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hail-brod · 2 years ago

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Long Lasting Encounter

Prince!Midoriya Izuku x Elven!Reader

Masterlist

He just wished to save you and for you to feel safe. But then, how did things escalate so much in such good terms?

One thing he would say, he was just glad he met you.

It was just going to be a simple morning and a simple start of the day.

With him atop on his trusty companion of a horse, riding along the brightly lit forest, away from the busy kingdom of his. An early stroll amidst the refreshing nature of a peaceful living. Or so he thought.

By the bushes of green and ragged leaves, someone laid.

His mind immediately races at the sight as he lands down from his horse and rushing to the side of the person.

But no, it wasn’t a person at all.

With pointy ears and the relatively small body frame, the Prince gasps at the revelation.

An Elven.

A race that many people know of but not many have seen nor interact with. All consisting of females with no idea how they mate for offspring. People would assume the reason why they are rarely seen is because of their low numbers for being unable to populate and is at the brink of extinction. As much as the green haired prince would love to say that isn't the case, he still longs to know whether that these Elvens are faring well in their own space.

Although, now that he has come to face with an actual one and an injured one at that, the complexity of the thought shuddered him.

Laid down atop the bush was you, with blood oozing down your torso. Your heavy breathing made the man's own hitch in horror. Hurriedly, he leaned down further to your sprawled form.

"What happened to you?! A-Are you- Oh no no no no....!“

What can he do?

All forms of panic and incomprehensible thoughts mangled his brain. He can't let you die. Most certainly not because that's not something he would bear living with when he could do something right now!

Your brows creased into a frown as the pain of your injury was evident, making the man slowly pale.

Think! Think!

Elvens. What does he know about them? From the books? His elders? His people? He rummages through his mind for any information that could pinpoint on what he knows could help and slowly he realizes what he remembers.

"A kiss is also a means for a miraculous revival. Do not be mistaken for a kiss on the lips is what to be done!"

Now he does pale at the memory.

Not even a single person haven’t mentioned anything about the revival kiss for Elvens because many connoisseurs for that matter have also quoted on the same fact. Could it actually work? Although, they say it’s a revival solution but you weren't dead so it probably won't work. Then what can he do now? You were struggling to breath and how much time would it take for him to bring you to the castle without you losing more blood? And you were a race that for many decades, people have not seen your kind. How would they react to your appearance?

Hush now. There is no time for these questions. He has to act. Now.

Before he could set on his next move, a grumbling cough from you made his mind fray off to the side, an ache in his heart coiled in as he sees your strained expression.

One moment, he was already leaning in and lands his lips on your own.

His cheeks undoubtedly flared and his eyelids pressed together, not wanting to witness his own actions and only hoping for the words of his knowledge to come true.

Unfortunately, another thing happened.

You didn't hesitate to swing your palms and collide it on the man's cheek, slapping him into oblivion.

"G-G-Get away from me!" You shout at him.

With a ragged breathing and a faint glare shooting on the man’s existence, you grit your teeth at your quite reckless action. Your blooded stomach ached more.

The man snapped in his trance as he immediately speaks his mind, waving his hand frantically at you—as if to say he wasn't going to do anything rash no more. "I'm so sorry!- I didn't mean to- I- I wasn't going to- My intention was to help you, I just- I don't know why it didn't work? O-Or it isn't actually....true....- Oh, good lord. I'm truly sorry! I'm sorry if I made you horribly uncomfortable and invaded! I w-won't ask for forgiveness- what I've done is undoubtedly horrendous of me-"

Before he could continue further and realizing that he had rambled enough to waste time, he caught on your strained sigh.

"I...I see now. You humans assume a lot of things, it never fails to make me not question why we Elvens stay away from you." You let out, bringing the back of your palm to your lips. You avoid the man's gaze as you try to steady your breathing once again.

A man kissed you. A stranger at that. You can’t help but feel the rising displeasure on your chest and the raging feeling of annoyance at the action.

People spread these urban legends lies about anything and that even your race couldn’t escape from. A kiss is also a means for a miraculous revival- blah blah blah. Sure, Elvens have certain abilities to relay blessings or connections through a kiss but a kiss for revival? It’s laughable because it doesn’t exist. The only thing that these lies did to you was disregard your own consent, falling prey to a human’s naivety. But nonetheless, he only did what he thought was right. You never thought he’d take it upon himself to go over a lengthy apology for you the moment he had realized he was tricked by his beliefs, and that proved to be something courteous.

When the green head was about to open his mouth, you added.

"I get it. You tried to help...I guess. I don't need your apologies no more."

"You heard about the…the sayings...I mean, I still feel bad. So bad." He says, giving you a worrying look. "But I want to make it clear that...I have no intention to take advantage of you. I do very much want to help you."

You took in his words and you didn't miss the sincerity coated in them. So you gaze up to him, having a clear view of his appearance. Green streaks of curled hair and gentle green eyes that stare down at you with unblinking stars of innocence. After what he did, you’d never believe he was a pure one but you faintly feel displeased from the thought. You almost don't realize his speckled cheeks that was now growing in a shade of red.

A man. He was a true man.

The ones that tried to capture your kin we're full of male knights, craving to hold your people as slaves for their filthy kingdom—and none of them we're worthy for you to be called a man.

The man that your Elven elders always told you to sought out in the future was far from cruel and twisted. You'd hate to admit that you had long lost the admiration for pursuing human outsiders even before your home's invasion but coming across a man that felt so...true was making you rethink your thoughts.

But you can't judge it yet. There are always hidden sides to a being.

Dropping your head back down, you feel a growing headache and the fatigue catching up to you fast. You almost forgot you had spent days having nothing to eat in the prison you escaped, your energy is already up.

Before you could fall unconscious, you bask in on your savior's expression when he realized your state. Eyes dilated with full concern and his words starts to get muffled in your ears. Finally shutting your eyes close, the last thing you felt was his warm palms on your shoulders.

Giving you the comfort you have been craving for the past few days.

“You’re a prince?”

You asked.

You were placed on a fairly big-sized bed, sitting up straight to converse with the green head who was your savior. The said man scratched his cheek, nervously laughing at the confrontation. That was all you needed for you to know. “I apologize for slapping you…But that doesn’t mean your actions were valid. I still do feel invaded and it doesn’t mean that you’re a prince, I would just brush off your antics for nothing.”

You scold him as your glances switched from your hands to his guilty form from time to time. Seeing his meltingly retreating body from your words was enough evidence that he truly felt bad for what he did. You’d like to go hard and be aloof towards humans especially after what you have been through but you still had a heart. And that heart can see if someone else’s does too.

“Thank you, though….for- saving me. Maybe also, for trying to save me.” You huff, redirecting your mind to the kiss. Your first kiss. Even if your people were all women, it doesn’t mean they don’t get to find their true love with one another. That’s one of the most blissful part in the life that you’ve grown up with.

But either way, you never truly thought a kiss would feel that…soft.

Before you could reminiscent further, the Prince speaks. “I-… I just did what I had to do. I couldn’t leave you there suffering…Tell me, what actually happened? P-Please do not fret! I won’t force you to speak if it unease you.”

You remember and shift your mind. Your people weren’t headless chickens nor unskilled in the arts of battling. You trust them when it comes to your life and you know they would do anything to save everyone they care for, even if it means to sacrifice themselves. By now, the other Elvens that weren’t abducted should be hiding deep and deeper into your homeland’s forest as the others would be preparing for their turn to invade that damned castle.

You do feel on edge knowing that you had escaped the prison while the other Elvens were still contained there. You want to go and help them. Save them from their grasps. Go home and fight alongside your people’s fury and worries for their loved ones.

But here you are, stuck in the state of starvation and fatigue from your injury.

You can tell him as much. After all, it was their neighboring kingdom that had fault your people.

The green head observes your trailing form, skimming back to his words if he ever said something wrong. Worry creased on his brows, his sense of goodness to soothe your emotions started to grow the more you frowned.

He thought he’d be hitting a vital spot on what you had gone through but as he waited, you told him what happened. His neighboring kingdom’s invasion on your homeland. The abduction of you and your people, chaining you all to be slaves for life. And your risky break out from their walls as you end up on his kingdom’s borders.

Hearing all of that was a way to awaken his responsibility as a prince—or even a future king—to act. But before that, he wants to ensure your being and state. What were you feeling right now? Knowing that your friends and loved ones were being treated cruelly in the hands of terrible people, it clenches his heart with dread.

“I’m sorry about your people….but I want you to know that, after telling me all that, I won’t just stand and do nothing. I’m not done helping you, so please rest easy.”

You were awestruck. You gazed at him with hopeful eyes as you took in his stern but kind expression. “Why?.…I am grateful for that but, this would mean a war. You shouldn’t put your kingdom into the steps of our troubles, wouldn’t that harm your people?”

The Prince’s expression softens. “I won’t resort to that as the only solution. Negotiation and allegiance to stop them from harming your kin are still ways to go with. The thought of going to war is never a good thing, I’d really like to avoid that.”

Your shoulders fall at his answer. You softly ask. “You do?”

“Very much.”

“How can I know you’re trustworthy?”

The man blinks. It is understandable for you to not give him trust yet. He’d only save you once and you’ll owe him, there are ways that he could be trying to trick you into something.

But he would never do that. He’s far from that.

“I will protect your homeland no matter what happens. Your people will have a place in our kingdom. I promise you that.”

With blazing fiery in his emerald eyes, Izuku connects it with your willed ones. You stare at him with a growing fondness in your chest as his eye contact almost make you feel so bare and exposed. As if in one moment, he melts your problems away with just his determined gaze until it does make you feel melt in bashfulness. Intense, you may say, and your chest starts to race abnormally.

You’ve never believed it but, some men are actually charming. Particularly, a green haired one.

You had spent your second day within the Prince’s castle walls to recover your full energy and your injury. Troublesome it may, your wound was quite vital but you sure hope to go home soon. You were task to not move around by the doctor of the castle, even though he had given you weird and cautious looks for being a true Elven, he implied more that your wound could open up if you do so much as sitting up or down.

You only abide.

So you find yourself still on the bed, with the green head prince accompanying you. You wouldn’t say you dislike the interaction, it certainly does take you away from your imminent growing thoughts of pessimism.

Although, now the conversation shifts into something that….people do wonder about your kind.

“How are you born?” Izuku questions. “I’m sorry if this is something odd to ask….But I just wonder. Elvens are just really mysterious to a lot of people. Of course! I wouldn’t do anything to disrupt your way of living as a secret.”

His shoulders tense up as he gives you an assuring look. Your mouth tug up in a small smile at his reaction. “It’s nothing to be crazed about. We are simply born out of nature’s rare plants that you don’t see anywhere, only our homeland has it.”

You reveal. You bask in on the Prince’s expression, with wide eyes expand in wonder and amazement. An enthusiasm you haven’t seen on a being after just revealing something about your origins. He looked so…bright. An innocence that didn’t fail to make your cheeks flush.

“That means it only grows in your homeland, right?!”

You nod. Tight-lipped.

“That’s astonishing! Oh! And you ride those gigantic rock golems?! They say they’re protectors of your land.”

“Well, yes but not quite. Gigantic golem deers, they are. We do ride them, of course.”

“Gigantic golem deers?!”

The man exclaims, only growing in excitement as he lights up more in your sight. Rambling more for words that stacks up to any thought. His smiles of mirth and chuckles of merriment were a welcomed reaction as you yourself gazed softly at his form. Your chest swells up as you smile.

“…but wait.” He halts, cupping his chin. “Where have they gotten the idea about the revival kiss in the first place?”

You stiffed at the implication. Where you say? Well…

“It was tampered from the true origin.” You answer as your gaze lands on the marbled floor. “It does makes sense for it to be twisted into something else since it only happens when we….initiate mating….with other beings….”

Your words slowly drift off in the end. You try not to flare up from the statement but you did anyway. And when you did land your eyes back on the Prince, he was much worse than you were faring.

“T-T-That- What I did- I tried to- to- to- Did I try to- mate with you?!” He panicked, reddened cheeks overtaking his face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for that to happen- to do! Or- Ugh! I don’t want you to get the wrong idea! I’m really sorry-“

“Please, calm down!” You retort. “It isn’t like that. It had nothing to do with a kiss on the lips. It’s meant to be on the cheek….so calm down. Either way, it isn’t the same if the other race does it—only Elvens get to initiate it….” You panted. Your frantic heart finally subsiding.

“Oh….” Izuku breathes out, shoulders sagging. “I- I see….”

Though, he was furiously blushing. And it fits him so much.

Halt now. You shouldn’t wonder more into that.

“Y-Yes…” You speak up. “That rarely happens since we are….so far off from…the others.”

Your voice trails off once again as you try to regain the steady chatter. “So, future king?”

As you mentioned it, the man shifted up in a faint of delight. Though, his blush was still evident, he tried to let the conversation shift as he glances at the bedsheets.

“Hmm...I am the next in line. Isn’t that a tremendous change to happen in the lives of this kingdom’s people? I mean, for me as well.” He chatters light-heartedly. You take in his now smoothed expression as he goes over his words, you listen eagerly.

You listened and listened to his thoughts over being a good king and being able to improve more the lives of his people. You thought no one could ever rule a kingdom with just kindness because dirty work and sacrifices must be made but Prince Izuku? He has this will that pushes you to hope for better days. He cares so much over his words whenever he talks to you, mindful if he was being insensitive. You can see he strives to be a person that anyone would want by their side. A king that values his own people more than just ruling.

You’re rooting for him.

Some point in his rambling, he gets awaken by the fact that he was talking your ears out but you immediately say you don’t mind. His eyes widened at that.

Now, why would anyone want him to stop talking about his good-natured views and tender words of peace. You wouldn’t want to leave out his light and soft tone when he speaks. His voice that carry the wisp of salvation for others.

“I like listening to you. So please…don’t stop.” You say.

The green head combusted in shades of red.

“Ve….Very well…” He trails. “It’s just that, no one’s really like the way I…ramble on and on. It’s a habit of mine that ticks them off. Not a proper way to speak as a prince they would say.”

You frown at that. “Then you shouldn’t mingle with those people. They clearly don’t see your dedication and wonder in a lot of things. It’s admiring. Prince or not, you can tell them off for choosing your morality.”

The Prince blooms at your statement. His chest seemed to flutter, as if it was slowly engulfed in a warmth that made his heart throb. He was speechless.

“And with all honesty, your voice is beautiful.”

He spluttered at his seat. At this point, he was crazing so much in blush as he goes to cover up his cheeks with the back of his hands.

You only giggled softly at his reactions, amusement evident in your eyes.

You weren’t teasing him. No. Your words were coated with truth that he deserves to hear. You can proudly say it yourself that you were lucky he was the one to save you from dying out in that forest.

“I-I- don’t know what to say- There’s no way you…you- you because! My voice isn’t even a-all that flattering…I’m not that- flattering….”

Oh, you beg to differ.

“Are you going against my preferences, dear Prince? You don’t get a say on what’s flattering or not.”

“B-But I-“

“You are a fine young prince. A flattering one.”

“W-what? No, I’m-“

“Hush.”

“….”

“Good.”

By now, His Highness was covered in the graces of flaring flames atop his cheeks as he goes to hide the majority of his face from you.

How could he go on further with that? He was a prince that nobody cared so much for. He wasn’t charming. He wasn’t admirable. He wasn’t ideal to be that prince that people will swoon over for. Planned marriages for him didn’t always worked so well, as far as he knows.

And yet, here you were. Saying every word that was the opposite of everything that he thinks of himself. You could be just saying it for the sake of good intentions. But your soft expression and gleaming eyes says otherwise. You looked genuine and sure of your praises that he realized he hasn’t notice the flaring flush on your cheeks were visible.

And for sure he can’t argue with that fact that you were flattering as well.

He blushed harder.

The day came for you to set out back into the woods and unto your homeland. Gladly, with the Prince’s help, he managed to negotiate with the neighboring kingdom about your other kins being contained there. Saying that he and his father were alerted by their cynical motives and now making a move to have a say that his kingdom are now protecting your people.

Everyone did thought lowly of him but he wasn’t easily going to let it off the hook. It was always his motive as a young boy to help and bring justice to everyone around him and he wasn’t going to stop now.

With some little bit of persuasion on the matter, and reminding them of their powerful asset such as the known mighty knight of their kingdom, they didn’t pushed on further into displeasing his wishes.

Though, he still has their eyes on them just in case.

You both finally arrive outside the woods were the green head saved you. It was now time to bid your farewells with him. Feeling much better than the past few days that went by. Truly, Elvens are magnificent. Their body can heal faster than any other kind!

But he dreads this particular moment. He had enjoyed so much of your time and your kind words could never be forgotten. You were someone that he wishes to be with. A tender heart and a soft pure gaze. A great listener and a comforting presence.

And those blissful lips.

He sighs dreamily but immediately snaps out of his daze.

“It was a pleasure to be your damsel in distress.” You lightly laughed as you faced him. Izuku brought up a smile, a faint blush on his cheek.

“It’s my duty to be a savior.” He replies.

“Thank you….Thank you for helping my people. I’m forever grateful.”

“I just did what’s right. I should be the one thanking you…I’m just so glad that I got to- to meet someone like you…”

His heart bubbled as he got lost into your eyes. He swallowed hard the moment he saw your lips go up into a sweet smile he had never seen you wear.

“Likewise.”

You reply, but after you did, you stepped closer to him as you start to lean your head towards him.

And placed a chaste kiss on his cheek.

“My Prince.”

A kiss. On the cheek. A kiss. On the cheek.

Oh.

He soon realized that the last thing he saw was your blushing face and the smile that he'll keep dreaming about for the following weeks as you disappeared in his line of sight and off into the woods.

He didn’t know how much time went by as he stood there with a flaring face. He could still feel the lasting remnants of the kiss as he brought his hand on his cheek, recalling the meaning of the gesture.

He actually wouldn’t mind.

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queers-gambit · 5 months ago

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Tower Scrolls

prompt: during the Siege of Eregion, Elrond barters for his fiancé's life, and her life's work.

pairing: Elrond x intended!female!reader

fandom masterlist: The Rings of Power

word count: 4.1k+

note: brain go wonky, don't take this too serious

warnings: we got angst! we got drama! we got spoilers! i think it's more hurt and comfort, but to each their own! there's cursing, character injury, canon-complicit character death, blood, depiction of abuse and torture, violence, is this a reader insert? i don't know anymore, but i think so. oneshot, filler, very abrupt ending.

Fire rained from the sky. Ash snowed on once white-sand buildings. Tension permeated the air. Blood irrigated soil.

Eregion was under attack.

Elves screamed in despair, Orcs snarled from outside the city walls, and no matter where you turned, you were trapped in this never ending barrage of violent misfortune. To the best of your ability, you manned the city walls and ordered the citizens of Eregion to find shelter, tunnel out of the city, or pick up arms and fight - fight for their homes, their families, their lives.

It was nearly a natural succession of power after dedicating majority of your life to Eregion and Lord Celebrimbor; a common presence, friendly face, such an outstanding ally that few hesitated to take your command. Yet you were met with resistance, some Elves rejecting your orders in favor of this "Annatar, Lord of Gifts," apparently sent from the Valar themselves to aid Celebrimbor in his creative work. They thought he was Lord of Eregion now, and since you were loyal to the previous Lord - who Annatar claimed had lost his ever sharp mind - you were looked upon with the same frown.

So, you did the only thing you thought you could do.

You protected your Lord, almost to the extent of your life. Too many had already fallen, you refused to follow; insisting on remaining with Lord Celebrimbor for the duration of his efforts so long as Annatar was in Eregion. The immortal being wasn't keen on the idea, but Celebrimbor was much soothed around you - so, he agreed, on the condition that your Lord finish his work on the Nine Rings.

After escaping before, Annatar thought the best suited idea would be to chain Lord Celebrimbor to his work bench; knowing you did not have the means to break him free and feeling it was a safe move. However, as you witnessed, the will of the Lord of Eregion was by far stronger than that of The Deceiver.

"I cannot!" You begged your Master. "No, you will not ask this of me! The audacity you possess - "

"You must!" Celebrimbor insisted, taking your cheeks in hand to smush your lips in a pucker. "Listen to me - listen! You have always known right from wrong, but now is not a time for rationality, it's a time for action. He mustn't get the Rings, I need you to run with them. Run away - far, far away from here, use the tunnels - "

"I will not abandon you," you snarled, "nor will I abandon this city, not while she still stands!"

"This is bigger than us, bigger than Eregion," Celebrimbor tried to convey his severity, forcing the Rings in your hand - but you were stubborn. For all the traits he loved, he despised your pigheadedness the most - despite admiring it once upon a time. So, he managed to convince you to cut just his thumb off after originally asking you to take the whole hand so the cuff could slide off, but he downgraded to just his digit for the same desired effect.

"Go," you begged him, tears in your eyes as you wrapped his hand with a clean(ish) cloth to staunch the bleeding. "Go, please, before He returns. Do not look back, my Lord."

"Come with me - "

"I'll hold Him off to give you more time. Now, go. Go!"

It wasn't easy, but Celebrimbor left you behind. No sooner had you confirmed his escape did Annatar return; surveying the workshop and you with sinister eyes.

"Where is he?"

"With luck? Far from here. With hope? Even past that," you answered, stood in the middle of the room - looking as if nothing could phase you. All a lie, of course, but Sauron didn't need to know you were close to pissing your pants out of sheer intimidation. "So... You're Him? I have to admit," you gestured at him, "it's a bit of a let down."

"I have many names - "

"Oh, spare me the personal lore all of Middle-earth knows," you snipped, offering a stale look. "You need a new story."

However, Sauron smirked and circled you, taunting, "I know you know where he went. I know you know where the Rings are, too."

"Then have a look in my mind, see for yourself," you smirked back, "go ahead and see that I purposefully did not ask and my Lord did not tell. Go on, if you do not believe me, have a look and know you are wrong - " You were cut off by your own gasp when Sauron's eyes rolled before he brandished a sword to pierce through your foot and into the floor.

"Where. Is. He?" Sauron seethed in your face; hot breath fanning the fly away hairs.

"Away from you," you managed to grit, the sword in too deep to yank free by yourself. "You'll never find them," you laughed without humor when Sauron's anger got the best of him; storming through the workshop, tearing it apart, searching in vain for Nine Rings that were not there. In his anger, you obtained a series of fresh blemishes as he threw anything he could to the sound of your amusement.

Yet any glimmer of hope in your chest was doused, all traces of faith and humor vanishing when guards lead Celebrimbor back into the workshop; discovering the destroyed forge and you, pinned by a bloody foot in the midst. You couldn't move from your place as the guards surrounded Sauron with the intention to apprehend him, yet you saw the threat before anyone else. You begged the guards, your kin, your brethren, to back away, to take your Lord and flee! You begged them to run. You begged them to listen, to hear you!

But it was too late.

Sauron turned your people on one another and had them slaughter each other before disposing of the final guard himself. You screamed at Celebrimbor to run, nearly tearing the blade through bone as you attempted to reach for the man who had taught you your entire life. The man who gave you a chance. The man who built you a home. The man who introduced you to your intended. The man you loved like a father.

But Sauron's grasp extended to all.

Celebrimbor was beaten senseless, the Dark Lord trying to pry information about the Nine from him by any means. Yet your Lord did not budge... And that's when Sauron turned to you. "Please, no! Don't! She doesn't know anything! I swear, please, spare her!" Celebrimbor pleaded when Sauron ripped the sword from your foot before knocking you to your knees; bowstring pulled back, arrow armed and aimed at your calf. "She doesn't know amything!" Celebrimbor screamed as your first tear fell.

"But you do," Sauron narrated, loosing the arrow into your flesh. You tried to subdue your screams, but the immortal took to alternating between shooting you and Celebrimbor with arrows; though his struck lethally, yours struck painfully. To Sauron, you were a plaything; a token to negotiate with, attempting to withdraw information by offering you harm, thinking it was enough to break Celebrimbor.

He was mistaken.

You panted as blood dribbled from the corner of your mouth, wincing as Sauron's boot came down on your knee; smearing his heel into an open wound with you flat on your back. "She... She doesn't know," Celebrimbor tried again. "She is... She's the Lady of Eregion now, and I would not curse her with such a burden as you have me!"

"Oh, a promotion?" Sauron mused, glancing at you - but you saw his underlying desperation.

"Eregion is no more," you whispered, head lulling on the floor to meet Celebrimbor's eyes and smile sadly. Blood lined your teeth. "It would've been the honor of my life should I have been able to defend your city, my Lord."

"Our city."

"How touching," Sauron's eyes rolled.

"She doesn't know," Celebrimbor repeated in anger.

"I know," Sauron nodded, "I looked in her mind. Still, the bond between you is greater - perhaps, you'd be more inclined to share with her?"

"He'd never," you chuckled in delirium, "he'd never sacrifice this world for the likes of you." Another arrow thumped into your shoulder, making you groan as Sauron angrily tossed the bow aside. Fearing your life was soon to be extinguished, you whispered, "I-I'm so sorry, my Lord. I failed you."

"No, do not say such a thing," Celebrimbor insisted, Sauron stalking over you before squatting in front of the Elven smith, "for it is I who failed you..."

Sauron sighed, sounding condescending yet soft as he reached over to stroke Celebrimbor's cheek, "Look what you have done to yourself."

You didn't care for his poisoned words, knowing your time was limited - just like Celebrimbor's. Yet the Dark Lord tried one last tactic: mercy. He promised to end your joint suffering should the location of the Nine be revealed. Your Lord was defiant still. So, Sauron tried gaslighting, and when that didn't work, he begged, "Please."

Still, it did not work and Celebrimbor affirmed his time was ending... So, naturally, after he plucked up a spear, Sauron threatened, "There are ways of keeping you both alive." In Sindarin, he added, "Friend." To the look of horror on Celebrimbor's bloody face, Sauron offered, "Must I show you my mastery of that craft as well?"

"'Craft'?" Your Lord chuckled ruefully. Then he spat, "Your only craft is treachery. So pure, it shall betray the very hand that forges it."

Sauron stepped over your limp, bleeding form too casually, quietly seething, "Your words are empty."

"No," Celebrimbor insisted, sitting himself up slightly. "No, hear me. Hear me!" Your dimming eyes widened as your Lord found his feet, back against the stone pillar he had once slumped against as support. "Shadow of Morgoth! Hear the dying words of Celebrimbor! With only Y/N, Lady of Eregion as witness!" You didn't move, you couldn't... You were defeated, you knew there was no way Sauron would let you leave this tower alive. So, you listened and bore witness for as long as you were capable of doing so. "The Rings of Power shall destroy you. And in the end, I foresee one alone shall prove your," he shouted, "utter ruin!"

"NO!" You screamed when Sauron turned, shouting in anger as he strode over you and stabbed Celebrimbor with his spear. You could only watch in fearful disgust as the Dark Lord, still in fair form, hoisted the Lord of Eregion up the stone pillar as if a flag on a pole.

Celebrimbor was in obvious pain, mouth agape, blood dribbling from his slathered lips. Sauron's words were still heard despite the low, quiet register, "You're wrong. I am their Creator." He growled, "I am their Master!"

"No," Celebrimbor's head shook as if pitying the immortal. "You are their... Prisoner. Sauron, Lord..." He trailed as his life's light was snuffed, "of the Rings."

You let your grief manifest in tears, watching as Celebrimbor's eyes found yours - conveying his goodbye as he mouthed one last apology... Then deflating as his soul, as promised, vacated this form to return to the shores. You didn't voice your note of Sauron's single tear, just staring at your Lord in disbelief - until the Dark Lord planted the end of his spear to the ground, staking Celebrimbor above all.

"N-No, no, wait!" You begged, trying to turn over onto your stomach to pull yourself across the ground. "No, please, please, take him down - get him down from there! Please, do not - do not leave him up there!" You cried out as arrow shafts were irritated back to life, reaching blindly - helplessly - upward as if you could reach the Lord of Eregion from his hoist.

Sauron watched you for a moment, the Orcs heard marching up the tower. With a swift swing of his leg, Sauron kicked your jaw - effectively knocking you out and overturning your body to your back; splayed out as if on display... Similar, but not akin, to Celebrimbor - whose pooling blood soaked into your gown.

Through your unconsciousness, Sauron eventually ordered Eregion be razed to the ground, every Elf slaughtered, and the Elven leaders be brought before him - unharmed. He gave specific instruction for every scroll in Celebrimbor's workshop to be torched; his way of punishing you for your insolence over supporting and protecting Celebrimbor.

When you awoke, the tower was quiet. You stiffly lifted your hand to your jaw; rubbing it tenderly, letting your sight refocus and being acutely aware of every feeling in your body.

"Fuuuuuuuck," you whimpered, trying to sit up but being unable due to protruding arrows. You went limp again, feeling a single twinge of anger you had to wake up because your eyes caught sight of and stared at Celebrimbor.

You failed...

You gasped shrilly when hands seized your upper arms and heaved; lugging you over the shoulders of two Orcs as a third swiped at the arrows to break them in the most painful way possible. Considering their brutish nature, you would've thought they'd have lopped your head off and moved along - but instead, they began carrying you towards the door.

"Wha-What's happening?" You asked through a slur, feet dragging under you, spying one of the Orcs gathering scrolls and tomes you spent your life writing alongside Celebrimbor in their dirty arms. "Wait - wait - what're you doing? What're you doing!?"

"Quiet!" An Orc snarled, dropping the hilt of his dagger to the soft part of the base of your head where it connected to your neck. You were silent out of sheer pain.

Down the tower you were drug, brought into the devastated courtyard where Orcs snarled at you from all sides; the two that carried you dropping you on your shattered knees. You were held at knifepoint as Orcs streamed from the tower and dropped your scrolls and tomes in several different piles a short distance away. Head injury caused your sight to blur in and out, but you knew what they were doing... What they intended.

"Please, please, don't do this," you whimpered, hearing several Orcs laugh. "No... No, no, no, no, please! Don't - " You had no more fight as collectively, your records were so extensive that several piles were made, few set ablaze.

All around you, Elves were slaughtered mercilessly, bodies left behind where they fell; the sounds of the city dying with them as the Orcs ran out of the innocent lives to claim. You could only watch. Before you, the Orcs tossed banded lassos around the decorated statue of Faenor, evident their desecration knew no bounds.

Yet hope sparked... The blade at your neck tightening when you perked up upon seeing several Orcs leading few saved Elves into the courtyard - your fiancé one of them.

"Elrond!" You cried, the Orc snarling a hiss as the hand in your hair yanked back. You struggled to the point of blood draw when Elrond's sight casted on you - trying to escape his captors, but being held back.

"Y/N!" He called back, the High King Gil-galad at his side and finding you amongst the rubble, too. The King muttered something you couldn't hear, but to Elrond, he understood the Sindarin word: wait.

"Hey!" You snapped, blade drawing a line of blood from your neck; pressure mounting as he pressed closer. You growled in annoyance.

Faenor toppled to the ground, shattering the heart of any Elf left to witness - Orcs mounting him, ravaging for hidden and seen treasures. With Gil-galad, Elrond, and other survivors, the Orcs moved inward as if to ensure the Elves had a front row viewing to the incineration of their culture.

"Y/N," Gil-galad called to attention, earning several snarls and hisses, "where is Lord Celebrimbor?"

"Dead," you whimpered, Orc growling at you in reprimand.

Elrond's eyes swept over the scene and swiftly understood the impending doom. The largest of the scroll piles was before the Elves now, an Orc pacing around it with his torch alight, tears down your cheeks as you couldn't look away as if in a trance you did not realize.

"No, Uruk! No!" Elrond begged when the Orc went to drop the flame; you struggling against your captor, both hands around his meaty wrist.

"No!" Gil-galad's beg echoed around you.

"That is the full record of Celebrimbor's works," Elrond tried to make the Orcs understand potential ramifications. "The wisdom of all who ever dwelt in this place, all accounted by the Lady Y/N, whose work cannot be found outside Eregion! Its value is beyond jewels or even blood! Take our lives," Elrond gestured to himself and the King, you struggling again on horridly abused knees, "but leave it be, I beg you."

Perhaps you were far too used to people listening when your fiancé spoke because you eagerly sat forward best you could while thinking perhaps the Orcs would listen to Elrond. Imagine your acute and heavy despair when the Orc laughed manically and turned to shove the torch into the bundle of fragile parchment. "NO!" You sobbed uselessly, watching the last of your life's work go up in flame.

You fought against the Orc's grip as Gil-galad snarled, "Cowardly traitors!"

"You fucking bastards!" Your head reared back to (painfully - nobody wins with a headbutt) break the Orc's nose. He released you as other Orcs were wrestling Gil-galad to the ground, able to pick up a blade and take out three too-close enemies.

It was the first time Elrond heard such language fall from your lips, but all he could register was the Orc punching you in the jaw in an attempt to subdue you - blood spitting to the side, seemingly darkening a bruise already blooming. He's never felt such rage.

Elrond fought with his bare hands; elbowing the Orcs behind him, punching the ones before him, fighting to get closer to you. He got ahold of a torch, screaming in white-hot anger as he set the Orc that hit you ablaze; dropping the torch and taking you into his embrace.

"My love," he breathed in your ear, able to peck your cheek just as the snarling Orcs forcefully ripped you out of his arms. "No, no!" He tried to reach out for you, but both were wrangled in.

"Please, don't! NO! No, no, no!" You gasped when Elrond was taken in custody, yet it wasn't you who saved him.

Another Orc reminded, "No! Lord Sauron wanted their leaders unharmed."

"Well, what about her? She looks injured," A different Orc growled, jostling your shoulder and pointing his dagger at your throat. Elrond was forced to his knees as you were, facing one another.

"Lord Sauron did that, said to discipline her should she resist," the Orc answered in a hiss, others shoving more Elves into the courtyard - including Arondir from the battlefield. A blade was held to Elrond's throat as your head bowed in the heat of the bonfire; being ripped up by your hair and forced to turn to watch the flames. The Orcs noticed the pair of you seemingly cared more about the literature than your lives, so, they thought you should relish in this moment.

So Elrond was held in a similar position, but his sight was on you; watching you crumple into despair while more Orcs tossed the last of the scrolls into the flames. Your life, since a youthful student, had been spent intermittently in Eregion under the care of Lord Celebrimbor, whom you thought of as an adoptive father, learning heraldry. He let you work at his side, keeping accurate, detailed record of his philosophies, ideas, processes, and creations for the histories. Yet, now, they wafted into the air as ash - lost to this Age, never to be recovered or duplicated or seen again.

Once more, you dropped your head, earning a backhand to the temple. Gritting your teeth, you let the Orc force your head up but shut your eyes tightly, defiantly; hearing their breathing turn ragged. "Cut her eyelids open!" An Orc barked.

"That's not what Lord Sauron said," another seethed with refusal.

"She's resisting!"

An Orc scoffed and stabbed your thigh with a dagger, eyes flying open as you gasped in pain. "There! See!" It laughed, holding you in a chokehold as tears leaked down your cheeks. Elrond struggled and shuddered against his captors, hating the sight of you dismantling yourself emotionally, but to witness your abuse, he hated more.

Then, from a short distance, a horn bellowed.

"Dwarves!" King Gil-galad identified, the Elves rejuvenated by the surprise (and delayed) arrival of aid. In tandem, they began to resist; yourself included by ripping the dagger from your thigh and driving it into your captor's ribs; praying flesh came too when the blade was ripped free.

He grunted and shoved you forward onto your chest and hands, able to flop over to watch your approaching demise - only to discover Elrond surging up to the Orc and snapping its neck with his bare hands.

"Elrond!" You gasped when the Orc fell to the side... Dead.

"C'mere," the half-Elf you intended to marry panted, reaching down to yank you onto your bloody feet; catching you on his chest when your weight buckled. "I got you, I've got you, love, you're safe," he whispered, hoisting you into his embrace before turning for the stream of Dwarves. "Durin!" He greeted jovially.

But when the Dwarf turned, it wasn't the ginger prince Elrond knew like a brother. The dark haired Dwarf heaved a sigh, informing, "The Prince... Is in mourning," before rushing off into the fray.

"'Mourning'?" You repeated in a daze. "Over Disa?"

"His father, perhaps?" Elrond guessed, tightening his arms to lift you and turn away from an Orc rushing forward. He blocked the enemy's advance, trying to keep secure hold of you - leaving an opportunity for you to use the last of your strength to drive your dagger (still in hand) into the Orc's throat. "Good girl," Elrond praised as the creature fell, panting from exhaustion. "Can you still fight?"

"I can barely stand on my own, Elrond," you whimpered, gripping his neck and shoulders in a vice grip to remain upright.

He nodded, "Right." With a sniffle, he lifted you again and rushed for an alcove, depositing you in rubble before caressing your face. "How bad?" He asked softly.

"Enough."

"Let me see - "

"Elrond, there's no time," you snatched his hands when he attempted to reach for your skirt, "the city is under attack, it's falling to Sauron - you need to help them. Go, go fight."

"I won't leave you."

Your ears rang with the same words you told Celebrimbor.

"You have to, this is bigger than any of us," you repeated what you'd been told.

"Elrond!" Gil-galad was heard calling, Arondir appearing in the mouth of the alcove.

"Over here!"

When the High King arrived, he paused to take in the sight of the pair of you. "Good," he panted, "you're both alive. The Dwarves are aiding our escape, we must leave now... The city is fallen," he directed at you.

"You should all go," you sniffled.

With confusion, Elrond snapped, "Without you?"

"I've business to see to in the tower."

"The tower will fall," Arondir explained, slowly lowering to a squat to put himself on your level. "Whatever you think is left is lost, my Lady."

"Celebrimbor's in there. I was taken before I could get him down."

"'Down'?" Gil-galad repeated, "What does that mean?"

Tears filled your eyes, telling the trio what Sauron did to you and your Lord; the King insisting hope was lost and it was time to go. "I cannot walk," you whispered, shaking your head, "and my injuries surpass - "

"I will carry you," Elrond rushed, holding your cheek gently, "I will not leave you behind."

"No... She will walk," Gil-galad stepped forward, revealing his Ring of Power, Vilya. You were unsure what his intention, but Elrond moved behind you to let you lean back into his chest as the King chanted his prayers.

Yet you passed out before fully healed.

"My King - "

"She's alive," Gil-galad soothed Elrond, the hand hosting Vilya laid to your forehead, "just exhausted. She's been through much, far more than I care to fathom. Sauron took it easy on her, he used mortal weapons against her."

"He didn't intend to kill her?" Arondir questioned.

"He needed her alive - whatever the reason," Gil-galad frowned.

"Will she wake?" Elrond worried.

"I have faith she will, trust in the Valar," the King nodded. "Now, if you intend to fight another day, we must go. Now."

And so, the Lady of Eregion was smuggled out of the smoking city in the arms of the Elf she loved, leaving behind all she knew and created. By the Third Age, at least one scroll written by her hand could be found in every library of Middle-earth; and in the Great Library Elrond built for her, detailed accounts of Lord Celebrimbor's work as recalled and honored by his adopted daughter, future Lady of Imladris.

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earthlybeam · 2 months ago

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I saw a post about Thranduil disability due to his scar (can’t find it 😭) makes me wonder how he’ll approach it with a partner? Scars are such a deep delicate piece of one self and he use some kind of magic to hide it I suppose he is self conscious about it? It’s too sad! And apparently elves only love once that also mean boy is stuck in the past forever 😭

In the context below, I am sharing a headcanon about Scar (my personal opinion). Than Answer your question in How might he approach his partner regarding his scar?. Lastly how his partner discovered his scar for first time.

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Thranduil Version below. (Your his partner)

🍷𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓾𝓲𝓵

Headcanons on Thranduil’s Scar (A Personal headcanon of mine)

𐂂 Constant Soreness and Sensitivity The scarred side of Thranduil’s face remains perpetually sore and sensitive to the touch. His skin feels like it’s still healing, even after centuries. The scar tissue is more prone to reacting to changes in weather or pressure. The sensation can range from dull aching to sharp discomfort, especially in moments of physical stress or emotional strain. Often, he will gently press his left hand against his cheek or forehead, as if trying to soothe the constant irritation. This act becomes subconscious, a private coping mechanism he does when he thinks no one is watching.

𐂂 Cool Damp Cloth to Ease the Burn Sometimes, the scar feels like it’s burning up, especially on hot days or when he’s been using his magic extensively. Thranduil will often apply a cool damp cloth to his left cheek or forehead to alleviate the sensation of heat. The cloth is more than just for comfort; it helps momentarily distract him from the constant reminder of the pain he’s learned to live with. This is one of his more private moments of self-care, something that might happen behind closed doors when he’s alone or when he feels the need to quiet the discomfort.

𐂂 Blindness in the Left Eye Thranduil’s left eye is permanently blinded, a painful reminder of the battle with the Fire Drakes. He keeps the blindness hidden through elven glamour magic, creating the illusion of a normal appearance, but the loss of vision is always present in his awareness. He consciously angles his head to ensure that he’s constantly aware of his surroundings, making sure that people stand on his right side where he can see them with his only functional eye. This is not an overt action but more of a natural positioning habit he’s developed over centuries. Thranduil has grown hyper-aware of sounds and other stimuli from his left side, his sense of hearing and intuition becoming stronger to compensate for his blind spot. He trusts his senses more than most might expect.

𐂂 Magical Glamour is Exhausting Maintaining the glamour magic that hides the scar and his blindness is tiring. The magic is subtle but constant, and after long periods of exertion or emotional turmoil, Thranduil will feel the strain. Occasionally, the glamour flickers or weakens, especially when his emotions are stirred or when he’s exhausted. Thranduil tends to avoid using his magic excessively in public settings, fearing that someone might notice the flicker in his disguise. This causes him to retreat even more into solitude, especially when he feels vulnerable.

𐂂 Increased Sensitivity to Pain Thranduil experiences sudden, sharp bursts of pain from his scar, particularly during moments of heightened emotional intensity. When he’s angry or distressed, the scar seems to flare up, sending sharp jolts of pain through his face. These episodes can catch him off guard, making him appear more agitated or distant than he actually is. He hides this pain behind a mask of regal composure, but in private moments, his discomfort becomes almost unbearable, especially if someone brings up the past or the cause of the injury.

𐂂 Emotional Distance and Wariness Thranduil’s scar creates emotional distance between him and others. His insecurities about the disfigurement make him wary of anyone getting too close. He is protective of his face and will recoil if someone tries to touch it, even if it’s a gesture of affection.

𐂂 The vulnerability of the scar makes him very selective about who is allowed near him physically. Only those he trusts deeply—like Legolas or perhaps his closest advisors—are allowed to approach his left side without triggering his wariness.

𐂂 Physical and Psychological Scar The physical scar is not just a mark of the fire but also a psychological wound. It represents loss—of strength, invulnerability, and the youth he once had. Even after centuries, Thranduil has not fully come to terms with the damage it has done to him. There are moments where the scar represents shame or failure in his eyes. In these rare moments of self-reflection, he might wonder what he could have done differently to avoid the injury. These thoughts are fleeting but haunting.

𐂂 Reluctance to Reveal the Scar Thranduil hides his scar even from his own kin, especially in times when he feels emotionally exposed or when others might question his vulnerabilities. He has mastered the art of maintaining an air of perfection, masking the reality of his injury behind layers of magic and pride. Even in moments of closeness with Legolas, he might be hesitant to fully reveal his scar, especially when Legolas was a child. Over time, Legolas would have likely seen glimpses of the truth, but Thranduil would remain reticent about discussing it unless absolutely necessary.

𐂂 Feeling of Weakness and Humiliation Thranduil’s scar serves as a constant reminder of his mortality. It is one thing for him to be immortal and unyielding in battle, but the scar exposes a weakness, something he cannot erase or change. It stands as proof that even the mightiest elves can fall prey to danger, and this thought haunts him on particularly dark days. The idea of being vulnerable or less-than-perfect can cause him immense humiliation, especially in front of others. He might lash out in anger or act coldly to keep anyone from probing too deeply into his scars, both physical and emotional.

𐂂 Compensatory Behavior in Social Situations In public settings, Thranduil’s movements become more deliberate. He turns his face slightly away from the left side, and if he needs to engage someone in conversation, he’ll usually position them to his right. If forced to interact with someone on his left side, he might unconsciously raise his left hand or arm to shield the scar, a gesture so ingrained in his behavior that he doesn’t realize he’s doing it. This gives an impression of confidence and strength, even though it’s driven by insecurity.

𐂂 A Potent and Healing Drink for thranduil Dorwinion wine is renowned for its strength, so much so that it can intoxicate even Elves—beings known for their exceptional resistance to alcohol. But after the dragon fire incident, Thranduil became accustomed to its effects, using it as a form of solace and numbing comfort. The potent wine became an essential part of his recovery, allowing him to dull the searing pain from the burns and the emotional scars left by the battle with the Fire Drakes. Thranduil drank it frequently during the recovery period, and over time, his tolerance to the wine grew so that it no longer affected him in the usual way. His resistance to the wine’s effects became almost legendary among his people, and he was often seen sipping from his glass without even a hint of inebriation, despite the powerful nature of the drink.

𐂂 Thranduil is often seen with a glass of Dorwinion wine at his side, a habit that traces back to his recovery from the devastating dragon fire scar inflicted by the Fire Drakes. It’s not merely a symbol of indulgence or luxury in the courts of Mirkwood—it is an integral part of Thranduil’s way of managing the constant physical pain from his scar and the emotional weight it carries. The deep burn that left his left side forever scarred remains a source of both soreness and intense sensitivity, flaring up in waves of discomfort. In moments of heightened pain, or when the scar acts up unexpectedly, Dorwinion wine provides him with a way to dull the sensation, allowing him a temporary respite. Over the centuries, he has become so accustomed to the wine’s effects that it no longer intoxicates him in the typical sense, but its warmth and rich flavor soothe him, offering him a momentary escape. The wine became his companion during the long days of recovery after the battle with the Fire Drakes, when it helped to numb both his physical injuries and the deeper wounds to his spirit. Now, it serves as both a comfort and a tool for self-regulation, helping him maintain his stoic façade in public while easing the persistent flare-ups of pain he still faces. Whether in private moments of reflection or in the company of trusted companions, the glass of Dorwinion wine never leaves his side. It is his silent ally in the ongoing battle with his scars, a ritual he clings to—one that has endured through the centuries—and a reminder of how far he has come from the ravages of dragon fire.

𐂂 Trust and Acceptance of Those Who See the Scar There are very few people in Middle-earth who Thranduil would allow to see the truth behind the glamour magic. He has shared his scar with Lady Galadriel, Lord Celeborn and Lord Elrond, trusting them not only with its physical existence but also with the pain and trauma tied to it. His vulnerability is a rare sight, and those who have seen the scar have gained a special place in his heart. Their respect for his journey and his pain likely helps Thranduil to feel less ashamed of his injury, though he never fully abandons his need for secrecy and composure.

𐂂 Elrond’s Continued Care for Thranduil’s Scar: Lord Elrond was one of the few who saw the full extent of Thranduil’s scars immediately after the battle with the Fire Drakes. As a healer, Elrond provided essential aid, using his knowledge to ease the Elven King’s pain and help with his recovery. Thranduil, despite his pride and reluctance to show weakness, trusted Elrond enough to seek his help in those dark days. Even now, centuries later, Elrond continues to send healing herbs and potions to Mirkwood to help manage the pain of Thranduil’s scar. These remedies are carefully crafted to soothe the constant discomfort Thranduil faces, especially during flare-ups. Though Thranduil often maintains a cold, aloof demeanor and refuses to openly acknowledge the depth of his suffering, Elrond understands that it’s a façade. He knows the king’s pride keeps him from seeking help openly, but he has seen the vulnerability behind that mask. Elrond’s gifts of healing aren’t just physical remedies—they are reminders of the bond they share. Thranduil, while distant, accepts them with quiet gratitude, though he rarely lets anyone see the true extent of his reliance on them. The Elven King keeps the potions and herbs close, knowing they bring relief when the pain becomes unbearable. This subtle, ongoing care from Elrond is a silent but powerful expression of trust and friendship, one that Thranduil allows only a very few to see.

𐂂 Galadriel’s Role in Thranduil’s Healing and Glamour Magic In the aftermath of the Fire Drakes’ attack, Lady Galadriel was instrumental in helping Thranduil conceal the scar’s true extent. Recognizing the emotional and physical toll the injury had on him, she used her deep wisdom and mastery of magic to teach Thranduil how to create a glamour spell that would hide the scar from the eyes of others. Galadriel helped him understand the subtlety and precision required to maintain such an illusion, knowing that it would provide him with the appearance of normalcy that he desperately craved. Galadriel’s guidance went beyond just the magical aspects of the glamour. She understood the emotional weight of Thranduil’s scar, and in her way, helped him process the trauma it caused. Her calm, patient nature gave him a sense of security, though Thranduil never fully allowed himself to express the extent of his vulnerability. Despite his reluctance to show weakness, he trusted Galadriel with this intimate aspect of his life, knowing that she would respect his need for privacy. As Thranduil became more adept at controlling the glamour, he felt a deep sense of gratitude toward Galadriel, though he would never openly express it. Her quiet support, both magical and emotional, allowed him to maintain his regal composure while still carrying the burden of his scar. In this rare exchange, Thranduil’s trust in Galadriel grew, cementing her place as one of the few who truly understood the full depth of his pain and the lengths he went to conceal it.

𐂂 Celeborn’s Role in Thranduil’s Healing Journey Though not directly involved in the magical healing like Galadriel, Celeborn played a crucial role in Thranduil’s recovery. His quiet wisdom and steady presence offered Thranduil the emotional balance he needed after the attack. Celeborn provided counsel on perseverance through suffering, understanding the weight of immortality and the scars time can leave. Celeborn’s gentle approach allowed Thranduil to reflect on his trauma without feeling judged. While Celeborn wasn’t overt in his support, his steady, reliable nature helped Thranduil navigate his emotional pain, earning a quiet but deep respect from the elven king over time. He was the grounding force that helped Thranduil find dignity in his suffering and maintain composure during the darkest times.

Would thranduil approach his partner (you) about his scar?

No, Thranduil would never approach his partner personally about the scar. He would keep it hidden, using glamour magic or subtle enchantments to conceal it, never intending to reveal it unless absolutely necessary. His self-consciousness about the scar runs deep, and he would never willingly share such a vulnerable part of himself. If the scar were discovered, it would likely happen accidentally, in a moment where his guard is lowered or his defenses slip. But until that point, Thranduil would ensure it remained a secret, too afraid of how it might change his partner’s perception of him. The dragon fire scar would undoubtedly be a profound source of insecurity for Thranduil, particularly given his deep attachment to his appearance, pride, and the image of immortality and strength he works tirelessly to project. Thranduil is not one to easily reveal his vulnerabilities. He cloaks much of his true self behind an imperious façade, maintaining an aura of stoic authority. To him, the scar represents a painful reminder of past failure—a wound that tarnishes the regal stature he strives to uphold, one that conflicts with the idealized, flawless image elves typically seek to preserve.

𐂂 Thranduil’s Approach in a Romantic Relationship In a romantic relationship, Thranduil would be profoundly guarded, reluctant to share either his physical or emotional scars. His pride and past experiences would make him exceedingly hesitant to open up about his insecurities, particularly regarding the scar from the dragon fire. The thought of his partner seeing the scar—of witnessing a flaw in his otherwise immaculate exterior—would terrify him. He would fear that exposing this vulnerability could unravel the carefully constructed perfection he works so hard to maintain, making him feel exposed and weak.

𐂂 First Approach: Keeping the Scar Hidden From the outset of a relationship, Thranduil would do everything in his power to keep his scar concealed. He would not mention it and would go to great lengths to hide it, using glamour magic or subtle enchantments to cover its visibility. His desire to maintain control over how others perceive him would be paramount. He would avoid allowing his partner to get too close on his left side, positioning himself deliberately so that only his right side was visible. This meticulous avoidance of physical proximity would be an instinctive action to protect himself from emotional exposure. To Thranduil, this secrecy would not be an act of dishonesty, but rather a way of maintaining his image of perfection. The scar is something he feels he must keep hidden, not only for the sake of his pride but to keep his partner from seeing what he perceives as a flaw that could compromise their view of him.

𐂂 When His Partner Discovers the Scar: The moment his partner accidentally discovers the scar would likely occur during an intimate, vulnerable moment. Perhaps they are close, and Thranduil, unable to manage his pain or discomfort, inadvertently lets his guard down. Or maybe in a rare instance, he allows himself to relax just enough for his partner to see the mark—something he’s spent so long hiding. If his partner discovers the scar, Thranduil would likely be immediately shaken, both emotionally and physically. His instincts would compel him to retreat emotionally, fearing that the sight of the scar will prompt judgment or pity. His mind would race with insecurity, and he would likely feel exposed in a way he is unprepared for. To protect himself, he might respond with coldness or a sharp, dismissive remark, masking his vulnerability behind a defensive wall. His emotional withdrawal would be a reflex—a way to regain control over a situation that has threatened to reveal more of him than he is willing to share. In that moment, Thranduil’s self-consciousness would overshadow everything else. His greatest fear—that his partner might see him as flawed or weakened—would take over, leading him to react with an almost instinctive desire to push them away or lash out. How he handles the discovery would depend on the partner’s response, but his initial reaction would be to defend himself, hiding behind his pride and withdrawing from the emotional connection that the discovery forces him to confront.

(Thranduil’s Reaction to His Partner (you) Discovering His Scar for the First Time) Artwork is https://www.deviantart.com/kapriss-art

The evening sun cast soft beams of light through the delicate curtains of Thranduil’s private chamber, lending the room a quiet warmth. The air was still, save for the occasional rustling of papers on his desk as the Elven King worked through the mountain of tasks that awaited him. His eyes, sharp and unwavering as ever, scanned over the documents laid before him. The endless duties of his kingdom—decisions regarding trade, diplomatic correspondence, matters of defense—all required his attention. His posture was regal, every inch the king, even as he worked through the mundane details of his rule. Thranduil sat at his desk with an air of command, his back straight, shoulders squared. His movements were graceful yet purposeful, as though even in the most private moments, he carried the weight of his crown. He wore a rich, deep green tunic embroidered with intricate silver threads, the soft fabric clinging to his frame with an elegance that was uniquely his. Over his shoulders, a dark, flowing cloak rested, embroidered with the patterns of Mirkwood, its edges catching the fading light of the day. His boots, polished and well-crafted, were placed firmly beneath the desk, his posture impeccable, as though no matter the task, he remained the sovereign of his realm. His long, platinum blonde hair fell in waves over his shoulders, the light catching the strands in a way that made them shimmer with ethereal beauty. Yet, in this private chamber, amidst the solitude of his duties, there was no grandeur in his bearing—just the weight of centuries and the burdens of his people. Even as he reviewed the kingdom’s affairs, there was something weighted in the quiet space between his breaths, something lingering beneath his carefully maintained exterior.

But as the quiet hum of the room settled around him, a sudden, sharp discomfort ran through Thranduil’s left cheek, pulling his focus from his duties. It began as a gentle throb, but it quickly escalated into something far worse—an all-consuming burn. The deep scars from the dragon fire, once hidden beneath layers of glamour magic, flared up violently, sending waves of heat crashing across his face. The fire-like sensation surged with an intensity that was both unbearable and all too familiar. Thranduil’s jaw clenched, his body stiffening for a brief moment. He did not let out a sound, but his eyes narrowed in quiet frustration. He could feel the searing pain radiating from the left side of his face, sharp and jagged like the burns that marred him. His left eye—the one that would never see clearly again—seemed to throb in unison with the scar, an ever-present reminder of the battle with the Fire Drakes.

His hand, almost instinctively, moved to touch the source of the pain. For a moment, he hesitated, a breath catching in his throat. The glamour magic that concealed the scar, the magic he had long relied on, was slipping. It was exhausting, maintaining the illusion. The energy needed to keep the glamour intact had become too much, and the pain, so familiar now, was forcing him to abandon it. He sighed softly and allowed the glamour to fade. For the first time in what felt like ages, the scar was exposed in its full, raw form. The jagged burn marks on his left cheek were a stark contrast to his fair skin, darkened and angry as if the fire still smoldered beneath his flesh. The once regal beauty of his face—unscathed and unmarred—was now forever marked by the cruel legacy of the dragon fire. He could not escape it, no matter how he tried.

His breathing quickened slightly, and a soft hiss escaped him as the heat in his face flared, the burn becoming unbearable. The pain was not new to him, but it always took him off guard in moments like these. Thranduil closed his eyes for a moment, trying to regain control over his body, to quell the urge to grit his teeth and wince. The cool damp cloth on the table beside him seemed like a distant solution, but it was the only one he had. With trembling hands, Thranduil reached for it, his fingers brushing against the fabric, his breath shallow with the intensity of the flare-up. He dipped the cloth into the bowl of cool water, wringing it gently before lifting it to his face.

As the cloth touched his skin, a sharp, involuntary hiss escaped him. The coolness of the cloth made immediate contact with the burn, and while it provided a fleeting moment of relief, the sensation of cold against fire was jarring. His body jerked slightly as the heat clashed with the coolness, the sudden contrast both shocking and relieving. His skin seemed to scream for the comfort of the coolness, but it also rebelled against the harsh interruption. For a few moments, Thranduil remained still, eyes shut tight, the cloth pressed against his cheek. The momentary reprieve was all too brief, as the sensation of heat never fully receded. He could still feel the constant throb in his skin, the tender rawness that would never completely heal. His face, once a symbol of untarnished grace and regality, was now a reminder of battle’s price.

Thranduil let out a deep, controlled breath, trying to ground himself in the moment. He applied more pressure to the cloth, his fingers trembling with the subtle strain. It wasn’t enough to make the pain go away—it never was—but it was enough to bring a momentary distraction, enough to let him endure, if only for a while longer. His chest rose and fell with each measured breath, the rhythmic inhalation and exhalation the only thing that allowed him to focus on something other than the searing, never-ending pain. As he pulled the cloth away, a faint line of tension remained in his face. His left cheek, once again exposed, carried the marks of his past: the scarred skin, the fragile remains of a battle that had taken so much from him. Thranduil sat back, his gaze lingering on the reflection in the polished wood of the desk before him. For a moment, his features softened, though only the barest trace of vulnerability crossed his face. The silent struggle, the constant battle against pain, was something he could not escape—even in his private chambers, surrounded by the protection of his own walls.

Then, without another word, he reached for the goblet of Dorwinion wine resting at his side. The cool glass felt smooth in his hands as he lifted it to his lips, the dark crimson liquid swirling gently within. It was not just a drink; it was his comfort, his ritual. The potent warmth of the wine slid down his throat, bringing with it a small measure of ease. It was a companion to his scars—something that could dull the discomfort, something that could shield him from the weight of it all, even if just for a few fleeting moments. Thranduil placed the goblet of Dorwinion wine back down onto the polished wooden surface of his desk with deliberate care, his long fingers lingering on its stem for a moment. The dimming light of the evening caught the wine’s deep crimson hue, reflecting faintly in the goblet’s rippling surface. His sharp eyes, usually filled with regal authority, softened as they settled on the faint reflection cast back at him from the dark liquid.

The scar, revealed in his private sanctuary now that the exhausting glamour magic had been allowed to fade, marred the perfection of his otherwise flawless face. The jagged lines of burnt, twisted skin that snaked across the left side of his face seemed more pronounced in the distorted surface of the wine. His left eye, blind and clouded, stared back at him, a stark reminder of the dragon fire that had consumed so much—not just his flesh but his pride, his sense of invulnerability, and a piece of his spirit. His fingers clenched the edge of the desk, his breathing slow but measured as he held back the surge of emotion that always threatened to overwhelm him in moments like this. He had long mastered the art of burying his feelings, suppressing them beneath layers of cold detachment and indomitable authority. But here, alone, with no one to see and no one to judge, the weight of the scar pressed upon him. It burned not with physical pain now, though the flare-ups were frequent enough. Instead, it burned with memory—the memory of fire, of searing agony, of the bitter realization that even an elven king was not untouchable.

As he stared at his reflection, a flicker of doubt crossed his face, and his jaw tightened. He hated it. Hated the way it had stolen something from him. Not just his physical perfection but the sense of invincibility he had carried for so long. Thranduil was prideful—too prideful, perhaps—and his scar was an affront to everything he had worked to embody. It made him feel flawed, vulnerable, mortal. The thought of someone seeing him like this—seeing the imperfection, the weakness—tightened the knot in his chest. What would they see? A king who had fallen? A shadow of his former self? He feared that even those closest to him, those who claimed to care for him, might look at him differently if they truly saw him.

His eyes dropped to the wine again, the rippling surface blurring the lines of his reflection, obscuring the scar in fragmented waves. For a brief, irrational moment, he wished the wine could do the same for him in reality—erase the mark entirely, make him whole again, as if the fire had never touched him. But he knew better. The scar would always be there, beneath the glamour, beneath the layers of pride and stoicism. He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes briefly, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as if trying to quell the ache that had settled behind his temples. His mind wandered to what the scar truly meant. It was a mark of failure, yes, but it was also a mark of survival. He had endured the fire. He had endured the pain. He had endured the shame of it all. And yet, the weight of it was no less heavy now than it had been centuries ago. A sigh escaped him, soft and low, barely audible in the quiet room. He straightened again, his gaze sharpening as he forced the emotions down once more. The scar would remain hidden, just as it always had, and no one would ever see it—not willingly. He could not bear the thought of revealing it, of sharing that piece of himself, even with someone he trusted. It was his burden, his pain, and his alone. The goblet hovered near Thranduil’s lips, the deep crimson wine catching the fading evening light as he took another slow sip. His eyes, distant and unfocused, remained fixed on the swirling liquid within, his thoughts drifting through the labyrinth of his insecurities. He was lost in a tide of memories—of fire and pain, of failure and survival—and so consumed by the weight of them that he didn’t notice the soft creak of the door opening, nor the quiet footsteps that followed.

You stepped into the room, your intention simply to see Thranduil, as you had not seen much of him throughout the day. It was not unusual for you, as his partner, to enter his chambers unannounced. Thranduil often became so immersed in the weight of his duties that he lost track of time, and you had made it a habit to check on him, to offer him solace in the quiet moments he rarely allowed himself. The chamber was dimly lit, bathed in the soft glow of the fading evening light streaming through the tall windows. Your steps were light, almost soundless, as you moved closer. At first, the sight of him seemed as familiar as ever—Thranduil seated at his desk, the very image of quiet authority. He sat with his back straight, his long platinum blonde hair cascading over his shoulders, his usual air of command emanating from his every movement. But there was something different now, something that made you slow your steps. His posture, while still upright, lacked its usual unyielding confidence. His shoulders seemed slightly tense, his head tilted downward as though weighed by unseen burdens.

It was a rare thing to see him like this. Here, in the privacy of his chambers, Thranduil allowed himself to shed the unrelenting mask of perfection he wore before others. But tonight, there was something more—a vulnerability in the way his fingers lingered at the goblet of wine, the faint lines of exhaustion that even the soft glow of the room couldn’t hide. As your eyes adjusted further to the low light, they fell to his face—his left side—and you froze mid-step. The glamour that he so carefully maintained, the magic that concealed his deepest insecurity, was gone. In its place was the raw, unguarded truth of the dragon fire’s mark. The scar you had never known existed marred his otherwise flawless features, jagged and stark against his pale skin. The burn lines crawled over his cheek and forehead, reaching dangerously close to his eye, the milky haze of blindness on that side painfully apparent. Your breath caught in your throat, not from revulsion, but from the sheer weight of the vulnerability before you. This was a side of Thranduil you had never seen—a side he had clearly worked tirelessly to conceal.

He didn’t notice you at first, still lost in his thoughts, the weight of his duties pressing down on him. But then, as you stepped forward, the soft sound of your movement broke the stillness of the room. The quiet gasp that escaped your lips caught Thranduil off guard, like a pebble disturbing the calm surface of a lake. His head snapped up in an instant, his sharp senses finally registering your presence. His body tensed at once, his fingers tightening around the goblet of Dorwinion wine so forcefully that the thin glass seemed on the verge of cracking. For a moment, he just stared at you, his piercing icy blue eye wide with shock and something deeper—fear. “Y/N—” His voice faltered, his calm and regal demeanor slipping for the first time. He straightened in his chair, almost instinctively, his hand moving to his left cheek, hovering over the scar as though it might disappear at his touch. His fingers lingered, unsure whether to hide or acknowledge the exposed imperfection. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his tone sharper than he intended, an edge of panic hidden beneath his words. The question wasn’t just an inquiry; it was a barrier, a defense.

You took a tentative step forward, your gaze flickering between his eyes and the scar that he so clearly wished to hide. “I—Thranduil, I didn’t mean to intrude,” you murmured softly, your voice a blend of surprise and gentle concern. “I… I just wanted to see you. I hadn’t seen much of you today, and I—” Before you could finish, his head turned away from you, his hand still placed over the left side of his face, as if to shield the scar from view. But it was too late; you had seen it. The defenses he had so carefully constructed, the barriers he had maintained for centuries, had been breached. The mark of dragon fire, the jagged scar that twisted across his skin, was now fully visible, its painful history and the vulnerability it carried laid bare.

“Leave.” The word was sharp, almost harsh, but the tremble in his voice betrayed the storm of emotion beneath. His face hardened, his features slipping into the cold mask he so often used to distance himself from others. But even that mask couldn’t fully hide the raw vulnerability in his eye, the way his hand lingered near his face, as if trying to erase what had already been exposed. “Thranduil…” you said softly, stepping closer despite his command. Your heart ached at the sight of him, at the pain etched not only into his skin but into his very being. “You don’t have to hide this from me.” You didn’t know what drove you to speak those words—perhaps it was the overwhelming tenderness you felt for him in that moment, or the fierce desire to show him that nothing would change how you saw him. “You’re not weak,” you added quietly, as if trying to reassure him, to lift the weight of his insecurities. But the distance between you both still lingered in the air, the tension thick. You could feel the internal battle raging within him, the fear of being truly seen, and yet the quiet ache of needing to be accepted just as he was.

His jaw tightened, his gaze flickering briefly to the reflection in the wine goblet before returning to you. The cold mask of composure slipped further from his face, leaving him vulnerable in ways he wasn’t accustomed to. “You know nothing of what I must do. Of what I must be,” he said, his voice quiet but laced with a tremor of something deeper—fear, pride, and a strain of something raw beneath it all. “This scar… It is not something I wish for you to see. It is not… who I am.” Your eyes softened, heart aching at the depth of his words. Gently, you shook your head, stepping closer. “But it is a part of you,” you whispered, your voice unwavering, full of love and compassion. “And it doesn’t make you any less of the king you are. Or the man I love.” For a long moment, he stood there, still, as though your words were a distant echo he couldn’t quite understand. His hand, still hovering over the scar, fell slowly away, and with it, the wall he had built around himself started to crumble. He exposed the mark fully, not with pride, but with a painful hesitation, his eyes on you—waiting for judgment, waiting for disappointment. But all he found in your gaze was compassion, unwavering and steady. It disarmed him in a way he hadn’t anticipated, a vulnerability he hadn’t allowed himself to acknowledge before. It unsettled him, how open you were with him, how unafraid you were of seeing him as he truly was. It was the opposite of everything he had feared.

“I…” His voice faltered, thick with emotion, words hanging on the edge of his tongue. His pride and his fear fought fiercely, pushing him to retreat, to build his walls once more. He wanted to hide, to erase what you now saw. But then, there was your gaze—gentle, understanding, patient—and it caused him to hesitate. He finally spoke, his voice quieter now, almost broken. “This scar… It is a reminder of my failure. Of the pain I endured. Of the fire that nearly consumed me.” He turned his face slightly, almost ashamed to meet your eyes, his voice heavy with the weight of that painful memory. “It is a weakness I cannot bear for you to see.” You stepped closer, reaching out with a tenderness that filled the space between you. Your hand settled gently over his, still resting on the desk, your touch warm and grounding. “Thranduil,” you murmured softly, your voice full of warmth and quiet strength. “It is not weakness. You survived. You endured. And if this scar is a reminder of anything, it’s of your strength. Not your failure.” You paused, your words softening with even more love. “It’s a battle scar, Thranduil. Everyone has them. And they are unique to each of us. They are part of our story, not our shame. Yours is no different.” At your words, he finally allowed himself to meet your eyes fully. For the first time, he felt seen—not just as a king, but as a man. The fear that had gripped him began to soften, the trembling edges of his pride faltering in the face of your unwavering acceptance. The walls he had spent centuries building, the barriers he had so carefully maintained to protect his heart, began to crack. And in the place of the fear, he found something else—something warm and soft, as though the faintest glimmer of hope was beginning to take root in the cracks of his soul. Your touch, your words, your gaze—they were all he needed. In that moment, with everything laid bare, the deepest parts of him, the parts he had long buried, slowly began to heal.

You drew in a breath, letting the moment settle between you, your voice barely a whisper but full of the weight of your love. “And I love you, Thranduil,” you added, your words steady and unwavering, “beyond what you look like, beyond what scars you carry, beyond the image you’ve carefully crafted. I love you for who you are, for your heart, your strength, your mind, and the kindness you don’t often show.” His heart clenched at your words, emotions swirling in him as the walls finally cracked enough for him to let them in. He wasn’t sure how to process this new vulnerability, this tenderness from you. But in that moment, he realized something: he didn’t have to hide from you. Not anymore.

“Do you mean that?” Thranduil’s voice was soft, almost fragile, as if testing your words, unsure if he could truly believe them. His eyes searched yours, looking for any hint of doubt, of a lie—but all he found was sincerity but now softened by a trace of vulnerability he rarely showed anyone. You nodded gently, brushing your thumb over the back of his hand in a soothing motion. “Every word,” you said, your voice steady, full of warmth and certainty. “You don’t have to hide from me, Thranduil. Not this, not anything. I see you—the real you—and I love you all the same.” For a long moment, he remained silent, his gaze never leaving yours. The weight of your words seemed to hang in the air, filling the space between you. His chest rose and fell slowly, his shoulders tense, yet with every breath, you could see a subtle release—a softening of the guard he had held so tightly for centuries. Finally, with a quiet exhale, he leaned back in his chair, his body relaxing ever so slightly. The scar was still there, as was the pain that came with it, but something had shifted in him. For the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to believe that perhaps, just perhaps, he didn’t have to carry it alone.

You smiled softly, feeling the tiniest flicker of relief in his posture. To reassure him, you took a step closer Before he could gather his thoughts, you gently cupped his face, your thumb brushing over the sharp curve of his jaw, as though trying to memorize the feel of him—every part of him. And then, with a quiet tenderness, you pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, lingering just a moment before pulling away slightly. His eyes fluttered closed, a soft breath escaping him, as though the simplest of gestures had undone something deep within him. You continued your gentle assault of his face with tender kisses, one by one. A light kiss on his cheek, his nose, his chin, each kiss filled with tenderness, each one a reaffirmation of your words. The slight scent of his skin grounding you as your lips traveled to the corner of his mouth. Each kiss was a promise, a reminder that you didn’t care about the scars—inside or out.

As you kissed along his jawline, you paused for a brief moment, your lips hovering above the scar. You were careful, mindful of any pain it might cause him, but you felt the need to show him that it didn’t matter. That the scar didn’t change how you saw him. Slowly, you brushed your lips against the scar’s edge, your kiss soft and reverent, as if you were honoring the pain and strength that it represented. Thranduil’s breath hitched slightly, and you noticed his pointy elf ears turning a deeper shade of red, flushed with a mix of embarrassment and something else—a quiet, unfamiliar vulnerability that stirred in his chest. His usual composed exterior was beginning to crack under your gentle affection, and it was clear he didn’t quite know how to handle it. You loved him, and you loved him fully, with every inch of his being as You smiled up at him, your eyes warm with love. “You’re beautiful, Thranduil,” you whispered, pressing one last, lingering kiss on his scar. “Inside and out.” your voice soft but filled with adoration. A soft flush spread across his face, and for the first time, you saw the true depth of his discomfort—not from your touch, but from the way he was letting you in. His vulnerability, his scar, it all seemed to unnerve him more than he cared to admit. But despite the unease, you saw something else in him too: acceptance. A slowly dawning realization that, perhaps, he could be seen—completely, imperfections and all—and still be loved. After a beat, you pulled back slightly, your lips curling into a playful smile. “You know,” you teased, voice light, “I think it’s kind of sexy.”

Thranduil’s eyes widened slightly, a look of surprise crossing his features, before his lips curled up into the faintest of smirks. His pointy elven ear tips flushed a deeper shade of red, and he leaned in slightly, as if caught off guard by your flirtation. “Sexy, hmm?” he replied, his voice low and teasing, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. “You’re an unpredictable one, Y/N.” You laughed softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Well, you are a king, and now I know you’re even more… intriguing than I thought.” Thranduil, still a little flushed but clearly more at ease than before, relaxed further in his chair. The weight of his insecurities, though not gone completely, felt lighter. It was clear that, in this moment, you had done something for him he had not allowed anyone to do in centuries—he was seen, truly seen, and still loved. And that, perhaps, was more than he had ever hoped for.

Thranduil’s gaze flickered to yours, the familiar spark of his regal pride returning as he raised an eyebrow. He almost smirked, but there was something deeper in his eyes now—something more vulnerable, more real. “Is that so?” he asked, his tone light but laced with a hint of amusement. You grinned, leaning in to kiss his cheek once more, this time lingering for a moment longer. “Very much so,” you whispered, your lips brushing against his skin in the softest caress. “But more than that, it’s your strength. You’re the most handsome man I’ve ever known, and nothing could change that.” For a fleeting moment, Thranduil allowed himself to fully appreciate the weight of your words. Though he remained guarded, the walls he had built began to feel less necessary, less suffocating. For the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to believe that maybe—just maybe—he didn’t have to be perfect to be loved. As your words lingered in the air, his cheeks flushed, a faint, almost imperceptible warmth spreading over his skin. His usually proud and composed demeanor faltered for a moment, the tips of his pointed elven ears turning the softest shade of red. The king of Mirkwood, a creature known for his unshakable poise, now stood before you, his pride vulnerable in the gentlest way. He let out a quiet breath, a small, reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, a smile he rarely showed, but one that made him seem almost… human.

“I… did not expect that,” he murmured, his voice softer now, betraying a vulnerability that had been locked away for centuries. There was a quiet reverence in his expression as he looked at you, the raw honesty in his eyes making him appear more open than he had ever been before. Your heart swelled at the sight of him, knowing you had reached him in a way no one else had. With a soft chuckle, you pressed one final kiss to his cheek. “Well, I think you’re the one who’s full of surprises, my king.” Thranduil’s smile widened, a rare but genuine smile, and the warmth in his eyes lingered, a silent promise that, for the first time, he was letting someone see him fully—and that was enough for him to let go of the walls he had built so high. “Thank you, my starlight,” he whispered, his voice gentle but filled with sincerity. He reached out, his hand brushing softly against your cheek before his fingers traced the line of your jaw with a tender grace. His touch was warm, grounding, as if trying to silently convey just how much you meant to him in that moment. His gaze held yours, filled with both gratitude and something deeper—something more tender.

You smiled, the warmth in your chest growing, and without a word, you let your body respond to his quiet request. Thranduil shifted slightly in his chair, and with a subtle motion, he guided you into his arms. He didn’t speak it, but his eyes and gentle touch made it clear—he wanted to feel your presence close, to have your warmth as a source of comfort and solace after the weight of what he had shared. As you shifted, moving to straddle him, you saw his posture relax even more, as if your closeness was the balm he needed for the rawness he had just exposed. He let out a quiet sigh of relief, the tension melting from his shoulders as you settled against him, your body fitting into his with a natural ease. His hands gently cradled your back, pulling you closer, his touch more tender than commanding, as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, breathing in the calmness you provided.

For a long moment, the world outside of the two of you faded, and Thranduil simply held you, the king of Mirkwood becoming something more human in your arms. There was no need for words now—only the comforting rhythm of your breathing and the silent understanding between you both. You didn’t say anything. You simply let him feel the love and warmth he had so carefully hidden away, offering him the solace he needed without judgment, without question. And as he held you closer, Thranduil allowed himself to melt into the comfort of your embrace, a quiet whisper escaping his lips, “I never want to let go of this.”

#thranduil #thranduil x you #thranduil x reader #king thranduil x reader #elven thranduil #thranduil headcanons #thranduil oropherion #thranduil of mirkwood #thranduil headcanon #king thranduil #elvenking of mirkwood #lord of the rings #the hobbit #thranduil simps #thranduil supremacy

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venusthedivinegoddess · 10 months ago

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Love my two Vengeful Elf Princes/Kings

#prince nuada #prince nuada x reader #nuada silverlance #nuada x reader #hellboy #lord of the rings #the hobbit #thranduil #the elvenking #elven aesthetic #thranduil x reader #fictional characters #fictional men #supernatural #simp behavior #fictional husband #only Fictional dudes

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the-fiction-witch · 5 months ago

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After Dinner

Media - Rings Of Power Character - Elrond Couple - Elrond X Reader Reader - Y/n (wife) Rating - 18 + kissing/ nudity/ Word Count - 596

Elrond and Y/n arrived back at their elegant home in Lindon, a sense of contentment lingering from the memorable and eventful dinner with the high king, Prince Durin, and themselves. The clock had struck late, and the tranquil night was alive with the gentle flickering of fireflies in the garden just beyond their balcony. Y/n gracefully approached her ornate mirror, the soft glow of the moonlight illuminating her features, and began the meticulous task of unravelling her long, lustrous curls from the meticulously crafted, jewel-encrusted updo she had fashioned for the esteemed royal gathering. With each delicate movement, her hair cascaded down her shoulders, the jewels glinting in the moonlight as they were carefully removed.

Elrond came up behind her and began massaging her shoulders. He worked out the tension there and began his hands slipping down and unlacing her gown.

she chuckled rather amused, "Yes?" She raised her eyebrow looking at him in her mirror

he leaned over her shoulder and nipped at her neck. “You looked so beautiful tonight,” he murmured against her skin. His hands continued to work, stripping her gown from her body then slipped inside and caressed the soft skin beneath. His lips trailed over her shoulder, down her back, his hands caressing her waist.

"Well I wanted to look nice. Not everyday we get to have dinner with the king. Much less so with Durin." She explained as she worked allowing him to work on her gown as it gave her one less task to do,

he reached down and finished untied the laces, the dress pooling around her feet. He pressed into her, his hands pulling her hips back against his, molding her body against his. All of her bare flesh against his still clothed body, “And you did.” he breathed against her neck, burying his face against her skin, inhaling her

when the dress and slip hit the floor she was bare but her star necklace that she’d worn since their wedding, "Did I do something to arouse such attention?" She chuckled,

he chuckled when he saw it still around her neck

Hardly. he replied, his hands roaming her body, tracing her curves. He moved her hair aside so he could lavish her neck with kisses. “You didn't have to do anything.” he murmured against her skin, his hands gliding up her stomach, stopping just below her breasts. “I always want to ravish you.” he turned her around to face him, his hands roaming her body, his eyes dark with lust. He pulled her flush against him, his lips finding hers in a hungry kiss. His tongue darting out, seeking entrance to her mouth,

she kissed back and allowed him entrance gently sucking on his tongue when he did as had long known the affected it had on him,

that small action was enough to drive him to the edge, his breathing deepening into a moan. His hands gripped her hips, needing something to hold on to. He walked her backwards to the bed, gently pushing her to sit on the edge of the mattress

she giggled as he almost tossed her on the sheets, she playfully kicked her feet before elrond crawled between them

he chuckled, grabbing her ankles to pin them down. He knelt between her parted legs, his body towering over hers, “You are too playful for your own good my love,” he captured her wrists with one hand, holding both above her head, “Now… let me show you what happens when you parade how beautiful you are in front of me all night.” He growled pinning her to the bed with his harsh and lustful kiss,

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nataliabdraws · 4 months ago

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narien and sauron (tar-mairon) in their high priest and priestess of melkor era

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unofficialwriting · 3 months ago

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Sunlight

✵ Pairing: Elrond / f!reader

✵ Word Count: 1.1k

✵ Summary: You always had a fondness for the sun, for it reminds you of your lover

✵ Warnings: None, just fluff

✵ a/n: I love this sort of writing style but haven’t taken a shot at it until now so bear with me

There were many things you loved about this world. Little things that filled your heart with a certain flicker of Joy. On this particular morning, it was the gentle glow of the sun on the trees, seeping through and spilling onto the forest floor. The warm sensation it created crawled across your skin, leaving you to attempt at soaking up all you could.

The fabric of your dress draped behind you, picking up golden leaves that had departed from their former home in the trees above. They were not unlike the leaves that so effortlessly decorated your hair, wrapping around the crown of your head to hold the pieces out of your face that would otherwise fall in the way.

The warm breeze of summer blew from the edge of the trees to swirl around you, disturbing the lightest of leaves on the forest floor. The ones that had fallen the most recently. The feeling persuaded your lips into the gentlest of smiles. One that could only be seen when observed closely.

It was here, at the tree’s edge, where you found your lover. Elrond rested at the base of a shining tree, surrounded by soft grass and every manner of flower one could imagine. He held in his hands a leather-bound book, overflowing with a messy array of pages that had been aged and weathered with time. His eyes traveled with care across the opened page, soaking up every bit of what the words spoke to him. Your smile found itself a little wider than in the moments past.

Your hands took hold of the soft fabric that clothed you, lifting it just enough to free your feet and your pace. The moment you stepped out from the cover of trees, you were engulfed fully in the sunlight and all its warmth. It comforted your heart and quickened your feet.

You reached Elrond swiftly and dropped down beside him, feeling any tension leave his body upon your arrival. “I had hoped to find you here.” You told him, watching his eyes find yours without delay. He appeared especially fair to you today. His brown curls had grown to a wonderful length, reaching down to meet his brow and curl under his ears. It complimented the rest of his face.

His eyes softened lovingly, admiring you as if this were the last time he could look upon your face. “I hoped you would as well, starlight.” Elrond took your hand in his own, placing a delicate kiss there. You wanted to melt at his touch, his lips against your skin. The feeling spread across your body in the same way the light of the morning had.

You settled in next to him, his body moving instinctively to cradle you in his arms. Elrond picked up his book once more, now shifting to read its contents aloud to you. His voice moved through your ears like a song. Its melody reaching the very depths of your soul and coaxing your body into a state of peace.

You studied his face, which seemed to glow under the bright kiss of sunlight. He was the only being in this world that you found to resemble that light so closely. His warm smile and kind nature carried to you the same comfort as the golden rays that peeked through the leaves to greet you. You had grown rather fond of the feeling.

The subtle rise and fall of each breath in Elrond’s chest returned you to your senses after your thoughts had led you astray, pulling your attention back to his reading. Each word fell off his lips smooth as silk, having you wishing he would never find the end of those pages.

Without disrupting, you gathered up a few flowers that resided in the grass beside you, protecting them in your palms. A hand reached up with a bright golden one to weave into your lover’s hair, only further adding to the thought of comparison of your Elrond to the morning’s sun. His near perfect telling of his story faltered momentarily, and you could feel warmth travel to his face. Even after all the time that had passed, the smallest act could still so easily distract him. An airy giggle escaped your lips at this thought, which did not go unnoticed by him.

“Oh, how you tease me,” Elrond spoke, turning his head to press a long kiss to your temple. He almost made you falter right alongside him.

“Do not pretend it is only I who does. I can recall several occasions where it was you, Elrond.” You returned, your words accompanied by a smile. His shoulders shook with subtle laughter, beckoning you to continue on your task of flowering his hair. After a few more had been added, Elrond was able to return to his book, allowing you to weave your fingers gently through his curls.

Despite your previous wishes, Elrond’s soft eyes followed the final line of the page, and his lips formed the shape of the final word. Soon enough, the book had been abandoned in the grass, freeing his other hand to caress your face.

You gazed up at him, his tidy brown curls were now disheveled, having become home to the forest’s golden flowers. Your smile slid back onto your face, bringing with it your gentle laughter. Elrond practically melted, adoring the sound in the same way you adored hearing his voice utter the words to a story; spoken in a way you believed even the original teller could not achieve.

He peppered your face with kisses, each one like little butterflies beneath your skin. “I want to stay here with you as long as time will allow us.” You told him, watching his lips curve into his own smile.

“My dear, time will allow us eternity.” He spoke in return, planting a kiss to the bridge of your nose. He could not resist another opportunity to feel your skin beneath his lips. “And I would want nothing more than to spend every last moment of it with you.” His smile lit up his entire face, almost seeming to you to be its own source of light and warmth. You wanted to absorb as much of the sight as your eyes could manage.

✵

There were many things you loved about this world. However, there was only one that filled your heart and soul with such an immeasurable amount of joy, longing, love, and everything in between. From the moment your eyes first fell on him and for the rest of your days it is and will always be Elrond. And nothing is a better reminder for you than these mornings spent under the touch of sunlight.

✵ Find more like this here

#rings of power #elrond #rings of power elrond #elrond x reader #elrond x y/n #elrond peredhel #elrond half elven #elrond fanfic #the rings of power #rings of power fanfiction #lord of the rings #lord of the rings fanfiction #lord of the rings fic

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conversacomsmaug · 3 months ago

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I couldn't help but notice that among so many obscene fantasies with Thranduil, I missed seeing something else like in a Mordern UA, Thranduil is the boss of the large company in which Tauriel is promoted and can't help but think about how his bastard and annoying boss It's sexy. Even in the Thranduil x reader interaction, I've been missing this obvious and sexy theme hehe Maybe I will, but I want to be a reader now, anyone?

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fannyspammy · 5 months ago

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They really baited us with the season 2 trailer tho like they made it seem like we’d be getting Elrond every episode & where is he 😭😭😭

#WHERE IS MY CURLY HAIRED ELF #SHOW ME HE WHOM I LOVE #GIVE US MORE ELROND #WHAT ARE U AFRAID OF #lotr rop #rop #rop s2 #lotr #rings of power #elrond #herald elrond #battle elrond #elrond x reader #elrond half elven #lord elrond #robert aramayo

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darrisgrove · 2 months ago

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So This Is Ever After by F. T. Lukens REVIEW

3/5 Stars ⭐⭐⭐

Note for note in the order that I left in my books.

First, I was not okay with Arek kissing Matt when he knew Matt was highly intoxicated. It felt icky and I was worried it would lead to bedroom activities while Mat was under the influence.

Second, I feel like Matt running away after he found out he kissed Arek was a HORRIBLE idea. He knew Arek was dying and would die if he didn't marry his soul mate. He left Arek in a time of need and had no problem helping until Arek NEEDED his help the most. I will circle back on this later.

Third, Arek admits to his friends that he loves Matt. I will circle back on this as well.

Fourth, Crow could have been used to fetch Matt but hadn't. I feel if they had sent a letter with Crow detailing the situation and sent Crow to find Matt, Matt would have been back to the castle a lot sooner than when he got there originally. I feel like that whole "Crow knows how to fetch" plot point was a lost opportunity.

Fifth, "However, I think we'd both agree we have to work on our communication." NO REALLY?!

That brings me to circle around, they really could have avoided all of this drama and wild goose chasing if they had just expressed how they felt a long time ago. I know this was the whole plot, but I found it more frustrating than pleasant to read. It made me dislike the character, which isn't a good thing.

All that aside, I did find myself addicted to the story. If I read the book quickly then I must have liked it. I MIGHT pick up Lukens "In Deeper Waters" at some point.

#elven legions #elven readers #book recommendations #book review #books #books and reading #elven reader #fable #Lukens #f.t. lukens #So this is ever after #so this is ever after f. t. lukens

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geeks-universe · 2 months ago

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Okay but imagine Davrin holding Rook one night after a particularly rough day of trying to save the world. One hand is holding her firmly against his chest, while the other combs through her hair. Assan, the traitor that he is, lays by Rook’s legs, claiming what affection he can. He fell asleep hours ago, and perhaps Rook and Davrin should’ve as well, but the nightmares had grown worse since the blight started to change and they were lucky if they could get a few hours on a calm day, let alone the one they just had.

So they’re just lying in bed, taking comfort in one another’s touch when Davrin starts to speak gently, slowly, as if he were afraid that Rook might’ve fallen asleep between the beats of his heart. She hadn’t. He speaks of a terrible shadow falling over Ferelden, and the desperation of mortality as war ravages the country. Then, he mentions a hero, a young man with as much royal blood as Warden blood. And a young woman, with the heart of a lion and twice as fierce.

He tells Rook of how they face insurmountable odds with little more than hope and determination. And, perhaps his favorite part of the story, he tells her how they fall in love, despite duty threatening to tear them apart.

It’s only been a couple of decades since the Blight that befell Ferelden, so Davrin is sure Rook knows the story as well as he does. (Even more so, considering she was a Grey Warden from Ferelden.) He isn’t aware, however, of the bitter smile on her lips as he recalls the feats of legends. He doesn’t see the tears that swell in her eyes as he explains a love so deep that not even the Blight could sever it. He doesn’t know, not yet, that the story is more than that to her.

He does, however, feel the press of Rook’s lips against his jaw as he finishes the tale, lamenting the beauty these heroes had found in a world torn by horror.

#davrin x rook #davrin x reader #alistair x cousland #hehe I love this so much #imagine davrin being the first elven king of Ferelden #because the thought is beautiful

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queers-gambit · 5 months ago

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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."

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earthlybeam · 1 month ago

Text

The reader (you) , with your bratty personality, loved teasing the elves. You always find ways to get their attention at the most inconvenient times, often by reaching out to touch the elf’s sensitive ears. (For the elves, it was more than just a simple touch—such actions were seen as intimate, a signal of courting, and a serious one at that also incredibly sensitive to pain and pleasure. If the reader (you) didn’t get the response you wanted, you’d torment the elf’s ears further, pinching or tugging until their target finally relented. You knew just how to push their buttons—always with a smile and a glint of mischief in their eyes.)

Gil-Galad, Thranduil, Elrond, Celeborn version below.

🏵️𝓖𝓲𝓵-𝓰𝓪𝓵𝓪𝓭

Gil-galad was no stranger to the burdens of leadership. As the High King of the Noldor, the weight of the crown often pressed heavily on his shoulders. He was accustomed to being in control, to having his decisions made with unwavering precision, and his commands followed with absolute loyalty. His days were filled with strategy, diplomacy, and endless matters of state, leaving little room for distractions. But you—you, with that mischievous glint in your eye—seemed determined to be the exception. He was used to the quiet hum of his court, the careful, polite whispers of his council members, the solemn discussions that shaped the fate of Middle-earth. He had learned to maintain a stoic calm in the face of countless pressures. But you—you had a way of unraveling his composure, bit by bit, until there was nothing left but the heat of your teasing touches.

Today was no different. As he stood on the balcony, gazing out over Lindon, deep in thought about the future of his people, he felt it. The familiar sensation—the lightest brush of fingertips against the edge of his ear. His sensitive elven ears twitched involuntarily, a small gasp escaping his lips before he could stop it. The touch was innocent enough, playful even. But he knew what it meant—knew that you had every intention of making a game out of it. Turning his head slowly, Gil-galad’s eyes found you standing just out of reach, feigning innocence. His gaze narrowed, and despite his better judgment, a small, indulgent smile tugged at his lips. “Are you so certain that you want my attention, little one?” His voice was calm, but there was a trace of warning beneath the surface.

You couldn’t help it. There was something so satisfying about making Gil-galad lose that composure of his. For all his wisdom, his age, his power—he was still, in some ways, just like any other Elf, sensitive in ways he didn’t want to admit. And those ears? Oh, you knew exactly what a simple touch could do. You’d watched him closely, noticed how his ear would twitch when you brushed too close. How his expression would falter, just a fraction, when your fingers lingered on that delicate, pointed curve. His stoic façade might fool many, but you had the key to unlocking something deeper, something raw beneath that calm exterior. With a grin that barely restrained your mischievous intent, you took a step closer. He was standing there, too absorbed in his thoughts—so serene, so dignified—and you had no intentions of letting him stay that way. You reached up, pinching one of his ears, the motion quick and sharp, just enough to make his jaw tighten. His immediate reaction was almost imperceptible—a tightening of his lips, the briefest flicker in his eye. But you had felt it. You had seen it. He was trying so hard to remain stoic. “Careful, my King,” you whispered teasingly. “You wouldn’t want to lose that composure, would you?”

The pinch sent a sharp jolt through Gil-galad’s ear, and he closed his eyes for a moment, taking in a slow breath to steady himself. How bold you were. You knew exactly how to push him, to provoke him, and in such a way that he could hardly stop you. The delicate skin of his ear was more sensitive than most would realize—and you knew that. Too well, he thought. “Enough,” he murmured, though his tone carried a softness that betrayed his usual authority. His eyes softened ever so slightly, but there was an edge to his words, a warning that came with the weight of being a king. “You do not want to test my patience, my little flower.” But, of course, you did not relent. You never did. A second later, his ear was subjected to your playful torment once again—a quick pinch, then a teasing brush that made him flinch. His breath hitched before he could fully mask it. It was maddening how you always seemed to find the perfect moment to push him to the edge. He stood still, his hand clenched by his side in an effort to maintain some semblance of control, but it was becoming increasingly difficult.

You were relentless, always just out of reach, always knowing how far you could push him before his control slipped away. His gaze flickered to yours—dark eyes filled with a quiet command, though a trace of something else lingered there, something unspoken. “Do not tempt me,” he growled, his voice low and almost dangerous, the edges of his usual calm fraying as his patience began to thin. The flicker of vulnerability in his voice made you smile. It was too tempting. His authority was always present, a constant weight upon his shoulders, but that look—that brief moment where he faltered—it was priceless. You could feel the tension radiating from him, the strength of his restraint warring with the pull of your teasing.

“Oh? Am I tempting you, my King?” you replied with a soft chuckle, stepping closer, just a whisper of space between you. You didn’t touch him, not yet, but you hovered near him, close enough to make him feel your presence, feel the pull of your proximity. His stoic face remained carefully neutral, but you could hear the slight hitch in his breath as you hovered near his ear. You brushed your fingers lightly along the curve of his ear again, just enough to make him feel it, just enough to make him fight to maintain his composure. Gil-galad’s gaze narrowed, his muscles tensing at your every move. His lips pressed together tightly, and you could see the faintest tremor in his jaw. He was trying so hard to remain composed, to hold onto that elusive control, but you could sense the undercurrent of tension in him, the subtle flicker of his resolve weakening with each passing moment. The smallest of movements—a barely noticeable shift in his posture—betrayed the struggle within him.

“Gil-galad,” you murmured, leaning in a little closer, your breath warm against his ear. “I only want to play. A little teasing never hurt anyone, has it?”His heart beat faster, but Gil-galad didn’t let it show. Damn you, he thought, yet he couldn’t stop the corner of his mouth from twitching in a near-smile. The battle for composure was growing harder by the second. Every time your fingers brushed against his ear, every light touch, it felt like a thousand whispers all at once. He had lived for centuries—he was a king, an ancient elf, and yet you, with your bratty little games, had a way of unraveling him that no foe ever could. His patience, once as steady as the mountains, was eroding. Slipping away like the sands of time. “Enough,” he repeated, his voice still steady but laced with something far less certain. A soft tremor was hidden beneath the calm façade as his hand reached up, almost involuntarily, brushing the side of his ear where your fingers had just been. The gesture betrayed the subtle storm brewing within him. His body was betraying him, and it irritated him more than he cared to admit. “You test me, little one,” he said, his words thick with something deeper now—something affectionate, despite the strained composure he was desperately trying to cling to.

His eyes found yours, dark and smoldering, eyes that burned with both authority and something much more dangerous—an edge of challenge, of desire, that he hadn’t shown you before. The king was gone for a moment, replaced by something far more personal, far more exposed. And before you could react, his hand moved again, reaching out to cup your chin gently, lifting your face so your eyes could meet his, locking with yours in a way that sent a surge of heat through your body. “If this is how you wish to earn my attention, then so be it,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, a playful thread woven into the depth of his words. “But you must know, I am no stranger to games of my own. And I always play to win.”

You could feel it then—the challenge. You’d pushed him, unraveling his composed façade, and now he had you right where he wanted you. That calm, regal authority was still there, but beneath it, something new simmered—something that you hadn’t seen before. The eyes that once seemed so distant, so distant and cold, were now filled with a raw intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. His words, laced with such quiet power, rang in your ears, and you realized with a thrill that the game had changed. Now, you were both players in this dance of seduction and challenge. You met his gaze, daring and unyielding, but there was a hint of uncertainty in you, a slight tremor in your chest that you would not allow him to see. You knew he had been affected, perhaps more than he cared to admit, and that gave you all the power you needed. The satisfaction of knowing you had drawn him in—drawn him to this point—was worth everything.

“Then play, my King,” you whispered, your voice low, with a daring smile tugging at the corners of your lips, letting him decide how the game would unfold from here. You could feel the heat between you, the challenge that stretched like a taut wire between you both, just waiting for one of you to pull. You had drawn him into this dance, and now the steps were his to lead. But deep down, neither of you needed to say it aloud—this was far from over. Neither of you had the intention of stopping. The game had only just begun. Gil-galad’s breath caught at your words. There it was, the challenge that he had been holding back, the undeniable invitation that left him both exhilarated and dangerously intrigued. You had called his bluff, and now there was nothing left to do but follow through with the game. The fire in his chest was growing, stoking his desire to see just how far you would push him—and how much of him you could make him lose control of.

His eyes never left yours as he stepped closer, the space between you shrinking in a way that felt inevitable. His body was taut, like a bowstring drawn too tight, and the faintest flicker of something darker lingered in his expression—something raw, something almost primal. “You will learn, little one,” he murmured, his voice now thick with promise. He moved as if the world itself had slowed, every step measured and deliberate. His hand brushed lightly against your cheek before his fingers slid down, grazing the curve of your jaw, sending a shiver down your spine. His touch was gentle—deceptively so—but the heat in his gaze was undeniable, a flame that danced behind his cool composure. The moment stretched, taut like a drawn bow, and he leaned in close, his breath brushing against the shell of your ear as he whispered, “Do you know what you’ve done?” His words were low, hushed, barely a breath against your skin, but they held weight—he was no longer the High King of Lindon, the untouchable ruler. Now, he was something more dangerous, more tangled in this game than you could have imagined. You had pulled him in, and now, in the space between desire and restraint, he wasn’t certain who was winning. A flicker of amusement danced in his eyes, despite the intensity of the moment. He couldn’t help but admire your audacity, how you still stood your ground even as the storm between you both built. His hand slipped to the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair, his grip not harsh, but enough to keep you where he wanted you. Close. “You’ve awakened something, and now I intend to see it through.”

His lips, hovering just above your own, were a breath away, but he didn’t kiss you. No, he was letting the anticipation stretch, letting the power shift in his favor. His other hand brushed against your ear once more, this time with far more intention, as if to remind you of just how sensitive he was—of just how far he would let you push before he decided to take control. Your teasing had worked, but now, the stakes had changed. There was no going back from this. “You’re playing a dangerous game,” he warned, his lips curling into a smile that was as much a challenge as it was a promise. “But I warn you, I don’t lose.” It was a statement, but it held something deeper. Something intimate, something that carried the weight of more than just words. Gil-galad leaned back slightly, his hand still resting on your neck, his thumb brushing gently over the curve of your skin. The control was back in his hands, but the tension between you still crackled like an electric charge, both of you knowing that the game was far from finished. The power was shifting, but neither of you was ready to give up just yet. His gaze swept over your features once more, his smile still lingering. “You’ve played your hand, little one,” he said softly. “Now, let’s see how you respond when the game shifts in my favor.” And with that, he moved, a step closer, as if to close the distance between your lips with a kiss that was still just out of reach.

🍷𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓾𝓲𝓵

Thranduil sat at his desk, the dim light of his study flickering softly against the walls, casting long shadows. His fingers moved across ancient maps and scrolls, the weight of centuries of leadership heavy in his thoughts. Mirkwood was calm—too calm. His mind was always occupied with the threats that loomed at the edges of his kingdom, but tonight, he was lost in the minutiae of strategy and diplomacy. The faintest sound of light footfalls reached his ears, but he didn’t lift his gaze from the scroll in front of him. He had learned over the years that Mirkwood was full of intrusions, both from the forest and from within his own halls. Still, something in the air felt different.

You crept into his study with the same mischievous glint in your eyes that had earned you both admiration and frustration from the Elven king. Thranduil hadn’t noticed you approach at first, so focused was he on his work, but that only gave you the advantage. You hovered behind his chair for a moment, taking in the sight of the king as he immersed himself in his responsibilities. His hair, long and flowing like silver threads of moonlight, framed his strong features, his brow furrowed with concentration. The sharpness of his gaze, even when unfocused, was enough to make anyone stand at attention—but you were not just anyone. You could feel the tension in his body, the way his shoulders slightly tensed whenever you were near. And you had a particular fondness for that subtle vulnerability, for the way he resisted, and yet seemed to appreciate your antics.

Reaching forward slowly, your fingers brushed against the tips of his elven ears, and you felt him freeze immediately. The slight tremor of his body was all the confirmation you needed to know that, yes, the rumors were true. The sensitivity of an elf’s ears was nothing to be trifled with. At first, you didn’t press it. You simply caressed the delicate points of his ears with a feather-light touch, the softness of his skin beneath your fingers sending a shiver down your spine. His breath hitched ever so slightly, but his voice remained steady as he continued working, his posture betraying his growing awareness of your presence. “Did you need something?” Thranduil’s voice was quiet, but there was an underlying strain in it, as though he were trying to maintain his composure despite your proximity.

You smiled, a devious twinkle in your eye as you leaned in just a little closer. “Oh, nothing in particular,” you said softly, your breath barely a whisper against his ear. “I was just thinking… how long will it take before you give me your full attention?” You pinched his ear gently, just enough to make the skin flush beneath your fingers. Thranduil’s body tensed almost imperceptibly, and you could see the corner of his lip twitch in irritation. He slowly lowered the scroll in his hand, his gaze sharpening with a mix of wariness and amusement as he looked up at you, finally turning his head. “You have an insufferable way of getting what you want, don’t you?”

The words were tinged with both exasperation and something else—perhaps a touch of fascination, though he would never admit it. You loved how he tried to stay composed, how he fought against your little games, but you knew him well enough by now. Thranduil might be a king, but he was also an elf, and underneath that regal facade, he was not immune to temptation. You didn’t wait for a response, instead choosing to torment him further. You pinched his ear again, this time a little firmer, twisting it with a deliberate movement. His breath faltered, and his hand clenched the arm of his chair. “You’re being quite cruel,” he muttered, but there was a note of frustration creeping into his voice. He didn’t move to stop you, though. Instead, his sharp eyes narrowed as he studied you—waiting, perhaps hoping that you’d stop, but knowing, too, that you wouldn’t.

“Am I?” you teased, pressing your thumb to the edge of his ear and giving it another, more insistent pinch. “You seem to like it, though.” Your fingers danced along the sensitive tip, and you felt him shift beneath your touch, his chest rising and falling slightly faster. Thranduil’s eyes flickered to your hand, and his lip curled ever so slightly. The King of Mirkwood had his pride, and even in this vulnerable moment, he wasn’t one to beg or show weakness. But you could tell his patience was fraying. His grip on the chair tightened, and there was a quiet warning in his voice as he spoke again. “I am not one to be trifled with, little one.” The words were clipped, but there was an undertone of something deeper. Desire, perhaps. Or simply the need to regain control. You leaned in close again, the tip of your nose brushing against the side of his face as you whispered, “We’ll see about that.”

Thranduil’s breath caught in his throat as the sharp, unexpected pinch of his ear jolted him from his thoughts. His eyes, usually steady and calculating, flickered with a moment of vulnerability, and he couldn’t suppress the soft, involuntary hiss that escaped his lips. He had never quite expected this from you—the delicate balance of teasing and torment. You had crossed a line now, and the energy between you crackled with a dangerous tension. His pride, unshakable and centuries-old, flared, and yet, a deeper part of him, something raw and instinctive, stirred to life. It wasn’t pain he felt—not exactly. The sensation was sharp, yes, but something else lingered too: the unsettling pulse of his own body responding to your touch. The way his ears burned under your fingertips, how the very edge of the discomfort had a strange, intoxicating edge to it, unlike anything he had ever allowed to happen. And now, here you were, smirking at him with that unmistakable gleam in your eyes, knowing exactly what you had done.

“You,” he growled, his voice dropping lower, filled with a dangerous calm, a blend of amusement and something darker. “You will regret this, little one.” He didn’t need to see you to know that you were savoring this moment. You always seemed to delight in seeing him on the edge of something he couldn’t quite control. You were like that—a force of nature, wild and mischievous, playing with him like a cat with a mouse. But Thranduil, the King of Mirkwood, never let a game slip from his grasp, and he wasn’t going to start now. Your smirk widened just a fraction, the gleam in your eyes only deepening as you leaned back slightly to admire your work. You had gotten under his skin. You had made him feel something he wasn’t used to feeling, and for a brief moment, it unsettled him. He had never thought his weakness—his ear, his damnable sensitivity—would be exposed like this, let alone by someone who took such delight in tormenting it.

Your gaze didn’t waver from his, the challenge clear in your posture. The tension built as Thranduil’s lips parted, eyes flashing dangerously. This wasn’t a moment of weakness. It wasn’t pain that gripped him, but something else, something far more complicated. His hand rose, almost too quickly, his fingers latching onto your wrist with an unexpected force. He didn’t yank you, but there was no denying the strength in his grip, the way it seemed to hold you in place as his presence towered over you. He could have simply taken your hand away, could have made this interaction nothing more than a swift rebuke, but no—Thranduil wasn’t one to be disrespected without consequence, especially when it came to something as intimate as his ear.

“You think you can play with me like this, little one?” His voice was a low murmur, but it carried a power that made your heart beat a little faster. “Let us see how well you handle my attention.” The words were carefully chosen, as if to remind you that this wasn’t a simple game. He was the king, the one who commanded Mirkwood, who had spent centuries as both a ruler and a protector of his people. But in that moment, you weren’t thinking of any of that. You were thinking of how the game had shifted. How the roles had reversed, and now, Thranduil was the one who had been provoked. You could see it in the way his lips curved slightly, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. It wasn’t just annoyance that flickered in his eyes—it was interest. A challenge.

You didn’t flinch. In fact, your lips curled into a slight smirk of your own as you met his gaze, unflinching and confident, like you were in control of the situation. You had provoked him, and you knew he was no longer the one unaffected. You had caught his attention, and that was a dangerous thing for both of you. His fingers remained tightly wound around your wrist, but his touch was controlled, deliberate, as if marking his territory, asserting his dominance in this little game. And yet, there was a flicker of something else in his expression—a deeper curiosity, even a hunger, that you had never seen in him before. It wasn’t just about punishment anymore. No, this was more complicated. He was intrigued by you. You had made him feel something raw, something old and long buried, and now, you had his full attention. You swallowed, but still, you didn’t break eye contact. The challenge had been issued. It was no longer just about the playful teasing or your little games. Thranduil’s attention was now focused entirely on you, and you had the feeling this would no longer be as easy as you expected. The game had begun, but now, it was a game of give and take. And you? You were ready for whatever came next.

📜 𝓔𝓵𝓻𝓸𝓷𝓭

The tranquil halls of Rivendell hummed with the gentle whispers of flowing water and rustling leaves, a sanctuary of peace and beauty. Yet, in one particular study, serenity was far from the prevailing mood. There, at his grand oak desk, Lord Elrond sat, his elegant quill scratching steadily over a parchment filled with intricate Elven script. The lord of Imladris was the picture of focus, his noble features serene as the golden light of the afternoon filtered through the arched windows. Unfortunately for him, you were also in the room. You were standing not far behind his chair, arms crossed, lips twisted in a playful pout. The stillness of the room was only broken by the soft rustling of parchment as Elrond worked, lost in whatever task had so firmly claimed his attention. The sight of his perfect composure, the calm yet powerful figure of the lord, only fueled your impatience. He had been like this for hours, completely immersed in his work—totally ignoring you.

With a dramatic sigh, you leaned slightly forward, careful not to disturb his quiet routine too much. “Elrond,” you began, dragging his name in a playful sing-song that was sure to catch his attention. You could see his shoulders tense just slightly in acknowledgment. “How long must you sit there ignoring me? You’ve been staring at those scrolls for hours. Do you even know I’m here?” Elrond’s hand paused for a brief moment, his quill hovering just above the parchment. His focus shifted, but only just. Without looking up from the words he was writing, he responded, his voice calm, but laced with that familiar, measured elegance. “I am well aware of your presence, Mellon nín. However, this task demands my attention.” You scoffed lightly, knowing full well that his response was nothing more than an attempt at deflection. His voice was smooth, practiced, but you could feel the tiniest hint of his own frustration under the surface. “More than I do?” you teased, arching an eyebrow, stepping a little closer, your gaze fixated on him with an impish glint. He didn’t look up, but there was the faintest shift in his posture, the smallest of smiles tugging at the corner of his lips. “Patience is a virtue, my dear,” he replied, a quiet warmth in his voice. You pursed your lips and planted your hands on your hips. “Patience is overrated.” The words slipped out with a confident, almost bratty edge, an open challenge. But as you spoke, your eyes wandered. You watched him, the lord of Rivendell, so poised and composed. And then, there it was—the delicate curve of his ear, just peeking through the dark strands of his silken hair.

It was a sight that you had grown to recognize. His ears, those slender points, were not just a distinguishing feature of his race but something deeply personal. To touch them, especially the sensitive tips, was an intimate gesture for an elf. So many unspoken things were tied to that one action, and you couldn’t help but wonder how far you could push him before his patience gave way. The mischievous spark in your eyes grew as the idea took root. If you won’t give me attention willingly, I’ll just have to take it. Your steps were light, but deliberate as you moved behind his chair. His attention was still on the parchment, but you knew—he knows. His incredible hearing, that gift of Elven sensitivity, had undoubtedly already sensed your movement, the slight shift of your presence. Leaning in just a fraction closer, you reached forward, your fingers brushing against the fine, soft strands of his hair. Elrond did not stir, but you could see his ear twitch slightly, ever so subtly. You smiled inwardly. With a barely audible breath, you pinched the very tip of his ear. Elrond’s response was immediate. His quill stopped mid-motion, hovering above the parchment, and his hand froze. His body stilled for a heartbeat, a slight tremor passing through him. The air between you thickened, and you could feel the weight of his attention slowly shifting from his work to you. His sharp, clear eyes widened in surprise for the briefest of moments, before narrowing with a subtle warning. A soft, almost imperceptible intake of breath left his lips as his gaze flickered to you over his shoulder, catching the playful glint in your eyes.

For a moment, he didn’t speak. You could sense him holding his breath, weighing his options. He was torn between annoyance and amusement—torn between the responsibility he bore as the Lord of Rivendell and his inability to deny his body’s reaction to your touch. Elven ears were a sensitive thing—sensitive to both pleasure and pain—and you had expertly walked the fine line between them. His tone, when it came, was low but edged with a warning. “(Y/N), do you truly wish to test me today?” His voice was calm, measured, but there was a flicker of something deeper in the depths of his gaze, something that made your heart beat a little faster.

Feigning innocence, you took a small step back, holding your hands up in a mock gesture of surrender. “Test you? I’d never,” you replied, your voice dripping with mock sweetness, a layer of innocence laid over your mischievous grin. But your eyes—your eyes betrayed you. The glint in them, the playfulness in the curve of your lips, revealed everything that needed no words. Elrond’s gaze softened, but only briefly. There was a softness in his eyes that spoke of a long history of affection, but beneath that, there was something more—a challenge in his stance, a resolve that only you could bring to the surface. He leaned back slightly in his chair, the corners of his mouth curving up just enough to betray his amusement, though the challenge in his eyes remained unyielding. “You are truly a handful, Mellon nín,” he murmured, and there was something almost affectionate in the way he said it. But the look he gave you was a clear warning. You knew this game wasn’t over yet. Not by a long shot.

Before Elrond could return to his work, you reached out again, this time brushing your fingers along the smooth curve of his ear. The response was immediate—his body stiffened, his back straightened with military precision, and his lips pressed into a thin, controlled line. His elegant features, usually so composed, wavered just for a moment, and the tips of his ears turned a faint shade of pink, a silent admission of how deeply your touch affected him. His sharp eyes darted to you, and for a brief second, you thought you saw a flicker of vulnerability there—something that made the ever-dignified lord seem a touch more… mortal. He caught his breath, as if unsure whether to scold you or indulge your playful torment. “(Y/N),” he said, his voice deeper now, laced with an undeniable warning. “You know how delicate a matter this is. Touching an elf’s ears…” His words trailed off, the weight of his knowledge pressing down. “Oh, I know,” you interrupted, not giving him a chance to finish. A mischievous grin spread across your lips as you leaned in closer. “That’s exactly why it’s so much fun,” you teased, your voice barely above a whisper, but laced with just enough intent to make the air between you thick with playful tension.

Elrond’s gaze sharpened, his lips curving into a subtle frown, but there was a spark in his eyes that betrayed a hint of curiosity. “Fun, you say?” His voice held the faintest note of disbelief. “Mm-hmm.” You leaned in even closer, lowering your voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “You’re so serious all the time, Elrond. I think you need someone to remind you how to have a little fun now and then.” You saw the slight tension in his jaw as he exhaled softly, resigning himself to the fact that you would not be easily deterred. He set his quill down with exaggerated care, each movement deliberate, as though the moment required his utmost attention. Then, turning in his chair to face you fully, he clasped his hands together, folding them on his lap, his posture one of restrained patience. “And you believe this is the way to achieve that?” he asked, his tone gentle but pointed. You tilted your head, feigning a thoughtful expression. “Well,” you said, drawing out the word, “you leave me no choice. If you won’t look away from your work, I have to get your attention somehow.” Elrond’s lips twitched ever so slightly, and though his gaze remained sharp, there was something in his eyes—something warmer, perhaps even fond—that softened the edges of his irritation. “You are incorrigible,” he muttered with a quiet chuckle, the words losing their sting when paired with the faint smile tugging at his lips.

“Maybe,” you said with a casual shrug, grinning unabashedly. “But you love it.” Before he could offer a retort, you moved again, quicker this time, your fingers catching the soft curve of his ear once more. The moment you made contact, you saw his entire body react—his posture faltered, and his breath hitched sharply, his chest rising and falling just a little faster. His cheeks flushed a delicate shade of pink, more pronounced now, as though the warmth from your touch had burned straight through his usually composed exterior. With a swift, decisive motion, Elrond reached up to capture your hand in his, his grip firm but not harsh. “That is quite enough,” he said, his voice low and rich, a commanding undertone settling in that was impossible to ignore. There was a promise in his words—something that hinted at retribution, and yet, a part of you couldn’t help but wonder if he enjoyed this little game. “Oh, come on,” you teased, leaning in close enough to see the faintest, barely-contained smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Admit it—you like it when I keep you on your toes.” Elrond’s grey eyes, which usually carried the weight of centuries of wisdom, softened just a fraction, and for a brief moment, he looked younger—almost playful. The flicker of something mischievous sparked in his gaze, but it was gone in an instant, replaced by a tender patience. “What I like,” he said softly, his voice taking on a more indulgent tone, though it still held the weight of that quiet exasperation, “is a challenge. And you, Mellon nín, are most certainly that.”

Triumph surged in your chest at his words, and you flashed him a cocky grin. “So I win?” Elrond’s lips curved upward in the barest of smiles, and his gaze held a knowing gleam, one that suggested you may have won this small victory, but the war was far from over. “Hardly,” he said, his tone a blend of fondness and mild reproach. Before you could process his words, Elrond stood up from his chair with fluid grace, his tall, elegant frame towering over you. You didn’t have a chance to react before he leaned down, his face just inches from yours. The sheer closeness of him—the warmth of his breath mingling with yours—was enough to send your pulse racing. His expression was calm, but his eyes glinted with something far more dangerous, something playful. “You forget, my dear,” he said softly, his voice like velvet as it wrapped around you. “An elf always has the upper hand.” The words held a knowing finality, a promise that you weren’t as in control as you thought. And before you could respond, Elrond’s hand moved, swift as a shadow, brushing the side of your neck with a feather-light touch—deliberately echoing the torment you had visited on his ear. The sensation was electric, the light touch sending a shiver down your spine, and you couldn’t help but gasp at the unexpected shock of it.

Elrond’s smile deepened as he straightened, leaving you breathless and momentarily off balance. “You see?” he said, his voice victorious. “Two can play at this game.” You glared at him, your heart thumping wildly in your chest. He had turned the tables, and he knew it. His composure was impeccable once again, his features settling back into the calm, regal manner of the Lord of Rivendell. But you saw the smirk on his face, the faintest spark of amusement in his eyes. “Well played,” you admitted grudgingly, your voice a mix of admiration and frustration. “Indeed,” he replied, his voice rich with approval, as he resumed his seat at the desk. He paused for a moment, allowing the tension between you to linger before he spoke again, his tone no less authoritative. “Now, if you are quite finished with your antics, perhaps I can return to my work?” You crossed your arms, huffing in mock indignation. Yet, the glimmer of affection in his eyes softened the blow of his words. Despite everything, despite his firm stance, you could see how much he cared for you in the small, fleeting expressions that he couldn’t quite mask. You’d let him win this round—but only because you were already planning your next move. And this game, you knew, was far from over.

🩵𝓒𝓮𝓵𝓮𝓫𝓸𝓻𝓷

The golden light of Lothlórien filtered softly through the canopy above, dappling Celeborn’s study with patches of warm sunlight. You sat across the room, your chin propped up on your hand as you watched him work. His posture was impeccable as always, back straight, shoulders relaxed, every movement precise as he dipped his quill into the inkpot and scrawled elegant script onto the parchment. His silver hair shimmered like liquid starlight, cascading over his shoulders in waves. At first, the sight was mesmerizing—a portrait of elven grace and focus. But the novelty wore off quickly. The silence stretched on, broken only by the occasional scratch of the quill or the soft rustle of paper. You sighed dramatically, shifting in your seat to make your presence known, but Celeborn remained unbothered, his eyes fixed on his work. The boredom began to creep in, your fingers drumming absently on the armrest of your chair. You studied him closely, your gaze wandering over the subtle rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, the slight furrow of his brow as he concentrated. Then your eyes settled on his ears—delicate, pointed, and oh-so-tempting.

You knew enough of elven customs to understand the significance of touching them. Their sensitivity was almost legendary, and to an elf, their ears were as intimate as any touch to the heart. It was precisely why you couldn’t resist. The thought of flustering Celeborn—who was always so composed and regal—sent a mischievous thrill through you. Your lips curled into a sly smile as you shifted in your seat, leaning forward slightly. He didn’t notice. The perfect target. The quill moved steadily in his hand, and his focus remained entirely on the parchment in front of him. Oh, you’d fix that. Your hand darted out, your fingers aiming straight for the pointed tip of his ear, unable to resist the challenge of breaking through that impeccable calm. The smirk widened on your face as you anticipated his reaction, and the game began.

The tranquil stillness of Lothlórien was interrupted not by the sound of an intruding force, nor the rustling of the leaves underfoot, but by a soft, unexpected pinch on Celeborn’s ear. The Sindarin lord paused mid-sentence, his voice faltering as he attempted to resume the careful dictation of a letter to one of his allies. His quill hovered over the parchment, ink threatening to drip onto the pristine surface. A faint pink blush dusted his cheeks, but his expression betrayed nothing more than mild annoyance. Slowly, Celeborn turned his head, his silver hair brushing over his shoulders like flowing water, only to find you perched nearby, a smirk playing across your lips. “Must you?” he asked, his voice even but carrying an undertone of exasperation. “I must,” you replied, your fingers reaching out to tweak the delicate tip of his ear again, your grin widening when he flinched. “You’ve been sitting there for hours, Celeborn. Scribbling letters. Talking to yourself. Boring. I’m rescuing you.”

Celeborn let out a long-suffering sigh, the kind that only someone with millennia of patience could muster. “These letters are of grave importance,” he reminded you, shifting slightly to move his ear out of your reach. His tone was measured and calm, but the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed the faintest flicker of amusement. “And I am not so easily distracted.” You raised a brow, your bratty demeanor gleaming with mischief. “Oh, I disagree. I think you’re very easily distracted,” you said, leaning closer until you could feel the warmth radiating from him. “Especially when it comes to these.” Your fingers danced toward his ear again, and this time, you lightly traced the pointed tip. Celeborn froze, his body going rigid, the quill slipping from his grasp to land unceremoniously on the desk. His breath hitched, the tiniest sound escaping his lips—a mixture of surprise and irritation, though there was no disguising the faint shiver that coursed through him.

“Stop that,” he said, his voice slightly strained. His usual unflappable composure was beginning to crack, and the sight of it only encouraged you further. “Stop what?” you asked innocently, tilting your head to the side. Your fingers returned, pinching the soft cartilage gently before trailing downward. “This? Or this?” Celeborn’s hand shot up to catch yours, his grip firm but not forceful. His cool gray eyes locked onto yours, the faintest spark of warning in their depths. “You know precisely what you are doing,” he said, his tone low but steady. “And you know precisely what I want,” you countered, not pulling away from his grasp. You leaned in, close enough that your breath tickled his cheek. “A little attention. That’s all. Is it so much to ask?”

“You have my attention,” Celeborn replied, though his voice betrayed just how much effort it took to maintain his calm. “And I would appreciate it if you did not assault my ears in the process.” “Assault?” you repeated with mock outrage, laughing softly. “I think you like it. Your ears don’t lie, Celeborn—they’re turning red.” He let out a slow breath, his grip on your hand loosening just slightly. “My kins ears are sensitive,” he said, his voice dropping to a quieter tone, as if that fact was not already glaringly obvious. “And you are testing my patience.”

“Patience is overrated,” you said breezily, your free hand darting forward to trace the outer curve of his other ear. His reaction was immediate—his shoulders stiffened, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Enough,” he said, and this time there was a distinct note of command in his voice. His hand released yours as he turned in his chair to face you fully, his silver hair cascading over his shoulders. Though his expression remained composed, there was a faint intensity in his gaze now, a hint of something sharper beneath his calm exterior. But you were not deterred. If anything, his reaction only fueled your mischief. “Make me stop,” you teased, leaning back just slightly, though your fingers still hovered near his ear, ready to strike again at a moment’s notice.

Celeborn studied you for a long moment, his keen eyes narrowing slightly as if weighing his options. Then, in a move so swift it caught you off guard, he reached out and caught both your wrists in his hands. His grip was gentle but firm, unyielding as he pulled you closer until there was barely any space between you. “You are relentless,” he said, his voice soft but laced with a quiet authority that made your heart skip a beat. “But if you wish for my attention so badly, you need only ask for it. There is no need for this… torment.” Your smirk faltered for a moment, his closeness and the intensity of his gaze sending a thrill down your spine. But you quickly recovered, leaning in with a playful glint in your eye. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Celeborn sighed again, though this time there was a faint hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “You are incorrigible,” he said, releasing your wrists but not leaning back. Instead, he reached up and brushed a strand of hair from your face, his touch lingering for just a moment. “Perhaps,” you admitted, your tone softening just slightly. “But you love it.” Celeborn’s gaze softened, his serene composure returning as he regarded you with a mixture of affection and exasperation. “I have endured much in my long years,” he said, a faint smile finally breaking through. “But you, I think, will be the greatest test of my patience yet.” “Good,” you said, your grin returning as you leaned back, victorious. “I’d hate to be boring.” As Celeborn returned to his letters, you couldn’t help but notice the faintest twitch of his ears as he tried—unsuccessfully—to ignore the way your eyes lingered on him. Perhaps he wasn’t quite as unflappable as he liked to pretend.

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running-with-kn1ves · 1 year ago

Note

Soooo since you asked for comfy requests, my comfort character of yours is Cirdan, and I would love covering his scars with little kisses and telling him how handsome he is cause I know dude has to be insecure about that and he would combust on spot

I know its cliché but I enjoy simple pleasures

A/N: Naur I love the little(big) elf guy and the softness of this idea. I wish I did it more detailed justice but here's my drabble take. UGHH I LOVEd how sweet it was it makes me all gushy inside.

CW: None! Fluff and comfort all the way through buddy

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“You don’t have to be alone, you know.” Ice-tipped toes of yours brushed the wood panels lining the floor, an electric chill running down your back as the wind from the slightly ajar window perused inside. Your husband always liked it cold, but lately you couldn’t stand it. It was getting too cold outside. Maybe it was because you grew up in suffocatingly warm homes with seasons that hardly shifted, you didn’t have the ability to stand below freezing temperatures like elves did year-round.

Cirdan gently turned his head at your voice, softening his pursed brow as he saw you there shrinking into yourself, leaning a shoulder against the door frame. It didn’t help that all you had to wear were these thin cotton pajamas, white and hip-fitting to show the color of your skin underneath when put under the right light. It made him gaze at you, when all that illuminated the shared bedroom was muted-orange oil lamps and the shine of the moon decorating the floor in a thin silver. It was strange, to be stared at. There was a certain sadness in the elf’s eyes, but it seemed to morph into a relief when that greyish green bore into you, taking in all that you were, only to run back to your eyes and give the softest stare.

You walked to him as he gave a short, croaky hum. “Just cleaning these. Already finished up dinner.” He said simply, in that short way he always seemed to speak when he was down.

You looked over his shoulder to see what he concentrated so painfully on, peering at the delicate pair of battle sickles he hasn’t used since… well, before you got married.

You put a gentle hand on his bare shoulder, musing at the thin and thick pinkish-brown scars along his back.

“I don’t know how you can wear nothing in this weather.” You say with a shiver, sitting down on the spot directly behind the elf.

You practically heard him smile, head still down-turned to look at the sharp steel between the tan cloth he used to rub against them. Your fingers traced the scars you could touch, the long one crossing over his shoulder, the thick few stuck between the blades of his back, which seemed to twitch methodically under your touch.

“S’because you aren’t used to the cold. We sleep in the snow.” Cirdan hummed, “we” meaning his old elven clan.

He grabbed your hand all of a frightful sudden, placing it on the clean and untouched part of his neck not covered by starlight hair or scars. It was so soft and gentle, one of the few places Cirdan had yet to be wounded.

“Hm?” You let through closed lips, sitting on your knees to bring your face up close to his from behind. “Don’t want me touching your cuts?”

“Scars,” He corrected, like it was an ugly word. “Wouldn’t you rather feel something soft?”

He turned just slightly to look at you, eyes shifting to see your face only a nose touch away. Your hands rested on his warm shoulders, feeling them lift just slightly as his chest rose.

“Nope.” You respond, nudging against Cirdan’s temple as you nuzzled into his hair and flattened ear rim. “I’d rather feel you. Wanna memorize every scar and stitch.”

Your hands slide to his back, feeling the ridges of indents in his skin as they fall. “Mmh, its fun to touch them; you don’t feel like anyone else.”

You soak in the warm that pulses from his body, a different heat from the sharp sheets and iced floor. He smelled akin to the grassy scent that whaffed in from the window, a slight musk about him that came from his body glazing over with its natural smell after a bath had rubbed it off not long ago. Oh how you loved it, loved how flesh-like it was, reminding you that there was a living, breathing person by your side, his heart beating through his back and his body altering at every new spot you claimed with your fingers.

Cirdan stopped from cleaning the sickle blades, shoulders hunched as his elbows rested on his knees. He was silent, moping a little over how much you stared, a nagging thought making him want to put his shirt back on.

You snaked your arms around to the front of his chest, giving the best reach of a back hug that you could, bringing your legs to wrap around his warm flank. Your cold feel seemed to make him jolt as you clung onto him like a baby to its mama, burying your face against the deep indent of his shoulder.

“But, wouldn’t you rather--”

“Shh.” You hushed, fingers brushing over the invisible scars from his chest that you could only memorize by touch. “If you keep worrying I’m going to have to kiss each and every scratch on you.”

You pressed noisy smooches to the teensy bits on his shoulder, running your way to his bicep and armpit, showing no sign of stopping.

“Alright alright,” He tittered, putting a hand over one of yours that cupped his chest.

Your fingers rubbed over each single change in flesh, feeling the softer ridges of his nipples, running to the dip of his chest, caressing the deep uneven ‘X’ scar against his collar bone.

“Don’t ever try to change them for me, pretty boy.” You mumbled to his ear, playfully kissing from its tip down to his cheek. “I want your scars and your bits and pieces just how they are. I want all of it.”

You rested your smooshed face against his sharp jaw, letting it dig into your cheek as you kept your nose nearly nestled under his chin.

Cirdan was still, an arm grabbing one of the thighs that wrapped around him, the other entertwining his fingers with the hands that held the fat of his chest. He feared if he moved, the moment would break, that you would suddenly pull away and be gone forever. He wanted desperately to push you deeper against him, to make it so you were both smothered with his warmth, that he enveloped every part of your body to keep it safe. There would be no piece of you undiscovered, and you would fill in the gaps of him that were missing.

“What do you do to me…” He mumbles, hoping you’ll lift your head as he turns his. You do, curious. But he looks partially down, a faded eye following his good one as silver-toned lashes made his honey-soaked eyes look like they were covered with snow.

Cirdan doesn’t let the time slip away from him, pressing his warmed lips against yours with an inward tilt. His nose fits snuggly against the side of yours, forehead pushing forward as you lean into him. The elf drops the sickles to the floor, aside from his bare feet.

He wraps the fullness of his hand around your thigh, trying to smush it deeper against his skin. But the break away from your mouth is too long for him, he moves in again. The longing in his chest he feels, when he senses that desperation to kiss you, a genuine ache of withdrawal when he doesn’t feel that cold cheek against his or the dampened warmth of your tongue.

But you avoid his lips, slipping away the hand of yours that he held to his chest. You rested it to his temple, thumb against his cheek. As cirdan moved in expecting your lips, he found your chin instead, your own mouth covering the usually hidden eye he kept away. You wished he had the confidence to leave it visible; baby steps.

The warm wet poke of a tongue darted between fleshy lips against your chin and jaw, your own mouth opening just slightly. You felt the warm cavern of his eye, eyelashes touching your upper lip as your open mouth pressed a deep kiss to his blind eye, Cirdan freezing as you moved. You lingered there for a moment, pausing to give another gently pressing kiss to the scarred skin below his eye.

You moved away, a bit nervous from how Cirdan’s body was suddenly so stiff. But the moment you moved away, he melted. His shoulders slumped looking up at you with slightly parted lips. He was at your mercy, anything you told him or commanded of him, he’d do without a thought of conscience or hesitation.

There was a gentle drugged look in his gaze, desperate for any little affection you would so graciously bestow upon him.

“So beautiful…” You hummed, looking into the droopy pool of smoke-green he stared back with.

If it was possible, the elf sinked even further into your touch, letting your hands hold his firm cheeks as you planted small kiss after kiss onto the bridge of his nose, to the corner of his stilled lips. But he could not take staying still for so much longer, diving for your moving mouth as you were about to kiss the other side. But he caught you in a smooth mouth to mouth, opened lips begging you to come to him.

You followed, letting your jaw go slack, allowing cirdan’s mouth to fit snuggly against yours, like a puzzle piece of warm air breathing into you.

Your fingers tangled into the elf’s hair that seemed to surround him, listening to the needy groans that left his adored mouth as both his hands held your thighs around his flank, flexing his fingers into your skin like a cat, wanting you deeper, closer. But for now, he’d settle for this, letting you agonizingly sweeten him up with each syrupy kiss and touch that was like a buzzing pleasure, making his heart lurch with desire.

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the-fiction-witch · 5 months ago

Text

Little Princess

Media - Rings Of Power Character - Elrond Couple - Elrond X Reader Reader - Y/n (Princess of Elves, daughter of Gil-Galad) Rating - 18 + nudity/ virginity/ kissing/ breast play/ fingering/ pinv/ full sex/ raw sex/ Word Count - 3197

Elrond paced his chambers in the city of Lindon. Doing his best to think over this impossible choice. To break his oath to one of his most dear friends and give hope to all his people, or to keep his oath and be complacent in the death of many as well as himself. The king asked so much but it was not without its matter.

Suddenly the door to Elronds chambers knocked rather hurriedly,

"Come in," he said, his attention breaking from his thoughts to look at the door, his eyes looking curious at the hurry of the knock

the door opened and closed as quickly, The young princess Y/n, daughter of high king Gil-galad stood before him. Her hair was put up with a long hairpin, her eyes puffy from tears, wearing a long sage green gown laced down her front,

"Herald Elrond. I pray I am not interrupting but ... I must speak with you. On a matter, I find most urgent'

Elrond's expression softened as he saw the young woman, looking at her with a look of concern and care. "You are not interrupting princess. I am always available to speak. What is the matter that is so urgent?"

"I have heard of what my father asks of you. I find it... A matter of such cruelty. Such ruthless ambition has blinded him to care. That he asks this of you. To place the fate of all our race on your shoulders, those same shoulders he has already burdened with so much... It... It makes me weep why he asks... Nay demands. You break this oath. To your friend of so many decades."

Elrond's expression darkened as she mentioned the demand, sighing as he sat on the edge of his bed, his hand rubbing his temple "It is a... A heavy ask of me. An impossible choice, one I do not think I can make. But what do you want me to do little princess? I cannot defy the king. I owe much of my life to him."

"I owe him my whole life and yet I still would defy him in this moment. Your word is your law and what is any of our immortal lives at the price of breaking such oaths of trust and loyalty." She explained "If you break this oath... You will lose your beloved kin in Durin. Lose the faith of all dwarves for generations to come. Sour the good word of elves and the Valar themselves. Please... I know this weighs on you herald Elrond, but do not bear this alone."

Elrond sat silent as the princess gave her words, his expression conflicted. He knew she spoke the truth, that the price of breaking his honour was great. But to break it he would bring hope to his people. After a moment of silence, he let out a weary sigh, looking up at the princess sadly. "What do you think I should do little one? What would you do in my place if it came to it?"

"... I would slap my father for making such a request," she chuckled, "and then I would set my wisest to the task of the tree. Send elves I trust to every kingdom that holds more than ten souls. And I would beg them for their words and try everything that could be done. There must be another way beyond this... Ore my father lusts for so desperately.”

Elrond chuckled slightly at her comment, his expression showing a hint of amusement at how quickly she answered, her ideas certainly weren't unwise. He crossed his arms as he hummed in thought "That is not a bad idea, my little princess, though I'm not sure the king would take too kindly to you slapping him" he joked

"In this matter he deserves it. When he told me what he asked of you I almost did so myself."

Elrond laughed softly at the idea of his little princess slapping the king, his hand raising to his mouth to contain it secretly, "He would have your hand for that, my princess. But that is not necessary" he said, "I will do what you suggested, I will send word to all of the elven realms and see what I can do"

"it was necessary." She said firmly "he demands you break an oath, sour your name, dirty your hands and not his own." She explained

Elrond's smile faded at her firm and harsh tone, his expression turning slightly sombre as he nodded his head in agreement. "you're right, my princess. It is not right of him to demand this of me, to force me to break my honour. He should not use my loyalty against me like this. You are a lot more insightful than I give you credit for"

she softly smiled "... I wish I could do more. I know my words provide little comfort in this matter." She sighed "but... I do have another comfort I may offer?"

Elrond returned her soft smile, his eyes looking curious at her words. He chuckled slightly and raised a brow "and now you have piqued my curiosity. What is this other comfort you wish to offer me?"

she softly blushed before she stepped back slightly away from him, "My father asks of you an impossible task. To break an oath sworn to your greatest friend. To soil your honour and dirty your hands in a matter he wishes to wash his own off." She explained pulling the long pin from her hair and letting her hair fall loose "And I offer you, a turn of stone. An eye for an eye. A broken oath for a broken oath" she said unlacing the gown, "in comfort for my father's demand for you to break your oath to prince Durin. I shall break in turn an oath to my father." She said letting her dress pool at her feet standing innocently completely naked, "and allow myself to have my own honour broken by you."

Elrond watched her as she stripped down, his eyes widening in surprise at her words and her actions, not having expected this at all. He stared at her in silence for a few moments, his heart racing and all although he did not intend it his body hardening at the meer sight of her like this, he was speechless, before finally gathering his words and speaking "My little princess... You would... You would have me stain your honour? That is most noble... And most foolish" he stood up from the bed, moving towards her. He looked into her eyes, a mix of concern and care in his gaze. He placed a gentle hand on her cheek, gently caressing it with his thumb "My sweet little princess, are you sure this is what you want to do? To throw away your honour at the price of mine own?"

"I am sure." She whispered

he let out a weary sigh, his expression soft, he looked at her for a few moments, the conflict clear within his eyes, his mind in turmoil. He cared for the princess, he had for a long while. She was young, innocent, carefree, and he sought to protect her honour. Yet here she was, willing to throw it away. His heart couldn’t say no. "Very well... If you are sure, my little princess”

she nodded Blushing softly her lips parted and her eyes on his,

he let his eyes roam over her form, taking in the sight of her. An ethereal beauty that he couldn’t tear his eyes away from, his hand gently brushing down from her cheek and down her neck, onto her shoulder, and then along the side of her body "You are certain, my princess? Once this is done, it cannot be undone”

"I am certain." She whispered moving to her tiptoes to press her lips to his

his eyes widened slightly before gently closing as her lips met his, his other hand moving to the small of her back, gently holding her in place against his body as he kissed her back. He could feel his heart speeding up as he enjoyed the feeling of her lips against his, his mind overwhelmed with the sensation. After a moment, his tongue gently moved against her lower lip, gently asking for entrance

she happily parted her lips for him and softly moaned into the kiss

he let out a soft moan of his own as her lips parted for him, his tongue slipping into her mouth and gently exploring the soft, wet cavern. His free hand moved from her back and up to the nape of her neck, gently holding her head in place as he deepened the kiss, his body pressing gently against hers as he felt his self-control waver

he broke the kiss, pulling back slightly to catch his breath, his breathing shallow and eyes darkened. He kept her body flush against his own as he looked down at her, his heart racing and his body heating "Are you still sure of this, little princess?" he asked, his voice low and gruff. He couldn’t deny the need he felt, the desire to take her here and now against the wall. But he would never do anything without her consent.

she giggled and nodded excitedly jumping onto his bed and hooking her index finger to summon him to bed with her.

he laughed slightly at her little command, finding her adorable while also finding her immensely sexy, especially now with her lying on his bed. He approached her, crawling onto the bed and positioning himself over her. He looked down at her with a look of want and need in his eyes, his body pressing gently against hers as he knelt between her legs. "You are far too impatient for one so young, little princess"

"Then surely... You must be even more impatient than I?" She teased

he chuckled and lowered his head down, until his lips were nearly touching her ear, his breath hot against her skin as he spoke in whispers "Oh, you have no idea how impatient you've made me, little one... I'm trying to stay in control, but you've made it rather difficult" his hands moved down her body, gently caressing her curves as he spoke. he left a trail of soft kisses down her neck as he moved down slowly, savoring each one. He left a soft kiss on her collarbone, then her chest, and then her ribs, his tongue leaving a wet trail as it moved over her skin. He gently nipped and sucked at her skin, leaving soft marks in his wake

she gasped and whimpered twisting her fingers in his hair innocently keeping her knees together

he moved his hands down and gently placed them on her knees, gently moving them apart as he continued his kisses further down her body. He glanced up at her from between her legs and smirked, his eyes darkened with desire "No need to keep them together, little one... I'll take care of you" he murmured before gently nipping at her thighs, leaving more little marks on her pale skin

she softly Giggled clearly a little nervous but excited still,

he could feel the nervous energy radiating off her, a mixture of excitement and inexperience. He could only imagine this was the first time she'd done anything like this, making him pause his actions. He looked back up at her, his expression softened to one of care and comfort, his hands moving to pull off his clothes, leaving him bare to her eyes, "If you become uncomfortable at any time, you need only tell me, and I will stop." he said, his voice gentle and soft

"I will, I promise." She cooed "but you need not stop, my darling."

he returned the smile as she spoke, his heart fluttering at the sweet name she called him. He chuckled a bit before his expression darkened with desire again, his eyes looking up at her as he spoke "You are an absolute treasure, my princess, with your little commands and sweet words" he moved his hands up stroking her thighs his eyes watching her expression to gage her comfort level, his mind awash in thought. He wanted her so badly that he could hardly control himself. Yet he wanted to be gentle and caring with her, to make sure he didn't overstep her comfort level. His eyes looked at her bare form, admiring the sight before him her own eyes looking back with the same admiration. his gaze roamed over her body, drinking in every curve and contour, his eyes lingering on the delicate folds of her sex. He felt a shiver run down his spine as he took in the sight before him, his desire for her growing with each passing moment. Reaching out, he gently brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, “You're so beautiful,” he whispered, his voice low and husky, full of emotion. “I've been wanting to see you like this for what feels like an eternity.” He leaned in close, his lips brushing against hers in a soft kiss, the touch sending sparks flying through her body.

she softly blushed her legs trembling with excitement, "as have I."

His mouth lingered on hers, savouring the taste of her lips, his tongue dipping inside to dance with hers. He felt her tremble beneath him, and a surge of possessiveness ran through him, but he pushed it aside, focusing instead on the sensations coursing through his own body. As they broke apart for air, he smiled down at her, his eyes burning with desire “My love,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the pounding of their hearts. “Let me show you what I've been waiting for.” He reached out his hand closing around the base of his cock, giving it a slow stroke as he gazed at her.

she gasped and whimpered slightly in fear at the sight,

Her reaction sparked something primal within him, and he felt a growl rise up in his throat. But he suppressed it, not wanting to scare her further. Instead, he reached out and gently cupped her cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of her jaw “It's okay,” he whispered, his voice soothing. “I'm not going to hurt you. I promise.” He leaned in close, his nose brushing against hers as he spoke. His warm breath danced across her skin, “Trust me,” he urged, his eyes locked on hers. “I want to pleasure you, not frighten you.”

"I trust you... I... I fear you are to big for me." She blushed

A low rumble of amusement escaped his chest as he heard her words, and he couldn't help but chuckle at the thought. He gently pulled back from her, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled “Oh, my little princess,” he teased, his voice dripping with affection “You worry too much about size. It's not about being big enough, it's about fitting together.” He leaned in close once more, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered “I'll take care of you,” His hot breath as he continued to whisper in her ear “We'll find a way to fit together perfectly.” His hands moved to her hips, his fingers digging gently into the flesh as he guided her closer. He could feel the tension building between them, the air thick with unspoken desire. Slowly, he began to move against her, his cock sliding along her labia lips, “You're so wet for me already,” he breathed, his voice husky with approval His fingers tightened on her hips, holding her in place as he continued to rub himself against her. The friction was intense, and she felt herself getting hotter by the second.

His grip on her hips tightened, and he lifted her onto the edge of the bed, his mouth descending to claim hers once more. Their lips crashed together in a fierce kiss, tongues tangling as they devoured each other. He could feel her heart racing beneath his fingertips, her pulse pounding in time with his own. As they kissed, his hands began to roam over her body, tracing the curves of her waist, the swell of her breasts. His fingers danced across her nipples, sending shivers down her spine as she arched into his touch. Breaking away from her mouth, he trailed kisses down her neck, nipping at the tender skin with his teeth.

She gasped, her head falling back as he licked a path down to her collarbone.

“I need you now,” he whispered, his voice rough with urgency he couldn't resist it anymore, he reached down and grasped his cock once more, guiding it towards her entrance. With a slow, deliberate movement, he pushed inside, feeling her tight heat envelop him like a vice. Her eyes snapped open, locking onto his as he began to move within her, their bodies moving in perfect syncopation.

The sounds of their lovemaking filled the air the creak of the bedframe, the soft gasps and moans that escaped her lips, the ragged breathing that came from both of them.

As he thrust deeper, she let out a cry of pleasure, her nails digging into his scalp as she arched her back. He could feel her walls contracting around him, milking him for every last drop of pleasure. With a final, savage push, he buried himself to the hilt inside her, and then froze, savoring the moment of pure bliss that had washed over them both. For a long, suspended moment, they hung there, locked together in a tableau of passion and desire.

Then, slowly, he began to move again, his strokes growing slower and more deliberate as he coaxed her towards a second climax. Her eyes were still locked on his, burning with an inner fire that seemed to match the flames that were raging within him. And as he looked into those depths, he saw something there that gave him pause a glimmer of recognition, perhaps, or a hint of understanding that went far beyond mere physical attraction. Whatever it was, it struck a chord deep within him, and suddenly he was moving faster, harder, driven by a newfound sense of purpose and urgency.

She hit her second orgasm screaming his name and her whole body reacting, which in turn gave him his own orgasm,

Elrond quickly pulled out and came across his sheets already missing the feeling of her the moment he left, “...Uhh… ughh I uh… Little princess,”

“Yes My Darling,” she cooed between her own gasps,

“I adore you my little princess, my love… I mean it when I call you that. I love you,” He cooed stroking her cheek,

“I love you more,” she smiled pulling him into a kiss, “Humm my father will be angry with you,” she giggled,

“Humm… he will, but I will happily face the wrath of our father a thousand times over for another night with you.”

“You need not,” she smirked, “You can have every night for all of eternity.”

“Then I shall savour every last one.” He smirked back pulling her into a deep and loving kiss, “Humm…shall we continue my little princess?” He growled moving his hand to rub her clit,

“Yes, my darling.” she happily jumped on him flipping them over so he was under her with her straddling his legs, and pulling him into a hot and heavy kiss,

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