#legolas x wife

[floatyflowers]

Yandere husband Thranduil (Romantic) x Reader wife pregnant for the second time x Yandere son Legolas (Platonic)

Very Thanks ♥︎

"I'm pregnant" you announce in a cheery tone to your son, Legolas, who is shocked by the news as he never expected to have a younger sibling.

Coming to think of it, he is already an adult, 2900+ years old to be exact, so it's indeed a shocker to him.

But it made him jealous at the idea of having a younger sibling which will take all of your attention.

He didn't expect to leave with the fellowship and return back to find you pregnant.

"Is there something wrong, my love?" you ask him, gently placing your hand on his cheek, while the other hand is placed on your bump.

"No, I'm extremely happy, and I can't wait for the baby to be born, Naneth (mother)"

You smile, pulling your son into a hug, causing him to hug you back.

°°°°°°°

"Can I know why you decided to impregnate Neneth when your marriage is on the edge of collapsing, father?"

Thranduil smiles at his furious son, as he descended down the stairs of his throne, holding a cup filled with the finest Elvish wine.

"War is over and the ring has been destroyed, what is a better way to fix our marriage than to have a child"

"So, you decided to trap her with you?"

Thranduil moves a strand of his son's hair behind his shoulder as he stares directly into his son's eyes, smirking.

"You wouldn't be standing right here now if I didn't use this technique on her the first time"

[shirefantasies]

LoTR Characters + Pregnant Reader (Wife!Reader)

Back with more parent AU because it's some of my favorite fluff! Consider this a Part 1 to an anon request that’ll be on its way hehe (also an AU where something happens with Celebrían apparently 😥)

Warnings: conception, pregnancy-related illness and symptoms mentioned, very long post lol

Aragorn

✧ Neither of you had made any concrete plans. No set in stone hour of your marriage reserved for the growth of your family or dubbed too early. Thus, you are unsure how your husband will feel about your news, the fact that you got yourself checked out the first moment of illness, mother's intuition in full service already, it would seem. You cannot keep your smile to yourself, though, as you stroll in search of Aragorn, hand hovering about your own waist as if in disbelief. He had just returned from a hunting trip when you found him, smiling shakily at his amusement when you pulled him immediately aside into the next room over. "What troubles your heart?" The man had intuition of his own, years of silent observation- there was no lying to him. "I just learned that I am with child, Aragorn," you took his hand, seeing no point in being anything but direct, "due for the birth next spring if all goes well." "With blossom comes the next blessing of my kin," your husband replied, that wise look in his blue eyes causing you to shake your head fondly, "what could be more beautiful? What a gift you have given me and how could I ever repay it?" Shaking your head once more, you simply grinned and, sighing with relief and anticipation alike, replied that being the amazing father you know him to be will be all you need. Leaning forward, Aragorn laid his head against yours, brushing your noses as he held you.

✧ Looking out upon the kingdom, the realization that is is his kingdom still sinking in, and that he has made this place a home for new life as well. That this is the very reason he fought for a safe world. It brings such a rush to his heart that he goes off in search of you at once, kissing you warmly and caressing your still-small bump.

✧ Aragorn loves doing anything he possibly can to make your days easier, treating you like the queen you quite literally are! He pampers you with treatment like massages, washing your hair for you, drawing you baths, and the like.

✧ While you no doubt have many people at your disposal, quite similarly your husband enjoys cooking for you by hand and memorizes everything that makes you sick if anything as well as the random foods your cravings make you obsessed with, trying to creatively incorporate them into everything.

✧ You knew it already, but your pregnancy brings about the reminder that this man has such a way with encouraging words, his voice the only thing that cuts through the clouds of your changing moods.

✧ Aragorn is the one who tells you not to be so hard on yourself, that you are doing an amazing thing and you are desirable as yourself, no more and no less. No need to hide yourself, no need to perform, no need to feel anything less than the beautiful soul you have always been. Remember, he tells you, he is going nowhere, and you will endure all together.

Legolas

✧ For so long had you and Legolas hoped for your little life, long enough of trial and hope that you’d all but given up until you felt a shift. Felt on the brink of illness at nearly all times, seeking healing for a mystery illness and leaving with news that had your husband holding you for minutes on end, tears sliding down his cheeks, and refusing to let go of your hand all day. Holding you like you might shatter, his other hand wrapped gently around your waist where his hand can brush the curve of your soon-to-be-growing belly. “We did it, my love. We will finally be three.”

✧ Your husband grows wistful, getting a distant look in his eyes before smiling and reminiscing on his younger days. “What demeanor shall our little one have, do you say? I would not mind having two of you,” he teases, while you say a child like him would be much easier!

✧ “Both of your little ones sound quite healthy.” “Both?” You are shocked, but Legolas’s grin never falters, nor does his surprisingly tight, hearty grip upon your shoulders. “Twins,” he keeps repeating in wonder throughout the day.

✧ You and Legolas have a bet running on the twins, if they are to be identical or not. You think they are both boys, while Legolas thinks he has a little girl waiting for him, too. “Wishful thinking,” you tease him. “Absolutely,” he agrees, smiling softly at you.

✧ As time passes, he does tease you about your waddle. “Shall I slow down a bit?” Cheeky prince, but that’s why you love him!

✧ Legolas’s eyes never fix you with anything but awe. He is simply amazed at all the wonders your body is capable of and what it endures. Even though that wonder also manifests as him almost constantly asking if you are alright, it is worth it when your husband looks at you as though captivated by a goddess.

Boromir

✧ Boromir caught you with your eyes bulging out of your head, not a single chance of delaying your discussion. Such news as you have just received can only be considered a blessing, and yet you still are shaken to the core with the spiking precursor of excitement and hope, hope that your husband would be happy. Your words burst forth the moment he took your hands, asking you whatever was wrong and nodding faster and faster with each step of your detailed medical visit. His smile grew and grew until he could hardly help himself, taking your face in his hands and pulling you into a kiss that more than assuaged your worries. “Why do you look so worried? Such a wonderful blessing was beyond anything I could imagine,” he tells you, a hand reaching to rest gently upon you.

✧ He all but tackles you to bed that night, kissing again and again your lips, your cheeks, and down finally to your belly.

✧ Boromir’s appreciation of your body never ceases your entire wait. His hands always caressing you, his words always sweet upon your ears, especially to cut through the deprecating ones your own lips utter. It baffles your husband that you cannot see how utterly glowing you are.

✧ One hundred percent though will he be teasing you about the odd cravings you get; even as he goes to fetch them he’s making faces, asking if you’re sure, joking about what strange taste the little one has.

✧ You suspect you are carrying a son while Boromir’s guess is a little girl. After you remind him that a mother knows, he rests a hand over your bump and replies with a teasing grin “Why can’t a father know as well?” “Because you do not have to carry him for the better part of a year!”

✧ One of Boromir's favorite things in this world is the sight of how his lent garments fit you tighter and tighter, bringing a twinge to both the loving and the possessive sides of his heart...and his hands to wrap around you or cup your cheeks and pull you into a kiss!

Gimli

✧ His intuition is off the proverbial charts. It is he who first makes any mention of your chances, stating you should not strain yourself in your condition. You are confused, you even protest, but in the end you have your little appointment and your husband has a smug little moment of ‘I told you so’ before the realization of just what he’d been sensing hits him, dropping his jaw and sending his arms flying about you, lifting you up into the air with a hearty laugh. “The mighty line continues! And thanks to such a beautiful lassie no less! You'll want for nothing, I promise you, and no harm'll come to either of you while I yet draw breath."

✧ Has strong opinions about how well you should be eating, so barring you being stricken with sickness Gimli will be making or otherwise providing for you the heartiest of meals, all the things he believes are necessary to raise up a strong little dwarfling. Thank the fortitude and solace of his people, but you are sick very little your entire journey with this and all other little ones you share!

✧ Given the strength of dwarven genetics, you both assume that you are expecting a boy; thus, your husband insists on crafting a tiny axe for him. “For when he’s older, of course!” Gimli assures you, waving his hands defensively.

✧ No worries about your pregnancy weight here- suffice it to say that a dwarf finds the extra pounds quite appealing and has no hesitation about showing you such!

✧ Any exhaustion you feel is the only thing that stops Gimli from taking you around to all his friends and loved ones and likely anyone else who will listen and announce that he has a child on the way!

✧ Nesting is a very strong instinct of his! Gimli builds and crafts by hand all of your baby's furniture and decor, even an adorable mobile of horses, little dwarves with pickaxes, and little effigies of your favorite animal all dangling above his crib! Leaning his head against your belly, he asks the baby "Well, what do you think? Only the finest for my little flame!"

Frodo

✧ Your husband wasn’t sure at first. Not sure if he would feel whole enough after all he endured to bring a life into this world, but you, oh, you… The one who brought life vividly rushing back to his heart, color returning to his life and comfort to his pain. One day a pang struck his heart and he realized it would mean the world if after it all he was able to create life, and more importantly to have something so amazing come of your love. Soon after you both eagerly hoped for the signs, and it took but a few months. Frodo worried you would be sick, but confirmation comes after weeks without your cycle, nothing more. For once, no pain shall come to Frodo Baggins or those he loves.

✧ Your health is his greatest concern, so much so in fact that Frodo has soon befriended practically every midwife in the Shire, melting them with his endearing eagerness to know all he can about your possible afflictions and what you need. His concerns soon gather you the proverbial village of help should you ever send Frodo off for something beyond his breadth.

✧ It breaks Frodo's heart when his nightmares or moments of panic coincide with your own fragile emotions for the first time, for he should be caring for you, not the other way around, but when you hold each other, tears soaking into the opposite shirt, he realizes that what you two have is an understanding and trust strong enough to fortify each other even in darkness.

✧ In case you were not already aware, you are so lucky in your choice of husband! Discussing names soon emerges into your conversation and it almost takes you aback how quickly agreements on a girl and boy name are reached!

✧ The one time during your entire wait for your little one that brings tears to Frodo’s eyes is the day you bring home a bolt of fabric and when he asks what it is for, you answer to make him and your new arrival matching garments.

✧ You catch him smiling widely at you, love glowing in his bright blue eyes as he watches you do even the smallest things, your little waddle or the way you practice folding diaper cloth. All you can imagine is those same eyes fixed upon a babe in his arms, shooting Frodo the same look right back.

Sam

✧ It seemed that every other conversation you shared with your beloved Samwise revolved around babies, so much so that your few still-unmarried friends had grown sick of it. Anyone with a baby in the Shire, though, knew who to look toward for care! You and Sam gushed over little clothes, little hands, went on for goodness-knows-how-long about how much you'd like a little Sam and he wants a miniature version of the loveliest girl he'd ever seen followed of course by you saying why not both? Sam loved life so much, saw beauty in growth and creation and every joy in it, so of course he wanted a big family and all his infectious sunshine on the subject just made you fall in love with him more and more. Months of trying passed, though, before you came to Sam in a daze, before you cupped his precious face in your hands and whispered to him we did it. Before he tackled you to the soft grassy ground and held you, weeping tears of joy and kissing your hands, your cheeks, finally your lips once he'd spoken how much he loved you.

✧ Takes to sleeping a bit lower, his head nuzzled against your torso. In the night you can feel his nose and lips ghosting over it and even hear little whispers when you both can't sleep, but you say nothing, letting Sam have his moments with the little one.

✧ The worry he has about everything the first time around. "Are you sure you can eat that? I don't want you to get sick." "Is that too heavy?" "Don't trouble yourself a mite when I'm right here, I'll bend over for it." "Alright, only if you're certain nothing will happen to the baby, sweetheart." As much as you want to remind him that you are still a fully functional woman, you know that Sam is an action man and this is his way of showing he cares.

✧ The meals he cooks you. You will be eating like a queen all because Sam wants to keep the baby strong, of course! As a bonus, it truly is like he knows what sets you off and avoids those things without even having to ask.

✧ “Imagine all the wee feet running through here,” Sam muses in bed one night, your head tucked in the crook of his neck. “The little hands grasping ours,” you add. “All the little ribbons we can tie in a girl’s hair.” “Taking your little boy out to the garden!” Once again, your friends act positively sick of how sweet you are, but inside anyone can see how deliriously happy you and Sam are and feel warmed by it.

✧ “When the time comes,” Sam always assures you, your hand tightly in his, “I’ll be right here. Wild horses could hardly drag your Sam away.”

Merry

✧ Your reveal is made a bit anticlimactic thanks to your husband’s teasing ways. “You’re knitting.” Glancing down at your work, you simply nod. “Yes.” “You never knit.” Merry’s eyes narrow. “Is it for somebody?” “If you must know,” you set your needles carefully in your lap and tease back, “this is for your child. Any complaints now?” “My child?” Jaw dropping, Merry looks at you like you’d just offered him the whole of Middle Earth. “That’s right,” your voice softens, even cracking a bit with emotion at the sight of his smile, “you’re going to be a father, Merry.”

✧ Merry’s adorable little habit of making you a pillow pile to lay on during your time of the month carries right through to your pregnancy. And of course it continues even when you remind him you’ll not be able to stand up from in because he will be right there to help you up!

✧ Because you've taken up knitting, Merry wheedles with all his charm and love and kisses an additional creation from you: a sweater made from the same yarn as baby's. "You are lucky to be so adorable," you tease him, looking up from your work to kiss his lovely lips. Maybe, you thought, a whole matching set for three would be in order, though…

✧ Another one who teases you, joking about how he is finally able to outrun you!

✧ The type of father to chastise the baby whenever they kick you too hard, lecturing to the front of your dress about hurting your mother and how that simply won’t do, then looking up at you with a humored smile.

✧ Compliments increase at least twofold upon your revelation, Merry never sparing the kindest words about your strength, certainly, but mostly your beauty. Never once during any pregnancy do you feel unloved, unwanted, unattractive, for even when your eyes can find no light within your reflection there your husband is practically worshipping every corner of your form.

Pippin

✧ Desire for a family was something that had drawn you two together as a couple, though you may have found yourself talking Pippin down from ten children! “Maybe start with five,” you would always tease him. So the moment your hypothesis is tested and confirmed, a grin you can’t remove spreads across your face and you run to collect everything for your surprise. Surprise is the only word you can use when Pippin opens his gift and sees the tiny knitted hat you’ve placed inside the box. “What is this for? Little small, is it not?” “If it was for us, perhaps.” It ended up taking you reaching out for his hand and resting it upon your lower belly for the massive grin to spread across his face, but once it does Pippin is laughing loudly and giddily, swinging you back and forth in ecstasy!

✧ Runs to get you whatever your need with barely an question. After all, who is he to say what it's like being with child, and if you want it, you shall have it. Hot water bottle? Certainly. A cup of tea? Of course. Three more pillows? Why, he'll strip your whole bed down. Panics a little if the request is to relieve pain, so prepare to hear a crash or the shuffle of a trip or two before you have the item in hand or on body.

✧ "What is this for?" "What are these?" Lucky you love him, your husband does have many a question of all the supplies you gather for after your new addition is welcomed. "Oh, to keep the hands safe? That makes sense." "Wait, you need to wear that... to catch the bloo- oh, my." He gulps. "I'm going out right now. I'm getting you a cake and some jewelry and some flowers and anything else you'd like."

✧ Can barely keep his hands to himself. Pippin was always the most affectionate husband you could ask for, but now? Now you two are practically a package set and nary can you travel without his arm around you, hand about your waist and gently running up and down over your little growing bump.

✧ Your baby seems to have inherited your husband’s personality, for even before the birth many signs of how active your little one is are present! Those poor ribs of yours will get kicked more than a few times with all the fluttering your little one stirs up inside of you! Pippin, of course, wants to feel it all and luckily he is never far from the scene. If he is, though, you bet he will run!

✧ Pippin is always laying with his cheek resting on your belly, talking to the baby about anything from how his day’s gone to how they have the most amazing and beautiful mother. Your heart can’t help fluttering every time.

Faramir

✧ Faramir has the most uncanny way of reading you like a book, a habit endearing as it is frustrating. Thus the moment he catches you smiling to yourself he is smiling back, approaching you with teasing question of what has you so happy. For once, though, you have the satisfaction of catching your husband off guard, resting your head against his shoulder and a hand upon his chest as you tell him you just cannot wait to see him as a father. "Someday, my love," he takes your hand and kisses it, "if I am so blessed." Giggling, you shake your head against him. "Blessed indeed! Someday shall be this fall," you answer, and peeling back from him you receive another spike of satisfaction at his wide blue eyes, the drop of his jaw and the race of his heart beneath your hand. "Are you certain?" You nod. This time, he takes both of your hands in his and with tears in his eyes thanks the heavens for you even as he shakily laughs, your bright demeanor never failing to put a smile upon his face. "Our child will be so loved." "I know."

✧ Your husband finds himself lost in reverie more and more often, drifting out of reality into some distant, but nowhere near out-of-reach, dream of your family, seeing you as a mother the most beautiful sight he can conjure.

✧ Faramir adores holding you from behind, his hands curled gently over where your bump forms and his head resting gently upon your shoulder, flowing hair tickling your cheeks and neck lightly.

✧ "One for each of us," is Faramir's joke when one of Gondor's finest medics grants you the knowledge that you are not expecting one child, but two. Your husband is there in the storms, the waves of anxiety rolling within you over being there for your twins. "You are not alone," he always reminds you, a hand joined with yours right over the twins' little hearts.

✧ If you wanted a husband who actually does his due diligence learning all he can about growing babies, birth, and postpartum care, then Faramir is another excellent choice! He’ll be spouting off facts about the whole thing ranging from what size the babies currently are to why you might have contractions after giving birth. Your mood determines whether you listen in or tell him to kindly stop.

✧ Just as with you, Faramir’s insecurities sometimes get the better of him, but they also fuel him, bringing a fire you can see to his fair eyes as he speaks with determination how he will love all his children equally.

Eomer

✧ Pride glows upon your countenance as you flit about the kitchen putting the finishing touches on the roast you'd made for dinner. A kingly feast is in order, for not only had you heard your husband performed exceptional drills this day, but you yourself are the host of something exceptional. Eomer and you have been enjoying each other's company much these days, so the news is not so much of a shock as it is a celebration, exuberance at a line enduring, two dreams fulfilled as one, especially for your husband, who speaks often of how he longs for a full, boisterous home. Six if he's lucky. Well, you can hardly wait to help him along, pulling Eomer into your arms for an enthusiastic kiss before he can even toe his boots off, and when he chuckles and asks what has taken hold of his beautiful wife you let your news fly. Shouting for joy with abandon, Eomer lifts you up into his arms bridal-style, kissing your lips again and again. Dinner is all but forgotten as he kneels before you, holding your waist and pressing kisses all over the bodice of your dress and thanking you for making his day, nay, his life, perfect.

✧ Eomer is always proud of you, but the moment he finds out you are with child that feeling swells and positively drips off of him, every outing with him suddenly seeming quite like a chance for him to show you off. An arm around you at all times, a smile of great joy and satisfaction, news shared to all who dare make conversation with you both, and even kisses in public! Eomer is simply on top of the world and not a thing will topple his spirits.

✧ As somebody who never much studied the workings of women, though, Eomer is… a bit out of his depth. You will have to teach him some things like why your emotions swing so or what to look out for to know when your water breaks. This man has been in battle, seen heads roll in the most literal sense, and yet when you describe the eventual passing of your placenta his entire face contorts in a look of horror that has you all but doubled over in laughter.

✧ “You look so beautiful with child,” Eomer purrs, “we’ll have to do this again sometime.” You smack his arm, but cannot resist giggling at the way your husband still gives you butterflies.

✧ Your new addition had not even arrived yet and Eomer is commissioning a child-sized saddle, unable to contain his excitement as he describes all their future rides to you!

✧ As you dream up names, Eomer has many suggestions from the great halls of his own people, ancestors and great warriors alike, but making considerations of your own background is equally important to him, so he is more than willing to go back and forth for the perfect solution.

Eowyn

✧ No one had thought it possible, but they should have known. Impossible was not in Eowyn’s lexicon, and that was exactly why you loved her, one part within many of why you became her wife. And now, the healer confirmed you were carrying her child. …Very well, technically her banner-bearer’s child as the two of you had been forced to get a bit creative, but to have support and help from those who had begun with such uncertainty meant the world. Even Eomer had come around, having offered similarly, but of course you had to remind him that Eowyn wanted a child of her own, not a niece or nephew! Without Guthláf’s, er, donation, you would never bear witness to the broad and beautiful smile on your wife’s face, the tears glistening in the gorgeous blue of her eyes. “A child…” “Our child,” you add, leaning forward until your foreheads touched and noses brushed, a tearful smile upon your own face as your wife gently held your waist.

✧ Having worked so many times as a nurse lends well at least to Eowyn, for she is firm and unrelenting in her urging, nay, forcing, you to rest. No ifs, ands, or buts are to be accepted from your strong-willed beauty, let her dote on you, for she does it with great pleasure. And besides, the harder you fight, the harder she'll work to keep you lain down.

✧ Understanding the pain and symptoms of your time of the month completely also translates; thus Eowyn is ready with remedies for your aches and pains, hot water and herbs awaiting you. She rarely snaps back at your moods, choosing to be silent in the worst of times because she knows. Really, she does.

✧ She cooks for you, and whether you say anything about that or not likely depends on how willing to hide your honesty behind the hormone excuse if it is not taken well.

✧ Reminds you constantly how strong you are. In your lowest of moments, the times you struggle to stand and straighten your aching spine, feeling massive and utterly useless, Eowyn is there to hold your hand and tell you that you are hosting and creating life as she so speaks. You have made the ultimate sacrifice of your body and the greatest of pain to bring just as great a blessing to yourself and your wife. Far from useless, you are divine.

✧ “What does it feel like?” Resting her head on her hand, the one that wasn’t lain against your fluttering belly, she questions you as the baby kicks. “For you?” Part of her wishes to have this experience herself someday, while another takes your descriptions with trepidation. She does not enjoy being restricted, after all.

Haldir

✧ “Lie down, please, my love.” Haldir’s concern with your sickness increased daily as did the pain of seeing you feeling so weak and ill. You tried to push through and for as much as he loved your strength, your husband was not having it this time. Pride was not worth seeing you doubled over again, whether from pain or, arguably worse, illness. You relented in the end, resting and beneath the spinning of your head at the end of the day feeling not a seed of energy to protest an inspection. Healing herbs had you perking up a bit, and perked up you needed to be when the dark-haired, round-faced healer nodded sagely and with a wide smile told you you were with child, and these early days were likely to be the worst. For the first time in days the sobs that escaped you were accompanied by a smile, your face utterly breaking as Haldir held you against his chest, weeping too and thanking you for all you would endure for this blessing.

✧ Physically carries you places as often as he can be spared to do so. Lifts you up bridal-style to move you across your home and sits you up before he feeds you. Your illness brings out a tender, caring side you have never seen in your strong, stoic husband, but it makes your heart swell that much more for him and for the life you two are to have with your child.

✧ Another symptom you experience is the aching and swelling of your feet, but Haldir sits you down facing him and makes the best work of them he can, hands gentle as always as they soothe your skin.

✧ Even in the later months as your illness abates, though, your husband remains protective as ever, standing between you and any potential harm with the fiercest look upon his face and a hand upon your middle, even if the threat is an object you’ve hurt yourself on.

✧ The way shock melts into a wide, ecstatic smile unlike your husband’s typical demeanor when the healer repeats that yes, she could definitely hear two heartbeats beside yours is worth more than any gold in the world. Haldir pulls you into his arms, chuckling deeply. You feel his head shake slightly, slowly, atop yours in wonder.

✧ When you sleep, Haldir will always be holding you close, whether it is an arm draped over your bump loosely if you’re hot or need space or else you fully tucked into your husband’s warm embrace.

Galadriel

✧ Galadriel is actually the one who assuages your worries that your dream will not come true, having full faith in you as much as the magic of this world. And she is right, of course, confidence proven in the aid you receive from a member of her guard and even the way she knows it to be true before the healer even confirms the news. As much as she jokes about seeing a glow around you, the width of her beautiful blue eyes, the shine therein, tells you that your wife is as elated to hear it beyond a shadow of a doubt as you are: you are hosting a little life for you both to nurture.

✧ You being pregnant only aids in her mysterious nature. She can be convening in a council with the wisest of minds from afar and will use you as an excuse to step away at her will. "If you will excuse me. My wife is with child." They are not even aware she is married. Some of them may not understand how it all works, but before they can ask any clarifying questions Galadriel has already slipped away to be with you.

✧ One tendency you unwittingly adopt is falling asleep in the oddest of places, your exhausted body giving out upon its own terms. Always will you wake up draped in one of your wife’s shawls or blankets, however, no matter how odd the spot.

✧ Both of you can hardly resist the allure of tiny garments, smiling every time you see them. It also rings a bell of realization within your minds as you hold a tiny gown up to your midsection. Truly as you speak, there is a tiny body within you! What magic it is to be a woman!

✧ What magic indeed, you later reflect as another pain strikes your back not long after. Hosting tiny bodies came with all the assorted blessings and curses of your kind, one not long without the other. Sighing, you make to approach the chaise across the room and soon your wife is with you, moving its drapes aside and lowering you gently to its cushions, a soothing hand tracing up and down your aching spine.

✧ "I hope she looks like you," you both turn to each other and say simultaneously, mothers' intuition firmly aligned in your hearts, from which so much love for each other pours from, Galadriel immediately drawing you closer to press her lips to the crown of your head.

Arwen

✧ Elrond had been quite hesitant about your relationship with his daughter at first- were you the best choice for her? Could someone like you keep her safe? And how, of course, would she be given the child she so desired? Questions you yourself had posed to her, but she refused to listen, telling you her mind, and heart, were sealed. Little do you know, however, that all of Rivendell would come to love you as their own, see and praise the way you cared for Arwen, and in Lindir’s case even provide the healers with a chance at you giving your wife the family you both yearned for. The moment you tell her the healers’ method worked and she is to he a mother, you both are, her features lighten, taking on the wondrous joy of youth again as she grabs your face, falling onto you with a kiss of pure love.

✧ So accusing if you've overexerted yourself, leaning in closer with a look of sometimes-teasing, sometimes-serious scrutiny. "Surely you did not carry that up the stairs all by yourself, right?"

✧ Do not even bother trying to fake feeling up to anything, whatever the task, for Arwen can see right through you and will insist you sit down, taking your hands in hers. "Rest. You have your burden- let me take the others. My heart bears no ill."

✧ Her affection gets softer, light touches to your waist and hands resting over yours. One hand upon your hip or belly and one on your shoulder as you two sway gently, foreheads pressed together.

✧ Arranging your nursery is one of Arwen's favorite pastimes: painting a gorgeous meadow mural upon the wall, stitching a soft toy to lay within the crib, asking you which fabric you prefer for blankets.

✧ Your bundle of joy can make sleep difficult, but one silver lining Arwen points out in a low whisper one morning is how many sunrises you’ve now gotten to share with each other.

Elrond

✧ Reservations about having a fourth child so long after the others disappeared every time Lord Elrond caught sight of you holding a neighbor’s child or even just showing the loving care that had him convinced he would be well even marrying a second time at all. Every smile, every sweet thing you did, all of it came back to Elrond in a rush when you told him he was to become a father again. For once he did not feel too old, too tired, nothing but the elation of his every desire unfurling to him before his very eyes from your warm embrace. To be chosen as the father to your child was the greatest honor the lord of Rivendell could imagine.

✧ Your every ailment is minimal, for Elrond knows exactly what is best for each and every one. Nausea? The perfect tea blend awaits to calm the waves you feel. Aches and cramps? Your husband is happy to give you the most heavenly massage, his hands finding every needed spot as if by magic. A swell of emotion? He does not speak unless bidden to, simply holding you through sudden waves of tears, frustration, or both until he feels your body relax against his.

✧ Being married to an elf with the gift of foresight comes with the benefit of worries soothed, but also a joke shared between you both. For many a time you teasingly chastise him not to look too far and spoil the surprise of whether you have a son or daughter on the way!

✧ Standing behind you, Elrond rests his hands around your middle and presses a kiss to your cheek. Just when you think the bliss of this moment, of having your whole little new family all together within your husband’s arms, cannot increase is when Elrond shifts his hands, taking on the great weight you carry. Peering up into his soft blue eyes, your whole body deflates in a sigh of sweet relief as he holds you.

✧ He can never truly understand your experience, but Elrond has witnessed this process. All he wishes is to tell you all your pain shall pass, even the worst memories will fade and ease, but such words will sound insensitive, so all he does is continue to hold your hand and stand proudly at your side.

✧ One thing your husband cannot resist is showering your future little one with gifts, even jewelry for when they are a bit older and the tiniest circlet to place upon the beloved head, matching Adar's perfectly.

Want to meet the little ones? Part 2 coming soon 😉

Taglist: @lokilover476 @fuckyoumakeart @kilibaggins @mossthebogwitch @ibabblealot @stormchaser819 @pirate-lord-of-narnia @datglutengoblin @letmelickyoureyeballs @mossyskinn @wordbunch | Message/Reply/Ask to join 🥰

[wareagleofthemountain]

Here’s a compilation of all my behind the scenes HCs that I imagine Thranduil and his queen shared in their domestic lives

Being that they often stayed up late working on paperwork, battle strategies, and other royal duties, Thranduil and his wife had a mental cookbook of DIY recipes. This came from the countless times they’ve whipped up a last minute dish made from leftovers at 2 AM. Including desserts and, as a law, they feed each other a spoonful of whipped cream whenever one of them takes the container out.

Thranduil’s wife loves to tease him for having a “Doriath accent” whenever he speaks in Elvish. Which he of course passes on to Legolas. Sometimes, when he’s pronounced a word particularly heavy in his Doriath inflection, she’ll chuckle and repeat it back to him just as he said it so he can’t deny his accent as he always does. But, for all her teasing, she thinks his speech is adorable.

Thranduil has a slightly lopsided smirk due to the burn scars on the right side of his face. Even with his masking spell, the right half of his lip droops down when he smiles.

Thranduil’s wife always takes care when approaching him on his blind side, touching his shoulder and gently brushing her body against his side to make him known of her presence before she speaks lest she startle him.

Thranduil wears low cut v-necks at his wife’s request. She loved to brush her fingers over his collarbone whenever she passed him as a sign of affection so he made it a point to keep that area accessible to her.

No personal space for the queen. Although she had her own throne, Thranduil much preferred to hold her in his lap with his chin atop her head during meetings.

Every night before bed and every morning before breakfast, Thranduil rests his head in his wife’s lap and holds her free hand as the other works healing salve into his scars. She’s the only one, besides his healers when he’d first been burned, that he allows himself to drop his protective shield around. He was fearful at first that she may be put off by what she saw, but she only loved that part of him fiercely and shamelessly.

Thranduil’s elk and the queen are very close. He often follows her around whenever she goes for a walk, and he’ll still try to follow her even when Thranduil is trying to ride him in a different direction. The king will have to tug on his reigns and put in a good deal of effort to get his mount on a different path.

The white gems were a just because gift for his wife, as Thranduil was so thankful to be married to her that he often surprised her with gifts.

When meetings become long and dull without any important topics being discussed, Thranduil and his wife will entertain themselves by passing a paper back and forth. The rest assume that they are just taking notes, but really they’re drawing. Someone starts on the picture and they pass it around, adding on to it until the meeting is over. The end result is always interesting and Thranduil has a locked drawer in his office where he keeps them.

The queen and baby Legolas often drop by the king’s throne room and bring him flowers they’ve picked while out on a walk.

The night Thranduil was crowned king, before his official ceremony, his wife and son crowned him in their bedchamber after everyone had finished getting dressed. They didn’t have a silken red carpet so the queen rolled out a long red bath towel. They didn’t have a royal scepter so toddler Legolas fetched a branch he’d brought inside. But they did have the crown, so Thranduil took a knee before his wife and she said, “by the power vested in me by Prince Legolas Greenleaf of the woodland realm, I name you king Thranduil Oropherion. Leader, protector, and defender of our land.” She placed the crown atop his head, Legolas tapped his shoulders with the stick, and Thranduil tackle hugged them both. He’d never felt more like a king than in that moment, and he always considered this his true right to rule.

The king and queen dislike being apart longer than absolutely necessary, and never tire of each other’s company. The queen considers their marriage as having an eternal sleepover with her best friend. Which is accurate as I think they have been close since childhood.

They made a game of hiding one of Legolas’s stuffed toys in various places around the palace. Once it’s found, it’s the other’s turn to hide it.

They can’t sleep unless they’re cuddling.

Whenever someone new moves into their kingdom, Thranduil and his wife make them a welcome gift basket filled with local plants and foods, as well as a few household staples.

The couple are good friends with Lord Elrond and Lady Celebrian. However, the Queen and Celebrian are on another level. They’re practically sisters and declare a “no boys allowed” hang out session whenever they visit. They just wanna drink wine, try on dresses, and plot to take over the world (but you didn’t hear that from me).

When they were pregnant, the ladies took turns hosting vacation weekends at their estates.

Thranduil gets rather possessive of his wife when around human men, keeping his arm wrapped around her at all times and glaring if someone stares at her a moment too long. It’s not that he doesn’t trust her, it’s just that he knows human males aren’t as well mannered as elven men. Plus they tend to stare more and he hates that. Same for dwarves.

They rarely ever argue as the couple has always made it a point in their relationship to be open with one another. There is truly nothing that can’t be discussed between them.

The first time the queen saw how terrifying and brutal Thranduil could be in a battle, she was actually quite scared and it took him a few days to ease her back into feeling comfortable around him.

Whenever they go out for a ride in winter, Thranduil always seats her on the saddle in front of him and hides her in his cloak with her back pressed against his warm chest.

He’s definitely the type to shamelessly check out his wife from atop his throne as she walks by. They also playfully flirt with one another whenever they can.

Thranduil loves to nuzzle his face into the crook of her neck from behind, his arms wrapped around her waist.

Sad, but the Queen’s body had been so brutalized by orcs that there was not enough of it to bring back for a proper burial, so Thranduil ordered the statue be built in place of a grave. On his worst nights, when he’s absolutely sure no one is around and fails to drink himself to sleep, he’ll curl up on the forest floor at the foot of the statue for some sort of comfort in order to close his eyes. He also sometimes pays it a visit just to plant more flowers and tell it about his day or how much Legolas has grown. Obviously he knows it’s an inanimate object, but he misses her so much.

He and the Queen have an inside joke involving Elros. Thranduil had hired the guard himself without the presence of his wife, so it wasn’t until the next day that Elros encountered the Queen while standing watch at Thranduil’s side during a public audience. The Queen was never one for formality so she was easily mistaken by him as a commoner due to her simple attire. When she’d attempted to step out onto the stage beside her husband as he spoke, Elros drew his blade and told her that she was standing too close to the king. Now, sometimes when she’s standing near Thranduil, she’ll take a few steps back and say “wouldn’t want to stand too close to his Majesty” with a wink. It makes Thranduil grin in amusement and Elros blush terribly.

Thranduil is constantly holding his wife’s hand.

During holidays, the queen sees to decorating the palace herself and always comes up with at least one fun craft for her and Thranduil to try each season.

[lady-adaneth]

Romantic Inclination

To whoever finds this, hello friend! I’m super excited to be sharing my first ever fan fic with you! What an incredible thing that we’ve found each other on this vast platform. I’m looking to improve my writing, so if you have a moment I’d be very grateful if you shared any criticisms or requests. I hope that this little one-shot brings some tranquility to your day!

Synopsis:

You and your betrothed sneak away from the wedding festivities for a romantic moment alone.

Legolas x gender-neutral elf!reader

No use of y/n

One-Shot (but if you’d like more don’t hesitate to send a request)

Meleth Nin = My Love

Content Warnings:

Spice scale: Mild kinda smoky salsa

Physical/romantic touch

Word Count:

500+ words

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧‧₊˚ ✩°｡

The forests of Mirkwood were fabled for the ghastly creatures that lurked beneath its thick canopy. The treacherous floor remaining untouched by the glow of stars nor the suns kiss; the darkness teeming with monstrous spiders and unforgiving elves…

The centuries old fable had kept your elfling self from wandering at night, much to your father’s relief. If only he could see you now, dancing amongst the Mirkwood elves in their sacred forest; marrying a Mirkwood elf under thousands of glimmering stars.

Your steps faltered as your mind wandered to your betrothed; and your dance partner took notice. Gimli and you had fought side-by-side against Sauron and his hoard. Combat was a dance in itself, and Gimli’s ax was a perfect complement to your blades. So it’s no surprise that he was privy to what troubled you.

“You’ve suddenly got lousy footwork for an elf, what’s on your mind lassie?” A smile graced Gimli’s face, however his eyes betrayed true concern. Your mind had been wandering to Legolas ever since the ceremony. Tradition mandated that both of you greet and dance with as many guests as possible, reuniting hours later for a final dance. However, as much as you enjoyed the company of others you couldn’t help but scan the motley crowd for his circlet-adorned hair.

“Well,” you began, eyes still searching.

“I have so many more guests to thank…” Gimli cut you off in an explosion of laughter.

“Screw tradition, I’ll keep these unruly guests in check. You go find that damned elf, wherever he may be,” before you could muster a retort, Gimli twirled you in a surprisingly artful spin, abruptly letting go of your hand and launching you into the open. You opened your eyes, searching for any sign of your beloved dwarf friend amongst the crowd, to no avail. Rolling your eyes, you took stock of your immediate surroundings. To the left, the merriment continued; with Pippin and Gandalf leading a rather humorous waltz that had everyone hollering. To the right, you found yourself flanked by the seemingly endless Mirkwood forest.

Suddenly, a set of encompassing arms wound their way around your waist.

“Meleth Nin,”

The whispers warm air lingered by your ear, a firm chest pressed up against your back. Despite his choice of words, you could recognize his intoxicating scent of fir and amber anywhere.

“And who might you be?” You say coyly. “Are you my savior, prince?” Legolas chuckled, his voice inches from your ear.

“I’m here to rescue you from the endless dancing and idle chatter, my princess,” you spun to face him, a mischievous smile on his saintly face. Heavens, that face. You could feel his heart rate accelerate with your own as your hand found his jawline. His arms still encompassed your body. You felt yourself melting as he gently leaned down to meet your lips. The rhythm of the kiss was gentle-familiar, and you melted farther into his touch. His arms tightened around your figure as the kiss deepened. His teeth gently grazed your lip, sending a chill down your spine. You pushed farther into his chest in an almost primal effort to meld into one. Your heart rates grew louder, your shared breath drowning out any sound. His right hand ascended to rest in your hair, carefully grasping the roots. Suddenly, you pulled away, gasping for air as the sounds of merriment returned to you. His eyes found yours, a combination of adoration and worry; searching yours for any sign of injury.

“What are your thoughts…” your forehead found his as he held you tightly. “On taking our leave from the festivities, only for a moment of course?” His reverence shone brightly in his eyes.

“I’d be honored to steal you away for the night, Meleth Nin,” he smirked, pulling you hand-in-hand through the glistening forest of Mirkwood…

—————

Thank you for reading! If you have any criticisms or would like a part 2 please let me know!

[lamemaster]

The Curse of the Uncursed (Thranduil x Feanorian Reader)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Epilogue |

Summary: What would your son look like? You did not get to see him when you gave birth to him. You did not get to see him before your death. Only remnants of his movements in your belly remain in your memory.

AN: thank you everyone for your kind words for the last part of this fic. I enjoyed reading every single one of them after long hours of work. That being said, sorry for the delay but here is the last part of this series. I may work on some headcanons about the plot in the future but nothing is set right now. I hope you enjoy this.

Legolas feels the lands of his birth leave him as he watches the shores of Aman greet him. His kingdom, his father, his people, and their memories are all left on the nether shores. All but his friend, Gimli, who stands beside him.

Maybe someday, in some peaceful age, he would welcome his father to these shores. A lungful of grief and a heartful of joy fill him as he finds his grandfather, King Oropher, on the shores.

He embraces his grandfather in the way of men, a way taught by Aragorn. And his grandfather, although taken aback, hugs him back with equal vigor. None of them mention Thranduil. They cannot bring themselves to.

Legolas' eyes wander, looking for someone else. Someone he has never seen, someone he does not remember yet knows. His mother. He looks for you, whose name he has not heard once from his father's lips.

Yet, he knows that you have loved him more than life. And now that he stands on the shores of the land that you live on, Legolas does not see you in the crowd of people welcoming him.

"Her kind is not welcomed on these shores," Oropher speaks, noticing Legolas' wandering eyes. "Not after what they did ages ago."

Hot, seething rage fills Legolas at the hostility he sees in his grandfather's eyes. Was this what his mother faced while bearing him? Such hatred that she had no part in. "Her son is a part of the reason that Arda remains peaceful and the Dark Lord Sauron stays defeated," for the first time, Legolas lets pride and steel of wrath seep into his voice.

"And if these shores cannot welcome my mother, who has been forgiven by the Valar, then I see no reason to be here any longer," with these words, Legolas finds his feet walking away from his grandfather, who does nothing to stop him.

He is aware of Gimli calling for him, but he continues walking as his Dwarven friend complains about emotionally constipated elves. Everything feels too unfair. Why did his mother face such hostility when she did nothing wrong? How sad must she have been with how everyone treated her? And he…he wasn't there for her.

Guilt builds in his heart, and the streets of Alqualonde blur as tears cloud his eyes. He wants to leave so badly. He wants his mother. He wants to comfort her and take away her pain. He wants to reassure her and make her smile.

Legolas bumps into a figure, and a warm voice greets him. "And here I thought I would welcome my grandnephew with smiles," a voice he does not remember. A golden-haired and silver-eyed elf smiles at Legolas.

Atandil, or "Friend of Men," King of Nargothrond, Finrod, beams at Legolas.

"Yonya, your pacing would help little. I recommend you sit and wait. That Findarto is pretty good with his words. He would definitely charm your son into coming here," Celegorm comments, perched on a chaise as he observes you pacing around the room.

His own anxiety is well-hidden behind his cocky exterior. You turn to look at your father, "Do not talk like that about Uncle," you warm him. It had taken decades of your work to mend the broken ties between the Finweans. Your father and Uncle Finrod had been one of the toughest ones to work with.

Your heart races as you imagine your son somewhere on the shores of Aman. So close, yet so far. Only your respect for the Teleri holds you back from rushing to the shores that would bear your son's ship.

Your son, who played a big part in the destruction of the rings once forged by your cousin, Celebrimbor. "I will definitely brag about my grandson to that Curufin. Let him know the actual hero of Arda," you shake your head at your father's obnoxious words. You would have to make sure that he truly does not offend your uncle or Celebrimbor, who seems to be recovering well.

What would your son look like? You did not get to see him when you gave birth to him. You did not get to see him before your death. Only remnants of his movements in your belly remain in your memory.

As Celegorm's words linger in the air, your pacing slows, and you reluctantly settle into a nearby chair. The room is filled with a mix of anticipation and unease, and your mind drifts to the memories of your son, Legolas, whom you have never met in person. It has always been a painful void in your heart, knowing that you couldn't be there for him in his formative years.

Your thoughts turn to the events that shaped his life—the battles fought, the sacrifices made, and the role he played in the destruction of the rings. Pride swells within you, mingled with a bittersweet ache. Legolas, your son, is a beacon of hope in a world plagued by darkness. The knowledge of his accomplishments fills you with immense joy, but it also deepens the yearning to be with him, to hold him in your arms.

You gaze at your father, whose tongue always seems to wander freely, his remarks occasionally straying into offensive territory. The mending of broken ties within the family has required delicate care, and you have worked tirelessly to foster understanding and forgiveness. The last thing you want is for your father's words to undo the progress made.

"Ata, please," you implore gently, your voice tinged with a mixture of weariness and determination.

Your father sighs, his expression softening, "I will welcome my grandson and offer all that we have, but never, in this eternity, will I ever welcome his father," steel of hatred fills your father's jovial voice as he talks about your husband, Thranduil. "He who made you suffer, made you cry, made you pay for wrongs you had no part in, has no place in my heart," your heart shudders as you observe the wrath in your father's eyes.

"He held no mercy for you, not even when you bore his child, not even the decency to let you meet your son," Celegorm gets up from his seat, and his eyes brim with tears as he cups your face in his hands. "He made you suffer for my crimes. He made my daughter go through the worst of fates ever. I cannot forgive that. Not even in this blessed land."

Thranduil remains one subject that your father never switches his views on. Of all the repentance and grief, your husband is a thorn in your father's heart.

You do not speak anything on the topic of your husband. You cannot bring yourself to. Guilt, remorse, and regret make it hard to do so.

As Legolas steps through the magnificent halls of Tirion, his heart beats louder than ever. He cannot bring himself to be awed by the glamour of the city or its palace. All he can do is steel his mind to keep up with his granduncle Finrod's steps.

Yearning greater than the depth of the ocean, the endurance of a mountain, or the vastness of the entire sky seems to fill his every pore.

Anticipation, fear, and joy all crowd his heart. The mother who loved him greater than life,

would she love him still? Would she be pleased to see him as he would be to her? Would she let him be a part of her grief and allow him to share his?

With all these questions plaguing his mind, Legolas finds himself rooted in the spot as he watches Finrod push open the doors that separate his mother and him. Mere wooden doors that seem to be most potent at that moment.

A curtain of long silvery hair and sparkling green eyes, like the beginnings of the spring that Mirkwood was once known for, greets Legolas. You… his mother…

He does not hear the background voices of Finrod or others. Nothing matters in that moment. Legolas feels whole for the first time in his life.

He watches as you rush towards him, your steps hurried, and when in the haste of your movement your feet falter, Legolas finds himself supporting you, catching your arms and holding you.

"Yondo," after a separation so long, Legolas cannot will himself to stop his tears at the first mention of an address from his mother. He does not stop you when, with trembling hands, you cup his face and kiss the top of his head.

Maybe not all the wrongs in the world can be undone, maybe Arda truly can never be unmarred, but it remains beautiful nevertheless. And Legolas believes it to be true at this moment.

Feanor's heart weeps. He has yearned, raged, and lamented for many, but never has a sorrow been so potent as the hurt of his grandchildren.

Since he first caught a glimpse of Celegorm's child from the solitary halls of Mandos, he cannot help but feel endeared towards you, who resemble his mother so much.

Maybe, in those long years, it was your well-being that kept Feanor looking out for the nis growing up in the lands of the Sindar.

Your grief, your joy, your love, all feel too personal to Feanor. Closer than the Silmaril or the pains of his own children. But that means that Feanor witnessed your fall. With an irony stronger than ever, your fate is similar to Miriel's.

Feanor's soul burns with the hatred of a thousand suns for the Sinda who abandoned his granddaughter, who left you alone and cold, yearning for your son. In those moments of despair, even the confines of Mandos's halls tremble at his rage.

This restlessness only grows until he meets you. You, who, even in the grief of your own death, came to console him. In those moments, Feanor's soul cannot help but mellow down at your gentle urging.

So, Feanor spends ages in the desolate halls of Mandos, looking over his family that resides in the blessed realm. And his great-grandson, who fights against the Lieutenant of Morgoth.

The lands of once Greenwood the Great now lie overrun by wild vines and overpowering fauna. A forest that was once a kingdom now speaks only of ruins. The elves who once resided there have long left for the shores of Aman.

Only one remains. A fallen king who wears no crown. A king who does not sit on a throne. Instead, he spends ages trapped in a room. No lock, no shackles bind him, but he remains seated by a window.

A window that witnesses changing seasons and the paths of the sun and moon.

The one called Thranduil awaits his redemption or any form of forgiveness. He does so now that he remains free of his role as the king to his people or a father to his son. For now, he remains Thranduil, who once wedded you and Thranduil who once loved you more than his soul.

In those moments of solitude, Thranduil allows himself to read every single one of your letters from long ago. Long ago, when you waited for him in the same room. He grieves as he reads. He allows himself to mourn for the loss of his love, you, your marriage, and his very self.

Maybe the age of elves is over, but Thranduil's repentance stretches long into the eternity of Arda.

[silvantransthranduiltrash]

Snort

What if oropher didn’t die in the battle of the last alliance but just used the opportunity to fake his death and escape with his wife and go on an extended honeymoon and leave all the damn paperwork and diplomacy with the noldor/sindar to his poor son.

Thranduil, when his father is finally waking up after getting many fatal injuries during battle: Ada!! Everyone thought you were gonna die!

Oropher, pausing when his son’s words registered: Everyone?

Thranduil, as he watches in disbelief as Oropher bolts away from him with a few supplies: Ada WAIT! DON’T LEAVE ME TO DEEL WITH THEM!

Oropher: don’t worry son, i’m sure you’ll do great!

————————————

Gil-galad: where is king oropher?

Thranduil, a petty lil bitch that will get back at his father: unfortunately, my my father king passed after suffering many grievous injuries during the last battle.

———————————-

Oropher, coming back from his long vacation in the third age: i’m dead? Nobody told me.

Thranduil: that’s what you get for abandoning me to those elves.

Thranduil: suffer

[agathne]

SERIES MASTERLIST | THERE'S MILLIONS OF ME DARLING

"King Thranduil of Mirkwood was known for his bountiful reign - but no one speaks of his Queen. Only those with a sharp memory can remember their love - how it almost destroyed the very realm."

Thranduil and Legolas are sent to the past where the Elvenqueen is still alive - the only problem is; she can't remember them. In which, Legolas is the very reason he exists.

Chapter One: A River of Stars Chapter Two: Cirdan the Shipwright Chapter Three: Brightest of Mornings Chapter Four: She Left You a Son Chapter Five: A Mother's Embrace Chapter Six: Thranduil of Greenwood

AU's

The Moon - Elrond walks in when his daughter is about to lock lips with Thranduil.

[tamurilofrivendell]

Where We Go From Here | Thranduil & Calithil

Characters: Thranduil & Calithil (OC daughter) Supporting/Mentioned Characters: Legolas & Caleniel (OC wife) Summary: Calithil’s beloved mother has been killed and, in the weeks that follow, her father finds a little strength through his own grief at various moments to comfort his daughter. Content: Grief. Violence/death etc. Translations: adar (father) // pîn ithil (little moon) // sellig (my daughter) // ionneg (my son) Read on AO3

Shadows danced upon the walls in the flickering candlelight. The chill in the air did nothing to truly affect her phyiscally but Calithil felt it in her bones nonetheless. 

That very night, her beloved mother, Caleniel, Elvenqueen of the Woodland Realm, was slain. It was all Calithil could do to stand there in the throne room, awaiting her father’s return, and not break down into floods of ugly tears. The only thing that kept her from dropping to her knees and weeping in the most un-princess-like fashion imaginable, was her older brother Legolas, standing beside her, gripping her hand in his own.

He was standing as still as a statue, facing the entryway, but she could feel him trembling. 

The word had come back about the fate of the Queen, carried through the forest ahead of the King and his soldiers. Calithil felt as if she had been thrust into a nightmare. Not even five hours ago, she was sitting in the library reading a book of poetry, only mildly worried about her parents’ return journey from Rivendell. It was such a standard thing, so commonplace and routine, that she did not even think that something quite so dreadful could ever happen. Especially not surrounded by so many of their people, their best warriors. All of the details had not yet reached the Woodland Realm and Calithil did not know whether she would prefer to be kept in the dark or not.

Maybe if she learned no more about it then she could pretend as though none of it had actually happened. She could pretend that her mother - her beautiful, strong, loving mother - was alive.

There was a sudden commotion and in strode her father, his pace fast and furious. His face was like thunder but she could see the fresh sorrow shining in his eyes. He would not show it here, not like this, she knew that... and she had to do the same. She squeezed Legolas’ hand tighter, telling herself to be strong and she felt his gentle comforting squeeze in return.

“Father.” Legolas stepped forward then, dropping her hand. Calithil clasped her hands in front of her to avoid fidgeting.

“Calithil.” Thranduil boomed, ignoring Legolas for the moment, not even looking at her. “Leave us.”

Briefly stunned, she blinked back at him. “But adar-” Calithil started, abruptly cut off by her father as he turned his gaze of steel upon her.

“Now.” His voice echoed through the room, hanging heavy in the deafening silence that followed.

Ducking her head just slightly, Calithil’s expression creased into a frown. She glanced at her brother, who blinked back rather helplessly, and then she turned and fled.

“Was that entirely necessary?” Legolas quipped, gritting his teeth as he turned from the door his sister had just retreated through, and back to his father.

Thranduil looked furious but Legolas knew that fury was not due to either of his children but was aimed at the filth that had ambushed the travelling royal cavalcade and taken the life of the King’s treasured wife.

Thranduil turned his gaze to his son, raising a brow. “What?” He asked, as if he had no idea what Legolas was talking about. It was very evident that Thranduil was using a great deal of energy to appear as calm as he was.

Legolas held back a scoff. Emotions were running understandably high and he didn’t want to make things worse for his father... but he was hurting too. His sister was hurting too. They had just lost their mother.

“She worships the ground you walk on, father.” Legolas muttered, watching his father bid his guards to come closer from down the walkway.

“You would prefer your sister be privy to details of the murder of her own mother?” Thranduil wondered, making a big show of his attention being elsewhere but his voice was taking on more malice with each passing second, his composure slipping. He had only wanted to keep it up long enough to get his daughter out of the room and now his grip on it was deteriorating.

“If I am expected to be, surely so can she.” Legolas replied, a rush of grief flooding through him as he thought about his mother being executed. He did not relish knowing the details but he knew that he must. “She is stronger than you give her credit for.”

“Would you wish me to describe to her the length and colour of the knives that plunged so deep into the flesh of your mother’s body that she was immediately beyond any and all help?” Thranduil continued as he rounded on his son, glaring down at him.

The throne room had fallen utterly silent, all eyes upon the King and the Prince. The grief even from the staff was unmistakable.

“Would you wish me to explain to her that it happened so quickly that not even I could reach her in time?” Thranduil continued, tears beginning to collect in his eyes, threatening to fully betray his anguish to everyone in the room... though none of them would think any less of him for it.

“Do you wish, my son, for me to look into the eyes of your sister and tell her that I, her own father, am responsible for her mother’s death?” He snapped finally, the tears spilling down his ivory cheeks. “That your mother was targeted and taken from us simply for being my Queen?”

Legolas said nothing, simply allowed his father to release it all. He already knew that sometimes his father’s more delicate emotions could come out veiled in frustration or anger. His mother had always told him that Thranduil’s bark was far worse than his bite and sometimes all you had to do was wait for the storm to pass all by itself. Legolas had learned the art of this quite well... letting his father feel whatever he was feeling before letting it out in his own way.

He knew that this, right here and now, was about his father’s grief... that it was about his father’s guilt.

Legolas also knew that Thranduil had sent his sister out the way he had as some means of protecting her, much like he always did, but Legolas knew that there was no shielding her from this.

His father loved him deeply, he knew that, but he had always seemed to want to keep an extra blanket of security over his youngest child. Legolas, too, wanted to protect his sister but they could not protect her from everything... especially not this.

“Do not shut her out, adar.” Was all Legolas said once his father was done. He gazed back at Thranduil, eyes full of empathy for him and of sorrow for himself. He stepped forward and placed a comforting hand upon his father’s shoulder. “Do not shut either of us out... you are not to blame and you are not alone.” Then he turned and left the room, retreating to the royal chambers to drown in his own grief.

A week later, Calithil had retreated to one of the lower levels, sitting beside a waterfall that flowed through the underground hall from somewhere above. She held her hand out, letting the water flow over her fingertips. Usually, such a simple thing would bring her a little joy, but not today.

She still felt cold. Two whole weeks without her mother had been hell on middle-earth. How was she supposed to do an eternity this way?

Legolas had gone out into the forest. She had not wanted him to leave her alone here but she knew that this was one way that helped her brother to work through things. It kept his mind distracted and busy. Calithil was not going to deprive him of anything that would take away just a little bit of distress from him.

She sat down upon the ground and sighed, closing her eyes and listening to the water. She didn’t know what to do. She felt so alone. Calithil had seen her father once since that night, at dinner, but he had not come again. She heard he had shut himself away in his chambers and answered to no one and nothing.

So she was surprised, to say the least, when she opened her eyes after sensing another presence, and found Thranduil himself standing there a short distance away. His gaze was fixed on the waterfall, the way the moonlight shone through it from a crack in the vast ceiling.

Calithil did not speak. She did not know what to say. If her father wanted to talk, he would do so. She wondered briefly if he was unhappy to find her here. Perhaps he too had been seeking privacy and peace outside the confines of his room.

She was debating whether or not to take her leave when he finally spoke, turning to look upon his daughter. “I have always enjoyed the solitude of this particular cavern.”

It wasn’t the first thing she expected him to say to her but she just nodded. His words made her wonder if she had been right and that he wished to be alone here. Calithil rose from the ground, inclined her head out of respect, and turned away in the direction of the exit.

“Calithil.” His voice was gentle, tinged with sadness and regret.

Her footsteps stilled and she turned around again, looking back at him. At the broken image of her father. Thranduil stepped towards her slowly, reaching out for her. He gently cupped her face in his hands, thumbs brushing her cheeks, looking into her eyes as if he were committing every part of her to memory. For some reason, it broke her heart.

“My little moon.” He murmured, thinking to himself that she was the very image of her mother.

The tears came then as Calithil fell forward, collapsing against her father’s chest as his arms circled her and held her close. He stood there with her for a long while, letting her cry it out in his firm embrace.

“The forest is changing.” Legolas stated, striding into the private royal dining hall and shaking his head, having just returned from his seclusion in the woods.

Thranduil’s mouth pulled into a thin line as he thought about the darkness that had been descending upon his beloved forest. “I am aware.” He said evenly.

“Changing how?” Calithil asked, looking up from the bread she had been picking at. She was not truly hungry but she had just been happy that her father had been leaving his rooms and spending time around her again.

Legolas turned to look at her and opened his mouth as if he were going to answer but he was rather abruptly cut off before he could even get a word out.

“It is nothing for you to concern yourself with.” Thranduil said, his tone leaving no room for discussion as he focused on his wine.

Calithil frowned but she said nothing. She sat for a moment longer in the tense silence that followed before she stood, pushing her chair back with enough force to show that she was frustrated, and then she turned and stalked from the room and away down the hall.

She could hear the soft arguing that sparked up between her brother and father behind her as she went. She heard Legolas saying her name and sighed heavily as she retreated to the royal chambers.

Calithil was tired of her father cutting her out of everything. He had been doing it since the night her mother died and she was growing upset with his back and forth moods and of him keeping her at arms length this way.

Nobody had even really spoken to her of what happened that night. She had had to glean what information she could from various sources around the halls, but all she truly wanted was for her father to talk to her about it.

She just wanted him to talk to her.

Another week had passed and Calithil had slept for three days in her mother’s chambers. Curled upon her mother’s large bed, feeling like a little child again, Calithil could feel those pesky tears once more but she did what she could to keep them at bay. It made her angry... that her mother had been taken from this world in such a brutal way.

Suddenly, the door opened and Calithil sat up, some distant part of her mind telling her that it was her mother, that she was home... but of course that was impossible.

Her father stood in the doorway, tall and imposing as ever, but gazing at her with a grief in his eyes so deep that she could have drowned in it.

She sniffed and lay back down again, squeezing her eyes shut. There was a silence and she half expected him to leave but the bed shifted and when she opened her eyes again, she saw her father sitting beside her, looking down at her with tears shining in his eyes.

“Forgive me, little moon.” He murmured, regret cutting through him like a knife. “I do not mean to be so cold.”

Calithil was quiet for a moment as he brushed his fingers gently through her golden hair. “It’s okay.” She said softly, blinking up at him.

Thranduil shook his head. “No, darling... it is not.” He sighed, shifting to carefully lower himself so that he could lay down beside her. Thranduil studied her face, fingers combing through the ends of her hair as they lay there in silence for a few moments. Calithil’s eyes drifted closed again, feeling like a little elfling but there was a great comfort in it.

“I miss her...” She whispered, unable to help herself, keeping her eyes shut in an attempt to ward of the tears that once more threatened to fall.

Thranduil sucked in a little shaky breath. “I know, pîn ithil, I know.” There was another slightly drawn out silence. Thranduil’s fingers continued to tangle comfortingly through his daughter’s hair. Just before she drifted off into the welcoming embrace of sleep, she heard his voice again. “So do I.”

Four weeks later, Thranduil had done his best to be less distant and more present for his daughter. His wife would not have wanted him to push them away, their beloved children. He knew this, and yet Thranduil still longed to allow himself to drift away into the embrace of complete and utter misery, allow his grief to swallow him whole, pull him down beneath the waves and never surface.

Still, he persevered.

“I can’t do it!” Calithil whined, letting the sword she was holding clatter to the ground with a heavy sigh. “It is too difficult.”

Thranduil, standing before her holding his own sword, gave her a look of disapproval. “You have barely tried, sweetheart. Pick it up and let’s go again.”

She stubbornly shook her head. “No.” He had been making her do this for five days and yet she still simply could not.

Thranduil raised a brow as he eyed his daughter. “Calithil.” His tone was low and there was a dangerous bite in it that she had heard many times before.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Why do we have to do this anyway!” She complained, staring at him. “What am I going to have to fight in these halls?! Nothing.” She finished, folding her arms in front of her as if the conversation was over.

Thranduil, however, would not concede. He blinked back at his stubborn daughter, her expression the very image of her mother when he had done or said something to affront her.

This thought only spurred him on.

“And what if you are outside of these halls?” He asked, spreading his arms in question. “What then?”

Calithil gave him a funny look, tilting her head as she looked at him. “Ada, I am never outside of these halls without you.”

“And neither was your mother, Cali!” He finally snapped, losing his temper.

Calithil froze and went silent, staring at him for a long moment. Grief and guilt both curled together in her gut as she looked at her father, his face no longer a mask of cool detachment.

She realised, then, that he wanted her to learn the skills to defend herself because he wanted to limit the ways that she could be put in a position to get hurt. Her mother had been a skilled warrior and yet she had still been taken down. What of Calithil? What if she were travelling to Lothlorien with her father’s caravan and they were set upon? Would she have more luck on her side having to sit in the centre, being defended, or would she have more luck being able to wield her own weapon?

Calithil pressed her mouth into a thin line to try and hold back the tears she felt as she was witness to her father’s deeper emotions, and then she bent down to pick the sword back up again.

She nodded. “Show me again.”

Thranduil stood quietly for a moment, watching her with pride, and then he offered her a soft smile, eyes shining as he took up a stance before her.

Legolas and Thranduil were sitting in the family room when Calithil walked in.

Thranduil looked up from his book and followed her movements across the floor. “Where have you been?”

“Sleeping.” Calithil muttered simply, receiving a frown from her father and finally drawing Legolas’ concerned attention.

“You have been doing that a lot.” Legolas said, tilting his head at her.

“And what of it?” Calithil barked back, walking over to the  large chair beside the extravagant fireplace and throwing herself dramatically down upon it.

Thranduil raised an eyebrow as he watched her. She was often the very image of her mother but in this moment she struck him as very much the image of himself. A perfect blend of himself and Caleniel, the both of them were.

“The Eldar do not need to sleep as deeply as you have been, nor the same amount as mere mortals do, Calithil.” Thranduil stated calmly, turning his gaze back down to the book in his lap. “I believe it is time that you return to your meditations. Enough time has passed.” He made a point with his tone, perfectly aware of the reason his daughter had been subjecting herself to such deep sleep so very often, where her dreams and even her senses were far more shut off than was necessary.

Because of her mother’s death. She was doing her best to shut herself off as much as she possibly could.

Legolas frowned, glancing down at his hands briefly, before he looked back up at his sister. “Cali...” He murmured, keeping his gaze on her before she looked up again.

“What?” She asked after a beat.

Legolas stood and moved over to his sister, sitting on the arm of the chair. “You are sleeping your days away. You are still barely eating, do not think we have not noticed.”

She frowned up at her brother. “So what?” She snapped, drawing her father’s gaze once more.

He lifted his head with a frown. “Cali.” He warned, letting her know that her tone was unnecessary.

She sighed, looking down and clasping her hands in her lap. “Sorry...” She whispered.

Thranduil set his book aside and rose from his own chair, graceful as ever, and floated across the room towards his children. He crouched down in front of Calithil’s chair, his hands moving to close over hers.

“Beautiful daughter... look at me.” He said softly, watching her eyes lift to meet his own. There were tears shining in them.

He smiled sadly. “Your mother would not want you to neglect yourself... neither of you.” His gaze lifted to meet his son’s, who he knew was pushing himself to the point of punishing out in the forest. Legolas lowered his gaze guiltily. Thranduil gave another sad little smile and sighed, removing one of his hands from his daughters and reaching out to take one of his son’s.

They sat like that - father, son, daughter - for a while, before Thranduil found the strength to finish what he had been saying.

“She has left this world for the next and, whilst we are allowed to feel sad about that, drowning in such anguish is not acceptable.” He gave Legolas a look to shut him up when he noticed his son opening his mouth to speak. “And I know that I, too, am guilty of this, yes.” He admitted, sighing again.

“Listen to me.” Thranduil continued. “Sellig. Ionneg. We three remain. And we three must endure, we must persevere.” He looked between the two of them, his entire world wrapped up in these two beautiful beings. “And so we shall. Together.”

[theladyofspaceandtime]

I'm kinda sad now because I just finished plotting out the rest of my "The Elvenking and Elvenqueen of Mirkwood" series to the ending and it's always so sad, but also gratifying when I finish a series. However, I'm debating making a part 3 for it (which of course follows LOTR) or keeping the rest of it in Part 2 "Eternal Love"? Thoughts?

[beneathxblackwaves]

The King and Queen of Mirkwood

Gugu Mbatha-Raw as Morniel/Thranduil’s Wife

[shirefantasies]

Hey! Recently finished LotR for the first time and just wanted to thank you for sharing so much amazing writing with the fandom!

I was wondering, after reading the how many children they’d like hcs, if you’d be comfortable writing some characters(personally requesting Legolas and Eowyn, but whoever you’d wish of course!) meeting their(/them and their partner’s if they already have children ofc) firstborn!

Either way! Tysm for reading and have an amazing day!!

Forgot I had one more finished draft lmao sorry everyone🤙🏻 here's one more post

Bro OF COURSE I love doing parent AU stuff!!! This is such a cute imagine omg. Also thanks for the kind words & welcome to the fandom 🥰 consider this part 2 of the pregnancy headcanons~

Warnings: some descriptions/mentions of childbirth/labor pain/blood (not too graphic though!)

LoTR Characters Meeting Your First Child Together (Wife!Reader)

Aragorn

Concern paints your husband's handsome features, furrowing his dark brow and glittering deeply in his blue eyes at your sudden, frantic motions. You are too quiet, too focused. Hiding something, perhaps? "What troubles you?" Aragorn asks, moving to your side, a hand caressing your shoulder as he breathes your name. Eyes widening, you start for a moment before deflating in a sigh. "I think the baby is coming. But I did not wish to worry you until I was certain, until I had more prepared and-" Saying your name, this time a little more firmly and a lot more lovingly, Aragorn takes your hand. "Worry me? Cast all your worries upon me. I am your husband. My heart is yours, and my service. Come, we will go to the healing halls at once."

~

Aragorn smooths your hair, wincing as you cry out and calmly whispering encouragement. He quiets you down as the pain and stress wash over you in nearly blinding waves, your body writhing with each push. Hours pass like this, Aragorn your one anchor until finally, blessedly, your body can fall limp against your sickbed and pant and sigh in relief, the babe proclaimed healthy and taken to be soothed and cleaned. "What a marvel. Truly you prove strength beyond measure every day. Beyond that, I simply love you more every day," he adds with a smile. Leaning up to kiss him, you fix your husband with tired eyes, loving gaze broken only by the midwives' calls. "My king," they say, "a son was born to you! The prince of Gondor!" "A son," you repeat, finally breaking back into a grin as you accept your little boy. Aragorn looks down upon him too with as wide a smile, greeting him in Elvish. "My son," he says, "how loved you are, and how blessed are we your parents. May you grow strong, healthy, happy, our little gift."

Legolas

Even as far as you had gotten, an unspoken fear had crept up between you and your husband until the very day of your labor, but your twins held fast. Such a thought echoed through your mind as much as you could bear to will it between the waves of pain. They held fast, and so would you, your husband at your side stroking your head and holding your hand, whispering calming words in the language of his people. Through tears, you smiled at the beautiful sound, at Legolas's constant reminders that you are strong, you are the most amazing gift the prince has born witness to in hundreds of years. He reminded you to look into his eyes as you were urged to push harder, your hips burning like never before...

~

"A son. A son and a daughter,” Legolas breathed, pulling you and both your twins into a gentle embrace. “And my wife. What more could I desire? Nothing. Nothing indeed.” You feel moisture, realize a tear has slid from Legolas’s eye to your hand, and reaching up you dry his eye before bringing your hand down to stroke the side of his face. You can feel the bags of exhaustion circling your eyes and your whole body aches, but all you can do is smile, smile until your face is just as sore; with your aching pleasure glowing throughout you nuzzle the babe in your arms, your son. “Our dreams are finally reality, Legolas. I would ask for no more either.”

Boromir

"What for it? What can I do?" Boromir is less calm than you expected at your sudden pain, the downward rush you can only assume is the baby coming. Not that you have told him that already. "Let us go to the healers." You try to steady your breathing, praying your water will hold out and break only upon entry to the home of the dear friend you'd selected to aid in your birth. Grateful are you for the grasp of your husband’s hand and the strength with which his arm raises you, tugging you against him for support, even if you feel his heart racing like mad when your hand falls against his chest.

~

For hours you toiled, your body rent and torn in creative horror as Boromir tried his best with jokes and sweet words to keep your wits about you… for far shorter hours than usual in your friend’s words. “I find that hard to believe,” you panted as she cleaned the child. “No, truly that was quite amazing,” your friend shot back, stepping back your way with a bundle in her hands, “We’ve had them take twenty hours before. Five is quite fast I daresay.” Every orifice in your body cried out with pain, so all you could do was incline your head until you raised it again, saw the child in her outstretched arms and felt your lips part in amazement. Eyes still closed, your child groped for you, stilling a bit in satisfaction upon your acceptance, feeling the weight fall and rest gently upon your chest. “Impatient little man and with some fire too! He fought against cleaning quite well.” “Little man?” Boromir’s head snapped so rapidly up to your friend and back to your baby you thought he might snap something. “We have a son?” “Indeed you do, you old dog, you,” she grinned. “It’s a boy!” He shouted gleefully, one hand resting firmly between your son’s and the other cupping your cheek and yanking your lips to smash against his. When Boromir pulled away, he laughed aloud, hearty and triumphant. “Bless him and bless you for giving him to me! I never knew I could be this happy, love!” Your smile widened to match his grin. Suddenly your pain didn’t seem quite so bad.

Gimli

“Push! Push!” “Am I not?!” You reply, uncaring of the raise of your voice or the vice of your hand about your husband’s. For his part and quite in spite of himself, Gimli must laugh, for such was the fire that stole his heart some time ago and the fire from which your newest love was forged- though not without some trouble first. Chip off the ol’ block, indeed! “That’s it, that’s it,” the healer encouraged, “yer doin’ great, lassie!” “Doesn’t feel like it!” Even as he winces in pain by your iron grip, Gimli chuckles again.

~

“A healthy little lad!” Six more hours have passed, but finally he’s in hand and you won’t give him up for anything. Except Gimli- he is the only one to survive your death glares when he reaches for your son, and pushing some hair off his shoulder he gently extends his arms further when you acquiesce. His lips part in an o of endearment and shock at your son, crying moments ago but now laying peacefully in his father's arms. Breaking into a wide smile, Gimli stares down with moist eyes and it is like time is frozen. “My son,” he half-declares, half-sobs. His gaze tears from the babe after a minute or two only to meet yours and bring a wide, triumphant smile to his face. "And most importantly, son of the fairest this earth has yet set forth, she who gave herself that he should be here. You did wonderful, my love. Thank you." "Thank you for being his father," you reply, "and for loving me through it all, even when I was quite ugly about it." "Ah..." Gimli replies diplomatically, "you were in a great deal of pain." Of course he forgives you, he worships the ground you walk on, after all, and you have just gifted him the honor of a son, a little flame all his own! And who, the dwarf suspects with another smile, shall look a lot like his father too!

Frodo

Frodo walked you all the way to the bed and laid you down by himself before he would finally relinquish any care of you to the midwife, despite the fact that he had selected her. You knew it was borne of no distrust of her, however, only a sign of the immense care in his heart he felt for you and the sum of all the kindnesses done upon Frodo in his most difficult years. When you love someone, after all, you carry them up a mountain. You lay them down and take their hand and kiss their forehead, telling them you will never leave them in their greatest pain. Just as your husband now did, just as he spoke upon cradling you close, grip only tightening as you cried out in pain.

~

"You're doing so well," Frodo encouraged during your last pushes, stroking your sweat-beaded forehead, "This is almost over." Indeed it was, for minutes later your final whimper broke Frodo's heart, sending spikes of dread shooting down his spine until a new set of cries stopped them cold. "She's here," the midwife tells you, standing up and fetching the cloths she'd dunked earlier. "A girl," Frodo breathes, "A little girl!" "Our little girl," you agree, reaching out to accept the tiny babe. Frodo's heart melts at her now-calmed face, the way her tiny eyelids flutter and the spray of tiny dark curls already visible on her head. "Hello there," he whispers, "my beautiful little girl. Never did I think my heart could give any more, and yet here it is, doubly taken."

Sam

"What's wrong? You look a little peaky. Here, why don't we-" "Sam, I'm fine. I just think I twisted my- hngh!" Crumpling in half with a grunt of pain you cannot even complete your sentence. Sam is rushing to your side, taking your hand and leading you back to your shared bedroom. "Shh, shh, it's going to be ok, you'll see. I'll get the midwife and she'll know everything to do, alright?" Sam's green eyes are warm as ever, his tone the sweetest and most soothing thing you've ever heard and ever will. Despite the waves of pain and the gush you begin to feel soaking the sheets around you, you find yourself nodding and willing up a faint smile.

~

"You're a strong lass, aren't you?" The midwife remarks as Sam returns to the room with more boiled water, looking at you with wonder in her pale blue eyes. Panting, you manage to reply that you suppose so with a faint smile of amusement before being wracked with the pain of another contraction. The only thing that keeps you going is the way your husband is there, leaving only to help you both before tumbling back against the bedframe to grip your hand, never once losing his smile even as you crushed the life out of him. It feels like a lifetime and yet no time before cries fill the room, your head immediately whipping to Sam's and meeting the tears spiling from his kind, loving eyes. "You did it," he whispers your name with awe, kissing your head, then your cheeks sweetly and softly again and again until the midwife is ready with your bundle of joy. "She's beautiful," the older hobbit comments, handing your baby off to you and beaming as you pull your daughter into your chest, loosening her swaddle enough to see her peaceful face. "Lovely," Sam replies, tone even more awed now despite its faint sob, "she looks like her mother. Her mother who worked so hard. Look, she has your hair." "She sure does," you agree, "but I hope she got your eyes." "Nah," he shook his head, "that can be the next one. I love that she's the spitting image. You've earned it after all that, I fear." You laugh at that, still smiling down at your daughter's face, which is still red and calming from her cries of alarm. "That I have. But the only reason I could at all was because of you, Sam." Tears falling anew, he shakes his head one more time. "The thanks are all yours. I knew you could do it all along. It's 'cause of you we have our little beauty."

Merry

"Come on, come on, that's it," Merry coaxed, lowering you down into the squatting position you'd asked for. Inside he was screaming bloody murder, but it was no good letting you know that, not when he had a duty to do and the most important one at that. No indeed, courage was far beyond necessary. Just as he'd had on the battlefield, he was to have with you. For you. Merry only could thank his lucky stars that you began your labor at home while he was there. Once you'd gotten settled, he reluctantly began to pull away his hand from yours, face falling at the way your fingers trembled. "I'm just going to get help. I'll come right back for you." "I know," you whispered with a smile, and just as it had been broken Merry's heart was up and skipping beats.

~

What a good sport the midwife was, for she had been in the middle of her afternoon tea when Merry found her, but never had he seen a napkin thrown down so fast. She rushed with him back to you and found you there still squatting and wincing, this time with sweat beading upon your brow. For hours there you remained, flanked on both sides by husband and midwife, until suddenly your skirts were lifted even further and the lady was calling "He's out!" You cried out in pain and relief and Merry just laughed and gave a big smile before remembering you, looking down at you with great concern. At that, you gave a chuckle of your own. "Sounds like we have a son, Merry." "We have a-" "Certainly you do and quite a big one! Here, you can hold him if you like, but not after the missus has a turn," the midwife cut in, laying your son in your arms. Merry's jaw positively dropped at the sight of him, and he leaned down to speak at once. "Hello there, little one. It's me, your dad. You remember the sound of my voice, don't you?"

Pippin

“Pippin, it’s time.” “Time? Time for what?” You loved your sweet, wonderful, clueless husband, but now was simply not the time. “The baby is coming! Get my supplies, please.” Your command came out as more of a whimper, your face twisting into a grimace at the feeling of moisture trickling down your leg. Water’s broken, then. Pippin caught sight of this, paled, and tore off down the hall, a crash sounding and a handful of stomps before he emerged again, bag slung over his shoulder and a pile of rags in one hand. "You know, for your..." "Yes, I know," you nodded, smiling in faint amusement as he took hold of your arm, barely giving you any time to straddle the rags at all.

~

"Push!" "What am I doing, then?" Your reply shattered Pippin, for it dripped with no sarcasm, only broken tears as you struggled with the pains of labor. The midwife shed a tear of her own, promising you did well, but this went on for hours until suddenly, finally, cries pierced the room's tense air and a massive smile spread across Pippin's face. "You did it!" A loud, triumphant laugh. "You did it, my love!" "She sure did," the midwife agreed, handing the babe off to another older hobbit and chuckling at the way Pippin's open hands followed them. "Don't worry your head off, he's just getting cleaned up." "He? It's a boy! Love, it's a-" "I heard," you grinned, "A little mini-Pippin. Just what I always wanted." "Are- are you joking?" "No," you shook your head, accepting your son with open, grabbing hands, "Not at all. Oh, look, he really does look just like you, too! Oh, Pippin!" Another little Pippin. This time hopefully not one who'll make the same mistakes. No. No, he won't, because he'll have the big one to guide him. And you, oh, his lovely wife... "Pip, are you crying?" "Of course I am," he replied in a quiet, awe-filled voice, leaning to press his curly head to yours, "Our son. Yours and mine. What a glorious gift you've given me. I'm going to work every day to pay you back."

Faramir

Faramir would have given anything to escape the meeting he had become entrenched in, the droning on about some law or another that- Slam! A messenger came bursting in through the door, one of the young page boys whom Faramir had sent notes off with. Rather than pass a message, though, the young man strode right over to his seat and leaned in to whisper to him. Feeling his face contort in shock, then a smile, Faramir rose from the chair at once. “My apologies, gentleman, but my wife has gone into labor. I will review all notes taken at my earliest convenience.” So it seemed the twins inherited their mother’s sense of humor.

~

Watching you strain and hearing your ragged breaths, listening to every cry of pain, stabbed Faramir in the heart with a hurt of his own. He never let go of your hand for a moment, though, despite the ache in those muscles as well. For hours he whispered you words of encouragement, reminding you that you were his hero and that you were doing great, even if it didn’t feel such. And finally your grip was tightening one final time, one final cry of pain as the second twin was born. First your daughter had come. “A girl!” Faramir breathed. “We have a daughter.” And with that last push Faramir himself caught your son. “A son as well. Two beautiful children.” Tears welled up in his eyes, which quickly turned to you as your son was cut free, lifted from his arms, and cleaned. Thumb stroking over the back of your hand, Faramir leaned over, head resting against yours. His stubble tickled your face as he shifted to press a kiss to your cheek. “We got the most difficult one out of our way first, hm?” You joked. Breaking into a tearful grin at your words, Faramir nodded.

Eomer

He should never have agreed to ride out on that patrol, but the others were pushing harder than usual and Eomer knew they trusted him. Trust went far in the Riddermark. Hence his shouts of frustration upon returning to a herald rushing his way and telling him that you had gone into labor. Luckily only about an hour and a half back. He had plenty of time. Running to the halls of healing and all but throwing open the great doors, Eomer barreled in and was met with your smile, then your cry for him, to which he ran to your side and took your hand at once.

~

"It's a boy," he panted hours later, hand aching from your grip and mind fatigued by pained screams, "our son is here." How in this world could you have endured it all if it drained even a bystander so? What a warrior you were. And what a warrior your son would be! Taking in the cleaned babe being placed in your arms, the enamored smile upon his beloved wife's face, the great rush of joy finally overtook him, all pain and exhaustion melting away for a brief moment. "Our son is here!" He called out again, this time louder, more triumphant, and when you spoke it also in your softer tone Eomer pulled you gently by the back of your head into a kiss that spoke volumes, every year of your love story thus far and all of them to come.

Eowyn

The pains of birth were no stranger to your wife; in fact, Eowyn recognized them before you did, cutting into your panic that something was going wrong with the reassurance that things were going quite right. “Our baby is coming,” she told you with a small smile that quickly faded back down when your knees buckled. She was prepared for this, very prepared. Having been forced into work as a nurse for so long had some benefits, after all, and very quickly your things were in hand, your body settled into the most comfortable position possible, and your wife rolling up her sleeves and pulling back her hair to get to work. Her own child would not be the first she had delivered, simply her favorite by far. Spikes of pressure fought their way up Eowyn’s chest, but just like in the heat of battle they spurred her on and she got to work with renewed courage.

~

“You are doing so well, my love, there we are,” your wife coaxed, “almost done, in fact! Our little one is almost here!” “Really?” You smile widely before your next wince and Eowyn can see her words have encouraged you. You pushed with all you had, and crying out finally forced the head, then finally the whole of your child, out into the world. Eowyn cut the baby free quickly as she could, all her focus tied down to making sure she heard breath before she let herself truly look. At the first call of little lungs she sighed and collapsed down upon her knees, hugging the baby to her chest. “Healthy, perfectly healthy.” Hurriedly cleaning your child, Eowyn saw that you had delivered a girl. “You’ve birthed a healthy girl. We have a daughter, my love!” Hearing you sob, she hurried quickly over to your side. “We both did,” you told her, reaching out to caress your daughter’s reddened cheeks, “Both her mothers birthed her. Where would I be, after all, without you?” It was Eowyn’s turn for tears to fall at your words, smiling as she was when you pulled her close and kissed the crown of her golden head.

Haldir

Long, difficult months had led to the moment of your doubling over with the first pains of birth, hobbling out to where you could find a hand to lead you to the midwives. You were half-knelt at the side of a bed, gripping its post for dear life, when your husband burst in. “Your patrol,” you inquired between waves of pain. “Safely in the hands of another,” Haldir responded, hand groping for one of yours, hastily taking it, “and no, they blame neither of us. Nothing but the pain of death could have separated me from your side.” A smile crossed your face, but moments later another wave of pain split your smile into a cry of agony. “The little ones are coming very rapidly,” one of the midwives told you, “your labor will not be long, at the very least.” At that, you heard Haldir exhale in relief. After such difficultly carrying them, your struggles with the twins would soon abate. Soon they would be in your arms.

~

True to her word, the midwife saw you through every push of labor in just under three hours’ time, one of the fastest she had seen in her many years. Haldir’s grip upon your hand never faltered until the very moment one of the twins was placed wrapped up in his arms. The other held by you, exhausted, shocked, but joyous, tears of relief and celebration flowing. “Two daughters. Two fair and healthy little souls all our own,” Haldir remarked, his voice barely above a whisper and a stunned smile upon his lips as he glanced back your way. The moment your eyes met, tears fell from his, too, and you both let out another exhale in relief; shifting the little one in his arms, Haldir grasped your hand. Smiling up at your husband, despite every strain of pain and exhaustion upon your body, all you could feel was the glow of utter triumph and bliss. “I have said it countless times, I am sure, but you my fair maids have my sword, my word, my heart, my everything,” Haldir told you, leaning down to place a gentle kiss on your head, then that of the baby girl in your arms.

Galadriel

How Galadriel managed to remain so calm amidst your heaving breaths and calls of alarm, amidst a healer and midwives forgetting their place and trying to move her from your side, surrounded by bodies and screams and heat and fluid so serene, you would never understand. The way you’d doubled over in the middle of your wife’s vision, failing to smother the choked cry that escaped your lips, and she’d simply risen from the water with wide eyes and a nod, taking your hand. Had she let go? Not as you could recall, though memories blended and faded through great waving curtains of pain. Your strength is beyond admirable, my love. Head swiveling to meet your wife’s intense blue gaze, you smiled faintly. Comparable only to your beauty, her voice teased in your mind. Smile growing, the rush of joy gave you strength for another push…

~

“A daughter,” Galadriel breathes your name, joy permeating every faint crack of her so even voice, “you have borne us a daughter!” You see her extend a hand, accept a cloth you assume shall dry your little one off, but the midwife swipes your newborn for a moment and your wife dabs your tears, then the sweat clinging to your forehead. Setting the small piece of white fabric on the table by your head, Galadriel lets her hand drop down to trace the curve of your cheek, the ring you placed upon her finger some years back on your wedding day sliding over it with a pleasant cool. Your daughter, clean and swaddled, is placed in your arms, and beaming down upon you, your wife takes your hand. “A beautiful gift unlike any this world has seen,” she speaks out loud this time, though it is a whisper, “and surely with a heart as strong as her mother’s.”

Arwen

Pain rushed to you so rapidly it was as though you were stabbed. Crumpling and crying out was how your wife found you, rushing in with skirts held at her sides and dropped just as quickly so Arwen’s hands could close around both of yours, words of worry followed by encouragement whispered between you. Her father was the greatest healer you knew, thus he was to aid in his grandchild’s birth, the first of his family. Elrond was calm when through the veil of your pain you saw your wife bring him into the room, brows faintly furrowed as he pulled back his sleeves. Your hearing practically faded- or was it simply your memory?- as he began giving quiet but firm commands to another elf that followed.

~

Vision blurred with tears, you fell back against the downy pillow, breathing ragged. Much as Lord Elrond could do for you, the pain was still great. "The cord is severed!" You heard him announce and your head snapped back up to see your son in his grandfather's arms, hear him wail as breath filled his lungs. "Our little boy," Arwen grips your arm, grinning down at you, "He is here! Go on, Ada, keep us waiting no longer." Shaking his head at her teasing, Elrond gave you a wide, tearful smile as he lowered your son. Smoothing his dark hair, Arwen gazed down at him with loving eyes before leaning over to you, kissing your lips with such love and joy both of you were smiling into it. "My dearest love, he is so beautiful. Just like his mother."

Elrond

"My lord, your wife-" Lindir needn't say more. Elrond is already gathering up his robes and abandoning entirely the parapet on which he stood, regretting leaving you for a moment even if you had insisted he take some time while you rest. Hurrying down the staircase to your shared room, Elrond finds you sitting bolt upright in bed, brows furrowed and hand resting upon your middle. "I must get to the-" "No," calm as he is, Elrond seems to have developed a habit of interruptions, he thinks, "the midwife will come to you. Lindir?" "Sending for her now, my lord." At Elrond's side, you whimper. All too well does he remember this anguish; nodding, he presses a kiss to the top of your head. "Lie still. You will be well."

~

Thank the Valar for healing magic; soon your screams melt into whispers shared between you and your husband and winces become faint, tired smiles. Elrond feels the strain of each push upon you, but marvels at your strength, the midwife all but telling you to slow down. "I beg your pardon," you reply, gritting your teeth, "but I must be free of this!" And free you are, for not long later cries fill the air and tears of relief and joy spill down your cheeks. Elrond caresses your face and meets your eyes with a tearful smile; never does this moment stale, in fact nothing in this world can compare. As soon as the bundle is placed in your hands, you hold your newborn out between you, Elrond taking hold and reaching out his other hand, which your daughter grasps. "She looks just like her mother," he tells you with a smile. "But hopefully she inherited her father's wisdom," you tease back with a tired grin.

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[wareagleofthemountain]

What Do You Know of Love? Part 3

A/N: As promised, here’s the final installment of this series.

See parts 1 and 2

From Tauriel’s POV.

Tauriel kept her eyes on the path ahead and told herself that the moisture gathered on her lashes was due to the cold wind in her face. It was easy to lie to herself out here, for it was believable. It was much harder to deny in the middle of the night when her quarters were filled with the sounds of quiet sobs and her pillowcase was moist with seemingly endless tears. There was no cold wind to blame for her tears during these times that happened far more often then she’d ever admit, even to herself. Perhaps the only thing worse than waking up with tear stained cheeks were the dreams. Not grotesque visions of death and bloodshed that she’d been accustomed to before him, but far worse creations of the imagination. Memories that threaten to kill her softly, painfully.

She dreamt of him: their hands touching, his sweet laughter, and the incurable ache of excitement that bloomed in her chest each time they were in one another’s company. Legolas had told her that those feelings, especially directed towards a dwarf, were foolish given how little they truly knew each other. But if that were true, why does her heart ache all the more now, months after Kili’s murder? That same feeling which once brought her comfort and joy now intends to drown her. To tear her sanity apart. Nostalgia is the true killer, she was coming to realize.

Deciding that the festivities were too loud for her, and giving up on trying to enjoy the wine as every sip tasted like ash in her mouth, Tauriel found herself seeking the comfort of solitude. As of late, she had taken to visiting the statue of the Mirkwood queen that resided at the front gates of the realm when she wanted to hide from the world. It was always quiet and the escapades were something she was somewhat used to. As children, she used to accompany Legolas whenever he went to visit his mother’s resting place. Each would carry a basket of flower petals and take turns spreading them around the base of the sculpture. He would regale her with what little information and stories he had managed to get out of the servants or his father on the rare moments he would let his guard down around the young prince. This ritual continued up into adulthood, and now she goes alone after Legolas’s departure.

Ironically, Tauriel sometimes felt as if the statue was the only being that hadn’t turned their back on her. Though she was still a well respected member of the guard, elves that were once well acquainted with her barely spared her a word of idle conversation after her open opposition of the king, and her closest friend left on a quest with no promise of his return.

She briefly wondered if the statue would also turn its back if it could. Though it was doubtful, as what little Tauriel did know about the queen conveyed her to be an empathetic and kind elleth.

She must have had to be in order to survive being married to Thranduil. Tauriel thought bitterly. Just the thought of his empty blue eyes made her shiver. He accumulated nearly enough wealth to rival that of Thorin, yet the one time he crawls himself out of his palace to take up arms, he does it in pure greed. Given the chance, Tauriel was sure Thranduil would pull his forces the moment he got what he wanted. And for what? Some folly white gems?

So caught up in her mental tirade was she that she’d forgotten her surroundings and carelessly let a twig snap under her boot.

Looking up, the young guard had to blink her eyes several times to ensure that what she was seeing was correct.

It was truly strange, seeing King Thranduil this far away from the safety of his underground palace, as she knew that he usually preferred to bark orders from his throne and let others do his bidding. He nearly looked out of place in nature, as he always presented himself so well manicured and put together that it was hard to imagine that his robes would ever fall victim to the snow dampening them as it was right now. What’s more, he was not wearing a crown and it was almost comical when she noticed the windswept tangles in his otherwise immaculate hair. In this atmosphere, he nearly resembled an ordinary, feeling creature.

The greatest shock of all, however, was when she looked into his eyes. Clear tears formed on his porcelain skin, and there were faint dark rings underneath them. The pain reflected back to her was old, and deep. She wondered how many ancient internal wounds were being torn open all at once in this moment to cause the level of unbridled grief she was witnessing in her lord’s blue orbs. She wondered if the nostalgia of a life that was no longer his was drowning Thranduil just as it was her. Only he had been a victim of this grief, this thing called love, for far longer and it did not appear to have any intention of letting up.

She briefly wondered if that would be her expression a hundred years from now. Thranduil had lost his wife thousands of years ago, and he acted as if it had only happened yesterday. He was right, what did she know of love?

He said not a word to her, but for the first time his eyes looked upon her with understanding, if only for a second. Thranduil rose from his knees and she was content to follow him back to the palace.

[anemoxlys]

Hey everyone,

I made this post just to announce I am now taking requests so just send them in if you’re interested- I’ll write for anyone (if I can).

Thank you

[esculentevil]

(Thorinduil) I’m [not] Dreaming of a Gray Winter (4358 words) by EsculentEvil

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Major Character Death Relationships: Thorin Oakenshield/Thranduil, Legolas Greenleaf & Thranduil, Legolas Greenleaf & Thorin Oakenshield, Thranduil (Tolkien) & Original Character(s), Thranduil/Thranduil's Wife (Tolkien), Fíli & Kíli & Thorin Oakenshield, Fíli & Thranduil (Tolkien), Kíli & Thranduil (Tolkien), Fíli (Tolkien)/Original Male Character(s) (Implied), Dís & Fíli & Kíli & Thorin Oakenshield, Dís & Thranduil (Tolkien), Dís (Tolkien) & Original Male Character(s), Oropher & Thranduil (Tolkien) Characters: Thranduil (Tolkien), Thorin Oakenshield, Legolas Greenleaf, Legolas Greenleaf's Brother(s), Legolas Greenleaf's Sister(s), Fíli (Tolkien), Kíli (Tolkien), Dís (Tolkien), Lithui the Raven, Thorin's Company Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Post-Canon, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Reincarnation, Mystery, Sea-longing (Tolkien), Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Hopeful Ending, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Domestic Fluff, Family Fluff, Family, Found Family, Children, Young Fíli and Kíli (Tolkien), Caretaking, Platonic Cuddling, Sleepy Cuddles, Cuddling & Snuggling, Blankets, Blanket Fic, Fireplaces, Winter, Winter Solstice, Snow and Ice, Snow, Dorwinion Wine, Elf/Dwarf Sisterhood, Headcanon, Self-Indulgent Series: Part 11 of Evil’s Greenwood Headcanons, Part 33 of Evil's Thorinduil Headcanons, Part 2 of Mallosnell of Mirkwood, formerly Greenwood, formerly Wildwood Summary:

The world has moved on and Thranduil thinks it's time he did too; however: literally, no one else agrees. (And, apparently, Legolas has a LOT of sway across the sea…) Written for 2023's Winter Solstice; have a very GREEN Longest Night~

Notes:

This was… a long and exhausting JOURNEY omj… I didn’t even get in all that I wanted/had meant to: there’re answers to what Thorin (and Fili and Kili and Dis and the whole COMPANY included) is but none of it FITS—and I think that’s actually better because, beyond this bosting my personal headcanon that Thorin is actually Thranduil’s wife reborn as a dwarf, none of the answers really need to be said: they all fit in the sense that they all work so if I ever want to continue this path… I can in any way; and I really like that—and, regardless of what answer fits best, the ending of this one feels RIGHT: it just… it made ME see green when I wrote it and I’m satisfied—happy, even—so I’m just… LEAFing it~ (lol) But, I’m curious… what do you all think???

[silvantransthranduiltrash]

Legolas: *about the last alliance* *sigh* i feel bad for Grandfather Oropher.

Elladan: it must have sucked having your grandpa die in battle when you were young.

Legolas: Hm?

Legolas: Oh, not that.

Legolas: Grandfather stole the last slice of Grandmother Cloudryad’s favorite pie before he left for the war.

Elladan:

Legolas: *mutters* when they meet again, Grandma’s gonna murder him.

[agathne]

CHAPTER TWO | THERE'S MILLIONS OF ME DARLING

Description: Thranduil and Legolas are transported to the past - where the late Elvenqueen was still alive - minor hiccup, she doesn't know who they are.

series masterlist | chapter one

Thranduil always prided himself in being able to feel the forest - to feel the very soul of his citizens that resided in his kingdom - for some reason, he couldn't feel his son tonight. A small groan exits his mouth - under the impression that Legolas closed his mind.

His beloved son - who was green as summer grass. His son, who has never experienced the life of a refugee - was difficult and hard headed. War was easier than raising children.

A knock breaks him free from his thoughts - he raises his head slowly, with the grace and dignity of a Woodland King. "Who is it?" he raised an eyebrow - there were none who dared to disturb the King's leisure time - none except Galion, but he has already sailed.

"It is Tauriel, my king." the elf replies - panic dripping from her tone. He walks slowly - descending from his bed and opening the door. "What requires my attention at this time?" he inquired, eyes searching for his son's figure.

"Legolas. Something has happened to him." the elleth rants, choking on her breath - fearing that something awful has befallen her friend. His vision is blurry - his heart is nearing collapse.

"Where is he?" he interrogated - doing his best to keep his fears at bay. "I-I don't know," she answers.

He loses all remnants of self control.

"My ada was gifted in foresight, I was not - but even an elleth like me can understand the outcome of this war." you take a deep breath, scouring through the mountains with difficulty.

A bitter chuckle exits your husband's mouth.

"The battle does not call for you today, melleth." he responds in a calm tone, holding his sword near his waist. It was his job as your husband to protect you and you son against harm. "- but it does, Thranduil." you interrupt him, looking back at the tents behind you.

"I can hear it - I dream about it." you explain, hoping that it would be enough for him to understand. "And what of our son? How can either of us live without you?" he argues, eyes nailing deep into yours.

You look back at the grassy terrain - back facing his front.

"Neither of us can live without one another - but our son. He is strong, he will live - he can live." you breathe - biting the insides of your cheeks. Legolas was your greatest accomplishment, today - he will be your greatest regret. "- but I am not." he reached for your forearm, pulling you close to his armored body.

"You are stronger than you seem, believe me."

"We've been sending men, sire - but none of them are able to make it through the light - they are not sucked in, unlike Legolas." she explains and the King's hold on your sword tightens. "My son could be out there - cold and starving. We waste our time and technology," he gritted his teeth - attempting to use his powers to scour Arda for any signs of his boy.

His jaw tightens as he feels no motion.

Thranduil stares at the light - feeling his son's fea through it.

He takes a step forward.

"Sire, it is not wise to do that." she attempts to pull him back, but he raises a hand - preventing her from touching him. "Tauriel, send a letter to Lord Elrond - he will deal with it better than I." he commands while charging through the portal.

The sky falls upon the King - and he is vanished into thin air.

Thranduil awakens in the middle of a grassy field.

His eyes narrow slightly as it adjusts to the warm light. He breathes a sigh of relief - sensing that the air was calm and safe. The bright light must've led to another part of Arda - and his son wasn't far from him.

He takes another deep breath - eyebrows merging into each other as he realizes that something was different. He could hear the flowers sing again; you're not supposed to be here, they taunted. 'What is that supposed to mean?' he wanted to reply, but the sound of hooves prevents him from doing so.

He attempts to stand up but a dagger was placed on his neck.

"What are you doing in the lands of King Gil Galad." the elf interrogated, and Thranduil's grip of the sword tightens once more.

"What is your name, trespasser?" he questioned.

"Thranduil," he responded - realizing that he was speaking to Cirdan. "Nonsense," the man scoffed - and Celebrian begins walking towards them. She was fair in the face - eyes of twinkling moonlight. Her stomach was heavy with a child; Arwen would be her name.

"Lord Cirdan, we are in the borders of Lindon - mayhaps, this man is lost." she explained in a calm tone, smiling fondly at the King.

"My lady, he is pretending to be someone that he is not." Cirdan responds, prodding his dagger nearer to Thranduil's neck. Her eyes trail down to the sword on his hands - her eyes widen as she sees the familiar bearings.

"That is my daughter's sword, what business do you have with it?" Celebrian inquires - exchanging a confused stare with Cirdan.

"The elleth who owns this sword is my wife - the mother of my son." he asserted - and before his good-mother could reply. Cirdan knocks him out.

next chapter>>

@murder0fcr0ws @cheyxfu