#he-lives-on-mirkwood

[tanoraqui]

I’m not personally a headcanonner of Maglor living in Rivendell in LotR under a new name, but if he is, I adamantly believe that he is not Lindir (“song guy”) but rather Erestor (tentatively glossed “lonely brother.”) Tragic humor or bust!

[red-dead-sakharine]

Thranduil, sexy bitch

Watch with sound 🔊

[silvantransthranduiltrash]

Out of all the elves, silvans have the largest appetites.

It’s because they’re constantly moving throught the trees, or dancing, or hunting, or fighting. Basically they are outdoors 24/7.

Their appetites grew even larger during the 3rd age because they are constantly holding back sauron, and the extra stress didn’t help.

Other elves can also eat alot, but because they’re also a lot more scholarly, with entertainment preference being singing and such (as opposed to dancing which is the silvan’s main art) means they do eat less than the silvans.

The only ones who can compete are the avari and the elves back during the age of trees before Orome found them.

So imagine:

Aragorn, Elladan, Elrohir, Legolas: *sitting down in a tavern after an adventure*

Aragorn: *ordering more than even most men eat, but still substantially less than his companions*

Elladan: aww, look at our baby brother, ordering little baby portions!

Elrohir: are you sure you can eat all that? Wouldn’t want to have a tummy ache!

Legolas: *orders 1 of everything they have in the tavern, and even 2 portions of some of it*

The twins: .....

Elrohir: are you sure you can eat all that?

Legolas: *eating all his food, never pausing, but not ravenously shoving it down* i’ll be fine. My sisters eat even more than me. But are you sure you can eat all your food? Wouldn’t want anything to go to waste.

Aragorn: HA.

Bonus:

Erestor: our food supply is even more depleted than usual! We need to stock up.

Elrond: strange. It seems that every time Legolas visits our food supply dwindles ridiculously quickly. But he can’t be the cause. There’s no way an elf could eat that much.

[sesamenom]

fun fact! we actually do have concrete ages for a lot of people (from a combination of appendices and NoME sun year conversions) at the point of the Quest of the Ring:

[edit: i am tired and misread the original post - take this as the Assorted Apocrypha version]

Gandalf: 54,960 Sun Years Aragorn: 88 Legolas: ~2000 (exact birthdate unknown) Gimli: 140

Frodo: 51 Sam: 39 Merry: 37 Pippin: 29

Boromir: 41

Based on average lifespans we can translate these ages to Human Age (to make it easier to compare them):

Gandalf: ∞ Aragorn: 31 Legolas: 25-ish?? Gimli: 39

Frodo: 40 Sam: 31 Merry: 29 Pippin: 22 (by lifespan percentage) OR 17 (by age of majority)

Boromir: 25

so (unless he's lying on the genealogical records) boromir is not quite the youngest member of the fellowship, but he's certainly close!

The Fellowship gets on the topic of their ages one night and Boromir comes to the dawning realization that he has absolutely no idea how old any of his companions are supposed to be at all

[greenlaut]

the four hunters 🗡🌿

extras + rambles below cut

yipeee i finally finished this illustration 🎉🎉

this is my personal take on the hunters gang (we will ignore that boromir died). honestly, i had a lot of fun thinking of the designs.

had to bring back my aragorn with his silly braid and blue hair ribbon. he's a ranger for most of his life, so he'd definitely go for practicality and what he's already familiar with—so no armour nor gambeson. he probably had a small fight with elrond before they left for the quest; where elrond tried to make him swap his gear for better, newer ones and aragorn just adamantly refusing because he's a lot more familiar (and more comfortable) with his own. which is why he's wearing tattered and worn rags. his red tunic is the only new thing he allowed elrond to swap to a new one. boromir definitely got exhasperated and somewhere down the line, he loaned aragorn his pair of arm bracers.

boromir (and faramir's (not featured here)) design changed a lot since the past years. it's a mash-up of both movie!boromir and lore accurate book!boromir. his hair is a lot darker and he has more of a storm blue-grey eyes as a nod towards his elendil ancestry. his clothing is heavily based off the movie. as for his cloak; since he's The son of gondor and denethor's favourite, i think he'd definitely get the fortune of wearing a fur cloak. the clasp has the white tree engraved on it.

gimli is by far my favourite. i always wanted to draw my take of gimli in his regalia. as a dwarven royalty, i think he'd groom his hair and beard really well, and he would've put on a lot of accessories to show his status. but since he's on a quest, he's not fully decked out in jewelries—wearing very practical clothing: gambeson with chainmail underneath. also, i like the dwarven fighting style they did in the hobbit movie where they go around and knock people off with melee. so gimli got hefty arm bracers and knuckle weights to really punch the shit out of some orcs.

for legolas; i think despite being an elf, he has the factors of being (1) mirkwood elf and (2) lowkey autistic coded. so he doesn't dress "like an elf"—not that the company would've known, with how limited their interactions with elves in general already. this meant that he dressed too casually despite going on a life-or-death quest. very light leather armour to support his speed and agility. he's not even wearing boots; just a pair of tree-climbing canvas shoes that he wrapped tightly. god knows how he survived this far. he's mostly a right handed archer—but since he lived for quite a long while, he taught himself to shoot with left hand too for emergencies. since his left hand isn't as stable as his right hand, he has a left-shoulder-pad.

THEY ALL HAVE SCARS because who doesn't get scars when you're literal warriors be fr. legolas' are more faded out though, because he's old as fuck.

close-ups:

fin.

[bastardbloods]

“A King’s Desire”

King Thranduil x female reader

──── You are a human, but you caught the attention of King Thranduil, and he is forcing you to marry him to continue his legacy.

(please read! This is my first time writing this, so please understand my poor wording, its a little bit short too 😭)

The moon rose pale over Mirkwood, bathing Thranduil's kingdom in a cold and silent light. Deep within his palace, made of stone and wood, you stood under the dim light of a candle flickering on the table in the royal chamber. Your dark hair framed a face filled with fire, but your hands trembled, your jaw clenched as the Elven king watched you from his throne of shadows.

"You have no right to do this to me," you whispered, breaking the oppressive silence that stretched between you. Your voice was laden with suppressed anger, though it trembled with anguish.

Thranduil’s gaze remained fixed on you, his expression unperturbed, as if your emotions could not pierce the cold armor that shielded him. His beauty was almost cruel, his fine, ethereal features as distant as the stars shining above the forest. The blue eyes that met yours felt like they were made of ice.

"You are luckier than you deserve," he replied, his tone as soft as it was deadly. "You will be my wife. The line of the Elven kings must continue, and the children you will bear me will be part of that eternity. Your will is not something I need to consider."

You clenched your fists, struggling to maintain your composure. Since being brought to this place, you had tried to escape, cried for help, even wept. But nothing had changed. Thranduil had chosen you. And in his absolute power, you knew no human could defy him.

"You are immortal," you said, your voice breaking. "Why do you care about my years? I am just a human who will live and die long before it even affects you."

A cold smile curved the Elven king's lips, not one of pleasure, but of condescension.

"Precisely for that reason," he said, rising slowly from his throne and approaching you. "I am not interested in a companion who lives forever. I am not interested in shared eternity. I am only interested in your blood, your body, which will be the vessel for my offspring. A brief bond, yes, but necessary."

Your heart pounded, and tears burned behind your eyes, but you refused to let them fall in front of him. You would not give him that satisfaction. He could force your body, but he would never conquer your spirit.

"I will never be yours," you spat. "Not even when I am forced to carry your children in my womb."

Thranduil raised an eyebrow at your defiance. It was rare to find such resistance in humans, and though his coldness did not waver, something in your passion sparked a flicker of interest in him. He stopped just a step away from you, leaning slightly so that your eyes met his.

"You are wrong," he whispered, his voice chilling. "You already are."

Without another word, he extended his hand, brushing your cheek with an unsettling gentleness. You shuddered at his touch, but you didn’t move away. There was nowhere to go. In that moment, your life had become a pale reflection of what it once was.

The following days passed in a grim routine. Despite your rejection, your fate was sealed. The elves at court dared not look you in the eye, but you could feel their gazes full of pity and disdain. Each day that passed, you felt yourself fading, becoming a shadow of the person you once were.

One night, as the wind blew through the trees and the leaves whispered promises of freedom, you stood staring into the void, feeling the oppression of your belly already beginning to swell. Thranduil entered the room, his steps as silent as death’s whisper. He approached you and leaned over the bed.

"This will be your legacy," he murmured, his fingers caressing the edge of your hair.

You said nothing, closing your eyes, resisting any form of emotional submission. You could carry his children in your body, but you would never carry Thranduil in your heart.

And in the darkness, where the stars could not reach, you swore that, though they could take everything from you, your spirit would always remain free.

(part 2?)

[ox24g]

Bagginshield Week, day 2: Developing Relationship

I usually imagine they'd finally get to know eachother properly during their stay in Laketown.

Before their stay, the dwarves seemed to see Bilbo as a deadweight at best and liability at worst- even after spending time living with him in Rivendell, the company was up for ditching him in the goblin caves (ouch...) While in Mirkwood, Thorin at least seems to have a bit more faith in Bilbo's eyes and ideas at very least (the part with the boat in mind), but I think the combination of now very much trusting Bilbo (after he rescued them twice) with down time and a lack of any immediate danger is the perfect time for their relationship to develop. Also the perfect place for Thorin to be horrified to find out that Bilbo came up with that barrel plan without knowing how to swim 🥰

[thewulf]

Entwined Realms || Legolas

Summary: Request: So I thought about this idea with Legolas x reader where the reader is the daughter of Galadriel and Celeborn (which makes her princess of Lothlorien and a very high elf) and she is nervous because its commonly known that Galadriel and Thranduil dont like each other (she is still his superior but you get the point) and the reader and Legolas have a dinner or some council or something together with their parents.

A/N: This was one of my favs to write. Just love everything LOTR... please keep them coming! Thank you for the request @lillisummers

Pairing: Legolas x Female Reader

Word Count: 4.1k +

TW: Talks of war/death

In the timeless realm of Lothlórien, you, the daughter of Galadriel and Celeborn, walked among the golden trees with a heavy heart filled with the weight of ancient grudges. It had been many years since you last tread upon these familiar paths, for you had spent much of your time in Rivendell, aiding in the healing of those who bore the scars of war.

As a princess of the high elves, you bore the burden of your lineage with grace. Yet the tension between your mother and Thranduil, the Elvenking of Mirkwood, weighed heavily upon you. The animosity between them was no secret, and you often found yourself caught in the midst of their disagreements. You were torn between loyalty to your mother and the desire for unity among your people after the war of the ring. Your return to Lothlórien had been sudden, called back by your father during the darkest days of the war. The news of battles raging across middle earth had filled you with dread. Yet, you knew that your place was by your family's side, lending whatever aid you could in the struggle against the darkness.

Despite the discord that lingered between your realms you held onto hope, believing in the power of unity to overcome adversity. The memories of Celebrian's capture and torture haunted you still. She drove your determination to see an end to the suffering that had plagued your people for so long.

As you walked beneath the golden canopy of the trees, you found solace in the familiar sights and sounds of Lothlórien. The gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze, the soft glow of the evening sun filtering through the branches. They spoke to you of peace and beauty, reminding you of all that was worth fighting for in this world. Your steps carried you towards a familiar spot. The quiet glade where the gravestones of those fallen in battle lay. The air was hushed. The only sound was the soft whisper of leaves and the gentle trickle of water from the nearby streams.

Stopping by the gravestones, you traced your fingers over each weathered stone, feeling the weight of loss settle upon your heart. Here, beneath the earth, lay the brave souls who had given their lives in service of a greater cause. A cause that you had fought for alongside them. Your thoughts turned to Haldir, the gallant Marchwarden who had stood by your side in the darkest of times. His laughter, his kindness, his unwavering loyalty… they were memories that you held dear, memories that would live on long after he had passed from this world. At one point you were convinced you would marry him but that was before he was taken so suddenly from you.

Closing your eyes, you allowed yourself a moment of silence. A moment to remember those who had been taken from you too soon. Their faces flashed before your eyes, friends, fighters, and loved ones alike. Each one leaving behind an indelible mark upon your soul. And yet, amidst the sorrow, there was also hope. Hope for a future where their sacrifices would not be in vain. Where the darkness would be banished for good and the light would shine so brightly once more. With a silent prayer upon your lips, you vowed to carry their memory with you always, to honor their legacy in all that you did.

As you stood amidst the gravestones, lost in memories and reflections, a soft voice broke through the silence. She was calling your name. You turned to see your mother, Galadriel, approaching with a gentle smile upon her lips. Her eyes, always so wise and knowing, held a depth of understanding that eased the ache in your heart.

"Y/n," she said, her voice like the gentle rustle of leaves in the wind, "I have been searching for you. It is good to see you home again. You look well my love."

You returned her smile, feeling a sense of warmth and comfort wash over you at the sight of her familiar face. "It is good to be home, Mother," you replied, stepping forward to embrace her.

Galadriel held you close, tight. Her arms a reassuring embrace amidst the turmoil of emotions swirling within you. "You have been missed, my dear," she said softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

As you pulled away, Galadriel's gaze softened. Her eyes filled with a mixture of pride and affection. "There is much to discuss," she said, her voice taking on a more serious tone. "But first, I have news that I believe will bring you much joy."

Curiosity piqued, you listened as Galadriel spoke of the upcoming marriage between your niece, Arwen, and Aragorn, the King of Gondor. The news filled you with a sense of anticipation, the prospect of a wedding bringing a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness that had shrouded middle earth for so long. "I would be honored to attend," you said. Your heart swelling with love for your family and excitement for the joyous occasion to come.

Galadriel smiled, her eyes sparkling with pride. "I had no doubt that you would," she said, her voice tinged with warmth. "Come, let us return to Caras Galadhon and begin preparations. There is much to do, and little time to waste." She motioned you to follow her.

With a nod of agreement, you fell into step beside your mother. It felt as though the weight of grief and loss lightened by the promise of love and celebration on the horizon. As you walked the golden light of Lothlórien illuminated your path guiding you towards a future filled with possibility.

Too quickly the day of celebration arrived. The grand halls of Minas Tirith were adorned with banners and flowers, filling the air with a sense of festivity and anticipation. You, dressed in your finest elven attire, mingled with the guests. Your heart was aflutter with excitement and nerves for your niece and the King of Gondor. Amidst the bustling crowd, your eyes scanned the faces of those gathered taking in the sight of strangers and acquaintances alike. And then your gaze met that of a mysterious elven stranger across the ornate courtyard who you did not recognize.

His eyes were a captivating shade of blue. They held a warmth and kindness that drew you in, sending a shiver down your spine. For a brief moment it felt as though the world around you had faded away leaving only you and this enigmatic stranger in a universe of your own making. But as quickly as the moment had come, it was gone. Broken by the sound of laughter and music drifting through the air you tore your gaze away. Your cheeks flushed with a mixture of curiosity and excitement, heart racing with the memory of that brief but electrifying encounter.

Though you knew not who he was, nor what fate had in store for you. You couldn't shake the feeling that this chance meeting was somehow significant. And as you allowed yourself to be swept away by the joyous festivities you couldn't help but wonder about the identity of the mysterious elven stranger who had captured your attention with a single glance.

As the celebration unfolded you found yourself standing beside Arwen, basking in the glow of her happiness as she greeted guests and well-wishers. The air was filled with laughter and music. The joyous atmosphere infectious as people celebrated the union of Arwen and Aragorn. But amidst the revelry your attention kept drifting back to the beautiful blonde elf who had caught your eye earlier. He stood amidst a group of guests, his presence commanding and his gaze holding a quiet intensity that seemed to draw you in.

Unable to contain your curiosity any longer you turned to Arwen with a hint of nervousness in your voice. "Arwen," you began, pointing subtly towards the mysterious elf, "who is that?"

Arwen followed your gaze, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she noticed your interest in the stranger. "Ah, him," she said, her tone tinged with mystery. "That is Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood."

Legolas. The name echoed in your mind. Though you knew little about him there was something about the way he carried himself, the way his eyes seemed to hold a thousand untold stories that intrigued you beyond measure. As Arwen spoke of Legolas' exploits and noble deeds you found yourself captivated by the tales of his courage and valor. And though you knew it was foolish to be so taken with a stranger, you couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more to him. Something that called to you on a level you couldn't quite understand.

With a grateful smile you thanked Arwen for indulging your curiosity. Though your mind was already consumed with thoughts of the mysterious Prince of Mirkwood. And as you turned your attention back to the festivities you couldn't help but wonder what secrets lay hidden beneath the surface of the captivating blonde elf who had captured your attention with a single glance.

As the evening wore on, the atmosphere grew more relaxed. You found yourself drawn into the lively conversations and laughter that filled the air.

As if he had known your every thought, he had come right up to you. A charming smile playing on his lips as he offered you a goblet of wine. "Care for some wine, my lady?" he asked, his voice smooth and all too inviting.

Grateful for the distraction you accepted the goblet with a smile, the cool liquid soothing the nerves that had been fluttering in your stomach. "Thank you," you replied, taking a sip and relishing the taste of the rich, fruity wine.

As you savored the wine, Legolas took a seat beside you. His eyes alight with curiosity as he extended his hand in introduction. "I am Legolas," he said, his tone warm and genuine. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

You felt a rush of excitement at the sound of his name, "And I am Y/n," you replied, your voice betraying a hint of nervousness that you quickly tried to mask.

Legolas smiled warmly at you, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes as he raised his own goblet in a silent toast. "Well then, Y/n, here's to new acquaintances and delightful conversations," he spoke.

As the evening progressed, you found yourself drawn into conversation with Legolas. His easy charm and quick wit putting you at ease. Despite your initial nervousness you soon found yourself laughing and chatting with him as if you had known each other for years. With each passing moment you felt yourself growing more and more enchanted by Legolas. His presence filling you with a sense of warmth and belonging that you hadn't felt in a long time. Not since before your sister had set sail. And as you shared stories and laughter with the captivating Prince of Mirkwood you couldn't help but wonder what adventures lay in store for you both in the days to come.

When the topic turned to your family, you couldn't help but feel a pang of apprehension, unsure of how he would react upon learning the truth. "Your parents must be proud of you," Legolas remarked, his voice sincere as he glanced around at the grandeur of Minas Tirith. "To have a daughter as kind and courageous as you."

You smiled, touched by his words. Though a part of you hesitated to reveal your true lineage. "Thank you, Legolas," you replied, your voice tinged with uncertainty. "My parents... they are indeed proud, though our family is not without its complexities."

Legolas cocked his head with curiosity shining bright in his eyes. "Complexities?" he asked, his brow furrowing slightly.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for his reaction. "My parents are Celeborn and Galadriel," you confessed, watching closely for any sign of recognition or judgment in his expression.

To your surprise, Legolas' eyes widened in genuine surprise, his gaze softening with understanding. "Galadriel," he murmured, a hint of awe in his voice. "The Lady of Light herself. And Celeborn, the Lord of Lothlórien."

You nodded, relieved by his reaction. "Yes, though our family is not without its challenges," you admitted, your voice growing quiet. "There are... tensions between my parents and certain others in Middle-earth." You knew he knew, and he knew you knew. The two of you were dancing around your parents disdain for the other.

Legolas' expression grew somber. A shadow passing over his features. "I understand," he said, his tone tinged with empathy. "My own father, Thranduil, can be... difficult at times."

You felt a surge of empathy for Legolas knowing all too well the challenges that could arise from strained familial relationships. "It seems we are not so different after all," you said. A small smile playing at your lips.

Legolas returned your smile, his eyes warm and understanding. "Indeed," he said, his voice gentle. "But perhaps together, we can find a way to bridge the divide between our families."

Touched by his sincerity you could only keep grinning at him like a fool. "I would like that, Legolas," you replied. Your heart swelled with gratitude for the bond that was beginning to form between you.

As the night wore on into the wee hours of the morning you and Legolas found yourselves drawn deeper into each other's company. The hours quickly slipping away unnoticed as you laughed and talked beneath the starlit sky. The connection between you grew stronger with each passing moment. A bond of friendship and understanding blossoming into something deeper and more profound. Unfortunately, the celebration began to wind down. You found yourselves reluctant to part ways. The prospect of saying goodbye filling you with a sense of melancholy. "Perhaps we could extend our stay in Minas Tirith," Legolas suggested, his voice tinged with a hint of worry as if you wouldn’t accept. "There is still so much more to see and do. I have not seen this city without war disparaging it."

You nodded eagerly, the idea of spending more time with Legolas filling you with a sense of joy and excitement. "I would like that very much," you replied, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "There is still so much more we have yet to see. You distracted me tonight."

And so, you and Legolas remained in Minas Tirith for longer than planned, seizing every opportunity to steal away moments alone together amidst the hustle and bustle of the city. Whether wandering the streets hand in hand or sharing quiet conversations in secluded corners. Each moment spent in Legolas' company felt like a precious treasure, a memory to be cherished for eternity.

As your extended stay in Minis Tirith came to an end the bond between you and Legolas deepened further than you could have imagined. Your hearts intertwining in a dance as old as time itself. One evening beneath the stars after your going away dinner the two of you sat together in the quiet solitude of the gardens, surrounded by the scent of blooming flowers and the gentle hum of crickets. The words you had been longing to say spilled forth from your lips.

"Legolas," you began, your voice barely above a whisper, "there is something I must confess to you." It truly was now or never for you did not know the next time you would see the elf that had captured your heart so quickly.

Legolas turned to you, his eyes filled with warmth and affection. "Yes, Y/n?" he replied, his voice soft and reassuring.

"I know this is quick,” you began, your voice soft and hesitant, "And we tend to do this slow, but I must admit... I really like you. More than a friend would."

You glanced away, cheeks flushing with embarrassment as you awaited his response. But when you dared to meet his gaze once more you found Legolas looking at you with a tender smile. His eyes filled with a warmth that mirrored your own feelings.

"Y/n," he said softly, reaching out to gently take your face in his hand, "your honesty means the world to me. I too have come to care for you deeply as well. As more than a friend would."

Your heart soared at his words. A sense of joy flooding through you at the knowledge that your feelings were reciprocated. And as you sat together in the quiet beauty of the gardens you knew that your bond with Legolas was something truly special. It was the beginning of a love story that was just beginning to unfold.

You didn’t want the night to end so you kept your wandering through the gardens. "Legolas," you began, your voice tinged with concern, "what do you think about... our families?"

Legolas glanced at you. His gaze thoughtful. "Ah, our esteemed parents," he replied with a wry smile. "Stubborn as ancient oaks and twice as difficult to move."

You couldn't help but laugh at his analogy, feeling a sense of relief at his lighthearted approach to the situation. "Yes, that's one way to put it," you agreed. A smile playing at the corners of your lips.

"But," Legolas continued, his tone turning more serious, "I believe they will come around in time. After all, love has a way of softening even the hardest of hearts."

You nodded feeling a flicker of hope kindling within you. "I hope you're right," you replied, leaning closer to him. "I just want them to see... how much we care for each other."

Legolas placed a comforting arm around your shoulders, drawing you closer to him. "They will, Y/n," he said softly, his voice filled with quiet confidence. "And until then, we'll just have to prove them wrong together."

As your time in Minas Tirith drew to a close, you couldn't shake the feeling that it was time for your parents and Legolas to meet. Despite the tension between your families, you were determined to show them that love knew no bounds, and that their differences could be set aside in the name of happiness.

On the morning that both of you were to depart you knew what you had to do. "Legolas," you began. Your voice tinged with nervousness, "I know it's unconventional, but... what if you and your father were to visit Lothlórien?"

Legolas blinked in surprise, clearly taken aback by your suggestion. "Visit Lothlórien?" he echoed, his brow furrowing in thought. "It's an... intriguing idea, Y/n, but I'm not sure how my father would feel about it."

You nodded, understanding Legolas' reservations. "I know it's a risk," you admitted, "but I believe that if he could experience the beauty and hospitality of Lothlórien for himself, he might begin to understand... and perhaps even appreciate our way of life."

Legolas considered your words for a moment before a smile spread across his face. "You may be right, Y/n," he said, his eyes alight with excitement. "Let's extend the invitation to my father and see what he says."

With a renewed sense of hope, you and Legolas set about preparing for Thranduil's visit to Lothlórien. You knew it wouldn't be easy, but you were determined to show both him and your parents that love could conquer even the deepest of divides. And so, with hearts full of anticipation and determination, you bid farewell to Minas Tirith. You knew that a new chapter of your journey was about to begin.

As Legolas and an initially reluctant Thranduil arrived in Lothlórien, the tension between them was palpable. Thranduil's expression was stoic and reserved, while Legolas wore a strained smile who was clearly uncomfortable with the situation. You greeted them warmly, hoping to ease the atmosphere, but even your efforts seemed to fall flat in the face of the lingering animosity between your parents. The initial interactions were awkward only filled with polite but strained conversation and forced smiles.

But as the evening progressed and the wine flowed freely the atmosphere began to shift. Your parents, Thranduil, and Legolas found themselves gradually relaxing in each other's company. The rigid barriers between them slowly melting away under the influence of hope after the war and shared experiences. You watched with a mixture of joy and relief as the tension dissipated, replaced by laughter and genuine conversation. Thranduil who had initially been so guarded found himself opening up. He began to share stories and jokes with Celeborn and Galadriel as if they were old friends.

And Legolas, too, seemed to come alive in the warmth of his father’s acceptance. His smile growing more genuine with each passing moment. It was as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders finally allowing him to truly be himself in their presence. He chuckled at one of Thranduil's jokes and clinked glasses with Celeborn, a genuine smile gracing his features.

In the midst of the conversation Legolas turned to you, his eyes sparkling with affection. "Meleth nin," he said softly, his voice filled with utmost warmth.

As Legolas inadvertently uttered the Elvish endearment, my love, the words hung in the air laden with the weight of unspoken emotions. Your heart skipped a beat at his slip-up, and you couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement coursing through you.

"Really?" you exclaimed. Your eyes widened with surprise and utmost delight. For a moment you almost forgot that your parents and Legolas' father were present too caught up in the rush of emotion that swept over you.

Legolas blinked, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment as he realized what he had said in front of the parents. "I... uh, I mean..." he stammered, clearly flustered by your reaction.

But before he could finish, Thranduil let out a soft chuckle. The elvenking’s eyes twinkling with amusement. "It seems our children are more than just friends," he remarked to your parents. His tone surprisingly light-hearted.

You turned to your parents with a sheepish smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "I guess we should have mentioned that sooner," you admitted feeling a surge of relief as you saw their understanding smiles.

Celeborn and Galadriel exchanged knowing glances before Celeborn spoke up. "Love has a way of revealing itself in unexpected ways," he said, his voice filled with warmth. "We are happy for you both."

Thranduil let out a small chuckle. His eyes crinkling with amusement. "Young love," he said before shaking his head in mock exasperation. "It seems like only yesterday that Legolas was just a boy chasing after butterflies in the woods."

Legolas rolled his eyes playfully at his father's comment. "I assure you, Ada, I have grown up a bit since then," he spoke. His tone teasing but affectionate.

Celeborn chuckled softly his eyes twinkling with mirth. "Indeed," he agreed, his voice warm. "But some things never change." He motioned to you with a knowing grin.

And as the tension melted away completely, replaced by laughter, and shared understanding, you couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the unwavering support of your parents. With their blessing and acceptance, you and Legolas knew that your love story was only just beginning. You were finally destined to have a beautiful and unforgettable journey filled with laughter, joy, and the sweet promise of a future together. You had waited a long time for this. A very long time.

As the night grew deeper and the fire crackled softly, you and Legolas found yourselves immersed in a comfortable silence. The two of you basking in the warmth of each other's presence. Legolas turned to you with a playful glint in his eyes, taking your hand in his. "Well, my dear, it seems the hour grows late," he remarked, his voice soft and warm.

You nodded feeling a surge of affection for the elf beside you. "Yes, it does," you replied, a smile playing at the corners of your lips.

With a gentle tug on your hand Legolas rose to his feet pulling you up with him. "Allow me to escort you to your room," he said. His voice filled with gentle sincerity.

You followed him, the touch of his hand sending a shiver of anticipation down your spine. As you reached your door, Legolas turned to you. His eyes sparkling with mischief. "Until next time, meleth nin," he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek before turning to leave.

A faint blush coated your cheeks at his actions. “Until next time, meleth nin.” You repeated. You watched him go with a smile playing at your lips as you realized that no matter what adventures lay ahead, you would face them with him. Oh, what a life.

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[thewickedspinster]

Of Eternity (Thranduil x Reader)

pairing: Thranduil x F!Reader

synopsis: Thranduil and Y/N know each other from what seems like a past life; one that both would rather forget. Once secret lovers, hidden from the prying eyes of the Elvenking's court, the two elves' disagreements became too much, their opinions too divided. Y/N departed for Rivendell and sought shelter with her friend, Elrond. But when the Elvenking of Mirkwood comes to parlay with the Lord of Rivendell, he once again meets Y/N, and someone else who looks awfully familiar...

warnings: afab!Reader, pregnancy, elf children, war

Tathrenion = son of one willow-made

requested by @starlight5cat

Of Eternity

In Rivendell, the seasons turned as flowers bloomed; with a sudden burst of color against the greys of winter. They came and went quickly for elvenkind, rising and eddying like the tide, and with them came new wonders and sounds, new flavors. Song.

Y/N could hardly remember a time when her life was not dictated by these rhythms, when time was so magnified as to hear her own heartbeat, to watch the sunlight catch upon a dewdrop. Though, it was not so long ago she was in a place where seasons hardly touched, where time stood still and light lingered in honeyed moments. Where her breath raced in her body, and youth stretched into eternity. Where naïveté was all too familiar.

Here, she had more responsibility. Here, she was unequivocally welcome. When she had fled the confines of her life before in Mirkwood, where she had been daughter of a Ñoldor house descended from Fingolfin, and gone westward into the Misty Mountains, she had only hoped her old friend, Elrond, would grant her sanctuary. He welcomed her with open arms. Here, she sat on his council of advisors. Here, life was warm and full of light once more.

For a short time of twenty-odd years, there was peace east of the Misty Mountains. Though her cousin Galadriel could not believe it, it had appeared the dark servant of Morgoth named Sauron had been vanquished. The grey elves lived in peace with the sons of Durin and helped the wayward man, but kept to their forests and their mountains. All had seemed well, and with the protection of the haven of Rivendell, the darkness of old seemed unable to touch her.

Such comforts cannot last. Not so long as Morgoth and his fell creations plagued Arda.

As soon as word reached Rivendell of a darkness fallen upon southern Mirkwood, Elrond sought Y/N's counsel.

"You know the eastern forests well," Elrond said softly, guiding them both down towards the river. Water fell in a gentle curtain of silver ahead, glinting in the moonlight. "What sort of evil could cause these things?"

The pair ducked behind the waterfall, and the sound of rushing water hushed their voices. There hidden was an alcove, large enough for a small group, with cushions surrounding the burnt-out embers of a fire. Elrond had come here often in the early days of ruling Rivendell, and when Y/N had arrived, had brought her here in her most vulnerable moments.

"The Elvenking's Halls are to the north, but in my many wanderings, I went south," she answered, settling on the floor alongside Elrond. "Mirkwood is vast and its creatures untold, but I have never seen anything that would produce this sort of rot."

Elrond hummed, deep in thought. Elven and human messengers alike had been passing along rumors of dark creatures in the southern Mirkwood, things that walked on more than four legs, with slavering maws and the stench of evil surrounding them. Elves who more often ventured south returned with harrowing stories of voices, of song coming from the dark trees. The canopies had grown so thick that sunlight hardly reached the ground. Some had even reported sightings of Orcs.

"You know what this means," Y/N said, interrupting Elrond's reverie. "Galadriel was right. She was always right. We cannot know that Sauron is vanquished. We burned no body. Isildur brought no head. Only the Silmaril."

"There are no credible rumors of Morgoth's creatures, Y/N."

"There are," she insisted. "They have started calling this force 'The Necromancer.' This is no coincidence, Elrond. All evil in these lands comes back to Sauron. To Morgoth. So long as their discord remains, none of the children of Eru are safe."

Beyond his red head, with his noble face, the silvered water fell in sheets, dulling to a gentle sheaving. Waiting. When he raised his gaze, he said, "What would you have me do?"

Galadriel would have them go to war. Though she had grown less brash since the last age, she had grown no less desperate for Sauron's defeat. But Rivendell was a haven, a place of peace for wandering elves. She could not see amassing forces and marching to Mirkwood unaided. Besides, it was not Elrond's territory to march on.

"You know exactly what you must do, my friend," she said at last.

"You do not like him."

"What of it?"

"He is the reason you fled your home."

It was true enough, though it still gave Y/N pause. Mirkwood had been a home for long centuries, it was true. But before that, she had known the lushness of Beleriand, and the glory of Númenor. She would always be a wanderer. But the Elvenking of Mirkwood brought with him memories too fresh to be painless.

"He is the lord of Mirkwood, and should you wish to do anything at all about this rising evil, you must first confer with him," she said firmly. "Invite him here. Invite his entire court. They will leave Prince Legolas to guard the north, but Thranduil will come."

"I would have you by my side upon his reception."

Y/N caught the glimmer of ancient mischief in Elrond's eyes, and offered him a faint smile in return. "It would be an honor."

~~~

Word came within a fortnight that the Elvenking's party would embark on the Elf-path by the full moon. This gave the people of Rivendell little time to prepare, but showed Elrond and his council how dire circumstances were in Mirkwood.

As Y/N stood at Elrond's side on the dais before the sweeping steps to the city, she knew that in this matter, as all others, that Thranduil would be stubborn, cunning, and seemingly omniscient. It was in his power as king to appear so to his people. But Y/N, he could not fool. She and Elrond would simply need maneuver with tact, to force Thranduil into showing his hand.

In the distance, the royal traveling party rounded a bend and came into view, the Elvenking in his raiment of grey and silver astride his great antlered steed. From here, Y/N could feel his piercing gaze upon them, focusing on her at the Lord of Rivendell's side. Robed in rich, dark green against Elrond's golden raiment, Y/N stood tall. A circlet of gold sat upon her brow, and in it, an opal enshrined. Befitting of her station, she stood to Elrond's left, his wife Celebrían to his right.

Y/N had known true fear in the face of evil, yet facing the Elvenking of Mirkwood after these twenty years turned her chest cold. She could never fear him - she knew him too well, but that was just the problem. They shared a deep past of friendship, of love, forbidden though it may have been. And pain, at the last. Since their parting, she had, for the first time, lived many secrets that she kept from him still.

The party finally arrived at the dais, the great reindeer's feet clapping against the stone as thunder. The Elvenking dismounted, stepped before Elrond, and inclined his head.

"Lord Elrond of Rivendell, you honor me with your great hospitality," he said formally, the Sindarin tongue rolling like quicksilver from his mouth. "And Lady Celebrían, thank you for welcoming my host into your household."

Elrond, Y/N, and the council assembled bowed to the king.

"We are pleased you answered our invitation," Elrond replied, his tone, as ever, one of deliberate lightness, as if he knew something no one else did. "How long shall you stay?"

"A week," Thranduil said shortly. Finally, finally, his silvered eyes shifted to Y/N. She breathed in deeply. "There are matters to attend to in Mirkwood."

"I do hope Prince Legolas is well," she said softly, smoothly.

Thranduil looked momentarily surprised she'd spoken, his eyebrows drawing together at the sound of her voice. "He is taking to his responsibilities well."

A moment of silence passed. The river roared below. Then, Celebrían was taking gesturing towards the king, leading him away into the great wood house of Rivendell.

Formal greetings complete, the rest of the crowd quickly dispersed, and elves moved swiftly in preparation for the feast prepared in the king's honor. Soon, only Elrond and Y/N remained. She watched the sun setting over the vale, eyes fixed on the rushing waters surrounding.

"Will you tell him?" Elrond asked, voice so quiet only she could hear.

"How could I?" Y/N whispered. She felt her fingers tremble.

"It is unfair to -"

"You shall not tell me what is fair or unfair, Elrond," Y/N whirled, suddenly furious. "You know not what it is to have my fears."

Elrond held up his hands. "I only wish to say that truths are better spoken. Deception is the chaos-sower."

"It will put him in danger."

"It will give him power."

"A curse," she hissed. "A bounty upon his head."

"Or a crown."

She stared at her friend, stunned. "You do not mean that."

Elrond only watched her in return.

With no words left between them, Y/N turned and disappeared into the house, bracing herself for the week to come.

~~~

It was the fourth day of the accursed sessions of counsel, and Thranduil had still not admitted there being any disturbance in Mirkwood. He spoke on matters of trade, of agriculture, of relations with Khazad-Dûn, but nothing of the murmurs from the Sutherlands.

Y/N was beginning to lose her patience.

Elrond, blessedly, had more of it to spare. Ever the diplomat, he listened to Thranduil's concerns and complaints of their relations, and constructed plans to fix them. Ever the master of compromise, he kept Rivendell's secrecy and best interests at heard. Ever the more patient of the two, he kept prodding the Elvenking towards revealing his secrets, to no avail.

Y/N sat, posture relaxed, around the dais at the center of Elrond's pubic chambers. The elves around her deliberated, debated, while she kept her mouth closed. As Elrond's chief advisor, her primary duty was to listen. She interjected when Elrond looked to her, and when someone said something entirely ludicrous. Elves tended to take a laboriously long time to come to any sort of agreement in politics, and were reasonable to the point of boredom. Y/N's engagement had thus far been minimal, though she heard all.

They had turned to the topic of weapons, and of Rivendell's protection. They were inching closer to the topic at hand, but she knew Thranduil had a deep well of patience, particularly when it came to dealing with elves. The high noon sun blazed down on the white marble.

"How have you fared in the training of your ranks?" Thranduil inquired, sipping at a goblet of honeywine.

"The archers excel, under the tutelage of Sindarin masters," Elrond said. "The swordsmen, under that of the Ñoldor. Khazad-Dûn has agreed to provide us with weapon designs, and with materials to forge them. Durin is all too happy to help an old friend."

Thranduil scoffed lightly into his cup. "Old friend, indeed."

Y/N sat up straighter at the tone, the scoff. She had heard it many times. "Prince Durin has provided us with an excellent relationship over the years. He is a close friend to Rivendell."

Thranduil looked at her, through her, in her. Before her mind's eye flashed his face, poised over her, abed. Soft candlelight shone from beyond his features, and his face was softened into the loveliest of smiles. Gone in an instant.

Just then, lithe footsteps from just inside, and bursting from behind the curtains came three elven children, small and laughing. A maid reached out, trying to snatch them by their tunics, but too late. They sprinted into the circle, and straight up to Elrond.

"Father, we would like to go the Gates," one boy panted. Elrohir.

"Apologies, Father," the other interjected, suddenly serious. Elladan, his twin. "I told him not to come."

"Our swordmaster is at the Gates, and asked us to join him," the third explained. Y/N sat forward, staring down at the boys.

"Tathrenion," she said severely, hiding the quake to her voice, "you know not to enter this chamber when Lord Elrond is taking counsel."

The third boy, unlike the other two, with (Y/HC) hair and striking grey eyes, paled, bowing to Y/N. Even when he straightened, he kept his eyes averted. "Forgive me, Mother. Elladan and Elrohir wished to go, and I wished to accompany them."

It was only then, as the boys turned to glance around at the present company, that Elrond spoke.

"You are in the presence of Thranduil, Elvenking of Mirkwood."

Shuffling, with a soft gasp from Elrohir, the three boys bowed low to the king. Thranduil said nothing for a moment. Instead of on the children, his eyes were pinned on Y/N, wide with unbridled shock. When he finally did look at the boys, at the one called Tathrenion, he found his own eyes staring back, steady and calm.

Thranduil stood abruptly, setting down his goblet. He opened his mouth, closed it, then said, "We shall eat. Elrond, you shall decide what to do with your sons."

He swept off the dais, out of view, and Y/N was left staring at the spot he once occupied.

"Go after him," Elrond murmured to her, leaning close.

"Tathrenion-"

"Leave the child to me." And an unspoken promise to keep her son safe.

Y/N was up in an instant, following in Thranduil's wake as quickly as possible. But he was moving fast, and kept dodging out of sight, around corners that he did not know. Servants moved out of the way as Y/N passed through an adjoining kitchen at a sprint, intercepting Thranduil as he rounded the corner into the next room.

She caught him by his elbow as he tried to pull from her grasp, but she held firm.

"Thranduil," she said. "Stop. Just... Stop. And listen."

His rage made his jaw tight, his brows drawn low. "I will not stand here and listen to you when you have -"

"I had to leave," she interrupted, holding his gaze unflinchingly. "I could not be your concubine, Thranduil. I would not."

He scoffed, that same sound he made when he thought someone foolish. Beneath him. It hadn't started this way, but as they fell deeper into each other, he'd started scoffing at her the same way. It was part of what drove Y/N away from Mirkwood. "You were not a concubine, Y/N."

"Then tell me what I was to you."

Thranduil bent lower, so their faces were inches apart. "You know exactly what you were to me."

"I know that I was not your wife." And that was venom in her tone, sour and deadly.

A shadow passed over his features. "You were everything she was not."

"And that makes me whore to a king."

"You have never been a whore!" He shouted.

The surrounding house went quiet. Y/N trembled, fingertips numb.

"Tathrenion is your son," she said lowly, practically hissing into his mouth. "Your son, Thranduil. Our place in Rivendell is of your doing. You never recognized what it was to be in my place, with no guarantee of my safety in your court."

"I always would have protected the both of you."

Tears gathered in her eyes. "Our love felt increasingly fragile. I doubted that it even existed any longer. Had we been found out, I doubted you would protect me from exile."

Thranduil was quiet. The house had moved on from his sharp outburst, exhaling as his anger passed. Y/N's grip loosened on his tunic, her truth spoken. But her touch lingered.

"Did you know?" He murmured hoarsely.

"Not when I left your halls. Not until I reached the Misty Mountains."

"And all... went well? With the birth?"

Elven births were rare, and dangerous for mother and child. "Blessedly, Elrond's midwives and healers some of the most gifted, and I healed swiftly. He was born squalling."

He loosed a soft breath, and some of the tension left his features. He had always been beautiful, but it was when he was away from prying eyes that he truly became ethereal. Radiant. Himself.

"You should always have been in Mirkwood, with me." She just looked up at him. "I am sorry, my Y/N. I never meant to make you afraid."

"It is safer for both of us away from you and Legolas."

Thranduil snorted. "My son has proven impertinent. And lacking the character to succeed me."

"He will mature," she said softly. "He is young still."

"He will have to fight soon."

"Then this Necromancer..."

"Is a threat. Whatever darkness lurks in the south of my lands, it is dangerous and spreading."

"Tell Elrond," she urged. "He wishes to aid any fight against Morgoth's darkness in these lands."

"My forces are strong."

"They will be stronger with Rivendell's. Don't let your pride cloud your judgement."

At that, a small smile graced his mouth. "That has always been your advice for me."

"It will always stand. Unless you change."

"Would you come home?"

The question surprised her. "You would have us? So soon after the death of your wife?"

"I would have your company," he said. "And I would have my son raised by the both of us."

Y/N did not have an answer, and she was about to say as much when a smaller voice said, "I would like to go to Mirkwood."

Y/N whipped around, and found young Tathrenion standing behind them. She took a large step away from Thranduil, then lowered herself to her son's level, steeling herself.

"What did Lord Elrond tell you and the twins?" She asked.

"He said we may go to the Gates, but I decided to stay behind." Tathrenion peered past Y/N, to the Elvenking. "I wished to speak with you."

Thranduil could hardly stomach looking at his son's face, the very reflection of his own, untouched by age yet full of a strange wisdom. "Speak, child."

"I know little of why my mother left your kingdom, but I know she has done everything since for my sake. Please, do not ply her with false hopes. If you invite us to Mirkwood, you pledge to keep her safe."

"And you," Thranduil answered immediately. "I will protect you both, and welcome you into my household in places of honor."

Y/N was speechless, her throat swollen around pride for her young son.

"I know you not, Your Majesty, but I would like to," said Tathrenion simply.

Thranduil smiled.

Y/N sent him on his way, leaving her alone once again with the Elvenking. This time, he reached out to her, and against logic, she stepped into him, leaning into his fingers upon her cheek. She had longed for his touch, his kiss, his steadfastness ever since she left the forest. Leaving Mirkwood had been one of the hardest decisions of her long life.

"Let us think about this," she whispered. "And let these diplomatic matters be done first. Speak to Elrond in earnest."

"I will wait for your return to my side, Y/N," he murmured. "I have been waiting since the moment you left."

~~~

Dappled sunlight shone down upon the glade, lighting the page Y/N read. It was a letter, signed in Elrond's familiar hand, detailing the phalanxes marching towards Mirkwood. They would join Thranduil's army in patrolling for evil in the south, just as they had hoped.

Amongst the trees, a young boy laughed, and an older one hollered. Legolas was nearly fully mature, but had taken to playing with his younger half-brother in earnest. Together, they romped through the forest, and Tathrenion adored having someone elder to look up to and learn from. He excelled in archery, now, thanks to Legolas's tutelage.

A hand wrapped around her arm, pulling her backwards, and she fell upon Thranduil's chest. He was stretched upon the grass, feline at ease. She luxuriated in the feel of his body against hers, in his fingers in her unbound hair. In his mouth, pressed to her shoulder.

She had refused to take him to bed since her return, but she had begun to let him back into her heart. He had honored his word, and the loss of his wife had left him in need of comfort, in need of counsel and a tender hand.

Besides that, over honeywine in the candlelight one night in Rivendell, he had finally told her he loved her. Words were the playthings of elves, and though they meant little to some, they meant everything to Y/N. She opened up visions of the future that had ere been clouded.

"Of what do you think, my love?" Thranduil breathed against her skin.

She came back to the dampness of the grass beneath them, the golden green of the canopy above, the laughter of her son in the distance. The warmth of her king at her back.

She smiled. "Eternity."

[n0tamused]

How elves deal or even feel jealous? What/how easy is to make them jealous?

A/n: Hello, yes I can! You didn't specify which elves you wanted this for, so I just picked a few of the ones I thought would go nicely with this idea. Also, I am trying these different styles of hcs, so let me know if you prefer lenghtier headcanons or shorter ones like these? I'm trying to find some balance with requests and my ability to write them in time.

Contents: (all separate) Thranduil, Legolas, Lindir, Haldir, Glorfindel x GN! Reader. Jealousy hcs, not proof read lol

⋆𓄃Thranduil

-Thranduil can be quite jealous and, more so, protective over his beloved and he does not care to ever admit it. He is quite avoidant of his subjects and feels a bit shocked (or looks like it, he did expect you to point it out eventually tbh) when you point it out to him

-Would make sliding comments about your attention lingering too long on someone, or even something at times. 

-A play of words is sure to ensue if you keep pressing him for his reasons, and throughout he never raises his voice or anything of that sort, he is rather calm and eventually you come to understand that he is enjoying this, both the banter and the attention. This can be sometimes flustering or frustrating when he begins to smirk and offer sass and teasing words. 

-The Elven king has seldom ever expected to ‘fall into’ love like this, or to behave like this while loving someone, but even through his long years of living he is still learning some things. 

-Thranduil is quite wary of others, especially outsiders even if they are his distant kin. So he may keep you away from meetings or tedious dinners with any delegates or visitors that may seem like ‘too much’ for you to be exposed to them.

-He is stubborn, so chances are it would take a long time for him to let up on his views, as he deems it all necessary for your protection and happiness

-But even he cannot deny that he does carry a great weight on his heart and consciousness, and long, late night conversions are not something rare with him. He enjoys them more than anything else because he feels more justified to be vulnerable when the rest of the world falls asleep. He is more open to physical touch as well, and he tells you his worries and his feelings clearly then. 

🍃Legolas

-The prince of Mirkwood is still quite green in the area of emotions and how one deals with them, despite his years. But he is notably much softer in comparison to his father. 

-He would find it odd that he feels this way and would hide it away from you for the longest time until he can bear it no longer. It is like poison to him

-Although you would be able to see it all happening and coming down on him with the way he stares out at nothing, sometimes at the people besides you, the way his lips pull into a deep carved frown and how his jaw sets, almost uncomfortably, even for an elf - especially for an elf. His shoulders are so tense you can put a table on him

-Once he expresses his feelings to you he does apologize as well, he doesn’t want you thinking that he doesn’t trust you or that he believes you’d go behind his back and take the offer of another heart - he truly can’t explain the feelings and where they stem from.

-It’s multiple things all at once - he wants you safe and happy, and the people around may not have the purest intentions, but at the same time he feels odd that you sometimes seem to be having much more fun with someone else than him. So there’s quite a lot to unpack with him, but he is not impatient or unwilling to learn.

♬Lindir

-Lindir is more prone to fits of jealousy that strike seemingly out of nowhere, he is quite dense with it too although not nearly as secretive as he would like himself to be. He may be quiet, but the face he stays quiet with is a completely different story..

-His jealousy does stem from a sense of insecurity in his own ability to be a good partner for you, it eats away at him at times and he can take up to saying witty responses to the individual/s that he perceives as sources of his feelings. He is never malicious of course, neither to you or them, as he understand these feelings can quickly turn to poison

-He may require some more support from you at times like these, and in private he feels utterly defeated in face of his own jealousy. He is not the one to openly ask for attention from you, but at times like these he may ask you questions that may reassure him again. Hold his face in your hands and just kiss the elf, that would be my advice, plainly delivered 

-He would grow flustered at such actions, and he may even give you some sass for it, but he is never refusing your advances at pouring some more of your love on him 

°˖➴Haldir

-The Marchwarden of Lorien is not the most open when it comes to his own emotions and it can be difficult to read his exact trail of thoughts at times. But jealousy is not foreign to Haldir, he knows how it feels and he has long since come to truly dislike(hate) it.

-It is unbecoming of his station and just of his own character in general. Nonetheless, this jealousy he feels holds its roots in worry for your safety rather than any kind of distrust of you, and it's greatly amplified by the distance between the two of you when he is away on duty. 

-Haldir doesn’t act out on his jealousy, although he makes his opinion known if he agrees or disagrees with you on your choice of companions. If he is at home with you, he would also tag along with you, if you so desired or if he just really, really did not like the company you’re going to be with. He knows nearly everyone in Lorien, and so he knows who to be wary of. That is not to say anyone from there would be a liability when it comes to physical harm, he knows that much is less likely to happen, but when it comes to needs that are more from within, love, need for attention - then he is not so sure. He cannot read the minds of others, and everyone changes over time, even elves. 

-His jealousy does lessen up when he is with you, as he is not as worried when he has you in his eye. If there is danger, Haldir would do whatever was in his power to eradicate the source of it. 

-You may notice this particular mood on him by the stiffness of his jaw and the hard look he sometimes directs at no one in general, as if holding an internal monologue with himself over what he’s experiencing and feeling

☼Glorfindel

-The Slayer of Balrogs is not susceptible to jealousy, and he was never a jealous individual to begin with. And that’s also without mentioning that he trusts his partner as well, otherwise he would not be with someone he did not trust.

-After his re-embodiment he may come off as a little clingy - he stays with you for as long as he can, not letting any moment go to waste, even if you are an immortal being as he is. He leaves kisses on your hands and your forehead when no one is around to see, it is intimate and he simply wants you to know that you will always have his love and support

-He is also very clear in his communication with you, and trusts that you’ll tell him if anything is bothering you, although sometimes he does know to postpone telling you something if he believes it could put a strain on you. 

-He is quite free spirited though and open minded at that, just a chill guy, the chillest on this list I dare say

-All in all.. 10/10, would recommend 

Ⓒ n0tamused. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

[thesummerestsolstice]

Reasons Elrond should absolutely have Necromancy privileges:

He deserves them

We need more kind, good necromancers

What is necromancy but healing taken to its furthest extent?

No seriously the idea of rescuing people from death should be seen as a healing ability; it totally makes sense that Middle-Earth's greatest healer would be able to practice it

It also makes sense that someone with healing knowledge who understands how people work would be able to do necromancy without horrible consequences, as opposed to someone like Sauron who has to brute-force it

I think Elrond deserves as much craft-related hubris as any other Noldor

Great excuse to write Eldritch Peredhel stories

Great excuse to write fix it stories

Alternately, adds another layer of tragedy to the times Elrond couldn't heal someone, despite his power

The vibes are immaculate

It lets Elrond curse out Sauron for being a shitty Necromancer after having one too many cups of wine at Mirkwood's summer solstice festival

"Necromancer?? Please, that bitch probably doesn't even know how the circulatory system works. Oh he can make people live forever? Yeah, I have seen the Nazgul, no he absolutely can't. He pretends to be some prodigy at keeping people alive, like I don't know damn well that he couldn't even handle a cold without resorting to blood sacrifices. He's an even worse Necromancer than he is a smith, and that's saying something."

[goldkirk]

what right did Tolkien have to make the saga with Gandalf slow-burn gaslighting Beorn about just how many people were actually about to show up on his doorstep. One. After. Another. SO FUNNY. 😂

———

Beorn: who are you two

Gandalf: absolutely nothing to worry about, first of all. and second of all, I’m Gandalf and I’m a wizard. Fyi. Also you might not know of me but you likely know my bro Radagast, he lives over by Mirkwood and he’s pretty chill

Beorn: he is pretty chill. not a bad dude for a wizard. Okay I know Who You Are, now what do you want?

Gandalf: to be honest my dude. we’re fucked up. no luggage. no food. no weed. hardly even our own coats. We had some issues with the goblins you see

Beorn: Why the fuck did you go to the goblins??? dummy??

Gandalf: we didn’t do it on PURPOSE, we were—it’s a long story my guy

Beorn: Well you’d better get in here and start telling it then, I guess.

Gandalf: ah thanks!! Cool. So, where was I? Oh right. Over the mountains we came, and the storm, and the rock giants, and we found this cave went to sleep, and then suddenly the goblins grabbed This Very Hobbit [pats Bilbo’s head like a used car salesman] and our troop of ponies—

Beorn: TROOP of PONIES?

Beorn: what do you mean TROOP of ponies. What are you, a traveling circus?

Gandalf, mentally: [do not say yes. do not say yes. do not say yes. do not say yes.]

Gandalf: oh no, there were more than two ponies bc there’s more than two of us!!! I didn’t want to bother you with more of us until I found out if you were busy. I can call ‘em if you want?

Beorn: go ahead, whatever

[Gandalf proceeds to lowkey gaslight the man for a while as multiple rounds of DWARVES and MORE DWARVES and EVEN MORE DWARVES show up]

Beorn: these are dwarves. not hobbits or wizards. you brought dwarves?

Beorn: wait eight of you? You just now said a dozen. Twelve is not eight. Is it twelve or eight. Bro.

Beorn: the goblins were singing at you? singing songs? “fifteen birds in five fir trees”? since when does a dozen equal fifteen? and it doesn’t even rhyme.

Beorn: don’t pretend that goblins can’t count. don’t lie. Now you’re just disrespecting ALL of us. You KNOW goblins can count perfectly well. Where the fuck are the other three

Beorn: I see. I see what you did here.

Beorn: well now that all FIFTEEN OF YOU are here, maybe NOW you can finally tell me the proper story without any more INTERRUPTIONS.

[earthlybeam]

Elves how would they react to their human s/o being so…human with their ‘odd quirks’ by elven standards

how would the elves react to this?

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Thranduil, Elrond, Gil-galad Versions are below.

Thranduil, being the proud and poised Elven King of Mirkwood, would react to the human quirks

Friendship bracelets

𐂂 You grinning mischievously “I made us friendship bracelets!” Thranduil He raises a single, imperious brow, his expression hovering between amused indulgence and mild exasperation. “Bracelets? What purpose do these trinkets serve?” Before he can decline, the metallic click of the handcuffs echoes through the room. He freezes, staring down at his wrist, now bound to yours. His icy blue eyes narrow dangerously. “Is this some sort of mortal jest?” His voice is calm, but there’s a subtle, deadly edge to it. You beam at him. “Now we can really bond!”

𐂂 Thranduil exhales sharply, as though summoning every ounce of patience within him. He tugs lightly at the chain, his gaze flickering between the cuffs and your unapologetic grin. “You dare shackle the King of the Woodland Realm like a… prisoner?” As you shrug cheerfully, his lips press into a thin line, though a flicker of reluctant amusement dances in his eyes. “Fine. But you will remove these before the feast. If my court sees this, I will never hear the end of it.”

Another version

𐂂 You Grinning mischievously, you extend two shiny, interlinked metal cuffs toward Thranduil. “I made us something special—friendship bracelets!” you announce cheerfully. Before he can fully grasp your intent, you deftly clasp one cuff onto his wrist, the audible click resonating through the room. Without hesitation, you secure the other cuff onto your own wrist, binding the two of you together.

𐂂 Thranduil For a moment, the Elven King simply stares at his wrist, his expression frozen in shock. His usual graceful composure wavers as his piercing eyes shift from the unyielding metal band now encircling his wrist to the matching one on yours. Slowly, his gaze lifts to meet yours, his brows arching high in disbelief. “You did… what?” he finally manages, his voice calm but laced with incredulity.

𐂂 When he gives the cuff a light tug, the movement pulls your arm forward, making it abundantly clear that neither of you can stray far from the other. His sharp features twist into a mixture of irritation and exasperation as he leans back in his chair, his hand lifting to rub at the bridge of his nose. “Explain yourself,” he demands, his tone low and commanding, though there’s a flicker of something—perhaps amusement—beneath the sternness.

𐂂 You Smiling innocently, you lift your cuffed wrist with a nonchalant shrug. “It’s symbolic! You know, like how our lives are intertwined now. It’s a human tradition—or… well, maybe I improvised a little.” Thranduil He lets out a long, slow sigh, clearly summoning every ounce of his legendary patience. “Bracelets, you said,” he mutters under his breath. “This is hardly what I would describe as a bracelet. These are shackles fit for a dungeon!” His free hand gestures toward the cuffs as his lips press into a thin line, his irritation palpable.

𐂂 You Trying to stifle a laugh, you grin up at him. “Well, I didn’t think you’d actually wear a regular friendship bracelet… but these? Now you don’t have a choice.” For a long moment, Thranduil says nothing, his keen eyes narrowing as he studies your face. Then, without warning, he gives the cuff on your wrist another firm tug, pulling you closer until you’re nearly nose to nose with him. “And what,” he says, his tone dropping to a dangerously low register, “do you intend to do when I need to address matters of state? Shall I drag you into my throne room before my council as my… ‘symbolic companion’?”

𐂂 Despite his stern words, the corners of his lips twitch ever so slightly, betraying his inner struggle to keep a straight face. There’s something undeniably absurd—and, dare he admit it, endearing—about the entire situation. With a sigh of resignation, he leans back in his chair, the faintest smirk tugging at the edges of his mouth.

𐂂 “Very well,” he says, his voice softening as he casts a sidelong glance at you. “But if you think this means I will tolerate being hauled about on some wild human adventure, you are sorely mistaken.” His gaze lingers on the cuffs, then flicks back to you. “And pray, do not think this will go unpunished. I shall expect a full explanation… after you find the key.” The evening wears on, and though Thranduil maintains a carefully aloof air, his occasional glances and faint smiles betray his growing amusement. For all his bluster, he seems far more entertained than he would ever admit.

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You Burning your tongue on hot food despite claiming it’s “too hot.”

𐂂 You taking a bite “This is too hot. Thranduil He watches you lift the steaming food to your mouth, his expression betraying mild concern. “Then why—” Before he finishes, you yelp and fan your mouth, visibly in pain. His piercing blue eyes widen slightly, though his lips press into a thin, disapproving line. He sets down his goblet deliberately, studying you as though you’ve just confirmed every suspicion he’s ever had about mortal impulsiveness. “You knew it was too hot, meleth nîn, yet you ate it anyway. What were you hoping to achieve?” His tone is cool, bordering on exasperated, but there’s a faint undertone of amusement he can’t quite suppress.

𐂂 You try to respond, only to wince and motion wildly for water. With a resigned sigh, he reaches for a goblet, handing it to you with his usual elegance. “Drink. Slowly, if that is within your capabilities.”

𐂂 As you gulp it down, he leans back, one brow arched. “Mortals truly lack self-preservation instincts. I shall have to monitor your meals now, lest you burn yourself into oblivion.” His smirk betrays his fondness.

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You Laughing so hard you start hiccupping or snorting as if some sort of animal (pig) or dying animal)

𐂂 You bursting into uncontrollable laughter, clutching your sides as you snort between hiccups.

𐂂 Thranduil He stops mid-sentence, his refined demeanor frozen in place as he stares at you with a mixture of disbelief and horrified fascination. His elegant brows draw together, and for a moment, he seems genuinely uncertain if you’re choking or… some kind of woodland creature mimicking laughter.

𐂂 “Are you… quite well?” he asks cautiously, his deep voice laced with incredulity. But your hiccups only intensify as you wheeze, your snorts breaking through like a startled piglet. His lips twitch as though caught between a frown and a suppressed smile. He clears his throat, his regal composure teetering. “I fail to see what could be so amusing as to warrant… this display.”

𐂂 You clutch his arm for support, tears streaming down your face as another snort escapes. His icy blue eyes narrow, and he leans back slightly, as if distancing himself from the chaos. “Are humans always this… undignified when amused? Or is this a unique trait of yours?” Still laughing, you manage to hiccup out a garbled apology, but it’s clear you’ve lost all control. Thranduil exhales sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose, though his lips curve into the faintest smirk. “If nothing else, meleth nîn, you have proven to be a source of endless… surprises.”

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You Forgetting why you walked into a room.

𐂂 You pausing in the doorway, staring blankly around the room with a furrowed brow

𐂂 Thranduil He looks up from his desk, the faint flicker of a candle casting shadows across his regal face. His piercing gaze lands on you as you stand there, motionless and perplexed. “Well? Are you going to say something, or shall I simply guess the reason for this intrusion?”

𐂂 You frowning, scratching your head “I… forgot why I came in here.” For a long moment, Thranduil says nothing. He leans back in his chair, one perfectly arched brow rising higher than you thought possible. He steeples his fingers in front of him, his expression caught between amusement and disbelief. “You entered my chambers… and you don’t recall why?”

𐂂 You nervously laughing “Yeah, I guess I just forgot. It’ll come to me in a second!” His lips press into a thin line, and he releases a soft sigh, one that speaks of centuries of patience worn thin by mortal antics. “You are aware that I rule an entire kingdom, are you not? That my time is valuable?” he remarks dryly, though his voice carries an undertone of exasperated fondness.

𐂂 You grinning sheepishly “I’m sorry, I’ll just—uh—go.” As you turn to leave, he raises a hand, stopping you. “No. Stay.” He gestures to a nearby chair. “Sit there until you remember. Let us not risk you wandering aimlessly and forgetting your way back as well.”

𐂂 You obey, his sarcastic quip making you chuckle nervously. He shakes his head, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Mortals,” he mutters softly, returning to his work. “Endlessly baffling. And yet, I find I do not mind nearly as much as I should.”

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You Flipping the pillow to the “cool side” before settling in.

𐂂 As you lie beside Thranduil in the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the grand windows of his chambers, you let out a small, frustrated sigh. Carefully, you flip your pillow over, smoothing your hand across the “cool side” before settling your head against it with a satisfied sigh.

𐂂 Thranduil He notices immediately, his keen elven eyes watching every movement, even in the dim light. His brow furrows slightly as he props himself up on one elbow, his silver-blond hair spilling over his shoulder like liquid starlight. “What peculiar ritual is this?” he asks, his voice a soft murmur edged with curiosity.

𐂂 You glancing at him, a bit surprised “It’s… flipping the pillow to the cool side. It feels better. He blinks, his expression a perfect mixture of incredulity and faint amusement. “The cool side of the pillow?” he repeats slowly, as if testing the absurdity of the phrase. “And this… improves your comfort?” You nod earnestly, hugging the pillow closer. “Absolutely. It’s one of life’s little pleasures.”

𐂂 Thranduil’s lips twitch, the barest hint of a smile threatening his composed facade. “Mortals,” he muses, leaning back against his own array of perfectly arranged pillows. “You are remarkable in your ability to find solace in the most trivial things.”

𐂂 You grinning playfully “Don’t tell me you’ve never done it.” He arches a brow, as if the suggestion alone is preposterous. “I have endured centuries of life, meleth nîn, with pillows precisely as they are. And I assure you, I have managed quite well without this… cooling ritual.”

𐂂 You teasing “You don’t know what you’re missing.” With an air of regal exasperation, he reaches out, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Perhaps not. But I find your mortal habits endlessly fascinating. If such a small thing brings you joy, I see no harm in it.” As you settle in, he lies back, watching you with a faint, affectionate smirk. “Though, if you attempt to flip my pillow, you will find my patience has limits.”

📜𝓔𝓵𝓻𝓸𝓷𝓭

Elrond, lord of Riverdell being the proud and poised would react to the human quirks

Friendship bracelets

✶ Elrond watches with a mixture of curiosity and mild surprise as you present the friendship bracelets, his elegant features softening into a rare, genuine smile. “Ah, how thoughtful, meleth nín,” he remarks in his usual, measured tone, admiring the delicate craftsmanship. The idea of bonding in such a simple, yet intimate way seems to resonate with him.

✶ But then, as you reach for the handcuffs, his brow furrows, and he instinctively steps back. “What is this?” His voice, usually calm, carries a hint of bewilderment. The concept is unfamiliar to him—metal handcuffs, a binding that holds his wrist captive to yours in a way that neither aligns with his elven customs nor his understanding of affection. His ancient mind, accustomed to more refined and deliberate forms of connection, pauses for a moment to process.

✶ As the handcuffs click shut, he glances at his bound wrist and then meets your gaze, his eyes soft yet filled with confusion and a flicker of amusement. “This is… certainly unexpected,” he murmurs, adjusting his posture to avoid discomfort. He shifts his focus, feeling the weight of the metal and the subtle tug between you. “I did not know that this was how you humans chose to express your affection,” he adds, his voice laced with a mix of bemusement and fondness. Yet, despite his hesitation, there’s a warmth in his expression as he gently takes your hand, his fingers delicately brushing against your skin. “I admit, this is a new experience for me. But, it seems I shall have to adjust to it, as I always do for you.”

✶ The notion of you choosing to bond him with such an odd but sincere gesture fills him with a surprising sense of tenderness, even if it is, by his standards, rather unconventional. He could never deny your earnestness or the bond you share, even if it comes in the form of metal handcuffs. With a faint, wry smile, Elrond allows himself to soften further, clearly amused. “Shall we walk like this, then?” He asks, his voice steady yet laced with affection, knowing full well this gesture is just another example of the delightful quirks that make your relationship uniquely yours.

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You Burning your tongue on food even though you just said, “This is too hot.”

✶ Elrond sits beside you at the table, his demeanor calm and composed as always, yet there’s a slight glimmer of amusement in his eyes as he watches you eagerly reach for a steaming dish. You’ve made a meal together, and though Elrond typically prefers his food to be perfectly prepared, he appreciates the gesture you’ve made.

✶ You lift a spoonful to your lips, only to immediately flinch. “This is too hot,” you murmur, but despite your own words, you take a bite anyway. Elrond’s sharp eyes catch the slight wince on your face as you quickly pull away, feeling the burn on your tongue.

✶ His brow furrows, concern flickering behind his composed expression. “Meleth nín,” he begins, his voice tinged with both affection and mild reproach, “You knew it was too hot, yet you persisted?” His gaze softens, and his lips curve into a slight smile. “You should have waited, love. Such impulsiveness may not be wise, even for someone as remarkable as you.”

✶ He watches as you try to recover from the burn, unable to stifle the small chuckle that escapes him. The contrast between his measured patience and your impetuousness amuses him, though his worry for your well-being is apparent. Reaching for a napkin, he gently dabs at your lips with it, his touch tender and careful. “Let me care for you,” he offers quietly, his voice soothing.

✶ Elrond, always the one who considers every action with utmost deliberation, finds your momentary lapse in judgment endearing, and though he would never make such a rash decision himself, he cannot help but love the spontaneous, human nature that you display. “Next time,” he says softly, “allow me to help you, so you do not suffer such a simple burn.” He leans in closer, brushing his lips lightly across your forehead, a silent promise that he’ll always be there to care for you, in all your little quirks.

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You Laughing so hard you start hiccupping or snorting.

✶ Elrond, ever the dignified and composed elf, is quietly enjoying a moment with you, his keen eyes studying your face as you recount a particularly amusing story. As the words tumble from your lips, the melody of your laughter fills the air, and Elrond finds himself enchanted by the sound—a light, melodic laugh, so full of life and warmth.

✶ But then, in an unexpected twist, your laughter becomes a bit too much for you to control. It starts as a simple chuckle, but before long, you let out a hiccup, followed by another, and then… a snort. Elrond’s eyes widen in surprise, his usually controlled expression giving way to a rare, genuine look of shock. He watches, almost frozen, as you hiccup again, and this time, the sound resembles a pig’s squeal, high-pitched and almost animalistic.

✶ He can hardly believe what he’s witnessing. His mind races for a moment, unsure of how to respond, his elven dignity momentarily shaken by the sheer absurdity of the situation. Yet, as you continue, each hiccup and snort seemingly more ridiculous than the last, a deep, melodious laugh escapes his lips—completely uncharacteristic of him. It’s low and rich, the sound flowing out naturally, filled with both amusement and affection.

✶ “Ah, meleth nín,” he says, his voice both amused and tender, his lips curling into a soft, affectionate smile. “I must admit, I have never known anyone so… charming in their displays of joy.” His voice is filled with adoration as he watches you, utterly captivated by your unrestrained laughter. “It is… an unexpected sound, but one that I find utterly endearing,” he adds, his gaze softening as he watches you struggle to control yourself.

✶ Elrond’s usual calm demeanor returns, though he can’t quite hide the amused sparkle in his eyes. He reaches out, gently brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his touch tender. “You are quite a wonder, my love,” he says with a quiet, affectionate laugh. “I have seen many strange things in my long life, but none as delightful as this.” His voice is a perfect mixture of warmth and playfulness, the image of his centuries-old wisdom softened by the joy you bring into his world.

✶ Elrond, ever the one to maintain control in most situations, finds himself thoroughly enchanted by the vulnerability you display in this moment—your laughter, so unrestrained, so human, only deepening the bond between you both. “Shall we continue, my sweet troublemaker?” he asks, his tone filled with a soft, affectionate teasing as he watches you try to compose yourself. “I believe I shall need time to recover from such a display of… charm.”

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You Forgetting why you walked into a room.

✶ Elrond stands by the window, his gaze sweeping over the peaceful valley of Rivendell, his mind occupied with matters of great importance. The stillness of the moment is disrupted as you enter the room, your steps light yet purposeful. However, when you reach the center of the space, a sudden pause overtakes you.

✶ For a moment, you simply stand there, looking around the room as though you were searching for something. The air between you both is filled with a quiet tension as Elrond notices your confusion. His brow furrows slightly, his keen elven senses immediately catching the subtle shift in your demeanor. “Is something troubling you, meleth nín?” he inquires, his voice gentle yet filled with concern. His deep eyes, which have seen so much in the long years of his life, soften as he studies your expression. You stand there, still, seemingly unsure of why you entered the room in the first place.

✶ You blink, slowly processing, and then, with a soft sigh, you murmur, “I’ve forgotten why I came in here.” A small, knowing smile tugs at the corner of Elrond’s lips, and for a moment, he can’t help but feel a deep fondness for you. He steps toward you with quiet grace, his long, elegant strides never once faltering. His touch is light as he gently places a hand on your shoulder, an anchor in your moment of confusion.

✶ “It is not the first time,” he says softly, his voice filled with warmth and understanding. “Such things happen even to the most diligent of minds. Fear not, my heart. The memory will return, in time.” He watches as your face softens, a hint of amusement returning to your features. His smile deepens as he regards you—your quirks, your humanity, the way you so often forget, yet always seem to be so effortlessly yourself.

✶ “My love,” Elrond continues, his voice laced with a gentle teasing, “it is in these moments I am reminded of the beauty in your simplicity. A thousand years of wisdom may not protect one from forgetting the smallest of details. I, too, have had my share of such lapses in thought.”

✶ He steps closer, his presence enveloping you with calm and reassurance. “Perhaps you were simply drawn in by the peacefulness of this room. Or, mayhap, you were distracted by thoughts of us, as I often am.” His eyes twinkle with a soft affection as he regards you. “Whatever the reason, do not fret. You are in no way alone in this. I, too, have often found myself lost in my thoughts, only to be reminded by a gentle nudge from the world around me.”

✶ He lets out a soft chuckle, the sound warm and full of affection. “Shall we sit for a while, then? If the reason for your visit escapes you, perhaps a moment of rest will bring it back to mind.” As you take a seat beside him, Elrond leans in just slightly, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his touch delicate. “Do not worry, melethril nín. Sometimes, it is not the purpose of the visit that matters, but the quiet presence we share in these moments.”

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You Flipping the pillow to the “cool side” before settling in.

✶ Elrond watches quietly from the corner of the room as you prepare for the evening. His long, jet black hair gleams softly in the gentle light of Rivendell’s hearth, his dark eyes following every movement you make with an intensity that betrays his usual calm demeanor. He’s no stranger to the simple acts of daily life—after all, he’s seen countless years pass in Rivendell, where the moments of peace are as precious as gold—but there’s something endearing in the way you go about these small routines.

✶ As you prepare to settle into the bed, he notices your particular attention to the pillow, your hands moving to flip it to the “cool side,” a habit that has become second nature to you. There’s a slight smile on his lips as he observes, his expression softening with fondness. The simple, human gesture is both quaint and deeply charming to him, reminding him of the beautiful uniqueness of your nature, so different from his own.

✶ He watches you with an air of quiet admiration as you finally lay down, the cool side of the pillow now beneath your head. His gaze lingers on you for a moment, a mix of awe and tenderness in his eyes, before he slowly approaches the bed, as if drawn by an invisible force. “Elvish pillows, though soft, do not have the same… comfort,” Elrond muses, his voice low and smooth, with an underlying note of amusement. “I have often wondered about this particular custom of yours, meleth nín.”

✶ He stands at the edge of the bed, his tall form casting a long shadow across the room, his presence as steady and eternal as the stars themselves. There’s a warmth in his eyes now, a tenderness only visible to you as he regards you, the love he feels for you evident in every glance. “Do you find it truly so different from the way we do things?” he asks, taking a seat beside you with a grace only an elf could possess. “I confess, I am fascinated by these small rituals that make you… you.”

✶ His fingers brush lightly against your hair, and there is a deep, quiet reverence in his touch. The cool pillow, the little quirks of your routine—he cherishes these moments, knowing they are part of what makes you human, what makes you his.

✶ “If it pleases you,” Elrond continues, his voice soft but sincere, “I will see if I can find a way to make your pillow more… to your liking. I will take whatever steps I can to ensure your comfort, for that is my duty as your partner.” His eyes search yours for a moment, his hand resting on the pillow now beneath your head. “But perhaps it is not the pillow that brings comfort, but simply the presence of another to share the night with.”

✶ A quiet, affectionate smile spreads across his lips as he leans down to place a gentle kiss on your forehead, his voice barely above a whisper. “Rest now, melethril nín. You are safe here with me. And if you need to flip the pillow again… you need only ask.”

👑𝓖𝓲𝓵-𝓰𝓪𝓵𝓪𝓭

Gil-galad, being the proud and poised elven king of Lindon , would react to the human quirks

Friendship bracelets

🜲 Gil-galad would stand still for a moment, his sharp gaze landing on the metal cuffs now binding you both together. His usual composure would falter for just a second, eyes widening slightly in surprise. His lips might twitch into a barely noticeable smile, though he quickly masked it, his regal demeanor reasserting itself.

🜲 “Well,” he begins in his smooth, steady voice, “this is certainly a creative gesture, my heart.” There’s a glimmer of amusement in his tone, but also a touch of wariness. As a king, he’s accustomed to authority and independence, and the idea of being physically bound, even symbolically, might make him momentarily uncomfortable. He would gently touch the cuffs, his fingers brushing over the metal as though considering the weight of the gesture.

🜲 “You certainly know how to make your affections known,” he continues, his voice softening with tenderness. His noble nature keeps him from fully expressing the sudden warmth that fills his chest, but there’s a soft, almost playful look in his eyes now.

🜲 “You’ve captured me in more ways than one, it seems,” Gil-galad would add, his voice carrying a quiet affection. Despite his usual reserved nature, there’s a vulnerability in his words, showing how deeply he cherishes this bond. Though he stands as a High King, in this moment, he would be tethered to you in a way only love could achieve, silently affirming that, despite his reservations, he was yours.

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You Burning your tongue on food even though you just said, “This is too hot.”

🜲 Gil-galad watches with quiet concern as you burn your tongue, even though you had just warned yourself of the heat. His sharp gaze softens in a rare moment of affection, though his expression remains composed, as is his nature. He immediately shifts into a protective stance, moving closer as you react to the burning sensation. His tone is gentle yet authoritative, a voice that’s both soothing and filled with care.

🜲 “Patience, my moonlight,” he says, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You must learn to heed your own words, for even the most steadfast may falter when it comes to something so simple as food.” He speaks not with reprimand but with quiet amusement, his wisdom guiding his response.

🜲 Gil-galad places a hand on your shoulder, his touch firm but reassuring. “Shall I fetch something to cool it?” he offers, ever the considerate king, despite the situation’s triviality. He watches you closely, his gaze not critical but full of concern for your well-being.

🜲 Though this moment may seem small, to him, it’s a reminder of the care and responsibility he feels for those he holds dear. It’s in these small gestures, these fleeting exchanges, that his true affection for you is made evident. He doesn’t need grand displays; his love is shown in the subtle actions of attentiveness and understanding.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

You Laughing so hard you start hiccupping or snorting as if some sort of animal (pig) or dying animal).

🜲 Gil-galad stands motionless for a moment, his usually calm and composed demeanor faltering as he watches you laugh with such abandon that it quickly escalates into hiccups and snorting. The sounds are unexpected and unrefined, almost animalistic in their intensity. At first, he blinks in mild surprise, not accustomed to such unrestrained expressions of joy from anyone, let alone his beloved. His brow furrows ever so slightly, as if he’s trying to understand the source of this particular outburst.

🜲 But soon enough, a soft smile tugs at the corner of his lips, and his stern gaze softens with an affectionate warmth that rarely shows. His posture remains regal, but there’s a flicker of something else—an admiration for the raw, unfiltered joy you’re displaying. He never lets go of his dignified nature, but your laughter, full of life and free from restraint, melts something inside of him.

🜲 “You have a way of surprising me, my heart,” he says, his voice smooth and steady, but now tinged with an affectionate amusement. His usual solemnity is touched by a rare playfulness. As your hiccups continue, Gil-galad can’t help but chuckle softly, the sound low and quiet but genuine.

🜲 “You laugh with the sound of a creature most ungraceful, yet I cannot help but admire the joy you bring,” he continues, his voice warm but steady, his tone not mocking but filled with a sense of endearment. His gaze never wavers from you, taking in the beauty of the moment despite its messiness. The High King of the Noldor, usually a symbol of restraint, finds his heart lightened by your unpolished charm.

🜲 Reaching out with a gentleness that contrasts his usual command, he places a hand on your shoulder, his thumb brushing lightly. “Take a moment to breathe, my little flower,” he says softly, his voice filled with a quiet concern that reveals how much he cares for you in these small, personal moments. Even as you snort or hiccup, his presence is unwavering, calm, and steady. He doesn’t laugh at you, but rather with you, seeing in your laughter a vulnerability and joy that reminds him of what it means to be truly alive.

🜲 When you finally regain control, he would look at you with fondness and say, “No matter how unpolished, your laughter is a treasure to me.” His words are gentle, but they carry the weight of an everlasting love, as deep and sincere as his commitment to his people.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

You Forgetting why you walked into a room.

🜲 Gil-galad watches with quiet curiosity as you stand in the doorway of the room, momentarily frozen, eyes scanning the surroundings as though searching for something you cannot quite place. His sharp elven eyes observe your confusion with a subtle, amused glint, but his expression remains composed, ever the dignified ruler. He knows the feeling all too well—his long life has often required a great deal of focus, and he’s had moments where his mind wandered despite his best efforts.

🜲 For a fleeting second, he stands silently, studying you with a soft, unspoken affection. His voice, when it comes, is warm but gentle, tinged with a hint of mirth that he rarely allows himself to express. “It seems that even the wisest of us are sometimes led astray by the mind, my heart,” he says, his tone calm yet filled with understanding. His words are not mocking but reflect a genuine empathy, for Gil-galad, despite his regal nature, is not unfamiliar with moments of distraction and confusion.

🜲 He steps closer, his movements fluid and dignified, but his eyes betray a tenderness as they meet yours. “Shall I assist you in your search? Perhaps together, we may uncover what was so important that brought you here.” His words are light, though there is a deeper warmth in them that only someone close to him would notice.

🜲 He would never rush you or press you for an answer, but rather, he’d patiently stand by, offering his quiet presence to help you find your footing again. His role as a leader of Elves is never far from his mind, but in this moment, he chooses to focus on your small human struggle. There’s no sense of impatience in him, only a sense of calm encouragement. He might even gently place a hand on your shoulder, a subtle gesture of support, his gaze never wavering, as though he is ready to help you in whatever way you need.

🜲 “Do you often forget what brings you here, my little flower?” he would ask softly, his voice laced with affection and concern. The depth of his care for you is evident, even in the smallest of moments, showing that his love for you transcends any regal distance.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

You Flipping the pillow to the “cool side” before settling in.

🜲 Gil-galad watches with a quiet fascination as you flip the pillow to the “cool side” before settling in, his sharp elven gaze observing the small, seemingly insignificant act with a kind of patient reverence. To him, such simple, human gestures hold a deep beauty. The night has fallen, and while his mind is often preoccupied with the burdens of kingship, in these moments, his attention is solely on you. His expression is serene, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he silently admires your ability to find comfort in small things.

🜲 As you settle into bed, he steps closer, his tall, commanding presence as regal as ever, though now softened by the warmth of intimacy. “I see you have found the secret of a peaceful rest,” he says, his voice smooth and calm, a hint of amusement coloring his words. “Such a simple thing, yet it speaks volumes of the care you take for yourself.” His tone carries an affection that contrasts with his usually serious nature, showing a side of him that only you are privy to.

🜲 Gil-galad would pause for a moment, watching the way you relax into the coolness of the pillow, his eyes softening. “In a world where so much is constant and unyielding, it is a comfort to know there are small, simple pleasures to be found,” he continues, his voice gentle but filled with a quiet reverence for the simple joys you bring into his life. He is a King who has borne countless burdens, but watching you find peace in such a small, human act makes him feel grounded in a way he rarely experiences.

🜲 When he finally joins you, his movements are graceful, measured, and yet filled with a quiet tenderness. Gil-galad would lie down beside you, his own pillow perhaps a bit colder than the one you had flipped, but his presence beside you is a warmth of its own. He would take a moment to simply enjoy the tranquility, allowing the weight of the day to slip away in the stillness of the night, only for a brief moment remembering how precious these quiet moments are with you.

🜲 With a final glance at your now-resting form, he might quietly whisper, “The coolness of the night is nothing compared to the warmth you bring to my heart.” His voice is a low murmur, barely more than a soft breath in the quiet of the room, but the depth of his affection is clear. Even in these simplest of moments, his love for you is quietly ever-present.

I’m working on the other characters like , lindir, haldir, feren, meludir, Galion, elros, elladan, elrohir, Legolas, celeborn, erestor, glrofindel, círdan, adar 💚🍃

[silvantransthranduiltrash]

Out of all the siblings, legolas is the slowest to anger (this is a hc about my au). Unless you legitimately do something to piss him off, like put his loved ones in danger, he will take everything in stride with an air of nonchalance. It’s not that he doesn’t care, it’s just that he’s immortal and thinks it’s way to exhausting to get mad at every little thing. Especially given the circumstances of him growing up in greenwood/mirkwood where there’s always something happening.

As a result, on the quest legolas comes across as very casual about the quest to those who don’t know him. Bc on one hand, yeah it’s an important task, but on the other hand he isn’t really afraid or interested in fucking up bc he let his emotions get out of control.

Besides, outside of Aragorn, Legolas liked the questers well enough, but not to the point where he’d rage at someone threatening them. That changed more over time, obviously, but the fact of the matter is that in the beginning he would have sacrificed any of the walkers, minus aragorn, in a heart beat if it meant succeeding. Thankfully, he isn’t so paranoid or malicious that he felt he would need to, so he just stayed the nice, casual, chill elf he is throughout the quest.

I cannot stress enough how, on one hand, yes, legolas knew and thought the quest and subsequent battles important, on the other hand: fuck it, it’s just a normal day for him. What’s one more battle?

Not enough troops? Outnumbered? Dirty and tired and hopeless? Well damn, that’s happened so often at that point he doesn’t bat an eye.

Legolas is intimately familiar with the death and despair the likes of sauron causes, so he chooses the act positive, he chooses to be casual and happy. He’s not oblivious to the growing shadow, he just refuses to let sauron dictate his life any more than he already is.

It does result him in looking very flighty to his cowalkers though.

*at aragorn and Arwen’s wedding*

Faramir, musing: you know, legolas is much less serious than i would have thought an elf to be. He’s a very light hearted and happy individual and i don’t think i’ve seen him mad at all during the time that i’ve known him. Even during the battles against sauron.

Silvan elf, who overheard him: no one’s managed to piss him off in over a century, and that’s a good thing. Trust me, that’s not an elf who’s temper you want to test, because once you do, it’s quite terrifying.

Eomer, approaching them: really? Because i know i made him mad when i had threatened gimli during our first encounter on the plains.

Silvan: *snorting* trust me, if he actually felt threatened, he’d have lobbed your head off before you even finished drawing your weapon. It’s just a good thing it wasn’t one of his siblings on this quest instead of him. The rest of them are not only 10 times as quick to anger, but are also a lot more vicious and deadly.

Faramir: is that so?

Silvan: yeah, don’t get me wrong, legolas is definitely strong even for most elves, but his family’s just straight up made up of monsters, and he is the weaker one. Not weak, just the weakest of that family.

[inthehouseoffinwe]

It always gets me that literally *everything* hinged on the Fellowship getting this *right.* All the battles with Morgoth, Sauron, the events of the last Three Ages and beyond.

This was the final chance.

Either they succeed. Or all those battles and all that pain was for nothing, and Middle Earth falls to darkness.

And if ME does. It’s not far fetched to assume Valinor would be next.

-

But like it was always about the value of the little people. A value which historically, most people, the Princes of the First Age most of all, didn’t really… realise.

They dragged everyone into their wars and feuds and at the end of everything, everyone suffered for it.

They were out for themselves, because *they* wanted to be kings and queens, *they* wanted revenge, *they* wanted to go back to the wilds of Endorë and doomed everyone alongside them, cajoling and convincing them until they were riled up and probably not thinking straight.

They had to be right. If the rest of their people suffered for their bad decisions… too bad. There was so much pride and arrogance across the Sindar and Noldor both that their power, the thing that made them so great became their downfall.

The people of the Third Age, men and elves and dwarves, might have been ‘diminished’ but that meant they took time to appreciate their people. It means Aragorn at the Black gate sees there are young men from Rohan who are *terrified*, and entirely genuinely without judgement, allows them to leave. It means he goes around place to place, city to city, getting to know everyone as people. Seeing their value, seeing their worth as equal to his own. And he treats them accordingly as just as important rather than making everything about him.

It’s what allows him to deceive Sauron into thinking he’s acting as his ancestors did, proud and self assured whilst the whole quest and everything he does is about helping Frodo. About making sure he succeeds.

As he tells Frodo. “Deeds will not be less valiant because they are unpraised.” And that’s where these great heroes of the past fell short. For them, especially the elves of the First Age, everything was about valour and glory and victory. Literally Fëanor: ‘our deeds will be a matter of song until the last days of Arda.’

We needed the king who knew what it was to be a ranger, scorned despite being the only thing keeping them alive. The king who was a healer rather than a warlord. The man who only wanted his people safe, would pass all great deeds and live hated and homeless if only they could live without darkness.

The hobbits who were so pure of heart, who found joy in the little things. Even Legolas who would’ve grown up seeing Mirkwood steadily fall further and further into darkness, Spiders and orcs steadily encroaching, forcing the elves further into their last stronghold. The Dwarves who’d lost homes and knew their fortresses could only hold so long if Sauron enslaved everyone else.

All of these guys who held family and love for their people above all else. Who wanted a world free of war, who didn’t care for great deeds or ballads speaking of them. Who respected those of lesser official standing and saw them as people with opinions as valid as their own.

They just wanted their homes. They wanted their family and friends alive.

They longed for peace. Not glory or land.

And that’s where those of the First and Second Age failed.

[frost-queen]

Lady of Mirkwood | (Reader x Thranduil)

Requested by: anon, Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia, @alex--awesome--22@elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers @merlieve,  @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly,@denkisclown, @wildieflower, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco, @subjecta13-thefangirl, @m-rae23, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @swampthing07, @melsunshine, @panhoeofmanyfandoms, @venomsvl, @the-uncoordinated-house-cat, @rosecentury, @imagines-by-her,  @evilcr0ne, @vviolynn

| Meeting Thranduil

You met Thranduil when the Third age progressed. It was when the Necromancer unknown then but known as Sauron later on claimed the abandoned fortress of Amon Lanc to make it into Dol Guldur. Sauron infected the woods with spiders and orcs. The spiders and the orcs expended their reach claiming more and more for them. Infecting the very nature with their filth and death.

All the elves were forced to leave the woods. Those who fought back were brought down. Countless of lost elves filled the sickening woods. You were amongst some elves that were fleeing. The orcs had increased their stench to the part of the woods where you lived. With a few douzen you were. Fleeing for your lives as the orcs hunted you down. The woods had grown iller. Spider cobs were not too much yet in these parts. But a few spiders having expended their webs out to your lands.

Some elves wanted to stay and fight. They barely lasted long as the pack of orcs were too many. Sweeping them down in a matter of seconds. The others fled as fast as they could. Hatred, anger and sorrow grieving your hearts. You were running trying to stay out of the orcs clutches. The orcs attack made you stumble, dropping to the ground. Surrounded by death and darkness. You thought it was over. You thought you were never going to see the undying lands, but then a bright light appeared between the trees. The illumination blinded the orcs sending them back a bit. The light faded as you could see a small group of elves charge for battle. Lead by a High elf.

The orcs never stood a chance. The High elf approached you, helping you up your feet. The moment his eyes met with his, he was struck. Gasping breathlessly at your grace and beauty. The woods no longer having a place for you, he took you in. Thranduil his name was. King of the woodland realm.

| Life at the woodland realm

Thranduil was smitten with you. For the first time in many ages, the so cocky king found beauty in another. He threated you like a guest with the highest honor. Quarters close to his. Thranduil would host parties just to have an excuse to dance with you. He never let any other elf near you. He wanted you for himself. You sometimes dared to tease Thranduil by speaking to other elves, just to see his reaction. You loved how easily jealous he was. He would come over, pull you gently behind him while urging them in a polite way to leave. Sometimes he would lay his robe over your shoulder to hint to others that you were his.

Underneath the moonlight on a summer's day was when you had your first kiss with Thranduil. Forever giving yourself to one another. He married you a month later never wanted to be parted from you ever again. You became queen of the woodland realm. All the elves present adored you for your righteousness and kind heart. Whenever Thranduil dared to lose his temper, you were there to calm him down. Sometimes you would come along with Thranduil and his army in an attempt to reclaim your woods. When Thranduil saw his numbers dim and almost losing you in a battle, he gave up. Not wanting to see his people be slaughtered or see you in danger. For he could not afford to lose you, his brightest star.

| Legolas

Legolas was born with grace. You loved every little detail of him. Thranduil would be careful at first. For he feared to hold such a fragile creature. He feared he might harm it in any way. You would show him he could do no harm. Taking his hand and bringing it up to Legolas for him to touch. His fingers would brush against his cheek making Legolas flutter a laugh. On that Thranduil was sold. Taking his son in his arms and care deeply for him.

As Legolas grew older, Thranduil insisted he had his features from you. Everything about Legolas reminded him of you. With the coming of Legolas was Thranduil more careful. You were no longer aloud out of the woodland realm. Not wanting anything to happen to you or Legolas. You had to admit it felt a bit lonely being unable to see the old woods. Your home that you missed dearly. With each year it grew colder and deader. Plagued by orcs and spiders. Since you had no where else to go, you focused more on Legolas. Teaching him how to defend himself. It was you who introduced Legolas to the bow and arrow. When Legolas was old enough to have his own bow, he would name it after you.

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