#injured legolas

[feelingpoorly]

For You- Part 2

If you've not checked out part 1 yet, you can find it below! (Who knows if I've linked it correctly or not, I hope so lol)

But anyway, Part 2 is finally here! Hope you enjoy :)

---

Evening was drawing in on them, yet their progress was painfully slow. She was struggling to keep him upright now; he barely seemed able to hold his head up let alone walk. They’d been walking in silence only occasionally broken by his pained groans, until he suddenly stopped moving altogether. 

“‘Las?” She prompted gently, concern filling her eyes as she took in his face as he blanched chalk white. She could feel him trembling under her touch, and it was obvious he felt awful.

“Taur- I don’t… feel well…” he managed thickly, bringing a shaking hand up to cover his mouth. Suddenly he pulled away from her and stumbled towards the nearest tree, barely catching himself on it. 

Everything was spinning. He wasn’t sure whether he was frozen to the bone or boiling from the inside out. Something was very wrong with him but he felt so ill that it was all he could focus on.

She rushed after him but before she could even reach him, he collapsed to the ground and was violently sick, his stomach cramping so painfully that it caused him to groan out loud. He was sprawled across the floor, just barely holding himself up on shaking arms as he continued to be miserably sick, his stomach lurching as he retched and heaved, every movement tearing fresh agony through his injured side as the muscles in his abdomen spasmed and tensed involuntarily, making him want to cry out in pain.

Tauriel gasped, quickly falling to her knees beside him as she tended gently to him, holding him upright when his own arms couldn’t support him. It didn’t take long before he had thrown up everything he had eaten that day, but the sickness was relentless. 

She rubbed his back; he was throwing up bile now, shaking like a leaf. Eventually, only when there was truly nothing left inside him, he fell back into her, his body worryingly hot in her arms. His insides were still churning and he felt horrifically nauseous but apparently his body had purged all it could, the dry heaves ripping his body to shreds and tearing at his throat. On instinct she felt his forehead and her heart fell as she realised whilst he had been ice cold earlier, he was now running a temperature. 

This was so much worse than she had realised. It had been bad enough to begin with but now it was obvious that something was very, very wrong.

“I’m… so sorry…” his voice was low and thick with nausea, as he fought desperately to maintain control over his stomach and not start heaving again. He felt mortified that she should have to see this, yet at the same time as his body endeavoured to rid him of everything he’d ever eaten, he felt far too exhausted and sick to dwell on it too much.

“You have nothing to apologise for!” She reassured him, laying him down as he weakly complied, too spent to protest. Legolas had hoped the humiliation was over, but his features creased in discomfort and he moaned as his stomach rolled again. Tauriel gently wiped his face of what he had thrown up. He felt so miserable that he didn’t even resist. 

“Something is wrong.” She worried, taking his wrist in her hand to find his pulse racing and far, far too fast. She bit her lip and tried to stay calm for his sake. “I need to look at your wound.” Legolas barely made a noise in reply, too concerned with the nausea that still refused to release its hold on him. 

She had a horrible feeling what could be causing this sudden sickness, and as she pulled away his shirt, her worst fears were confirmed. 

“Poison…” 

Thin black tendrils spread across his fair skin, branching out from where the arrow still resided. 

“This cannot go on. We need to get this arrow out of you, now.”

“It is not possible…” he replied quietly, his voice so hoarse and painful sounding she barely understood him. He swallowed thickly and winced. 

“We have no choice… I-“

“No, Tauriel. It’s barbed.” He closed his eyes in defeat. He felt absolutely awful and he knew it was only going to continue getting worse until they got the wretched thing out of him.

“Barbed? How do you know?” She was glad she hadn’t acted on instinct and yanked it out of him as soon as they realised it was poisoned. 

“I recognise these arrows, I’ve seen them before…” he was feeling worse again, his breathing hitching nauseously “-can’t remove them… barbed…”

He reached into his cloak and shakily handed her the other end of the shaft she had snapped off. She inspected it, a wave of dread crashing over her as she realised he was right. She hadn’t realised he’d kept it, but it was a good job he had. Judging by the way it had bled earlier, she could’ve killed him in a matter of minutes if she’d tried to yank out a barbed arrow.

“Ai valar…” Tauriel blanched herself. This couldn’t be happening. They were still so far from help. She looked around frantically- they were rapidly losing the light, and it was becoming increasingly apparent that getting him back to the palace tonight was impossible with him in this condition. But the alternative was almost just as unthinkable. If she could just get him through the night… Tauriel knew if they hadn’t returned by morning, someone would notice they were missing and realise they were in trouble, and a rescue party would be sent out. 

However…the dark forests of Mirkwood were a dangerous place. Not only would she have to get them through the night, she also had to somehow keep her very sick companion alive.  

Beside her, Legolas weakly rolled to his side and was sick again, and whilst she rubbed his back as he heaved, her mind was made up. 

He wasn’t well enough to be going anywhere. A rescue party was their only hope.

“Do you think you can stand?” She asked him, her voice thick with worry. It was a stupid question. Even as she spoke, Tauriel was still holding the blonde elf’s hair back, but Legolas’ exhausted body could barely muster the strength to retch anymore. 

An uneasy groan was the only reply he could manage; his throat felt like it had been scrubbed raw with the bark of oak and his stomach was aching fiercely, although whether it was just from the exertion or instead the poison, he couldn’t tell. The incessant heaving had only succeeded in massively aggravating the wound, and slowly and painfully he curled into a tight ball of misery. Another cramp laced through him and he swallowed down another treacherous lurch of his stomach, groaning slightly. 

“Goheno nin...” Forgive me… She apologised gently when he was evidently unable to respond, her delicate fingers deftly braiding more of his loose hair back into a thicker fishtail absentmindedly, her heart sinking as she realised why she was doing so. The sickness, and indeed everything else, was only going to get worse. She was anxious to move him somewhere safer and more sheltered as soon as possible, but he had also just been very very sick and he didn’t look like he was even up to moving, let alone standing.

“Just- give me a- a minute…” he whispered, letting out a tense breath and clearing his throat roughly. He closed his eyes and tried to compose himself, hating how weak he felt, how little control he had of his body. After a few long moments, he opened his heavy eyes to see her kneeling next to him, watching him with a heartbreaking look of concern.

Maybe it was because he felt so lightheaded and out of it; his senses so preoccupied with the pain and sickness, or maybe it was the fact that for the first time in his long life, he realised he knew what it felt to fear death, but in that moment, he reached out his hand and grasped hers weakly in his own. 

Tauriel took his limp, blood stained hand in both of her own. She blew her warm breath into her cupped hands to try and warm his ice cold fingers. 

A fresh pang of sadness and guilt ran through her. It was because of her that he was in this awful state. They had been inseparable since they were elflings, yet all of that had long since changed, and up until tonight she wasn’t entirely sure you could even call them friends anymore. More: “reluctant acquaintances”. Neither of them ever made reference to how close they used to be, they treated each other with the cold indifference that you might any stranger that you were forced to spend time with.

Yet, he’d literally taken an arrow for her, seemingly without a moment's hesitation. 

Why?

Legolas was trembling dreadfully. Without thinking Tauriel took a blanket out of her pack and started to wrap him in it. However, when she touched his bare skin, she thought better of it. Frowning, she abandoned the blanket, and rested the back of her hand on his forehead for a moment. 

“You’re burning…” She said quietly, turning her hand to check his temperature once more.

He looked up at her in confusion. 

“But… it’s so cold...” For the first time in their long lives, she saw fear in his eyes and she hated it. 

“We need to get you somewhere safe, we can’t stay out here. If we do not return by sunrise, they will send for help.” Tauriel mused as she hastily busied herself, collecting up their things. She was grateful for the distraction of something to do, and also for the way her red hair hung like a curtain over her face as she felt a solitary tear rolled down her cheek. 

She was trying to reassure both of them, but he looked so awful that she was worried he didn’t have until morning. 

Unbeknownst to Silvan elf, Legolas’ eyes followed Tauriel as she fumbled with her pack, trying to distract himself from how bad he was feeling inside. She had almost pointedly turned her back on him, but he could guess why. She looked so sad that Legolas’ heart hurt. He had caused all of this. He’d been so stupid to have allowed himself to be injured and put all of this worry and responsibility on her. He should’ve taken out that orc before it even had a chance to shoot at her. He should’ve noticed it sooner, intercepted it with his own arrow, he should have…

She was alive. That was all that mattered. As long as she was alive, it would have been worth it. 

His vision blurred and he blinked hard, shaking his head slightly trying to bring everything back into focus. His brow furrowed in frustration and discomfort as he massaged his temples. It was making his head ache.  

He closed his eyes as everything started swimming in the most disorientating way- his head was pounding horribly now and every part of him ached dreadfully.

“Ready?” He heard Tauriel ask him, but couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes. He took several deep, shaky breaths and tried to muster what little strength he had left.

He’d been hit a few inches above his left hip, and due to the location of the arrow, the poison had affected his stomach the worst. The sickness was awful and it had hit him so intensely. He knew there would be more symptoms from the poison to come as it spread through his body, but right now the debilitating nausea was all he could focus on. It had come on so suddenly and severely that it had left him drained and weak and shaking all over, but the worst part was that he knew it was far, far from over. 

In truth, he really didn’t think standing would be a good idea. He knew he had to try, but as predicted, it was indeed not a good idea. Legolas shut his eyes as his hand darted to his mouth, praying to the Valar that he would not be sick again. 

“Ai Legolas…” Tauriel was immediately at his side, rubbing soothing circles on his back as he fought to keep his stomach down. 

“There’s a rangers hut… it’s not far.” His voice was tight and strained with nausea. He knew there was no way he’d be able to stand and walk feeling like this. His limbs felt like lead and the prickly lightheadedness was doing little to help how sick he felt. 

Tauriel slowly and carefully helped him struggle up until he was laying back against her, panting heavily. She saw the blood drain from his face as he lost what little colour he had left and went a worrying shade of white, his body fervently resisting being upright. 

“Easy…” she soothed, wrapping her arm around him more firmly in a bid to try and keep him upright. She held him tightly as he swayed dangerously to one side, stifling a moan behind clenched teeth. The ground beneath him was pitching and swaying, and Tauriel just about managed to catch him as he nearly slumped sideways again, clearly disorientated and extremely dizzy.

“‘Ri…” his voice was slurred and tinged with urgency. Feeling worse than he ever remembered, he was unable to hold back a deep groan, unsure whether he was about to throw up, pass out, or both. 

Legolas went limp in her arms and Tauriel yelped in shock, her heart lurching in her chest as she cradled him gently, a tear running down her cheek as she felt his frail body burning up under her touch. 

She knew the hut he spoke of. It was not too far from where they were now. 

She shifted carefully, keeping his unconscious and worryingly feverish form held close against her chest with one arm, and awkwardly slung both their packs and his bow onto her back with the other. 

She lifted him into her arms and ran. 

[galadrielspeaks]

god DAMN. legolas has seen some shit

[the-fandom-at-the-moment-blog]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Gimli (Son of Glóin)/Legolas Greenleaf Characters: Legolas Greenleaf, Aragorn (Tolkien), Gimli (Son of Glóin) Additional Tags: Near Death Experiences, Injured Legolas Greenleaf, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Unconsciousness, Gimli prays to the Valar, King Aragorn (Tolkien), Healing, Battle of the Pelennor Fields, Thranduil is mentioned, Tired Aragorn, Mentions of Death, Rain, Legolas is trans but it isn't mentioned Summary:

Gimli finds Legolas almost death after the battle of Minas Tirith.

[coveredinsun]

rewatching lotr, and rewatched the hobbit trilogy like 2 weeks ago, and i must say. i love this franchise for all its “i knew a guy who knew a guy” relations. like to give just one example, gimli presumes for a second, like the whole fellowship, that frodo got injured by the cave troll in moria. but he’s actually just fine! because frodo just happens to be gimli’s dad’s boss’s situationship’s nephew, and therefore has the mithril shirt that gimli’s dad’s boss gave to his situationship right before gimli’s dad’s boss led the company to battle against, among others, legolas’s dad. legolas’s old situationship from like last year (60 years ago) was also there and chose, get this, gimli’s dad’s boss’s nephew over him. i love yall

[ohnonotnow]

my library

here's some of the best the hobbit/lotr fanfics I've read cuz they can be quite hard to find and I wanna help

will update the list as I read

Thorin

Smoke, iron and Thorin

Fire and Gold

Learning Khuzdul

Braid of Gold

Thorin being soft

The Beauty of Chance

Those Hands

Misunderstanding

The arrival

A king's crown

Covered In Steam

There's just inches in between us

Thorin after a long day of training with his nephews

In This Moment 

Agreement

Symphony of your life

Oh so quiet

Confession

Find Your Way Back

Fili

fili oneshots

Moonrise

The Most Unpleasant, Defective, and Abominable Incident

Stay with me

The Redeemer

Durin's Garage

Restless

Lost My Way

Kili

The book keeper

insecurities

The beauty and the Beast

getting back at Kili for teasing

My Treasure

Madly in love

It's in his kiss

Love Bites

Sway With Me

Wood Carvings

Softly. . .

Sweet like nectar

A Shot in the Dark

Beorn

Early Mornings

Beorn takes care of you when you're injured

Linger

Legolas

Watcher of Wanderers

The Innocence of Brutality

Blessing

Sensitive

Being best friends with Legolas

Hazy Memories

Spellbound

Thranduil

Bookworm

Relax

Best friends father

Fascination

Flower On My Skin

To Meet Under the Stars

Passenger Princess

Autumn Thunderstorm

I Could Love You With My Eyes Closed

Haldir

Gentle Dark

Lindir

My Heart Is In Your Hands

Moonlight

Just a Little Help

Warriors Great Tales

The Fountain

Return to Me

Èomer

Burnt Bread

A Helping Hand

Wildest Dreams

Falling In Love With A Librarian

SFW alphabet

Happiness

A Roll in the Hay

Blessing

Turning Points

More characters

various characters oneshots

Imagine: elves having highly sensitive ears and you finding out by accidently touching them.

Journey to Erebor

Hair braiding

Elves + Braiding

What Type of Kisser is Each LoTR Character?

The Hobbit Characters + Physical Affection (Suggestive Version)

A Headcanon For Each Member of Thorin’s Company

Cuddling With Thorin's Company

Imagine some of the elves of Middle Earth find out how easy it is to make you (a human staying in Rivendell) blush and become aroused.

The LOTR characters reacting to a modern reader

[undreaming-fanfiction]

Established Steddie, they have been living together for over a decade, did their best to heal their wounds from the Upside Down and learn to enjoy life again. It's not easy but they do it.

When the Lord of the Rings movies come out, it's actually Steve who suggests watching them to Eddie. He really tries engaging with Eddie's passions, but his focus is not the greatest when it comes to books. That doesn't mean he doesn't listen to Eddie ramble about them though - he knows all about hobbits, second breakfasts, the culture of smoking in the Shire...Eddie admires a lot of characters from the books, but ever since experiencing the Upside Down fuckery, he actually admits that the hobbits had a point. Good food, even better company and good tobacco? What else does one need? It also inspires Steve a few years later to prepare a full day of hobbit-inspired meals for their trilogy marathon when the extended editions come out. But this is about their first time watching the movies.

They both go to the movie theater excited. Steve is familiar with most of the characters, including Eddie's self-admitted crush on Aragorn. And Steve can see why, he can see so much good in all the members of the fellowship. After the first movie, he's wiping his eyes because Boromir deserved better. Eddie has a lot to say about what was lost in adaptation, but Steve knows Eddie loves those movies and would cut off his only remaining nipple before missing the next ones.

The Two Towers have Steve rooting for the ents and he feels strangely touched about how everyone underestimates Pippin, yet it's him who gets the ents to march. He really can't pick a favorite character. He can't wait for the third movie.

They go to the premiere of the Return of the King with Eddie. They secretly hold hands in the last row, and Steve watches the ride of the Rohirrim with bated breath. He clenches his hand in Eddie's when Theoden gets gravely injured, but then Éowyn is there and...oh.

He is staring slack-jawed at the scene. Éowyn's large, terrified eyes, the towering frame of the Witch King. Her posture was fearful, crouched, but still she faced him. And something surfaces in his head, something he's long forgotten.

He's unusually queit when they come back home, he still loves the rest of the movie, almost cries at "my friends, you bow to no one,", then definitely cries at Frodo leaving the Middle Earth. But there is still that something and Eddie can sense it. When they're falling asleep together, Eddie finally asks him. And Steve's had enough time to process what he felt.

"When Éowyn faced the Witch King...it reminded me of what it felt like. I mean, for the first time. I know it's stupid because saw so much unnatural shit, but...it's the first time that I have hard time forgetting," he admits quietly. "She reminded me of me in 1983 so much. I had no clue what I was getting myself into. I thought I'd do the right thing, but then I had a gun pointed at me, they both had blood on their hands...and then it appeared."

Eddie doesn't speak, he only holds Steve closer.

"It was so tall. I remember that petal-like mouth, those teeth, but mostly...I remember the crippling fear. I felt absolutely terrified. I couldn't move. There was even a moment when I thought of running away, but...I couldn't leave them there. Seeing someone go through something similar and being praised for being a hero...it makes me think. I used to be so ashamed for freezing in that moment. For even considering running away. But Éowyn...she was like me." There's awe in his voice and warmth, relief. "She had no idea what she was getting into. She froze. She didn't do everything perfectly and gracefully like Legolas or something, but when it mattered...she did what she had to."

He holds Eddie tighter and asks, almost shyly: "Will it offend you that I think she's my favorite character? Not Aragorn or Sam?"

Eddie just shakes his head and drops a kiss to Steve's hair. "Nah. She suits you well. And you're both amazing."

And if it becomes a silly endearment in their household, that Steve is sometimes called the Shieldmaiden of Hawkins? ("I'm not a maiden, Eddie!" "I'm not calling you a shieldboy or shieldbachelor, Steve!") Then Steve feels a hint of something that he thought he'd renounced, but now, for the first time he feels it's deserved - pride.

[shirefantasies]

Can I ask for a request?

For the fellowship men? So they get wounded and their crush have to nurse them? And she is total calm with that like "Hun your leg is bleeding you have to take off your pants so I can treat the wound" and she's total obvious and didn't get the longing looks she get oder when he ist flustered and shiver because she touch his skin. ("Sry for the cold hands")

I’ll do my best! Tried to vary up the scenarios a bit 😉 thank you so much for requesting 😌 Warnings: some blood & injury mentions, minor language, some suggestive jokes!

The Fellowship When Their Crush Cares For Their Wound

Aragorn

"Won't you please sit down?"

The tender urgency of your words finally ran a shock through Aragorn, who complied. Perhaps it truly was no good to continue pressing on at the detriment of the group.

"Very well. We rest!"

"That was not so hard, was it?" You asked him, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Now, if you please." Pantomiming removing your shirt, you nodded his way.

Aragorn's brows furrowed, blue eyes fixing you with concern, questioning, as he sat and tightened his bootstraps.

"I saw that slash you took," you breathed, "let yourself be cared for."

Inhaling, he nodded, unlacing and shrugging down his tunic. Never had you made such a request before, but giving as you were, it made sense. Such nature was what inevitably drew Aragorn to you. Your touch was soft as you reached out to caress the skin above where he had been injured. Cleaned it just as gently.

"What?" You suddenly broke the silence, tilting your head and fixing Aragorn with an innocent bat of your eyes. You truly had no idea.

He shook his head, a smile playing upon his lips to swallow the wince of pain as you began wrapping his cut flesh in bandages. "Nothing. Only gratitude at the care of your heart and the ease of your hands."

You smiled back, sending Aragorn's chest leaping somewhere far deeper than the pain could reach.

Legolas

"You're bleeding."

"It is nothing, really," the elven prince tried to brush you off, but shaking your head, you stepped in front of him.

"Keep not your pride so tight about you," you chastised, hands upon your hips and a teasing look upon your face, "the dwarf can't see you. Come. Let me at least wrap it up for you."

Legolas's expression softened at your words, and with a slight nod, he followed. Wordlessly he removed his layers when you reached a spot off to the side, dark eyes never leaving you as he revealed the entirety of the wound, a slash near his collarbone. Unthinkingly, your hands went right to the area around it.

"Oh, Legolas, it's worse than I..." You paused, feeling him shiver. "I'm sorry, are my hands cold?"

"A bit," he replied with a bit of a smile, resting both of his hands over yours.

Flushing, you shake your head. "I am supposed to be caring for you."

Legolas just smiled at you. "Can we not have both? This is the least I can do."

"True," you teased, "I suppose it benefits us both, does it not?"

"Indeed," he nodded, "but mostly yet I know no other way to show my heart's gratitude."

Boromir

"I can hardly believe you!"

"Believe what? We are safe again," Boromir replied, a hand tightly clasping your shoulder.

"You are well aware what, you hero of a man," you shot back, waving a hand up and down his form, "now go and lie down for me already!"

"Oh?" His brows shot up at your words. "Is that how you like it?"

"No matter me, you've been wounded! Being surrounded upon all sides and grazed with arrows does that to a man. I saw the one that caught your side and while I'd like to hold you up as much as you need, first we'd best patch you up."

"Oh," Boromir said again, this time a bit dumbly as he lowered to the ground with a nod. His teasing tone quickly returned, however, "Yes, indeed, whatever you say. I forget what a great healer you are."

"Well, I certainly may not be the best, but there is no reason to burden oneself with wounds already inflicted. Not to mention it mostly got your back."

The moment Boromir exposed himself, he glanced back at you, catching the trace of your eyes over his skin. Your hands soon fell upon it, working quickly to clean and wrap up the bloody graze nice and tight. What surprised him, though, was the work of your hands after this, your fingers kneading the skin around it. Pleasure and pain rolled in equal waves through him as you did so.

"My apologies, does this hurt too much? I felt you start a bit just now. My brother just told me that we heal better if we're relaxed."

"And I believe that wholeheartedly," Boromir agreed with a smile, "please continue. I must confess I have never received such fine treatment before."

Giggling at his comment and eliciting a chuckle from him in return, you continued with a smile of your own.

Gimli

“Sit still!”

“I can still fight!”

“Like hell you will,” you shot back, stopping Gimli again with a hand across his chest, “I don’t care what you think you can do, you just could have been killed! Now stay there, please. I’m worried about you.”

Spoken considerably softer, those last four words were what halted Gimli’s protest the most, a glow of warmth and hope ringing out in his chest. His lips parted a bit in surprise. “Oh. Alright, then, do what you need.” For all his bravado, it had been a nasty case, his body slammed down so hard and his now-pounding head taking the brunt of the force.

“Thank you.” Reaching your hands up, you slid his helmet off first, tucking his hair behind his ears. You could feel the way he tensed up at your actions as you pulled one hand away to fetch your cloth. "Sorry, did that sting?"

He had to get out his head- all you were doing was taking care of him. "Not at all. Please-please continue." Perhaps his words sounded desperate, but Gimli barely cared when your hands were on him like that.

Speaking of which... You took firmer hold, tilting him by the chin to get a better angle with which to dab the warm fabric over the wound.

"You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?"

Frodo

"Would you not like to do something about this?"

Frodo simply peered up into your eyes with his glistening blue stare, tilting his head inquisitively and tugging at his sleeves, which you then took a hold of.

"No, no, take this all off is what I meant."

"Take- take it all...?"

Hand crossing over your shoulders, you drew lines down in an impression of the chain Frodo wore, the impossibly heavy burden he bore burning into his skin at all times. "Surely you feel it. You must. Keep it on, I won't touch it, but please let me ease the pain."

Blinking, Frodo inhaled, nodded. "Very well. What will you do, then?"

"Just put some salve up there around where the chain is. Here, just take your shirt off a bit," you told him, fussing with his jacket but allowing Frodo himself to undo the top buttons of his shirt.

He glanced up, followed your gaze and saw it lie not upon the ring, but upon his, and visibly relaxed, a smile finally working its way to his soft lips. Nodding again, he sat back as your hand pushed the metal chain up from its place, spreading your healing concoction upon the opened skin. When your hand got lower, you could feel how rapid his heartbeat was thumping beneath skin and bone.

"Don't worry, really. All I care about is you." Did it pick up again?

"I am at ease, the first of such I've felt in some time. I cannot thank you enough," he replies with a shake of his head and a kiss to the hand you weren't using.

Sam

"Alright, Sam, open up your shirt."

"I beg your pardon?"

Shaking your head, you chuckled at his wide eyes. "I heard you got a nasty scrape, and if so, I've got just the thing for it."

Shock still swam in his green eyes, his fingers hovering over the buttons hesitantly as he glanced between them and you.

Flushing, you spoke once more, much more hastily as you held up the jar of medicine in question. "Oh! Er, well, if you'd rather someone else take a look, I can give this to Aragorn and he can-"

"No!" Sam cut you off, shaking his head. "No, no let's not trouble Strider, you're all right. Here we go."

Glancing back and forth, he sat down upon a rock and undid the top three buttons of his shirt, wiggling the fabric loose to reveal the wound you'd been told of. Your eyes wandered a bit before guiltily returning to Sam's; he smiled faintly as you dipped your fingers into the cool contents of the jar and reached back up to smear some on. Sam, surprisingly, did not flinch but he did shiver a bit.

"Oh, my apologies, I should have warmed it up a bit better first, shouldn't I?"

He sat up a bit straighter at your words. "Not at all, I can take it. Just...just startled me a bit is all. Don't worry your pretty head."

Merry

"Trousers off. Let's see it."

"Right now?" Merry loudly whispered, eyes going round.

"Yes, right now," you fussed, "or else you'll bleed out! Come on."

"Oh. Oh, the wound, yes. Bit of a close one there, wasn't it?"

You put a hand on your hip as Merry lowered into a seated position and undid his belt. "Had Boromir not been there with his shield, you could have lost your leg. What were you thinking?"

"Well, if you really must know," Merry shot back, shimmying his outer garments down to reveal a glistening red gash upon his right leg, "thought charging in might impress you."

He shuddered under the cleansing water you pressed against it, likely due to the cold. Your brow furrowed equally at the wound as it was at him, your eyes darting up to search his. "Impress me?" You replied incredulously.

"Yes," he agreed with a crooked, devious smile, "and with that first line of yours, I thought it'd worked."

Pippin

“Alright, take off your trousers.”

Pippin’s eyebrows shot up as his hands slid to his belt. “Is that what we’re doing? Well, all right then…”

Head tilted and brows furrowed in confusion, you fixed him with a look. “Of course we are, you got a huge gash above the knee. Lucky for you Aragorn harvested us a whole lot of poultice herbs the other day.” Your gaze slid between Pippin and your work of crushing the leaves as he sheepishly loosened his garments.

“Right, right, I knew that, yes. So the leaves are going to go down first, then?”

“Indeed,” you nodded, dabbing at the remaining dribble of blood before you began gently dabbing the poultice on.

Your eyes traveled back up to meet his, their deep green sheen bringing a shy smile to your face. Beneath your hand, he shuddered faintly.

“Sorry, does that sting?” You asked him, glancing again between your work and him.

Puffing out his chest a bit, Pippin shook his head. “Not at all. Not when I have the best nurse in all of Middle Earth to take care of me. Feels a bit good, in fact.”

Flushing, you gave a full smile at his words as you tied off his bandage. “Well, having the best patient helps, too.” Feeling a bit bold, you reached up and patted his cheek. “Let me know if you need anything else, alright?”

A wide grin spread across Pippin’s face. “Oh, I can think of something."

[edges-of-night]

Hello! I was wondering if I could request something? Fellowship x reader where the reader gets injured in a battle or something and confessed their feelings before passing out… and when they wake up they find out their feelings r returned 🤭 I love ur requests they r so very cute! Thank u!

That was such a lovely request to write, nonnie! I’m really sorry you had to wait for it so long. Also, thank you for your kind words!

･ﾟ✧ Aragorn.

Initially, Aragorn would not treat you much differently after your recovery – so much so that you start wondering if you actually confessed your feelings to him or hallucinated that whole part. But all Aragorn wants to do is find the right moment to talk to you. Once he does, he’d gently take your hands in his and tell you how much you mean to him – and that your feelings are in fact reciprocated! Confessing your love first gave him the courage to do the same. “I am not well versed in these fields. But I hope I can show you my heart just as bluntly as you did yours.”

･ﾟ✧ Boromir.

Boromir would not be around when you wake up. The others tell you he was simply shocked by your passing out and that he needed time to adjust and would be overjoyed to hear you’re fine – but you suspect it would be something else that scared him away. You’d find him pondering in a lone corner, afraid of how he’ll react to seeing you again – only to see his hardened face light up when your eyes meet his – and then he’d rush to kiss you! “I’ve been a fool for not understanding it sooner. Forgive me…!” ♡

･ﾟ✧ Frodo.

I like to think that out of the Fellowship, Frodo would be the most mature to handle your love confession. After all, he knows your injuries aren’t lethal and worries not about what happens next, since he is very clear in his own feelings. After you wake up, he greets you with a smile, takes your hand to make sure you’re fine – and lowers his voice to say, “I’ll call the others right away. But before that, I need you to remember the last thing you said to me. I feel the same.” He’d give you the cutest smile, shining all the way up to his blue eyes.

･ﾟ✧ Gandalf.

Gandalf, being the one who tried to heal you in the moment you passed out, tries ignoring your dramatic love confession and silently urges the others to forget what they overheard. That said, he is very flattered – after all, he’s been enamoured with you for a while now. Still, his romance is quiet and subdued. He’d sit next to you with a smile when you wake up. At first, you thought his behaviour was unchanged – until he ends his sentences toward you with “darling” or “my dear”. There is a playful spark in his eyes that tells you everything you need to know. (Eventually, he would also spell out ‘I love you too’ in fireworks or butterflies!)

･ﾟ✧ Gimli.

Gimli stays with you during your recovery, guarding your bed day and night, so dutifully that the others need to remind him of eating. Once you wake up, you’d meet his soft eyes, only to watch them harden when you try to speak to him: “Don’t do that again! Ever!” – “What? Talk to you…?” – “Scare me like that!” he corrects, grumbling into his beard. “What’s a lad supposed to do when his sweetheart passes out in his arms?” You smile blissfully as you understand and offer him a hug that Gimli more than eagerly returns!

･ﾟ✧ Legolas.

Legolas is entirely stumped when you pass out after that dramatic “I love you”. There is a frown on his pretty face for the next few hours, waiting for you to wake up again. When you do, you’re terribly embarrassed by the way he’s staring at you through his Elven eyes. He’d fixate you and ask, “Did you mean it? What you said to me?” You’d blush and retort that yes, of course you meant it – and that is enough to make his bright smile and joy return. “What a relief! I feared that if it had been but a fever, my reciprocation would ring false, or sound like a mockery. Please know it’s nothing but the truth!” And he’d take your hands and lean in for a quick and happy kiss!

･ﾟ✧ Merry.

At first, Merry would not believe what he heard just before you passed out. During your recovery, he retreats into dark corners to think and rationalise – people say all kinds of stupid things when they thought they were about to die, right? You couldn’t possibly be in love with him – not when there are so many other people – taller people – all around you. So, imagine his surprise when you do ask him for a private conversation after waking up, to set everything straight. Only Merry doesn’t accept your apology. “What’s there to apologise for? You said what you felt in that moment. It’s not like I didn’t like what I heard, I feel the same, after all…” And then, you both share an ‘oh!’ moment before you laugh and fall into the other’s arms!

･ﾟ✧ Pippin.

Pippin would initially be overwhelmed by your confession and subsequent passing out. However, he’s positive you’ll be fine, firmly believing that no matter how important, these matters needn’t be so dramatic. He’d treat you as casually as always after your recovery, though you can’t deny there is a spring in his steps and a smile on his face whenever you’re talking. You now know that your feelings are returned, and yet you still blush when he tells you over a shared bowl of strawberries: “I don’t think I’ve told you yet, but I love you, too! Very much so! I’ve thought of a few different pet names to call you, but I wanted to clarify that first. So, just tell me which one you like best…”

･ﾟ✧ Sam.

Sam would not leave your side, no matter how long you were passed out. Whenever someone would try and tear him away, he’d explain that he has something very important to discuss with you when you wake up. He would practice romantic speeches and poems to recite for you, really thinking the whole thing through – only to remain absolutely speechless when your eyes do meet his. After your initial greeting – “Thank goodness you’re alive!” – he’d just hold your hand and ask you to stay with him ♡

[entishramblings]

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

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

Request: none

Pairing: Legolas X Fem!Reader

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

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

Word Count: 5.6k

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

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

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

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

“It is time,” Aragorn spoke softly.

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

“Goodbye,” she whispered. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Rámaite Mahtar stood straight, confident, and strong. 

“(Y/N),” she replied simply. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“(Y/N),” Legolas said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

….

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

“Why do they stare?” (Y/N) asked.

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

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

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

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

“And the woman?” the soldier stated.

(Y/N) frowned, tilting her head.

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

The fellowships’ eyes shifted. She was the weapon.

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

He then turned to Gandalf, “Your staff.”

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

At this, (Y/N) raised a brow. 

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

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

(Y/N) frowned. 

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

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

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

“I know your face. Éowyn.” 

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

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

….

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

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

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

“But why?” (Y/N) persisted. 

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

(Y/N) simply shrugged. “Far.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was at that moment that the healer arrived. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She turned at the familiar voice of Aragorn.

“Release the healer,” he commanded firmly. 

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

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

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

She nodded, turning her back towards him.

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

She shook her head. “No,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Alright,” she agreed. 

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

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

Legolas began gently cleaning the wounds. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

….

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

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

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

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

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

Aragorn nodded in confirmation. 

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

Aragorn’s eyes shifted, unsure what to say. 

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

“And the first?” She asked. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Understood,” the Ranger replied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…���

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Éowyn frowned. “You do not know?”

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

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

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

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

(Y/N) frowned. “I don’t understand.” 

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

“Why?”

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

“You have never—?”

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

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

Éowyn nodded. “Yes, sometimes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She frowned. “Sex?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that alright with you?” 

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

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

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

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

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

….

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[wordbunch]

how they care for you when you’re sick/injured but refuse to rest

a/n: requested by @tolkien-fantasy!! 💕 since i already did sth quite similar with Frodo/Sam/Merry/Pippin, this time I decided to include only the “big guys”, aka Aragorn, Boromir, Faramir, Éomer and Legolas. Also Fíli doesn't go here but I decided he will be here.☺️ I hope you enjoy, let me know your thoughts and opinions, and reblogs are always super appreciated!!!🥰🥰🥰

Aragorn: He is literally just like that, even if he’s unwell he will keep pushing, and that is exactly why he immediately notices you do it too, and decides to put a stop to it. As much as he is loving and supportive and always respects your opinions and wishes, he is not taking ‘no’ for an answer when he deems that you really need to rest and recover. Luckily for you, he’s a legendary healer, so you will probably get better relatively soon. If he’s able to give you 100% of his attention and time during your recovery, he will literally feed you if he needs to, just so that you don’t exhaust yourself even more. Also he will quickly hush you if you begin to protest and insist that you’re fine and really have things to do! Sorry, king’s orders! Not just that, he will most definitely have your favorite food made for you, so that you don’t have to lift a finger (even though you want to). 

Boromir: You were both extremely busy on the day when Gondor was preparing for some big festival, and amid your errands you sprained your ankle, but you brushed it off because you wanted to personally oversee the flower arrangements. For the first and only time you were thankful not to see Boromir half the day because you knew he would make a small fuss about it immediately, so you limped on until you accidentally ended up tripping and stumbling backwards into a familiar strong chest. He looked at you suspiciously while you attempted to just brush it off as being clumsy, but he thought you looked a little bit pale and was not convinced. Before you could keep convincing him, he picked you up bridal style and carried you to your bed, having seen right through your act. Sadly he couldn’t have stayed with you the whole time as there were still some things to prepare, but he ran to you as often as he could to check if you were still resting, and to attack you with a flurry of reassuring kisses. Later in the evening he will 100% cuddle you until you both fall asleep wrapped up in each other, and he has no trouble carrying you around for days so that you don’t have to put weight on your injured leg - he enjoys doing it!

Legolas: Injuries and illnesses are not exactly something he is very familiar with, but he knows enough to be aware that they require rest and recuperation! His senses are sharp and he notices if you wince one time, and he is there in an instant. He will ask you what is wrong, what you need, etc. As much as Legolas he understands your restlessness and the constant need to be up and about, he needs you to understand that he’s worried and doesn’t want your condition to get worse. If it’s something very serious, he will immediately call Aragorn for help, but if it’s something minor, he thinks he should be able to handle it and support you through it. Before you know it, you’re not allowed to do anything under his watchful gaze but you’re bored!! No problem, though, he is more than ready to entertain you in any way he can, even if it means he has to sing you all the elvish songs since the beginning of time (and you will make good use of his promise to do that!). 

Éomer: Oh that is literally his BRAND because he’s out there being unstoppable even when something is wrong - and he is not letting his beloved be like that, not on his watch! He is also the type to carry you to bed despite your protests and you being like “I’m fine!” And he is like, alright then, but even if you’re fine, that doesn’t mean you can’t get some rest! No amount of your pouting is going to make him let up. Eventually when you finally admit you’re in pain, he will fuss over you a bit and he will literally try to cook something (he feels better when he can take action) and before you know it he’s making 4 different kinds of tea at the same time and things seem a bit chaotic… When you ask whether he’s sure he doesn’t need any help, he will insist that you just go and rest and that he has everything under control. Needless to say, you didn’t get to eat/drink everything that he started making cause he failed at many things, but you appreciate the love that went into it regardless!

Faramir: He can notice that something is off within like 0.3 seconds and multiple times throughout the day he will ask how you’re feeling and if something is wrong because he can sense that something is off, but he knows you well enough to know that you’d prefer to keep going on about your day, even when in pain. And then when you almost pass out you finally admit that you’re not feeling well, and you know he will immediately drop whatever else he is doing and just focus on you as much as he can until you’re perfectly recovered. More likely than not he is immediately looking for Aragorn because he is NOT taking any risks; although you try to reassure him that it might not be necessary. He knows how to be persistent and when he gives you puppy eyes with those gorgeous teal blue eyes… you have no choice but to let him do his thing.

Fíli: When it comes to you he is a very worried person and he likes to keep an eye on you as much as he can, so it doesn't take him long to become aware that you're acting...different. He is especially fussy if you get injured, and he will push everything and everyone else aside to nurse you back to health, and it literally becomes his number one priority. Fíli won''t hesitate to be even a little bit harsh if anyone comes to bother you or ask something of you before you're 100% recovered, so sometimes you gently reprimand him for it - you feel well enough to go and keep doing things! But good luck trying to convince him!

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[rheasforum]

Unspoken Goodbyes (Kili x Y/N)

overview: Kíli’s infatuation with Tauriel jeopardizes his relationship with his partner. During the Battle of the Five Armies, he faces devastating regret as he realizes its too late where his heart truly belongs.

warning: angst?? third-party interference, death

A/N: inaccuracies

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The forest of Mirkwood loomed around Thorin’s company like a dark omen. You walked beside Kíli, his hand intertwined with yours, feeling the warmth of his presence. Yet, beneath the surface, an unsettling tension brewed. Kíli was captivated by the elves, and it gnawed at your heart like a slow poison.

When the elves appeared, it was as if the vibrant greens of the forest faded, overshadowed by their ethereal beauty. Legolas, tall and regal, commanded with respect, but it was Tauriel who held Kíli’s gaze. You had noticed Kíli's fascination the moment they met, his curiosity did not go noticed. But you hadn’t worried, not at first. After all, you had weathered worse than a fleeting glance, hadn’t you?

Trapped in the cells of the Elvenkings fortress, captured by the elves, you sat beside Fili, the damp stone cold beneath you, exchanging worried glances. The oppressive silence was broken by snippets of conversation from Kíli’s cell, and your breath caught as Tauriel’s melodic voice drifted through the air. You strained to listen as she spoke with Kíli about the rock his mother had given him, a token of comfort he always kept close.

“It reminds me of home,” Kíli said, his voice soft yet filled with an emotion you couldn’t place. “It’s like a piece of her is always with me.”

Your heart dropped at his words. The tenderness in his voice felt like a dagger piercing through your chest. It stung to realize that you had once been the one who brought him comfort, but now it was Tauriel who stood in that place, bright and captivating.

Jealousy and despair swirled within you as Kíli shared memories of his mother, reminiscing with the elf who had captured his attention. You forced yourself to look away, not wanting to hear any more. You had thought the bond you shared was special, that Kíli’s heart was yours, but in that moment, it felt like you were losing him to someone who seemed so much more enchanting.

Fili noticed your distress and placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder, but it did little to ease the heaviness in your heart.

“He doesn’t see you slipping away,” he murmured, his voice a mix of concern and frustration. “He’s lost in the moment.”

But you couldn’t shake the feeling that Kíli was drifting further away with each passing moment. And when Tauriel spoke again, it confirmed your worst fears—he was captivated by her, and you were merely an afterthought.

Day after day, you caught him looking at her. His laughter was lighter in her presence, his eyes sparking with a fascination you hadn’t seen since before this quest began. It was as though the darkness of the journey lifted when Tauriel was near, and the weight of it crushed you instead.

It wasn’t until Kíli had been injured during a skirmish with orcs, poisoned by an arrow, that everything unraveled. You stayed by his side, holding his hand, but his eyes always seemed to drift elsewhere, waiting for someone else. When Tauriel arrived, glowing with the ethereal light of her magic and saving him, your heart shattered. Kíli murmured something to her, his voice soft and raw as if he was confessing, and you knew, deep in your bones, that whatever had bound him to you was slipping away.

You distanced yourself after that. There were no fights, no declarations—just quiet withdrawal. You told yourself you were being silly, that Kíli was just grateful to Tauriel for saving his life. But it didn’t feel like gratitude; it felt like you were being replaced. When Kíli would ask what was wrong, you’d brush him off with a smile that never reached your eyes.

“Nothing’s wrong,” you’d whisper, turning away before your voice could betray you. But Fili noticed, and so did the others.

One evening, as the company sat around a fire, Fili pulled Kíli aside. “You’re blind, brother. You’re so focused on someone who isn’t yours that you’ve forgotten the one who is.”

Kíli scoffed, defensive. “It’s not like that, Fili. Tauriel… she’s just… different.”

“And what about her?” Fili asked, nodding toward you as you sat alone, away from the others, staring into the flames. “Do you see how you’ve hurt her?”

Kíli’s heart tightened as he followed his brother’s gaze. You were different lately—quieter, more distant—but he hadn’t put the pieces together until now. Guilt gnawed at him, but before he could speak, a call to arms rang out.

The Battle of the Five Armies had begun.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The chaos of battle was overwhelming. Screams echoed across the battlefield, the clashing of metal, and the roars of orcs filled the air. Kíli fought alongside his kin, but a part of him searched for you, needing to talk to you, to apologize. He had been a fool, blinded by something fleeting and neglecting what was real: you.

But you were nowhere to be found. As time passed, his desperation mounted. His strikes grew wilder, fueled by frantic fear for your safety.

When the battle slowed, he found Fili standing over a body, his face ashen. Kíli’s heart dropped into his stomach as he rushed to his brother’s side.

“No…” Fili whispered, his voice shaking.

Kíli followed his brother’s gaze and saw you. Lying there, your once bright eyes now closed, your skin pale beneath the grime of battle. Blood stained your armor and the fallen snow, a fatal wound that had taken you when he hadn’t been there.

“No… no, no, no!” Kíli dropped to his knees beside you, trembling hands cradling your face. “You can’t be… you can’t…” His voice broke, shattered by grief too powerful to contain.

He had lost you. Not to an orc’s blade, not to the chaos of battle, but because he hadn’t been there when you needed him most. He had failed you long before your body had fallen on this battlefield.

Kíli let out a roar, more pain than rage, as his world collapsed around him. The battle, the quest—none of it mattered. Nothing mattered anymore.

Fili knelt beside him, his own tears falling, but Kíli barely noticed. All he saw was you—your face, once full of life, now still. He pulled you into his arms, rocking back and forth, as if he could somehow bring you back by sheer force of will.

“I’m sorry my dove,” Kíli whispered, his voice breaking. “I should’ve… I should’ve been there. I should’ve never let you go.”

But it was too late. The words he should’ve said, the love he should’ve shown, would never reach you now. He had betrayed you long before Tauriel had entered their lives, and now you were gone.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

As the battle’s final moments played out, Kíli fought with a desperation that had nothing to do with winning. He fought because he had nothing left to lose. Tauriel, who had rushed to help him again, found him amidst the carnage, but he barely acknowledged her presence.

She wasn’t who he wanted. She wasn’t who he needed. He realized, too late, that the only person he had ever truly loved was now beyond his reach.

Kíli fell on the battlefield, not from an enemy's blade but from the weight of his own heartbreak. As he closed his eyes, the last thing he saw was your face, the memory of you smiling at him before everything faded into darkness.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

In the end, it wasn’t an orc that took Kíli’s life. It was regret.

[wild-lavender-rose]

I wish you could write a fic where.... Y/N gets injured and tries to take care of her wounds on her own but Legolas finds her and tries to take care of her but she is scared to let him see. Lots of hurt/comfort fluff??

(You don't have to but it would be so cute!)

Okay, this is actually one of my favorite tropes to write so when I saw this I got so excited lol. Hidden injury? Not wanting to ask for help? Extra fluff? Yes please <3 I hope you enjoyed this, I haven't written for Legolas in several months and don't feel like this is my best work. But I hope you enjoy, anon!

Promise

Warning: description of injury

Your back connected with the tree, the fabric of your shirt catching on pieces of bark as you slowly slid down to sit between its roots. Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli were setting up camp and beginning to prepare dinner. You had made the excuse of going to find firewood and separated from the group, going much farther than was necessary before finding this old tree to hide behind.

You had been injured by the orc attack while attempting to save Boromir. In the flurry of events that followed it had been easy to hide the blood stain on your left side. You hadn't looked at it for two whole days, convincing yourself that it was just a small scratch. But after hours of hard travel with barely time for breath, you had been forced to admit that it was much worse than a scratch.

Breathing hard, you grit your teeth and lifted your shirt to reveal the dirty bandage you had wound around your waist. It was soaked through and dripping with blood.

You cursed the sight of it and the orc who had wounded you, going to dig through your bag for another bandage when the sense of someone watching stopped you cold. In one smooth movement you were on your feet with your knife at the ready, waiting for the one you sensed to appear.

"Easy, my love." Legolas stepped into the clearing. "I thought you were collecting firewood."

You lowered your knife. "I am."

Legolas's eyes narrowed as he regarded you. The impact of moving so quickly made you sway, putting a hand against the tree for support as the knife slipped from your fingers. "Go back to camp."

"You've been injured."

You shook your head. "It's nothing."

"I see blood." Legolas was by your side in an instant, taking hold of your arm as you continued to sway.

"Legolas, please," you leaned until your back was flush against the tree. "I can handle it."

Legolas's gaze was piercing. "Your reason is tainted with pain. I see it in your eyes."

You opened your mouth to object, but instead whimpered when Legolas touched your side. "Stop," you slid down to the ground once more. "Please, I must...I must handle this alone."

"You are not alone." Legolas knelt beside you. "You will never be alone. Let me help you."

"I will slow down the group, we won't save the hobbits," you began to ramble, a bloody hand reaching up to push the sweaty hair from your forehead. "I cannot, I cannot be injured now."

"Legolas?" Aragorn's deep voice rang through the forest.

"Here, Aragorn. Come quickly!" Legolas called.

"No, my love," you grabbed at his arm but it was already too late.

Aragorn appeared in moments, his dark eyes taking you in before he sank to the ground. "How long have you been injured?"

You shook your head. "It's nothing."

"Lift your shirt for me."

"I will not."

"My love, look at me," Legolas reached out and cradled the side of your face, guiding your eyes to his. "You do not have to hide this from me. Aragorn has herbs that will heal the wound, and we will not leave you before you are healed."

Tears filled your eyes. You reached up, fingers encircling his wrist. "Promise?" You whispered.

Legolas gave a solemn nod. "I promise."

Something inside you snapped. The fear and anxiety of being discovered dissolved, allowing the true weight of pain to show on your face. Already weak, you grew dizzy and slumped back against the tree.

Legolas raised your shirt and ripped off your haphazard bandage. Blood flowed freely from your wound. Aragorn began to work, muttering soft words in elvish to Legolas as he applied pressure to stop the bleeding. You screamed and tried to thrash, but Legolas held you still while Aragorn whispered his apologies.

"Easy, my star. Easy," Legolas held your hand and wiped the sweat and tears from your face. "I have you now. I'll take care of you."

And you believed him.

Fanfic Masterlist

[minaturefics]

Though I Know My Heart Would Break

Request: For the poll that Legolas won! You guys sent in a few prompts, I've incorporated: sick (injured, rather) fic, hurt/comfort, everyone lives, and reader confesses first! Hope you guys like it! (Title is from Hozier's Francesca that has me in a chokehold)

Legolas x Reader

Gender-neutral reader

Content warnings: Mild injury (no overly graphic descriptions)

3.7k words

---

You walked through the forest, ducking under the cedar branches, weaving between the cypresses. The air was rich with the scent of herbs — thyme and sage, marjoram and parsley. The late afternoon sun filtered in through the canopy, specking the forest floor with light. Legolas’ footsteps were silent on the soft ground, but the steady clopping of the horse he was leading reassured you of his presence.

With the coronation over, and Eowyn and Faramir wed, attention was turned to restoring Minas Tirith and setting up a settlement at Emyn Arnen. You and Legolas were tasked with surveying the land and forests around Emyn Arnen. Sam was curious about the plants, hearing how new and different they were to those back in The Shire, but Frodo’s reluctance to stray further than the Citadel kept him in Minas Tirith. 

You paused by a cluster of pink rockfoils, thumbing the thin stems before plucking a few small flowers and tucking them into a waxed pouch. 

“Mellon nin,” Legolas said, sounding half-amused, half-exasperated, “Why do you pause and pluck? You have been doing so since we arrived. ”

“They’re for Sam. He might have agreed to stay in Minas Tirith, but I saw the shade of disappointment in his eyes. I thought perhaps I could bring the forest to him instead.”

His lips tugged up at the corners. “And what will you give the forest in return?”

“What do you mean?” You frowned and stood. 

He smiled, soft and knowing, eyes wandering over the barks and branches. “These trees have been left at peace for many years, the bushes and shrubs untouched. They are not used to wandering fingers and restless feet.”

You glanced down at the patch of rockfoils, the decapitated stems looking more brutal in light of Legolas’ words. Your lips twisted and he chuckled, and your eyes drifted back to him.

He had always been so full of light and laughter, even during the endless days and dark nights, even after Gandalf fell, even after the hobbits were taken. Ethereal, that was what people said of the elves. Otherworldly. 

But he looked so human, so normal, standing in a patch of sunlight, laughing at the concerned expression on your face. There were smudges of dirt on his boots, dew dotting the bottom hem of his cloak, and even a small leaf lodged in his hair. 

Yes, Legolas has always just been Legolas to you. 

Perhaps that was why it had been so easy to lose your heart to him. How could you not? While the others regarded him with a deference, or awe in the hobbits’ case, or even confusion at his elf customs, he had never truly seemed so different to you. His eyes, brown and alive in the light, still crinkled at the corners when he smiled. His voice, low and melodious, still cracked when he spoke of sorrows. And his hands, delicate and strong, still bore soft calluses from his bow. 

The last couple of days had been so indulgently wonderful. Without the threat of war or the constant need for secrecy and vigilance, being out in the wilds once more was soothing. It was a great secret joy, of course, that you had Legolas’ undivided attention. 

He had been more loose limbed and free with touches. Hands grazing yours as you walked, his knee against yours while you sat. His eyes too, seemed to melt into an amber by the fire, a tenderness in his gaze. It felt as though the seed of friendship had slowly, slowly, started to grow into something more. 

“Shall we continue on?” He said, and inclined his head towards the distant sound of water. “We can set up camp and leave our things while we walk the forest.”

You nodded and smiled before looking away, eyes scanning the forest floor before they landed on a patch of flowers. They were strange looking, three pronged with large paper-like petals. You knelt by them, carefully cutting the blooms with your knife, and idly said, “It is beautiful here, is it not?”

He hummed in agreement. “I could envisage residing here for a time, should Faramir allow it.”

You glanced at him over your shoulder and chuckled. “You should speak to Sam. Aragorn has already consulted him on some of the gardens in the Citadel, it would not surprise me if Faramir would ask him to Emyn Arnen to design something.”

“Those flowers,” he began, stepping closer and inspecting them, “they are… strange. I do not know what they are, and perhaps it would be better to leave them be.”

“Are they poisonous?”

He leaned in and sniffed them. “No, but as I said before, this forest is unaccustomed to such things. Gifts must be freely given, and what is not must be a fair exchange.”

You dropped them into the pouch and laughed, continuing through the forest. There was a strange note in his voice, something older, wiser, than the Legolas you knew. But what harm could there be in a few cuttings? The forest was vast; a few flowers and leaves here and there would not be any loss at all. “Come now, Legolas, you speak as though —”

A stone caught your toe, your knee buckled, and you fell to the ground. Sharp pain jolted up your wrists and knees, then a hot stinging spread across your palms and shins. You blinked, eyes focusing and unfocusing on the rotting leaves in the dirt, before warm hands rested between your shoulder blades.

“Are you alright?” Legolas said, crouching and easing you back into a sitting position. You stared at him, eyes drifting from his eyes to his lips. Had he always had such beautiful lips? “Mellon nin, are you alright?”

“Yes… I —” The shock of tingling subsided from your hands and legs and only a dull throbbing remained. You looked down at your knee, the same knee that had been shot, and found your trousers ripped and the old wound reopened. It was not as bad as the initial wound, though still relatively deep, and was bleeding sluggishly through the matted dirt. “Oh, I’m… bleeding.”

His eyes darted from your knee to the divot in the ground where a leaf caught in your fall was stained with blood. His lips tightened before he let out a soft sigh. “It is as I said: a fair exchange.” An easy smile spread across his face, the hand on your shoulder loosened its grip, and his voice took on a merry lilt. “However, I do not believe we will have any more trouble on our little trip here.”

The shock of the fall had subsided and you looked at the pouch still clutched in your fist. “Well, I suppose I should make the most of it then, and collect what I can for Sam.”

He laughed, squeezing your shoulder affectionately. “Never one to pass up an opportunity. Come, let us set up camp by the river and have a look at your wound. I do not wish for the matrons at the Houses of Healing tomorrow to claim I have neglected you.”

He pulled you to your feet, and looped an arm around your waist to help you hobble along. His arm was warm, his grip firm but gentle. Pressed up against him you could smell his scent, something fresh like grass or water, unsullied even by a couple of days in the forest. The both of you found a suitable spot under shelter by the trees, and after tying the horse up, he led you to the banks. 

His nimble fingers pried apart the shredded remains of the fabric by your knee and started to wash the wound. He dressed it with some honey from his pack and untouched moss from the forest floor and some spare wrappings you had in your supplies for such an eventuality. 

While he worked, you watched his hands. Long and lithe, they were precise and delicate with their motions. If only you could reach out, and lay your hand on top of his, to sweep your thumb over the back of his knuckles. But your hands were still muddied, and the new closeness you shared with him was too new and too tenuous for something like that. 

Legolas set up camp with a practiced efficiency, and soon the both of you were sitting beside each other by the fire, eating your supplies of bread and cheese. The fire crackled and popped, and around you the forest became alive at night. Owls hooted in the trees, and critters rustled in the bushes, and then, very softly, Legolas began to sing. 

The words were lost on you, but the melody was enough. The notes drifted in the air, curling around you, seeping into your skin. It sounded slow and adoring, leisurely and lazy, and the sensation of lying on sun-warmed grass, your lover’s touch skirting up your arm, filled your body. You leaned back on your arms, sinking into his voice, letting it carry and caress you. 

When the last few words rang in the air, you opened your eyes. Legolas was looking at you with a fond expression, eyes half-lidded and lips in a soft smile. 

“That song,” you whispered, “what is it about?”

His smile widened and he said, “I’ll tell you another time perhaps.”

-

Legolas stood on one of the parapets that overlooked the entrance to the Houses of Healing. Your wound was not healing as well as it should, most likely because of how bad the initial arrow wound was, and you were getting it redressed by the matrons. He sighed and let his eyes wander from the stone flagstones, to the rooftops, to the plains. In truth, the sight of your flesh, angry and inflamed, shook something in him. Even something as minor as your wound, was enough of a risk for infection, for fever. 

Humans were so fragile, so… final. 

He blinked at the thought. Yes, of course, how could he forget? Humans were mortal. Boromir was, Aragorn was. Even the merry little hobbits and Gimli were. How strange to think that such a thing slipped his mind when it came to you, but it was far too easy really. 

There was a vitality that seemed to pour from your being, an almost stubborn resilience, especially in the grim shadow of misfortune. It was the way you would play with the hobbits, even after a long day of walking, or grit your teeth and carry on, even harrowing experience after harrowing experience. When you smiled, the day was better, brighter, and he always found himself trying to get another laugh from you. 

And yet… such a light could be so easily snuffed out. 

He shifted on his feet and watched as you limped from the Houses of Healing. He had intended to go with you, but Sam had wanted to discuss garden plans, and Boromir had gone with you instead. He was about to raise his arm and call out to you, when a figure emerged from behind the line of trees. Boromir walked towards you with outstretched arms and pulled you into his side and helped you along, vanishing from his sight beyond the trees.

Ever since the end of the war, it had felt as though things were shifting between him and you. It was only small, nearly imperceptible changes — softer smiles, more frequent dinners alone, hands that reached and fingers that brushed. And yet… Why did it feel as though you were on the other side of something he could not cross? 

He thought of the cry of the gulls, the perpetual tugging at his heart for the sea. Oh, how he wished he had never heard them. Was this how Arwen felt all the time? Longing, aching. She was happy with Aragron, he knew, but sometimes he would catch her gazing out of a window, eyes forlorn and smile sad. Aragorn knew, understood even, and in those moments he left her to her quiet longing, never hurt or bothered, and welcomed her into his arms when she went back to him. 

But would you understand? Could you accept that there would always be one part of him that belonged to the sea, to the distant shore he would never reach? Or would it be a burden to ask such a thing of you? Maybe you would be better off with someone… mortal. He sighed and wandered back towards the Citadel proper. 

“Boromir, this is unnecessary. Put me down!” Your laughter rang out and you and Boromir emerged onto the courtyard. You were in his arms, limbs flailing as he wrangled to keep you held properly. “Boromir, I — oh, Legolas.”

“Ah, Legolas,” Boromir said as he gently replaced you back on the ground. “I return them to your care.”

He forced a smile onto his face. “How is your leg?”

“Mild infection but nothing to worry about,” you said, hobbling over to him. 

He instinctively reached out and wrapped an arm around your waist. You were warm underneath his hand, warmer than usual, and you smelled strongly of herbal poultice. He could detect traces of burdock and comfrey, and underneath it all, the smell of you. He took a greedy breath, filling his lungs with proof of your life. “You should be resting. Let us go back inside.”

“I’ve been inside the past week. I’m bored to death,” you grumbled. “Let’s sit outside for a while.”

He helped you to one of the stone benches and you collapsed onto it, hissing in pain. You gingerly stretched your leg out and sighed as you settled. He sat next to you, his eyes lingering on your knee. 

“Oh, stop fussing. It’s quite minor, really.”

“I have seen men succumb to infection from unassuming cuts. I do not think I will rest easy until you are fully healed.”

He followed the line of your leg up to your waist, then shoulders, and along your jaw and lips, up to your nose and eyes. Such beauty, destined to fade, to vanish from the world forever. How could he bear it? How could anyone?

“What is on your mind, my friend?” You asked.

“I was just thinking about the fading nature of men. I do not know how your kind bear it.”

“Death?” You chuckled. “But elves can die too, can they not?”

“Yes, but… it is not in our nature. In peace times, it is very rare for our kind to die. For men… even now, where there is no suffering any longer, you still experience the sting of mortality.” His chest constricted. “How can one stand to behold love and light, knowing it will vanish?”

“It is because they do not last, that we relish in them.”

“Even if it will bring you pain later?”

You smiled, gentle and indulgent, and placed your hand on top of his. His shoulders relaxed at your touch, the tension seeping out of his muscles. He wanted to capture the moment, to bottle it somehow, keep the image of you with the sun on your eyelashes and the feeling of the softness of your skin forever preserved. 

“Yes,” you whispered, “even then.”

Something shifted in his heart, just slightly, and a smile crept onto his face. Yes, he thought, especially then. 

-

“Sam,” you said, surveying the small garden. He had done a good job with it — the shrubs were well trimmed and flowers burst in orange and yellow all around. “Are you certain it will look good?”

He nodded and grinned. “It’ll look real pretty with some candles about. I still remember what it looked like in Lothlorien. We don’t ‘ave the sort of fancy holders and the like, but I’ll do my best.”

You smiled and laid a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t know how to thank you for this. I would do it myself but my knee…”

“No thankin’ needed. If anything, I should be thanking you. You brinin’ me those plants and flowers, even when the forest didn’t like you doin’ so.” His eyes fell to your knee. “I’m real sorry it caused you such trouble.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that.” You chuckled and patted him on the back. You looked around the garden again, trying to imagine the candles and cushions that Sam said he’d arrange for the night time picnic you had planned. “Do you think he’ll like it?”

“I think he’ll love it. Mighty romantic, if I can say.”

You shifted on your feet, stomach suddenly lurching. “What if I’m mistaken, Sam? I’m not sure I could bear the embarrassment.”

The last week or so had been so lovely it had felt like a dream. Nearly every night, Legolas had invited you to sit with him at the top of some tower or parapet. He would point and tell you stories of the stars and of the elves that had come before. There were so many instances where he would lean in close, eyes half-lidded, and talk in a low, murmured tone. You would watch his lips, and watch as he watched yours. But then he would draw back and glance away. 

“The elves are funny folk,” he said with a sigh. “I couldn’t tell you what might be goin’ on in Legolas’ mind, but I doubt he would be spendin’ so much time with you if he didn’t have some… reason to do so. If you catch my meaning.”

“I hope so, Sam. Well, I’ll leave you to it. I need to go to the kitchens to see what cheese and fruit they might be able to spare me.”

He gave you an encouraging smile and with a little wave, you set off downstairs. 

The sun was just setting when Sam called you back to the garden to assess what he had prepared. Candles were dotted all around the courtyard, separated on candelabras and clustered in small groups around the picnic blanket. Plush cushions were laid out and there were little white flowers scattered on the soft wool, perfuming the air with the faint smell of jasmine. 

“Sam,” you gasped. “This is — I cannot —”

“I’ll be takin’ your speechlessness as a compliment?” He smiled shyly and ducked his head. He reached for the picnic basket in your hand and placed it on the blanket. “There, now it’s complete.”

“I’ll repay you for this Sam, I promise.”

He blushed. “Like I said before, there’s no need. Anyway, I best be hurryin’ along. Wouldn’t want Legolas to stumble upon me here and get any wrong ideas.”

You laughed and he vanished back inside. You limped over to the blanket, wincing a little as you lowered yourself, and tried to slow your breathing. Legolas would come, wouldn’t he? What if he took one look at the scene and fled? You shook your head. No, he wouldn’t do that. If you were truly mistaken about his feelings towards you, he would tell you gently and bear you no ill will.

“Mellon nin,” Legolas said from behind you and you turned, heart thumping in your chest. His eyes were wide and a slow smile was spreading across his face. “I received your message. Why have you asked me here?”

You swallowed. Did he not know? “Is it… is it not obvious?”

“I have an inkling, perhaps.” He wandered over, his steps lazy and relaxed, and sank onto the cushions. The tightness in your chest eased a fraction. “But I do not wish to presume what may or may not be in your heart. Will you not give me the truth?”

“Legolas, I…” You cleared your throat. By the Valar, why was it so difficult to speak? He arched an eyebrow at you and you glanced away, speaking more to the picnic basket than to him. “I… care for you. A great deal.”

He took your hand, and you dared to lift your gaze. He beamed at you, and then a flash of mischief entered his eyes. “As a friend?”

You scowled at him. “Do you often plan candlelit picnics for your friends, Legolas?”

He laughed and pressed his lips to the back of your hand. They were soft and warm, his breath hot on your skin. “I am teasing, meleth nin.”

Heat crept up your neck and you tried to withdraw your hand. He held fast and planted a line of kisses up, up, up, from your wrist to your elbow to your shoulder. His eyes were almost sparking in the dim, the dots of candlelight flickering in his dark irises. He kissed your jaw and your nose and your temple before dipping his head to capture your lips.

He kissed slow and languid, as though savouring the feeling of you against him. He tasted tart and sweet, no doubt from the berry and honey biscuits you knew he liked to snack on. The strange tension in your stomach snapped and vanished, and you melted under his touch. His growing smile made you giggle and your teeth knocked against his, making him laugh. 

“I am curious about what you have in that picnic basket of yours,” he murmured. “There will be time for such enjoyment later.”

A flush coloured your cheeks. “I suppose it would be a waste if we simply ignored all the food I prepared.”

“Though, before we continue, I must ask you a question first,” he said, growing grave and serious. His eyes drifted down to your joined hands, and he brushed his thumb over your knuckles. “Could you bear being with me, living with me, when part of my heart is forever owned by the sea?”

You reached up and brushed a stray strand of hair behind his ear. “My love, could you bear to be with me? If you stay, you will fade.”

“It would be a worse fate to live eternity without you,” he whispered. “That I could not bear.”

“Legolas…” It seemed all the more tragic that he, of all people, should die. He was light and joy and the thought of him growing cold and dim wrenched at your heart. “You deserve to… I cannot…”

“I have made my choice, meleth nin. Let us be happy together.” He cupped your cheek, a smile spreading across his face. His eyes were soft, but certain, his touch gentle but sure. He kissed the tip of your nose, chuckling, before he slanted his lips against yours. The kiss was chaste and quick, and all the more sweeter for its casualness. 

“For however long we have,” he murmured, “let us be happy.”

“Alright,” you said. You rested your forehead against his, inhaling his scent, breathing his breath. Yours, for now, for ever. “For however long we have.”

---

ok but what is it about the immortality of elves that has me appreciating/relishing/romanticising our mortal lives. i swear this is the second time ive done this with legolas.

Taglist: @sotwk

[kindlythevoid]

Not Gimli making sure that Frodo gets to see Durin’s stone, even though they are on literally the most dangerous mission and it would be safer for them to move on than to stop and look. Not Legolas letting Aragorn know that Frodo and Sam are still injured and need a second after Moria after walking for-fucking-ever because they won’t say a word. Not Gimli and Legolas looking out and bonding with the hobbits!!!

[boy-eater11]

Mortality

Legolas x reader

Fluff, slight angst, comfort

Cw: mentions of death, mentions of injury, insecurity,

-in which, you're plagued by fears of your humanity, and Legolas vows to stay beside you regardless.

It was a cold night. Yet the cold seemed almost irrelevant compared to the pain in your mind. The fall of gandalf followed so closely by Boramir, was a terrifying reminder of the stakes of your travel and your own mortality.

You had joined the fellowship as a healer. For many years you had studied healing practices from every corner of the land, and it was decided you were best suited to assist the ring bearer.

Yet even with all of your knowledge, your salves and elixir's could only ever slow the inevitable. People could still die at any point from any array of unsuspecting issues. And that included you.

You had been gravely injured in the onslaught, and had awoken to a fractured fellowship. You were too late. Too late to save Boramir, too late to properly heal yourself, and too late to say goodbye to the hobbits.

So instead, you keep yourself awake with hope that death does not find you. If only you were an elf or a dwarf or even one of the dunadain, like your companions, you would feel less like a burden.

Oh god how you wished to be an elf. Unnaturally beautiful, unaffected by the discomforts of humanity, so immovable even in the face of grief. But most of all, Immortal.

In fact, you had been wishing to be an elf since even before the death of Gandalf. You wished to be an elf, because the fact you were not, and single handedly ripped your heart out.

For you, a mortal, so quick to emotion, had fallen in love with the very elf that accompanied you.

Legolas was beautiful by any mortal measure, but something about him had stolen the very air from your lungs. Every word he spoke called you you like a song on the wind, every breath he took a reminder of his purity, every move he made a residual of his grace. Even in the presence of other elves, Legolas shined like a full moon peaking through a cloudy night.

And that is why you longed for a different life. Because as a mortal woman, any hope at catching the eye of an elvish prince, was nonexistent. Even if miraculously he did feel something for you, you would be cursing him to a life where he would be forced to watch you get old and die without him.

You could not even bring yourself to dream of him, for any thought was so quickly disputed by your very nature. And watching the true frailty of life, only served to burn that into your mind.

So that is why you lie awake, the wind seemingly blowing through you on such a cold night. Your feeble human body holding in the oncoming shiver. You wanted to stay as still as you could. The group has agreed to stop so you could rest, and although you were grateful, it seemed the only ones who would be resting this night, were the others. With the exception of Legolas, who agreed to be on watch for the night while the rest slept.

He is why you did not wish to move. Because if he noticed your anxious breath and chattering teeth, which he easily could, you would be forced to explain what was keeping you up even after you had requested a stop.

Suddenly, and without warning, your body decided that it did not in fact feel like secrecy, and let out a loud and abrupt sneeze.

You blushed, shifting lightly to bury your face in the meager wrapping you called a blanket. "I know you are still awake. you seem to be unable to rest." The ellon spoke, not taking his eyes off the tree line.

you sighed, shifting to sit up "I am sorry, I know I was the one who needed it, but... I cannot bring myself to rest." You whispered, your eyes glued to the ground in embarrassment.

He stood, turning to face you. "I don't think it's best to leave, but if you wish we could go for a quick walk as to not disturb our companions." He motioned for you to approach him.

You stood up, carefully walking to his side, to which you both began to walk into the starlit woods around you.

This has become a common occurrence back with the fellowship. You and Legolas would wander together at night, making light conversation about your pasts or hopes for the future. Yet for some reason, this felt much more deep than it had before.

"Are you going to tell me what is on your mind? I know the grief of loss, and this is not just that." He looked over at you curiously.

"I'm sorry...I would explain, but I fear it is something you will not understand." You look down, fidgeting with the hem of your tunic.

"There is very little I am entirely unable to understand. At the very least, I wish to lend you an ear, so you do not bear your burden in silence." He looks at you, a sympathetic smile gracing his lips.

"it is just... You elves live hundreds of years, and even if you do not travel to the undying lands, you still live much longer than I could ever know... I have lived my whole life knowing i will die, yet it always seemed like it was something far away. Now, it feels moments from consuming me." You look up at him, your cheeks pink from the cold wind and eyes glossy from pain buried underneath.

"I cannot tell you it will never find you. It finds all humans in the end. But I can say, that I will be by your side until the end, and I will do my best to make sure that your end is as far away from you as it can be" he takes one of your cold hands, and wraps in in his comfortingly, his pace stopping as he faces you.

"Legolas I.... T-that is very kind of you to say. I wish you say it in return, yet I know I will never be able to fulfill it." Your cheeks flush lightly, your eyes meeting his.

"And yet I say it regardless. Because I would gladly endure the pain of losing you, if it meant I got to be by your side. Every moment with you is worth a thousand of my lifetimes." He rests one hand against your face, gently cradling it affectionately.

Your eyes widen lightly at the contact, yet you lean into it nonetheless. "You speak so highly of me. You're an elvish prince, and I'm a mere healer. I truly fail to see why you see me as such a close friend when I am so far from your caliber."

A light chuckle escapes him, as he rubs his thumb on your cheek bone lightly. "Then you will be astonished when I admit that I see you as far more than a friend."

You freeze, your eyes wide in shock, your entire body tensing. "You...you cannot mean what you say Legolas... You must be... confused..."

He smiles knowingly, his eyes softening at your shock. "I understand if you do not feel the same, but I am sure that my affections for you are far more than a mere companion or even friend. You are special to me. Your beauty is greater than any star in the night sky, Your generosity deserves more gratitude than I could ever express, and your bravery overcomes even your deepest instinct. In truth, I don't think I could do anything but love you."

Your eyes begin to sting as you let out a shaky breath you did not realize you were holding. "Legolas, there are few words I can use to convey just how deeply I have longed for you. I have spent many a sleepless night on this journey wishing I would be good enough for your eye. You are so much more than I have ever deserved."

Before you know it, the gap between you is gone, and his soft flowery lips are pressed gently against yours. The kiss is unlike any conjuring of your imagination. It is ancient and unknowable, yet so tangible and grounded it feels as if it's been destined since the dawn of time.

The cold air once again whips at your face as you pull away. A bright smile grows on your face as you meet his eyes. He looks at you like you're the most adorable creature he has ever set his eyes upon. "You deserve nothing less than absolute perfection Meleth nín. I only hope I can provide it."

[dontfearrr]

for my good friend ! this isn’t silly at all i think it’s so endearing :) @legolas-fan-blog

short and sweet as some would say

Lion and the lamb…or fawn?

gif not mine:)

summary: Reader comes across an injured fawn, Legolas is quick to assist his lady.

Pairing: Legolas x f!elf!reader

Warnings: none

Category: fluff

Word count: still working on this💀

—————————-

The crisp air of the morning kisses your pale cheeks, blowing back your long white locks as your eyes fell shut at the content feeling. Though elves weren’t prone to the cold or anything of that matter, it still was nice to experience every now and then. Your bow was in your right grasp while your head was pointed upward to the sky.

That was until you got a feeling that ran through your abdomen all the way up to the tips of your pointed ears. It took you no more than a blink of an eye to nock an arrow. Pointing in the direction of where your nose told you to. You saw nothing, even your elvish eyes couldn’t see anything near or around you.

WHOOSH.

Your eyes widened at the fallen object in between your feet, it was a bright red apple, pierced by an arrow. Your eyebrow lifted in curiosity seeming as it didn’t look like a threat.

“it would seem as if you’ve let your guard down little one!” a familiar and eye rolling voice shouted as his figure hopped branch to branch until he landed in front of you on two feet as if he was a swift cat. You drew your bow back, placing the arrow back into its holster that was latched to your back along with your bow as you crossed your arms.

“Legolas, you should know it is rude to sneak up on a lady.” you spoke to the white haired ellon with amusement laced in your words. He flashed you a playful smile and reached for the arrow that pierced the apple and pulled it free, taking a large bite of the juicy fruit before stretching his arm toward you, offering it.

You took the apple, copying his actions then handed it back, more like pushing it into his chest with fake arrogance. You heard him chuckle behind you, followed by light, nearly silent footsteps of the princling while you continued your walk through the green forrest. You were there out of boredom, wanting to wonder around and find things you could take back home to add to your collection. So far you’ve found a rock in the shape of a star and a perfectly shaped acorn.

“what brings you out here, my lady?” Legolas spoke as he caught up to your side, beaming down at you like a sweet child with his bow in hand still, a habit the young prince has picked up over the many years he’s been alive. “simply boredom. Elrond has been quiet these days so i’ve had much free time on my hands. i come here to collect meaningless trinkets.” you said, glancing up at his smiling figure, returning a smile.

“care for some company? i’ll be as least annoying as i possibly can, my lady” he teased, knowing he knew how to strike a few nerves in you, never upsetting you but as if he was a lost puppy perhaps. He was a good friend of yours, though you cannot deny the small feelings your heart bared for him.

“i’d love some company, however i better not see anymore rogue apples flying my way.” You giggled a little half way through your sentence at his childish manners but it never failed to entertain you, and he knew that. “deal” he never dropped his proud smile as the two of them walked through the soft evergreen.

You two made conversation until your ears perked up at a sound of displease. You laid your arm across Legolas’ chest to halt his movements and he raised an eyebrow in confusion until he too heard what you had. You jogged toward the sound, hopping and swinging on branches to fasten your movements, Legolas followed suit. To your surprise you spotted an injured fawn laid across the forrest floor, blood pouring out of its leg as it cried in agony. Your heart poured into the scene as you carefully approached the gentle creature. You examined the fawn, making sure it had no other injuries.

There was an arrow pierced through its small thigh, it quivered and jerked at the pain. “god damned hunters” you grimaced at the thought of those wretched beings, cursing your beloved woodland.

“Legolas do you still carry those healing herbs on you?” He nodded and swiftly unbuckled his belt that held his leather pouch and handed it to you. He crouched on the other side of the fawn and looked up at you in worry, he knew how much the forrest meant to you, along with everything in it. He would be damned if he were to stop you from doing such. “i’ll break the arrow and carefully remove it, you’ll need to hold the creature down.” Legolas said in a hushed tone, rubbing your arm gently to comfort you, noticing your obvious sadness, your lip beginning to quiver.

You simply nodded and searched through the princes pouch, finding the herb you were needing and laid it out. You bit the bottom of your dark green undershirt, ripping a long piece of it and laying that out as well.

You took a deep breath and ran your hands down the poor creatures torso, putting enough weight to hold it down but not enough to hurt it. Legolas gripped the arrow and snapped it as if it was merely a twig. He slid the arrow out of the wound of the leg and tossed it elsewhere and your eyes squeezed shut, wishing to block out the sounds of the suffering fawn. You then opened your eyes and looked up at Legolas before taking the piece of cloth you ripped from yourself and cleaning up the blood that spilled then taking the healing herbs and took Legolas’ bow from the ground since it was the closest thing and used the end to crush the bright green herb. Once it was a paste you spread it across the wound of the fawn and Legolas held the leg for you so you can tend to the other side as well.

The wound visibly already began healing and you used the same cloth to wrap around the wound to keep it from getting infected. Legolas gave you a smile and helped you clean up the supplies. You stood and whispered a few words in elvish and watched the fawn stand up on its own and run off into the greenery.

Legolas stood next to you and placed a hand on your waist, you jumped in surprise, not ever having been touched in a way by Legolas. “i admire you, little one. you have a good heart.” he looked down at you with his sweet smile. Your eyes lit up in appreciation and it was almost as if you felt yourself blush. Legolas’ eyes visibly widened and his teeth appeared in his smile.

“i may be a fool but i know when someone is flustered.” his thumb ran across your reddened cheek and you huffed. “you’re a good friend Legolas, i don’t think there’s anyone else that would’ve helped me do such a thing. you, my prince, are the one with a good heart.” you said to him and took the hand that occupied your cheek and held it to your mouth, kissing his porcelain fingers.

“well…i smell quite the grapefruit tree near by, shall we?” the tips of his ears heated and he held out his arm for you and you latched onto him, continuing your walk through the forrest with no other than the prince of Mirkwood.