#aragorn: blinks /

[coveredinsun]

IF I THINK ABOUT GIMLEAF ANY MORE I WILL GENUINELY GO INSANE. GET OUT OF MY HEAD

[balrogballs]

some elrond raising aragorn headcanons on this fine sunday (now illustrated):

1. Elrond's irl children have a running joke that he loves Aragorn more than the three of them combined but everyone knows it's just a joke and the truth was that he loved all his children equally: but his love for Arwen, Elrohir and Elladan could be split across thousands of years like a slow burning candle. But he would only have Aragorn for a century or two — simply a blink in the eye of time, so his love for him was fiery and blazing — a sandstorm in an hourglass.

2. Toddler Aragorn was 100% spoilt, and it was entirely Elrond's fault. Most of the Dunedain fosters would normally come to Imladris as adolescents, as per general medieval fostering custom, and leave by adulthood. Aragorn, however, came in as a baby due to his circumstances, and Elrond — whose last baby was a baby 2800 years ago — went FERAL

3. Baby Aragorn was the bane of Glorfindel's life. He would make it a point to personally torment him. Four year old Aragorn once braided Glorfindel's hair to his chair so remarkably it took Erestor an hour to free him. When Elrond found out, he gave Aragorn extra dessert for being clever enough to do such good braids.

4. The best day of Elladan's life was the day Aragorn got his first haircut at the age of three, because Elrond cried for some inexplicably paternal reason and Elladan prayed Mandos would strike him down in that moment so he could die laughing hysterically.

5. Have I mentioned that baby Aragorn was very spoilt? However, nobody in the House of Elrond said anything of it, because that baby being a little spoilt was small payment for bringing joy to a family shrouded in grief for centuries.

6. Aragorn was 10 when Thorin and his company passed through Imladris, and he was OBSESSED with the dwarven lord. He would follow him around, beg him to play chess with him, ask if Thorin wanted to hold his pet lizard. Thorin would never admit it, but he too grew to adore the boy across those few days.

7. The entire household of Imladris spent decades placing bets as to when Elrond would accidentally call Aragorn 'Elros'. Elrond, for his sins, made sure that he never once mentioned Elros to him — so that Aragorn would grow up knowing he was loved for being him, not a facsimile of a long dead twin... until the day they parted, and Aragorn put a small heirloom from his family in Elrond's hand. A tiny gold ring traditionally given to elflings on their first begetting day — that had once belonged to his own ancestor, Tar-Minyatur.

8. Elrond used to scare Elladan and Elrohir with the idea of Ungoliant when they were younger, but when they tried the scare tactic on toddler Aragorn, he was very excited and wanted to hear more about the enormous spider. So they had to resort to drastic measures and tell him about an even more fearsome creature that ate little boys who didn't go to bed: Arwen Undomiel, the giant werewolf prowling the forests of Lothlorien.

9. Many songs were sung about the final parting of Arwen and Elrond, a tragedy that would last beyond the breaking of the world. Less sung about was a quieter parting, where the Lord of Imladris watched King Elessar walk towards the gates of Minas Tirith for the last time — Elrond's final baby. His very, very last.

[steddieas-shegoes]

like fire

for @steddie-week prompt 'touch starved'

rated m | 958 words | cw: mentioned child abuse, implied/referenced sexual content | tags: post-vecna, getting together, touch starved steve harrington

🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

the last time steve's dad touched him was with a palm to his face, a demoralizing slap to remind him how little he thought of him before disappearing indefinitely to do anything but accept that his son wasn't perfect.

the last time steve's mom touched him was in an attempt at an apology for choosing his dad over him, barely a brush against the red handprint on his cheek before she was following her husband out the door and out of steve's life.

the first time eddie munson touches him, he's certain he's about to die. broken glass against his neck is sure to be the last thing he feels.

but it's not.

as eddie realizes they aren't there to hurt him, his grip eases and lets go completely. as he drops his hand, his hand grazes against steve's.

steve checks his skin for the burn mark he's sure is there after the heat of the touch, but it's just skin. winter-pale skin with freckles and a scar from a fight he lost, but no redness or blisters.

it sticks with him.

when they're doing their best to save hawkins, the world, and eddie's life, it sticks with him.

he knows robin caught on early, but was gracious enough to keep her thoughts to herself as they focused on defeating vecna and keeping the kids alive.

they get eddie out, but barely. he's bleeding too much, and he's near delirious as they slide him into the backseat of steve's car.

"felt like fire," he says as his eyes close.

"what did?" steve whispers, hoping that the kids are grabbing bikes to meet him at the hospital.

"touching you."

steve watches as his breathing gets shorter, pained whimpers escaping from his lips. his eyes don't open again. steve wishes he could kiss him.

he doesn't get to see eddie again until hopper manages to clear his name nearly a week later.

he got updates via his uncle wayne, used the excuse that the kids were hounding him for answers when in reality, steve had barely heard from them because their parents refused to let them out of their sight. even dustin had barely been on the walkies, his mom making him go to work with her during the day so he wouldn't be alone.

but the moment he was allowed to go see him, he was walking through the door to his room with a stuffed bear from the hospital gift shop and a smile on his face.

wayne had already left for the night, and eddie had the television on something he wasn't watching, most likely for background noise. silence was hard after experiencing the world nearly ending.

eddie's eyes were closed, but steve could tell he wasn't actually asleep.

"hey, eds."

eddie's eyes blinked open, widening when he realized who it was entering his room.

"steve?"

when steve sat down in the chair next to his bed, he set the stuffed bear in eddie's lap and smiled.

"he needs a name."

eddie glanced down at the bear in his lap and back up at steve, confused and still.

"i think aragorn would be cute, but honestly i'm not sure if he's a bad guy or a good guy."

steve was getting nervous with the silence, certain that he was going to be told to leave, that he was being too much and that eddie would want space from him.

why would eddie wanna see him anyway? it's not like they were friends. sure, it felt like lightning going through his veins when they touched and eddie may have flirted with him the few times they actually spoke, but maybe that was just how it was for everyone. eddie was a firecracker.

a spark on his hand startled him from his thoughts.

eddie's fingertips were barely touching the back of his hand, but it was enough.

"like fire," eddie muttered, barely audible over the sharp intake of breath.

"you feel it too?" steve thought he was being dramatic, thought maybe that was just his reaction to a gentle touch.

eddie's hand covered steve's and for the first time in too long, steve felt warm.

he still shivered at the touch, surprised at how soft it was despite the rough hands with calloused fingertips.

"feels like i'm supposed to keep you warm."

steve melted.

the touches came easily, always gentle and kind, even when they were hands gripping thighs and teeth biting necks.

it didn't take long for eddie to understand how touch starved steve had been.

it was easy to tell.

steve wouldn't flinch away, but he tensed for a moment, even at the the slightest press of his lips against his shoulder or his hand against the small of his back. he was unsure how to accept the gentleness that eddie was giving him, but it got easier over time.

eddie would help him out of his clothes after a long day of volunteering, pushing him into the shower, washing his body and hair while steve closed his eyes and let him.

he'd massage his back and shoulders until steve felt like he was becoming part of the bed.

his lips brushed against his ear as he whispered for him to turn over and eddie would straddle his hips while he kissed him until steve was moaning and arching up into eddie's hands, silently begging for more.

and eddie always gave him more.

more touches, more kisses, more love.

he never went more than a day without eddie's hands on him. he forgot what it was like to want someone to touch him with love. eddie did it every time they were in the same room, and he'd keep doing it for the rest of their lives.

[queers-gambit]

Bait and Switch

prompt: ( requested ) Adar knows you by surname and reputation, but makes a fatal mistake: underestimating the mutual desire to reunite with your husband.

pairing: Elrond x female!wife!reader -> hair color specified reader that does not specify race

fandom masterlist: The Rings of Power

word count: 7.7k+

note: did i steal the Targaryen hair color? "obviously," - Severus Snape. but don't let HOTD's wigs fool you - this hair color is NOT indicative of race.

warnings: reader insert for the haters, spoilers, cursing, angst, hurt and comfort, fuck tone of ellipsis 'cause Adar talks slow. POW!Reader (prisoner of war), violence, blood, injury, depiction of medical phenomenon (cauterization), slight gore (Reader bites off an Orc finger). healthy family dynamics, embedded Aragorn quote, Middle-earth fire is hotter than reality so JUST. roll. with. it. okay? okay. also, this requires a lot of imagination 'cause author invents really random lore but have fun with it. not edited, author can't see straight so what the fuck is this?

incarnate: embody or represent (a diety or spirit) in human form

"We found an Elf still alive, Lord Father!"

Adar watched lazily as one of his children stood over a body covered by toxic volcanic ash; twitching as it regained consciousness. "Kill it," he answered simply. The Orc snarled in pleasure and bent to grab the Elf's head; gripping their hair aggressively, yanking their head up - possibly snapping the Elf's spine - and lifted his blade in the air. However, the clump of hair was familiar and suddenly, Adar was barking, "Wait!"

Not many Elves had this particular hair color. It was dyed from soot and ash, but he could recognize the bright, platinum white-blonde hair. While some Elves were extremely fair yellow-blonde, this was white - like the purest of snows. And Adar only knew this trait belonged to one single bloodline.

The Incarnated, a single brood blessed by the Valar to give them unnatural strength and skill in battle. They were impressive, formidable foes; and typically, never lost a fight, battle, or war. They were absolutely brutish, almost impossible to kill, yet humble, generous, and kind.

Their aim always found the bullseye. Broadswords able to sever bone. Morality skewed more positive than simple neutrality. Silver tongues sharpened to prick the ears that listen.

However, it should be noted that even the Incarnated cannot withstand against the eruption of a volcano.

The Orc snarled with confusion now, hissing through his bloody teeth but not lowering the Elf. Adar strolled over, glaring at their captive, but slowly lowering himself to a squat as the Orc presented his finding. Adar's eyes squinted, reaching out and musing the trademark locks out of the Elf's face; smirking as he caressed her cheek free of ash.

He growled your name, sight still hazy from the eruption of what will later be known as Mount Doom - yet could still recognize sounds. Slowly, you blinked and tried to focus, groaning as pain in your scalp burned and prickled; spine bowed from the horribly painful position.

"Adar?" You whispered in confusion.

"You remember me."

You scoffed, slurring slightly, "You left quite a lasting impression."

His hand dropped to push hair from your neck and shoulder, revealing a long blemish from his dagger years ago. "And here we meet yet again," Adar chuckled. "Release her," he told his child, who instantly dropped you with a grunt; ash puffing up on impact. "Come," Adar offered his hand as you tried to sit up with trembling limbs, "we've still farther to go."

"Fuck you," you seethed, spitting at him; ready for the pain to end after the displacement and turmoil of your people. You had been with the Númenoreans, along with Commander Galadriel, and this... "King" Halbrand; celebrating victory against Adar's first volley of Orcs when the explosion happened; spewing toxicity into the earth, through the air, and evidently, over the area to distinguish what will be known as Mordor.

"Hm," Adar considered your weak form, chuckling. "Get her up," he commanded, standing, and watching as chains were slapped to your wrists and ankles before being tossed into a bloody, maggot-infested, wood-rotting wagon.

Seemingly eons away, Elrond was being informed of your assumed demise. Your husband refused to believe it, but by the solemn look of the messenger, his greatest companion, Galadriel, he knew there was weighted truth to her words.

"Did you see her?" Elrond asked.

"See her fall? No - "

"Did you even look for her?"

"Of course we did, but it was too dangerous to linger longer than what we'd been there for."

Elrond's head shook, "No. No... I won't believe it - "

"I know it's difficult to accept, but... She's gone, Elrond."

"I would know if my wife is dead," Elrond snarled uncharacteristically. "Believe what you wish, but I know she still lives."

Galadriel knew better than to argue; she, herself, spent years of denial after Sauron murdered her brother, Finrod. So she gave Elrond space to process what he'd learned.

Yet while a circumstantially redeeming quality, Elrond was stubborn and confident in his morals and opinions. So, he refused to believe your life was lost; something in his gut twisted knowingly, assuring you were just misplaced and surely, soon to be home. Elrond knew you had a flair for the dramatic, so, he just prayed this was one of those times - where you wouldn't reappear until the very last second to make an entrance.

Yet Adar took every precaution to ensure you did not escape or could be rescued. He didn't parade you around, he kept you hidden away to prevent gossip from revealing your location. You were constantly left chained to posts by rusting irons, no comfort offered, no reprieve; nothing to pass your annoying suffering a little easier. You were fed just enough to be kept alive, you were allowed to wash yourself with a single cloth every few weeks - but typically with an Orcish audience watching, claiming they're "on duty". You lost use of your tongue after so many months had passed without a single indication aid had been deployed - hope shattered and futile.

You wondered if Elrond knew. You worried he thought you lost to the war. In vain, you prayed he didn't give up on you. However, you were logical and logic screamed at you that nobody would come - there was no point! You would've believed being told someone perished, too, if you heard of such circumstances.

Despite being an Incarnated, you were emotionally drained. Though, it's worth noting that under normal circumstances, you would've NEVER ended up in this position; but because of your vulnerable state and the opportunity was too good to pass up, Adar prided himself on "defeating you". He didn't know that you were beyond patient; waiting, observing, listening, leaning routines and schedules. Any opportunity you identified, you searched for anything that could help you escape; something sharp, small enough to pick the lock of your irons. You were Incarnated - your will to survive (even out of pure spite) rivaled that of any enemy.

Camp to camp, you were moved. Day by day, you lost a little more sanity. Nights grew cold, days short.

You were surprised when a pair of Orcs lumbered into "your" room, unlocking you from the post but keeping the chains on your wrists in place. They yanked you behind them, shoved you into Adar's tented shelter then forced you to your knees before the food-filled banquet table.

"And of course, there's her," Adar waved at you lazily, smirking when his newest prisoner of war sat forward with a gobsmacked expression.

She whispered your name, head snapping up to find your companion, Commander Galadriel, sat at the opposite head of the table to Adar. You smiled slightly and whispered her name softly, aware of your appearance and how straggly, despondent, and wary you must look.

"What is the meaning of this?" Galadriel demanded, the emotion in her thick voice making it crack.

"We found her," Adar smirked, "after you and your people abandoned her."

"We did not - "

"She's been... An honored guest of ours," Adar cut Galadriel off. "Her hair - it's a rare trait, I knew who she was when she was found. Figured she could truly help... Turn the tides in this war."

"You do not know what you've done," Galadriel breathed. "If her kin knew you held her, they would raze your camp into the dirt and return your children to darkness."

"You think... I do not understand the risks of holding an Incarnated? I have faced them before, known their wrath... But against Sauron, it was a necessary risk to take."

"Why?"

"You must see," Adar explained, "that it is not His lies which must be extinguished. It. Is. Him." He paused, revealing, "And I can help you do it." Adar leaned forward in his chair, "I can help you destroy Sauron, and should you value your friend's life, you will let me help you."

"What help could you possibly provide, Orc?" Galadriel spat, now leaned back casually in the chair Adar sat her in.

"Uruk," Adar corrected in Black Speech, standing from his seat to venture towards the side of the room. He stood before a plain wooden box, lifting the lid, and revealing in his hands:

"Morgoth's crown," Galadriel sat up. "I was told - "

"There are many stories of what happened after the Silmarils were pried from its setting," Adar validated. "But I was there when Sauron re-fired it to fit Himself. I was there when He kneeled to be crowned. And I was the one who used its power to slay Him."

Adar set the crown to the table, your stomach growling at the sight and smell of full platters.

"If what you say is true... Why did He return?" Galadriel asked.

"Because I had not yet found you, as I have her," he gestured at you.

"What part are we to play in this?"

"It is said the Three Elven Rings saved your people from fading. Is it true?" When Galadriel didn't answer, Adar nodded at one of his children standing over you; making the Orc bash you in the temple. "Is it true?" Adar repeated over your whimper of pain.

"Yes," Galadriel grit, glaring at the small dribble of fresh blood dripping down the side of your face. She decided red wasn't your color - no matter how much your husband liked seeing you in it.

"Then perhaps... Together, this crown and your Rings would be powerful enough to truly destroy Sauron forever. The Deceiver believes he is still beyond my grasp... But I know he hides in Eregion. And I suspect you know for certain... Halbrand is Sauron... Isn't he?"

You laughed a little, "Halbrand? Sauron? Come off it, you're mistaken. Go on, Commander, tell him - tell him." Galadriel was silent as she was overwhelmed by her memories. "Commander, tell him he's wrong! Halbrand isn't Sauron, tell him he's mistaken!"

Adar mistook the silence as her being defiant, nodding to his son again in permission. So, the Orc swiftly backhanded you with enough force, it literally toppled you backwards with a groan.

"I kept her alive... For you," Adar growled, bearing his teeth at the Elleth. "But I'll execute her at nightfall if you continue down this path of resistance. The fate of that city and your friend now rests on your ability to put aside your pride." Galadriel's teary eyes casted over you, sprawled out on the floor - not finding the use in sitting up to your knees again. "I suggest you find the will to do so... If you can, for everyone's sake." Adar removed the crown from the table and placed it back in its box, Galadriel hissing your name, only receiving a nonverbal thumbs up to indicate you were okay. When the Father of Uruks returned, he clipped matching irons to Galadriel's wrist before snatching up his sword, tossing over his shoulder, "We will speak again. I'll give you until nightfall to decide."

The Orcs filed out of the room after Adar, leaving you on the ground and chained to a spare post. Slowly, you tried to sit up and use the beam as support; grimacing in pain that made your friend question, "Are you hurt?"

"They're not the most merciful lot," you tried to joke with a smirk, but it turned into a wince, "but I've been through worse, I'll be fine. Listen to me, Galadriel," you sniffled, "you can't tell Adar anything. I don't care if he's gutting me, you don't tell him - "

"I would not have your life ended on my account, it would be as if swinging the sword myself!" Galadriel argued with heat.

"Adar is not your ally," you scoffed, "nor are the Orcs - look at what they've done! Continue to do! Do not be so foolish! So blinded, please, I beg you, my friend. If you tell him about Sauron, yes, your enemy might be vanquished, but you could be creating an entirely new and future enemy that all of Middle-earth must endure. My life is not worth that."

"It's worth more."

You smirked, "Don't forget who I am, friend; I am Incarnated, and I will not die easily nor without a fight. Adar will not succeed in my death so easily."

Galadriel shook her head, "If I do not indulge Adar with information I have and you lose your life because of that, Elrond would never forgive me."

You gave a watery smile, sniffling, "How is he?"

The Elf shook her head, "He's... He refuses to accept your fate, operates on a shorter fuse, he's mourning - even if he doesn't acknowledge or believe he is."

"It's not that I don't love you, my friend, but... I'll miss him the most," you let a single tear fall, a wistful smile toying on your lips. "You'll look out for him, won't you? Just... Just don't let him be alone, please. He'll try to push you away, but be patient; he'll need you and I'll rest easier knowing you'll be there."

"I won't do as you ask," Galadriel grit. "Look at you!"

"How can you be so confident that the moment you tell Adar what he wants to know, he won't kill me anyway?"

"Because Adar appears a man of rationality - unlike Sauron - "

You scoffed, "None of them are rational, Galadriel! They have their own agendas - and none of them benefit the likes of us! Don't tell him anything else, I don't care if he's gutting me like a pig, you don't say anything!"

"I can't agree to that," Galadriel shook her head, "I won't, not when there's a chance we can both get out of this alive."

"And if we survive just to witness the eradication of our people!?" Galadriel was silent, bowing her head. With a sigh, you asked, "Where's Nenya?"

"Safe with Elrond."

"Oh?" You chuckled. "How'd that happen? You have to break his finger off to put it on?"

Galadriel gave a breathy chuckle, "He needed a bit of convincing, but with the greater good at stake - he was left no choice."

With a smirk of amusement, you nodded slowly, then requested, "Could you promise me something decently reasonable?"

"I can try."

"If you make it outta here and I don't - "

"Do not say that!"

"Galadriel, just - stop for a moment and listen to me, please. If you get out of here and I do not, tell Elrond what happened. Tell him Adar found me after the volcano erupted, kept me prisoner, and that I tried." Tears brimmed your waterline, "Tell him I tried to escape, to get back to him... But if I don't make it and you do, please, tell him I love him - more than anything. Tell him I'll wait for him on white shores."

"Tell him yourself."

As promised, when night fell, Adar returned. His second in command, Glüg, approached you with a brandished sword and laid it at your neck with a cruel and twisted expression.

"Have you made your decision?" Adar questioned, Galadriel looking between him and the threat to your life. "Choose wisely, or I'll let my children bleed her; right here, right now. Tell me what I've asked."

"Don't tell him shit, Galadriel!" You barked in a last ditch effort, earning a balled-up-armored fist to rock your jaw. You spit a glob of blood to the side, snarling at Glüg, "You hit like like a bitch." He spit on you.

With a huff, Galadriel exposed, "Yes, Halbrand is Sauron. He's in Eregion to craft Rings that will allow Him to dominate my kind... And yours."

"Every kind in Middle-earth," Adar corrected.

Quickly, Galadriel rushed, "But He will not attempt escape until His task is complete. And that gives us a momentary advantage."

"'Us'?" The Father repeated.

"Unlock me."

"Galadriel! Think for a second!" You snapped, but Glüg pressed his blade deeper into your throat. You seethed, frustrated and angry tears turning suffocating. Adar approached your friend, eyes trained on her, causing the Elleth to look away in discomfort as Adar undid the iron cuff on Galadriel's wrist.

"As we speak, Y/N's husband, Elrond, hastens from Lindon with an army of Elves..." She boldly looked at Adar, you struggling against the blade at the sound of Elrond's name, "And Nenya, my Ring."

"Galadriel! Stop, don't say another word! Silence yourself!" You begged, whimpering shrilly when blood flowed from Glüg's disgustingly dirty blade.

"I see," Adar turned from the Elf.

You were ignored and Galadriel rose from her seat, following Adar while continuing, "Once he arrives, he will seal off the city, loose Celebrimbor from Sauron's grasp, and then together... Uruk, you and I will eradicate all trace of Sauron from this world. Never to return."

"And what then?" Adar questioned.

"Any Ring that have known his touch must be destroyed."

"I meant, what then for the Uruk? Will your High King permit us to return home in peace? Or will he proceed with his plans to invade Mordor? The shadow has not only overcome you, it has overcome all of Elvendom. In the end, your drive to prove your virtue will work right into Sauron's designs."

"You speak lies," Galadriel whispered as if in disbelief. "Hoping I will reveal something."

"You have already revealed everything I hoped you would and more."

You groaned and tossed your head back into the beam; a harsh thump echoing as Adar charged out of the tent with Galadriel and Glüg on his heels.

"Where are you taking her!?" Galadriel struggled in her restraints, unable to stray far from her seat as two Orcs entered the tent and began unclipping your irons. You didn't fight them, rolling your tired eyes as they began dragging you out on your backside. "NO! NO! Where are you taking her!?" Galadriel sobbed, on her feet, trying to follow.

"Remember your promise," you told her, forcing yourself to find contentment that your friend could be the last friendly image your brain would register.

"No, please! Please! You will not profit from her death! I have told you what your Father wanted, now release her! Her death will not profit you, but instead, will bring about your utter ruin! Please! Y/N!"

The Orcs ignored Galadriel's pleas, dragging you from the tent and amongst the snarling, snapping Orcs. Adar stood before a cart big enough for a single prisoner, smirking, giving his children command in Black Speech to load you inside. He watched, telling you, "Galadriel says your husband is on his way with an army. Surely, the sight of his wife might give Commander Elrond pause. The knowledge that you're alive will bring him to my table."

You were strung up by your arms, spread in exposure, tarps thrown over the cage to effectively cut you off from the rest of the world. You felt the cage rattle as you were lugged through mud. You couldn't identify hardly anything... Until a familiar horn bellowed in the short distance, making your chest tighten. While excited by the prospect of a rescue, you loathed the idea of Elrond running head first into a trap.

Your Elven ears picked up on the sound of thundering horse hooves, knowing your people (kin, too) were charging towards Adar's army; who were swiftly gathering in organized ranks. Your cage came to a halt, and a moment later, you flinched when the front-facing tarp was ripped down and the light above Eregion glared down on you. You were greeted with the sight of your husband surging closer on horseback, time seemingly slowing when your eyes locked and he registered who Adar's prisoner was.

You flinched when an Orc pressed the tip of their blade into your already injured neck, reopening a wound to send a single stream of blood steadily flowing.

"Halt!" Elrond called in Sindarin, the entire procession coming to an almost synchronized halt. He sized up the enemy, but kept letting his eyes glaze over you - disbelief coloring his expression. Elrond's horse stamped in place, Adar stepping forward to speak.

"Welcome, Commander Elrond."

"Y/N!" A voice shouted from the army, Elrond's head snapping over in time to see your siblings - three brothers, two sisters - dismounting their horses.

"Wait, wait!" Elrond barked at them, holding a hand up; your siblings halting themselves.

"Wise," Adar taunted, your irons noisily rattling when you tried to adjust your stance.

In Sindarin, you called to your eldest brother, "Do what needs done, do not spare my life for this foolishness! Take them down! Be done with it! Rid us of their filth!"

"I should think... Commander Elrond would like to hear my proposal first," Adar told you casually.

"I think they should put you and children in the dirt!" You spat, earning several snarls, growls, and hisses from the surrounding Orcs.

Elrond encouraged his horse forward, standing in the sunlight highlighting 'no man's land'. He glared at Adar, but asked you, "Are you hurt?"

"Only my ego," you assured.

His eyes flickered over to Adar, then nodded, "I will hear you first."

"You're wasting your time," you told him in Sindarin.

"On you, it's not a waste," he answered stiffly, almost angrily. "I would have her set free for the duration of our parlay."

"But of course," Adar agreed, being carted away at his Blackened command. Due to the tarps hanging over the other 3 sides of your prison, you lost sight of Elrond; forced to blindly follow instruction and behave.

The Elves were not permitted weapons in the Uruk camp.

Elrond dismounted his horse with Vorohil and your eldest brother, Iallion, who insisted on going to gauge your state, in time to watch the Orcs yank you from the cart and drag you into a tent as if your legs were of no use. It was all he needed to know to understand your treatment the past few months you've been 'missing'. His hand clapped Adar's shoulder before the Father of Orcs could pass him by, snarling, "If I come to learn you've been mistreating my wife, I assure you, there will be consequences."

Adar just chuckled and lead the way into his tent. Several Orcs shoved Elrond's shoulder and forced him, his second-in-command, and your brother to follow.

Inside, Elrond noted the walls lined with Orcs, all surrounding their prisoners of war - you and Commander Galadriel. The blonde Elleths were shackled to the same post, both standing, though, you were leaning into the beam for support as it appeared you could not stand on your own. When you noted their arrival, you perked up slightly, but not enough to wash away the worry he felt.

Elrond was offered a seat, just staring down Adar, who began, "The Ring you carry... Show it to me."

Elrond snarled, "Show me the care you've taken of my wife."

"She is perfectly healthy... As you can see. The Ring, Commander..."

Elrond glared for several long minutes, then answered, "A foolish act if I had brought it here."

"You are a courtier," Adar pointed out. "More suited to wielding a scroll than a sword."

"You've never seen me wield either."

"And yet," Adar's head cocked slightly, "I have faced the Incarnated and won. Beside Sauron, there's none alive... Entitled to those rights."

Iallion demanded in a snarl, "How came you by my sister? You say you won against her - where?"

"Didn't win a fucking thing! The bastards found me; facedown in volcanic soot after the battle with the Númenoreans. I told you to keep charging - you should've kept charging," you answered, earning a swift kick to the back of your knee; making it buckle and ram the post.

"Touch her again and I'll slaughter everyone in here," Elrond threatened.

"You so much as twitch - "

"And one of your children shall kill me? My wife? My men? You think I am not aware of that fact, do you honestly think I wouldn't risk life and limb for my wife? Do not. Touch. Her."

Adar just stared at Elrond, then nodded, "Fair enough. Though, if she speaks again... Cut out her tongue."

Elrond, Iallion, and Vorohil all sat forward when Glüg's blade chimed as it was deployed from the sheath; another couple Orcs shuffling and snarling forward to box you in. Your eyes rolled when the same dagger pressed unforgivingly to the pulse point beneath the hinge of your jaw.

Adar continued, "Sauron is my enemy as much as yours... Give me what I need to defeat Him and let us be rid of Him."

"Is it not you that has done his bidding by laying siege to Eregion?" Elrond countered.

"Eregion has fallen into shadow... It belongs to the Deceiver now, as does every Elf within its walls."

"Not Lord Celebrimbor," your husband tried to refuted, desperate to believe there was still some good left to fight for.

"It was Celebrimbor himself who welcomed Sauron in. You cannot save him... You can...save...them," Adar explained, naturally making Elrond look to you still held at knife point. Galadriel was uncharacteristically silent, chained to the same post, facing one another. "It is an earnest offer... I suggest you take it," punctuated Adar before he rose from his chair. "And leave Sauron to me..."

"Right, 'cause that worked sooo well last time," you scoffed, making every Elven eye widen in surprised shock. "You're the reason He still lives, you're forcing us all to do your bidding and fight against Him!" When an Orc's hand rose in a sudden movement to grip your chin - intending to hold open so Glüg could amputate your tongue - you simply reacted out of panic by erratically whipping your head to the side in time to catch the Orc's hand. His pointer finger landed between your teeth, too slow on the draw; losing the finger to the single, incredible chomp as if a root vegetable.

The Orc screamed in pain, spitting the finger and causing black blood to coat your lips like sadistic make-up.

"Lord Father - "

Adar silenced Glüg with a hand in the air, the injured Orc being escorted from the tent; hissing at you in a way that made you smirk. The Father of Orcs glanced at you, demanding, "Quiet," before slowly moved around the banquet table. He complimented Elrond, "You have the beauty of your foremother, Melian of the Valar. If even a fragment of her wisdom is in your veins... You must know you cannot defeat me in battle. I will outmaneuver you... My forces outfight yours... And you will fall."

"Not before you have painted the sands of the Glanduin black," Elrond stood to meet Adar, "with the blood of your kin."

You smirked slightly, always having faith Elrond would choose responsibility over emotion - something Galadriel was increasingly struggling with and unable to master. Glüg lowered his blade when he heard Elrond's threat - thinking this war was meant to played with strategy, not overwhelming numbers that would discard Orcish life without thought or consideration.

Adar assured, "My children have endured cruelties your bravest couldn't bear to hear spoken aloud."

"Are you prepared to spend their lives so freely... Adar?" Elrond questioned, using the Uruk's name as if an insult. "Are they?" He asked the room, letting his eyes bore into those of few Orcs to truly drive his words and plant seeds of doubt.

Adar didn't respond, pausing, then demanding, "You may haggle over Galadriel... But it's the Ring for your wife's life. What is it to be?"

Elrond's eyes locked with yours, noting the way your head shook. He slowly stalked around Adar, his hand unsuspectingly unclipping the decorative detail of his cloak's shoulder broach. His teary gaze lifted to lock with yours, portraying his apology and grief, then turning to Adar, "Ask me on the field, when the neck with a blade against it is yours."

Orcs hissed.

"Very well," Adar accepted, sounding genuinely disappointed. "I suppose not all vows are kept sacred... I will meet you there... With your wife's head on a pike."

Elrond held Adar's attention, relenting, "If that is to be the way of things, I should like to bid her farewell."

Adar's eyes shifted to Glüg's over Elrond's shoulder, the Orc assuring, "He's unarmed."

Interesting, you mused to yourself, he saw Elrond's broach but doesn't report it? Perhaps this war caused tension among their legion - beginning to question the man they followed.

After Adar's nod, Elrond turned to approach the beam in record break time. "My love," he greeted softly, tears evident and ready to spill. You both just stared at each other, unable to accept or process being within proximity to one another after being apart for so long - and only now, reunited to say goodbye. "Forgive me," Elrond whispered in Sindarin.

"Win," you answered in a matching hushed volume. "And if you don't, meet me on white shores."

He nodded, hand lifted to caress your cheek in disbelief; shuddering at the feel of your flesh. "I've missed you past the point of words, my star," he frowned.

"No more than I you."

You snuggled into his hand, stomach lurching when he leaned forward to press his final kiss to your lips. It wasn't passionate, but something chaste for show only; your chained hands reaching to hold his free one as it was all you could reach. The broach's center was pressed to your palm, your tear streaking through grimy cheeks when he pulled back to rest his forehead on yours. "I love you," he swore.

"I love you, too," you whimpered, bottom lip trembling with emotion as Adar looked to the ground. You wished to say your acting skills were that good to be truly deceptive, but in reality, something in your intuition refused to let you believe you'd survive this.

Hating the look of devastation on your otherwise devastatingly beautiful features, Elrond leaned in again before hushing against your lips, "Be ready."

"Be smart."

Elrond nodded, kissed you one last time before pulling back. Almost as if in pain, he turned, unable to handle being so close so improperly; causing him to snap, "Iallion, Vorohil," who flanked his tail upon their exit of the Uruk tent.

You sniffled, leaning on the beam in exhaustion, still playing into the facade you thought Elrond was trying to silently communicate. You weren't defeated yet; the pin kept in your clenched fist to cause indentations from the star-point design.

Outside, Iallion and Vorohil questioned Elrond's confidence, being told a legion of Dwarves had been summoned to march to Eregion's aid; telling his second to guide the army to the battle while he held the city. Before trotting away, Elrond pulled on his helmet and told the two in Sindarin, "And it starts with the rescue of my wife and decimation of this camp."

You used Elrond's pin to pick Galadriel's lock first, insisting she had to flee before anyone caught you. She tried to refuse, something about loyalty or other, but you all but shoved her away from you and snarled for her to leave you.

"Elrond's near," you reminded her, "I'm not going anywhere."

"He's coming for you," she realized.

"Did you have any doubt?"

She chuckled, "I suppose not."

"Get out of here," you cocked your head, indicating she flee out the tent flap. You focused on your own lock as the sounds of invasion echoed around the camp. Praying Galadriel found a way to disguise herself, you struggled to unlock your irons; hearing someone rush into the tent behind you.

"You!"

An Orc was surging up to you in record time, bloody dagger in hand, twisted snarl curling his lip. You dropped the pin on accident, unable to retrieve it; but having enough mind to wait until the Orc was a foot from you, stepping back, extending your chains. The Orc slashed directly into the weakened metal, severing your bond, but the loss of tension made you flop backwards; rolling over your shoulder and onto your feet.

The Orc, ever graceful, hacked wildly at you; forcing you to go on the defense and dodge his attacks around the tent. Three more Orcs filed in; but however you might argue, luck was on your side for your brother, Iallion, came charging in with your sister, Eliriel.

"Y/N!"

You caught the sword your brother tossed, slashing the offending Orc's head from his shoulders as your siblings disposed of the other three enemies with ease.

Realizing the Orcs were vanquished (for now), you turned to your brother and raced into his embrace. He grunted and caught you, petting the back of your head before releasing and letting you hug your sister.

"Do you need medial aid?" Eliriel asked in worry, pushing hair from your shoulders to expose flesh - checking for any injury or bloody blemish.

"No - "

"Can you fight?"

"The day I answer no, you've permission to put me in the ground yourself," you scoffed, nodding at your brother. "You came back?"

"Elrond's leading the charge, they're razing the camp," Iallion explained, "otherwise he would've come himself."

"Where is he?"

"Come, we can find him," he insisted, eyes raking over you. "Sure you're all right?"

"Never better," you chuckled without humor, intent on holding the horrors you've experienced at the hands of your captors close to your chest. "Now, we gonna stand here and talk or go hunt some Orc?"

"YES!"

The Incarnated swarmed together in a protection fashion around you; a sibling shield, if you would, due to your lack of armor. Individually, the Incarnated were almost impossible to defeat, but together, they rivaled armies; exactly as the Valar intended. However, while fearsome in battle, you were still but a few and the Orcs were a grand-many; almost easily overwhelming any Elf they encountered.

Exactly why you were separated from them.

You faced against four different foes, turning as if dancing steps to something intimate; blade flashing in the sunlight, ringing as it clanged against blackened blades and rusted armor. It was easy to cut off your retreat or direction back to your siblings, forcing you back several yards as the Orcs swiftly closed in.

"Y/N! DUCK!" You heard from behind you; not thinking, just dropping like a sack of potatoes.

Horse hooves passed you, looking up in time to defend against another blade as Elrond engaged the others. You were both fairing decently until a moment of distraction - where an Orc swung his axe into Elrond's chest and knocked him from his horse - leaving an opportunity for your attacker.

With a scream, the Orc's blade sliced your chest in a deep slashing, managing to cut into your neck; blood starting to stream into your torn and tattered prison clothes. You were blinded by stinging pain, whimpering as your non-dominant arm curled across your chest as if gauze to lay over the injury; dominant hand occupied by your sword, defending yourself with weak whimpers.

One final hack made your sword arm collapse into the ground and for the Orc to stomp on your wrist to hold you there. You were pinned. The Orc laughed and sadistically reached down to swipe a grimy finger into your wound, causing you to hiss through teeth, only to lift his finger to his mouth and taste your life force. The sight alone made your stomach lurch, a panicked cry escaping your lips.

Elrond heard the enemy's laugh and lifted his head in time to see it lick your blood; noting your cry and position beneath the Orc. His face steeled into something beyond infuriation. The three Orcs that filled the space between you and he were quickly dispatched, Elrond engaging your attacker - letting you scramble backwards into a tree trunk for a front row viewing.

With a wild swing, Elrond swiped at the Orc; who reached up to grab hold of his helmet, which was freed when Elrond rolled from under him. The Orc swung, blade whistling; catching Elrond's cheek and sending him to the dirt, much to your worry. He glared at the enemy, wiping at his injury as the Orc growled, "I'm gonna spill her guts at your feet, Elf!"

Elrond's eyes flickered to you, taking the threat as credible; swiping the sword away, using a second blade to inflict injury before driving his longsword into the Orc's belly - driving him backwards into the basket of a trebuchet (or catapult). When pinned, Elrond drove his dagger into the Orc's sternum; leering over him in Sindarin, "Die."

Elrond yanked both weapons free and turned for the machine's mechanisms; yanking a rope and setting the trebuchet into motion. "No, no, no, no," the Orc begged when he realized what was happening; lifted off his feet only to be flung with the basket of rocks through the air, over the width of the Glanduin, and into the walls of Eregion.

Your husband wasted no time to drop the rope and turn for you; rushing forward and sliding to his knees beside your bleeding form. "Elrond, oh, my stars," you rushed with a bloody grin, reaching for him with your dominate hand as the other still tried to staunch your injury.

"I knew you weren't gone, I knew it," he breathed, taking your face in hand, "I'm so sorry, my love, I'm so sorry. I should've come sooner - "

"You got here right when you were supposed to," you assured, sniffling. "Have you - Have you seen Galadriel? I set her free, have you seen her?"

"Why was she not with you?"

"I sent her away, I wasn't sure how long I'd take to escape," you trembled, "then Iallion and Eliriel got me out."

"Why didn't you run?"

"I did..."

"No, away from the battle - "

"I ran to find you," you whispered, offering a sad smile. "Oh," you breathed, fingertip ghosting over his cut cheek, "that'll scar."

"It's nothing," he shook his head, "but yours isn't - I have to get you away from here - "

"There's no time," you rushed, "so, I need you to do something for me."

"Anything."

You swallowed thickly, "Clean your blade, put it in the fire."

Elrond's brows furrowed, glancing over his shoulder to see the trebuchet set ablaze by his men; the Orcs fleeing from the danger, leaving a rare opening. "I don't... Oh," his eyes widened, nodding and rushing to do as you bid. He cleaned his blade on his cloak as he sprinted to the burning machine; sticking his blade in, then returning to your side. "Can you stand?" He asked.

"If you can get me up," you nodded.

"C'mon, love," Elrond whispered, hands under your arms and hoisting you up the bark with a small grunt. "I've got you - "

"Elrond!"

He didn't think, just gripped the blade of his dagger and flung it in a fluid motion over his shoulder where you were staring. The weapon struck an approaching Orc in the throat; gurgling black blood as he went down, but Elrond didn't even bother to watch. He just returned his attention to you, "C'mere, starlight, I've got you."

"Commander!" A different voice shouted, your siblings rushing to the scene. Iallion, as the eldest, gave command to the others, "Circle - circle up! Get around them!" As the Incarnated surrounded you, Elrond was assisting you towards the flames. "Commander, orders, sir?"

"Stand guard," Elrond replied, easing you to your knees. "All right, my love," he paused, checking the blade, "think it's good?"

You nodded, "It's good. Just, uh... Aim, please."

He huffed, "As if I'd miss." He pulled his sword fully from the flames, the thin metal burning bright red; even sizzling subtly. "Ready?"

"Wait, wait," Eliriel bartered, finding a chunk of wood and placing it in your mouth. She lowered to her knees and hooked her arms around yours; restraining them behind your back in a vice. "Okay... Okay, good - do it, do it now, Elrond!" She begged, seeing blood flow a little more freely now that you weren't trying to plug the wound.

When your husband lowered the blade to your injury, you lost consciousness after screaming blood murder until air depleted from your lungs. The flesh was cauterized as cleanly as Elrond could manage, satisfied when he noted no weeping openings.

"Commander! What orders, Commander!?"

Elrond was torn between his wife and his company - but Iallion encouraged, "Go, brother. We'll get her somewhere safe."

With a scoff, Elrond shook his head and carefully pulled the wood from your mouth; gathering you off your sister and into his chest. "Where's safe anymore?" Elrond asked rhetorically in Sindarin, standing with you in his arms.

The camp was in complete disarray, Adar realizing the Elven Calvary had destroyed nearly everything in their path, almost to a barbaric extent. He would've questioned the displayed Elven bravery, but his mind knew better and reminded him he threatened Commander Elrond's wife... No wonder the camp was stamped into the ground.

The sun sank, darkness spread, and Adar listened to report after report, all confirming the Elves were fairing better than expected. Many Uruk lost their lives, more were injured, and the Orcs were encountering outmaneuvers no matter where they attacked.

Adar returned to the tent he left you and Galadriel in... Finding empty irons, no prisoners, and several of his children - dead. There was no confirmation as to who the wounds were from, but considering the swift yet strategically fatal injuries, he assumed the Incarnated had come to your rescue. Death was only graceful when dealt by their hands.

"Perhaps, Lord Father," Glüg reported, "we should sound the retreat. The Commander Elrond is formidable, angry over his wife's injuries..."

"No," Adar refused.

"He slaughtered half the camp to find her!"

"We do not retreat," Adar growled, making his son shy back a step. "Send him in..."

"He will kill our own kind!"

"Send. Him. In. Commander Elrond is on the battlefield, his wife smuggled away - "

"His wife is on the field, Lord Father! Khor saw her," Glüg gestured at his brother, who nodded vigorously at Adar.

"All the more reason... Send him in."

After your wound was cauterized, Elrond managed to find a horse and rush you a safe distance into the woods with Eliriel to guard you. Upon awakening, you were stiff with pain, but infuriated by the obvious delay in consciousness; rolling to your feet and testing the bounds of the near-fatal, scabbing wound.

"You can't go," Eliriel insisted, watching you stretch, "you'll tear open - "

"Adar kept me alive just enough for this moment, I have business to settle with him. I've been on the sidelines too long, sister," you snapped, "and injured or not, I will not leave Eregion to the darkness. There's still a chance - our people still fight. Will you join us? Or shall you turn tail, as our uncle did? Demote yourself?"

Your uncle, another Incarnated, had been a member of the original alliance of Elves against Sauron; one of the first to leave Valinor on a noble quest to Middle-earth. He was one of the reasons your kin had been blessed, but he's also the reason you know what happens if Incarnated refuse their Holy Calling... Facing Morgoth's apprentice was traumatizing beyond belief, your uncle leading alongside Galadriel's brother, Finrod, in many abattle. Yet Sauron's craft was vast, weaseling into your uncle's heart and brain to the point of insanity; so much so, that upon your uncle going AWOL, Finrod was slain in response.

Galadriel never blamed you nor other Incarnated; she blamed only Sauron, rationalizing he was who fucked up your uncle's head so much that the Valar took back their gift. A forfeited Incarnated was gazed upon with utter contempt until driven into exile, and even then, they aren't immediately granted immunity nor entrance into Aman, - or the Undying Lands - but instead, must plead for redemption. Needless to say, your uncle gave your kin quiet a public mess to rectify and it was a grave insult to throw such an accusation at an Incarnated.

"Sister?" You prompted.

From the dirt, Eliriel nodded and reached for your hand; allowing you to heave her onto her feet. "You'll need armor - do not argue!" She snapped with a pointed finger when your mouth opened. "Come."

Eliriel lead you through the woods at a mild pace as to not irritate your injury. Using the darkness to your advantage, you snuck around until happening upon a fallen Elleth who was about your size and body type. Swiftly, you took her armor with a prayer in Sindarin, securing it, then latching on her weapons belt.

"Ready?" You asked, seeing Eliriel nod. "Stay close."

"I'm older than you!"

"Then act like it!" You laughed over your shoulder, sprinting from the treeline and directly towards the fray taking place before Eregion's walls. You snatched a full quiver from a dead Elf, not stopping; plucking up an abandoned bow, still surging; then snatching whatever spent torch-arrows you could, doubly determined.

Blood transformed impacted dirt into a marsh; bodies littering the land, a city on fire, and Death permeating the air. Your sword sang with glee at each blow; injury holding strong, giving you fuller permission to move as you needed. When you raced into battle, you were an entirely different breed; purely animalistic, relying on your senses to cause the most damage. All you could process was you needing to kill.

You happened to be in the right place at the right time because just yards ahead of you, several jagged arrows thumped into your comrade, Rían's, body at varying angles. She swayed and dropped to her knees, revealing ahead of her, a small gaggle of Elves - Elrond included. Rían reached for a torch arrow as you noted the barrel of oil by the Grond and quickly connected the dots.

It was as if the Valar arranged it themself: where one Elf fell, an Incarnated steps up to assume responsibility without hesitation nor prompt. Three additional arrows struck Rían, who fell dead, and there you stood; causing your name to fall from your husband's mouth and for you to spring into action. Without hesitation, you ignite your own arrow, notch it, aim, then release before rushing towards Elrond; seven arrows impalied the place you vacated. "What're you doing here!? It's not safe!" Elrond demanded when you lowered to his level behind a barrier of dirt.

Your arrow found it's mark, catching the entire Grond and surrounding Orcs in a violently gnarly explosion. You smirked at your husband, anchoring him by his neck to place a desperate, messy, slippery kiss to his lips. On retraction, there came a loud, wet smooch sound; you nodding and answering, "Winning a war."

requesting rules and masterlist

TROP masterlist

[doberbutts]

I'm pulling this out because this shit is funny as hell hold on

Merry and Pippin (2 in 1) actual hijinks and shenanigans of mutual stumbling over each other's first times. Bonus points if they are hours apart. Pippin finds Merry rolling in the hay in the morning, decides he wants in on this and doesn't want to be outdone, finds himself a willing partner, and Merry interrupts them by accident. Comedy gold.

I don't view Frodo as someone interested in sex (boos and hisses from the Sam/Frodo crowd) however Sam I think would similarly be Frodo opening the door to their shared living space after the quest and Sam's, err, "helping" Rosie in the kitchen. Sam stutters an apology, Rosie starts trying to explain, and meanwhile Frodo's just like "really? where we eat???"

Blink and you'll miss it moment between Legolas and Gimli OR the most intense, drawn out, intimate yet tasteful scene with a bonus at the end where Gimli goes "wait wym we're elf-married now". Probably in Rohan, after the drinking contest.

I'm choosing to believe that the scene between Arwen and Aragorn in Rivendell before he left, where she's wearing a mostly translucent shift and he is in a state of far more undress than we've seen him prior and ever seen him again, is a post-sex scene. So just put it there.

There is not a single person who will ever be able to convince me that Boromir did not get mad pussy in Gondor. The same goes for Faramir, who was loved by all except their father.

Gandalf, also, is not a sexual being to me. But with PJ's insistence on highlighting Gandalf's relationship to both Galadriel and Celeborn, I would believe him to be a third in whatever dynamic suits them.. Maybe he and Galadriel have telepathic elf magic ring sex and Celeborn is just like "yeah sure that's fine w/e". This is movie-canon only, of course.

Bilbo also- reclusive, kept to himself, constantly wandering the wilds alone or with Gandalf? Either he and Gandalf are regularly FWB adventure buddies or they're just plain uninterested in the whole deal.

I'm of two minds with Smeagol. On one hand there is great comedy gold with the little fucked up loincloth man and on the other hand there is so much tragedy to his character that I can't decide if it would be funnier to have him still have sexual desires or if it would be sadder to take him at his word when he states that he lost all desire and interest and pleasure in everything except the Ring. Perhaps he attempted to have sex with another Stoor early on in his possession of the Ring, before he was chased away. Maybe someone he had been trying to court, before the murder of Deagol and the subsequent chained events of consequences.

[mushroomates]

legolas headcanons:

is, by all accounts, the worlds most awkward elf

most of the fellowship doesn’t even realize how weird he is

thranduil did not socialize his boy well. legolas is not aloof he just has no idea what he’s supposed to be doing.

will walk very slowly with exaggerated movements around hobbits because he thinks they won’t see him otherwise.

the hobbits thinks this is elf custom. frodo theorizes this is because elves want to rest their eyes and ears when they’re at home, so other elves like to announce themselves so no one gets spooked.

this is aided by the fact that legolas loudly announces his presence whenever he enters the room, just incase you missed it.

this conclusion is false. legolas will approach other elves by charging at them, full speed. alternatively, shooting an arrow in their vicinity for a vibe check.

he also likes shooting at people to wake them up and/or scare them

legolas likes that it’s a gentle reminder to his companions that he could kill them at any time and they should be honored that he doesn’t.

aragorn has options about this. legolas tells him that he should be grateful that such a skilled elf is on his side and cares for him. aragorn maintains that if legolas really cared, the elf would stop waking him up with ‘good morning’ shots. he also would like to note that legolas’s loud singing is only slightly better than an arrow flying at you first thing in the morning:.

legolas tries to make friends by staring at them from afar and when they look at him he looks away. like a cat. he will also blink at u as if to say “look! i like you! i’m closing my eyes!!!” again, like a cat.

will bring you small gifts to curry favor, also like a cat. interesting rocks and pretty feathers, samples of dirt, fallen leaves in different shapes and colors, and whatever flowers are near by and catch his eye. gets very upset if you don’t marvel at them for the appropriate amount of time.

will eat bites off of your plate. this is a form of endearment. he’s showing he trusts you and likes you. he’s also showing his inability to cook and hopes you’ll take pity on him by sharing your food.

sometimes will intentionally walk loudly around the camp if he’s bored, angry, or lonely so he can wake aragorn up and they can be awake together :)

likes to sing, loudly, at inappropriate times

no one in the fellowship has seen him piss. some of the hobbits are under the impression that elves don’t pee. aragorn and gandalf do not correct them.

up at the asscrack of dawn. this is annoying, because he’s chipper, looks amazing, and is a tad judgmental that you aren’t as well.

captain obvious as well as worlds most unhelpful elf ever. will point out your mistake, claim to know how to fix it and half the time not offer the solution or his assistance.

cannot do laundry. he doesn’t even get dirty enough to consider it, and with how little people in middle earth wash their clothes anyway, none of his clothes have been cleaned for easily centuries.

is very confused by dogs. doesn’t understand what he’s supposed to do with them. they’re always so happy and want (physical???) attention and,, it’s not a one and done thing either. you’re supposed to keep petting them? after you already pet them.

they’re like wolves, but smaller and maybe stupider. they also stink. boromir has explained to him many times that dogs are man’s best friend and are beautiful creatures. this worries legolas, because that means either dogs are more evolved than they let on,, or men are significantly further behind than elves than he first thought..

can not play the harp. is upset by this fact.

never really bothered to learn how to harp, either.

he believes he should be able to play the harp regardless because the harp is just a big bow with many strings. this is, in fact, false.

will eat anything. mushrooms and questionable berries mean nothing to him.

this upsets aragorn as he believes legolas is setting a bad example for the hobbits, dispite hobbits having the most durable digestive systems. (note: elves can eat almost anything, but hobbits have the stomach of a labrador retriever. they are always hungry, can can eat anything, even what they’re not supposed to)

DID set a bad example for boromir, who mistakingly ate some of the berries legolas offered him and had the shits for weeks.

is like 90% sure who frodo is. it’s definitely one of the hobbits. it’s probably not the one with the pony.

is faceblind. he can’t recognize other people’s faces for the life of him. if you asked him to pick out aragorn in a sea of humans, he’d panic dispite knowing the man for 50+ years.

this also goes for all races, including dwarves. gimli thought he might just be racist and covering his ass, but then watched him stall for like 30 minutes making small talk with some lorien elves and try (and fail) to pick celeborn out of the crowd.

does know what galadriel and thranduil look like. has a hard time pointing out elrond.

will forget your name almost immediately after you tell him. guys like 3k old and has met a lot of people give him a break

to be fair he does know who you are and what you sound/look like. defining features like voice and hair help a lot. it’s just if you were to give him a book of cropped faces and ask him to name, just one,,, he’d panic and throw it at you.

feels robbed of the golden ages,, resents the fact that the world he knows is drastically different that the world he could have been. wishes there were more elves his age and just more elves in general.

that being said he wouldn’t change this for anything as the world he’s in gave him the friends he’s made and the adventure of a life time :)

he doesn’t wash his hands. like ever or at all.

[rivendell-poet]

*･༓˚✧ ❝𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 (𝐋𝐨𝐭𝐑)❞ ‧͙⁺˚༓˚✧ « scenarios »

○ Aragorn ○ Legolas ○ Frodo ○ Sam ○ Merry ○ Pippin ○ Boromir ○ Faramir ○ Éowyn ○ Éomer ○ Bard ○ Thranduil ○ Tauriel ○ Lindir ○ Haldir ○ Elladan ○ Elrohir ○

GN!Reader | Wordcount : 3.4k (each individual around 200~ words) | TWS : None, suggestive at times.

« 1, 11, 12, masterlist »

𝐀𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐧

✧ Aragorn prides himself on his composure, on being able to stay collected in most situations, and it’s generally the same with your relationship.

✧ That’s not to say he doesn’t adore you, but despite the blush on his face and love in his eyes he can generally stay focused.

✧ Until you two enter a sparring match together and he brings his sword up awkwardly.

✧ When the swords clash he has to hold himself steady, and you have slightly too much momentum in your blow - so you keep going forward.

✧ At the sight of you coming towards him he panics and draws the sword down, not willing to risk hurting you.

✧ That is until you keep going with the offensive, bringing your blade up to Aragorn’s neck.

✧ It’s the second time you’ve held him a sword-point like that, but this time you're smiling and that does something to him.

✧ He knows he should push the sword away, but he keeps staring, unwilling to break eye contact until what he’s doing fully catches up to him.

✧ When he does move the sword away it’s unskilled, and a second spar isn’t even on his mind until you mention it.

✧ Breathing heavily even once you take your blade away, he realises how much he’s blushing and that he can’t quite take his eyes off your sword.

✧ It certainly doesn’t help when you notice, and there’s a gleam in your eyes as you hold your sword for the next spar. “Round two?”

✧ (Not that he does well in that one either - he’s still distracted.)

𝐋𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐬

✧ Most days in Rivendell the wind is non-existent, as it is in a valley and (you’re pretty sure) protected by some sort of elvish marriage.

✧ While you were in the wilderness you were good at making sure your hair was tied up, but it’s something you haven’t had to think about as much in Rivendell.

✧ And out on the archery court your hair is moving slightly, just enough to blow into your eyes and slightly obscure your vision.

✧ A strand of hair gets in your eye, and you curse before you put your bow down - not wanting to make a knowingly imperfect shot.

✧ “Having trouble?” Legolas seems to appear out of nowhere, smiling at you as his eyes follow your hair - dancing in the wind.

✧ You give him a tired smile, eyes going enviously to his. Most of it’s still down, but it’s not flying everywhere. And although you’re fairly certain it’s elven genes, some of it might be hairstyle.

✧ “Will you tie my hair for me?”

✧ To you the question is innocent, but you notice the slight blush on Legolas’ face as he processes your question.

✧ He blinks before moving out of it, “Are you sure?”

✧ It takes a little reassurance, but he of course agrees to help with your hair - in whatever style you wish.

✧ You can still feel his hands still, and breath go in, when he takes the first strand between his fingers.

𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐨

✧ Frodo is somewhat easy to fluster, all things considered.

✧ Although he can still laugh with most romantic affections, or instantly return him, there’s a little bit of him that’s in awe of you - and that therefore makes him blush and freeze for a second in your compliments.

✧ The first time you see him truly flustered in your relationship is when you’re together in the garden, having breakfast together.

✧ Picking up a slice of toast, you ask for one of the jams to spread on it - and Frodo quickly holds it out to you.

✧ Without thinking you give him a kiss on the forehead in response, before your hand begins to close around the jar.

✧ When you feel how frozen his hand is around it you realise something might be wrong.

✧ Looking at your boyfriend, you quickly see the red that’s bloomed on his face as he looks at you.

✧ As you make eye-contact he shakes out of it slightly, realising and averting eye-contact with you while still becoming more red.

✧ Not wanting to ruin the moment, you’re gentle in taking the jar out of Frodo’s hand – giving it a brief kiss before you fully let it go.

✧ That’s what allows him to truly break out of it, laughing and trying to convey happiness.

✧ And giving you a proper kiss, as well.

𝐒𝐚𝐦

✧ Sam is very easy to fluster, both intentionally and not intentionally.

✧ You never mean to make him flustered, but it still makes you blush a little when you do.

✧ To see him stop and his cheeks become rosy, before looking at you and swallowing slightly - then avoiding all eye-contact.

✧ It’s the sound of your laughter that’s able to break him out of it, with a little nervous shift, before he looks back at you and apologises.

✧ A lot of it comes from compliments, like when you had first seen him in properly formal attire - a jacket cut neatly to him, almost wine red in colour.

✧ “You look beautiful.”

✧ His hands, which had been fiddling with a button, suddenly go still as he looks up at you (and his cheeks begin to turn the same colour as his outfit).

✧ “That’s mighty kind- thank. I- I mean.”

✧ The words tumble out of him slightly too quickly and he softly shakes his head. “Thank you, love. Although I truly don’t hold a candle to you.”

𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲

✧ Merry is a fairly hard hobbit to fluster, and more often than not it’s him that causes your cheeks to heat up and go into a large grin.

✧ Which is why you resolve to try and fluster him, one of these days.

✧ Pick-up lines make him light up as though you’ve gifted him mithril, but more often that not he’ll banter right back at you.

✧ So you determine that, to fluster him, you need to do something that he won’t be able to respond to as easily.

✧ Which eventually comes when you're leaving for the day and he comes to see you off, still fairly early into your relationship.

✧ Normally he comes up and wishes you a good day, while burying his face into your back with a hug.

✧ This time, instead of responding, you simply give him a quick kiss. “I love you, bye.”

✧ You can hear him begin to splutter something but you keep hurrying down the steps before turning at the bottom, seeing him still standing in the doorway - gently bringing his hand to where you kissed him.

✧ Sheepishly he makes eye-contact with you, and even from a distance you can see the love in his eyes.

𝐏𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧

✧ Pippin had been in love with you from that first meeting, so (ironically while you weren’t dating) it was actually harder to not fluster him with certain actions than to fluster him.

✧ (Not to say he isn’t awed by you on a regular basis while you are dating.)

✧ In preparation for the Fellowship leaving, both you and Boromir decide to try and teach the hobbits how to defend themselves.

✧ Pippin is practising against thin air when suddenly he hears your voice from behind him, “Aim slightly higher.”

✧ The noise doesn’t quite make him jump, but he suddenly tightens his grip on the handle before looking at you. You congratulate him on how quickly he’s picking things up, and he can feel himself grinning before asking if there’s anything he could improve on.

✧ You comment that he could be holding the sword slightly higher up, and he tries to shuffle his hand to the position before seeing you shake your head.

✧ “May I?”

✧ Reaching out your hand, you gently take his and guide it into place - lingering on it a second too long before taking it off.

✧ He tries again, although this time is a lot more off the mark. (It’s not his fault his mind is on your touch rather than an imaginary target.)

✧ This time you laugh, although it’s kind. “Your grip is getting better. I have faith in you, Pippin.”

𝐁𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐫

✧ The first time you fluster him is also the first time you kiss, and the first time he sees you dressed so finely.

✧ He knows that he shouldn’t stare as long as he has, eyes following every inch of you and absorbing it all, but he also can’t bring himself to take his gaze away from you.

✧ Eventually someone passes through his field of vision and he’s brought out of the spell, but only barely.

✧ It doesn’t prevent his eyes from flickering to you again.

✧ Taking a deep breath, he stops his blush from becoming too obvious and tries to take in the rest of the event.

✧ Most of his attempt slips away when you congratulate him on his victory, and he doesn’t trust his tongue enough to give more than a simple response.

✧ The knowing glance you give is more than enough, and he sees when you slip outside.

✧ And, of course, he can’t help but follow you.

𝐅𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐫

✧ Faramir is quite easy to subtly fluster, although it’s much harder to make him lose his composure.

✧ Some people he’s close to, and you of course, can still read his subtler queues.

✧ The way his eyes widen for a second, and he stands ever so slightly the straighter - the faintest beginnings of a blush dusting his cheeks.

✧ And of course how his eyes stray to you, how his greetings are ever so slightly slower as he needs to make that little more effort for every word.

✧ Most times he gets truly flustered are when you flirt, when he truly goes rosy and relaxes - staring at you with such love.

✧ You ask him, as he’s staring at you, why that’s all he does.

✧ “Because-” Faramir gently takes your hand, “Because I do not trust my words to convey how much love I hold for you. But eyes are a window to the soul.”

𝐄𝐨𝐰𝐲𝐧

✧ Honestly, it’s easy for Éowyn to fluster you than it is for you to fluster her. 

✧ (A fact she doesn’t often exploit, but will use to her advantage if she ever needs to.)

✧ When you do fluster her, it’s in the middle of a sparring match - with you steadily losing more and more ground.

✧ Unwilling to yield, you try to meet her blade and take another step backwards only to find you foot against the wall.

✧ She wastes no time in putting her sword to your neck, and you hold your hands up in a mock surrender.

✧ “My life is in your hands, fair lady. Whatever shall you have me do?”

✧ You say it with a surprising amount of earnesty, and you can see her suddenly blush - taking a deep breath but not taking her eyes off you.

✧ “Well, I-” she tries to think of a witty comeback but stops, looking away. “Would you call any who had a sword to your neck fair?”

✧ “Not at all.” Gently, you push her sword away and close the gap between the two of you. “Only you.”

𝐄𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐫

✧ As a recent habit, once the other Rohirrim had left the room the two of you would spar again - improving Éomer’s skills day by day.

✧ One of the things you like most is his optimism of the task, that even when you beat him again the next spar will still be him trying his hardest.

✧ But he also listens to feedback, quickly adjusting any - even minor - combat errors, before thanking you.

✧ At the end of a session, you sit down to begin taking off your armour while Éomer gets water for the two of you, throwing you a water skin while drinking out of his own.

✧ Tired from the end of a long day, you mean to thank him and say what a good boyfriend he is. The words that come out of your mouth, however.

✧ “You’re doing so good for me.”

✧ He can feel himself blushing, thankful he’s turned away from you, and he takes a second to calm down.

✧ You’re equally red, but the sight of him freezing and trying to regain his composure at your words make you smile.

𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐝

✧ Bard doesn’t get flustered too easily, he’s had years of being in love - and having to stay calm - for him to become a blushing mess every time you compliment him.

✧ More often romantic gestures are met with smiles, and perhaps a soft kiss, rather than an extravagant gesture.

✧ Then the two of you are walking through Laketown.

✧ And you call him darling.

✧ It’s a term of endearment he often uses for you, sounding lovely in his accent as he smiles at you with joy, but he’s never been called it himself. Not until you.

✧ You realise it’s slipped out at the same time he does, and tilt your head to see Bard blushing - obvious against his hair.

✧ Not helping the grin that comes over your face, a little laugh escapes you and after a second it’s joined by him.

✧ He shakes his head before looking at you, silently wondering when the last time he was this is love with someone was.

✧ When a simple term of endearment could turn his whole world - because it came from you.

✧ But, for a second, you do stop the bargeman in his tracks.

𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐮𝐢𝐥

✧ As a show of affection and trust, Thranduil grants you access to practically every location in Mirkwood you could think of - although you only really explore the beautiful ones.

✧ Such as the gardens. Lush and full of flowers, the vibrancy of their greens looking so much more like Greenwood than what it is now.

✧ These gardens give you hope and, when Thranduil is in them, give you joy and a sense of security. The two of you walking among them as he compares you to the silken petals, you leaving the garden with a bloom in hand or neatly tucked behind your ear.

✧ It’s a habit of his to walk through the gardens and admire them in the early morning, a way for him to wake up and face the day without actually having to interact with people.

✧ But there you are, sitting in the garden with the sun’s morning light bathing you.

✧ There is not much sunlight in Mirkwood, but the little there is comes to this garden - comes to you.

✧ In the light you look almost ethereal, like a gift. Something magical and beautiful even to the elvenking.

✧ It is a sight he cannot break away from, stiffening slightly as you turn to see him in the light.

✧ You come forward once you realise he’s there, greeting your king and bowing, but for the first few seconds he cannot find himself thinking of the right words.

✧ “You… you looked radiant.”

𝐓𝐚𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐥

✧ Although she’s collected in combat, Tauriel does tend to be more easily flustered when she’s sparring with you - never anything awful, but just enough to stop it being her best work.

✧ Making her need to take a breath slightly more quickly, her eyes averting as to not meet yours, although she does generally keep her eyes trained on your blades.

✧ But the way you’ve actually stopped her is with simpler gestures.

✧ The act of stooping down as the two of you are on patrol to take a flower in your hands, before turning it around and threading it into her hair.

✧ Taking your hand away to make sure it’s sticking before giving her a little kiss, and then walking off.

✧ It puts a small smile on your face as you hear her movements. Completely still for a second, before suddenly realising your moving away and rushing to catch up to you - usually complete with a teasing or embarrassed laugh and a hand around your shoulder.

𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐫

✧ As a minstrel, Lindir’s poems are well recorded within Rivendell - scrolls of them carefully preserved, and still highly praised.

✧ He does not talk about them, of course, as most creators tend not to dwell on early works, but it is never kept secret.

✧ Which is how you discover them. And they are beautiful.

✧ They’re written in elvish, but by now you’ve a grasp on the language - and Lindir’s poems are the perfect mix of prose and structure to be read as a way for practice.

✧ Which is how Lindir finds you in your chambers, reading some of his poetry aloud.

✧ It’s a verse you’ve practised before, so it flows on your tongue - sounding exactly like the music Lindi envisions all his creation to be.

✧ You don’t even know he’s there, but there’s something intimate about it. Something that makes him being to blush, his throat feel slightly dry as he’s watching you.

✧ Looking up, you notice him. But instead of stopping you keep reading, instead conveying the poetry to him.

✧ And he is utterly in love.

𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐫

✧ Even with elven hearing, it is possible to sneak up on Haldir - especially as a fellow elf.

✧ You see that he’s near the window, relaxed (but not enough that you’d feel bad about disturbing him), and decide to sneak up on him.

✧ He notices a tiny amount of noise, before he suddenly feels your arms around him and your face buried into his neck.

✧ The words are muffled, but he still hears it when you say you love him.

✧ Suddenly you can feel the elven warrior tense up, and the arms that were enveloping you turn stiff and slightly awkward.

✧ Looking up you see his eyes stare into yours, confused but in love as well.

✧ After a second of silence he dips slightly to give you a kiss on the forehead, before burying his head into yours to avoid eye contact.

𝐄𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐧

✧ The both of you are voracious readers, and (luckily) the two of you have a very similar taste in books.

✧ To the extent that, when Elladan looks at the book in your hand, he barely has to read a few lines before he knows what story it is - and then tries to make a quip that’s related to it.

✧ Some books are even more distinctive, like the binding of the one you currently hold - a gilded account of Beren and Luthien, if short.

✧ It’s a book he’s thumbed over many times, but he hasn’t seen you read it.

✧ Setting the book aside to greet him, the thought leaves his mind until a few hours later when the two of you are cuddling together, and you look up at him. “Thank you, my Beren.”

✧ “You- your-” the grandeur of their romance hits him suddenly, and he looks down at you. Blushing and questioning. “I-I’m not a… mortal man.”

✧ “It’s a term of endearment.” You smile up at him, bright even in his confusion. “I’m just trying to say I love you.”

✧ “I see.” Elladan feels his gaze draw down to you, and knows in that moment he would be your Beren - do any of the tasks set if you asked him too. “I love you too.”

𝐄𝐥𝐫𝐨𝐡𝐢𝐫

✧ Elrohir is no stranger to grand romantic gestures, he has about six of them planned in his mind for you at any given time, but you sometimes struggle with them.

✧ Not when he does it to you, he’s already an expert at gauging your mood, but for you to give something back to him.

✧ The idea of a romantic gesture appears in your mind as you're doing paperwork, and try as you might you cannot get it to leave.

✧ But, as the son of Elrond is returning soon, you don’t exactly have much time to plan.

✧ So you resort to one of the more basic tricks - a simple red rose from your garden.

✧ Bells ringing, Elrohir knows that you’ll be in your chambers when he returns. It’s a thought that puts an extra spring in his step, keeps his heart light when he approaches and turns the door handle.

✧ And there you are.

✧ Standing in the doorway, slightly bowed down to him - although still looking at him - with a rose in your hand. “My Elrohir.”

✧ For once, he can’t think of a romantic or particularly witty piece of banter. He can only feel his cheeks heating up more as he stares, swallowing when you straighten.

✧ Gently, you press the rose into his hand. A small smirk on your face, “Do you like it?”

✧ “I.” It truly isn’t a common occurrence, him being lost for words. “May.. may I kiss you, meleth nîn?”

A/N : It is now completed, so... hi to anyone re-reading this! Hope the extra characters have been just as good <3

« first scenario, previous scenario, masterlist » thank you for reading *･༓˚✧ Taglist : @celestialhole / @starwars2222 / @xiaoseminence / @withasideofmeg / @ferns-fics / @fleurdemiel-145 / @chewgazellechew / @nilintakan / @stormchaser819 ✧ wish to be tagged?

[teddy06writes]

Whumptober Day 15 - Aragorn

Aragorn x gn!reader

Prompt: Hiding an injury

Trigger Warnings: Violence/battle, graphic descriptions of an wound, implied character death

Summary: Somewhere in the thicket of Helms Deep, you're injured, but in the chaos that follows, doing anything about it seems to slip your mind.

{Less so hiding an injury and more like unaware of injury}

The battle had been long and terrible. There had been more close calls than you could count, and many times where you swore death itself had almost closed its hands around you. You had ridden out in the face of impending doom, and made it to the other side.

But now that the battle had been won, the real work began.

The carnage stretched through the valley, into the walls of Helm's Deep itself. Adrenaline still coursing through your veins, you put aside the aches and pains that pervaded you, making yourself useful where ever you could.

You found yourself joining in the effort to round up the wounded, moving them safely within the walls of the fortress, where healers began their work in earnest.

As you made the trek back and forth countless times, you could feel your exhaustion beginning to catch up to you. The ache in your side became more and more persistent, just as it seemed harder and harder to draw air into your lungs.

The next time you turned to go back out into the wreckage, the ache seemed to turn to an ice hot burning.

"Are you alright, laddie?" Gimli asked as you moved past where he seemed to be spectating Aragorn, Gandalf and Theoden's discussion.

You nodded, starting to wave him off, "Tired, is all."

"Come and rest then," Gandalf turned, a knowing smile playing at his lips, "One might say you've earned it."

You tried to smile at the jest, but a new jab of pain stabbed at your side. With a wince, you pressed your hand to your side, only to let out another hiss of pain, as your hand connected with something warm and wet.

"Meleth nin?" Aragorn's focus shifted to you in an instant.

Your eyes met for a brief moment, before they seemed to move in tandem to your newly crimson stained hand. You couldn't help but let out a chuckle of disbelief, despite the pain now radiating through your body.

The room was filled with noises of confusion and concern, but they all seemed dull and far away now. You took half a step toward your lover, but your legs seemed to falter, and the next thing you knew you were stumbling to the ground.

The stone was cold beneath you, and Aragorn was at your side in the space of one sluggish blink. His hand was firm against your wound, applying painful pressure despite your pleading for him to stop.

With his other hand, he cupped your cheek, "Why didn't you say anything, my love?"

You gulped down a whimper of pain, "I didn't- I didn't realize-"

But he wasn't listening, instead turning over his shoulder to bark out an order to someone you couldn't see. Distantly, as if underwater, you could hear Gimli's reply.

Somewhere between one blink and another, Aragorn had grown more frantic, pressing dressings to your wound, muttering something that sounded strange and fuzzy to your ears.

The pain had dulled away now, leaving your body cold, numb, and inexplicably empty. You gripped at Aragorn's arm, trying to anchor yourself, but no matter what you did, you seemed to be slipping further and further away.

The last thing you heard before the darkness consumed you was his final, desperate call of your name.

[entishramblings]

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

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

Request: none

Pairing: Legolas X Fem!Reader

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

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

Word Count: 5.6k

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

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

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

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

“It is time,” Aragorn spoke softly.

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

“Goodbye,” she whispered. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Rámaite Mahtar stood straight, confident, and strong. 

“(Y/N),” she replied simply. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“(Y/N),” Legolas said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

….

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

“Why do they stare?” (Y/N) asked.

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

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

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

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

“And the woman?” the soldier stated.

(Y/N) frowned, tilting her head.

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

The fellowships’ eyes shifted. She was the weapon.

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

He then turned to Gandalf, “Your staff.”

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

At this, (Y/N) raised a brow. 

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

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

(Y/N) frowned. 

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

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

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

“I know your face. Éowyn.” 

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

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

….

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

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

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

“But why?” (Y/N) persisted. 

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

(Y/N) simply shrugged. “Far.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was at that moment that the healer arrived. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She turned at the familiar voice of Aragorn.

“Release the healer,” he commanded firmly. 

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

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

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

She nodded, turning her back towards him.

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

She shook her head. “No,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Alright,” she agreed. 

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

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

Legolas began gently cleaning the wounds. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

….

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

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

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

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

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

Aragorn nodded in confirmation. 

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

Aragorn’s eyes shifted, unsure what to say. 

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

“And the first?” She asked. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Understood,” the Ranger replied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

……

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Éowyn frowned. “You do not know?”

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

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

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

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

(Y/N) frowned. “I don’t understand.” 

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

“Why?”

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

“You have never—?”

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

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

Éowyn nodded. “Yes, sometimes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She frowned. “Sex?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that alright with you?” 

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

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

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

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

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

….

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

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[shirefantasies]

LoTR Characters Finding Out You Were in an Abusive Relationship

Sort of requested/mentioned by @autisticgenderworm and desired by yours truly, here is the other version of this reaction. I hope it brings comfort to anyone who needs it.

Warnings: mentions/implications of past abuse, but nothing graphic

Aragorn

Aragorn's pause sparks no concern. He is a pensive man and that is something you always loved about him, let alone any consideration the gravity of what you just shared. "And you gave your heart so freely, I have no doubt." He shakes his head. "That such a truly corrupt mind would try to take you. But that is just it: I see it in your eyes and I feel it in the way I am so lucky in your love. They can try, but they cannot break you. You are stronger than all the hate, all the avarice, in the world. You know this, do you not?" Eyes watering, you peer at him and blink. "Some days I feel so far from that." Aragorn nods. He reaches out and holds your cheek against his calloused palm and somehow it is the softest touch you've ever felt. "Our true strength is that we are never alone. You have so many who will fight for you. I will fight for you. You will be on no lead, your own person simply making our lives all the richer for it."

Legolas

Brows furrowing lightly, he tilts his head, fixing you with a look of deep sorrow. You see his hand raise, lower again hesitantly, so you reach out to take it. "I don't mean to frighten you," you tell him, "I'm sorry." “You have nothing to apologize for, my love. The burden rests solely on the one who took it upon themselves to hurt you. It was nothing you did. And I am not frightened. Rather I would have you feel safe.” “I do,” you tell him, “That is why I hoped you were not afraid. The last thing I would want is for you to see me differently. To be too much for you.” “Too much for me? No such thing,” Legolas teases with a little smile, “But truly I am just grateful you shared. If there is anything I do, anything I say, allow me to apologize now.” “That alone puts me at ease,” you reply, feeling yourself relax and breathe deeply once more as Legolas takes your hand.

Boromir

“Why?” “I- I don’t think there was a ‘why’,” you stuttered, “I could have done things differently, I suppose, but-” “No,” Boromir cuts you off, a hand reaching to gently caress your cheek, “Not you, my dear. Not you. Why would anyone seek to defile beauty? And kindness. Why indeed.” “I don’t know,” you answer helplessly, gaze falling from his, “I should have left sooner. I-I guess I was truly that lonely that I thought it was worth changing. It wasn’t.” A shaky, sardonic laugh escapes your lips. “Nobody should have to choose between lonely and pain,” Boromir laments, hands sliding down to take yours, “But we are here now, and I will give you everything you deserve.”

Gimli

“Where is the bastard? I have a selection of choice words for such a great blight upon this earth.” Gimli’s hands ball into fists at his sides as he speaks, his voice darkening a bit more with each passing word. You cannot help but smile at that even in spite of his tone. “I would be happy to introduce you if I knew,” you replied, “But I know not and care not.” “That’s my fire!” Gimli exclaims, pride coloring his tone and his very gaze upon you. “You don’t need me- my approval or my axe! But of course you have them both with equal enthusiasm. To look upon you is to see a flame most bright and most beautiful that nobody’s rain can extinguish.” It is you who steps forward first, pulling the dwarf into your arms, but it is Gimli who asks if he might kiss your beautiful lips. Just the asking is such a difference; of course you acquiesce.

Frodo

He says nothing at first, expression just softening and crumpling in pain. One fair hand extends and finds purchase upon your shoulder; Frodo’s touch melts you and he feels your relaxation beneath him. “Oh,” he speaks your name so softly, all but reverently, “For so long you have been my strength and yet you carried this.” “I didn’t know how to tell you,” you answer, “Didn’t want you to think badly of me.” “How could I? You asked for none of that. So often do these things happen against our will.” “Sometimes I wish I had never said yes when I did. So I would have never had to say no,” you tell him, crumpling into his arms. Frodo presses a kiss to the crown of your head. I often remember what Gandalf told me: ‘All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us’. They may have chosen to use their time to hurt and to wrestle control, but no longer. Time can only do so much healing, I know, but I will be here for you. Here for it all.”

Sam

"You can't mean... They didn't!" Anger flashes in Sam's typically docile green eyes. "I know," you reply, "I shouldn't have-" "You shouldn't have? The only person who shouldn't have was that monster! Don't you dare apologize for something you didn't do, alright? I don't want that sort of thing running through your head." Sam's last sentence emerged quietly. Trembled with an uncertain sadness. It broke you and made you whole all over again. You gave a small nod. "You're right." Sam looked up and met your eyes once more, returning the gesture with a bit more vigor. "I see that now, and that is all thanks to you. You love me like I deserve. Fight for me in all you do. When I am with you, Sam, I have the love I always thought was just a dream.” Tears rose in his eyes then even as his lips smiled. “And when I met you I thought the same: this has to be a dream.”

Merry

“They didn’t.” “Unfortunately,” you nod, gaze locked upon your feet, “They did. Sometimes I wonder what might have been different if I had-” “Don’t do that to yourself!” Merry cut you off, pausing for a moment as a look of remorseful surprise came over him. “That is to say we can’t change the past. Just like we can’t see the future. I may not have been there for your past, but I do know nothing that happened came of what you did. People like that, they have no shame. You are far too kind for someone like that. They took advantage of you. Made you feel bad and that’s all them. All right?” It was still difficult to believe sometimes, but Merry’s voice was nothing but convicted, and you trusted him. Swallowing, you nodded. “All right.” The hobbit opened his arms. “Come here.” You fell right in.

Pippin

"No." Eyes wide, he shakes his head and reaches for your hands. "No. How could- How could anybody..." "I don't know," you sigh, relaxing slightly as his thumbs ran over the backs of your hands, "Perhaps I should never have-" Pippin cut you off there. "It wasn't your fault. None of it was. There isn't a thing you could do to make any of that alright. And I swear to you that I will never do anything of the like. After all, who could even think of putting a precious gem like yourself down, hm?" At those last words, the soothing touch of his hands, your tearful expression broke into a shaky smile. "What did I do to deserve you?" You asked. "Don't worry," he replied, "I ask myself the same thing every day. I love you, you know. And I want to treat you like it. If I ever don't, please help me." The longer he spoke, his words faded closer and closer to a whisper, those lovely green eyes focused solely, searchingly, upon your gaze. Tears returning alongside your smile, you nodded. "You already do, Pippin. You already do."

Faramir

Brows furrowed, Faramir takes your hands at once, blue eyes gazing deeply into yours. "There are no words to lift the weight of it all. Nothing I can say but that your pain is mine and that I know how difficult it is to speak of such things. Thank you, truly, for sharing this with me. I want to be worthy of this. Of you." Worthy of you? Him? "You are more than worthy, Faramir." "And I wish to continue to live up to that for the sake of your beautiful heart. I wish for you to never feel unworthy again." His voice breaks and your heart does the same, knowing how similar your experiences were- Faramir was made to feel lesser for years. "I want the same for you," you run your hands over his gently with a tentative smile, "And I think deep down I knew you would understand. That no one else would understand like you. We can love each other more every day." "I like the sound of that," Faramir replies, his eyes shining nothing but love into yours.

Eomer

Even as your words fade, you catch the way his hands tighten into fists, tense slightly at the sight. "Coward. That worm had no honor whatsoever. And you...here you stand triumphant." "It does not always feel so," you admit, gaze falling. Eomer places a hand upon your shoulder. "We all have our scars. To escape, to be free... Why, that is the greatest show of strength. Is it not what we all fight for? And fight you did! Believe me when I tell you I am nothing but proud of you." Eomer's normally stoic expression rises into a smile, his hand sliding from your shoulder gently down your arm and finally to grasp your hand and bring it to his lips. "Nobody has the right to treat you like property. They should feel ashamed trying to tame a heart like yours. I would have it tempered. Let me act as your bellows, then, to stoke your fire of resiliency." His words do indeed fuel the embers in your heart, coax fire to them as they bring a small smile to your lips. "I would like that." "And let that scoundrel hope to never come within a league of this place while I draw breath."

Eowyn

“So cruel this world can be!” Eowyn cries out. “How can they not see all you have to offer? This will hardly erase the hurt, but I will say this: the loss is theirs.” Leaning in, her voice lowers to a conspiratorial whisper at that last phrase, her lips raising in a tentative smile. “For your heart is strong and steadfast and your laugh is music to me. To have you by my side is naught but joy. So help me, I will never treat you as a belonging, put you in a cage. And if that is how you feel I would have you tell me." "Never," you answer her, "Nor would I do the same to you. I told you because I trust you to understand. Because I love you." She leans forward at this, connecting your foreheads; golden strands of hair tickle your cheek, but you mind not. "And I you," Eowyn breathes.

Haldir

Never have you seen Haldir's eyes darken such as they are now. A part of you wants to back away, but you know that his ire is not for you. Not when he shakes his head, looking at you with...not quite pity. Rather all that swims in his eyes as he turns back to you is a new understanding, something deep in the blue. His hands hover over you as if you are spun-glass, and with your eyelids fluttering shut you take them and rest them upon your hips. "I do not mean to trouble you with this news, I just..." "Trouble me? The only trouble I have is how badly I wish to punish anybody who hurts you." At that, he smirks a bit and you feel his hands grip you a bit tighter. A shiver runs down your spine at his words. "You know, I would hardly mind that at this point. Not exactly unearned. So this is no change to you?" "Only any changes you want me to make," Haldir answers.

Galadriel

Her face falls, but something in its look leads you to suspect she knew already. Galadriel's gifts lie far beyond your understanding. "Do not discount the light you bring to this world," her voice cuts through your thoughts, "For you remind me of its joys every day. There will always be those who seek to rob us of our light, but that is only to fill the darkness that is in their hearts. You are more than enough despite what they say. You need not trouble yourself with the words of lesser folk." Tears flood your eyes at her words and all you can do is nod, shakily smiling. You feel Galadriel's lips against one cheek, then the other, then upon the top of your head, and finally warmly and softly upon your lips. "I'm so lucky to have you," you tell her, and at that she shakes her head. "It is I who is the lucky one," she refutes with a mischievous but loving smile.

Elrond

For just a moment, his expression steels and you flinch back, but only for a moment before it’s softened like never before and falling. Pain. That is the only word to describe what crosses Elrond’s face. He feels your pain. Stepping closer, the Lord of Rivendell opens his arms, and with a tearful smile you fall into them, into the silken softness of his robe and the gentle warmth of his hold. “Healing takes time. I have time. And here I shall be to grant you peace as best I can. Please do not hesitate to ask it of me. If you ask it and it is within my power, I shall grant it.” “I’d like to stay like this,” you reply, words muffled by the cushion of your cheek to his chest, the sound of Elrond’s soothing heartbeat in your ear. “As would I,” he agrees softly.

Arwen

“Meleth nîn,” she addresses you softly, brows furrowed in concern, “You endured all that?” At her words, you just nod, gripping her hands a bit tighter. She gives yours a gentle squeeze in response. “Your strength knows no bounds. Fear not, for by my side you can take all the time you need. I can wait, you know.” At that, she giggles and you smile. You are, after all, in love with not only the fairest of beings but one immortal by nearly all accounts. Her smile alone brings you so much comfort. “You are the one I have chosen and I will not take that for granted. You are a gift and that anyone would cast that aside is folly.”

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[sillylotrpolls]

(Context below poll)

In The Two Towers, Tolkien makes a big deal out of Legolas not needing much rest and how he sleeps with his eyes open "in the way of the elves." However, in the Silm and the Hobbit elves absolutely seem to sleep "normally" (including snoring!) whenever convenient for the plot. So what gives?

Assorted quotes about sleeping beneath the cut.

From The Two Towers:

Only Legolas still stepped as lightly as ever, his feet hardly seeming to press the grass, leaving no footprints as he passed; but in the waybread of the Elves he found all the sustenance that he needed, and he could sleep, if sleep it could be called by Men, resting his mind in the strange paths of elvish dreams, even as he walked open-eyed in the light of this world.

With that [Aragorn] fell asleep. Legolas already lay motionless, his fair hands folded upon his breast, his eyes unclosed, blending living night and deep dream, as is the way with Elves. Gimli sat hunched by the fire, running his thumb thoughtfully along the edge of his axe. The tree rustled. There was no other sound.

Gandalf is a maia, not an elf, but he doesn't quite close his eyes in sleep either. Also from The Two Towers:

Driven by some impulse that he did not understand, Pippin walked softly to where Gandalf lay. He looked down at him. The wizard seemed asleep, but with lids not fully closed: there was a glitter of eyes under his long lashes.

From The Hobbit:

So following the hobbit, down into the lowest cellars they crept. They passed a door through which the chief guard and the butler could be seen still happily snoring with smiles upon their faces. The wine of Dorwinion brings deep and pleasant dreams.

From The Silmarillion:

And when again thirty years had passed, Turgon son of Fingolfin left Nevrast where he dwelt and sought out Finrod his friend upon the island of Tol Sirion, and they journeyed southward along the river, being weary for a while of the northern mountains; and as they journeyed night came upon them beyond the Meres of Twilight beside the waters of Sirion, and they slept upon his banks beneath the summer stars. But Ulmo coming up the river laid a deep sleep upon them and heavy dreams; and the trouble of the dreams remained after they awoke, but neither said aught to the other, for their memory was not clear, and each believed that Ulmo had sent a message to him alone.

[balrogballs]

I'm still sad about this heartwarming and mildly amusing little section where feral adolescent Aragorn brings some joy to Maedhros in his unhinged little way, which I had to cut out of Cast in Stone for structural reasons, especially as I had gone to the trouble of illustrating it!

But I realised it reads perfectly fine standalone, so you guys can have my crumb of Maedhros-joy instead. No context required: Maedhros and Maglor are temporarily staying in the Shire during the late Third Age, Maedhros had a horrible night of traumatic dreams and was being maudlin — until young Aragorn, aka Elros II and the bane of his life, turns up like a bad penny, as he often does. Enjoy!

---

"You look unhappy," said Estel, sitting down before Maedhros, legs crossed. "Does your hand hurt? Surely it can't be as bad as when it got chopped off, can it?"

"No, but leave me be, Estel, I have —"

"All right, but let me ask just one question. I promise, then I'll go away. I just remembered something from my lessons, and every time I ask Ada he looks up at the sky and asks the Valar where he went wrong in raising me," Estel moved closer, looking around for eavesdroppers. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. But I would like to know."

Maedhros frowned, swallowed the lump in his throat and dragged in a breath. "What?"

"Fingon rescued you on one of those enormous eagles, didn't he? On that mountain with Morgoth and all of that. It was one of those, right? Manwë's Eagles."

"Yes. He did. I do not wish to answer any further questions on the matter, clear off."

"And it was quite a long journey, wasn't it?"

Maedhros grunted.

"I've always had a question about it… and again, you don't have to tell me if it's too traumatising," Estel's eyes shone, as though he were about to hear a state secret. "And I promise I won't tell anyone."

"Spit it out, boy, or leave me now. I am in the mood for neither company nor memory."

"Did it… you know…?"

"If you're trying to ask me if losing the hand hurt, yes it did," Maedhros snapped. "Now leave me alone, I've had enough reminiscing for a damned century. Get off home, now!"

"Oh, shut up, I wasn't asking about your stupid hand, I don't understand why you think everyone sits around thinking about your hand," Estel scowled, pursuing his lips, before deciding his quest for scientific knowledge was more important than whatever had crawled up Maedhros' arsehole and died. He widened his eyes conspiratorily, looked around again. "My question has nothing to do with that! I just wanted to know, did the eagle… you know?"

"Estel, I am not going to repeat this, get out of my sight right this —"

"Did it take a shit?"

"Did… what?"

"Did it take a shit?" Estel flushed as he said the word, Elrond's parental touch finally taking hold, though in a predictably useless manner. "And if it did, how big was it? As in, was it normal bird crap, or was it, you know — like a bucketload of it?"

Maedhros blinked. Estel held his hands out to demonstrate.

"I've always wanted to know that about them, you know," the boy continued, stroking his chin like a philosopher. "Manwe's eagles, that is. Surely if they're big enough to carry two people, one being a towering beast like you, their droppings must be massive."

"What…?" Maedhros couldn't formulate words, a state of being Estel clearly had no familiarity with. "Their… what?"

"And yes, I know they're divine, all of that, but surely they can't be toilet trained, can they? I just don't see Manwë having enough time to toilet train an eagle, you know. Could you imagine just… going about your day, and having this massive tub of birdshite fall on your head? Oh, it could drown a person, I'm sure of it!" Estel grinned, as if said occurrence would be the best day of his life, had it happened to him. "So, did it? And if it did, did you see if it went on someone?"

Maedhros sat there blinking at the boy in complete silence before rising quietly, taking the now-extremely-familiar ear, and slowly — like he were a corpse — leading Estel to the village gate. He didn't say a word, only gestured weakly and put up three fingers, a signal the now sulky boy was very used to.

And as Estel, muttering darkly all the while, neared the completion of his first punishment-lap of three around the village green, he heard something that sounded like a donkey in immense pain. It was a sound so tremendous and unexpected that it brought Maglor running from the house, gaping at the source, having not heard such a thing in centuries. It was no donkey, but Maedhros in complete hysterics, sitting on the ground exactly where he was when he beckoned Estel to run, sobbing with laughter, actual tears pouring down his face, which itself was screwed up and flushed so pink he looked like he'd been badly sunburned. He was trying to explain the situation to Maglor (who had been glaring at Estel as if he had personally killed his brother, and now looked upon him like he was Iluvatar himself) but Maedhros was howling too hard to even stand, let alone form coherent words.

Estel pretended not to notice, and started on his second lap. Though objectively speaking, the laugh itself sounded like something between a foghorn, a pig and whatever noise he imagined Ungoliant would make — there was something rather lovely about it that brought an inexplicable little smile to his face.

[tobylix-blog]

Vita sine libertate nihil* - Aragorn x Reader

Content & Warnings: violence, attempted suicide, use of y/n, enemies-to-lovers trope Word count: 5.8k Summary: *Life without freedom is nothing. When the Gondorian army came to the CIty of Corsairs, Umbar didn't have enough sources to withstand the siege. Faced with the choice between surrender to the king and keeping your honour, you picked your blade.

A/n: This is based on request for enemies-to-lovers imagine. Well, turned out a bit more than just imagine. I'm going to write more stories with the same trope for other characters (Legolas, Boromir and Gimli are in process)

The heartbeat pounded through your head like a bell, the blood seemed thick as it pulsed in your veins. The consciousness was slowly slipping away from the grasp. Gentle blackness covered the edges of your sight. Even though blurred with agony the view of the pale towers and walls calmed you. You were to accept death in the City of Corsairs, Umbar Baharbêl, along with your people, as strong hands pulled the silks tight around your throat.

When the darkness was finally there to take you, you felt a strong hit land on your back. The first, unintentional inhale was sharp, setting your air depraved lungs on fire, while you scrambled off the floor. Your obscured vision focused on the shining mithril helmets. Gondorians.

They came to take over the city, destroy what was left of the mighty Umbar fleet and kill all who resisted. You had no power to stop them, but you had enough to not let them take your life. At least so you had thought. But now the slave, who was supposed to strangle you, was lying at their feet beheaded with one impatient swing of a sword.

“One concubine is better than none at all. What a wild custom to kill them all as the enemy storms the castle,” one of the men shook his head.

You felt his grip on your hair. The tug wasn't as strong as it was disgusting. The very thought of following these people from the North raised a wave of rebellion in your pained heart. You'd rather died before your eyes ever set upon the beauty of the sea than became a slave of Gondor.

With every bit of resolve there was you drew a narrow, curved dagger from your hip and stabbed the soldier's leg, just behind the knee between the plates of his greaves and the edge of his chainmail. The painful hit made him let go of your hair and the unexpectedness of the attack was enough for you to get away to the window.

Your back pressed to the cold corner of the wall, the fallen city just behind your shoulder, you stood against the soldiers. You couldn't fend them off, you wouldn't even buy time, even more so now that there was not a soul to buy that time for. But you still had a chance to win for the last time.

You raised the blood covered dagger and, under the multiple tense gazes, plunged it between your ribs aiming to get it right through the heart.

Darkness enfolded you before the Gondorians comprehended what happened and even before any sign of pain reached your mind. Blissful was that darkness. You seized the last straw and pulled yourself out of the living hell.

______________________________________________________________

Diffused light filled the space. You could almost feel its soft palms stroking your face. The view was in the same haze as the thoughts. For a whole century you were only looking up into the white nothingness above you. Or perhaps only for a few minutes.

Senses were coming back slowly yet surely. First was the vision. After the light was hidden away by a few flashes of blackness – you realised that it was simply blinking – the room became a clear image before your eyes. The ceiling that you mistook to be white was a pale grey surface. The light was streaming through the tall and narrow window in the wall on the opposite side. There wasn't much in the chamber. A couple of chests with candles on top of them, a chair by the window and a bed. The sense of touch came back next. Soft bedding beneath your fingers, tight embrace of bandages around your chest beneath a plain chemise.

You raised on your elbows slightly, pushing the pillows further against the headboard. As you were sitting up you felt the stinging in the flesh under the bandages and heard the subtle rustle of the fabrics. Hearing was coming back too. In the silence of the room you could pick out some retreating footsteps in the hallway behind the wall.

Smells returned the last. And with them came the difficult realisation – you were still alive and most definitely not in Umbar or even Harad. You couldn't find any of the familiar smells in the air – there was no thick oily scent, no aroma of spices tickling the nose and no salty fragrance of the sea. There were little to no smells at all. At least none that stroke any familiarity within.

The door creaked unpleasantly. You winced. The sound echoed around the room and retreated through the window cowardly, leaving you behind with a man who entered. You had never seen him before, but the silver glow of a diadem in his dark locks and the sight of guards standing outside the door were enough to understand his position.

The king had come to mock the defeated enemy, hadn't he? To laugh in your face and rise further on your defeat. Your teeth gritted at the thought.

“I was informed that you have finally woken up. Your wound was so severe that I feared you would never come back to the world of living,” he said. His intonation seemed rather plain as he looked down on you.

“It is not wise to dread death. Particularly the death of an enemy,” you remarked.

After closing the door the king took a chair from the wall and approached your bed. His eyes never left your face, his gaze calm and measured.

“I would have not chosen such a painful way to end your life,” he said quietly and sat in the chair he took, “But you would rather perish through suffering than become my captive, wouldn't you?” There was a trace of a sad amusement in his voice.

“There is no honour in one, who surrenders at their own will.”

“Honour? Yes, it is a word that can do the most beautiful and the most terrible things to people.” His gaze roamed across the chamber until his grey orbs caught the light from the window. He closed his eyes and inhaled slowly before turning back to you. “Tell me, were you the one who gave the order to execute all the concubines in the harem? My men mistook you for one of them, but the attire and the dagger spoke otherwise.”

You smiled bitterly. “Your people are quite ignorant of our customs. One of them presumed his hand was worthy of touching my hair. Now, with every step, he is reminded of that mistake.”

His eyes narrowed dangerously. “You may be the scion of some noble house in the south, but you possess no more justification for your cruelty than my own soldiers do. Do not forget yourself.”

“All that remains of me is my dignity. Yet you seek to deprive me even of this. You are a cruel king, Elessar,” you spat out lifting your head.

“Your words sting like wasps in the late summer. That usually proves as a sign of weakness. Though perhaps you still possess enough strength to pursue the path of diplomacy and share your name.”

“Diplomacy?” you shook your head in disbelief. “The time for diplomacy was over, when your ships dropped anchor in our harbour.”

He stood up without a single word of response. The silence was eloquently deafening – the encounter, or rather, the audience was over. The king pushed the door open, sending a draft through the chamber. “But perhaps, there is little honour in being called 'prisoner',” you said before he took the last step to the hallway. “[Y/N] would be more pleasant.”

You sensed him nodding rather than saw the movement. The door slammed shut behind the monarch, and you were at last left alone.

______________________________________________________________

The worst thing about being a royal prisoner was that it wasn't particularly unpleasant. You weren't tortured or even interrogated after the first visit of the king. You stayed in a regular room of what seemed to be the house of some nobleman situated high above the White City. You had all the necessities provided. Many of the commoners would be grateful to lead such life until the end of their days. But you utterly hated it. You hated the way your physical well-being mismatched your mind's suffering. How your heart pained from the thought of living in captivity, while your back sank into the soft pillows. How your thoughts raced around the man who took away your honour as your body healed by his efforts.

You pushed away the half finished plate. You couldn't swallow another bite. Honestly, the food was probably the worst part of the king's hospitality so far. Too plain to your taste and hardly seasoned. As your gaze drifted from the dull knife to the mountain peaks that were not hidden by the clouds anymore, a knock came to the door. A maid came in to take away the plates. It would all be too much like you were but a guest of the house if not for a guard who stood in the door frame observing closely.

You sat back calmly in the chair watching the beautiful scenery and paying the servant and the man less attention than a fly would get. They remained silent as well. Probably had an order restricting them from talking to a prisoner. Or prisoners. You weren't entirely sure that you were the only one, whom Elessar kept captive.

When your thoughts turned back to the king, you noticed that the maid and the guard became quite nervous, looking out into the corridor every now and then, and left shortly. Puzzled by their behaviour, you took a few steps away from the window and closer to the door. Muffled noises of speech and footsteps gave away the commotion in the hallway. You shook your head and took a step back.

Just in time to not be hit by a door swinging open. The king took such a long stride inside the room that he ended up right in front of you, a mere feet between the faces. Your expression seemed rather calm save for the raised eyebrows while he looked disturbed in a way.

“Is there trouble in your kingdom, your majesty?” you said as the door closed behind his back, certainly not without a helping hand.

Elessar noticed the mocking tone right away, but let it slide for now. “There is a matter for discussion.”

“Well then, I am all attention,” you responded, and sauntered towards the window.

He took a good pause before beginning his speech. “My first and foremost interest as a king is to bring peace to the realm of people. Therefore the peace treaty with Harad has been signed on terms of lands North from river Harnen returning under my rule and Umbar becoming a neutral land. While-”

“While the City of Corsairs is to be deprived of the military fleet, and its walls must be razed to the ground,” you cut him off, quotation from the official letter dropping off your lips like venom. “I am well aware of your interests in the South. Have you come to vaunt the great achievements of your army in my homeland?”

He winced. “I am not the monster you paint me, [Y/N]. My intentions are to bestow peace not cause deeper wounds. Umbar rejected the suggested terms, and that is why I had to resort to violence. Had your lords agreed to those suggested conditions, there would be no war and no pain.”

“And no walls, and no ships, and no freedom. What a great life!” You exclaimed, and turned away to the wall hiding the overwhelming resentment. “The sea is our life and purpose. Our ships are our honour. Without them there is only so much we could do. And having no defences against the threats from the land... We would be no better than slaves to Harad until we all become them.” Your voice sounded muted in the chamber, that seemed to be shrinking around you as your heartbeat quickened.

“There would not be any slavery! And there will not be now,” Elessar replied firmly. “Neutrality of Umbar means its freedom from foreign influences. If any danger hovers over it, the army of Gondor will set out on a march for the cause at the first call.”

His promise rang with genuineness as he took a step closer to you.

“You say so, and yet I watched the ships burn in the harbour, and I stay here. What is there left for us? The plain taste of scraps from your tables? Memories of the past slowly fading into fairytales?”

“Your people will be alive and free, I swear. Once the rebellion comes to an end there will not be a single soldier from Gondor in Umbar Baharbêl,” he spoke. “And you can aid the cause.” He moved to the window, standing side by side with you. “I see your wish to help your people, to alleviate their hardships. Right now is the time when your wish may become reality. The war is ongoing, but there is a possibility it will end soon. With your assistance it might be a matter of weeks if not days before Umbar settles in peace.”

You shot a glance to his side. His face held the same expression as when he had entered. Somewhat troubled, but at the same time assured. There was no hint of guile in his steely eyes and the straight line of lips pressed together, which allowed you to take another step in the diplomatic exchange.

“So what would be my course of action were I to agree with your proposal?”

“There has been a significant growth in number of outlaws – thieves and rogues – since I overturned the advance of the Black fleet. Whoever managed to run away turned against my rule by harming the small folk. Recently many of those have joined soldiers, fleeing from the City of Corsairs. They formed the rebellious groups, squads even,” he explained. “They are the issue. While there is no significant force in their possession, they know the land and remain hidden from my soldiers. But their presence and untimely attacks obstruct the path to peace in the region. They stir up the locals, calling fishermen and villagers to their banners, at times against the men's will... But no matter the price their resistance holds no meaning. In a year they will have no power to pursue the same goals and will turn back into thieves.” His hand pressed heavily against the windowsill.

“But that means another year of occupation and food shortage for common people. And you can help to stop this now. It would take you so little to relieve Umbar of suffering... Only a few of your words. A letter. A message to those, who still hold the weapons against Gondor. Order them to surrender, and your homeland will once again be free.”

You took his words into consideration. On one hand, he hadn't revealed all of the reasons. That the raids, while not being particularly dangerous for the Gondorian army, were still a threat to separated squads. That getting those rebels to capitulate would cut the losses and set up a secure basement to establish further diplomatic relationships. On the other hand, he was right in the assumption that resistance wasn't entirely supported by the commoners and mostly led to prolonged famine and downfall of trade. That reason alone would be enough to agree if you were the sole ruler. However Umbar hadn't been like many other kingdoms in terms of governance. All the major decisions including those of declaring war and signing peace were to be made by a council of lords.

In times of need the only remaining lord (or the one assumed to be the last living) would be able to take responsibility in full and declare his will as the rightful decision. But you were not a member of the council. You were a child of one. Moreover, your father happened to be the Master of Temples. His power was grand over the civil life of the City. If any edifice was to be built, his consent would be required. If any celebration was planned, it would be under his control. If the markets were set up, they would be watched closely by him. Even the way slaves lived in the City was his concern. That was the very reason behind your arrival to harem in the palace of Lords. As his successor you executed his orders.

But being a successor wasn't enough. In given circumstances you could only take the power in your hands if the council in entirety was dead along with their immediate heirs. Then and only then would your decision be considered legitimate.

“I cannot accept your proposal, Elessar,” you spoke, your voice quiet and firm as you explained the situation carefully. Every new piece of information was falling on the shoulders of the king with such loud noises that they echoed through the chamber. “I do not have the power you seek. You saved the wrong person,” you finished at last.

The afternoon sunlight enveloped the room in the thick blanket of silence. You stood straight with visible tension in every muscle and refrained from looking anywhere but outside the window. There were the mountains. Their tall peaks tearing up the few clouds. There was the city unfolding down at some ungodly sharp angle. Its streets hidden from view by more and more stone walls. There were the vast plains. Pale green of the late summer stretching beyond the horizon. But even though your eyes remained fixed within the window frame, you couldn't help but notice Elessar watching you. His gaze felt heavy as the stream of a waterfall, making you tense ever more to push against it.

You both remained motionless for a while. Until suddenly the atmosphere changed with a dry chuckle. You turned sharply to see the king smirking.

“It is truly the rarest of occasions to find a person, who could speak of their worthlessness with such dignity,” he explained, and you surprisingly realised he didn't mean to insult you in the slightest. It was but a statement of his genuine amusement.

You raised your eyebrows in return. “It is rather delightful to see you so unaffected by the failure.”

“My own council advised against the attempt of negotiations on the matter,” he replied. “So finding compassion in you is more than I should have expected from this venture. Our inability to put an end to the situation sooner is dispiriting, but the price of it will not be unbearable for my people, therefore I must accept it.”

Despite the careful acting you saw right through his words and understood that he did in fact hope for your assistance. Moreover the unfortunate result weighed on him noticeably, but he chose not to show it.

“Now that this matter has been settled…” he paused, pondering how to phrase it better. “I cannot let you leave, but I hope for your stay to deem bearable.”

You watched him walk out of the chamber, and each step restored his composure and regal facade. There was a similarity with the ancient Numenorean kings, as the light cast sharp shadows on his face. The image brought uneasiness at how truly different your current positions were. If you had been less honourable, you could've lied your way out — exchanged the potential influence of your name for personal freedom. But you held dignity in high regard and spoke truthfully. You were losing your value as a prisoner. And you were well aware of that. It wouldn't come as a surprise if your next bed would be a pile of dry grass in some forgotten cell beneath the castle. The only source of hope was the king's promise.

______________________________________________________________

The next day began with an unexpectedly early visit. You were still in bed as you tended to sleep longer hours to keep your mind off worries and let the days pass faster. There was a knock, more like a full-blown hit on the door, and then a guard entered. Same armour as all of them wore, but his face was unfamiliar to you and his arrogance was completely unmasked, which led you to an assumption that he held some higher position, a highborn officer most likely. Surprisingly enough he brought in a pile of books, their leather covers too delicate in comparison to the metal of his breastplate.

“A gift from His Majesty*, the King,” the man announced putting the whole pile down on the chest with a loud thud. He eyed your form covered in a thin chemise and a blanket with contempt before spitting out, “prisoner.”

Seeing the way he was on edge from simply being in your presence and fulfilling the royal order in your favour, you couldn't miss the chance. You practically jumped out of the bed, and in a moment you stood a mere foot away from him.

“I understand my image must seem divine to you, however I happen to be a human. And as such I have a name, [Y/N]. Do me a favour and memorise it. Perhaps, that is not beyond your feeble abilities.” You spoke confidently and clearly, looking down at him despite being physically shorter. “It is rather simple to put mind to use, once you first succeed. Do not fear... Though fears come from knowledge, alas-”

“Keep your dirty mouth shut, prisoner! Don't test my patience.” The agitated response came just as you had expected.

“Is that the extent of Gondorian wit? To reply with insults to fair advice? Should have expected as much from the northern barbarians. All swords and no quill. I hope you have at least learnt how to read, poor thing.”

His fists clenched as he mustered another sentence. “Don't you dare. My family has served the High Kings before Umbar became a thing. My mother comes from the line of Rohan kings-”

“Oh, Rohirrim? Those that sleep with their horses?”

The chamber blurred before your eyes. You winced from the explosive pain in your nape. It took but a moment for the man to grab you by the shoulders and push against the wall with brutal force. Strength truly was an undeniable trait of his.

“You bastard! Take your words back!” he practically shouted.

“The truth cannot be contained,” you hissed back with a growing smirk.

One of his hands slid up to your throat. “I'll make you regret.”

“You are too weak for that,” you managed with the little air remaining in your lungs as his grip tightened. It felt like the blood filled your head slowly to the brim, pressure growing with every beat of heart, low hum in your ears cutting off sounds like cotton. You could still see the man's face red with anger, his mouth falling open with more threats and curses. Your lips stretched into a wicked pained grin.

But then it was all over. His hand retracted from your neck as hastily as it came. He stepped back and turned around. Through fading humming you heard his voice. “-it! See, I already let the scum go. And mind your tongue! No subordination in this damned place.”

As the man walked away you noticed a young face painted with worry peeking through the door frame. Another guard, probably the one, who was on duty for the night. He was torn between the desire to ask you something and the order restricting conversations with prisoners.

You peeled your back from the wall and croaked. “Close the door.”

The boy — you could hardly call him an adult — fulfilled your wish with eager haste. You both had the same thought — “Out of sight, out of mind”. You collapsed on the bed, rubbing the crimson marks on your neck with a dissatisfied sigh.

______________________________________________________________

Candlelight was hardly enough to keep reading but you still continued. Sentence after sentence of history written down by someone's precise hand brought peace to your mind. Old names, some familiar and some new, greeted you from the yellowed pages. Great deeds and political decisions carefully recorded in ink invited you to the ancient halls of Annuminas. You stopped mid-sentence as the door creaked open. The little flames danced in a draft. You looked up from the page and over the shoulder.

Who would have thought? The king came to visit you. Now that was quite intriguing. You assumed he wouldn't have much interest in talking to you after the previous meeting resulted in nothing. However, he had caught you by surprise twice since then. First time with the books, and now he was in your chamber himself.

You leaned back in your seat. The flickering of lights slowed down and then stopped altogether, illuminating your neck strewn with bruises. Violet and blue in the centre, they faded into a pale green towards the edges, looking like some bizarre necklace. 

“What is that?” Elessar appeared genuinely puzzled as he approached you, his hand, unbeknownst to him, raised to trace the outlines of the brightly coloured spots.

You fought back the urge to pull away from his touch. “Results of an unsuccessful provocation. Either I have lost the sharpness of tongue or that of my perception.”

Seeing the amount and noticeable size of the bruises, the king assumed your inflammatory was rather successful. He received contradictory reports regarding the incident and bore hope that it was nothing of importance, until his gaze fell upon evidence of the contrary. The view rose a wave of resentment much higher than he anticipated. His first thought was to find that officer and punish him with a good old exile under the name of “thorough inspection of our borderline fortifications”. But soon came a much darker understanding.

“You intended to have your life taken,” he said. His intonation half-questioning as his fingers retracted from you neck. “I could understand your motives when you spilled your blood for the glory of your city. But now... Is it truly so unbearable to stay here?”

You frowned and closed the book abruptly. “Bearable is not the proper word for the given circumstances. Many would leave behind their lives to exchange places with me. However the capture in itself is a blow to one's honour,” you took a breath, before looking straight into the grey eyes of the king. “I do not resent you for the war, even less so for the victory. It pains me to know that my folk has to suffer more hardships, but that is the way of the world – if you had not defeated them, someone else would. And yet you took more than the land. The custom commands me to seize my life from your hands, Elessar. To get revenge for that last trophy at any price.”

He shook his head with a sorrowful expression. “This custom is a torment for both. The sole existence of it is tragic.”

You shrugged at his remark. It seemed completely ordinary to you. The sky is above, the water is wet, the honour goes before life. It had been a law for generations before you and would become one for many more. All the more strange appeared the sheer confusion of your royal companion.

“If that would be of any relief, you may consider yourself my guest. Being a guest does not defile honour, correct?” Elessar spoke up again. Undeniable hope of his suggestion lingered in the air.

“With all due respect, it is rather difficult to deceive oneself in such a matter when one spends their whole days inside the same chamber,” you retorted with a bitter smile.

“I had the intention of allowing you more freedom of movement within this house once you heal. Though it happened sooner than I expected.”

This confession took you by surprise. Not the words. On their own they had little value. But the meaning they held and his sincere tone. You couldn't place his true intention as your gut insisted that the king was honest.

“You may roam the halls of this house at your wish, [Y/N]. Leave these chambers at any hour and return whenever. Spend days in places that please your heart,” he put a hand on top of a book pile beside you, “get accustomed with the library. There are many more than just these few tomes.”

He spoke as if directly from his heart, earnest to ensure your convenience in this place. His intonation, the subtle glimmer of his eyes, his open stance didn't match the impression you had of him. But the facts all fell into place like a mosaic. Elessar saved your life and – if his words were trustworthy – did so in order to help. He attempted to reach out to your people and propose peace repeatedly. He saw to it that conditions of your imprisonment were satisfactory, even when you proved to not have much political value to him. And it didn't get past you how his face contorted in displeasure at the sight of the bruises. He took your injuries very personally. Not in the way any jailor would.

______________________________________________________________

Season changes in Minas Tirith affected lighting the most. You learnt that in a span of a year. When summer gave way to autumn, stronger winds began to rise. With the first days of Ringarë** fireplaces were constantly kept lit to ensure that coldness and moisture remained outside. As spring finally came and then so did summer you felt more familiar with the weather becoming warmer and calmer. But even so nothing changed as much as the sun did. At least in your eyes. Plain white light of the ending summer was replaced with contrasts of golden dawns and gloomy days, which in their time gave way to blood-red winter sunrises and bluish light filling the streets after noon. At last when nature began to stir from slumber you noticed how the rays turned warmer in colour.

For a solid year you had been a guest of this foreign land. A guest, that's right. Ever since you had first set foot outside of the house, it was getting increasingly harder to deem yourself a prisoner. By the king's order you could go wherever your heart desired, as long as you had some escort. Growing up as a noble had you accustomed to such measures, so a guard following you through the city streets was but a tiniest distraction. In the eyes of the strangers you looked no different than any courtier – well-dressed, eloquently-spoken and accompanied by a guard.

The more time passed the less differences you felt yourself. Beside permitting you more freedom and sending various gifts: rare books, elegant garbs and some undoubtedly exquisite trinkets, Aragorn – it wasn't long before he asked you to address him by his old name – visited you frequently and counselled on important matters. As well as some matters of little importance. You soon discovered that his interest in conversing with you rarely depended on the issue at hand. In fact he was rather eager to spend time in your company even when he only had so little of that time.

And slowly but surely you discovered the same eagerness in yourself.

At first you attributed your growing softness for Aragorn to the fact that he brought you news from your homeland. How the revolt died down by the time winter came. How a new council of lords was established. How the Gondorian army was slowly leaving Umbar. And how their provisions remaining on the land were distributed among the locals by the appointed Master of Temples. How the merchant ships began to fill the harbour instead of the military fleet.

But the time passed and you knew better than to believe your own lies. The way you couldn't tear your gaze away from the king as he walked you through the court. The way you imitated his manner of speech to please him. The way you accepted his gifts without as much as a second thought. All these undeniable facts burnt your self-deception attempts to ashes. You were seeking Aragorn's attention just as much as he was seeking yours.

______________________________________________________________

Despite the great weather of the early morning in the still, half-asleep city Aragorn insisted on remaining inside. His request came unexpectedly, but you complied with it. At this 'ungodly hour' – as servants often called the time you chose to begin your days – you were practically the only people awake in the whole house. 

“The South has settled mostly. Whatever work remains here can be entrusted to the Prince of Ithilien,” he began uneasily as his hands squeezed the bundle he held close to his chest. “Therefore I must be taking the road to Annuminas.”

“You mean to restore the old capital?”

He nodded in response. “Both Gondor and Arnor need their king. Now is the turn of the Northern Kingdom. It had remained in ruin for far too long…”

It was reasonable. If Aragorn wished to reunite and restore the Two Kingdoms, he would need to grant attention to lands of Eriador. You sighed silently. People called him 'the Renewer' and now he did exactly what the prophecy foretold. But you couldn't shake off the longing to keep him close. He became a habit that you didn't want to leave behind. Even more so since you were the one to stay, while he was going to distant lands.

“...before I leave,” his voice cut through your thoughts, “I intend to return this to you.”

Soft glimmer of metal in his hands drew your attention. As he unfolded the fabric, you realised what it was exactly. The king held your own dagger. You would recognize that shape and ornamented handle anywhere. You reached out and wrapped your fingers softly around the decorated sheath.

“However I have a condition. You must promise that you will only use it to protect your life from now on,” he said both softly and firmly.

You looked into his eyes filled with expectation. “I can't make such a promise.”

As his expression melted into one of chagrin, you lifted your other hand to cup his face. The warmth of his skin against yours sent shivers down your spine, causing you to lean closer. “I might need it to protect your life, too,” you whispered practically against his parted lips.

For a brief moment Aragorn remained still, before he closed the remaining inches. You could sense his profound relief in the way he kissed – breathlessly and earnestly. The action finally put you both on the same page and pushed away idle apprehensions. There was an oath and a prayer in the movement of your lips.

When you pulled back, his hand on your shoulder and the cold of metal beneath your fingers served as the only anchors to physical reality. Your eyes glued to his keen grey ones and blind to everything else, you spoke.

“Allow me to follow you North, my King.” ______________________________________________________________

* – I couldn't find or remember what titles of respect are used to address kings in Middle-Earth. If you have some better idea, please share

** – Closest equivalent to December in New Reckoning

[thewulf]

The Ranger Called Strider || Aragorn

Summary: Request - OK so this idea is for Aragorn. Basically he is king at this point and feels like it is time to find a queen(we are gonna ignore Arwen in this instance, we love her butttttt). So he does what his like advisors are saying for hosting a ball(kinda like Cinderella).... Read Rest Here

A/N: Ahhh I am falling in love with writing him! Love my human King. I just know he had the biggest heart. I am LOVING all these LOTR requests, please keep them coming, I'll sprinkle them in with my older requests I was working through. It's bringing the joy of writing back for me :) Thanks for he request as always @loving-and-dreaming !

Pairing: Aragorn x Reader

Word Count: 6,900 +

TW: self-doubt, Aragorn being hot af

“None of these women will do.” Aragorn muttered to his advisor standing next to him, “I’m going on a walk. Cover for me?” He asked as if he wasn’t the King of Gondor and could do whatever he pleased.

“Aye my King.” He bowed in reverence letting the King slip out behind him. Quickly, he changed into his old Ranger uniform wanting to take to the city streets. It was easier to go out not looking like the King. Less questions were always asked. He had walked further than he normally did before he took to rest outside a small shop far away from the city center. He had a lot on his mind thinking he would never find his Queen. It was not that they were all bad choices he just could not seem to connect with a single woman. He had met hundreds tonight and felt nothing but despair. He needed air and to step away.

“Excuse me sir.” You walked over to the man who was sitting on the bench with a distant stare. When he blinked back to the present looking over to your approaching figure you continued, “Are you all right? Are you hurt?” It was not often you found people you had never seen before on the streets late at night. Especially the night of the grand ball the King was throwing.

He shook his head quickly, putting down the hood of his cloak so you wouldn’t see him as a threat, “Pardon me. I was simply lost in thought.” He stood from the bench. You bit back a gulp as he stood much larger than you. You got a good look at him as the moonlight hit his features. Your sudden courage to chat with the stranger had suddenly vanished as you took in the handsome man. He was intimidating. Incredibly handsome but terribly intimidating, “I am well, thank you miss.” He bowed his head gently.

You looked at him skeptically not sure if you truly believed his words. He may have been fine, but he also looked distressed. So, you did what you did best and offered the little help you might be able to manage, “Are you hungry? I have some leftover bread I can spare. And a place to rest if you need it…”

He put his hand up, but you noticed his gaze soften at your kindness, “There is no need. I am but a close walk home.”

But something told you to press on even being as intimidating as he looked, “What if I insist on the bread? You look like you could use it.”

“Very well. Then I simply could not refuse.” He held his hand out letting you lead the way back.

You led him back to you small, shared home in a comfortable silence. You weren’t far from home, but you hadn’t a clue what to talk to the stranger about. You usually weren’t one to get so tongue tied but he had you second guessing any question you might have thought of asking.

“May I ask you a question miss?” The man stopped as you walked him back toward your home at the outer edge of Minas Tirith.

You turned back to him, “Humor me.” Nodding at him you waited for him to ask whatever had been plaguing his mind.

“Why are you not at the ball? All fair maidens were invited, no?” He asked all to curious as to why you hadn’t made it a priority to attend like he assumed everybody in the city would. It wasn’t often the castle opened its doors to everyone. It amused his interests to think there were people who simply did not care. He was assured by his advisors that anyone of interest would be there tonight. Yet here you stood.

You gave him a bashful grin taken aback by the brazen compliment you so rarely received, “You are correct sir.”

“Strider.” He corrected you quickly.

You bowed, to respect his wishes, at him ever so slightly and continued, “You are correct Strider. I would have loved to have gone. However so be it my dear mother is not having the best bought of health at the moment. I need to make sure she is well enough until the morning. That is the earliest the healer can get here.”

He frowned, were his people having to wait for help? Why had he not been advised of this? He took a step closer towards you, “Forgive me miss. But you are having to wait for a healer?”

You sighed nodding your head, “Usually it’s not so long. I believe they had prior arrangements tonight. A ball or something like that.” A ghost of a smile graced your lips, “It’s all right. There are many far fairer of maidens available for the King anyway.” You gave him a sad smile as you finished out the excuse, “I am nothing but a lowly peasant girl. I have no place there.”

He shook his head quickly, “Do not say that. For I know for a fact that is not true.” His smile nearly took all of your breath away. He was so very handsome, strikingly so. You had never seen this Strider man in your parts of the city before. You were sure you would have recognized his face had you seen him before.

Your eyes softened in the slightest at the compliment, “It is all right. My mother is far more important to me than a night of folly.” You grinned before continuing, “No matter how fun it was bound to be. I am positive my friends are having a wonderful time in my absence. One of them seems to be convinced she can woo the King.” You giggled recalling the nonsensical conversation amongst friends earlier that day. She had looked rather striking before she made the trek to the center of the city to get to the Kings Castle. If any of them could capture his attention it was sure to be her.

He shook his head finding your rambling adorable, “I do not believe that to be possible miss.” He watched as your eyes studied him in confusion.

“And why’s that?” You looked him over curiously. He seemed to bd adorned in ripped and tattered Ranger clothing which was nonsensical clean appearance. His hair was a little tangled sure, but his skin looked as clean as could be. You imagined how striking the Strider man would be cleaned up and in more proper clothing.

“I have reason to believe he left the ball early.”

Your eyebrows rose studying his face for any hint of a lie, “How do you know that Strider? Are you the Kings personal Ranger?”

“Keen eyes.” He smirked for the first time in while enjoying the back and forth that had been going on between the two of you, “I am something of that sort.” The chuckle that escaped his throat escaped you. You left it at that as you continued walking back to the home you’d grown to love as you got older. It was precious to even own a plot of land let alone a home in Minis Tirith. You were thankful your father had secured it for you and your mother before he passed in the war.

“You are a Ranger then?” You asked as you neared your home.

He nodded contemplating his next words as the two of you continued walking, “I was. May I ask you another question miss?” Elusively he answered your question but diverted before you could dig in any further.

You smiled appreciating his caution. He very much wasn’t from this part of Minis Tirith being thoughtful. You were used to very brash men who hardly ever considered your feelings for you were seen to be beneath them, “You may Strider. Ever the curious one?”

He shrugged innocently, “Why would you offer a stranger your food and a place to stay? With an ailing mother?”

You opened your mouth to speak but paused as you thought about it, “I wish that if I were in the same position I would be afforded the same fate.”

He nodded while considering your answer, “That is a noble answer.”

“Or the truth.” You hummed stopping by a door, “This is it. Mother is upstairs so she will not be a bother. Bread and spread are on the counter. You may have as much as you like.”

“Will you keep me company for a moment? A know you must check on her but I have quite enjoyed this conversation miss.” He asked once the two of you occupied your family’s small living space.

“If you wish.”

His answer was quick, “I do.” You watched as he cut the bread and put the jam on top. He walked over to the table you had been sitting out and sat next to you. He didn’t try to talk with you, just sitting and eating in silence.

Not being able to take the silence you had to ask him what had been burning on your mind, “I have not seen you around here Strider. I am at the market every day. Where are you from?”

You had given him a hint, “Aye. Do you work there?”

“I asked you first.” You crossed your hands over your chest as you studied him this time. He was even more handsome with his cloak off and hair pushed behind his ears.

“Will you answer my question if I answer yours?” He quipped back not backing down. He had to come and find you again. He was having far too much of a grand time chatting with you. Sure, he thought it a bit immoral to not reveal his true identity for you clearly had no idea who he actually was. But that meant risk to the ease of conversation you may have felt with him. He quite enjoyed the easy bickering he had managed to find with you.

“You are quite stubborn Strider.” Your smile gave way to your answer though, “Yes, I will answer your question.”

“I reside near the north side of the city.” He answered giving you a soft smile, “I did not wish to attend the ball and thought it would be time to observe this side of the city.”

You believed him for why would he lie? “You are far from home Mister Strider. I have not even been to the north end. I thought you said you were a quick walk away?” You sighed knowing he was waiting for your answer now and wasn’t going to entertain your question, “I sell my uncles crops at the market. You get to know people when you are there every day.”

“That is no job for a lady.” You swore you saw his nose flare a little. He almost seemed, angry? Surely not at you but the situation?

“It is a good thing I am no lady then, is it not Strider?” A smirk toyed at your lips knowing you had him beat there. You weren’t a lady. Ladies resided in grandeur houses and had promised marriages. Ladies had class and couth that you could only dream of. Ladies got to paint and read instead of selling crops to other peasants. Ladies had promise, you did not.

Ignoring your question with a warned look on his face he asked you, “What is your name then?” He asked to distract himself. He was angry that you had to work every day to make ends meet. He wished he had a way to help people of his city. Help you. He was the King, there had to be a way.

You tutted turning your head to him, “You did not ask permission to ask me a question.”

A small flush rose to his cheeks, “Forgive me miss…” He trailed off with a small smile rising in place of the blush. He knew he was pushing his luck, but he needed to know your name. He was planning on finding you again. And hopefully many more times.

“Y/N.” You obliged the handsome stranger.

“Miss Y/N.” He gave you a head bow, “A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”

The second time you ran into Strider was at the market a few days later. He strolled up near closing time with a hood wrapped tightly around his head, “How much do you have left miss Y/N?”

Your eyes snapped up in recognition of the voice that belonged to the strikingly handsome man, “Too much, uncle is going to be disappointed we did not get more today.” You admitted in a sigh of defeat.

“I’ll take the rest then.” He put down a gold piece as if it were the simplest thing to come by.

You pushed it back into his hand, “Mister Strider I cannot accept this. It is far too much.”

He smiled seeing your kindness seep right through you yet again. Any other mortal would have taken the money without so much as a second thought, “I insist. Consider it a thank you for the other night as well.” He pushed it back into your hand making sure you were holding onto it before letting go once more.

“Strider, this is too much even for that.” You bit your lip trying to figure out what to do as he was clearly not going to take the gold piece back.

“Nonsense. Not for this fine spread. Give your uncle my well wishes.” He smiled collecting the rest of the produce you had yet to sell for the day. You had to wonder what he was going to with a random assortment of in season vegetables.

“Thank you. Did you come all the way down here for this?” You handed him the rest of what was left on your table before packing up for the night.

He shook his head, “I was hoping to see you as well. I quite enjoyed our conversation the other night and was hoping you could spare some more of your precious time?”

You flashed him a quick smile as you gathered the rest of your personal belongings, “I enjoyed it too. Your much wiser than the men down this way.”

And that was how it went for the next few weeks. Strider would come and find you at the market on a random weekday, sometimes every day, making sure to buy whatever you had left. Somedays he left you with a gold piece, sometimes a bronze knowing you wouldn’t keep taking from him.

He had admitted to himself he had grown quickly attached to the pretty naïve girl with a big heart. It did not take long for his like to turn to love as you teased him relentlessly. You treated him as Strider and not King Aragorn. He loved how you always managed to catch him on his toes and make him laugh harder than even his best of friends had managed too. You had managed to hook your finger around him and pull him in without you even realizing it.

Before you knew it he was coming around almost every night. The routine was simple. He would find you at the market not fifteen minutes before it closed. He would purchase the remaining bits of produce no matter how much. He would then walk you home making sure his meleth was as safe as could possibly be. He shuddered at the thought of someone hurting you on your walk home as he sat in the castle. He would have none of that.

He usually never came inside, not wanting to intrude. But one evening it had begun to rain harder than even he had anticipated so he came inside at your pleading. You really did not want Strider to catch a cold because he didn’t want to intrude. He would never be intruding. You had grown to love the man just as much as he had grown to love you. Neither of you were great at speaking it out loud but you were sure it was being conveyed through your eyes every time you saw him. He made you feel things you were sure you were going to miss out on.

You cursed when you saw your mother sitting down at the table reading a book you had recommended she pick up. You really just wanted to keep Strider your little thing separate from your actual life. You had told your mother about him but never actually wanted the two of them to meet. For some reason

“Mother, I’ve invited Strider inside. It is pouring too heavily for his journey home.” You spoke blocking her view of the man behind you.

She smiled and nodded looking back down at her book, “That is quite aright dear. We have plenty of stew to spare. Are you hungry mister Strider?” She asked this time setting the book down and actually looking for him behind you.

Your mothers eyes went wide as Strider stepped out from beside you. It never dawned on you she had never seen the man called Strider you had grown very fond of over the few instances the two of you had spent time together.

“Are you alright mother?” You asked walking over to her. She was staring right at your new stranger turned friend that you hoped would blossom into something more. You never wanted to assume but you had to think he enjoyed you if he had come around so often.

She ignored you and stood from the table in a rush, “My King.” She bowed before pushing the chair into the table.

“Mother, are you well?” You placed a hand over the back of her forehead, “The healer said you were better.”

“I am well child. You did not tell me your friend is The King of Gondor.” She had a more than irritated expression as she stared at you, bewildered. You just stared back with the same bemused expression. Had she gone mad? Strider could not be the King of Gondor. No.

You shook your head quickly before turning back to Strider, “I am so sorry Strider… I do not know what has come over her.”

He put his hand up to have you pause like he had the night he met you, “Your mother is not wrong.” He said with so much passiveness in his voice you weren’t sure if you heard him correctly. He looked at you like he had lost a battle as a look of utter confusion flashed across your features.

“King?” You sputtered out as you stood straighter and turned to him trying your hardest to blink back your surprise of this newfound revelation.

“Aragorn will suffice.” He looked terribly nervous, just as bad as you felt. You had been so casually conversing with the King of Gondor prior to knowing of his elevated status. Had acted like the peasant you really were. He must have found something charming in it as he kept coming back. The King was visiting you in his limited time? Your head suddenly felt like it was going to explode with all of the questions you had.

Your mother spoke up a little horrified by your mistake, “I apologize for my daughter. She meant no harm for her mistake King Aragorn.” She bowed her head once more and you followed suit. Heat rushed to your cheeks in embarrassment. How had you been so blind?

“There is no need to apologize. It is I who kept this information from her.” He spoke directly to your mother letting her know it was not your fault in the slightest. He did not want you to come under the ire of your mother when he left for the night thought he knew at some level you would get a scolding from her. He watched as you kept your head down in shame. Not having the will to look the King in the eye at the moment.

Instead of speaking to you he walked up with purpose to where you were standing. What he was most afraid of was playing out in front of him. You could not even look him in the eye. He had no idea what was going through your mind, but he knew it was certainly a lot. You were an overthinker just as he was. Maybe that was why he found such solace in you.

It had only been a few weeks since you ran into him on the bench that fateful night. The night he had all but given up on love. Arwen had chosen the immortal life instead of staying with him and Eowyn was engaged to be wed to Faramir. Nobody had intrigued him like those two until he met you. A kind heart who was willing to give more than you had made him fall for you faster than he had wanted. He craved to spend time with you. To get things off his chest. To feel your warmth and comfort you so effortlessly provided for him. Only a few of his advisors had known of your existence. He wanted to keep you his little secret for as long as he could. He knew that time was ending now that you knew of his true identity.

He placed a gentle hand under your chin forcing your eyes back up to his, “You do not bow before me. You need not even call me Aragorn. Call me Strider. I am still just the Ranger called Strider. Please.” His voice wavered at the end forcing your eyes to his. He was being genuine?

“But my King…” Your eyes frantically searched his face now. How could you have been so daft? You had been to the coronation not even that long ago. You were sure you would never forget a face like his. It was funny how his tattered clothes and messy hair disguised him so well. No wonder he never wanted to stroll around in the daylight hours though. Surely, somebody would have recognized him then.

“Please Y/N?” He hardly used your name as it came out in a pleading whisper. You were sure your mother was as confused as ever. How had her daughter run into the King of all people. And why was he looking at her like that?

“As you wish Strider.” It was quick but you gave him your word. It still stung a bit though. How long was he planning to keep it a secret from you? Was he planning to disappear one day on you?

“Take a walk with me?” He asked wanting to get away from your mothers prying eyes.

For the first time you thought you should reject his request. You needed a moment to get your thoughts together, “I do not think that is a good idea Strider.”

His eyes stitched together in confusion, “No?”

“I need the night to myself.” You whispered almost afraid he’d be mad by your request.

A quick nod came from him as he stepped back giving you the space you needed, “Aye. Can I come see you tomorrow?” He hopped he wasn’t pushing his luck with you. Your expression of distrust wasn’t lost on him. His intentions were never to deceive you he had just grown to adore being treated like a human again. You weren’t caught up in the politics of it all. You had become his breath of fresh air that he needed more and more of.

“That will be fine my King.” It slipped before you could stop it. But he corrected you, nevertheless.

“Strider. I will see you tomorrow. Good evening ma’am. You have a lovely daughter.” He spoke to her before ducking out of the front door and vanishing off into the dark night. You frowned seeing the rain still pouring down. You had pushed him out before he even got the chance to prepare for the storm.

“You are upset with me.” He spoke as he caught your vacant expression. It was becoming a common site to see Strider sitting at your table after a long day at work. His days were much longer than yours you were sure of that now. Being the King and all.

You shook your head, “I am not upset... just embarrassed. I feel like a fool.” You spoke freely not being able to hide your true emotions from him. He just seemed to have a way of getting you to spill all your feelings without seeming to have to try. You still seemed to trust him although he had lied to you for the last few weeks. But then, could you blame him? There had to be a reason he kept coming back for more. He had to have enjoyed it for a King wouldn’t waste his time on somebody so trivial.

“Why?” He asked with a genuine look of confusion mixed with concern coming through his eyes.

A sigh escaped your lips as you took to the chair next to him. You had forced your mother out of the house and promised to tell her everything later. You needed this moment with Strider to sort it all out, “I have not treated you as I should a King.”

He shook his head before grabbing at your hand. He had never been so forward with affection before, but he needed you to hear him. Hear the words as the truth that they were, “I did not want you to treat me as one. All else in my life treats me as one and it is tiresome. You remind me so much of the life I miss, the one filled with adventure before this happened. My life is nothing, but politics and I grow very tired of it. Fear not though, I do enjoy what I do. I just find you so very captivating my lady.”

“I am no lady.” You ignored the rest of his statement as you didn’t want to talk about your feelings with him so deeply. This is what you were great at, avoiding. Cutting and running when things got just a little difficult. You should have known Strider wouldn’t let you go so easily though.

“Am I not the King? Can I not give you such a title?” He pressed pushing his luck beyond what he should have.

You shook your head looking down, another flush of embarrassment running its course through your body, “Forgive me.”

Once more he place his hand under your chin bringing it up forcing you to look at him once more, “I am simply messing with you mell nin.” He smirked using a nickname he failed to tell you the meaning of once more. It wasn’t fair that he knew Sindarin and used it against you so often.

You bit your lip more than feeling warm by the intimate interaction between the two of you. What the hell did this all even mean? Why had he taken to you of all people? You were a peasant girl from the southernmost edge of the city. You meant nothing.

“I do not know how to act around you Strider.” You admitted out loud for the first time. You were terribly insecure. You didn’t find it easy to have a conversation with a normal person let alone the King of Gondor.

He frowned but continued to hold your hand in his, “Treat me as you had before. As the Ranger of the North, you got to know.”

“It is not that simple though and you know that.” You sighed looking away from him.

He waited a second before you turned back to him before continuing the conversation, “What plague’s your mind then?” He began giving your hand a squeeze. It was easy to melt into his touch as he was so gentle with it. He noticed the shiver and chills that ran up your arm. A positive sign if he knew of one.

Might as well get it out. He’d figure it out eventually, “Why me? I do not understand why you choose to spend time with me of all people.” It sounded so much more insecure as you said it out loud rather than let it bounce around in your head.

“I fear I am not good with words. That is why we are where we are.” He frowned but continued to hold your hand in his, “I have not expressed how much I adore spending time with you. You said it yourself. I go out of my way to come to you because you make me feel like myself. You made me feel like the person I once was. Being a King is very tiring, believe it or not. But being with you gives me back something I’ve been missing dearly, a little bit of life.” He smiled to you with those tired eyes you had grown to adore.

“I believe you.” You smiled right back at him. It wasn’t lost on you that was the most he’d spoken of his admiration of you. He was not lying when he said he was a man of few words.

He looked a little more than relieved when you gave him the smile that had been absent for a day too long. You didn’t seem as upset with him. So, he decided to do what he did the best with you, push his luck a little, “Do you believe me when I say I meant no malice keeping the truth from you? I truly just enjoyed talking and getting to know you for you with no pressure of the crown looming.”

“I believe you Strider.”

He looked skeptical, “But?” Seeing the words fall short on your lips had his heart pounding in his chest.

You chewed at your lip, “I just do not understand why you chose me. There are many more beautiful women in the kingdom. I have nothing to offer you and that frightens me a bit. I do not know why you would stay. Why you keep coming back.”

“That is simply not true my lady. I wish you could see yourself as I see you. A beauty of a woman with the kindest heart. You offer me the world plus so much more. I would be honored to have you in my life. To have you by my side.” He spoke with confidence.

Your breath caught in your throat at the bluntness of his statement to you, “What are you saying?” You hadn’t a clue what he was insinuating. A pair like the two of you could never work. You were raised as an outsider not a royal. You could never be the asset he needed on the other side of the throne.

“I wish to court you, my lady.” He spoke with that same confidence he had

“Court me?” You asked making sure you had heard him correctly.

He nodded his head fervently, “If you will have me that is.”

“Me? Are you insane Strider?” You asked him once more making sure because it did not feel like he was being serious.

“Yes you mell nin.” He was patient as he watched you retreat into your head to think on his words. You had not outright rejected him, which was a very good sign, especially for you.

Your next question took him by surprise, “What would the people think?” You let your insecurities eat at you once more as the question slipped out. You were not meant to be a Queen. There was no way people would accept you of all people.

He shrugged, “It is easy to be critical. They will not know you first, but they will come to love you just as I have. How could they not? You will make an incredible Queen.”

Your mouth gaped at his complimentary nature that seemed to have come out of nowhere. Sure, he was always kind before, but this was over the top for him. You were enjoying it more than you should have been though.

“Do you think I could do it?”

He nodded earnestly, “I would never ask if I knew you could Meleth nîn.”

Your eyes looked over his seeing he was telling the whole truth, “Are you going to tell me what that means?”

“My love.” He smiled as he watched you take in his words. The blush that rose on your cheeks was a sight to be seen. You blinked rapidly at the confession thinking he would hold it back from you like he had so often before. But this was him, Strider, confessing it all to you. Maybe he really did want you, the lowly peasant girl from the outskirts of his Kingdom.

“And Mell nin?” He was being awfully forthcoming, so you kept the questions going dying to know what he had been calling you since early on in your meetings.

He grabbed at your hand like he so often did before, “My dear.”

“Really?” Your lips came together pondering his admittance, “Did you not call me that only on our second meeting?” You did not want to believe it but when he gave you a slow nod you felt your heart pick up at his confession.

“I did meleth nîn.”

Your eyes could not hide their surprise as he freely admitted his feelings so openly towards you. So often it was like pulling his teeth out to try and get an answer to your questions. It had become clearer after learning he was the King that he had hidden so much from you.

“So soon?”

He moved his chair closer to yours. Gently, he placed a hand to the side of your face relishing in the heat your cheeks gave off at his touch. He adored the way you physically reacted to his touch. He knew what he felt was reciprocated even if you could not seem to believe him. He’d spend the next year convincing you if that was what it would take. He had made his decision and he was going to get what he wanted, if that was what you wanted of course.

“You made it easy to decide. I have not met another woman like you…” His voice trailed off as his eyes roamed your face. First they met your own gaze, and they softened as if felt like he peered right into your soul, asking for permission to peel the layers of you back. For you too had been less than forthcoming about your very own life. Then his eyes trailed down to your lips where he so desperately wanted to meet them with his own. But he knew he must wait. Wait until you say yes, and he can take you out of a proper afternoon stroll around the city center. He knew he wanted to do anything and everything to make you his, to have your heart yearn for his as much as he did for yours.

“You flatter me Strider.” You whisper as your own eyes trail down to his lips. You wondered what he tasted like. Did his lips taste as good as he smelled? How many women had he kissed? Were you one in a long line or truly one of a kind? You cursed your insecurities for being so loud at a time like this.

“I fear I may not enough.” He countered, “Will you let me court you my lady?”

After looking him over for longer than he would have liked you answered him quietly, “I would be honored my King.” You bowed your head once more.

He would have none of that though. He stood, pulling you up with him, “I told you my lady, none of that. I am to be your husband. Your equal. My Queen.” He spoke slowly making sure you heard every word.

“But that is not…” You protested before he stopped you.

He placed a hand over your mouth. A habit he was becoming accustomed to when you began to overthink, “Not in my Kingdom. Not with you as my Queen.” He shushed you by running a gentle thumb over your lips. He let out a longing sigh, “Truly, you are the most wonderful woman I have gotten to know in quite a long time my lady. You are doing me the honor by accepting.” He pulled your hand to his lips as he gently kissed the back of it leaving you utterly breathless as you wanted to melt into him. His charm was truly like no other man you had come across. Not that your experience was nearly as expansive as his seemed to be.

“I shall pick you up tomorrow mid-day. I will take you out in the gardens of my home. I will see to it that you will quite like it.” He had told you of the beautiful gardens he had maintained at his mother’s dying request. He promised should he ever inherit the throne once more he would restore the gardens of Minis Tirith. And that he did.

Your eyes went wide before they suddenly went downcast, “But my uncles crops. There is nobody who can sell them with my mother being back to work.” Your shoulders deflated in realization of you having to turn down his invitation.

“The castle will buy it up. For the rest of his days too. We will see to it. There will be no need to go back to that dreadful market.” He grabbed at both of your hands hoping it would calm your qualms, “I will even move your family closer to the castle if it will make it easier for you meleth nîn.”

“You would do that?” It was not that you didn’t believe him, but it surprised you more that he would offer so easily. Of course, you knew there were perks of being the King of a thriving Kingdom, but it seemed so outlandish at the offer.

“Meleth nîn you have to understand that I would do anything for you.” He breathed. It became so quiet you could only hear the steady beating of his heart and the gentle breaths that followed.

Your eyes finally found his and that smile he had been searching for finally came to. He was so realized at the sight he almost missed your words, “All right. I will see you tomorrow.” And at that he too could feel his heart quicken. You had accepted. He was rather unsure of if you would say yes. You were a headstrong woman, a trait he had admired greatly about you.

His hands found your face once more. You could feel your heart quicken yet again at his more than gentle touch, “I wish to kiss you my lady.”

“You may.” It spilled out of your mouth before you could attempt to stop it for it was no lie. You wanted him to kiss you.

He chuckled. Instead of kissing you he just traced your lips with his index finger, “That would be improper my lady. I wish to do this the right way with you.” He leaned down whispering in your ear reveling in the way you shivered underneath his breath.

“Did you not say it was your Kingdom? Your rules?” You used his own words against him wanting to get your way. But you knew Aragorn was stronger than a few suggestive words.

He let out a longer laugh this time, “Please my lady. I wish to treat you as the Queen you are bound to be. Do not tempt me for I can only say no a few times.”

“A shame.” You giggled feeling suddenly confident under his lust filled gaze. He had wanted you for some unknown reason, but you were tired of questioning it. You were going to accept it full heartedly.

He stifled a groan before taking a quick step back knowing he needed to keep himself in control and touching you was making it that much harder, “You have no idea what those words do to me, my lady.” His gaze darkened a touch before he blinked it away having to keep himself in control around you. He had plenty of time to lose himself later on.

“I feel as though I do your Majesty.” You pressed taking a step closer to him. He placed his hands on your shoulders keep you at bay by a length

“You will be the death of me my lady.” He gave your shoulders a squeeze, “I will come calling for you midday. By tomorrow eve the Kingdom should know my intentions.”

“The whole Kingdom?” You felt your heart begin to speed up at the thought. Your life was going to change whether for the better. Your family would never have to work again. Your mom could finally take some time off. You would become a Queen in due time.

“The whole of it.”

Your face paled in realization. You wanted to be courted by him of course. He was lovely and everything you had wanted. But this was never planned. Never a thought. How were you to prepare? How were you to handle it all?

“I will be with you every step of the way. Do not be afraid Meleth nîn.” With more of a comforting hold than one of fierce desire he wrapped you in his arms for a gentle hug. One to reassure your fears. One to calm your qualms.

“I love you, Aragorn.” Your eyes filled with unshed tears as every emotion came rushing out. How lucky were you to have found such a man?

He smiled softly while brushing away the stray tears that managed to spill over, “I’ll always just be the Ranger called Strider for you. I love you my dear. Fear not for we have a long life to live yet.”

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[physalian]

Humanizing Your Characters (And Why You Should)

To humanize a character is not to contort an irredeemable villain into the warped funhouse mirror reflection of a hero in the last 30 seconds to gain “narrative subversion” points. To humanize is not to give said villain a tragic backstory that validates every bad choice they make in attempt to provide nuance where it does not deserve to be.

To humanize a character, villain or otherwise, is to make them flawed. Scuff them up, give them narrative birthmarks and scars and imperfections. Whether it’s your hero, their love interest, the comic relief, the mentor, the villain, the rival, these little narrative details serve to make all your literary babies better.

Why should you humanize your characters?

To do this means to write in details beyond those that service the plot, or the themes, or the motifs, morals, foreshadowing, or story. These might be (and usually are) entirely unimportant in the grand scheme of things. So, if I wrote lengthy diatribes on pacing and why every detail must matter, and character descriptions and thematic importance, why am I now suggesting go free-for-all on the fluff?

Just like real people have quirks and tics and beliefs and pet peeves that serve our no greater purpose, so should fictional people. Your average reader doesn’t have the foggiest idea what literary devices are beyond metaphor, simile foreshadowing, and anecdote, but they can tell when the author is using motif and theme and all the syntactical marvels because it reads that much richer, even if they can’t pinpoint why.

And, for shipping fodder, these tiny little details are what help your audience fall in love with the character. It doesn’t even have to be in a book – Taylor Swift (whether you like her or not) never fills her music with sexual innuendo or going clubbing. She tells stories filled with human details like dancing in the refrigerator light. People can simultaneously relate to these very specific and vivid experiences, and say “not that exactly, but man this reminds me of…” and that’s (part of) the reason her music is so popular.

What kinds of narratives need these details?

All of them. Visual media, audio, written, stage play. Now, to what degree and excess you apply these details depends on your tone, intended audience, and writing style. If your style of writing is introspection heavy, noir character drama, you might go pretty heavy on the character design.

But even if you’re writing a kids book with a scant few paragraphs of setting descriptors and internal narration, or you’re drawing a comic book – if you have characters you want people to care about, do this.

Animators, particularly, are very adept at humanizing non-human characters, because, unlike live acting, every single stroke of the pen is there with intent. They use their own reflections for facial references, record their own movements to draw a dance, and insert little bits of themselves into signature character poses so you know that *that* animator did this one.

How to humanize your characters.

I’m going to break this down into a couple sections: Costume/wardrobe, personality, beliefs/behavior/superstitions, haptics/proxemics/kinesics, and voice. They will all overlap and the sheer variety and possibilities are way too broad for me to capture every facet.

Costumes and Wardrobe

In the film Fellowship of the Ring, there’s a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment where, after Boromir is slain by the Uruk-Hai, Aragorn takes Boromir’s Gondorian vambraces to wear in his honor, and in honor of their shared country. He wears them the rest of the trilogy. The editing pays no extra attention to them beyond a split second of Aragorn tightening the straps, it never lingers on them, never reminds you that they’re there, but they kept it in nonetheless. His actor also included a hunting bow that didn't exist in the book because he's a roamer, a ranger, and needs to be able to feed himself, along with a couple other survival tools.

Aragorn wears plenty of other symbolic bits of costume – the light of the Evenstar we see constantly from Arwen, the Lothlorien green cloaks shared by the entire Fellowship, his re-forged sword and eventual full Gondorian regalia, but all those are Epic Movie Moments that serve a thematic purpose.

Taking the vambraces is just a small, otherwise insignificant character moment, a choice made for no other reason than that’s what this character would do. That’s what makes him human, not an archetype.

When you’re writing these details and can’t rely on sneaking them into films, you have to work a little harder to remind your audience that they exist, but not too often. A detail shifts from “human” to “plot point” when it starts to serve a purpose to the themes and story.

Inconsequentiality might be how a character ties, or doesn’t tie their shoelaces, because they just can’t be bothered so they remain permanent knots and tripping hazards. It might be a throw-away line about how they refuse to wear shorts and strictly stick to long pants because they don’t like showing off their legs. It might be perpetually greasy hair from constantly running their fingers through it with stress, or self-soothing. A necklace they fidget with, or a ring, a belt they never bother to replace even though they should, a pair of lucky socks.

Resist the urge to make it more meaningful than “this is just how they are”. If I’m using the untied shoelaces example – in Spiderverse, this became a part of the story’s themes, motifs, and foreshadowing, and doesn’t count. Which isn’t bad! It’s just not what I’m talking about.

Personality

In How to Train Your Dragon, Toothless does not speak. All his personality comes from how he moves, the noises he makes, and the expressions on his face. There’s moments, like in the finale, when his prosthetic has burned off and Hiccup tells him to hold on for a little bit longer, and you can clearly see on his face that he’s deeply uncertain about his ability to do so. It’s almost off the screen, another blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment. Or the beat of hesitation before he lets Hiccup touch him in the Forbidden Friendship scene. Or the irritated noise he makes when he’s impatiently waiting for Hiccup to stop chatting with his dad because they have a giant dragon to murder. Or when he slaps Hiccup with his ear fin for flying them into a rock spire.

None of those details *needed* to exist to endear you to his character or to serve the scenes they’re in. The scenes would carry on just fine without them. He’s a fictional dragon, yes, but these details make him real.

Other personality tics you could include might be a character who gets frustrated with tedious things very quickly and starts making little inteligible curses under their breath. Or how they giggle when they’re excited and start bouncing on their toes. Maybe they have a tic where they snap their fingers when they’re concentrating, trying to will an idea into existence. Or they stick their tongue out while they work and get embarrassed when another character calls them on it. They roll around in their sleep, steal blankets, drool, leave dishes in the sink or are neurotic with how things must be organized. They have one CD in their car, and actually use that CD player instead of the phone jack or Bluetooth. They sing in the shower, while they cook, or while they do homework, no matter how grating their voice.

They like the smell of new shoes or Sharpies. They hate the texture of suede or velvet or sticky residues. They never pick their socks up. They hate the overhead light in their room and use 50 lamps instead. They hate turning into oncoming traffic or don’t trust their backup camera. They collect Funko Pops and insist there’s always room for more.

And about a million others.

Beliefs, Behaviors, and Superstitions

*If you happen to be writing a story where superstitions have merit, maybe skip this one.* Usually, inevitably, these evolve into character centerpieces and I can’t actually think of one off the top of my head that doesn’t become this beyond the ones we all know. A few comedic examples do come to mind:

The Magic Conch in “Club Spongebob” and the sea-bear-proof dirt circle in “The Camping Episode”

Dean Winchester’s fear and panic-driven actions in “Yellow Fever” and “Sam, Interrupted”

The references to the trolls that steal left-foot socks in How to Train Your Dragon

I’m not a fan of wasting time writing a religious character doing their religious thing when Plot Is Happening, but smaller things are what I’m talking about. Like them wearing a cross/rosary and touching it when they’re nervous. Having a specific off-beat prayer, saying, or expression because they don’t believe in cursing.

The classic ones like black cats, ladders, broken mirrors, salt, sidewalk cracks can all be funny. Athletes have plenty, too, and some of them, particularly in baseball culture, are a bit ridiculous. Not washing socks or uniforms, having a team idol they donate Double Bubble to and also rub their toes. A specific workout routine, diet, team morale dance.

Other things, too. A character who’s afraid to go back downstairs once the lights are off, or fear the basement or the backyard shed. Or they’re really put-off by this old family photo for no reason other than how glassy their eyes look and it’s creepy. They like crystals, dreamcatchers, star signs, tarot, or they absolutely do not under any circumstances.

They believe in all the tried and true ways of predicting the weather like a grizzled old sailor. They believe in ghosts, vampires, werewolves, witches, skinwalkers, doppelgangers, fairies. They talk to the cat statue in their kitchen and named it Fudge Pop. They whisper to the spirit that possessed the fridge so it stops making all that racket, and half the time, it works every time. They wear yellow for good luck or carry a rabbit’s foot. They’re not religious at all but still throw prayers out to whoever’s listening because, you know, just in case. They sit by their window sill and talk to the moon and the stars and pretend like they’re in a music video when they’re driving through the city in the rain.

Haptics, Proxemics, and Kinesics

These are, for all you non-communication and psych majors out there, touch and physical contact, how they move, and how they move around other people.

Behold, your shipping fodder.

Two shining examples of proxemics in action are the famous “close talker” episode of Seinfeld (of which every communication major has been subjected to) and Castiel’s not understanding of personal space (and human chronemic habits) in Supernatural.

These are how a character walks, if they’re flat-footed, clumsy, or tip-toers. If they make a racket or constantly spook the other characters. If they fidget or can’t sit still in a seat for five seconds, if they like to sit backwards or upside down. How they touch themselves, if they do a lot of self-soothing maneuvers (hugging themselves, rubbing their arms, touching their face, drawing their knees up, holding their neck, etc) or if they don’t do any self-soothing at all.

This is how they shake hands, if they dance while they cook or work. It’s how much space they let themselves take up, if they man-spread or keep their limbs in closer. How close they stand to others or how far. If they let themselves be touched at all, or if they always have their skin covered. If they always have their back to a wall,  or are always making sure they know where the nearest exit is. If they make grand gestures when they talk and give directions. If they flinch from pats on the back or raised hands. If they lean away from loud voices or project their own. If they use their height to their advantage when arguing, puff their chest, square their shoulders, put their hands on their hips, or point fingers in accusation.

If they touch other characters as they pass by. If they’re huggers or victims of falling asleep on or near their comrades. If they must sleep facing the door, or with something solid behind them. If they can sleep in the middle of a party wholly uncaring. If they sleepwalk, sleeptalk, migrate across the bed to cuddle whoever’s nearest with no idea they’re doing it.

If they like to be held or like to hold others. If they hate being picked up and slung around or are touch-starved for it. If they like their space and stick to it or are more than happy to share.

Do they walk with grace, head held high and back straight? Or are they hunched over, head hung, watching their feet? Are they meanderers or speed-walkers? Do they cross their arms in front or lace their hands behind them? Do they bow to authority or meet that gaze head on?

I have heard that Prince Zuko, in Last Airbender, is usually drawn sleeping with his bad ear down when he doesn’t feel safe, like on his warship or anywhere in the Fire Nation, or on the road. He’s drawn on his other side once he joins the Gaang. In Dead Man’s Chest, just before Davy Jones drives the Flying Dutchman under the waves, two tentacles curl up and around the brim of his hat to keep it from blowing off in the water.

When they fight, do they attack first, or defend first? Do they touch other characters’ hair? Share makeup, share clothes? Touch their faces with boops or bonks or nuzzles and eskimo kisses? Do they crack their knuckles and necks and knees?

Do they stare in baffled curiosity at all the other characters wholly comfortable in each other's spaces because they can’t, won’t, or don’t see the point in all this nonsense? Do they say they’re happy on the outside, but are betrayed by their body language?

Voice

Whether or not to write an accent is entirely up to you. Books like Their Eyes Were Watching God writes dialogue in a vernacular specific to its characters. Westerners and southerners tend to be written with the southern drawl or dialect, ripe with stereotypical contractions. Be advised, however, that in attempt to write an accent to give your character depth, you could be instead turning off your audience who doesn’t have energy to decipher what they’re saying, or you went and wrote a racist stereotype.

Voice isn’t just accent and dialect, nor is it how it sounds, which falls more solidly under useful character descriptions. Voice for the sake of humanizing your characters concerns how they talk, how they convey their thoughts, and how they become distinct from other characters in dialogue and narration.

If you’re writing a narrative that hops heads and don’t want to include a big banner to indicate who’s talking at any given time, this is where voice matters. It is, I think, the least appreciated of all the possible traits to pay attention to.

First person narrators have the most flexibility here because the audience is zero degrees removed from their first-hand experiences. Their personality comes through sharply in how they describe things and what they pay attention to.

But it’s also in what similes and metaphors they use. I read a book that had an average (allegedly straight) male narrator going off and describing colors with types of flowers, some I had to look up because I just don’t know those off the top of my head. My immediate thought was either this character is a poorly written gay, or he’s a florist. Neither (allegedly), the writer was just being too specific.

Do they have crutch words they use? like, um, actually, so…, uh

Or repeat exclamations specific to them? yikes, yowzers, jeepers, jinkies, zoinks, balls, beans, d’oh!

Or idioms they’re fond of? Like a bat out of hell. Snowball’s chance.

Do they stutter when they’re nervous? Do they lose their train of thought and bounce around, losing other characters in the process? Do they have a non-Christian god they pray to and say something other than “thank God”? Are they from another country, culture, time period, realm, or planet with their own gods, beliefs, and idioms?

When they describe settings, how flowery is the language? Would this grizzled war hero use flowery language? How would he or she describe the color pink, versus a PTA mom? Do they use only a generic “blue, green, red” or do they really pay attention with “aquamarine, teal, emerald, viridian, vermillion, rose, ruby”?

How do this character’s hobbies affect how well they can describe dance moves, painting styles, car models, music genres?

This mostly matters when you’re head-hopping and the voice of the narrator serves to be more distinct, otherwise, what’s the point of head-hopping? Just use third-person omniscient.

If you really want to go wild, give a specific narrator unique syntax. Maybe one character is the ghost of Oscar Wild with never-ending run-on sentences. Just be sure to not go too overboard and compromise the integrity of your story.

In the book A Lesson Before Dying, a somewhat illiterate, underprivileged and undereducated minor has been given a mentor, a teacher, before they face the death penalty. At the end of the book, you read all of the letters they wrote to their teacher. There’s misspellings everywhere, almost no punctuation, and long, rambling sentences.

It’s heartbreaking. The subject matter is heavy and horrible, yes, but it’s the choice to write with such poor English that has a much bigger impact than perfect MLA format.

How to implement these details

Most of these, in the written medium, need only show up once or twice before your audience notices and wonders why they’re there. Most fall squarely under character design, which falls under exposition, and should follow all the exposition guidelines.

These details exist to be random and fluffy, but they can’t exist randomly within the narrative. If you want to have your character be superstitious, pick a relevant time to include that superstition.

Others, like ongoing speech habits or movements, still don’t overuse, especially if they’re unique. A character might like to sit backwards in a chair, but if you mention that they’re doing it every single time they sit down, your audience will wonder what’s so important and if the character is unwell.

And, of course, you can let these traits become thematically important, like a superstition being central to their personality or backstory or motivation. These all serve the same purpose of making your character feel like a real person instead of just a “character”.

Just think about tossing in a few random details every now and then and see what happens. One tiny sentence can take a background character and make them candidates for the eventual fandom’s fan favorite. Details like these turn your work from “This a story, and these are the characters who tell it” into “these are my characters, and this is their story.”

[imagines--galore]

Legolas 17 pls 🙏🙏🙏 love your work 🩷🩷

Summary: You had always been the one overlooked. The one watching from the shadows. But when he reached his hand out to you, you felt........seen. Pairing: Legolas x Reader Rating || Genres || Warnings: T. Romance/Angst. None A/N: Alright, so I made the reader sister to Aragorn. Hope thats alright and I hope you like this!

Content.

Contentment radiated from your very soul as you stood in the shadow of the pillar. Watching as your brother took his beloved's hand and led her in the first dance as husband and wife.

The assembled guests burst into applause as the music began, and after a few moments, couples began to take to the dance floor. They all reveled in the joy of the newly married couple.

You continued to watch, head leaning against the cool marble pillar, as you watched your brother and his wife.

Aragorn and Arwen.

King and Queen of Gondor.

Your heart hummed a song of happiness. Happiness for your brother. He deserved this. Deserved more then every moment of this night. This day. And any other that came with Arwen by his side.

Never once had you doubted their love for one another. Even when Aragorn had begun to doubt, you had stayed strong for him. Had never let him let go of that hope, of his love for Arwen.

And it had borne fruit.

They were married now.

By the Valar they were married.

A burst of pure happiness radiated form your chest, prompting you to smile.

"It seems even you cannot refrain from allowing yourself to smile on such an occasion." Came a voice from the other side of the pillar, one full of mirth and a tenderness that was only reserved for you.

Legolas.

Though there was a pillar between the both of you, you could still envision the smile on his lips and the gentleness in his eyes.

"No one can resist. Not tonight." You said, your voice soft as your gaze roamed around the hall where the wedding party was. "Not when they are in the presence of a love so great it shall never burn out."

A soft laugh was his response. "Is that how you see their love?" He asked, always in awe of the way you saw the world. Legolas was always fascinated when it came to looking at the world through your eyes. You always provided a unique perspective for him.

"And how do you see our love?"

The question prompted you to blink in surprise, and very nearly look in his direction. But you stopped.

A sound that was a mixture of a sigh and a giggle, fell from your lips as you spoke softly. "I see our love as something that shall transcend lifetimes." Silence followed your words, and you were sure you had surprised him with your answer.

You closed your eyes as you leaned against the pillar and continued to speak.

"I see our love as bright as the light of the Valar." You felt him move, prompting you to take a step back, so that you were half-concealed within the shadows.

"I see our love as our salvation. Even in the most dire of times, it was our light." You were now standing behind the pillar, still leaning against it, your eyes closed. But you could feel him.

Standing right in front of you.

"I see our love as an entity that saved me from myself."

Finally, you opened your eyes, only to loose breath at finding him standing so close to you. His blue eyes penetrated to the very depths of your soul.

"I see our love as the light that guided me out of the shadows." You continued, your voice barely above a whisper as he reached out to tenderly stroke your cheek with his fingers.

There was a time when even thinking of having someone be in love with you as Legolas was, would have you scorning at the thought. Love had no room in your life. Not when you had promised your mother that you would help Aragorn on his path.

As the heir of Isildur, he had much on his shoulders, and as his sister, you were there to ease the load and help him however you could.

No distractions.

But then you had met Legolas.

And for the first time in your life, you had no clue how you would navigate through the plethora of feelings that awakened within you.

Feelings that had a warmth grow inside you, one you had never felt before. One that continued to grow with each passing day. It had felt so strange, to feel that warmth glow within you, to feel it flicker whenever he would look your way. Or feel it lick along your skin when he would touch you. By accident or purpose, you did not know.

And what had you done to combat those feelings?

You had retreated into the shadows. Had retreated into yourself just because you were afraid. Afraid that these feelings would become real, too real, if either of you said anything out loud.

So you hid. You hid in your shadows, and behind your silence.

You barely spoke to him, barely acknowledged him. And though he kept his distance, Legolas was not one to give up easily. He was sure of his feelings for you long ago.

The elf was never obvious about them, however, his subtlety at conveying the depth of his affection for you were ones you had never missed over the years.

Then again there were times when even your feelings for him could no longer stay within the shadows and would come to light.

                                         ————————–

The first time you had shown signs of the deep affection you felt for the Prince was after a rather harrowing run-in with a band of orcs. You were greatly outnumbered, but still your small group of Rangers stood their ground.

You had only just felled an Orc, adrenaline racing through your body, your eyes already seeking out another opponent.

That was when you saw Legolas.

He had run out of arrows and was now fighting with his two long knives. Two Orcs at once. His entire concentration was on the creatures in front of him, leaving one of the stray Orcs to raise a wicked looking axe, aiming to strike the Prince from behind.

Amidst the chaos around you, your voice screamed his name. Your body acted without thought as you raised your sword and threw it in the direction of Legolas's would-be-killer.

The sword didn't find its mark, but it did knock the Orc off it's feet, giving Legolas time to collect himself and take care of the Orc himself.

The sight of the Orc standing behind Legolas about to strike him haunted you for days. Your sleep was plagued by night terrors, where you were not able to help him, where you watched helplessly as Legolas fell. The light in his eyes slowly dying. That was normally when you forced yourself to awaken.

Your body would tremble, your emotions on the very precipice of a cliff that had no end in sight. Valar! You were loosing your mind. A few nights after the encounter you had a particularly harrowing night terror. Not only had Legolas perished in it, but Aragorn too. As had Arwen, Elrohir, Elladen, Elrond, and so many others that you had grown to love since you knew them.

You had blindly stumbled from your sleeping roll, unaware that Legolas had been the one on watch that night. That he saw you as you stumbled away, saw the tears that ran down your cheeks as you disappeared into a cluster of trees near their camp ground. Worry gnawed at his heart and quickly waking the next person to keep watch, he followed after you.

It was rather easy to find you, since you made no effort to hide yourself. There you were, leaning against a tree, your head buried in your hands as your shoulders shook. In the stillness of the night your sobs echoed clear and the despair and utter sorrow behind those sobs caused a near physical ache to bloom in the Prince's chest.

Unable to stand by and do nothing while you suffered so, he stepped forward reaching out to gently place a hand on your shoulder.

Even before feeling his hand, you knew he was there. It was a strange ability you had. You always knew when Legolas was near. Unbeknownst to you, he shared the very same ability.

At the moment though the rawness of your emotions and the night terror still lingering in your conscious thoughts had you pivoting on your heel and throwing your arms around him in an almost desperate embrace. You clung to him, head buried in his shoulder, arms wrapped around his torso. The sobs began anew and through broken words and whispered phrases you told him of your fears and night terrors.

The moment Legolas felt your arms around him, he had not hesitated in returning the embrace. His hands traced gentle patterns against your back, fingers slowly sliding up to your hair where he began to stroke and play with the soft strands.

Once you had exhausted yourself and had spilled out the reason behind your tears, you slowly fell silent. Your sobs turned to gentle sniffles and slight tremors as you tried to calm yourself. Now that you were somewhat at peace, Legolas took the chance to reassure you with his words.

"You have said your piece Little One, now you must listen to mine."

Little One. He had called you so since he first met you. But the words were never said in a condescending manner. Sure he called you so because of how young you were compared to his elf years, but there was always something endearing about the way he said the words.

You felt a gentle hand tug at your chin. You tilted your head back in response, opening your eyes to finally meet Legolas's ever blue gaze. One that was full of compassion and affection.

"You must not allow the darkness of this world to overcome your good heart Y/n. Not only will the people who love you mourn your loss, but this world will be a much better place if you were to face it with a smile on your face, and light in your heart."

He still held your chin ever so gently, while his other hand continued to play with your hair. "Darkness will come, there is no denying, but all we can do is look past it, look towards tomorrow and hope that we have the people we love with us so that everyday is brighter then the last."

Your eyes were wide, and swimming with unshed tears. But his words, his voice, resonated within you. So much so that you decided then and there to live your life to the extent of which you had denied yourself for so many years.

                                         ————————–

As Isuldir's heir, Aragorn was the one who caught the attention of those who knew who he was. He didn't like it, he never did. But it was inevitable.

He especially hated how people seemed to forget that he had a sister who shared the same blood as he did. You were just as important, he would reassure you, but you had waved him away at that.

"The people need a King, Brother. A symbol of hope. And you are that symbol. Not I. I am merely the shadow that shall stay in the shadows watching you and protecting you."

You had spoken those words years ago, never thinking that someone else would come to stand beside you in the shadows. Someone who would take your hand and help you along your path.

An elf who would become your closest confidant.

A friend who would comfort you whenever you should need it, and whose soul you would soothe in return.

The prince who would fall in love with the princess.

Wearing the silver circlet that shared many similarities to the one he wore, you pushed yourself up to your toes, grasping his shoulders for support, to press a gentle kiss to his forehead.

"Thank you." You spoke softly, the smile upon your lips leaving him breathless as you gazed at him. His hands found yours, grasping them tightly within his as he lifted them to his lips to press a kiss to the knuckles of both your hands. "Nay." A shiver ran through your body as you felt the word whispered against your skin.

"It is I who should be thanking you Little One. For loving me and allowing me to love you."

You laughed softly, gently guiding him forward so that your bodies were all but pressed together in the most intimate of embraces. "En melda caun." My beloved Prince. "Since neither of us will accept the other's gratefulness to loving one another, let us simply celebrate it together?" You offered.

A laugh, one full of nothing but joy and happiness of what was to come fell from his lips as he gave a small nod of agreement.

Before closing the last of the distance between the both of you and sealing the promise with a kiss that would chase away the last of the darkness that lingered in your heart.

You were his, and he was yours.

Nothing could part you from one another.