peephole. A well-dressed man was standing on the other side, patiently waiting for you to open. In your flustered state you hadn’t immediately recognised the familiar face of Jerry, a man who worked closely with Thranduil. Mindless of your current attire, you unlocked and threw open the door.

“What’s happened?” you demanded, not bothering to hide the panic that laced your voice.

“I’m sorry for coming unannounced in the middle of the night, but I fear this couldn’t wait for a more decent hour,” Jerry’s tone was calm and collected, a blatant contrast to your own disheveled self.

“Tell me,” you urged him. The sinking feeling in your stomach warning you that the news he bore were far from good. A nauseating wave of hot and cold reverberated through your entire body, your insides twisting and churning in painful anticipation.

“Let’s talk inside, shall we?” Jerry offered with a quick nod in the direction of your apartment.

“I need to know, Jerry,” you insisted as the two of you had taken your seats on the couch at his request.

A heartbeat passed before your husband’s highly esteemed colleague began divulging the events that had taken place during the operation. It appeared that there had been a leak, and the entire campaign had been compromised from the very beginning. The team of Navy SEALS had been deployed as planned, their movements tracked and monitored by intelligence officers, the entire operation led and overseen by Thranduil as chief elite special operations leader. Everything had seemed to go as planned when their systems had suddenly crashed and shut down entirely, leaving them in the dark about the movements of their men on the ground.

“Well? Go on,” you pushed for Jerry to continue after he had taken a brief pause.

“I’m sorry, I-,” he cut himself off and lowered his head, his shoulders slumping, clearly unable to go on.

“For fuck’s sake, tell me!” you choked out through gritted teeth, fighting back the tears that threatened to come. You felt you couldn’t breathe but you had to know. After everything that they had put you through, they owed you this much.

Jerry lifted his head, his face drawn and utterly defeated. His look was that of pity, like he knew what he was about to do to you. Nonetheless, you stood your ground in defiance, even as your heart had already begun to crack and splinter.

The supposed glitch in their systems had turned out to be a cleverly crafted ruse, a temporary disabling of the sensory motion detectors orchestrated by the terrorists so their drones could slip in undetected. When their back-up systems had picked up the slack, it had already been too late. Several explosions had riddled the base of their headquarters as the drones had launched their assault. A perfectly plotted mission to eliminate the brilliant and tireless minds behind the curtains. All turned to ash.

No bodies had been recovered from the scene.

An ear-piercing cry filled your apartment, threatening to shatter your windows – just as your own heart had shattered into a million pieces. You screamed and wailed until your throat burned raw, your chest painfully heaving with each useless breath you took. Unaware of the steady arms that had wrapped around you, holding your convulsing frame, you continued to unleash your blazing agony. There was no end in sight, no promise of a respite, however temporary, only grief – dark and thick, and unyielding. An endless sorrow took over your body and promised to never let go. There was nothing left for you, only pain forever etched in your soul at his sudden departure.

You knew with uncanny certainty that you had died that night. In his passing, he had taken you along with him.

Three weeks earlier

Jerry was pacing up and down the narrow corridor, his thoughts racing quicker than he could pay attention to. His once sharp and focused mind had become nothing more than a blur. He silently cursed himself for agreeing to do this, his regret already eating away at his conscience.

He couldn’t do it.

Jerry stopped his pacing and closed his eyes. He slowed down his throbbing mind by focusing on his breathing, a practice he employed whenever his wits threatened to abandon him. If he was to have this particular conversation, he would need his devices to remain cool and collected, even if his counterpart appeared to had lost his.

He wouldn’t do it.

With a nod of quiet determination, he turned on his heel and headed in the direction of his colleague’s room.

“What is it that you do not comprehend?” he hissed in anger.

“I don’t understand why you’re willing to put her through this when it’s so uncalled for,” Jerry argued back albeit his voice lower and gentler than that of his friend.

“Uncalled for?! Look at me! Who am I to condemn her to loving a monster?” Thranduil spat in burning fury.

“She loves you, you know she does. She’ll love you regardless of how you look,” Jerry tried to make him see reason, but Thranduil only shook his head in dismissal.

“No.”

“Coward,” Jerry stated simply, crossing his arms over his chest. His own defiance preventing him from backing down.

“Fuck you, Jerry.”

“You’re a coward. Because why else would you ask me to tell your wonderfully loving wife, who probably at this very moment wishes for nothing more than your safe return, that you have died? You say it’s for her, but I think it’s your own vanity and fear that drive you to do this. That’s not love or mercy.”

Thranduil regarded him in silence, his right eye not blinking. The sight of him was horrific – the left side of his face was covered in bandages, his previously golden-white hair now burnt off entirely, leaving a patchy scalp riddled with burn-blisters. What was left of his skin was red and swollen. His chest was submerged underneath countless burn dressings, his left arm wrapped in medical gauze – from his fingertips to his shoulder. He couldn’t see Thranduil’s legs, but he imagined his left leg was in no better shape than the rest of him.

Jerry schooled his features, the last thing his colleague needed was to see pity in his eyes.

Thranduil turned his head away from his friend, his gaze drifting to the lone window of his hospital room.

“It’s because I love her, that I have to do this,” he began quietly. “I’ve no doubt that she would love me despite my injuries. She would want to nurse me back to health, without a complaint or single regret. She’d do anything for me.”

“It’s because I love her, that I don’t wish this kind of life for her. A life stuck with me, caring for me while I’m slowly consumed by my rage. I’ve become a disfigured cripple who may never walk again or regain the use of his arm. Half of my face has been melted off straight to the bone,” he bit out through gritted teeth, his voice breaking.

“If I haven’t become a monster yet, it’s where I’m headed. I am angry at the entire world and that anger will only grow with time. I can’t subject her to share her life with an ungrateful, bitter beast. Not when she deserves to live.”

Jerry heard Thranduil’s breath hitch ever so softly, the sound of it piercing his heart like a bullet. It was gut-wrenching to witness his close friend be reduced to this – a heap of charred flesh with a broken spirit.

“She won’t survive it,” he said quietly.

Thranduil turned his head, a sad smile playing on the corner of his mouth, a glimmer of genuine pride gleaming in his good eye.

“She’ll think so too, that there is no surviving this. But she’s strong,” his smile widened knowingly. “Fierce. Even if she may not know it yet.”

“What if you one day, say a year from now, regret your decision? What if you find yourself wanting to find her?” Jerry asked.

“I doubt that will ever happen. But if it did…,” Thranduil trailed off and paused.

“I’d pray that she could find it in her to forgive me and would gladly spend the rest of my life trying to earn that forgiveness.”

𓋼𓍊 General Tag → @heilith @kanafinwe-makalaure @eunoiaastralwings @snowtargaryen @aduialel

@a-contemplation-upon-flowers @fizzyxcustard @dawn-petrichor-world @lathalea @fckmini

𓋼𓍊 Thranduil Tag → @coopsgirl @missymoo02 @imsorare @ioitsmeri1

If anyone wishes to be either removed or added to my taglist, let me know ♡ ↳ Maeve's Taglist ↳ Requests ↳ Masterlist

#thranduil #thranduil x fem!reader #thranduil x reader #thranduil x you #modern thranduil au #the hobbit #the hobbit au #the hobbit fanfiction #thranduil fanfic #angst #maeve writes #maeve's requests

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mirkwoodshewolf · 1 year ago

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Princess of Starlight; Thranduil x elfling child reader

*Author's note*

Well guys this took me awhile to get around to making and a couple of weeks to write it all down but this weekend I finally had some time to fully sit and write it out and now it's ready! So @soralinklokidottirofmirkwood I appreciate your patience with me and I now present to you your request. Hope you enjoy it as well as any reader who catches this little gem.

Warnings: parental death, spiders (yeah those arachnophobes out there like me, BEWARE OF SPIDERS!!) mentions of infertility and stillborn children, some angst and fluff.

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things

@waddles03

@psychosupernatural

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels

@queen-paladin

@gay-and-ready-to-cry

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I managed to duck down into the root of a tree and quickly buried myself with some old leaves and twigs and stayed as quiet as I could until I heard the sound of their clicking and hissing. I then watched as their shadows went past the tree I was hiding under, hoping and praying to the Valar that they wouldn’t see me.

After what felt like forever, the last of them finally walked passed my tree so I slowly peeked out clenching my father’s crystal necklace he had given me before he and mother told me to run and hide. There was nothing but silence in the woods, no birds, no wind, not even the sound of running water.

Very carefully I decided to venture out of my tree in hopes of finding another place to hide, or maybe get out of the woods all together. Suddenly out of nowhere I was pinned down by three long, hairy legs and heard a hiss-like roar behind my back. I tried to fight but I felt myself being wound up in the sticky web of the spider that had me pinned.

Then as quickly as I felt it starting to wrap my up, it stopped. I heard the whizzing sound of arrows being shot, blades being unsheathed, and the terrible sounds of the spider that had me pinned along with more spiders from above the trees. Soon there was silence once again and I heard someone say in my language.

“How many are left?”

“I counted five more escaping during the skirmish my lord Legolas.” Said a female voice.

“Kill them all. None must be left alive. By order of the King.” The male voice said again. The female then proclaimed an Elvish command and I heard some running away from the area.

“My lord Legolas, what about the victim?” oh no. I tried to wriggle myself out of the web but it was so thick and sticky, I couldn’t even move my arms up that had been pinned to my side. So like a warm, I tried to inch myself to a hiding spot (even though I could barely see through the silked webs) but I was soon stopped by another foot.

This was it, this is where I would meet my end. Not by spiders but by my own kin. I felt as the webs were being cut away and I was now staring into the sharp, blue eyes of an elf in what almost looked like dragon-like armor.

“Stand down, she’s only an elfling.” He ordered to the few dozen guards that remained at his side. Unlike the others who had either dark or red hair, this elf before me had blonde hair, just like my mother did. I jumped out of my web trap and pressed myself against one of the trees and the elf told me, “It’s alright. No one will hurt you.”

Even though he looked intimidating, there was a comforting aura around him that I was sensing from him thanks to father’s necklace.

“Do you speak in the Eldar? Or do you also know common tongue?” he asked me. But before I could answer, I noticed a large shadow slowly coming down from above. It was one of the younger spiders whose feet are so light, they couldn’t even be detected by our Elvish ears. One of the guards happened to look where I was looking and proclaimed.

“Hir nin Legolas!” my necklace soon glowed and I extended my hand out and a powerful wind blast sent everyone falling down including the spider. It’s back slammed hard into the trunk of a tree before falling down on a spiked log, piercing it through it’s center and it quickly fell limp. The elven guards plus the elf who had tried to talk to me, Legolas according to one of the guards. They all looked at me in either shock or awe at what I had just done.

“I’m sorry.” I finally spoke to show that I knew both Elvish and common tongue. “I didn’t want that one to hurt you. They’re more deadly than the bigger ones, nana and adar were attacked by one just like that. The venom spread so quickly mother barely had the chance to cry out.” Suddenly one of the guard withdrew his bow and arrow and aimed it at me. I jumped back fearfully but Legolas stood in front of me, shielding me from the oncoming attack.

“Lower your bow Feren!”

“My lord, she had hurt you!” Feren snapped.

“It was an accident. She saved my life, and as such it would do you more harm than good to bring harm to my rescuer.” Feren without question removed his arrow from his bow and stood down. Legolas turned back towards me and knelt back down in front of me. “Little one, how do you know magic?”

“My father’s amulet. It just—glows whenever I feel high levels of fear and fires the magic. I didn’t mean to hurt you I swear it.”

“No apologizes necessary, may I be permitted to see your father’s amulet? Don’t worry I won’t take it from you.” I looked into his eyes and felt deep down he was telling the truth. I reached underneath my shirt and pulled it out and held it out to him. He gently took it in his hands and as he admired the crystal gem, I noticed how his eyes widened when he turned it around to look at the runes on the back.

“Am I—in trouble?” I asked nervously. He looked at me and told me as he handed me back my father’s amulet.

“No penneth. But we would like for you to come with us, the King would like to know of your presence in our part of the forest.” The King? As in King Thranduil? I had made it to King Thranduil’s palace?! I had but lost hope that I would make it here.

Before I had lost my father, he had told me to reach the realm of Thranduil. If I showed him my amulet, he could protect me. Those were his last words before the younger spider got to him and dragged him off into the woods, never to be seen again. Legolas kept his hand out for me to take it and so I did and he ordered the remaining guards to follow us.

As we walked, I soon began to feel the light of the sun upon my face as we reached a different part of the woods. I couldn’t recall the last time I had felt the light of the sun or have been able to feel all of Yavanna’s great creations all around me. The feel of the spray of the rushing waterfalls beneath us, the smell of the fresh air instead of the decaying one I had been under.

We soon came to a great fortress that had been built within the trees themselves. Gates of iron stood before us as Legolas ordered the guards to close the gates behind us. Once inside I was amazed at the interior of this grand palace.

Narrow walkways of tree bark and light that seemed to be glowing on it’s own from what appeared to be sap from the trees. Elves all around were walking the various pathways that either were below or on top of us. Soon enough, we came before a large, intimidating throne of wood and stone.

Large antler-like structures stood on either side of the throne that was at the foot of a narrow staircase at the foot. And sitting upon the throne wielding a staff was none other than the King of all Mirkwood, King Thranduil.

He resembled Legolas almost to a perfect picture but his eyes held a harshness that felt like winter wind hitting you in the face. A crown of autumn leaves stood upon his head and he wore robe of onyx and hanging off his shoulders was a blood red cloak.

“Legolas,” his voice held a deep booming sound to it that almost resembled thunder in the far off mountains. “Who is this child you have brought before me?”

“My lord, this young elf was found within the outer boarders of your realm. The spiders had ambushed her and nearly had her killed. She in returned saved me from a spider that we had missed that would’ve killed me.” Thranduil’s eyes shifted to me.

Seeing him upon his throne lounging against it and his icy blue eyes staring down upon me gave me an intimidating feeling.

“And you had killed it? It wasn’t left alive?” he asked me.

“Yes, Great King of Wood and Stone.” I said bowed to him.

“The child has manners. And a great debt is owed to you for saving my son.” He told me. Legolas is the son of the King?! I had saved the Prince of Mirkwood?!

“It is also best that you know this young elfling saved me not with a steel of any weapon, but of magic. A powerful magic that I had never crossed paths with before.” Legolas said again. I watched as Thranduil slowly came down the steps of his throne and stood before us and told his son and the guards.

“Leave us.” They bowed and soon I was left alone with the great King of the Wood. “Rise young one.” I got back to my feet and looked up at him nervously, fiddling with the ends of my tattered dress. “How long have you been traveling in the woods on your own?”

“I—lost my parents what feels like an age. But counting from what I could tally in the ground and trees, it had been nearly a year and a half since I had been on my own.”

“And from where did you hail from in my kingdom?”

“The Southern borders of Mirkwood my lord. Near the fell fortress. My parents and I escaped the spider raid when they first came upon the lands.”

“What were your parents names?” he asked me.

“My mother’s name was Thessa, and my father’s name was…..”

“Orrian.” The King finished for me. I looked up at the King in shock.

“You knew my father?” the king knelt down to my height and asked me.

“Answer me this, do you bear his family’s amulet? A clear diamond surrounded in silver?” I reached down into my shirt and pulled out the amulet necklace and Thranduil’s eyes widened. “By the grace of Varda. You are her. You are Orrian’s young starlight. You are just as he described.”

“My father spoke highly of you, but I always thought it was because you were the King of our realm.”

“Not only that child but your father and I go back a long time into our elfling hoods back in our old home of Doriath. He was the youngest cousin to the Queen Melian. And my greatest friend. Oh the times we had together as elflings.” His voice held a warm, gentleness and his eyes that once struck me with a cold feeling now held a warm, tender look to them. “I am sorry for your loss my dear child, but know that your father truly loved you. More than anyone, more than life.”

“That’s what he said before telling me to find you. Saying that you would protect me. I had but given up hope that I would even find sanctuary and that his and my mother’s deaths would’ve been in vain.” Thranduil placed a comforting hand to my shoulder and said.

“You need not think that anymore dear one, your parents can finally rest in peace knowing that you will indeed be safe here in my realm.” Then I did something I never would’ve thought I had the guts to do.

I embraced the Elven king. He tensed up at the surprised hug but gladly embraced me back.

Later that night after being provided with proper lodgings, food and medical attention to the scraps and bruises from running through the thick shrubberies. Thranduil sat down with me on my bed telling me all the stories of him and my father growing up.

“And had it not been for me, your father would’ve never had gotten the courage to ask a dance from your mother.” He finished the tale of how he had helped my father and mother begin their courting.

“Father always said he’d learn to thank you for giving him the proper push.” I fiddled with his amulet necklace. My heart growing heavy with grief. “I miss him and mother every day.”

“And they loved you dearly. They feared that they would go through life without being able to conceiving a child. Everytime your mother started to bear one, it was either a stillborn or she ended up losing it. But when you came along, there was something about you that made your father believe that you were the one. You were going to be the grace of Varda herself, and he was right.” He tucked some of my hair behind my ear and turned my chin up to look at him, “An elfling born with the power of the Stars and wind, and it is through that amulet that was brought down by his family line that helps harness your powers.”

“Yet they didn’t appear till after I had lost them. If only I was able to use that power to save them.”

“There is a saying your father used to say, ‘Yesterday is history, tomorrow’s a mystery, but today is a gift. That is why it is called the present’. We cannot choose what happens in that time frame or what events will fall, only after what’s done is done, do we have the strength to follow through to the next event that may fall upon us.” I nodded and leaned my head against the king’s arm.

I felt his arm come around me, pulling me onto his lap as my head rested on his shoulder.

“I promise you (Y/n), you’ll never know fear or loneliness ever again. I swear on your father, I’ll try to give the same amount of love as he and your mother gave you.”

“Thank you my lord.”

“No more formalities. You may call me by my name when it is just us, okay?”

“Okay, Thranduil.” I felt him bring me closer to him in a loving embrace and he lay a kiss upon the top of my head.

For the rest of my life, Thranduil kept his word. I was raised at his side like his own daughter and Legolas came to see me as his own little sister. I was trained not only in weapons by my brother and father, I was also taught how to better control my magic. Though for those lessons, I was sent to Rivendell where I was told by Lord Elrond that he and his wife were good friends of my mother.

Lord Elrond taught me of how to better control my magic and how to use it in combat. Throughout the lands I became known as the Starlight Princess of the Woodland realm. Any orc that I came in contact with was blinded by my powers of Starlight and shuddered in fear whenever the winds would blow, signaling my arrival. And whenever I felt doubt or fear of forgetting what my parents looked like, my adoptive father was willing to show me old pictures of him and my father and tell me more stories of them and their lives together. And I never had to live with fear or doubt ever again, just as my adoptive father had promised.

#the hobbit #the hobbit fanfic #the hobbit imagine #thranduil #thranduil x reader #thranduil imagine #thranduil imagines #thranduil fanfic #thranduil fanfiction #thranduil x child reader #the hobbit fanfiction #the hobbit imagines #legolas greenleaf #legolas greenleaf imagine #legolas greenleaf x reader #legolas greenleaf imagines #tolkien fandom #legolas greenleaf fanfic #legolas greenleaf fanfiction

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agathne · 1 year ago

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the moon | thranduil of mirkwood

Description: Thranduil is caught in the most embarrassing position. In which, Elrond walks in when Thranduil is about to kiss you. [crack fluff]

Pairing: thranduil/elrond's-daughter!reader

Books tell you that falling in love feels like sweaty palms, nervous chills and heart thumping furiously against your chest - but every moment spent with him feels like waves on a beach. It's calm, not judging - you feel safe around him.

"I shall return to Greenwood in a few moons, is there anything that requires my full attention?" he inquired - nuzzling his head deep in the crook of your neck. He smelled like vanilla and cardamom. He was an elf that was older than you - older than your mother, but he is the only one who could relate to you. "(Your Name)," he says firmly this time, sensing that your attention was in another plane.

"I'm sorry," you turned your head in his direction - fingers digging deeper into his golden locks. "I was thinking about missing you, it will be years until we see each other again, Thran. Unless our houses miraculously bond with each other," you breathed - inhaling more of his scent. To others, vanilla may seem cold - but to you - vanilla was the scent of your home.

King Oropher kept to himself, he did not like the race of the Noldor. You couldn't blame him - for half of your blood was responsible for the casualties of his people.

His mother died because of the Noldor's thirst for the gems - but those days were past. They belonged to a bygone age.

"I do not wish to remain this way - I want to be with you. I want you to become half of my soul," you whispered, letting the embrace linger with your words. "I want the very same, melleth." he hummed - breathing in your scent of lavender. "Tell my father," you met his eyes.

"- ask for my hand in marriage, he will not deny you." you say for certain, already seeing the scene play in the back of your mind. "Yes," he responded - unable to fight against something that he too desired. He reaches for your jaw - about to bridge your lips together, but suddenly, someone walks inside your bedroom.

"Adar!" you scream, immediately rising to your feet - falling down the bed in the process. "By the grace of the Valar!" Elrond covered his eyes - unable to gather the powers to look upon his daughter's lover. "I apologize," you lowered your head - helping your lover to his feet.

Elrond takes a step outside of your room, hand around the doorknob. "I will not speak of this. I will pretend to never have seen this and - I will wait in my room for an explaination." he said to himself, closing the door loudly - face red in both anger and embarrassment.

#thranduil x reader #thranduil x you #thranduil fanfic #lotr x reader #hobbit x reader #thranduil fanfiction

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vilentia · 1 year ago

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Shattered Love

Thranduil x reader

Summary: Thranduil's world shatters when he loses his beloved wife, plunging him into heartbreak and sorrow.

Warnings: death, grief, violence, loss

****

Thranduil's heart felt heavy as he stood on the balcony of his grand halls, gazing out into the darkened forest. The moon's pale light cast an ethereal glow upon his sorrowful face, highlighting the lines of anguish etched into his features. The air was heavy with a haunting silence, broken only by the distant howls of the wind.

His mind was haunted by memories of you, his beloved wife, whose absence now gnawed at his soul. The weight of loss seemed unbearable as he recalled the fateful day when everything changed.

- start of the throwback-

"Please, my love, stay within the safety of our chambers," Thranduil pleaded, his voice tinged with worry. "I cannot bear the thought of anything happening to you."

But you were determined to stand beside him, to fight alongside him in the face of encroaching danger. The battle drums echoed through the forest, signaling the impending doom that awaited them. Thranduil, ever the protector, wanted nothing more than to shield you from harm. Yet, against his wishes, you insisted on joining the battle.

As the clash of swords and the screams of warriors filled the air, Thranduil fought with unmatched valor, his heart gripped by both fear and determination. With each fallen foe, his eyes searched desperately for your figure, praying that you were safe. But fate can be cruel, and tragedy struck when he needed you most.

A piercing cry tore through the chaos, causing Thranduil's heart to stop. Time seemed to slow as he turned, his eyes widening with dread, and the world around him faded into insignificance. There, amidst the wreckage of the battlefield, he saw you crumpled on the ground, surrounded by the lifeless bodies of their enemies.

A strangled gasp escaped his lips as he raced to your side, his movements fueled by desperation and disbelief. His hands trembled as he knelt beside you, his fingers brushing against your ashen cheek. His gaze traveled over the wounds that marred your delicate form, each injury an agonizing testament to the violence that had consumed their world.

"No, no! Please, my love, stay with me," Thranduil pleaded, his voice a broken whisper that barely carried above the din of battle. Tears streamed down his face, mingling with the dirt and blood that stained his skin. His voice cracked with anguish, raw and filled with an inconsolable grief.

He pressed his forehead against yours, his grip on you tightening as if he could will life back into your fragile body. His hands trembled as he traced the contours of your face, memorizing every curve and crevice. He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a desperate attempt to share his breath, to infuse you with his own life force.

But you were gone, stolen from him by the merciless hands of fate. The battle around him faded into a blur, his senses numbed by the magnitude of his loss. The once vibrant forest now held only shadows and echoes of a love that was torn away too soon. Thranduil's anguished cries mixed with the sorrowful howls of the wind, merging into a haunting lament that echoed through the desolation.

He clung to your lifeless body, his tears mingling with the earth beneath them. In that moment, the weight of his grief threatened to consume him entirely. His heart shattered, leaving behind a void that could never be filled. And as the world continued to spin, unaware of the tragedy that had unfolded, Thranduil remained locked in that moment of unbearable sorrow, forever haunted by the memory of a love that had been wrenched from his grasp.

- end of throwback-

Thranduil's grief never truly faded, even as years passed. The wounds remained fresh, and the weight of loss burdened his heart each day. He had built a façade of strength, concealing the depths of his pain from the world. But in the solitude of his chambers, where the echoes of the past lingered, he allowed himself to release the anguish he had held within.

Alone amidst the flickering candlelight, Thranduil finally succumbed to his sorrow. His regal composure shattered as he sank to his knees, his body trembling with the weight of his emotions. A guttural cry escaped his lips, tearing through the stillness of the room.

"I miss you," he whispered, his voice choked with grief. "Every moment, I miss you."

The tears flowed freely, cascading down his face and wetting the cold stone beneath him. It was a release, a catharsis he had denied himself for far too long. The pain surged through him, tearing at his soul, but he allowed it to consume him, for in that pain, he found solace.

In the depths of his anguish, he held onto the memories of your love, cherishing them as a bittersweet reminder of what they had lost. He allowed himself to mourn the life they could have had, the dreams they could have shared.

As the tears subsided, a weary calm settled upon Thranduil. He rose from the floor, his face marked by a raw vulnerability that few had ever witnessed. He knew that he would forever carry the ache of your absence, but he also understood that life must go on.

With a newfound determination, Thranduil wiped away his tears, his eyes now harboring a flicker of resilience. He would honor your memory by protecting his people and ruling with wisdom and compassion, just as you would have wished.

And so, he stepped out of his chambers, his regal demeanor intact once more, masking the grief that lay just beneath the surface. But deep in his heart, he knew that your love would forever guide him, a beacon of light in the darkness that surrounded him.

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gloomwitchwrites · 11 months ago

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Winter Gem

Thranduil x Female Elf Reader

Content & Warnings: soft!Thranduil, widowed!Thranduil, fluff, peril & rescue, mild hurt/comfort

Word Count: 1.8k

Seeking something precious for Thranduil, you're caught in a storm. When you don't return, he goes searching for you.

A/N: For @firelightinferno

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // winter 2023 masterlist

“The first snows have arrived.”

“It has come early.”

Thranduil inclines his head in acknowledgement. “Indeed.”

You stand beside Thranduil outside the main gates. Five guards stand nearby but there is no danger. A steady snowfall drifts down from the sky. The snowflakes are slightly gray in appearance, almost like ash on the wind. You frown down at a few of the flakes that land on your leather vambrace.

“You look ready for your hunt,” observes Thranduil, gesturing toward your attire with the tip of his head.

“Yes,” reply softly. “I plan on heading out for a bit.”

His eyebrows rise toward his hairline. “In this weather?”

You glance up from the vambrace and meet his blue eyes. Thranduil’s gaze is startling and sharp. Piercing. Intense. It cuts right down to your heart. His gaze always holds you hostage, wrapping you up in his essence. Most might find Thranduil intimidating, but you know better.

“Is my king telling me I cannot?” You’re teasing him, and Thranduil knows this. His smile is one of soft amusement.

“As long as you return to me. You are free to do as you wish.” Even though Thranduil’s tone is gentle, you understand the deeper meaning.

Thranduil lost his wife many years ago. Other than his son, Legolas, you are his comfort. He wants you to be free, to enjoy the pleasures of life, but he also wants you to be safe, to return to him at the end of every leaving.

Thranduil glances over his shoulder. The guards on duty discreetly glance away, staring off into the distance as if they’ve suddenly found something of great interest. Thranduil leans in and shifts his body to block their view of you. He is close enough that it might appear that the two of you are kissing, but he does not meet your lips.

In the end, Thranduil is private about affection. He does not like to share your tender moments together in front of others.

“Enjoy your hunt. I eagerly await your return.”

You give him a half-hearted, sarcastic bow that immediately puts a wide smile on his face. Thranduil watches you until you disappear into the trees. Perhaps he lingers longer than that, wondering if you will turn around and come back to him.

It is true. You are on a hunt, but not for what he or anyone else is likely expecting.

Over a week ago, Thranduil went out in the woods with some of the guards on patrol. It’s the first time he’s been out beyond the walls in some time. Many patrols that ventured into the northern regions reported back on a strangeness in the air, and the scent of evil. Thranduil decided to investigate.

While tracking, he lost something precious.

Around his neck on a chain, Thranduil kept a silver ring. Within the ring is a precious gem, a blue stone so pale it almost appears white like a burning star. The chain that held it snapped while he and the guards chased a group of spiders that had made their way south.

He remembered it snagging, and while he did not show any distress upon telling you of its disappearance, you also know how much that ring and jewel means to him. It was a gift from his wife when they were newly married. She had a matching one, but upon her death, Thranduil moved it from his finger to around his neck.

This hunt—your hunt—is about that ring. You have a fairly good idea about where it might have fallen, and there is no reason for it to have moved since then. Few enter these woods unless they follow the road, and that is on rare occasions.

Tracking is your specialty, and your time is not limited due to the falling snow. But you’ve tracked in worse weather. The snow is unfortunate, but you can still search as long as it remains at its current pace. The tree cover will keep much of the snow in the higher canopy. There will be time yet before the snow completely covers the ground and you lose the trail.

Heading north, you retrace the path the patrol took. Yes, a week has passed, and nature reclaims much, but not everything is hidden so quickly. There are small disturbances that indicate the path ahead.

As you begin to draw nearer to the area Thranduil mentioned, the snow starts to pick up. It becomes thicker, not staying above in the canopy but instead making its way to the ground. It’s not ideal, but you can manage.

Thranduil mentioned two tree trunks growing together and then breaking apart. When you happen upon it, the snow comes down in thicker sheets. On the ground, it’s sticking. Collecting. Time is running out. Elves have good eyes, and you focus in on the ground, gnarled roots, and underbrush.

Near the base of the tangled tree, you notice a slight sparkle. Approaching it, you go down on one knee, brushing away some of the snow.

“Found you.”

The ring is there, resting in the roots. It appears undamaged, and that is a relief. Picking it up, you tuck it into an inside pocket, protecting it from the elements.

The snow crunches under your boots, and the wind howls. For the first time, you shiver. Cold is not and has never been an issue. Elves can withstand a great many things, including winter weather.

Frowning, you turn into the chilly wind. There is a disturbance. Something dark and foul. It sets the edges of your nerves tingling. A simmering suspicion bubbles up from somewhere within you, question whether this snow is natural or not.

Turning on your heel, you head back the way you came. But the snow is heavy, and your fresh tracks are starting to slip away, returning to the snow. As you walk, the snowfall becomes a storm. The wind whips up, swirling the snow around until you cannot see more than a few feet in front of your face.

Your instincts were right. This storm is not natural. It is too early for it, and storms like these are rare in the Woodland Realm.

The toe of your boot catches in a downed tree branch and you slam face first into the snow. It’s freezing. Temperature isn’t usually a deterrent for the elves, but this is beyond cold. It’s as if you’ve been swallowed whole by a massive glacier.

You walk and walk, and you have no idea if you’ve gained any ground. There are no visible signs, and you’re not sure how far you’ve gone, or if you’re simply walking in circles. The snow is deepening or perhaps you’re imagining it. Everything seems darker, like the world is closing in.

You’re not dressed for this sort of weather.

And you’re tired. So tired. Your knees and thighs burn, and sitting down for some rest doesn’t seem so bad. It’s fine. You can take refugee within the deep roots of a tree. You can stay warm there until the snow dissipates. Then, you can return. Thranduil will understand.

As if opening for you, the roots of a nearby tree expand, showing safety from the storm. You slink into it, curling up into a ball.

You drift in the howling wind. There is a haze that sits on your eyelashes. Whether you dream or not is irrelevant. Numbness oozes into your limbs, and that only forces you to curl up tighter, wanting to pull away from the cold.

A hand touches the side of your head. It is warm. Gentle. The fingers slide up to brush your hair out of your face. You hear your name but it is a whisper. Distant. So far away it doesn’t seem real.

There are arms around you. Lifting. Steady. And when you inhale, the scent is familiar. You know who it is instantly.

“Thranduil,” you murmur, and the answer is a gentle squeeze of your hand.

“I found you, my star.”

There are only short moments of consciousness. There is snow. Cold. The antlers of an elk. The gates of home, and then warmth. So much warmth that the numbness begins to recede.

You are brought back to the living world near a roaring fire. Beneath you is a makeshift bed comprised of pillows and soft blankets. You shift, and feel bare skin against bare skin. Slowly, you push yourself to sitting.

Your leather gear is gone, replaced with a soft robe that traps in the heat.

“You’re awake.” Thranduil’s voice is a gentle, comforting hug.

Turning toward his voice, you watch as he glides across the floor. Thranduil wears silver robes of starlight. In his hands in a small tray. On it is a steaming cup of tea and an assortment of food. Bending at the knees, Thranduil settles in beside you, placing the tray down on the blankets.

“You came looking for me,” you say, and your voice nearly cracks with emotion.

“Did you think I would not?” he asks, arranging the food around on the tray.

You know, deep in your heart, that Thranduil would come, but you also believed in your abilities as a tracker. “When did you start to worry?”

Thranduil lifts the cup off the tray and presents it to you. “When the storm picked up. Something about it felt unnatural.” You take it, and bring the warm beverage to your lips. “I gathered some guards and we set out. It is good that we found you in time.” He pauses. “I’m not sure my heart could take any more loss.”

The heat of the tea spreads throughout your body, the chill slipping away quickly. “I do believe you are correct. That storm was not natural.”

Thranduil nods. “There is a growing darkness to the north. The scouts on patrol have spoken of it often but have been unable to get close enough for more details.”

“Perhaps I strayed too close,” you murmur.

“Perhaps,” replies Thranduil, reaching out to take your hand. He lifts it, and brings it into his lap. Using both hands, he rotates your wrist until your palm faces the ceiling. Then, he guides your open palm to his lips, placing a soft kiss in the middle of it.

Instant warmth shoots out from that spot, running down your arm and piercing your heart like an arrow. Slowly, he curls your fingers in, creating a loose fist, and then brushes his lips against your knuckles before pulling away.

He does not release your hand. “I know why you left.”

“Thranduil—”

“You did not need to explain. I understand why.” Thranduil reaches out and cups your cheek, turning your face toward him. “I am thankful that you found it, but you are also precious to me, and losing you is a far greater loss.”

You turn into his touch. “That ring is important to you.”

“Many things are important to me. But the ring is just that. A thing. You are breathing. You are here. I would like to keep it that way.”

Your eyes drift close and you revel in the warmth of his touch. “Are you mad?”

“Never.”

“Will you hold me?”

“For as long as you like.”

taglist:

@foxxy-126 @glassgulls @km-ffluv @sweetbutpsychobutsweet @singleteapot @firelightinferno @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @protosslady @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado @ninman82 @therealbloom

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itsonlydana · 5 months ago

Note

Anything with Thranduil in it makes me happy. Something about taking Elrond's daughter after he does not accept the wooing our king proposed to him.

This Secret of Mine // Runaways | hobbit

pairing: Thranduil x fem!reader 👑

Thranduil asks Lord Elrond for permission to court you - it doesn't end the way he thought

tags/warnings: angst, hurt/little comfort

word count: 1,9k

an: wrote this bad boy in one sitting! The muse of angst made herself comfortable on my shoulders

+ masterlist + rules + 🌿 reposts and comments are appreciated, they motivate me a lot and keep me writing <3

The moon stood silver and high over Rivendell, yet, despite the peaceful sounds of the night, sleep would not come to you. It had avoided you for a while and even if your kind did not need as much rest as the kind of men, the days you spent wandering aimlessly through the halls were beginning to take a toll on your mind and body; a constant ache behind your temple had formed and a pull came from the beating heart behind your chest, ever tugging on you to keep on moving or it shall stretch to tightly and snap.

So you kept on moving.

Down the corridors, over steps and stairs, up the open towers that overlooked all those who rested soundless and in a mockery of your state, but that did not distract you much. To be truthful, you were glad no one was there to notice how you walked all of Rivendell, head lowered to watch your feet cross wet grass, rippled stone, even marmor, and woven carpets, or held high to let your eyes wander over the high walls until they inevitably fell to the council, never hidden from your view despite the many halls you passed through.

The feeling of restlessness had taken over your body, pushing out any hints of exhaustion for what you could only describe as a potion of fear, nervousness, and a bit of hope that remained. Once again you glanced at the open council, at the silhouettes of the two elves you loved most.

They had been arguing for most of the day and now the discussion had bled into the night, staining the otherwise clear sky with heavy frowns striking deep lines into smooth faces – lightning had no chance against the thunderous expression that slowly chipped away at whatever hope kindled in you.

Great King of the Woodland Elves Thranduil had arrived not long after sunrise, his most trusted guard Feren as well as four others riding through the gates on what could only be a mission.

You, of course, had known all along that this would happen today. As soon as Thranduil had asked for Lord Elrond, keeping his eyes away from yours to minimize the unavoidable chaos and uproar that his presence alone brought forth, you felt your father stiffen next to you for he realized the question Thranduil would call for.

Thranduil had strutted past you, his hand fleetingly brushing yours rather than his eyes though a glance or smile would have probably calmed your father more than this loving and silent gesture of affection, so loudly proclaimed in front of his – so far – unknowing court and even as you had felt Thranduil's fingers on your wrist, had heard the gasps of onlookers and saw the sharp look of, well, disappointment and fury on your fathers closed off face, a rock formed inside your throat and uneasiness came in the form of a heavy hole that ate through your stomach.

Today was the day Thranduil would ask your father to court you officially and fear grew this would be the day this sweet love of yours would end. Thranduil had courted you in secret for years now, always sending letters and whenever you met, he loved you under the stars, whispering promises of proposing even if you both knew Lord Elrond would not be amused. Not after Arwen fell in love with the ranger, devoting herself to one unable to share the long life she had yet to live and always the romantic, Arwen would one day be forced to choose between her family and her ranger. Your father feared for this day to come, already he looked at her as if he had long lost her.

He would not accept Thranduil as your husband, was a bitter realization as you hard heartily turned your back after your father inclined his head in your direction and the distance could not protect you from the pang of hurt that followed his disappointment and spread all across every limb.

The two sides of this love were tearing you apart because there was this soft warmness of Thranduil's touch, the pink hues and bright sunlight, laughter thick as honey and sweet like it, and whenever he looked at you, held you, you believed you would never feel as utterly complete and fulfilled but then he had to leave and darkness took over. This love lifted you yet it had the power to open the grounds and push you down further than you had ever fallen.

You did not know how long you lingered around in the shadows of walls that had enclosed you your entire life but suddenly a hand grabbed your wrist and you were pulled around a corner.

"He will not allow it," Thranduil growled and confirmed what you had dreaded. His chest heaved from heavy intakes of breaths, infiltrating his voice to sound deeper: "Decades of allyship and solidarity" – he spat out the word like it was acid on his lips, tongue pressing against his clenched teeth – "all for him to stand there and dismiss me. Us"

Thranduil's anger normally presented itself in arrogance rather than this open display of unfiltered emotions but there were moments that brought out the dragon that slumbered deep inside his ancient soul and now, fist curled into itself and his eyes hardened, you felt the tremble, the roar, the fire that could burn down all around him to ashes if he unleashed the beasts he'd sworn to banish.

Your hand trembled as you lifted it to his chest, curling right above his racing heart and his eyes snapped to you, and for a moment you thought he had forgotten you were even there but then the corner of his curled lips dropped.

"Let me talk to him," you pleaded.

Thranduil scoffed rather dismissively, "Lord Elrond has made his point rather clear."

Now it was you who frowned in displeasure. "He is my father! He must listen to me," you argued and Thranduil lifted your hand to kiss your knuckles gently.

"I fear it is no use," Thranduil said, fingers caressing your skin in a language he otherwise whispered into your ear, the meaning more bitter than sweet. He slowed down, deep in thought and his eyes wandered over your face. "I told him I will take my leave."

"Leave?" You cried out and flinched as if he had hit you and somehow he had, his words strung across your soul and body not unlike a whip, leaving behind echoes of pain and a burn all over your heart. "There has to be the chance of another conversation! He surely is overwhelmed, but –" you stopped yourself only to continue lying for the hope to blossom again even if there was nothing but shade over your future, "he came around to Aragorn! You said it yourself; he knows you! The history of our people is intertwined for longer than we have been witnesses and–"

It was Thranduil who stopped your forlorn rambling with his other hand coming up to your neck, cupping it gently and pulling your face into his shoulder where your words left you in a shaky exhale, damp and into cold fabric.

You breathed in, nose buried into his red cloak.

His scent brought little comfort in this moment but you were desperate and if you closed your eyes, the pine needles reminded you of the days you ran around the forests, and the salt of your own tears mixed into the fragrance of his musk left you to think of splashing in the sea, his hair floating in the water like reflections of the silver moon. These adventures could only happen because you had been careful to hide all affection toward the King to let your father allow you the travels in his name, to sit in meetings under the pretense of bringing messages while Thranduil's hand caressed yours under the table and he kissed you breathlessly in the shadows of his halls, your fingers digging into the walls you hoped to reign over some day.

The decision that rested under your breastbone was easy to say out loud.

"Take me with you." You swallowed hard and shifted to look up into his shocked face. "Let us leave together and he shall realize our love needs not his approval."

"You can not leave – your life is here." Thranduil nodded at the buildings surrounding you and you followed where his chin pointed to.

The high arches always had enough room for big dreams, but now there was no space left for what you had, certainly, it would suffocate all that went further and above. Bathed in moonlight the intricate columns held up all except your crumbling composure. The connection you had once felt, the familiarity of paths you could walk in your sleep, and the marks you had carved into the many trees surrounding the place, all those tasted ashen in your dry mouth.

"My life is here!" you pressed yourself closer to Thranduil's strong chest which always proved to be a constant rock in stormy weather, "With you! You are the very air I need to breathe and a pillar that holds me up! I will perish if you leave me in this place, where my father can not accept who I love."

He opened his mouth to say something but a breath punched the words away. You blinked fast, there was no want for tears, not when you had to tell him what you felt if it was the last thing that could convince him to abandon whatever he thought would be best for you.

"Every time you say goodbye my fëa dwindles –"

"Meleth nîn–"

"No, please let me follow where you go – I cannot withstand another separation from you or the grief will overtake me and I do not want Námo's judgment yet," mentioning the name of Mandos sent shivers across your body and you pleaded further, because now you were still alive and able to declare your love for the life you could build together, "I would trade these cliffs for the leaves of your forest, the waterfalls for the springs that nurture the roots of your kingdom!"

There was a shift in him, you felt him pulling away, and desperate you clung to him, shaking your head frantically as he inclined his head. "No," you said, "No, no–" His fingers started to slip away from your hand, taking away any stability that grounded you, leaving you to grasp at whatever you could get from him, whether it was the robes you fisted into your hands or the threat of love that bound you together, you continued to shake your head, "No, don't you dare do this to me, Thranduil. You cannot do this to me!"

Thranduil crumbled, first his eyes suddenly took you in as if he would never see you again but wanted to keep you in his memory, and then his body followed close. His forehead dropped against yours, an arm wrapped around your middle to pull you close and you gasped at the shaking of his hands.

"Please–" you whispered.

Thranduil quickly silenced you with a kiss so full of longing and desperation that, although no sounds except whimpers swallowed by his lips left you, allowed tears to well up in your eyes, saying so much more.

When you opened your eyes his were shining wet as well and a glistening tear rolled over his cheek until it dropped from his jaw, darkening the collar of his blood-red cloak which covered you both. "We will leave together," he finally agreed. His nose brushed yours, "I will do what I have to keep you by my side, even if thus brings forth a divide between the folk. Your love is worth more than any allyship," his lips chased after yours, lightening the fire and hope, "Let me build you a home for our dreams and will face all the consequences."

This was how it was decided.

You packed no more than what you had on you and when Thranduil helped you in the saddle of his horse and you turned to look over his shoulder, one last look to capture Rivendell one last time, you saw the figure of your father, standing lonely in the nightly mist. You only realized that you were crying when Thranduil wrapped an arm around you to pull you into his chest and then the wind was already there to wipe the drops away to flow back into the night and water the ground of your childhood.

#📁files: thranduil fanfics #thranduil fanfiction #thranduil x reader #thranduil x you #thranduil fanfic #thranduil oropherion #king of mirkwood #the hobbit fanfiction #the hobbit x reader

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tamurilofrivendell · 2 years ago

Text

Stop Running | Thranduil x Reader

Read on AO3

Pairing Thranduil/Reader

Synopsis: Thranduil confesses his feelings for the reader but they feel they are not well suited for a king and basically avoid him until they come face to face once more.

Content: Angst. Fluff.

Prompt: (#10 & #14 on this list). They’re in bold in the text below.

Requested by anon (so freaking long ago, I know! I’m so sorry lmao)

“I'm pretty sure about my feelings.” Thranduil had told you four days ago, in a soft voice while brushing his fingers through your hair.

Thirty seconds before you had fled from his sight.

You had been avoiding him ever since and he was growing weary of it. Of appearing in a room only to hear that, not even a minute before, you had hurriedly vacated it. Of not being able to just find you in these very halls that he knew like the back of his own hand!

Thranduil knew what he wanted and what he wanted was you. He had thought that you were of the same mind. So, how had him asking - very nicely, he might add! - to court you, ended up like this?

It was another week before you found yourself once more face to face with the King of Mirkwood.

As a very last resort, he had sent an official summons and guards had turned up at your door to take you to him in the throne room. There seemed to be no other way to get you to speak to him and he knew that you could not ignore an official summons, though he also knew that if you did have the courage to do so, he would have to be ready to dole out the consequences.

As it was, you went as willingly as you could given the circumstances. You had always been one to follow the rules, after all.

Once you were finally standing in front of him, Thranduil dismissed the guards from the throne room altogether. You kept your gaze forward, but not up, so you would not look at him.

Thranduil looked down at you from on high for a few long, silent moments, before he finally spoke.

“You are most difficult to find of late.” His tone was devoid of any real emotion but you could detect the hint of bitterness lingering in the background. Hurt. You could read him well enough... you always had been able to do so.

It was not that you did not feel the same way for Thranduil. Quite the opposite, in fact. It was because you felt the same way that you had withdrawn from him so suddenly. He was the king, he could not be seen courting somebody like you.

Thranduil was staring at you, waiting for you to speak, yet you gave him nothing. His frustration further spiked. He felt quite humiliated, truthfully, as he had never truly experienced a rejection such as this before and he would not have even spoken of it if he had not been so certain that his feelings were returned. So how could he have gotten it so wrong? He still was not entirely convinced that he had but he could not figure out why you would lie.

“Do you truly have nothing to say?” He asked, tutting as he suddenly rose from his seat upon the throne and turned, descending the stairs with slow, careful steps. He paced the floor until he was standing directly in front of you, looking down upon you.

Still waiting.

Still receiving nothing.

“If it is that you are uncertain as to my sincerity, I can assure you that I do not say things for the mere fun of them.” Thranduil stated, leaning down into your personal space just a little. “I am sure about my feelings.”

“As I am about my own. As in, I have none.” You snapped in response, not missing the hurt look that flickered across his expression before you turned your face away from him. “Please let me get back to my work, aran nin, or I shall fall behind.”

Thranduil straightened, silently glaring down at you before he shook his head. “I do not believe you.”

You blinked, lifting your attention back to him with a frown. “I am expected to take you at your word but you will not take me at mine?” You could not help but point out the hypocrisy.

Thranduil only scoffed.

“I do not love you, Thranduil.” You said quietly, doing your utmost to keep your voice steady as you all but forced the words out. You could not break, not here, not now. You needed to stand firm in your decision... even if it broke your heart to do so.

“And I said I do not believe you!” He hissed, reaching out and taking gentle hold of your arm as you tried to turn away from him. He tugged you back to face him, his other hand tilting your chin up and forcing you to meet his gaze. “Do you expect me to disregard all these years?” He wondered, his voice softer now, tinged with sadness. “All those long nights? All those talks? The ways in which you looked at me? You tell me now I imagined it all?”

You almost broke. You almost gave in. The pleading look in his eyes was enough to completely undo you but somehow you held firm, pulling yourself from his grasp and shaking your head. “You saw something that can never be.” You told him, turning and making for the exit. If he wanted to punish you then so be it but if you stood there much longer, you were going to break down.

“Stop running away from your feelings!” He exclaimed from behind you, his tone full of sorrow. Thranduil knew he was not insane. He knew he was not making it up in his own head. He knew that what he had felt between the two of you was real. The only thing he did not know was why you were now trying so hard to pull away from him.

“It was all just a dream, Thranduil!” You cried, spinning back round to face him, finally having reached your limit.

The silence that followed was deafening as you both stared back at each other for a long while. Thranduil studied you keenly, trying to read in your expression what you meant by your words but not entirely understanding.

“What does that mean?” He asked, breaking the silence first. He did not move, just stood where he was and hoped that you would not leave again until this matter was fully resolved.

You were frustrated. If he had just kept quiet, if he had not said a word in the face of your retreat, you would have been gone in a matter of seconds and you might have been able to continue to stand firm.

Yet, as well as you could read him, he too could read you. Thranduil could tell - he could see - that you were running from what you felt, from what he knew was real. Trying to squash down the truth of it

You sighed heavily, resigned as you lowered your gaze to the floor, shaking your head. “You are a king.”

“Yes.” Came his reply, his tone as if nothing about that fact mattered. “And?”

You lifted your head again, looking at him once more. He looked confused and you envied him for it. “And... I am not enough as to be matched with a king.”

His brows drew together as he stared at you, immediately shaking his head. “Nonsense.”

You let out a humourless chuckle, one hand raking up through your hair in exasperation. “It is the truth!” You cried. “I am nothing, I am no one! It was just a dream.”

Thranduil moved then, crossing the distance between the both of you in less time than you could process. He took your face in his hands and this time you could not find the strength to push him away. The fight had gone out of you.

“You are not nothing.” Thranduil’s expression was pained as he looked at you. “Not to me.”

“I am low born, Thranduil, I am-”

“What should that matter?” He interrupted, shaking his head as he kept your face carefully in place with his hands. His hands were soft, his touch gentle. He was afraid you would turn away from him again, afraid that your fear would come back and you would run from him.

“Why do you think it should not?” You hated how your voice shook but you could not help it any longer.

“I am king, yes, but that should not mean that I am doomed to cast aside the one I love, regardless of who they are. Would you have me take someone more ‘suited’ but wholly uninteresting to me, simply for the sake of being ‘proper’? Who cares if you are not some high born noble? Who cares! You can do anything, be anything. You can be taught the necessary work of a queen. It is not-”

“Queen?” Now was your time to interrupt him, blinking at him in surprise, though half of you wondered why. If he loved you would it not stand to reason that he would wish you to be his queen some day? “You... you would have me...?”

“Well, of course.” Thranduil said matter-of-factly, shaking his head as if he could not believe you had any doubt. “Do you truly believe this some passing fancy? Do you truly think me capable of such?”

He looked hurt and you were quick to shake your head. “No! No, I mean... I... I do not know. I just... you would make me your queen? In front of the whole realm? You would... you would truly?”

“Yes.” His answer came without hesitation.

You were not sure if you had known whether or not he was quite so serious about it. About you. You had been far too tangled up in your own doubts, your own worries and fears. However, something about him saying out loud that he wished to eventually take you as his queen was... shocking somehow. It also put into perspective just how seriously he must really feel. Even if you had known on some level, even if he had asked to court you, part of you must have still been a little unsure. As if you thought perhaps he would hold the beliefs you did about your status and would eventually change his mind. To be thinking of you as his queen, beside him... he would not say that lightly.

Thranduil watched your expression change. Your soft frown faded away. Your eyes widenened. The tension seemed to fall out of you and he dropped his hands from your face, skimming them down the length of your arms before he took your own hands in his.

“Please.” He whispered, not above begging, not when it came to this - to you.

You did not speak another word. Instead, you moved forward just a little and leaned up towards him, pressing your lips softly against his own. One hand let go of yours and his arm snaked around your waist, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss.

Relief flooded through him as he understood your action for what it was. Apology. Acceptance. Adoration. Love. Everything you had been running from.

Thranduil knew then, as he swept you up into his arms and turned to carry you from the room, that everything would be okay.

#thranduil x reader #thranduil x you #thranduil fanfic #lotr x reader #hobbit x reader #thranduil fanfiction #requests

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mithrilandvilya · 1 year ago

Text

The Loneliness of Kings

I decided to write this for @chicotfp as a small thank you for all your beautiful art creations. I hope many will enjoy this short tale.

Trade with Lake Town, or whatever other unimaginative name it went by now, was important for the Woodland Elves. The forest had limited material resources, and if he wanted better armor for his fighters, it was not to be found in the trees, but deep in the mountains. His people had long had minimal interactions with the dwarves, distrust built between them over generations of unresolved grievances. Dwarves held long grudges, and elves had long memories. But the Lake Town men eagerly remained the neutral trade intermediaries for metal from the mountains as well as what they could grow and hunt at the lake shores that didn’t thrive in the forest, in exchange for wood, wine, and intricate, high-quality crafts and wares fashioned through centuries of skilled practice that the artisan villagers couldn’t hope to approach in their short lifespans.

However, the king’s thoughts of Lake Town were bitter. He had nothing against the pitifully short-lived men there, but the lake itself was to him blacker than the Dead Marshes. When he closed his eyes, the grayed, gangrenous corpse of his father with blood-stained, angry pupils stared up at him from beneath liver-colored wind-swept waters, bony fingers pointing to him accusingly from the marshy waters, his father’s whispered voice, full of disgust and disappointment, chastising him for failing to bring him home. But from the Lake, nothing. It was dark, deep and silent. And the unbearable weight of that silence said more to him than all the cruel whispers of his father’s ghost ever did.

He had risked his diminished people two years hence in a secretly desperate measure to do some small thing toward relieving himself and all in his realm from the lingering evil that engulfed the lake as a suffocating mist, just as it spread through the edges of the forest and utterly overpowered the southlands. It was growing. The people of Lake Town and even the nearby dwarves held no memory or record of the dark events of the earliest days of his reign upon return from the south with so many fewer than had set out. No relief met them at home, and rather than recovery and rebuilding, his earliest rule at home was instead marked by more defeat, more loss, and more tragedy. He immediately lost all aspiration of ever living up to his father’s legacy or of setting any bold future for his son. The body of Legolas’s mother lay as irretrievable as Oropher’s, on hard, cold lifeless bedrock, crushed under the weight of nearly a kilometer of black water at the lake’s deepest part, her mortal wounds unseen and untended. Never did he see her in any vision or dream, and to his heart it was the harshest judgment of his rule that she made herself lost to him forever. If she would haunt him like his father, he would fall to his knees in gratitude, but the lake remained dark, deep and silent.

So he endured. And his kingdom endured. It was all he could do.

---

Bard had, he thought, found an ally and friend in the king in the course of the Battle of the Five Armies. He was thrust into a position of responsibility he had never desired or imagined in its outcome, and had naively expected guidance from his far more experienced and seasoned elven counterpart.

Each day when he awoke, the faces of Bard’s children looked at him expectantly for instructions for the day, but he did not want to instruct anyone. He didn’t want to give orders, listen to annoying officials, or make another decision with consequences he could only vainly hope to foresee. He did his best to serve his people well regardless of his insecurity and self-doubt, but the way his children looked at him, as if they believed he knew what he was doing, kept him awake at night more than anything else.

He remembered their mother looking at him the same way each day he came home to her with some new remedy for her illness, gathered with little optimism from a different witchy old woman in the market. She expected every remedy to be the last, but for a different reason than he. She was cheerful and grateful to the end, and sang soft, sweet lullabies to the youngest even on her last night. At every dawn she would comment about feeling a little better in the fresh light and she would list off chores she planned to accomplish that day with her newly returned vigor, but he knew they would remain undone. He knew she was dying and felt the sting of failure and hopelessness, unable to hide his despair even to spare her or his children from his dark mood, contrary to the jovial spirit he was usually known for. As she finally, after months of wasting, drew her last breath, a grimace of surprise at death’s arrival froze upon her face. He was haunted by her unwarranted faith in him and the dawning realization of its betrayal as her final expression was seared into his memory.

His letters to Thranduil for advice piled upon his cluttered and dusty desk, unsent. He had sent only one, the invitation to his ceremony which was replied to quickly by staff with nothing more than a yes, the King would attend. There had been no other communication or visit between them since the King’s departure at battle end. Aid had come from the elves in generous measure, but it still took two years to rebuild to a semblance of normalcy.

The thusly long-delayed autumn ceremony was held on the great dock over the blackest side of the lake, where the waters quickly plunged to unmeasured depths, the cedar posts decorated with purple asters, yellow ribbons, and shiny copper pennies hung from strings gently bowing between them. The elf-king had stood erectly, two heads taller than all the residents of the town, on the shore by the dock, arms held down in front of him, right hand over left. He was dressed in beautifully woven shimmery green and red robes, yet peculiarly in his battle crown rather than the expected autumn Rosehip and Aster. He stared into the distance with a hard-set jaw and hardly paid attention to the proceedings. He had congratulated Bard with a warm handshake at the event’s conclusion, but his smile had been weak and he and his party were nowhere to be found when the later noise of festive fiddle, drink, and dance by firelight carried to all shores of the lake in the unseasonably warm and starry night.

At first opportunity to make excuse, Bard sought out the companionship of the last chirping crickets of fall while morose thoughts of the king grabbed his mind and wouldn’t let go. He analyzed and counter-analyzed every memory he had of Thranduil. Where had he misjudged? Was he reading too much into nothing, his own insecurities tainting his vision? Surely he was. He imagined Thranduil stepping out of the darkness in front of him, shining eyes and mirthful expression with a quick, clever joke about Bard’s foolishness. But then he felt ice-cold as he recalled the king’s distant expression at the ceremony. The image of the regal elf’s face gazing over the water and his wife’s dead stare were all too similar , and they confirmed his self-reckoning as a great imposter, unfit to rule.

His lifespan and its mark in the depths of time, no matter what he did or did not accomplish as leader or father or husband, could amount to nothing but a drop in the oceans of memory of the eons-aged Thranduil. Bard and his imposterous legacy would be gone before an elf-king could hardly even notice. It would be a waste of time for Thranduil to bother at all with Bard. Indeed, how silly he had been to send that invitation.

He felt his cheeks redden with shame now at wanting more from him. He was selfish in his desire for friendship and guidance from the ever-graceful king. In truth, he was deeply lonely without his wife and greatly felt the burden of now finding himself in a position where everyone looked to him. Who could he himself look to? In his fanciful daydreams, he had looked to Thranduil and felt himself secure in his embrace. It gave him comfort and hope, but if such fantasies had any reality, had he not considered what it would be like for his Comforter? He knew but rumors of the great losses in the long life of Thranduil Oropherion, but he had seen enough in his eyes to know there was some truth in those rumors. How could there not be for anyone so long-lived? How could any ellon or elleth’s life be anything but a long string of grief after grief, especially if they entangled their hearts in kinship with short-lived humanity? Bard well knew the tortures of memory from just decades of existence, but the thought of the weight of eons of memory nearly broke him then and there, and he buried his face in his hands and sobbed.

---

It was almost unbearable to stand on the shore over her resting place. Indeed, when he received the invitation, he had no hesitation in accepting it, but he resolved to wear his battle crown to give him strength to bear it. Today he battled memory. A cool breeze wafted off the lake, competing with an unseasonably warm afternoon haze. In his peripheral vision, a small cabbage white butterfly flopped around between purple asters that were hung along the dock while Bard officially rose to the station he deserved.

Without turning his head, he turned his eyes to the butterfly only for it to vanish. Unbidden, a memory of his beloved, smiling broadly and laughing as a white butterfly landed on the aster crown upon her head took over his consciousness. He could sense every aspect of that moment – the fluttering of dusty white wings, the sparkling low-angled sunlight illuminating her smile and making her hair shine like starlight, the lilting musicality of her laughter over the sound of leaves being gently rustled by the breeze. It was a hallucination as vivid as reality, but as soon as he tried to grasp it for even more detail, it, like the butterfly, vanished suddenly, replaced by cold black waters. He steeled his jaw and told himself to “Endure, Thranduil, as you must.”

He willed his mind to turn to Bard. He was most pleased to see him rising in position. He was a man of good quality, and this bode well for the future in this part of the world, if little else did. He greatly enjoyed Bard’s down-to-earth forthrightness and light-hearted humor. He was saddened to think of him growing old before his eyes, but in the short time he had interacted with Bard, the man had a way of keeping him in the present, living in the moment. Staying in the present was something Thranduil needed. No matter how much time he had to live, spending it all in memory was spending it all unwholly alive. Memory was a half-death. Despite his age, he wanted to live.

Bard’s chestnut eyes and stride were full of youth even though his dark hair was frosted at its edges with a touch of gray, and the quick recalling of his smile and laugh made Thranduil wistful. His reverie was stalled when he saw it was time to offer his congratulations and he did so sincerely, but his heart continued to tug him back and forth between now and Then , so he set off on his own down the shoreline, lost in his thoughts.

The butterfly came back to his mind. Butterflies were a symbol of hope, and his wife’s name had meant hope. Was she speaking to him at long last? He barely dared to entertain the idea. He reasoned that convincing himself so was merely his own will fabricating a construct to justify what he wanted but did not deserve. The Silvan elves, he knew, deeply revered and trusted their King, but he knew better his own unworthiness, reminded constantly by the haunting and the lack of haunting of Oropher and Hope. He had let them down, and he had merely wrought survival and endurance, but not thriving, for the people who counted on him. He tried to make long life merry for his people, making great efforts in the seasonal festivals for their enjoyment, but it was all thinly veiling the darkness barely kept at bay.

His people deserved more, but without Hope, he could barely imagine there being better days in their future. Thranduil was amazed at the general optimism of men, who died barely beyond birth. Perhaps their brevity allowed it, being unburdened with the full knowledge of the endless onslaught of evil . Indeed, Bard epitomized the hope in men. He was born to no station, beaten down by poverty, corruption and plague, yet shot straight the arrow to a seemingly impossible victory, the full impact of which would unfold fully over decades to come. Thranduil desired to ride that arrow, to soar and strike the heart of darkness.

The sky had long since changed from light blue to brilliant copper and deep purple, now to a sea of ink teeming with brilliant pinpoints of varying size and hue arrayed in artful asterisms. He beheld the butterfly constellation, with a large white star at its head, slowly rising in the East. Yes, it did so every fall, but tonight he decided to heed its rising as a call to action. He turned back along the rocky shore he had traveled down for miles, a decision made, a soft smile on his lips.

---

“My friend, tonight is a night for celebration, not tears. Let us enjoy the present. Set aside your grief of the past and your worries of the future. I will help you.”

The sonorous voice rose from the darkness right in front of Bard and he raised his head to find Thranduil’s hand outstretched before him. Bard gingerly put his hand in his, and felt himself instantly being lifted both in spirit and body into the arms of the Elven King. He took a deep breath, inhaling the wintergreen scent of the King’s cloak. His weight was born by Thranduil for a moment as he gained his footing, and in that moment the Kng carried him, he felt relieved and refreshed, as if he had slept well after many long sleepless nights. His tears formerly of despair transformed their chemistry to those of unexpected joy.

“I have longed for you,” he dared to whisper into his friend’s ear, with a tinge of fear in his voice. Thranduil’s action was small, a gentle word and an outreached hand, but it had changed everything. His fear was in making too much of the action, but surely it was a gift of elven magic that had so instantly transformed his mood. A soft chuckle rose in the King’s throat, and Bard’s fear was quelled.

“You are forthright and brave to bare your heart to me. So I will bare mine to you to tell you that I seek you as a salve for the loneliness of kings. In so doing, perhaps I can spare you some of that loneliness as well. So, come with me, and let us enjoy the present together.”

The pair walked away from the shore together, into a finger of the forest that concealed them from view of any passersby, and soon joined together in a bed of moss on the forest floor. When lightness split the eastern horizon, they emerged as the pair that went in, together.

---

Over the years, many people remarked about the strength of the bond between the King of the Woodland Realm and Bard of Lake Town, and happily recounted how the deepened alliance had improved the futures of both realms for centuries. The story of their bond became an oft-related tale crafted to say that true companionship had the power to change the fates of many.

Thranduil had just heard report of one of the latest versions of this tale as part of a recounting of the news gathered on the latest rounds. As he changed into evening robes, the Butterfly 's bright head and fluttering body rising in the eastern night sky filled his view. Bard had been gone for generations now, but he counted the wisdom of the tales as true, for many fates had changed, including his. He cherished the memory of Bard, his companion against the loneliness of kings.

#thranduil #elvenking #thranduil fanfic #bard the bowman #barduil

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two-white-butterflies · 2 months ago

Text

maybe this time

Description: Two old friends meet again, wearing older faces. Well, I guess you know how this works.

In which, you have a flawed relationship, a flawed breakup and a flawed reunion with the one that you love the most.

Pairing: lawyer!thranduil/fem!reader (ethnicity not specified)

Warnings: angst, age gap.

AUGUST 2012

It won't end just because I say no.

Three days ago, the worst thing happened. You found an engagement ring in your boyfriend's coat pocket. Gods, yes you envisioned a successful future with him inside of it - but getting married is too soon! "I think we need to talk," you keep your voice low.

You couldn't even look him in the eye, rather you were focused on the herringbone floors of your NYC apartment. His eyes light up at the sight of you. His girlfriend of five-years. His girlfriend who survived the hell of a law-school with him, and stood beside him while he built his law firm from ground up. His girlfriend. His future fiancee.

"What is it about?" He raises an eyebrow, patting the empty spot on the sofa - motioning for you to sit beside him. You reluctantly comply, burying yourself deep into his chest and inhaling his scent of - well, there is nothing that can describe his scent.

"I found something in your coat yesterday," his grip tightens around your waist. "- I don't think I'm ready to get married." you quickly add, not leaving enough time for him to respond.

There were still a million things you wanted to do on your own. "Oh," usually a very composed lawyer, but now unable to form a comprehensible sentence. "I-I," he stumbled in his speech, unaware that his grip loosened around your body and you now moved away.

"I'm sorry for not taking your feelings into account." He apologized. His eyes were watery, he had unbelievable restraint when it came to fighting in court battles but the thought of losing you makes him cry. "Is there any reason for that? If you are comfortable with sharing?" He asks taking unnoticeable deep breaths.

You stare at the floor again, playing with the rings on your finger. "I'm sorry. I don't think that I'm in a place where marriage is a choice yet." You breathed. "- I'm gonna finish med-school this year. I want to be a neurosurgeon. I don't think that I'll be able to balance that while being married and trying to build a family of our own." You explained.

Both of you unwilling to address the elephant in the room.

25 and 34.

It wasn't an age chasm per se, but you were in different points of your lives. Thranduil was already successful - known in his field as the thorn in every defendant's side, and you - well, no one even knew you in the university that you were studying in.

"I don't even know if I want to have children," your voice turns into a whisper at the last sentence. His features merge into something indescribable - sadness and frustration merged into one.

He's a good man. He's never forced you to do something that you didn't want to do with your entire heart, and it is because of that reason - you're mad at him. Because you know that he'll still stand beside you, make the sacrifice of never getting married or never having children if it meant being with you.

You are not God, for anyone to make that sacrifice for.

"That's alright. Children are annoying." He answers, and you chuckle. "You are so good at lying," you mused. "- but I know that kids are the only thing you want in this life." You read him like an open book.

He reaches for your hands, entwining it with his. "Hey, we're going to get through this. I'm glad that you were comfortable enough to talk to me about this. I completely understand and I am not disappointed." He informs, he cages you in an embrace, and you lean deeper into his touch until both of you were slumped on the couch.

"I know that you feel pressured because all your friends are getting married. I don't wanna be that bitch who sounds so selfish-"

"You are not selfish for being yourself. You don't owe me anything." He corrects, pressing a kiss to your forehead. A sigh escapes your mouth. "Remember in our first date, I asked you what your favorite color was." He reminded and you felt blessed to have a lawyer as a boyfriend, for he seldom forgets.

"Mine was magenta, and you didn't even tell me what your favorite color was that day. All you did was tease me about magenta." You chuckled, although that feeling still lingered on your chest.

"Well, I'd live in a magenta house if it meant living with you." Thranduil smiles, and you remember smiling in return. Phew, that worked out better than I imagined.

It's all going to be better in the end. You'll finish med-school, and deal with neurosurgery. Then hopefully, you do get married to him.

Six months later you were chosen to work in a hospital in Singapore. A country known for being a pioneer in Asian healthcare. It was a pleasure to be here, you made a lot of friends - and were able to learn how to do things on your own, without the help of Thranduil.

Thranduil Oropher Went out to grab some groceries. I got grapes but I remembered that you aren't here ):

You might be time to get over your grape-hate 🙏🏻

Thranduil Oropher Never. I gave them to Elrond.

You aww i bet the twins loved it Seen 4:52pm

A sigh escapes your mouth seeing that he was yet to reply to your message. It was 5am in the morning back in NYC.

He's probably asleep or getting ready for work.

The only difficult thing in working in Singapore was the IDL. When he's awake, you're asleep and vice versa. "Made you some coffee," Anchilee offers, placing the cup of joe on your desk. A sigh escapes your mouth. "Thank you," you mumbled taking a sip.

"Having relationship problems?" She asks, and you nod. "It's really tough since he's halfway across the world," you breathed. "It's pretty usual for couples to hit a rocky road especially because of distance. A lot of them break up, but I think your relationship is strong enough to stand against the test of time." She speaks.

Oh yeah, about that. You have doubts.

Your phone rings. Thranduil Oropher is calling... you slide to answer. "Hello?" You ask. "Hi, sorry I'm in the middle of driving." You hear his voice on the other line. "Drive safe, you shouldn't be calling me," you gently scolded him but he responds with a silence - probably focusing on the road. "How are you?" He asks.

Even after all these years, his voice still brings warmth to your soul. "I'm okay, I'm in the middle of my lunch break and I have to shadow an operation later. How about you? You're a little early for work." You make an observation, and he hums. "Early bird gets the worms. But seriously speaking I want to focus on this high-profile case, anyways, you are free next week right?" He strangely asks.

"Yep, I might spend the entire week playing DOTA, which I do not have an addiction to, an intern just recommended the game to me." You put out a quick disclaimer before he could scold you about the dangers of addiction to online games. "Well, put your computer away because I booked tickets to go there. Let's have fun, maybe look around the city since you tell me you've never done." He says.

You wanted to feel happy, but the smile doesn't reach your eyes. I love him, but I'm starting to love being alone by myself. The life that you built here in Singapore. It is lonely, and you like it.

"That's amazing, do you want me to pick you up at the airport?" You inquired, concern still dripping from your tone. "No, I'll take the train and I'll stop by to buy some iced coffee and fries." He narrates his game plan. You don't doubt his ability to navigate a foreign country.

"Ohh, please grab the ones from McDonalds. It'll be better if you buy the McDonalds from there, the fries here don't hit the same." You requested, and he chuckles. "Okay, I will smuggle American fries to Singapore." He promised.

"Thank you, I love you."

"I love you too, goodbye."

"Bye."

(DECEMBER 2018)

Thranduil never came to Singapore. You had a fight a day before his flight. You won't go into the details, but it was horrible - for the lack of better words. There were two types of fights: one that can be fixed by a few hugs and kisses, and some that are much better unresolved.

Six years later, and you want to believe that you've forgotten about him. My December is sad, because I miss you. You hear the music sing from outside of your door, damn, your neighbor always has that speaker on. A sigh escapes your mouth and you opt to put headphones on, "I swear to god," you mumbled while opening your gmail account to check for any important emails.

[email protected] sent an email! Just Now

"What the fuck!" You close your laptop shut.

You open the laptop slightly, as if the email was going to leap out of its feet and jump at you. "Holy fuck, why would he email me?" Your throat suddenly felt dry. You click on the dash and the email appears.

[email protected]

Good evening.

I have a confession to make, the first time I saw you, I liked you.

I've spent a lot of time with people, both men and women, and I've taken them to fancier restaurants than the restaurant you took me on our first date, the only difference was - I liked you, I hated them.

Out of all the people I saw you were the only person to have ordered a pain au chocolat during breakfast. The only person who'd order an iced coffee the first thing in the morning. I told myself, I like this girl. She's going to be my wife.

You have something special inside of you. You have that spirit. You are by far the bravest girl I've ever met. Days, weeks, and months passed. I don't know if it's because you opened your heart to me, but we became lovers. I don't know if it's because I'm good at praying, or if it's just because I'm the lord's chosen. I never thought that love could be this exciting. I love every moment. I love every bit of you.

Your love. Your kindness. Your gentle disposition.

We bared our souls to each other. Because of you, I started believing in myself. I survived through law-school and the struggle of ensuring that my law firm wouldn't fail. Because of you, I found the beauty in law, I started to fight for what I believed in. I began to be a better person. I started to be brave.

Five years together, and I thought we were good. More than five years going on forever, or so I thought. What happened? Why did we break up? I'm writing this email a few weeks after our breakup. Elrond has been scolding me as I've only been staring at my flight tickets for the entire week. I've been calling your phone.

But today, I decided to stop bothering you.

I have decided to let you be, and give you the space that you need. That's why I'm sending this email, six years from today. You'll be thirty-one years old by then. I hope that you are happy. I hope that you were able to do everything that you wanted to do, everything that I stopped you from doing because I wanted you to marry me, because I wanted to chain you to me, unable to comprehend that I was doing the opposite of what you did to me.

I hope that after six years, you're able to decide if you want to be with me forever. I'll wait, knowing that one day, I'll be back. I will do everything it takes to bring you back. I will never lose hope that we will have our second chance.

Yours, Thranduil.

"Shit." The first words that escaped your mouth once you realized that you had been crying. You silently wiped the tears from your eyes. If only you knew that he felt this way back then.

Tauriel hands you a glass of champagne. "Thank you for attending my party. I've been begging you for years now." She places a hand on your back, guiding you to navigate the sea of people in the living room. "I'm really busy in the hospital, and this is my only real weekend after months of waiting." You chuckled, taking a sip of the fizzing champagne.

Honestly, you needed this party after the whirlwind of emotions that you felt last night. "It must suck to be a surgeon, but then again with that paycheck, I'd lick a Walmart bathroom." She whispers the last part in a hush, and a slight giggle escapes your mouth.

"What are we celebrating anyways?" You ask.

"My dad is retiring." She informs, and a chill runs down your spine. Right, her dad works for Thranduil. I hope that he's not here.

"Congratulations, finally the beginning of a well deserved vacation." You forced yourself to speak, finally catching a glimpse of a familiar figure in the crowd. Thranduil, the man that loved you.

He sees you too, and your eyes momentarily meet.

31 and 40.

Tauriel sees your lingering stare. "Oh, that's my dad's boss. Justice Thranduil Oropher, he's single. I think he used to have a girlfriend, but he was too heartbroken and he never dated anyone again." She whispers again, moving you into a more secluded space.

Tauriel is your best friend (in the whole world).

"He's my ex," you blurt out and she almost chokes on her piña colada. "What the fuck!" She yells, her face suddenly red at the sudden reveal of the truth. "Why did you break up with him?" She interrogated.

Obviously, no one in their right mind would ever break up with him. He was everything that a woman desired, tall, handsome, intelligent and rich - and things wouldn't have ended the way it did, if the circumstances had been different. "I get it that you're this beautiful hotshot surgeon, but he's seriously the only man who fits your standards. Correction, the only living man." Tauriel glares at you.

She was going to give you another monologue about how you 'fumbled the bag', but alas you will not give her that chance. "It's a long story. We just had really wrong timing," you shook your head.

It could have ended differently.

You should have said yes to his proposal, regardless of the feelings of sadness you felt at first. "Maybe this time?" Tauriel raised an eyebrow, teasing you. "Maybe not," You giggled.

"Hello," a voice from behind you greets.

This better be -

You are greeted with an unfamiliar face. "I'm Aragorn. Nice to meet you." He greets and you introduce yourself while shaking his hand. He was quite an eccentric looking figure, he had a clean shaven face, and he had a tattoo on his pointer finger.

"Oh you're that guy in the band." You smile, remembering the nights you spent singing his songs. "Yeah, the Fellowship." He confirms.

"- I'm sorry for ambushing you, but I felt alone in a sea filled of distinguished professionals dressed to the nines, and I don't mean to offend but.."

"I'm alone." You cut him off with a chuckle. "- it's alright, I basically have no social life as my work takes up the majority of time." You explained. To other people, being on the call 24/7 was hell, but to you it was the good type of hell - if saving people can be called that. "You are the surgeon friend of Tauriel." He remembers.

"Are you friends with her too?" You inquired and he shakes his head. "A friend of a friend," he corrects.

Before you could reply to him, he glances at the man behind you.

You turn around, and see Thranduil.

"If you will excuse me," Aragorn pats your shoulder.

The sight of him still brings such warm feelings to your heart, filling your body with joy. There was silence between you. A silence that seemed to speak louder than words.

"You still look the same," he breaks the silence. "You look different," you answered. He had a different hairstyle. He wore a black suit instead of the dark blue that he always wears. He smelled like powdery flowers instead of after-shave. He is different.

"I hope that that's a compliment," he cracks a smile.

Wow, you're beginning to sound like two old friends, but he doesn't want to be friends. He doesn't even want to talk to you unless it all goes back to normal. "How you've been?" You asked, mirroring his smile, attempting to navigate a conversation with him. "I've been worst, how about you?" He answers vaguely, no longer able to speak random flowing sentences about small occurrences in his daily life.

His response was a generic response now.

Something that flows languidly out of his tongue.

How are you? I'm okay. Are you alright? Yeah.

"I think I am worst," your nose scrunches up.

He stares at you, the same indescribable look that he wore when you first fought. How about now? His eyes said. Let's try again. His silence said far louder than words. "Do you think that things could have ended more differently?" You inquired, and he is bitterly reminded of your bluntness (a feature he still adores.)

"You got the email," he smiles bitterly.

"I managed to read through it, and I don't really know what to do." You shrugged, the distance between you becoming closer and closer. "You can delete the email." He jokes, "- I felt really guilty when we called things off. I felt like I was losing the love of my life, and I was. I did. But I was also really thankful that it ended, because being alone taught me a lot of things. I'm not the same person anymore." Your teeth burrows into the insides of your cheeks.

"It was the wrong time. We've never good timing," he comments, and you are thrown back into that video you made during New Year's Eve 2010, where you were both a minute too soon in celebrating the New Year. "I'm miserable." You admit.

Five friends. A million dollars in your bank account. A real estate portfolio, and you were miserable.

His features softened.

And you knew that he was miserable too.

"When you're a judge, you learn how to look at life in a different perspective. They say that criminals are vital to society because without them there wouldn't be cops, or lawyers or Justices like me. When you left, I figured that heartbreak is vital because it means that there is more room for love. But despite that, my heart still didn't have room for anyone - no other love other than yours, no other sadness." He takes a step forward, and you were thankful to have been in the secluded part of the gardens.

"- but if you love me just because you love me, that is not an enough reason. Love in its essence cannot feed a starving mouth. There needs to be respect, and kindness. Respect and kindness that was there between us, six years ago, but wasn't strong enough to fight against the test of time." He places his hands on your shoulders.

"Let's start again, as stronger people, and maybe this time it'll be the right timing." You proposed, your eyes having a conversation of its own. Love is always a beating risk, but that is part of the thrill.

A bird falls from its nest to learn how to fly.

"Let's try again, then." He agrees, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

And somehow, that forehead kiss was more intimate than any kiss to the lips.

A/N: will always stand on the fact that if Thranduil was in the modern era he'd be a lawyer or a businessman. I always end up choosing lawyer cuz of personal opinions.

If you love my Thranduil fics just follow me and turn the notifs on. I unfortunately don't have enough time to do tags :((

Inspired by Starting Over Again (2014) although, I am not a Toni Gonzaga defender.

#thranduil x reader #thranduil fanfic #thranduil imagines #thranduil wife #thranduil #modern thranduil #thranduil imagine #x reader #reader insert #reader insert request #the hobbit #the hobbit x reader #the hobbit smut

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madwomansapologist · 1 year ago

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Autumn Thunderstorm | Chapter 7 - And then you know, you just know

Navigation | Series Masterlist | AO3

seventh chapter synopsis: Tomorrow came and became yesterday. In Woodland, you found more than just a roof over your head: you discovered a different way of living. And Thranduil also discovered something, a secret hidden by his own heart. [4K]

warnings: female!reader. lotr kinda of violence. pre-Smaug. padme you will never be forgotten! if you watched pushing daisies i have something to tell you: 😉. another thing and i promise it is the last: anyone interest on hearing the playlist i made for this series?

glossary: Maenwë: Clever girl┆Losto vae: Sleep well┆Melön: Friend┆Vendë: Maiden┆Lossëistar: Ice Mage┆Aithor: Warrior┆Alassëa rá: Good morning┆

“You are as intimidating as a butterfly, maenwë.”

A dry laugh escaped your throat as you rolled your eyes. Most people would not do that to a king, but that was a limit already crossed. And the alcohol did not helped. It was all Thranduil’s fault, and he would admit it too. Woodland’s wine is stronger than what you thought, and the sindars party for way longer than you are used to.

You held yourself against the door of your chambers, your fingertips brushing the wood carved elk. It was your best attempt of standing still while also being serious. “You are testing my pati…”, a hiccup stopped you from finishing your sentence.

Thranduil laughed. He guffaw. After a moment of silence, so did you. Everything felt so bright and lighly. “Losto vae”, said Thranduil. It sounded so far away, even thought you knew he was right there in front of you.

How long has it been since you both left the dining room and were there, standing in the corridor of your chambers, talking the night away? Thirty minutes, maybe an hour. You lost track of time. All you knew is that your feet hurt, and your eyes were heavy.

You started to open the door, finally doing what you meant to do since you got up from your seat beside the Elvenking. “You too, dear.” Entering your room, you felt sleep joining forces with the strong wine to get you down. “You too.”

The door had already been closed for a few moments before Thranduil could move. He just stared at it, unable to do anything else. Thranduil gave a step back, his gravity trembling even though he was far away from being as wasted as you, and walked towards his chambers trying not to look back.

For the last week you spent at the inn, you could not keep your eyes closed out of rage. During your small journey, boredom made you sleep for the most part of it. Sleeping have once again become an unachievable task.

Not out of rage, or disinterest, nor sickness. But because of something else. Something better. Little by little it overcome your body. Strange, but not unsettling. For a moment it felt just like happiness, then it was something else entirely. You never wanted so bad for tomorrow to start. For something else to happen.

Longing. The problem is that you knew exactly what you were longing for. You knew exactly what your mind could not stop itself from thinking about. Who haunts your sleep, accompanied by the full moon. And the more it haunts you, the more you understand what it truly is. Or what it is not.

Gandalf has a gentleness that hides in the brutality of his words and actions. He cares, deeply. Aerin was present, forever concerned about you. Respectful until she was not. Luthien helped you with your shoulder, letters and secrets. Gildor surprised you with his lightness. Even Lorie, whom you know for a few days, already means something for you.

Thranduil is a friend, one that so quickly found a way into your soul, but he is not just that. What you feel for them is something completely different. To call him a friend is to diminish what he really is. To diminish what you feel for him. Thranduil is…

He is not a friend.

Thranduil is your favorite person in the whole world.

Those days you spend at his Halls, all those moments you shared with him, just made you more sure of that. At every meal, Thranduil saves a seat for you by his side. After every training session with Tuor, he has that concerned gaze that makes impossible for you to not share what happened. And Thranduil, a king, somehow has time to hear all your dirty jokes.

It felt like you had just closed your eyes when Lorie opened the curtains, complaining about how cold it was there. You blamed the wine for not being able to get out of bed, and Lorie for not being kind enough to let you stay in there for a few more hours.

Sat on your bed, you agreed when Lorie showed you a dress. You did not even glanced at it. She spoke a few more things, not that you payed attention. You would have agreed with anything if it meant you could close your eyes and pretend you were sleeping. Your body felt just like static, and your brain was far away from functioning.

Lorie helped you change from your nightgown, mostly because your body would not stand for itself. The dress was so comfortable. So soft. The fine silk made you feel like you were wearing a cloud. It was of a blue that remind you of clear waterfalls. Chains of pearls held it against you.

Glaring at yourself through the mirror, you were mesmerized. You never thought a dress could make you feel like the fairest girl alive, but there you are. You touched the fabric, and it seemed to glow with the contact. It was unlike anything you had ever seen.

Yesterday you wore a beautiful dress. Today you wore the sea itself.

“The Elvenking will love this one”, murmured Lorie, running her fingers through your hair. She decorated it with flowers, leaving the length loose. “Maybe even more than you do.”

You let go of the dress, turning your head to face her. “You think so?”

Suddenly, shame hits you without mercy. Lorie should not have realized that Thranduil’s opinion matter so much. Nor should you hope of her being right. “He will not even notice.”

Lorie returned her attention to your hair, weaving the pearly flowers into your strands. Her fingers felt so great against your skin, so delicately tooking care of you. “I thought this was your goal”, she hummed. “To become more.”

You looked at her by the mirror. “To become what?”

“To become our queen.”

You coughed. Hysterically. “What? No, I… I never said that I was trying to do… this. That. Whatever you thought I was doing. I am here to learn.”

And all she did was to smirk. “Alright”, Lorie raised her arms, surrendering. “I judged you poorly. I apologize, melön.”

“It is fine,” you whispered, without looking at Lorie again. Your whole being was aching. Burning. Thranduil and you. That is… impossible. A king, a immortal graceful being, and you. He would laugh at the thought.

"And still, I must admit that I am definitely right about the king”, Lorie touched your shoulders, squeezing them gently. “I never saw Thranduil look at anyone the way he looks at you. And I was born only a few years after him.”

Lorie is old in a way impossible to understand or explain. And when you have the chance of hear a being that saw lands form, seas dry, stone fortresses rise and fall, you do it. You do it, despise fear or embarrassment.

You held her hand, feeling Lorie’s warmth emanate into your skin. “What do you… mean by that?”

Lorie leaned down, her face fit against yours. She felt so warm. So caring. “One day, maybe sooner than i can predict, you will become more”, she whispered against your ear. “And when that happens, I will say ‘I told you so’.”

It felt like a promise. Maybe because it was.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

When Tuor threw you a sword, you credited luck for catching it before it sliced you in half. It certainly was not for a previous experience. Or any further warning.

“That is… new”, you hesitated. “Did you confuse me with someone else?”

There is something so young about Tuor. Perhaps because of his comforting smile, somehow always half present on his face, or for the way Tuor seems so in peace with his own silence. But looks can be deceiving. Tuor appears to be young, but he is eons older than you. Maybe his memory is just as flawed and untrustworthy as one of an elderly human.

Because there is no other sane, logic explanation for Tuor to throw you a fucking sword.

"I know exactly who you are, vendë", Tuor's sword was in its sheath, and you could see it was much larger than yours. You have gone through Gandalf's things a few times, and got used with him hitting you in the head with his staff for using his sword as a toy. You recognize a two-handed sword when you see one. "Now we need to understand who you will become."

You looked around you, hoping someone would enter the hall and give you a reason to avoid whatever this conversation was supposed to be. Only then you questioned yourself about why you both were in a different room than the usual. No furnitures, tapestries, not even paintings or sculptures of any kind. It was just you, four wooden walls, and Tuor.

A perfect room for people to bleed in.

"You will not try to murder me, will you? I know our past lessons did not ended up as we wished, but is this really necessary?”

Tuor lead you throught ancient knowledge in an attempt of getting you in tune with your powers. He showed you Woodland, told stories about gifted people, gave lessons about self control. And no matter how much Tuor tried, nothing ever evolved.

Tuor seemed to lose the thread of his thoughts. "Why would you ever say that, vendë?"

"You have a menacing sword."

"So do you."

With a sword in your hands, the only person in real danger was you. “It would be very unfair if you try to murder me now."

"I will not murder you. I will train you", Tuor could not stop the smirk from growing on his face. "Just in a different way.”

"And how will it help me?"

"I heard so much about you", Tuor walked slowly around you, resting his forearm on the scabbard of his sword. "About how you did not waste a second to act when it was needed. That requires a lot of courage. To face a river."

"Anyone would have done the same on my place. And if I did nothing I..."

"Would have felt bad", murmured Tuor. Was he quotating you? "It all lead me to a obvious conclusion: you work better under pressure."

You sighed. When Thranduil offered you to be trained, you thought he meant read ancient tomes and talk to people older than the sun itself. And for a time it was. But now you will be trained. Trained trained. What have you done with your life?

"You do not have control over your gift", Tuor glanced at you, and in his eyes you saw something beyond confidence. Something similar to competence. "So we should redirect it to something you do.”

The sword you held seemed heavier. “And what should I do with that?”

"Hit me."

You waited for Tuor to say something. Then you waited longer. And longer.

You tried to remember the way Gandalf wielded his sword. How he seemed to use it as an extension of his own body. You also thought about the gleam of Thranduil's longsword.

You looked at the one in your hands. It was so thin, the metal was forged into an almost cylindrical shape. The handle was not long, and it had the right thickness for you to be able to hold it firmly. Paying attention, you saw how beautiful it was.

Your first blow was quick, but Tuor only had to turn his face for you to miss it. He laughed, and so did you. After a long, deep breath you attacked again. This time Tuor took a step back, and you stumbled as if the world was pulling you down.

“Now that you are warmed up,” hissed Tuor. “You can go all out.”

You swallowed the excess saliva, trying to keep yourself from feeling irritated. You aimed harder this time. The sword came down, and if you had hit Tuor he would been split in two.

At every attempt of yours, Tuor just backed away. Unaffected. It did not matter how hard you tried, if you did something different, how you held the sword. It just never hit him.

And of course it would not. Tuor is a general. Way more experienced than you. A warrior. Respected because of his abilities. And you know that. It is obvious for you. But how could you not get mad when he kept on smirking everytime you fail? Even his eyes mocked you.

With your wrists burning, you decided to stop for a second. Tuor noticed it, and made sure to not keep his mouth closed. “Are you even trying, melön?”

“Right now I do not feel like your friend”, you sighed.

Your response got him off guard, making Tuor chuckle. He quickly returned to his serious face, reminding himself about his goal. Tuor need to get a reaction out of you. To make you feel something deeply, something other than that warm tranquility that is somehow always present in you.

“So what should I call you? Vendë? Or maenwë?”

Tuor waited for you to say something, then it clicked. He remembered a thing he heard. At the moment it did not meant anything, but now it could be useful. Thranduil was so upset about it — he mentioned it once and never again talked about it, which could only mean he thinks constantly about it. Tuor hopes it will get an reaction out of you too.

“I know exactly what to call you.” Tuor gave a step towards you, smirking like a poisonous snake. “From now on, I will only address you as Lossëistar.”

And he did get an reaction out of you. A dumb one. A stupid, idiotic one. You made a decision no one remotely intelligent would have done. You did not even actively thought about it, it was instinctive.

You slipped your foot on the ground and closed your hand over the base of the sword. For a second the thing on your hand was a spear. One that you threw right at Tuor.

It missed his cheek by an inch.

The sword chased into the ground and broke into a hundred little pieces. But what reached your feet was not forged metal or the base jewels. What broke, floating in that empty hall like a shallow fog, was ice.

Tuor kneeled down, took what once was a piece of your sword, and watched it melting on his palm.

“Melön. From now on, melön.” Tuor’s smiled was infectious. “And we need to get you a spear.”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

It has been so long since Thranduil had seen his advisors so dedicated. In a matter of days since the translator gave them all documents found, every change was planned. New lookout routes mapped, expenses for new guard posts stipulated, blacksmiths chosen to forge new weapons, evaluations scheduled for soldiers’ skill.

“Which generals will lead the evaluations?” Thranduil inquired, glaring at the dagger in his hands.

It was perhaps the ugliest he had ever seen in his long life. A blackneded dagger, with its tip bent, the edge lost and wrong angles. Even if Thranduil had not know the stench of blood, there would be no need to cling to that sense. The dried blood was begging to be seen, daring anyone to ignore it.

The bag that revealed the betrayal of free people had it hidden in one of its secret pockets. To imagine how many people died at the hands of that disgusting being, and to never be able to discover if any of them were from his realm.

It interested Thranduil almost as much as the loom shaped pendant with snow inside the crystal. Thranduil cannot help but feel offended by it, the same way he felt lured by the jewel.

So much had been done in Greenwood, and yet not enough. They can change everything, make only the best choices, and it will still not matter if they do not know who the spy is. There is no way of stopping the Enemy without that answer.

Thranduil knows that it is not a advisor responsibility to find a culprit. He do not blame any of them for not having a name for him to blame. Thranduil has his suspictions. A traveling wizard with long white beard and a pointy blue hat tops his list.

“I will begin with the evaluation of the king’s guard”, said Tuor. “The officers are-”

“There is already a training under your responsibility, aithor”, Thranduil stopped him. “With your focus divided between so many tasks, the chance of one of them being done mediocrely is higher.”

“I disagree, your grace. I am the leader of the king’s guard, I know their limits and abilities. Furthermore, it is not as if your guest’s training is not progressing.”

After a few seconds of silent planning, he nodded. “Then I shall trust your discernment,” Thranduil begun with the subject he was supposed to. After acting as a king, he said what he wanted to. “Her training is progressing.”

It makes no difference Tuor calling him your grace if when given the chance his devilishly smirk will appear for anyone to see. “If there is something I can guarantee, your grace, is that she knows how to use a sword”, rejoiced Tuor. “Or a spear, to be more specific.”

A brief moment of silence came, but it was louder than any scream.

“Out”, said the king.

Tuor was the only one that remained sit.

As the door was carefully closed, Thranduil stood up. Leaning on the table, he bent over look into Tuor’s eyes. “What have you done to her?”

“I trained her. And it worked. Better than I expected.”

“With a spear?” Thranduil growled.

“A sword”, corrected Tuor. He could feel Thranduil getting angrier, but he did not saw what Tuor did. “Next time it will be with a spear.”

“I thought I ordered you to guide her with her gift”, hissed Thranduil. “Not to make her fight. Not to maim her.”

“I did not…”

“I have no interest in hearing your empty excuses”, Thranduil interrupted. “If she is hurt, if by Varda her shoulder suffered because of your stupid delusions, you will not evaluate the guards. You will be one of them.”

Thranduil stormed out of the room, and Tuor felt as if his breath had followed his king. He shook his head, the echo of the doors slamming against the wall still in his mind, and stood up. “So over the top”, he whispered.

The Elvenking marched towards your chambers. Thranduil knew it would inconvenient to enter a maiden’s room unannounced, but he could not just wait. To think he trusted Tuor. That he believed in his ability. And that is what he get in return.

Thranduil remained determined in his path, until he heard a distant laugh. An all too familiar laugh.

He followed the sound, and was startled to realize it was coming from one of the kitchens. A servant came out, bowed as she passed the king and forgot the door open behind her. Thranduil did not even noticed that. He just continued walking, this time without rush, until he was right in front of the open door.

“And just when I turned around, prepared to walk away and never look at his face again”, your voice lured him. He could not see you, surrounded by elves that were supposed to be working, but to hear you was enough. To know you were there, laughing while sharing a story he did not heard the beginning, was enough to make the Elvenking just stop in time. “The horse decided to run away from me.”

The laughter returned, but his heart remained the same. It was not yours, so it did not affected him.

One of the cooks saw him, and she bowed with an awkward, startled movement. This caught the attention of others around her. With a gesture from their king’s hand, they left the room pulling their distracted colleagues with them.

You already had a smile on your face, but it just got bigger when you saw Thranduil. “Alassëa rá!”

Thranduil steped closer to you, admiring the way you radiated calm. You were fine. Not hurt, and using the dress he personally commissioned Lorie to sew when he saw the sketches. You looked divine.

“What you do here, maenwë?” A small, almost imperceptible smile appeared on his face.

“I craved something sweet”, you gestured towards the half-made pie in front of you. You were stretching the dough to cover the filling when you got distracted by conversations.

His smile disappeared. “You should have warned me then. It is Lorie’s responsibility to guarantee you will not lack anything here”, Thranduil scolded. “As my guest, you will never have to work. I will find the best pie-maker and make him do everything you crave.”

“Sometimes it is just not that deep”, you answered. The basket of raspberries was turned over by flour-stained hands, and you turned to him with the prettiest one you could find. “Try it,” you offered him the fruit.

Thranduil stared at the fruit in your hands. “It is a offense that you think you need to deal with hardwork under my home, maenwë.”

You rolled your eyes, grabbed his hand and pulled the Elvenking closer. Chocked, Thranduil did not pull away when you opened his hand and placed the raspberry on his cold palm.

“Again: not that deep”, you smiled as you stared into his ocean blue eyes. “It is just a pie.”

Thranduil did carried you all the way since the meadow until Luthien’s cabin. He did helped you get up from the bed after your long unconscious time. His fingers brushed against yours when you gifted him a precious book.

And still, this was the first time you held him. And by doing that, Thranduil never before felt so complete.

Thranduil could not hear anymore. He could not breath anymore. He did not saw the flour stuck to the bench, or noticed the heat, nor smelled the scent of sweet raspberries. The world could have burned and he would not see the ashes.

His world was reduced to only you. Like a mantra is his head, your name echoed throught the halls and hidden passages of his mind. Time moved, but you remained still. His world was expanded to only you.

Spring flourished in your hair, summer sparkle on your body. Smelling like pomegranates and lilies, you enchanted the earth. Water surrendered too, with rivers running down your curves. And meanwhile the sun shone above, Thranduil finally saw you for what you are.

Like the moon, you empermeated into his darkest nights. And just like the moon, you shone on him.

The sun is warm, but the tight embrace of the darkest nights and its brighiest stars are unstoppable. The sun burns, but the moon heals. Nothing would ever compare to the sweet returning home, or a dream filled with hope, nor the yearn for a sleep that never come. The sun shine on some, but the moon watches them all.

“Will you eat with me?” You asked, fingers still holding his hand. You were looking at the pie, trying to calculate how long it would take, but Thranduil continued glaring at your eyes. Thranduil dived into them, and he would gladly drown. “I think it will take about a hour.”

As discreetly as the lady who arrived late for dinner revealed herself to be able to stop a river, Thranduil discovered that this ache on his heart was what people call love.

You are his moon. Thranduil’s moon and stars. His treasures and riches. His sweet, toothaching sweet, friend. How stupid was him to not see it before. How deaf, dumb and blind.

“I can wait.”

[Eigth Chapter]

AUTUMN THUNDERSTORM: @ferns-fics @notanalienindisguiseblink @rayrlupin @elvyshiarieko @graniairish @whore-of-many-hot-men @h0ly-fire

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