#lady-of-imladris fics

[lady-of-imladris]

CHAPTER 13 - ALL THROUGHOUT THE GREAT WAR

Synopsis: A lot of things are happening in Middle Earth. A dragon attacks Erebor, Gollum is imprisoned in Mirkwood, and the entire plot of the Lord of the Rings trilogy also happens in this chapter.

Word count: 2.5k

Pairings: Thranduil/OC

Warnings: I think none?

Additional tags: hurt/comfort lovers rejoice, the comfort is coming at the end of this chapter :) :) :)

Link to the chapter overview

And we will never go back To that bloodshed, crimson clover Uh-huh, the worst was over My hand was the one you reached for All throughout the Great War - The Great War (Taylor Swift)

The next 500 years were dark. While Thranduil had recovered most of his diplomatic abilities, he grew more concerned and wary too. Servants of the dark were everywhere. There were spiders in his forest and a dragon had attacked the nearby mountain, sealing within it forever the necklace he had given Anarríma on their wedding day. Legolas had played with it one day when he was still a small child, accidentally breaking the clasp. As soon as Thranduil heard of Glorfindel being reembodied, he sent it to the dwarves, expert craftspeople, to have it repaired. His wife would never need to know he had neglected to take care of her jewellery.

What Thranduil had not anticipated was the greed of Thror, king of Erebor, who wished to keep the necklace for himself, for it sparkled like a million stars. He had severed all ties with the dwarves, resenting them from that day forth. Let them rot. When the dragon came, Thranduil would not endanger his own soldiers for the greed of one dwarf. He had warned them many times, as had Elrond and Galadriel, having foreseen the dark days to come. What Thranduil had not expected was the dwarves sneaking through his forest on their way to reclaim their mountain. “There is nothing but death for you there,” he had told Thorin Oakenshield. A fool he was, and too much like his grandfather in Thranduil’s eyes.

When Thranduil offered his help in return for his wife’s jewels, which Thorin had declined ever so impolitely, Thranduil knew what he was dealing with. Thorin had failed to see reason, so Thranduil intended to keep the dwarves in his cells. Give them a chance to calm down and realize that they could not hope to survive this war and get their mountain back. There were too many orcs in his forest too, giving Thranduil a migraine that threatened to persist for an entire age. He barely managed more than an eyeroll when he received word of the escape of his prisoners. In addition, Celeborn had reached out, telling him what Galadriel, Elrond and Gandalf had uncovered.

Thranduil sighed wearily, donning his armour once more and giving his troops the order. Get his wife’s jewels back from the dwarves, warn them of the threat of the combined forces of the orcs and help them. He had planned to go to Erebor anyway, to help the citizens of Laketown, who had lost everything in the fire due to the greed of the dwarves. The King of Mirkwood was in desperate need of a good night’s sleep. He substituted it with wine. Thranduil met with Gandalf, the main cause of his migraine, as well as a man named Bard, newly appointed head of Laketown. He was trying everything to solve this conflict in a diplomatic way. But Thorin Oakenshield was too stubborn. He died for his stubbornness. Thranduil got his wife’s necklace back. They all went their separate ways.

The king knew in his heart that the deciding conflict was soon to come. He had successfully ignored Sauron and whatever evil was still afoot in Dol Guldur ever since his wife died. Let other people deal with that, he had lost enough already. However, once again, Gandalf crossed his plans and caused a lasting headache. The creature was called Gollum. At least, that’s what everyone else called it. The ranger Aragorn and Gandalf had dropped the creature off at his palace, getting Thranduil to agree to keep him in his dungeons. Fine. How much grief could this poor thing possibly cause him?

Thranduil soon discovered Gollum was mostly an easy prisoner. His wailing could not be heard far, even with the superior hearing of the Elven race, the magic around his dungeons kept the noise down. Gollum loved fish. “Let him have this comfort at least,” Thranduil had declared upon discovering this. Somehow he pitied Gollum, even allowing him to walk outside from time to time, always accompanied by heavily armed guards of course. It went well for a while. Thranduil even thought he began to understand Gollum, occasionally taking the time to sit with him and try to make conversation.

“We lost it,” the creature cried, “we needs it back, my precious, we needs it.” Thranduil did not entirely understand why Gollum referred to him as precious. “You lost something dear to you?” Gollum nodded, wailing pathetically. “I did too,” Thranduil admitted. Somehow, talking to the creature came easily to him. “The elf lost its precious too, maybe we can find it togeth- NOOO. Silence. He is trying to lure you. FOOL. Do not trust the elves. They are wicked, tricksy, false. His precious matters not.” “I beg your pardon?” Thranduil had listened intently to the creature. It seemed to be talking to itself as if two different beings resided within it. Gollum turned to look at him, seeming angry instead of afraid as usual. “Then beg.”

After that incident, Thranduil increased the number of guards who accompanied Gollum on his walks. However, it was not enough. His guards were overwhelmed by the number of spiders that attacked them, and when a group of orcs joined the fight, Thranduil’s soldiers were outnumbered, and Gollum was taken by the orcs. Legolas and the few survivors of the group returned to report to their king. That day, Thranduil made the hardest decision of his life. “Legolas,” he said softly, “you must inform Mithrandir and Strider of our failure. Go to Rivendell. You will most likely find them there.”

The next news Thranduil received about his son was a short note that simply stating that he would be gone for a while. “I love you Ada,” he had ended the letter. An uneasy feeling made its way through Thranduil’s entire body. Something was not right. But then again, what was right these days? Celeborn and Galadriel arrived unannounced several months later, telling Thranduil about the Fellowship of the Ring, and the part Legolas played in it. “We must keep the Eye as far away from Orodruin as we can,” Celeborn announced. Thranduil agreed. “We can take this opportunity to destroy Dol Guldur once and for all.” Their plan was hatched, a signal was agreed upon. Galadriel would know when the moment came.

Ever since he had found out about the plan to destroy Sauron, Thranduil could barely sleep. He had now fought Sauron twice. The first time had cost him his father. The second time had cost him his wife. Would this time cost him his son? Every time he closed his eyes, Thranduil saw his son’s lifeless body in the dead marshes. Sometimes next to his father. They had never found his body.

When he received the signal from Galadriel, Thranduil and the entirety of Mirkwood’s forces made their way to Dol Guldur. The road was too familiar to all of them. Those who were there when they last attempted to take the fortress were wary. What deception was waiting for them this time? When all armies were in position, and Thranduil, Galadriel and Celeborn gave the order, more than one soldier charged into battle shouting “For the Queen!” It deeply moved Thranduil. For the past three millennia, no one had even dared to utter the name of their queen in his presence, so as not to invoke his ire. It had never occurred to him that they had loved her too. “For the Queen!” Thranduil shouted and charged into battle.

Legolas found himself farther away from home than he had ever been. Mordor was not a good place. As they rode from Minas Tirith to the Black Gate, Legolas recalled that this was the battlefield where his parents had met. Where they had fallen in love. Elrond had told him the full story once. They had seen each other and known immediately that it was meant to be. They had observed the proper traditions and were courting for a long time before getting married. Even at almost 3000 years old, Legolas still had no idea that Elrond had embellished the story quite a bit. Legolas almost died that day, saving Aragorn. But to his great surprise, he lived. Aragorn lived. Mithrandir lived. The Hobbits lived. They had managed to defeat Sauron after all.

The victory celebration and coronation of King Elessar was joyful. As was Aragorn’s wedding. How Arwen had gotten her father to agree to the match, Legolas did not know. Galadriel took him to the side as soon as she saw him, telling him that his father was alive, they had destroyed Dol Guldur and that she was incredibly proud of him. Thranduil had not been able to join them in Minas Tirith. He had been wounded in battle and could not yet make such a long journey. Legolas worried greatly for his father and vowed to return home swiftly. Now that they finally had peace, he longed to spend more time with his father.

On the last evening before they were set to each return to their homes, Galadriel asked the remaining members of the Fellowship to meet with her. “It is the will of the Valar,” she announced to them, “that you each be rewarded for your courage and the sacrifices you have made.” She looked at each one of them for a moment. “Mithrandir,” she addressed Gandalf, “you have been granted a swift recovery from death. That has been your gift. As for the rest of you, you will be granted the highest honour. Each of you has been permitted passage to the Undying Lands. Valinor, home of the elves.”

Ignoring the excited chatter of the Hobbits, Galadriel continued. “Legolas Greenleaf. I have warned you months ago that you would hear the gulls and long for Valinor, the home you never even knew. A place in this land has always been your birthright, so the Valar have decided on something else for you. It is with the greatest happiness that I bring you this message: Your mother has been released from the Halls of Mandos. When you are ready to sail, she will be waiting for you in the house of my father Finarfin, High King of the Noldor.”

Legolas did not remember anything else that happened for a few hours after that. Only that he had planned to drink with Aragorn and the Hobbits. He found himself sitting with Celeborn and Galadriel instead. While he remembered Celeborn being there on occasion throughout his childhood, he had never fully grasped that the Lord and Lady of Lothlorien were his grandparents. They urged him not to be angry at Thranduil for keeping them apart. He’d had his reasons. “I don’t even know who my mother was,” Legolas finally confessed. That night, he received one of the greatest gifts from Celeborn and Galadriel. The truth.

“Your mother was born in Gondolin,” Galadriel began, “before the fall. When the survivors brought her to Lorien, we took her in as our own. She and Celebrían were not many years apart. She was a happy child. Fierce.” “Stubborn,” Celeborn added, smiling fondly. “She begged me to teach her how to wield a sword when she was just 4 years old.” “Did you?” Legolas asked, wide-eyed. Celeborn nodded. “She was my best soldier. By the time the War of the Last Alliance happened, she was my best General too. She begged us to let her join. We did not. But that day she realized that she could do whatever she wanted. I was glad of her company in the years that followed.”

“We were separated,” Celeborn continued his long account of the war, “I did not see her until the morning after the victory celebration. I heard from one of my men that someone had seen her being carried away from the battlefield by King Thranduil. I assumed she was wounded, so I searched for her among those who needed healing, but she was nowhere to be found. Your father, so foolishly in love with her simply decided to take her to his own tent and have Elrond take care of her. He did not wish to leave her side ever again. She did not return to her tent to sleep. The next day I saw her dancing with your father. She was so happy that night. Your father knew that he could never let her go again and she did not want to. She did not come back home to us again.”

Legolas grimaced. His mother staying with his father? The same day they met? That was highly improper, why had anyone tolerated that? “That’s not what Lord Elrond told me.” Galadriel and Celeborn chuckled. “Well, of course, the official story had to sound a bit more proper. But back then, everyone was just glad to be alive. No one cared about propriety. They ended up getting married soon enough.” In hindsight, Legolas was glad that he forgot most of what was said that night. There was only one piece of information that truly mattered. His mother was alive.

When Legolas was reunited with Thranduil a few days later, he was happy to see his father entirely recovered. He was limping slightly, but assured Legolas that it barely even hurt anymore. The elves of Mirkwood celebrated the return of their prince. They also mourned their numerous losses. But they had succeeded, Dol Guldur had been destroyed completely. Legolas had been on edge ever since he got back. How would he tell his father the news? He decided to do it after dinner, when they sat together, drinking wine.

Legolas told his father the entire story first of course. How they had formed the Fellowship, the pass of Caradhras, the Mines of Moria. He told him about his friend Gimli and after almost half an hour, Thranduil was slightly less red in the face. A dwarf?? Legolas ignored his father and simply continued. They had been to Lorien, taken boats down the Anduin. Boromir, son of the Steward of Gondor had died. Thranduil felt like he should have known the name, but he had not bothered to keep up with the realms of men as much as he should have. By the time he had memorized the name of one human king, that king had died of old age and Thranduil had to remember a new name. Legolas told him the less gruesome tales, and only touched on the battles very briefly, until he finally arrived at his conversation with Galadriel and what she had revealed to him.

“The Valar have granted me a great gift,” he began. Thranduil put down his goblet and listened intently. The Valar rarely interfered. “Naneth is alive.” “What?” Thranduil’s heart was beating so loudly that he could barely hear his son anymore. “She has been released from the Halls of Mandos, into the care of High King Finarfin.” Finarfin who? Thranduil’s head was spinning. He was going to pass out. “Ada? Are you alright? Ada!” His head hit the floor with a loud thud. Thranduil felt himself slowly lose consciousness. All else faded away until only one thought remained. Ana.

Please consider reblogging or leaving a comment <3

And there we have it. FINALLY a happy ending in sight. I have one more chapter planned, and then an epilogue, which I am currently writing. Sooooooooo the fic will be finished before the end of the year! I am really turning up the fluff on the last chapters, and maybe there will be more smut too but I am not making promises. As always, thank you for staying with me <3 <3

taglist: @fenharel-enaste @thesolarangel @sanfranciscocablecar @enaelyork @nevermcre

TGW taglist: @queenmeriadoc @spnbandwagon1019 @somebirdortheother @some--morphine @hc-geralt-23 @legendary-maddie @elrondsevenstar @blumin8 @sigynbandraoi-blog @lex-73 @bookflowersnerd

You can join my taglist here <3

[niennawept]

I'm choosing random numbers so sorry if any of these is really weird 😂

7

13

25

34

42

57

Hi, my dear friend! No worries, I will answer them nevertheless!

7. How do you choose which POV to write from?

I'm going to forecast a bit of the future here, because my longfic is written from a close third person POV. But I think the most important thing to me is the goal of the scene. For instance, if there is a council meeting in which multiple POV characters are present, I'd decide like this: If I need the reader to understand the in-depth politics of a situation, I'd give the POV to an experienced ruler. But if I need to hide something from the reader (with some foreshadowing of future issues), I might give the perspective to someone who is less politically savvy.

13. what’s a common writing tip that you almost always follow?

Write what you want to read, at least for longfics. For one-shots, I can manage writing something that I wouldn't personally read, but for longfics (at least the current one), the thing that is currently helping me maintain my interest is that "I want to read this when it's done" feeling.

25. What fic do you wish you got more of a response on?

Honestly, I feel like I've been extremely fortunate on fic response. I really thought that maybe one or two people would be interested in my longfic, so I'm very pleased with everyone's kind comments. I think the closest I get to wanting more response is on certain chapters. But then, there will always be chapters that are harder to comment on then others, so I try not to sweat it.

34. Five years from now, where do you see yourself as a writer?

Hopefully, still writing? But I have a habit of hobby-cycling as a person with ADHD, so even if it's just one year of my life, I'm trying to soak it in and enjoy it now.

42. What’s the last fic you read? Do you recommend it?

A chapter of Brittle Stars by fullofleaves (@hellofeanor ) and yes! It's been fascinating to explore Adar's backstory from someone else's headcanons. It's quite a bit different from mine (not that anyone but me would know since my Adar Will Not Talk about it), but that's the wonderful thing about fandom. Also, this fic gave me Pengolodh as a blorbo and now I'm basically that Brooklyn 99 gif about him:

57. Do you prefer editing as you write, or waiting until it’s finished? 

I edit as I write. ADHD brain does not like moving past something until it's polished. Sometimes, I can get away with a [transition here] during a writing sprint, but otherwise, you bet I'm sitting there searching for the perfect simile for that ancient look on Adar's face. Unfortunately, this results in many scenes that are "mostly polished" that don't get included in the final fic. There's about 80k words in the writing graveyard of this fic.

This took a long time to respond to, but only because Tumblr ate my first attempt. Thank you for the questions - they all turned out to be fun to respond to!

Get to know your fic writer asks!

[deadlymistletoe]

So I haven’t really read any hobbit/LOTR fics in quite a while (aka most of this year)

I’m desperate to get back into the fandom as I really have missed it.

So if you have any from this year (or any other years) that you’d like to rec please please send me the links or tag the authors.

Tagging a few of my Tolkien mutual to help out as well (you guys are lifesavers, really):

@bookworm-with-coffee @fizzyxcustard @evenstaredits @wordbunch @horsewithaface @lathalea @lady-of-imladris @emrfangirl @coopsgirl @trishfullertonwriting75 @sotwk @runesandramblings @emmyspov

If you’ve had a look at my Tolkien masterlist you can probably guess what characters I’m after ( @bookworm-with-coffee I know you know)

[doodle-pops]

Bet On It

Elrohir x reader

Request: Elrohir, id love a friend's to lovers trope fic. reader can be also arwen or glorfindel's friend and they keep telling both them and elrohir to fucking confess to eachother but they refuse to because of the classic "I don't want to ruin our friendship,I can't lose them." They think they're subtle with pinning after one another but like everyone can tell they're in love. Casual physical affection, spending way too much time with eachother, "subtle" acts of service, etc. Idiots in love literally. One of them end up confessing after like a sweet moment, just a quiet whisper or a small kiss but it's enough for the other to finally confess too. Just a super fluff moment of them finally freely loving one another! - Anon

Warnings: fluff, mutual pinning, friends to lovers, confession, kissing

Words: 1.9k

Synopsis: You and Elrohir muster the courage to break old ties while recreating new ones as you begin a future together.

Walking up the familiar winding pathway that to the private getaway pavilion at the top, your feet softly padded against the steps until you made three raps to the wooden pillar. Somewhere, you heard the noticeable airy thuds of Elrohir’s feet coming your way eagerly, easily hiding a bag of jittery nerves. Casually the makeshift curtain drew back and revealed his evening radiance, attired in light blues and greys, a single braid to the right and his ebony hair loosely cascading down his back. Such was the simplicity of your dear friend, whom you cherished more than anything else in the world.

Through the momentary welcoming, your eyes dropped from his face to meet his chest, too fearful of giving away too many emotions already. Memories of Lady Arwen’s conversation replayed in your head about making a move otherwise it would be a great loss on your behalf, not before reminding you of her brother’s whereabouts.

Heart beating rapidly in your throat, you curled your toes against your sandals and exhaled. “Elrohir.”

“Y/N,” he greeted just as breathlessly as you. “Please come in. It is a wonderful surprise to have you visit.”

Gingerly you brushed past his shoulders, head dipping and eye falling to the floor as you entered his space. It was, and still is a haven of comfort and peace of mind for you when the world was hard on your shoulders. Now, it felt foreign with the looming messages of what you had planned to execute tonight…hopefully. Taking your time to observe the interior, not much had changed since your last visit, and nor had he finished the upturned book lying haphazardly on his bed.

“You still haven’t finished the Utopia Trilogy?” you laughed as you walked over and flipped the book over, scanning the page. “I thought you were a master at reading.”

Unbeknownst to you, your choice of conversational starter was an ice breaker for Elrohir, for even he was skittish and unsure of how to approach. Thankfully, luck was in the air.

Giving a lazy scratch to the back of his head, he made a guttural sound, almost like a deep whine and stomped over to pry the book gently out of your hands. Placing it back on the shelf, he spun around to purse his lips. “What did I tell you about judging my reading abilities? One does not rush a book, but timelessly enjoy it.”

“If timeless enjoying it means over a year, then by all means, continue,” you snickered and plopped onto his bed, shuffling your sandals off and making yourself comfortable. As easily as the conversation started, the rest flowed once Elrohir noticed the tension dissipating. Following suit, he climbed on the bed, sitting at the foot with his legs crossed and hands in his lap.

His honey-brown eyes flickered from the rumpled bed sheets to your feet to your face and then back at the sheets. “So,” he began quietly, “it’s been a while since we last spoke. How have you been?”

“Oh, you know, the usual. Nothing new with me. Just wandering Imladris like a ghost, visiting the gardens and robbing all the local merchants,” you shrugged, your fingers idly found themselves tracing the mahogany armrest of the chair beside the bed. You were desperately fighting to keep your tone light. “And you? Last I heard, you all went as far as Forodwaith?”

Elrohir nodded with a tight-lip smile as he rocked back and forth. “Sort of. We met with the Dúnedain on the way and hunted some orcs all the way to the borders before turning back to come home—didn’t want to be away for too long. I tend to miss all my favourite people back home,” he explained, leading to you feeling a flush of warmth from his words, your heart beating a little faster prompting you to lift your head and lock eyes with him in the instant. A silent understanding passed between you two, then, with a small almost shy smile, he reached out and gently touched the back of your hand. “I’ve missed our conversations.”

You felt a shiver run through you at the contact, his touch sending a wave of warmth through your body. Wanting to duck your head or cover your face, you mustered the courage to withhold eye contact. “It’s good to be here,” you murmured lightly.

“It’s good to have you here,” he corrected.

For a while, the two of you engaged in effortless conversations, your body language morphing from tense to relaxed as your bodies shifted about the bed, slowly getting closer and closer. Discussing a myriad of topics that ranged from his adventures with his brothers and others to his daily duties and past, you covered the profound to the mundane. Topics of books, to your imagination, tales of old, uncharted dreams and future adventures beyond the lands of Middle Earth were thrown around gracefully and turned the evening into nightfall easily. The fullness of the moon rose from behind the clouds, shining glittering strands of light upon you both through the vine-covered canopy, aiding with the ambience.

Throughout your dialoguing, subtle gestures conveyed what words could not. Elrohir’s hand would brush lightly against yours as he passed you a cup of tea, a simple act imbued with unspoken affection. Your fingers would linger on his arm, savouring the warmth and closeness as you shared a moment of laughter over a shared memory. Each touch, though fleeting was charged with meaning, speaking of a connection that ran deeper than a mere friendship. The air between you crackled with unspoken tension, a dance of intimacy and restraint, each gesture a silent confession of feelings that lay just beneath the surface.

As the evening wore on, the moon dipping behind a cloud and hiding its light, a comfortable silence settles between you. Elrohir glanced at you, his expression contemplative. “Do you ever think about the future?” he asked suddenly.

You couldn’t resist looking at him surprised by the question. “Sometimes,” you admitted. “What brought this on, may I ask?”

He hesitated, his left shoulder bumping against your knees as he looked up from his lying position. The proximity was enough for you to catch a whiff of the mint of his tongue. “I was on a ride this morning with Lord Glorfindel, and he left me questioning myself and other things with his…choice of word,” he breathed and reached out to hold your hand and give it a small swing. “I just wondered what the future would hold for us. You and I, specifically.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, the implication of them making your breath catch. Furthermore, the fiddling of his hand with yours increased your heart rate, leaving you occasionally needing to inhale.

The tension that was in the air now, a charged energy which made the room feel smaller and more intimate was sluggishly bringing your heads closer. Elrohir looked up, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. With bated breath, his voice dipped as his fingers intertwined with the hand he was playing with. “There is something I need to tell you, and I hope it doesn’t push you away or ruin things between us,” he said earnestly. “I care about you…more than a friend. I have for a long time.”

You stared at him for a long while, your heart pounding like a thunderous stampede of wild beasts. Lady Arwen’s words and teasing replayed in your mind as she told you about her brother crushing you for a long time. It was hard to see when all you saw was friendship and didn’t want to ruin the good you had. Opening your mouth to respond, no sound exited, so you closed it and remained breathless while he nervously held your hand, his thumb soothingly stroking the back of your hand repeatedly. His touch sent shivers down your spine. “I know it might come as a surprise, but I can’t keep it to myself any longer. I hope this doesn’t ruin our friendship.”

His confession hung in the air between you, the declaration that seemed to make time stand still. For a moment, you could only bashfully stare at him, the enormity of his words setting over you like a warm embrace. You didn’t know how to explain the urge that came over you when you licked your lips and darted your eyes to his, something he noticed and apprehensively craned his neck upwards to bridge the gap, his eyes closing briefly as if to savour the upcoming moment. In return, you closed your eyes when you felt his other hand slide around your neck to cup your nape and pull you closer.

With deliberate anticipation, Elrohir took his time to bridge the gap until his very own teasing antagonised him, forcing him to exhale before his lips collided with yours. A muffled groan from him turned into a grunt when he felt your hands reach out to cradle his neck, fingers scraping against his scalp leaving him shivering. Elrohir felt greedy in the moment as the first continued; years of silently loving you came pouring out in waves of passion and tenderness.

When you finally pulled apart, you were both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other, the world around you seeming to shimmer with newfound brightness. Elrohir’s eyes were soft, filled with a deep, abiding tenderness. “I can’t believe I was a fool for not believing Lord Glorfindel’s words at first,” he muttered, shaking his head with a smile. “I thought you wouldn’t feel the same because we’re just friends.”

“That makes to both of us,” you softly laughed. “I too didn’t believe your sister, but when she told me that both she and Elladan were betting on it, I had to do something about it.”

“Wait,” he cautioned as he sat upright, “my siblings conspired through betting. Come to think of it, Glorfindel did mention something about not wanting to lose a bet…of course.”

Sliding your hand off his neck to return to cradling his hands and playing with his fingers, rocked back and forth due to the overwhelming excitement in your chest. Finally, all your emotions came pouring out and the doubt you both feared was proven wrong. Roaming your eyes over his face, you leaned in, catching him off-guard, to kiss his lips once more, loving the sensation of his soft lips on yours. Fortunately, Elrohir did not mind the distraction you provided, reducing his plotting to deal with his siblings to focus on you before him.

“I’m glad I took the leap of faith and told you my heart,” he whispered through the kiss, cradling your cheeks and leaning in for another.

The two of you sat there for a while, simply holding each other, basking in the warmth of your newfound happiness. Eventually, as the night wore on, you found yourself lying side by side on his bed with his arms wrapped protectively, yet lovingly around you as your conversation about the future returned in delight. There was a sense of peace, a feeling that everything was right with the world now that you had finally confessed your love. All the weight was off your shoulders and replaced with bliss.

“I never want to be apart from you,” he said. “I want to spend every moment with you, to share my life with you.”

Your heart swelled as you looked up at him, your eyes softening. “I would like that as well.”

Leaning in, pleased at your response, his nose bumped against yours as he pecked your lips. “I can’t wait for our future together.”

Masterlist

Taglist: @lilmelily @ranhanabi777 @rain-on-my-umbrella @mysticmoomin @asianbutnotjapanese @batsyforyou @sakurayaxd @aconstructofamind @involuntaryspasms @stormchaser819 @addaigio @lamemaster @elficially-done-with-life @eunoiaastralwings

[sotwk]

treat!👻

SotWK AU Flash Headcanon (and fic spoiler):

Elvenqueen Maereth's real name is not actually Maereth.

And--in true snarky fashion--Thranduil calls her out on it from the time they are first introduced. He looks at her, this ethereally beautiful elleth, recognizes the aura of extraordinary grace that she is trying to hide, and he bluntly and smugly tells her, "That is not your name."

Of course, Maereth is taken aback by this, and is somewhat miffed, and punishes him by refusing to reveal to him the real name he so rudely accused her of withholding. When Thranduil does eventually win her over, it's the first sign of her growing affection for him (or perhaps just forgiving him) when she finally tells him her given mother-name, or amilessë.

Maereth is an epessë, or "after-name", and is actually the epessë used by her mother, Laurinwen. Laurinwen's husband (Maereth's father, Eärondir), called his wife this to remind and reassure her of her goodness, in spite of her being a "child of a kinslayer" (Maglor), which caused most Sindar to ostracize her.

When Laurinwen sails to Valinor early in the Second Age, Maereth takes the epessë for herself, after she decides to conceal her Fëanorean lineage as much as possible. Translated into "good woman" in Sindarin, it is a very plain, boring, common name that reveals nothing about the bearer. Thranduil knows immediately that such an elf could not possibly be called something so mundane! Surely she must have an amilessë worthy of her quality.

Ultimately, even after she learns to embrace and take pride in her lineage, Maereth never goes back to using her mother-name, and continues to use and consider Maereth as her "real", regnal name throughout her life.

So what IS Elvenqueen Maereth's "true" mother-name?

Well... I can't spoil everything that I want to reveal in my fics, can I? Thranduil waited 62 years to find out. Hopefully my readers won't have to wait as long. XD

Thank you so much to @lady-of-imladris for this gorgeous fanart of Maereth--the first drawing of her that I've been gifted! :)

HAPPY HALLOWEEN, @hobbitwrangler! THANKS FOR STOPPING BY!

[wordbunch]

Their love song (Taylor Swift edition) > The Hobbit characters

a/n: welcome to my little self-indulgent celebration of 700 followers! 🥳 EVEN IF you're not a fan/don't know the songs, I hope you can still like and support this fic - a lot of time and love went into it! and by all means come talk to me about it or suggest your own songs! love you all so much and thank you for reading my stories and being a WONDERFUL community 💕💕💕 i've never written for many of these characters so i'm excited!

BILBO ♡ sweet nothing

Undoubtedly, the world can be really difficult and overwhelming at times, and it is then that the two of you find comfort and safety with each other. You don't even need to be doing anything special, it's enough to just be existing together and enjoying the simple pleasures of life in your own little world, it is the love that feels like home.

BARD ♡ mary's song (oh my my my)

Most certainly a family man who loves his town and his people, and he deserves this lovely underrated song. He would always choose to pursue a committed, lifelong relationship, have a family with you and be a part of the community. Eventually it would be so nice to reflect on decades of love and support, still by each other's side and still in love.

THORIN ♡ gold rush

pun mildly intended This dwarf can be a little intimidating, despite his height, and he is a very captivating presence, who can also be a little arrogant at times. You weren't sure how you felt about him at first, but after getting to know each other, you realized there was a heart of gold hiding in his chest, just waiting for someone to unlock it and be fiercely loved by him.

FÍLI ♡ invisible string

He is a romantic soul who believes in destiny, and finding the love of his life who is meant just for him. He is thankful for all the things in both of your lives that brought you together, even if they seemed bad at the time - but they resulted in a beautiful love story in the end, and he will be devoted to you forever.

KÍLI ♡ paper rings

Although he is a bit more playful and fervent, he is the person who falls absolutely head over heels, and nobody saw it coming at all, which makes it an even sweeter story to tell. He doesn't care about any circumstances, he just cares about being close to you, no matter when, where or how.

TAURIEL ♡ mastermind

She thought she was being very smooth when you caught her eye, and she was convinced that you couldn't tell that she was absolutely melting inside whenever you were near, but to her absolute astonishment, you noticed fairly quickly. Still, you let her play her little game and "win" you over, though you had been won for longer than she was aware.

THRANDUIL ♡ don't blame me

His love is intense, passionate and even a little bit possessive, but he disregards everybody's comments and opinions on it. Why should he care? It only matters that he found the perfect person who loves him with all his flaws and virtues, and he likes to make it known that he would do basically anything for them.

✨ taglist my beloved ✨ @lotrnonsense​​​​​​ @starlady66​​​​​​ @queenmeriadoc @entishramblings @thesolarangel @silversword7000

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[thetempleofthemasaigoddess]

One of a kind

Elrond x reader. This is a modern AU!

This fic is dedicated to @montyc @lady-of-imladris and @sotwk. You guys rock!!

*****

The small bookstore, situated in the oldest part of the city and semi-hidden between a laundromat and a grocery store, is a decidedly peculiar place. No volumes with brightly coloured covers arranged in alphabetical order or grouped by topic on the shelves, no new releases put on display on the front window, no section reserved to academic texts or books for children. It is a tiny, dusty space, with tomes of all sorts, sizes and shapes (!) piled in the corners or spread over tables; some look like they have not been touched for years, or are barely legible. It looks more like a pawn shop or a flea market than a bookstore, but the unassuming, modest appearance hides a veritable treasure cove: the store deals with rare and antique books, including many unique pieces, some of which are worth as much as the rent of a four rooms apartment. You adore it, and adore spending hours browsing around: you have been studying, and working with, old books ever since you were a girl, and in the bookstore you have found many precious volumes to add to your private collection; were it for you, you would never leave.

The sole downside of the store is its owner…

In a cool, rainy fall afternoon, you are wandering about as usual, inspecting the hundreds of books all around you, some of which are even piled under the furniture, given the lack of space, protectively holding the loot of today against your chest: a book printed at the beginning of the last century, in mint conditions, that many experts in the field considered lost. You know already that the store owner will ask a high sum for it, but the book is well worth it.

As you continue your tour in the barely lit rooms, the old parquet crackling under your feet, you find yourself walking by the counter: the owner, behind it, is discussing with a young man with dark hair, who you briefly, almost reflexively, glance at… and find yourself unable to look away.

He looks roughly your age, with the slender, strong build you would expect from an athlete, short hair the colour of oak wood framing the sort of face you had only seen in centuries-old paintings: he is simply dressed -jeans, a soft sweater, dark boots- but there is something elegant, even refined, in him. You move a few, hopefully unseen, steps towards him, to better look at him under the soft light of the old chandelier… and your eyes fall on the book the man and the store owner are discussing about; it is sitting on the counter between them, and when you recognize it, your heart skips a beat or four.

“So… how much could it be worth in your opinion, sir?” the man asks, his polite tone betraying a hint of anxiety.

“Hmm, let’s see...” the owner answers with the condescending tone you are used to, but still dislike “It is in fairly good conditions. I’d say… a hundred.”

The book you had chosen almost slips from your hands. A hundred?!?!

“So little?” the man asks, disappointment evident on his fair face “It is antique, I thought...”

“So it is, but what makes a book valuable is its rarity, not so much its age. This edition of your book was printed in more than five thousand copies, which significantly reduces its worth.”

“Oh.”

The man sighs, visibly saddened. “I see. A hundred is fine.”

The two men, engrossed in their conversation, pay you no mind, and you wait until the store owner has opened a drawer under the counter to take the money before making your move.

“If I may interrupt.” you intervene in your sweetest tone as you approach; the store owner glares at you.

“What do you want?”

“Simply to take a look at the book, if the gentleman allows.” you explain before addressing him directly “Do you mind? I am a bibliographer, and antique and rare books are exactly my field of study.”

“Of course.” he readily answers as he turns towards you, and for a moment you feel your heart tremble because of the soft, clever but kind look of his dark eyes, pink lips opening in a friendly smile; he is undoubtedly one of the most attractive people you have met in a long time, attractive enough to leave you speechless for a moment, but the weight of the book he is offering you in your hands quickly brings you back to attention. It is as you thought: a copy of The Annals of the Beleriand printed at the very beginning of the last century. And it is in perfect conditions!

“I had not seen one of these for years!” you exclaim, as usual unable to hide your excitement when a rare book is concerned “May I ask how you came by this?”

“It is part of the book collection we inherited from our parents.” the man explains; he has sensed your interest, and looks at you hopefully “Do you think it is worth more than a hundred?”

“I’d say! Normally, two hundreds would be a fair price for a book from this period, but for a particularity: it is said that the warehouse where the copies of this edition were kept was set aflame on the night before the books were supposed to be transferred and put on the market.”

“You are saying the books burnt?”

“I am; the fire very nearly spread to the whole street, according to an old newspaper article I read. Anyway, only six copies were said to have survived; including this, and another one which is in my possession.” you explain with satisfaction, and then offer your sweetest smile to the store owner, who has gone red in the face with anger and irritation “I am sure our friend here was unaware of this little detail, otherwise he would have never offered you such a modest sum.”

The dark-haired man’s smile, already aware you saved him from being swindled, grows even larger, and grateful; there is no need for words, and in a moment, you have allied against the owner. “And since you are clearly an expert on the subject, what price do you think I should accept?” he asks, his eyes boring into yours.

Ah! “I would say...” dramatic pause “A thousand.”

It is ten times the sum the man was going to accept, had you not intervened, and this makes him gasp with joy; the bookstore owner, on the other hand, looks on the verge of a heart attack.

“Of course, if the gentleman here cannot afford to offer such a figure, I know a few people who…”

“No, no, just a second!” the owner protests “The book’s conditions are not so satisfactory after all. I think seven hundred is…”

“A thousand.” your new friend interrupts him, still polite but clearly determined not to accept less than what he could ask for “Either a thousand or the deal is over.”

It is with great pleasure that you observe as the owner takes the agreed sum out of the drawer and rudely puts it in the hands of the client; on his request, he also writes a receipt for the sale.

“I’d like to buy this instead.” you state then, handing the man the book you had chosen, and your credit card “I think four hundred is a fair price.”

The owner glares at you; if looks could kill, friends and family would be already gathered to cry on your tomb. “It’s not up to the client to decide the price. Six hundred.”

“Four hundred and fifty.”

“Five hundred and fifty.”

“Five hundred.”

“Five hundred, all right.” he finally relents with a sigh, while you mentally pat yourself on the back; this is a fair price, and the one you had intention to pay from the start. You put the book in your bag, while the man next to you does the same with his money.

“Goodbye and thank you!” you say almost as one to the owner, still glaring at you both while he looks at the man open the door and let you pass first.

Once you are both outside, the dark-haired man smiles at you, full of joy and relief. “If we were a couple of teenagers, I would now high-five you.” he confesses “But since we are both adults, I’ll limit myself to thank you from the bottom of my heart, for your help.”

“It was a real pleasure.” you sincerely answer, while impulsively you offer his your hand “I am (full name).”

“Elrond Peredhel. Pleased to meet you.”

Elrond’s hand -the grasp firm but not painful, the fingers long and elegant… and naked, you cannot help but noticing, with no wedding or engagement ring on sight- shakes yours; the gaze of his dark eyes is so intense it makes you shiver… and the sensation is not at all unpleasant.

“How may I repay you?”

“There is no need, really; I can’t stand those who take advantage of other people’s ingenuity.”

“I agree, but thanks to you I earned ten times what I would have otherwise. May I at least buy you dinner?”

He is not asking you out, unfortunately, but you like his approach, the ability to recognize he is in debt without humbling himself; he has a self-confident, but not proud, bearing, this young man you find yourself liking more with each passing minute. Who knows, maybe he has other books to sell, and in that case you could meet again at the store…

“Thank you, but I really can’t accept.” you answer, forcing yourself not to take advantage of his generosity “Dinner would be far too much…”

“A drink, then?” Elrond insists, a friendly smile softening the insistence in his words “Wherever you wish.”

By now you can’t help smiling; why not, after all?, you ask yourself; he’s offering, and all you ask is to enjoy his attention for a while. “All right; if you are sure, thank you.”

You decide on a nearby pub. It has started raining, and Elrond covers both with his umbrella as you walk towards it, his boots and your sneakers advancing side by side on the wet cobblestone.

“You are a regular at the bookstore, I gathered.”

“I really am. The owner hates me, and the only thing stopping him from shutting the door in my face is the fact that I am his best customer, and I have brought many others to the store. It really is the best place in town when it comes to rare and antique books, which is why I put up with him.” you explain with a sigh, and Elrond smiles.

“Well, all the better for me.”

You reach the pub five minutes later, and soon you and Elrond are sitting at one of the round, lacquered tables; as a perfect gentleman, he lets you order first.

“Forgive me if I say so, but a thousand seems like an absurd sum for a book.”

“I understand you’re surprised, but believe me, that is a pretty standard price for what I usually deal with, and I have seen many volumes sold for much higher prices.” you eagerly explain; you like to talk about your job, especially when the interlocutor is clearly interested in what you have to say “Last year, a first edition of The Red Book of Westmarch was sold for a hundred thousand. And that is not the most striking case.”

“Hmm…”

Elrond sips his drink as he reflects on your words. “Would you be able to assess the value of any rare book? And to put the owner in touch with a potential buyer?” he inquires in the end.

“Of course, with a little time at my disposal.” you proudly answer “I know many collectors and bibliophiles, and even a few auction houses. Why, you have other treasures to sell?”

Elrond’s expression turns serious, almost circumspect, as he takes a notebook out of his bag, opens it and then offers it to you. “I think I can trust you.” he states, and you are taken aback at how proud, and sincerely happy, you feel because of that assessment “Here, tell me what you think.”

Listed on the pages of the notebook in a small and elegant calligraphy, under the title Ada’s books are more than a hundred volumes; of each, Elrond has neatly listed the title, the year of publication, the editor and the conditions - mostly perfect or very good.

And what a list! You feel your eyes widen as you scroll down the page and realize the content of this notebook is a veritable treasure cave. First editions, novels in languages that were only printed once, signed copies… if they are all, or even just half of them, genuine -which you can’t assume, no matter how friendly and handsome Elrond is; like any bibliographer, you are by now an expert in recognizing a forgery, and you can’t count the times the masterpiece you thought you had discovered was actually not even twenty years old- this is a discovery worth to be shown to all the experts in the field, and even to be exhibited.

“So? What do you think?” Elrond anxiously asks, and you make sure to look at him in the eyes before answering.

“I feel as if I had opened a cookie box and found all three Silmarils inside.”

His cheeks turn an adorable shade of pink. “Oh, come on…!”

“I am deadly serious, Elrond. This list… some volumes on it are first editions, and a few must be rare enough to be classified as almost impossible to find. There is at least a title, maybe two, for which a single copy was thought to exist until now! Eru… it is a veritable fortune! We are talking of very sizeable sums, if you were to sell them.”

“Please! Lower your voice!” Elrond urges you, discretely looking all around him.

“Sorry, sorry. It is just…”

You swallow the rest of your drink in a gulp; you are so excited that the hand holding the glass is shaking.

“I am sorry; when it comes to rare books, I lose the sense of moderation like some women do in a clothing boutique; I really am obsessed. My mother says this is why I am still single.” you admit, making him laugh “How did you come by this… collection?”

Elrond explains that his ancestors have bought rare books for decades, and that through the generations the collection, by now of considerable size and richness, was bequeathed to him and his twin brother Elros. Then, the expression of your new friend turns sad.

“Our parents were… taken from us when we were very young. We were kidnapped, in a sense, and then we were informed they had died.” he explains, catching you a bit off-guard; you can’t see how that tragedy is linked to the book collection, but that doesn’t prevent you from offering him your sincere condolences.

“I am so sorry, Elrond; it’s… it’s a terrible thing to experience, especially when one is so young.”

“It was. Now we are older, and we manage just fine, except… my brother fell ill, six months ago; very ill, enough that for a while we thought he would not… anyway, there is a cure that has a good probability to restore his health, but it is costly. Very costly - too much for me, and none of our friends can help in a way that would really matter.”

Even with the relatively good news of the cure, taking care of his brother has clearly taken a toll on Elrond; his sad, scared and still brave smile talks of a man who has spent more than one sleepless night wondering how to save the life of the only family he has left. Poor, poor Elrond, you think as you feel your heart break for him; you have already taken a liking to him, to his sweet smile and expressive dark eyes, but this poor man is dealing with problems you would not wish on your worse enemy, and that are taking a toll more on his mental equilibrium than on his economic situation.

“I am so sorry, Elrond.” you whisper; instinctively, and even though you have never been used to physical contact with people you have barely met, your hand finds his arm on the table, and gently squeezes it in consolation “I took care of my father for years before… before he left; I know how painful it is.”

“Thank you, (name). But there is no need for condolences; Elros will live, I know, I only need to help him, and there is nothing I wouldn’t do to in order to give him just one more chance. To sell our family’s book collection was a tough decision -all of it, should it be necessary- considering it is one of the few things we have left of our father, but my brother comes before everything else.”

Elrond smiles. “Thanks to you, that copy of the Annals will pay for two months of his therapy; so thank you, (name), thank you so much.”

You tell him you are happy you could help, especially now that you know what he will use the money for. “Maybe… maybe I could do something else.” you tentatively add, suddenly shy for a reason you can’t fully comprehend but determined to support Elrond in any way you can, for no reason but the need to make sure his brother receives the best of care, and the love and the concern you see in his dark eyes. “Could I borrow this list? Or could you make me a copy?”

“Why?”

“Even at first glance it is clear that you are in possession of a veritable gold mine in books, but I would like to do a throughout research on a few of this volumes. I need to consult a few database and maybe with one or two colleagues, and check with the auction houses to see what price we -you- could realistically hope to sell at, because sometimes simply there is no one willing, or able, to pay a fair price. You could tell me if there are volumes you would be more inclined to sell, or what sum you need for Elros’ next cycle of therapy, and I would do my best to find a buyer. What do you think?”

Elrond doesn’t think much, at the moment, judging by his overwhelmed expression. “I… I had thought about bringing one or two volumes at a time at the bookstore…”

“You could; but as you have seen, the store owner is the last person you could expect a fair payment from; if you let an expert -which I am, false modesty aside- help you, you will be sure no one is taking advantage of you.”

“And you could help me? You would?”

“Of course.” you reassure him with a smile “This is what I do. I usually take a percentage of each sale I help arrange, but don’t worry, I am relatively cheap - ehm, my fee is.”

You would be tempted to add you can repay me taking me out to dinner or something like that, but you don’t; even in jest it would be offensive, given what Elrond told you regarding his brother, and you have seen enough of him to know already he would be terribly embarrassed by your proposal. It would be highly inappropriate… for now, at least, and regardless of whether he would be inclined to accept or not. Who knows...

A quick telephone number and e-mail address exchange later, Elrond promises to send you a copy of the list before the end of the day, and you to get down to work as soon as he does.

“Meeting you was a gift from above, (name).” Elrond says “I am sorry you had to waste a whole afternoon because of me.”

“Believe me, I was happy to help.” you answer, as sincere as you have never been before, while you leave the pub together, under a sky devoid of clouds, the blue almost blinding “And I had nothing else to do, to be honest. I have walked my dog this morning and I, uhm, I am not married, you know, and so...”

“Well, all the better for me.” Elrond says, and then, realizing the implications, he blushes a fiery red “I mean… otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to consult you, and...”

He’s stammering, but he smiles when he sees you do the same, and finds again the polite, self-assured attitude you have already witnessed while he spoke to the bookstore owner; you have dealt with your fair share of rare books, you suddenly reflect, but he is the first real one of a kind you have ever encountered. “I’ll write to you as soon as I get home, (name).” he promises.

“Amazing. You’ll hear from me very soon, I promise.”

He hesitates for a moment -he is still blushing- and then kisses you on the cheek, his touch as delicate as a sparrow’s wing. You depart, stopping just once to look at Elrond’s elegant, slender form walking away, and then you set off for home, feeling happy for reasons that have nothing to do with the antique book stored in your bag.

Tagging as usual @starlady66 and @elvenenby.

[scriberated]

4 Fictional Crushes

I was tagged by @myfavouritelunatic, @thrillofhope, @coraleethroughthelookingglass, and @makeshiftdraco (thanks guys!!)

Let's see... Current? Past? Little bit of both?

Jareth, the Goblin King - the Labyrinth

Definitely my first major fictional crush. What's not to like?!

2. Killian Jones, Captain Hook - Once Upon A Time

Literally from the damn TRAILER this MFER HAD ME BY THE THROAT. Someday I will import all the old Captain Swan fic I wrote from FF.net (proudly among the first smut fics for the ship).

3. Spike, Buffy the Vampire Slayer

I still love him. Probably my all-time favorite ETL ship.

4. Stephen Bonnet - Outlander

Look. LOOK. I KNOW, OKAY? I know. He's a bad, bad man. I can't help it. She could fix him. (this one is new and fresh and I can't make eye contact with anyone anymore. i'm ashamed and I accept my shame.

Tagging some friends: @sotwk, @kingslionheart, @aconiteheart, @klynnvakarian, @shady-swan-jones, @stardustspell, @iamstartraveller776, @lady-of-imladris, @ringofthenibelung-blog & anyone who wants to participate!

[demonscantgothere]

Writing Patterns

Rules: List the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there's a pattern! Tagged by @iamstartraveller776! Thank you, dear!!! ❤️

As they drew closer to the fortress across the barren, rocky plains, Galadriel sensed the uneasiness in her horse. [Beasts of the Hill and Serpents of the Den, RoP/Silm, Saurondriel]

The cell was cold and damp, even for an Elf, lit only with the soft glow of dying torches lined across the walls beyond the bars that trapped her within a familiar place of confinement she had found herself in a very long time ago, so long ago it seemed almost a life age had past since then. [Litost, RoP, Saurondriel]

Celebrían rested herself easily against Elrond’s back as she sat behind him on the horse, her arms wrapped loosely around his middle but her hands firm in place with their grip upon his chest. [Grew Together, Roots Entwined, RoP, Celrond]

The way the luminescent beams of light fell into the chamber from the open slots in the roof above created a fine haze over the workshop of the forge in Celebrimbor’s tower. [Let the Vultures In, Silm, Silvergifting]

When the chain clanged around his neck as it was thrown, looping itself around his throat and twisting tight before it was yanked forward, Fëanor fell to his knees, gasping for air. [Under the Stars, Above the Sun, Silm, Fëalkor]

Galadriel tightened her slender fingers around the hilt of her sword; its leather bands were smooth, but kept the blade in place where she needed it most. [Crown, and Caress Thee, and Chain, RoP, Saurondriel]

Mairon glanced over his shoulder as he reached the edges of the wood, listening for any who might be following his tracks. [(You and I) Drink the Poison from the Same Vine, Silm/LotR, Angbang]

Lan’s eyes trail down the length of the staff, his gaze catching on the cuts and dents and imperfections hammered into the wood—beaten into it with a fine precision of blood, sweat, and tears—his fingers enclosing one by one in a slow dance around the rough cord wrap of the handle in the center. [Feint, WoT, Molan]

Galadriel doesn’t see him coming around the corner of the pillar, and he uses the chance to walk up behind her soundlessly in order to inspect the details upon her dress with more care. [Abundance, RoP, Saurondriel]

He stares at the painting for the fifth time, hand clenched tight around a cold glass of draft beer, trying to ignore the obnoxiously adorable giggling of the blonde across the bar. [Symbiosis, RoP, Haladriel]

Clearly, I like to set the scene with descriptions. Dialogue smialogue. 🤣

Tagging @jhalya @coraleethroughthelookingglass @helenvader @somebirdortheother @maironite @cilil @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @90shaladriel @queenmeriadoc @lady-of-imladris @saintstars @klynnvakarian @theriverwild @yletylyf @niennawept @ichabodjane but no pressure! Have fun!

[gil-galadhwen]

WIP Title Poll Game

The rules: run a 24-hr poll of your WIP's, then write as many sentences for the winner as it gets votes.

Thanks for the tag my lovely, epic fic writing friend @myfavouritelunatic ❤️😘

Some of these fanfic wips are old, but I'm up to the challenge of finishing (starting) them! 😆

No pressure tags: @caitlinlidae @immortallaughter @stardustspell @ambrosia-salads @bananaphanta @bunnyyanny @elvngrl @jurassiclexie @karmabansheenz @starlady66 @queenmeriadoc @lady-of-imladris @labhandar

If I didn't tag you and you want to do it, PLEASE DO and tag me so I can see 🩷 (same goes if I tagged you and you don't want to be!)

[lady-of-imladris]

CHAPTER 12 - IT WASN’T FAIR

Synopsis: Ever since the death of the Queen, relations between the Mirkwood and the other elven dwellings have been bad. Legolas gets to quizz Glorfindel on death and rebirth. Thranduil and Arwen finally meet.

Word count: 2.5k

Pairings: Thranduil/OC

Warnings: mentioned kidnapping, and as always it's sad.

Additional tags: hurt (comfort coming soon though). I am very bad at tags. Sorry.

Link to the chapter overview

We can plant a memory garden Say a solemn prayer, place a poppy in my hair There's no morning glory, it was war, it wasn't fair - The Great War (Taylor Swift)

Relations between Lasgalen and the other elven dwellings remained distant for centuries. Thranduil did not prevent his son from visiting Lothloríen or Imladris, but he never accompanied him and never gave his son a reason for his doing so. The Prince took notice of the sour expression on his father’s face at every mention of Elrond or Galadriel’s names soon enough. Yet Thranduil remained in constant contact with Celeborn over the years. He was the first person, apart from his own council, Thranduil reached out to for advice. The King of the Woodland Realm also remembered sending gifts to his niece and nephews on important occasions.

The twins, Elladan and Elrohir, who faintly remembered Thranduil from their childhood grew to resent him. He did not visit them and had made it clear that their father Lord Elrond was not welcome in his forest. Arwen however, who had never met Thranduil, one day asked her mother Celebrían why this King who obviously had enough of a connection with her to send her gifts never visited them. And so Celebrían told her young daughter a story of two sisters who grew up in an enchanted forest.

“One of the sisters was gentle and quiet. She enjoyed walking through the forest in the early hours of the morning and enjoyed music and art. She later fell in love with a King’s herald, married him and became the Lady of a great house.” Arwen’s eyes widened. “But that’s you Ammë!” she exclaimed excitedly. Her mother smiled warmly. “Yes my little star, but you have to let me finish the story.” Arwen settled down again and looked at her mother expectantly. “The other sister had always been different. She mastered every weapon she was handed almost immediately and spent her days training with common soldiers and studying the art of war instead of enjoying their peaceful dwelling.

“When the threat of Mordor became too large, the first sister took care of the people. She gave them shelter and safety in her home. The other sister went to war and on the battlefield, she met the King of Greenwood the Great. It is said that the King fell so deeply and irrevocably in love with her that as soon as he laid eyes on her, their fate was sealed. They married soon after the war ended and she became the fierce and beloved Queen of Lasgalen. But their happiness should not last long, for their Kingdom is Mirkwood, home to many dark things. And when their enemy reemerged, the Queen took up arms once more, and an army of elves chased the darkness away.

“That day, King Thranduil lost his beloved Queen and ever since then, he has not been the same. He grew resentful of Lord Elrond and Lady Galadriel, for he believed they could have saved his wife. To this day, he refuses to speak with either of them, and has never even come to meet you. He cares for you greatly, little star, but his suffering is still too great.” Arwen was quiet for a while. “So he will not visit us?” Celebrían shook her head. “Then we should visit him. He sounds lonely.” The Lady of Rivendell smiled sadly. “What a sweet thought my little star. Maybe someday we will visit him.”

Hundreds of years later, Arwen finally got to meet her cousin. Legolas visited Rivendell long and often. Too long and often, Thranduil thought. However, that kept the king well informed of what was going on outside of his Kingdom and so the day came when a letter arrived from Legolas that piqued his interest. He wrote to tell his father that Glorfindel, a Lord of Gondolin, who had died during its fall at the hands of a balrog, had been released from the Halls of Mandos and decided to return to Middle Earth to serve Elrond. Thranduil vaguely recalled some relation of Elrond’s who had lived in Gondolin, but he did not care enough to remember it. The Noldor and their complicated family trees had always annoyed him greatly. Thranduil leaned back in his chair, deep in thought. A few thousand years. That’s how long this Glorfindel had spent in the Halls of Mandos. Thranduil dared to hope again. Maybe it would not be too long until he saw her again.

Legolas found himself going out of his way to avoid Glorfindel. He tried his best to suppress the urge to ask him every single question he ever had about the Halls of Mandos, worried that his questions may bring back unpleasant memories or overwhelm Glorfindel. He continued doing this until Celebrían decided that enough was enough. She spotted Legolas on a balcony, staring up at the night sky. Others merely thought Legolas enjoyed the stars even more than other elves, but the Lady of Imladris knew precisely what constellation he was looking at every single time. Glorfindel arrived promptly when he heard that the Lady needed him. “Talk to him,” was the only thing she asked of the Lord of Gondolin. So Glorfindel did.

He walked up to Legolas slowly, trying not to startle him. “Lord Glorfindel!” the Prince of Mirkwood exclaimed in surprise. “My apologies, I shall give you some space” and began slowly walking away. “Please,” Glorfindel called out, “please stay. The Lady Celebrían told me you might have some questions for me. I would like to hear them.” And so Legolas stayed and Legolas asked. Glorfindel did his best to answer the young Prince’s questions, but his answers were far from satisfactory.

“When one of the eldar dies, their soul splits from their body. It is a pain I do not wish upon my worst enemy,” Glorfindel explained, “but we are bound to this world and will return to it again and again and again. The Halls of Mandos are there so we can heal from this pain. The time spent there depends on how violent someone’s death was, and how they are handling it. I know few who returned from the Halls, but the world is yet young and many died a horrible death.” Glorfindel sighed deeply, as if recalling the atrocities he witnessed. Did he recall his death? “I do not wish to pry, but do you- do you remember how you… died?” Legolas felt stupid. How could he ask such an insensitive question?

“I do,” Glorfindel answered calmly, “but not in the way you may think I do. There is no pain, only acceptance. I had thousands of years to heal. But I remember the city burning, I remember the Balrog. And I remember falling to my death.” “I’m sorry.” Legolas felt bad for Glorfindel. For every elf that ever died. Having to remember your own death. Or even deaths? Technically, there was no limit to how many times an elf could die. Glorfindel gave him a reassuring pat on the back. “Your mother will return to you one day, I am certain of it.” Legolas looked up at the stars again. “I heard that Sauron broke her neck. They say that she could not even scream for help, that she could barely even breathe in her last moments. I doubt she will recover from such pain.”

“I heard that she was strong. Unyielding.” Glorfindel had heard stories of the great queen, and the tragedy that had befallen her. Legolas shook his head. “She was gentle and warm and kind.” “These things,” the Lord spoke, “do not contradict one another. I believe that your mother will heal, and that you will see her again someday.” Glorfindel left the young Prince who was still looking at the stars. However, this time, he was looking at the stars not in sadness and longing, but with the firm belief that he would have his mother back. Some day.

In the year 2509 of the third age, a concerning report reached Thranduil. His sister-in-law, Celebrían, had been taken by orcs. She had visited her parents in Lothloríen and was attacked on her way back home. Elrond had sent out search parties, but so far to no avail. Thranduil sent out search parties of his own the moment he received the report and made his way to Rivendell to meet with Elrond and Legolas. The King had not seen Elrond or his nephews since the day his wife died. He had never even met Arwen. Now she was there to receive him when he arrived. At least that’s who Thranduil assumed the woman was. After all, she looked so much like her parents.

Coming here had been a bad idea. Thranduil desperately tried to push down every single emotion he was feeling. “Your majesty.” She curtsied. “Thank you for coming to our aid. I am Arwen, the youngest child of Lord Elrond and Lady Celebrían.” Thranduil dismounted from his horse. He decided to skip the pleasantries. “What is currently being done to locate and recover your mother? Is your father here? And Legolas?” Arwen was efficient. On the short walk to the parlour, she had filled him in on everything. Elrond was in the Misty Mountains, searching for his wife. Legolas had joined the search. Thranduil’s forces had found Elrond’s forces and were coordinating the search. Arwen kept track of everything and assured the king that he had done everything in his power. All they could do now was wait.

Thranduil spent a whole week in Rivendell. Most stayed out of his way. Some out of respect, some out of fear, some out of their childish principles to be on Elrond’s side of their feud. The King of Lasgalen could not have cared less. Arwen did not avoid him. She was, however, quite reserved, as she barely even knew him. With her mother taken by orcs and her father and brothers, as well as most soldiers of Rivendell possibly endangering their lives trying to save her, Thranduil was technically the closest thing she had to family right now. He did not know how to comfort her, how to break down the invisible wall between the two of them that had just always been there. They were complete strangers after all.

“If there is anything I can do to help you. Anything at all-” Thranduil assured his niece multiple times. Anything. He would do anything so she did not have to go through the same thing Legolas did. They would get Celebrían back, no matter what. Most days, Arwen just nodded politely, thanked him, told him that there was nothing he could do. Until one night, she finally snapped. “My mother was taken away from me. Is that what it takes for you to finally take note of my existence? I appreciate you being here, truly I do. But if you are only here to compensate for being a horrible uncle for the last age, then by all means, go back home to your forest and continue to ignore me.”

He deserved that. He knew that he did. “I am here,” he said, “to keep you from the same fate my son endured. And to keep your father from suffering like I do. I understand that you are angry with me, you have every right to be.” Glaring angrily at him, she rose from her chair and stalked towards Thranduil, who downed his glass of wine in one sip. “You claim to want to help me? Help my father? You hate my father.” “I do not hate your father.” “You hate him. Admit it, you hate him. Because he is kinder than you could ever be. He would never have abandoned you and Legolas and you hate him for it.” Thranduil rose from his seat calmly, towering over Arwen. His furious niece barely came up to his chest and yet he feared she would attempt to claw his eyes out.

“I know that whatever I say now, you will not listen. You want to hurt me? Get it out of your system? Hit me.” He expected her to pull back, storm out of the room in anger, or at least wait to consider the consequences for a moment. Before he could brace himself, Thranduil stumbled back three steps. Arwen had pushed him away from the table with her full force and she stalked up to him again, fists raised. He let her hit him, defending himself only as much as necessary. She deserved to let out her anger and he deserved the pain. The punches came in rapid succession, Arwen screaming out all her anger and pain with each swing. She aimed for his face. Thranduil caught her arm, momentarily taken aback to the point that the enchantment on his face slipped.

Arwen paused for a split second before attacking him with her free hand. Thranduil caught it with ease. She kept kicking and spewing profanities at him until she was too tired to do anything but cry. Thranduil never let go of her. “It’s okay,” he whispered as she relaxed into his embrace, sobbing into his shirt, “we will find your mother, I promise it.” One of the guards burst through the door. “My Lady,” he panted, “they found her. She is alive.”

Thranduil stayed out of everyone’s way. He was just glad they had found Celebrían and that Legolas was unhurt. His reunion with Elrond and Galadriel was less joyful. He paused when he saw them walk past, as did they. They simply looked at him, two people who now better understood his pain, for while Galadriel had loved Anarríma dearly, she had never loved her as much as she had loved Celebrían, and she hated herself for it.

After just standing there for a while, Thranduil just bowed his head slightly. ‘I know your pain, as you now know mine’. Elrond inclined his head briefly and kept walking. ‘I am grateful for your help’. Galadriel approached him. Slowly. Carefully. “I loved her too. Everyone seems to think that I didn’t, but I miss her terribly. I miss her every single day.” Before Thranduil could respond, Galadriel hurried after Elrond. ‘She was the loss of my life. I’m sorry I could not save her.’

Thranduil and Legolas stayed in Rivendell for another week. Thranduil had hoped for a chance to apologize to Celebrían. For everything. However, the Lady of Rivendell never showed any signs of even acknowledging his presence. She did not speak, she barely ate. Thranduil was not even sure Celebrían recognized her family. He was not even sure she recognized herself. “Death would have been kinder.” He heard the whispers in dark hallways. Nevertheless, he had to return to his home. Almost a year later, the king was not surprised when a letter arrived from Imladris informing him that Celebrían would sail to the undying lands. To heal. Thranduil could not imagine how hard it was for Elrond. For their sons. For Arwen. They might not see each other again for a thousand years or more.

For once in his life, Thranduil finally knew what to do. He wrote a letter to Elrond. He threw in a letter to Galadriel for good measure. He wrote to Arwen too, and her brothers. Thranduil decided that he had to be there for them, knowing now that one day, he would get his wife back. His beautiful, loving, happy wife, fully healed from all that had happened to her. Celebrían had survived. But she may never be the same. Anarríma had been spared from that fate at least.

Please consider reblogging or leaving a comment <3

I am SORRY that it took me so long again, but I have my heart set on finishing this fic. I promise you that I will not abandon it and as soon as all chapters are written, I will put it on AO3 too. Probably with some major editing, after all it has been over a year since I wrote the first chapter. Thank you for sticking with me <3

taglist: @fenharel-enaste @thesolarangel @sanfranciscocablecar @enaelyork @nevermcre

TGW taglist: @queenmeriadoc @spnbandwagon1019 @somebirdortheother @some--morphine @hc-geralt-23 @legendary-maddie @elrondsevenstar @blumin8 @sigynbandraoi-blog @lex-73 @bookflowersnerd

You can join my taglist here <3

[myfavouritelunatic]

Tag People You’d Like to Get to Know Better!

Thank you so much for the tag, @yletylyf ❤️

Three Ships: Haladriel/Saurondriel; Delena; Cophine

First Ship: Willow/Tara

Last Song: Forever & Ever More - Nothing But Thieves

Last Movie: Asteroid City

Currently Reading: In an unprecedented move for me, I am reading multiple things at once! 😂 The Silmarillion, The Lost Flowers of Alice Hart, and as much TROP fanfic as I can!!

Currently Watching: Heartstopper Season Two!

Last Thing I Wrote: ‘And that he had to deal with them accordingly.’ From ‘Made the Pieces Part of Me’, my latest Haladriel fic. 😊

Tagging, no pressure!: @pursuitseternal @heronamedhawks @klynnvakarian @denzit @scriberated @youwearfinethingswellwriter @demonscantgothere @gil-galadhwen @hikarielizabethbloom @coraleethroughthelookingglass @somebirdortheother @ichabodjane @vellichormybeloved @starlady66 @lady-of-imladris 🖤

[deadlymistletoe]

WIP Game

Thank you for the tag, @bookworm-with-coffee!

Rules: make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

Considering I have way too many WIP's, a lot of with are currently abandoned or forgotten, here's the main ones I'm working on/have hope for.

I'm open to sharing snippets or answering any questions you may have about them!

{Untitled 1}: Fluff. Your boyfriend asks you to go on some errands with his brother on a hunt in order to ‘bond’, but when have things ever been that simple? Especially when Castiel decides to tag along too. Mostly platonic with background Dean Winchester x Reader {Supernatural}

{Untitled 2}: Angst. On the anniversary of being separated from your beloved son by the devil known as Peter Pan, you and Killian despair under the moonlight with thoughts of your failure. Killian Jones x Reader {Once Upon A Time}

p.s. as soon as 'untitled 2' gets a title it'll be ready to post.

{Never Let You Fall}: Angst, Romance, H/C. When an enemy from Damon's past shows up, Damon proves that he will never let you fall. Literally. Damon Salvatore x Reader {The Vampire Diaries}

{Official Business}: Romance (getting together), fluff. When you go with a group from Iron Hills to assist with Erebor’s rebuilding, Kili immediately falls head-over-heels in love with you, but you mistake his attempts at flirting for friendly behaviour. Kili x Darrowdam!Reader {The Hobbit}

{Drive}: Slight angst, comfort. When Sam in injured on a hunt and suggests you drive home, you're forced to confess something you never wanted your longtime crush to know; you don't know how to drive. Sam Winchester x Reader {Supernatural}

Send the asks!

If you want to be tagged in any of these fics so you don't miss them and you're not already on a relevant taglist (or you can't remember if you are) you can either comment here, shoot me a message, or fill out my taglist form.

P.s. if your request is not on here, it does not mean I'm not doing it - I just haven't been able to write much this year, trust me, it's coming at some stage.

Five tags for Five WIP's:

@imagines--galore, @thewitchkingiscool-ace, @lady-of-imladris, @wordbunch, @coopsgirl

[pursuitseternal]

Freaky Friday (or whatever day you get to this)

Kinktober is upon us; let’s set the mood!

Share a snippet/sneak peek from a freaky WIP or a project you recently worked on and tag your fellow smut connoisseurs to see what everyone's been up to. Enjoy the spice and happy creating!

Thanks for the tag @lady-of-imladris !!

*searches through collection of questionable content* Well, I will have to go with my specially prepared Spooktacular Werewolf!Sauron fic.

I give you a snippet from “Trespassers Beware:”🐺

CW: bestiality, werewolf orgy (is that a thing? It is now), possession of wolves, shadow Sauron who can’t take form (hence the use of the wolves)

As if to answer your desperate prayer, something hot trails over your mound. All you see is the hulking frame of that Great Wolf, eyes gleaming up from between your legs. “This wolf is strong, hungry,” your lover’s voice curls inside your mind, as if stoking your desire from within. “A most worthy alpha to use for what I have waited centuries to do to you once more.” His laugh spiked a new sort of shiver down your spine as the animal chuffed and sniffed your folds. “You better beg me to stay in control of this monster…”

“You wouldn’t for one second relinquish control to another,” you snap in return, “no I trust you to be in complete control to enjoy this perverted union.”

“Thousands of years and you finally have learned your fate,” his words brushed like a loving caress. “None shall have you as I have, not in this world or the next….”

His words soften as you feel the cold press of a snout between you folds. Hot and cold mingle in one delicious mix, making your every nerve light on fire. Hot breath, chilled nose. Hot tongues and saliva between your legs and around your wrists as you lay on the freezing ground. An offering to the Wolf Lord himself.

Suddenly you feel heated mouths panting on you. A tongue slips between your folds, lapping and licking with ferocity. A hunger barely bridled. But you can see nothing but black fur now wreathing your vision. More beasts descend upon you, eyes glowing. All under his influence.

“If I must only take what is mine through these wolves, I might as well make use of them all.” His voice tickles in both your ears, sounding from between your thighs, echoing inside your very mind. “And I will use them all at once, in case you doubt my power…”

Maws lower to both your pointed nipples, coating both in matching swirls of wolf-tongues. Your body floods, unable to take the contact on your skin. The heat and the wet saliva that trickles from your cunt, slipping down the side of your body as all three mouths make sloppy work of your pleasure. A graze of teeth against one nipple sends a scream from your lips, you try to lift your hands, but more fangs press softly into your wrists.

And then you hear that low, throated laugh shiver through your body and mind again.

“Why such a hurry?” he chuckles. “I am starved since last we coupled, as are you from the smell of you. Be still, Princess, my tongues will do you some good.”

Tagged by your Wolf Queen:

@myfavouritelunatic @marimosalad @bittersweetporky @jhalya @makeshiftdraco @tmwillson3 @lisenberry @klynnvakarian @scriberated @myrsinemezzo @feralgardenparty

[sotwk]

//Do you have any Lindir hcs? •w•

Hello my Lindir-loving friend!

I still have to get around to making an official, full-blown "character sheet/profile" for Lindir as he exists in the SotWK AU, but in the meantime, here is a quick summary of what I do have in my notes regarding his origins and early life in Lórinand, before he came to Lord Elrond's service as a steward in Imladris:

Lindir

Lindir was born in Second Age 1243 in Lórinand. His father was a Sinda who had migrated across the mountains with Amdir's company. His mother was a native Silvan.

He had an older sister named Calanien, who was nearly his polar opposite in personality; the siblings were very close, regardless.

His father was a tutor to Prince Amroth who became a high-ranking steward in King Amdir's hold. Lindir's mother was an herbalist who was brought by her husband to the King's household to become a royal healer.

Lindir began service in King Amdir's household when he was relatively young, holding various positions ranging from butler, to scribe, to valet. He became known for his cleverness, problem-solving skills, and amiable nature.

Lindir's talent for singing remained private during his youth in Lórinand. Despite his name, he was not publicly known as a singer until he came to Imladris.

Lindir became well-acquainted with both Lady Galadriel and Lady Celebrían during their stay at Lórinand around SA 1350.

At about this time, he also met Lady Maereth (the future Elvenqueen of Eryn Galen), a visiting Noldo from Eregion. They eventually grew into lifelong friends.

Maereth and Lindir's relationship, although entirely platonic from the start, was so lovely and pure to behold that it roused the irritation and jealousy of one Prince Thranduil, who for years mistakenly viewed Lindir as a rival for Maereth's affections.

Centuries later, Lindir, driven by his friendship with Celebrian and Maereth and his deep admiration for Elrond, came to live in Imladris where it didn't take long for him to become one of the most trusted stewards of the Last Homely House.

Bonus SotWK exclusive: I do have an OC I plan to introduce as a love interest for Lindir! I have already introduced her in one of my recent fics. She is a trusted member of Thrandul's household staff and almost like Eryn Galen's "Lindir equivalent".

Thank you for this great Ask! <3 As I said, I hope to write a more thorough "fact sheet" for Lindir soon, AND write at least one of the several fic ideas I have for him. :)

[anghraine]

Speaking of the six different fic beginnings I came up with/tinkered with yesterday, here are the last three that I didn't post last night + an honorable mention! Two Elrond POVs, one a lot more niche than that, and a proto-Elizabeth/Darcy thing for an inevitably-longer piece I'm still deciding about.

4— LOTR, Rivendell AU

Elrond did not call the Council. He did not even foresee the Council: not in its entirety, and at first, not at all. None of those who arrived came at a summons. Only coincidence brought them all together at one time, had he believed that such a thing could occur by coincidence. He did not. And in one case, at least, another power than chance was unquestionably at work. Faramir of Gondor had arrived at Imladris with a prophetic riddle on his lips and his mind full of dreams, sent by—who?

5— GW2, f!Rytlock + f!Logan Thackeray

Rytlock hadn’t known many Guardians and she didn’t want to.

It was one thing to walk around in full armor with a good weapon or three. And fire sorcery was something she understood, even if she didn’t like it much. But both at once? Very suspicious. It smacked of human mysticism, human folly. Even the norn Guardian she ran into in Lion’s Arch had a whisper of the humans’ gods about him.

Megan, though—

6— Elrond in Gondor fic

After Elendil’s death, Elrond did not return to Gondor the way he used to visit his kin in Númenor in fairer days. So by the end of the Third Age, he had not walked in Minas Anor for a long time—a long time even by his measure of things. It looked very much as he recalled, though some of the banners flew from newer, higher towers, and fewer people seemed to dwell within than before. Many were undeniably of the kin of the Faithful: not so tall, but taller than the Men around them, with long dark hair, grave faces, and familiar bright eyes. Behind him, many whispered or called to each other in the Elven-tongue, their accents strange, but still the Númenórean Sindarin he had always preferred. And only weeks after the siege, the walls of Minas Anor towered above the battered fields and farms of the Pelennor, still gleaming and strong, as near to impregnable as craftsmanship could make anything—which Elrond knew better than most. The works of his people were made to last.

7— Honorable Mention: More 1790s than usual P&P fic

The first thing Elizabeth ever noticed about Mr Darcy was his hair. 

At the time, she found nothing objectionable about it, nor about any particulars of his appearance beyond the hauteur in his expression. But he was the only gentleman in the entire assembly hall without powdered hair. Even Mr Bingley wore a light dusting of powder. Mr Darcy’s hair was black, as well, so they could hardly avoid noticing.

Elizabeth, though not very much interested in political matters, knew enough of the recent powder tax to guess that was the reason. She troubled herself no further about it, instead glancing down to take in the handsome regularity of the stranger’s features, his sharp glance about the room, and the elegance of his clothes and tall figure. A good-looking young man, to be sure.

With no stronger impression than that, she shifted her attention to the two ladies beside Mr Bingley, whom she guessed to be his sisters. They were quite handsome, as well—

Around her, Elizabeth heard murmurs among several of her neighbours.

“—his friend, Mr Darcy—”

“—so tall, and ten thousand a-year, I heard—”

Elizabeth’s gaze returned to Mr Darcy. If it was true, he certainly had been favoured by fortune in what seemed every way. For a moment, she amused herself with the thought of a man who had ten thousand a-year balking at the powder tax, then returned to studying Mr Bingley’s married sister. Elizabeth did not quite like her demeanour. 

She would have no stronger opinion of Mr Darcy until later that evening, when he said she was not pretty enough to dance with. After that, despite her laughing accounts of it, all the good fortune in the world could not have saved him from her ill opinion.