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earthlybeam · 6 months ago

Note

Hii, if your requests are open may I please request something a bit bittersweet but with a good ending? Sort of?? With Legolas , Thranduil and Haldir (and/or anyone else you'd prefer more!)Something like them and the reader being separated in war/battle and them thinking the other is gone but then they reunite after a long time and it's tears and happiness and all that soft stuff. Bonus points if the reader is also mortal/human

A bittersweet tale with a heartwarming ending—featuring Legolas, Thranduil, Haldir and bonus character Elrond love him too much. 🫶❤️‍🩹

So Imagine the reader you a mortal (gender is up to you as non state) , and the elves being separated during a fierce battle or war. Both sides believe the other is lost, the grief of separation weighing heavy on them. Yet, after an agonizingly long time, fate intervenes. Against all odds, they reunite in a moment filled with overwhelming relief, tears, and joy. It’s a tender celebration of love enduring through loss, hardship, and the passage of time. 🫶🥹❤️‍🩹

If anyone else has any requests feel free to ask 🫶

🍷𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓾𝓲𝓵

𐂂 The Battle of the Five Armies had come and gone, leaving behind scars that no time could ever truly heal. For Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm, the toll of loss weighed heavily on his heart. Amidst the chaos—the relentless clash of swords, the anguished cries of the fallen, and the suffocating haze of smoke—he had searched for you. His human love. His heart. His beloved starlight. He had fought against the tide of battle, his mind only on you, but in the confusion and chaos, you had been swept away, lost to the carnage.

In the days that followed, Thranduil himself took to the battlefield, disregarding the pleas of his soldiers to return to safety. His silver armor, once gleaming, was now dulled with blood and ash, his movements precise yet desperate as he turned over fallen bodies, scanned the shattered terrain, and searched through shadowed crevices. When the wind carried no trace of your scent, his heart constricted. When he found only a scrap of your bloodied cloak caught on the jagged rocks of a cliffside, he knew despair.

𐂂 Thranduil did not cry out. Kings did not weep in the presence of their people. He held the torn fabric tightly, the blood staining his palm as he returned to his soldiers with an expression that betrayed nothing. His orders were delivered with icy precision: count the dead, tend to the wounded, prepare for the long journey home. The Woodland Realm must endure, for he was their king, and they needed him to remain steadfast.

𐂂 But that night, in the solitude of his chambers, Thranduil crumbled. He sat on the edge of his ornate bed, your bloodied cloak still clutched in his hand. The walls of his chamber, once grand and filled with life, now seemed to press in around him, cold and suffocating. The emptiness in his chest felt like a wound that would never heal, and his grief clawed at him like a living thing. The silence mocked him, for he knew the sound of your laughter would never fill these halls again.

𐂂 Thranduil had lived for centuries, enduring losses that few could understand. He had stood on the battlefield when his father, Oropher, fell during the War of the Last Alliance, his grief then a sharp and sudden wound. He had watched his beloved wife fade away, claimed by the creeping darkness that plagued the woods. That grief had been a slow, relentless ache. But this? This was different. Your absence was not a wound or an ache—it was an emptiness, a hollow void that had been carved into his very being.

𐂂 He missed you in ways that made his chest tighten and his breath catch. He missed the sound of your voice, so soft and full of warmth, the way it caressed his name when you spoke it. He missed the human lilt in your Sindarin words, a melody that was uniquely yours. He missed the way your laughter would echo through the halls, bright and carefree, a sharp contrast to the somber atmosphere of the palace.

𐂂 He longed for the nights you spent together, tangled in one another’s arms beneath the moonlight. He could still feel the press of your lips against his, kisses so full of passion and fire that they left him breathless. A kiss from you had the power to undo him, to strip away his crown and his burdens until he was not a king but simply a man who adored you. He missed the small, human things you brought into his immortal life. The way you would coax him out of his solemnity with your mischievous smiles and playful demands. One rainy evening, you had dragged him into the gardens, insisting that he join you to dance in the storm. At first, he had resisted, scolding you for risking your health, but when your fingers entwined with his and your laughter rose above the thunder, he had relented. Together, you had spun and swayed beneath the deluge, your hair plastered to your face and your clothes clinging to your skin. In that moment, he had felt something he had not felt in centuries—freedom.

𐂂 Thranduil’s grief was sharpest in the quiet moments, when the absence of your presence was most keenly felt. He missed waking up before the sun just to hold you a little longer, your body warm and soft against his. He missed how your fingers would trace the elegant lines of his face, your touch reverent, as if you were committing him to memory. He missed the ritual of dressing together each morning, your hands brushing as he fastened the clasps of your gown/robe or adjusted the delicate circlet you wore.

𐂂 Evenings in the library were the hardest to endure. The two of you would sit close, a fire crackling softly in the hearth as you read to one another. Your voice, clear and melodic, would weave through the ancient stories, and he would pause every now and then to press a kiss to your temple or trace a finger along your jawline. You had a way of making even the longest nights feel too short. Without you, those evenings felt endless and empty.

𐂂 There were nights when you’d set the books aside, pouring glasses of deep red wine and lingering over its warmth. He’d sit on the floor between your knees, his broad back leaning into your lap, while your fingers deftly braided his hair, weaving intricate patterns as you talked. You’d trade stories, share secrets, laugh until your sides hurt, and unravel the mysteries of one another until the fire burned low.

𐂂 Eventually, you’d settle together on the chaise, his arms wrapped around you, his head tucked into the curve of your neck. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat would lull you into a sense of peace, and you’d wonder how hours could slip by so quickly when they were spent in his arms. Without you, those evenings felt endless and empty—a hollow echo of what they once were.

𐂂 He missed your presence at his side during council meetings, your steady gaze meeting his when the weight of his crown became too heavy. Though you were mortal, you had a wisdom that he cherished, and he often leaned over to murmur in your ear, seeking your insight on matters of politics or war.

𐂂 He missed the sound of your voice. How it could rise in fierce defiance, matching his intensity when you challenged him, or soften into a gentle melody when you spoke of your dreams. You had a way of looking at him that unnerved him at first, piercing through the layers of his arrogance and pride, as if you saw the man beneath the crown. And he had let you see him—a rare gift, one he now regretted giving so freely, for it left him feeling more exposed in your absence.

𐂂 Thranduil carried himself as a king should, his grief hidden behind an unyielding mask. But when he was alone, the cracks in his composure showed. He wandered the halls of his palace late at night, his silver cloak trailing behind him like a shroud. He imagined he could hear your footsteps, the soft echo of your voice calling his name.

𐂂 The gardens, once a place of solace, now only deepened his sorrow. He would kneel by the flowers you had tended, his fingers brushing over their leaves as though he could touch a piece of you. He remembered how you had once knelt beside him, your hands dirtied from planting new blossoms, and how you had laughed when he teased you about your lack of grace.

𐂂 He would sit beneath the ancient trees, staring up at the stars, and wonder if you could see them too, wherever you were. His fingers would stray to the ring he had meant to give you, the one he had carried in his pocket for months, waiting for the perfect moment. That moment would never come.

𐂂 Thranduil’s grief was a testament to the depth of his love. He had lived for centuries, but you had taught him what it truly meant to live. Your absence was a void that no amount of time could fill, and though he remained every inch a thin the walls of his heart, he was simply a man mourning the you who had been his world.

𐂂 Three years had passed in the lonely corridors of his palace, years marked by an unrelenting stillness that clung to the Woodland Realm like a shroud. The celebrations of the victory at the Battle of the Five Armies had long faded into memory, their songs and triumphs reduced to whispers of the past. For Thranduil, there was no solace in victory, no joy in the enduring peace. His thoughts, no matter how he tried to quell them, always wandered back to you.

𐂂 He thought of your laughter, so bright it seemed to illuminate the shadowed halls of his realm. He thought of your touch—soft, grounding, and warm, a balm to his weary spirit. He thought of the way your eyes shone, even in the darkest moments, like stars breaking through a storm-laden sky. But these thoughts were no comfort. They were daggers, sharp and cruel, reminding him of the emptiness that had taken your place.

𐂂 The elves whispered of their king, pitying him. Thranduil, who had endured centuries of loss and seen his kingdom thrive despite it, now seemed diminished. His grief was a weight that bent him in ways his people had never seen. Once proud and untouchable, he had become a man lost in memories, a king trapped in mourning.

The return:

𐂂 Three (or more up to you) years had passed since fate last smiled upon Thranduil. Three years of silence, of searching, of despair. The Woodland Realm had recovered from its battles, but its king had not. His people spoke in hushed tones of his sorrow, how he spent long hours gazing toward the edges of his forest, as though willing you to emerge from the shadows. Yet the forest, which once seemed endless and alive, had remained achingly empty.

𐂂 Then, on an autumn evening when the air was thick with the scent of fallen leaves and the golden hues of the forest began to fade into dusk, hope returned. A scout came to the palace, his face grave but his icy blue eyes bright with news. A figure—a lone, weary traveler—had been seen wandering the edges of the forest. The description matched you.

𐂂 Thranduil needed no further confirmation. Without so much as a word, he swept from the council chambers, the echo of his departure leaving the room stunned in silence. Mounting his great elk, he rode out into the deepening twilight, his silver armor catching the last remnants of the sun. The colors of autumn blurred around him as the wind tore at his hair, but he paid no mind to anything except the direction the scout had pointed.

𐂂 He pushed his elk harder than he ever had before, the urgency in his heart an unfamiliar but undeniable ache. As the shadows lengthened and the forest grew darker, Thranduil urged his mount deeper into the woods. The only sounds were the rhythmic beat of hooves against the forest floor and the faint rustle of leaves. It was then, when all seemed still and silent, that he heard it. A voice. Faint, carried by the wind like a song drifting through the trees. It was fragile, almost unreal, but it was unmistakably yours. “Thranduil.”

𐂂 His hands tightened on the reins, his heart stuttering in his chest. Could it be? The voice that had haunted his dreams, the name spoken in a way only you could, both familiar and utterly sacred? Fear warred with hope. What if it was a trick? An echo of his grief? Yet deep in his heart, he knew it could only be you. Urging his elk onward, Thranduil rode toward the sound, his sharp eyes scanning the darkening forest. The trees seemed to bend and shift as though guiding him forward, and at last, the forest opened into a small clearing bathed in the soft glow of twilight.

𐂂 And there you stood. The Sight of You. The world seemed to stop. Time itself held its breath as Thranduil dismounted, his cloak swirling around him in a cascade of silver and forest green. He moved forward slowly, his steps hesitant, as though afraid that the vision of you might dissolve into mist. But you were real. Time had touched you, softening the youthful glow of your face, marking you with lines that spoke of trials endured and years spent apart. Yet you were unmistakably, gloriously you.

𐂂 You turned at the sound of his approach, your eyes widening with shock and disbelief. For a heartbeat, neither of you moved. Then, as though the earth itself shifted beneath your feet, you ran to him. Thranduil caught you in his arms, lifting you from the ground as though to anchor you to him, to banish the years of emptiness that had carved their mark into his soul. His grip was unrelenting, his hands clutching at you, trembling as they mapped the reality of your form.

𐂂 “Thranduil, my love,” you whispered, your voice breaking as your hands framed his face, tracing the sharp angles of his cheeks, the curve of his jaw. Your touch was desperate, needing to confirm that he was real, that this was not another cruel dream.

𐂂 “You… you are here,” he murmured, his voice cracking with disbelief. His icy-blue eyes brimmed with emotion as his hands rose to cradle your face, his long fingers trembling against your skin. “Alive.” He traced the curve of your cheek, the line of your jaw, as though committing every inch of you to memory. A shuddering breath escaped him, and his composure—the centuries of restraint he had so carefully mastered—crumbled in the wake of your presence.

𐂂 Then, unable to hold back any longer, he kissed you. It was a kiss that spoke of years lost and love enduring. His lips moved against yours with a fervor that bordered on desperation, as though he could pour every ounce of his grief, his longing, his unyielding devotion into that single moment. His hands cupped your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that spilled down your cheeks. For the first time in centuries, Thranduil wept.

𐂂 Tears slid silently down his pale cheeks, unchecked and unashamed, as he rested his forehead against yours. His breath came in uneven bursts, and his voice was thick with emotion as he whispered, “I thought I had lost you. I searched every shadow, every corner of this forest. I found nothing. I thought…” His voice faltered. “I thought you were gone.”

𐂂 Your hands tightened on his cloak, clutching at the rich fabric as though to anchor him to you. “I told you, my king,” you said, your voice trembling but steady with conviction. “It would take more than a war to keep me from you.” Your words broke the last of his resolve. He let out a sound—half a laugh, half a sob—and pulled you closer. “You never stopped hoping,” he murmured, his tone one of wonder. “I never stopped,” you confirmed, tears shimmering in your eyes.

𐂂 For a long moment, there were no more words, only the silence of the forest and the quiet communion of two souls reunited. The weight of the years, the pain of your separation, melted away, leaving only the undeniable truth of your love.

𐂂 When Thranduil finally led you back to the Woodland Realm, his people watched in awe. Their king, who for centuries had been distant and untouchable, now radiated a warmth they had never seen before. It was as though you had brought life back to him, restoring a light that had been long extinguished. Though the years apart had changed you both, your love endured—fragile in its mortality, yet unyielding in its depth. And for Thranduil, who had carried the weight of loss for so long, you were his salvation.

Aftermath:

𐂂 Thranduil had always known what it meant to love a mortal. He had known it from the moment his heart first stirred for you, from the way your smile softened the edges of his carefully guarded world. He had known it when you walked beside him through the gardens of the Woodland Realm, your steps so light yet leaving an indelible mark upon his soul. And he had known it when he held you for the first time after your return, the warmth of your presence a bittersweet reminder of how fleeting your time together would be.

𐂂 He no longer let the weight of his duties keep him from your side if you needed him he try get their as fast as he can. Every stolen moment was precious, every shared glance and quiet word a treasure. He found himself lingering in the small, human routines of life that he had once dismissed. He would rise before dawn to watch you sleep, the soft rise and fall of your chest a melody that soothed his ancient heart. He would sit beside you in the evenings, reading to you in the lilting tones of Sindarin, the stories of old taking on a new significance with you nestled against him.

𐂂 Yet, beneath the surface of his newfound joy, a shadow lingered. He could not ignore the truth of your mortality. It was a quiet ache that never left him, a silent countdown that ticked away in the back of his mind. He knew there would come a day when your hand would no longer be there to hold, when your laughter would no longer fill the halls of his palace. And though he was no stranger to loss, the thought of losing you—his love, his heart—was a wound he could not bear to dwell upon.

𐂂 On days when your mortal strength faltered—when the weariness of your journey or the limitations of your human frame caught up to you—he would lift you into his arms without hesitation. His steps remained graceful and unhurried, as though carrying you was the most natural thing in the world. You protested at first, laughing softly at the indignity of being treated like a child, but his calm, unwavering expression silenced you. “You are mine to protect,” he would say simply, his voice gentle but firm. “Let me carry you.” And so you would rest against him, your head on his shoulder, as he bore you through the forest. The warmth of his embrace and the steady rhythm of his steps became a comfort you cherished deeply.

𐂂 The evenings were your favorite time. As the sun dipped below the horizon and the stars emerged one by one, you and Thranduil would retreat to the quiet solace of his private gardens. The air was rich with the scent of blooming flowers and the hum of life, a testament to the harmony he had nurtured in his realm.

𐂂 You would sit together beneath the spreading branches of an ancient oak, the soft glow of lanterns illuminating the space around you. Thranduil often brought a delicate glass of Dorwinion wine for himself and a fragrant tea for you, brewed with herbs from the forest.

𐂂 “I have lived so long,” he said one night, his gaze fixed on the stars above. “Too long, perhaps. And yet, in all that time, I have never felt as I do now.” He turned to you then, his blue eyes bright with a vulnerability few had ever seen. “You have given me something I thought lost to me forever: hope.” You reached for him, your fingers brushing his cheek in a gesture of comfort and devotion. “I’ll stay with you as long as I can,” you promised, your voice soft but resolute.

𐂂 His hand covered yours, his thumb caressing the back of your fingers. “I know your time here is fleeting,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “But I will not waste the gift of your presence. Every moment with you is a treasure, meleth nín, and I will cherish it until the end of my days.”

𐂂 Though the inevitability of your mortality weighed heavily on him, Thranduil chose to focus on the present. He insisted on celebrating the small joys of life: the laughter you shared over a quiet meal, the way your eyes lit up when he presented you with a token of his affection—a delicate circlet of silver leaves or a rare flower from the depths of the forest.

𐂂 He became fiercely protective of you, ensuring that no harm would ever come near. His guards were instructed to keep watch over you whenever he could not, though he was rarely far from your side. Even Legolas, upon returning to Mirkwood, marveled at the bond between you.

𐂂 “You have done what I thought impossible,” Legolas said to you one day, his tone both teasing and sincere. “You have softened my father’s heart.”“I didn’t do anything,” you replied with a smile. “He was always this way. He just needed a reason to show it.” In the years that followed, Thranduil made good on his vow. He loved you with an intensity that belied his normally reserved nature, his devotion to you a constant in a world ever shifting. And though he knew your time together was but a blink in the span of his immortal life, he found peace in the knowledge that you had returned to him.

Bonus part :

𐂂 Thranduil had planned to propose before the Battle of the Five Armies had changed everything. He had commissioned a ring crafted from mithril and set with a stone as clear as starlight, a design as enduring and timeless as the love he felt for you. It had been hidden away, waiting for the perfect moment. He remembered vividly the day he intended to ask. The two of you had walked through the forest, the world quiet except for the soft rustle of leaves and the gentle hum of life around you. You had smiled at him, teasing him about his pensive mood, unaware of the question he carried in his heart. But then the drums of war had sounded, and everything had unraveled.

𐂂 After your loss in the chaos of the battle, he had buried the ring deep within the treasure vaults of his palace, unable to look at it without feeling the sharp sting of grief. But now, with you back at his side, the thought of that ring returned to him, a quiet but insistent reminder of what he had almost lost. One evening, as the stars glimmered above and the forest glowed with the soft light of fireflies, Thranduil led you to the same clearing where he had found you again. The air was cool, carrying the scent of autumn and woodsmoke, and the world seemed to hold its breath as he turned to face you.

𐂂 “I meant to do this long ago,” he said softly, his voice steady but filled with emotion. From the folds of his cloak, he drew out the ring, the mithril catching the faint starlight. “Before the battle… before everything, I wished to ask you something.” You looked up at him, your eyes wide with wonder and tears glistening at their corners. He took your hand in his, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as he knelt before you, his regal composure melting into something infinitely tender.

𐂂 “I know that our time together is fleeting,” he began, his voice low and reverent. “But that is what makes it precious. You have given me a joy I thought I would never feel again, a love that has restored the parts of me I thought lost to the shadows of the past. Will you, for as many days as we are given, be my star, my light, my heart?” When you nodded, tears spilling over as you whispered your answer, he slipped the ring onto your finger and rose, pulling you into an embrace that spoke of a love too vast for words.

From that night onward, Thranduil treated every moment with you as a gift. He ensured that your days together were filled with joy, laughter, and the quiet, unshakable intimacy that defined your bond. The two of you traveled to the farthest reaches of the Woodland Realm, exploring hidden glades and ancient groves. He showed you the secrets of his kingdom, sharing stories that only the trees had witnessed.

𐂂 Yet he also prepared himself for the inevitable. Thranduil, who had faced countless wars and losses, steeled his heart for the day when you would no longer walk beside him. But he made you a promise: when that day came, he would not let his grief consume him. Instead, he would carry your memory like a flame, a guiding light in the endless expanse of his immortal life.

𐂂 And when the time came—years later, in the gentle embrace of a quiet spring—Thranduil held you close as your mortal body surrendered to time. He did not fight the tears that fell, nor the ache that gripped his soul. Instead, he whispered words of love and gratitude, promising that he would find you again, in whatever form the world allowed.

𐂂 For Thranduil, your love was a paradox fragile in its mortality, yet unyielding in its depth. It was a love that defied the constraints of time, enduring not in the years you shared but in the eternal mark it left on his heart. And though he lived on, an immortal king bound to the world, he carried you with him always—a love that transcended even the bounds of eternity.

🍃𝓛𝓮𝓰𝓸𝓵𝓪𝓼

𖧧 The battle had been chaos—a maelstrom of blood, steel, and fire. You had been separated in the thick of it, pulled away from Legolas by the tides of war. He had seen you fall, your mortal body collapsing beneath the weight of the enemy’s blows. He had screamed your name, but the battle’s cacophony swallowed his voice. Despite his best efforts to reach you, the press of the enemy and the demands of leadership had dragged him away, forcing him to retreat with his people.

𖧧 Days after the battle, Legolas returned to the site, his heart heavy with dread and hope. The battlefield, once a scene of turmoil, was now eerily silent, save for the whispers of the wind. He searched desperately among the broken bodies and shattered weapons, his eyes scanning every corner, praying to find you—alive or at least at peace.

𖧧 But all that remained was the tattered remnants of your cloak, caught on a jagged stone. His fingers brushed the fabric, trembling with a mixture of grief and disbelief. No sign of your body. He fell to his knees, the weight of the loss sinking deeper than the cold earth beneath him. The battle had taken so much, and now, even your remains seemed to have vanished into the void.

𖧧 Days turned to weeks, weeks to months, and yet the memory of your last moments haunted him. He could not forgive himself for failing to save you. Every arrow he loosed, every step he took in the forests of Mirkwood, felt hollow. For an elf who could live forever, the weight of eternity without you loomed unbearably large.

𖧧 The Fellowship, though sympathetic, could only do so much. Aragorn offered quiet support, Gimli shared in the mourning in his own gruff way, and even the hobbits, who knew loss all too well, tried to cheer him with stories. But nothing could ease the ache in Legolas’s heart.

𖧧 Five years passed, and the world around Legolas moved forward, but he remained stuck in the past, as though caught in a never-ending cycle of mourning. The war was over, the Ring destroyed, and Middle-earth had begun to rebuild. Yet, every step Legolas took in the woods of Mirkwood felt hollow. His heart, once full of the song of the trees, had become a silent, aching void. He no longer found joy in the endless beauty of the forests. The trees, once his closest friends, now whispered their sorrow to him as much as they did their solace.

𖧧 He had watched, for centuries, as the seasons changed, but he had never truly understood how fleeting they were until now. The impermanence of life had never struck him so deeply. He had lived through countless ages, witnessed kingdoms rise and fall, seen friends come and go, but none of it had ever hurt like this. The thought of you—the warmth of your smile, the sound of your laughter, the way you held his hand in yours—was a constant presence in his mind. He longed for you in the quiet moments, in the stillness of the forest, when the noise of the world faded away.

𖧧 The ache was a part of him now, a permanent scar that could not be healed. Legolas missed you more than he ever thought possible. He missed the way you would hum soft songs to him when you thought he wasn’t listening, the way you would laugh at his awkward attempts to fit in with the others, and the way your eyes would light up when you spoke of something that brought you joy. He missed the way you would lay beside him on quiet nights, your head resting on his chest, listening to the heartbeat that was steady and sure while your own was more fleeting, yet so full of life.

𖧧 He missed the softness of your touch, the warmth of your hand in his, the way you would hold him close when the world outside seemed too dark. He missed the feeling of you nestled beside him in the evenings, when the world grew still, and the air was thick with the scent of the forest, the fragrance of pine and earth that he had always loved. You were so different from him, so mortal, and yet so full of life. You had a way of seeing the world with fresh eyes, finding wonder in the simplest things. It was that wonder, that joy you radiated, that had drawn him to you.

𖧧 But now, the world felt empty. The laughter that had once filled the air now echoed hollowly in his memory. The wind, which used to carry the melodies of the forest, now whispered your name in his ear, a constant reminder of what he had lost. Legolas would often wander deep into the heart of Mirkwood, lost in thought, searching for some kind of peace, but he could never find it. He would find solace in the quiet rhythm of the world, in the stillness of the ancient trees, but it was never enough. The trees had always been his companions, but now they felt distant, like they too mourned your absence.

𖧧 His nights were the hardest. Legolas had always been a creature of the day, a warrior and protector, but it was in the quiet of the night that his grief truly took hold. He could not sleep for the thoughts that churned in his mind. He would find himself sitting at the edge of the forest, staring out at the stars, the ones you had once pointed out to him, tracing constellations with your fingers as you shared stories of ancient times. Those memories would bring him some comfort, but they also deepened the ache in his chest. It was as if the stars themselves were now distant, removed from the world that had once been shared by both of you.

𖧧 In the years since the war, Legolas had done everything he could to honor your memory. He had planted trees in your name, hoping they would grow strong and tall, just as you had. He had given himself to the land, using his hands to heal the scars left by battle, to restore what had been lost. But even this work, which once brought him peace, no longer satisfied him. The trees, the rivers, the creatures of the forest—they all reminded him of what he had lost, of the life he could never have with you again.

𖧧 He longed to hear your voice again, to feel the warmth of your hand in his. He wished for nothing more than to see your face once more, to run his fingers through your hair, to kiss you as he had done so many times before. But you were gone, and all that was left was the echo of your presence, lingering in the spaces between his breaths.

𖧧 The grief had become a part of him, woven into the fabric of his existence. And though the passage of time had dulled its sharpness, it had never truly faded. The elves, ever perceptive, could see the change in him. They knew something was missing, though they never spoke of it directly. Even Thranduil, who rarely showed emotion, could not deny the shift in his son. But no one could truly understand the depth of Legolas’s loss. None but him could feel the weight of eternity without you.

𖧧 And yet, amid all the pain, there was a quiet hope, a longing that refused to die. It lived in the quiet moments when Legolas would catch himself smiling at a memory of you, or when he would find a token—perhaps a flower or a small stone—that reminded him of you. It lived in the whispers of the trees, in the soft rustling of leaves that felt like a whisper from your soul. It was the hope that, somehow, one day, fate might be kind enough to return you to him. But until that day came, he would continue his lonely path, living in a world where time moved on, but his heart remained still.

Your return:

𖧧 It was in the quiet solitude of the grove, the sunlight filtering through the new leaves of the saplings that had sprung to life in the wake of war, that Legolas first heard it—a voice that seemed to tear through the thick fog of his sorrow. It was so familiar, so dear, that it sent a chill down his spine.

𖧧 “Legolas?” For a moment, everything around him ceased to exist. His heart stopped in his chest, and the world seemed to tilt. The voice was unmistakable. It was yours. He whirled around, his elven senses alert, searching the trees, his sharp eyes scanning the surroundings with frantic intensity. And there you were. Standing among the trees, as if time had folded itself, and all the years between that fateful battle and now were nothing but a fleeting dream.

𖧧 You were alive. You were real. His breath caught in his throat. Your form, though unmistakably yours, bore marks of hardship—scars that told stories of the pain you had endured, the battles you had fought, and the life you had fought to cling to. But it was you. The same warmth in your eyes, the same gentle smile that had once lit up his world.

𖧧 For what felt like an eternity, neither of you moved. You stood, frozen in place taking in the sight of one another. Legolas’s heart hammered in his chest, each beat louder than the last, as if it, too, was trying to catch up with the reality unfolding before him.

𖧧 Then, without thinking, without hesitation, he moved. In a single, fluid motion, his legs carried him to you, his arms reaching out and enveloping you in a fierce embrace. His strength was overwhelming, as though he feared that if he loosened his hold, you might slip away again, like some fragile dream. His breath came in ragged gasps, his face buried in your hair, as if he could breathe you back into existence, pulling you close, unwilling to let go.

𖧧 “I thought you were gone,” he whispered, his voice strained and thick with emotion, the words almost strangled by grief and relief. His chest tightened painfully as he spoke, the weight of the years he had spent mourning you pressing on him, only to now find you before him, alive and real. “I saw you fall. I mourned you.” The sound of your voice, trembling but steady, broke through the tension. “I thought I was gone too,” you whispered against his chest, your voice cracking. “I was taken, Legolas. Injured, captured… but I survived. I kept hoping I’d see you again.”

𖧧 Your words were a balm to his soul, though they only deepened the ache in his heart. He could not imagine the pain you must have suffered, the darkness you had endured, separated from him for so long. And yet here you were, standing before him, alive and whole, despite everything.

𖧧 He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his hands trembling as they cupped your face. His fingers traced the familiar features he had longed for—your jawline, the curve of your lips, the eyes that had haunted his dreams for years. His touch was soft, reverent, as though he feared he might be dreaming again, that this was a fantasy that would vanish as soon as he blinked. His voice, barely a whisper, cracked with emotion.

𖧧 “Meleth nîn, you are here. You are alive.” His gaze locked with yours, his blue eyes swimming with unshed tears. It was rare for him to show such vulnerability, but this was different. You were back. The emptiness in his chest had been filled, but now the overwhelming flood of emotion threatened to break him. “I should have searched harder. I should never have given up—” Before he could speak another word, you gently pressed your fingers to his lips, silencing him. You felt the weight of his guilt, his self-blame, but you needed him to know—truly know—that none of it was his fault.

𖧧 “You didn’t give up,” you said, your voice soft but firm, your hands covering his. Your touch was a grounding force, reminding him that this moment was real, that you were truly here. “You thought I was gone, as anyone would had. But now… now we have this.” You said the words with such certainty, such warmth, that it eased the last of his lingering doubts. There was no room for regret in this moment. Only the overwhelming joy of being reunited with the one person he had feared he had lost forever.

𖧧 Legolas leaned in then, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that began gentle, almost tentative, as if he were testing the reality of the moment. His lips brushed against yours, soft and hesitant, as though the very touch might dissolve. But then, the floodgates opened, and the years of longing, of pain, of separation poured into the kiss. It deepened, and the gentle touch became an urgent, desperate need to feel you close, to make sure that this moment—this precious moment—was real.

𖧧 His hands moved to your back, pulling you against him, his heart hammering in his chest as if trying to convince him that you were truly there, that this was not a dream. He kissed you as though he could shield you from time itself, as though he could protect you from everything that had kept you apart. He wanted to erase the years of pain and loss, to replace them with the warmth of your embrace and the sweetness of your love. For a long time, neither of you spoke. There were no words necessary. The kiss said it all—the years of grief, the lost time, the quiet hope that had never faded. It was all there, in that one kiss, that one embrace. And in that moment, Legolas felt whole again, as if the missing part of him had finally returned.

𖧧 He pulled away just enough to look into your eyes once more, his chest rising and falling with each breath. There was still so much he wanted to say, but for now, words were unnecessary. Instead, he smiled, a smile that was both bittersweet and full of hope, as though he were daring to believe that this time, you were truly here to stay.

Aftermath:

𖧧 The elves of Mirkwood were overjoyed to see their prince returned to them, though many of them struggled to understand the depth of the emotions that had taken hold of him. Legolas had always been composed, the epitome of grace and quiet strength, but since your disappearance, a shadow had clouded his spirit. The change in him was not subtle. The elves, who had witnessed centuries of sorrow and joy alike, understood the weight of grief, but even they had never seen such a profound transformation in their prince.

𖧧 It was not just his grief that marked him; it was the overwhelming joy that followed your return. There was a light in his eyes now, a light that had long been missing, and it was this light that brightened the entire Woodland Realm. His once-distant gaze had softened, the sorrow that had bound him now replaced by a quiet, hopeful contentment. The elves were accustomed to the stoic nature of their kind, but Legolas’s transformation was like a beacon of hope, one that spread through the woods like the first light of dawn after a long, dark night. Even the leaves seemed to shimmer more brightly in his presence, as though reflecting his renewed spirit.

𖧧 Though many of the elves had long accepted the sadness of time’s passing, and the inevitable cycle of life and death, there were still those who found themselves cautious about attachment to mortals. They had seen how fleeting the lives of men and women were, how quickly the ones they loved could be lost. The idea that an elf—immortal and bound to the land—might form a bond with someone so transient had always been a subject of quiet discomfort. Yet, they could not deny the bond that had been rekindled between Legolas and you. The joy he now radiated was something none of them had seen in centuries. It was a testament to the power of love, and the elves, for all their wisdom, could not ignore the beauty of such a rare and pure thing.

𖧧 Even Thranduil, the king of Mirkwood, who had always been reserved and cautious with his emotions, could not hide the soft pride in his eyes when he spoke of your return. One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the realm in twilight, he sat with Legolas and you beneath the towering trees. His expression, though still composed, betrayed a warmth that few ever saw from the elven king. “My son has been… unrecognizable without you,” Thranduil admitted, his voice low, his gaze resting on Legolas with an unspoken understanding. “Your return is a gift, one I did not dare hope for. In your absence, I feared he would never recover. I see now that I was wrong.” His eyes met yours for a brief moment, a silent acknowledgment of the role you had played in bringing the prince back from the edge of despair.

𖧧 Legolas, ever the devoted partner, became almost protective in the days following your reunion. His presence was constant, his devotion unwavering. He rarely let you out of his sight, his gaze always seeking you out, even in a room full of others. His fingers often brushed against yours in passing, a small but deliberate gesture, like an anchor in the ever-shifting tides of life. His touch was a quiet reassurance, a constant reminder that you were still there, that you had returned to him, and he to you.

𖧧 Though the weight of mortality still hung over you like a shadow, it only made the time you spent together more precious. Each moment with you felt like a rare treasure, something he could never take for granted. Legolas began to show you the parts of the forest that he cherished most—hidden glades where the trees seemed to hum with ancient wisdom, sparkling streams that wound through the land like veins of life. He shared with you the quiet, sacred places where he had once wandered alone, his heart heavy with grief, and now filled with love. His heart ached with the knowledge that, as much as he longed to share eternity with you, time was never on his side.

𖧧 Still, despite the knowledge of your eventual passing, he held fast to every second. He cherished each touch, each laugh, and the fleeting moments of joy that seemed to glow more brightly in the presence of the inevitable darkness of mortality. When you walked together beneath the trees, your fingers entwined, he would often smile softly, his eyes filled with a mixture of love and sorrow, knowing that each passing day was one closer to the end of your time together.

𖧧 One night, as the two of you lay together beneath the canopy of stars, the world around you seemed to fade into a dreamlike quiet. The only sounds were the soft rustle of the leaves and the rhythmic pulse of the earth beneath you. Legolas’s arms were wrapped tightly around you, as though he could shield you from the inevitable, protect you from the fragility of your mortal form. He pressed his lips to your forehead, his voice a soft whisper against the cool night air.

𖧧 “I will love you until the end of my days, meleth nîn,” he murmured, his words laced with the depth of his emotion, “and far beyond that.” His voice trembled slightly, as if he, too, feared the passage of time, but in the same breath, he expressed his unwavering resolve to love you for as long as he could. “Even when the days of your life are gone, my love for you will endure, woven into the fabric of time itself.”

𖧧 For an elf like Legolas, eternity had always been a distant horizon—unchanging, inevitable, and timeless. He had always lived with the knowledge that his existence stretched on, forever unmarred by death. But with you by his side, the brevity of your mortal life gave him a new understanding of eternity. Even as the seasons changed and the world around them shifted, the love they shared became a constant. It was as if, in your fleeting moments together, you had given him a glimpse of the infinite. And for Legolas, that was enough.

🏹𝓗𝓪𝓵𝓭𝓲𝓻

➳ The Battle of Helm’s Deep had come to a grueling end. After hours of fighting, the once serene valley had turned into a chaos of cries, clashing steel, and the smell of smoke. Amid the victory, there was sorrow. Haldir had led the Elven warriors with unmatched skill, but the cost was heavy. The loss of comrades, of friends—he had witnessed it all. But there was one more wound, one that cut deeper than the others: the sudden absence of you, his love, the one who had fought at his side.

➳ When the battle raged, Haldir had seen you fall. In the chaotic madness, there had been no time to reach you. The desperate hope that you had merely been knocked unconscious had been the only thing that kept him from succumbing to despair. He had searched the battlefield, and when the fighting ended, he had found no trace of you just the promise ring they both have. (That promise ring haldir had picked up and wore it on a necklace around his neck after that day), The hope had died then, buried with the fallen warriors.

➳ Days passed, and the darkness of grief settled upon him. The laughter of his brothers, the joy of their victory, felt distant to him. He withdrew into himself, ever vigilant, though there was no enemy left to face. The world around him had grown quiet, and the shadows of the past kept whispering in his mind, haunting his every waking moment.

➳ Haldir never spoke of it. Not to Aragorn, not to Legolas, nor even to Galadriel in his thoughts. How could he? To show weakness, to admit that his heart had shattered would have been a betrayal of his duty, of the pride of Lothlórien. So, he carried on, but it was harder now, each day a battle against the emptiness within.

➳ Not even year had done little to ease the ache in Haldir’s chest. The Battle of Helm’s Deep, a triumph for the free peoples of Middle-earth, had left him with a deep, unspoken sorrow, one that haunted his every step. The absence of you, his love, had carved an irreparable wound in him. At first, he had fought to hold on to the belief that you had survived, that perhaps the chaos of the battle had merely swept you away, leaving you battered and bruised but alive. But as the days turned into weeks and weeks into months, that hope began to slip through his fingers, like the softest of sands in the wind.

➳ The ring you had given him (promise ring), the one he had promised to wear until the end of his days, had been the only tangible connection he had left to you. That promise had felt like a lifeline in those early days after the battle, as if by keeping it close to his heart, he could somehow keep you with him, even in your absence. But when the cold reality set in and the ring was the only thing he had left to hold on to, it became both a comfort and a torment. He wore it on a chain around his neck, hidden beneath the folds of his tunic, never once letting it out of his sight. It was the last piece of you, the last reminder of the life he had once dreamed of sharing with you. And it ached, pulling at his heart in ways he could not bear to voice.

➳ Each time he touched the necklace, a memory of you would flood his thoughts—the sound of your laughter, the way your eyes would light up when you spoke of dreams and hopes for the future, the way your hand felt in his, warm and steady. He missed the little things, the quiet moments that had meant the most. The way you had always known what he needed without words. How, even in the midst of battle, you had found a way to offer him comfort with a mere glance or a soft touch.

➳ Haldir had always been someone who took pride in his stoic demeanor, in the discipline and duty that had shaped his life. But you had changed him in ways he could never explain. You had brought softness to his heart, a tenderness he had not known he was capable of. And with you gone, that tenderness had hardened into an unyielding shell, keeping the world at arm’s length.

➳ He missed the warmth of your presence, the way you would sit beside him in silence, content just to be in each other’s company. He missed the way your voice would soften when you spoke his name, how your touch would linger in the small gestures—a brush of your fingers across his hand, a fleeting kiss on his cheek. There was a quiet intimacy in those moments that had grounded him, reminding him that no matter how distant or aloof he appeared to others, there was someone who truly understood him, who saw the person behind the warrior. And now, in your absence, the silence felt deafening.

➳ He often found himself standing at the borders of Lothlórien, staring into the vast expanse of the forest that had once felt so alive, so full of purpose. The trees whispered in the wind, their leaves rustling with secrets, but none of those secrets brought him peace. He longed for the sound of your voice in the trees, for the echo of your laughter in the quiet of the forest. The land that had once been a sanctuary now felt like a cage, a place where he could not escape the memories of you.

➳ As he went about his duties, he felt the weight of the years pressing down on him. He had remained steadfast in his commitment to Lothlórien, never faltering, never straying from the path of duty. But deep inside, he wondered what it all meant now. Without you, what was he protecting? Without you by his side, the endless vigilance, the watchful eyes that never let anything slip by, seemed almost pointless. His people, his homeland, they deserved his protection, but so did you. And in failing to protect you, he had lost a part of himself.

➳ His younger brothers—Rúmil and Orophin—had noticed the change in him. They had watched him withdraw, bury his grief beneath a mask of duty and honor. They had seen the way his eyes grew distant, how the fire that once burned so brightly in him now seemed dulled. But they knew him too well to press him, too well to ask what was on his mind. They had seen the way he would glance at the empty places where you used to stand, and the way he would pause, as if listening for your voice in the wind. And in those moments, they said nothing, offering him the silence he so desperately craved.

➳ Six years had passed, and in that time, Haldir had hardened further, the memories of you still fresh in his mind but buried beneath the weight of his responsibilities. The world had moved on, but Haldir had remained rooted in the past. He had not forgotten you—not once. And yet, he had convinced himself that you were gone, that the hope of ever finding you again was a dream too far gone to reach.

The return:

➳ Then, one fateful day, the summons came. The familiar call to return to the borders of Lothlórien, to watch over his people once more. The weight of his memories pressed heavier as he made his way to the edge of the forest. And there, among the trees that had witnessed so much of his pain, he prepared himself for what he thought would be another lonely journey. But fate had other plans.

➳ Haldir would never forget the moment his eyes fell upon you once more. It was as if the world had stopped turning. The forest stood still, the breeze held its breath. And there you were, standing before him, as real and as alive as the day he had lost you. His heart stuttered in his chest, and for the briefest of moments, he thought he might collapse from the weight of the emotions flooding through him. He had never stopped loving you, never stopped longing for this moment.

➳ For the first time in six long years, Haldir felt his heart beat again—not with the cold, unrelenting rhythm of duty, but with the warmth of hope. It was a warmth that had been absent from his life for far too long. It was like waking from a dream he had resigned himself to, the world around him suddenly sharp, vivid, full of possibility. The years of grief, of self-imposed solitude, had worn away at his spirit, leaving him hardened, distant, a shell of the Elven warrior he once was. But now, in that single breath, that fleeting moment when he first saw you, all of that shifted.

➳ His pulse quickened as he stood frozen, eyes locked on you as if you might vanish in an instant. His mind struggled to make sense of the impossible. You were here. Alive. Standing before him. Every ounce of restraint he had built up over the years crumbled in that instant. There had been no signal, no warning—just the quiet approach of your footsteps, the sound that shattered the numb silence of his existence.

➳ He took a step forward, but his legs felt weak. The elation, the disbelief, the agony of the years spent apart—they all surged through him, overwhelming him in a torrent of emotion. His breath caught in his throat. “Y/N…” His voice was barely a whisper, a sound so fragile it could break the very moment in which you both stood. The years of pain seemed to melt away with that single word. It was as though the years of separation, the endless nights of wondering, the grief of not knowing if he would ever see you again, all came rushing back to him in a heartbeat.

➳ Then, as if on instinct, he moved. He didn’t even think. He simply acted, crossing the distance between you in a few swift strides. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close with a desperation that had not been part of him in years. His body trembled with the force of his emotions, his hands clutching you with such intensity that it almost hurt—but you didn’t mind. You, too, had lived with this ache, the gnawing emptiness that came with the loss of the one you loved. And now, in this instant, that loss was erased.

➳ Tears welled in his eyes, and though he fought them back, they came anyway—silent, betrayed by the depth of his relief. He let them fall, uncaring for once, for this moment was far more important than any of the self-control he had once so fiercely held on to. The warrior within him, so composed, so unshakeable, had melted into the man who had loved you more than anything. “I thought… I thought I had lost you forever,” he whispered, his voice breaking, as if speaking the truth aloud made it all real in the most painful way.

➳ His arms tightened around you, his hands trembling slightly as they moved to stroke your back, as if grounding himself in the reality that you were truly here. He buried his face in your hair, taking in the scent of you, a scent he had never truly forgotten, even as the years had dragged on. In your arms, he was whole again. “I thought I would never see you again,” he murmured against your skin. “I thought… I thought I was alone in this world.” His words were desperate, a quiet confession of how much he had fallen apart in your absence.

➳ “I’m here, Haldir,” you whispered, your own voice thick with emotion. “I’m here. I thought I had lost you too.” You felt the trembling in his body, his silent sobs that shook him to his core, and you pressed yourself closer to him, letting him know that you were real, that you were here, that he was not alone anymore.

➳ He pulled back slightly, enough to look into your eyes, his gaze searching yours for some sign that this wasn’t a dream, that it wasn’t some cruel trick of the mind. He reached out, his fingers gently tracing the outline of your face, as if he had to remind himself that you were really there. He knew you were real; the warmth of your body in his arms, the steady rhythm of your breath, it all confirmed it—but still, the disbelief lingered in his eyes. “How?” The word came out in a breathless whisper, barely audible, but it held all the confusion, all the questions that had plagued him in the years since your disappearance.

➳ You shook your head softly, a sad smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I… I don’t know how. But I survived, Haldir. I survived for you. For this moment.” You took his hand, holding it to your chest, where his heart had always belonged. “And now… now we’re together again. That’s all that matters.” He blinked, his eyes welling up again, and this time he didn’t fight it. The tears spilled freely, tracking down his cheeks, a testament to the weight of his heart’s release. He let you see him—truly see him—unmasked in his vulnerability. The man who had carried the world on his shoulders, the warrior who had fought countless battles, was no longer untouchable. He was simply a man who loved and had nearly lost everything.

➳ His lips trembled as he spoke again, the words thick with emotion. “I feared I would never see you again,” he said, his voice quiet and raw. “You were my heart, Y/N. I feared I had lost you to this war. I feared that the one thing worth fighting for would be taken from me.” His hands cupped your face gently, as though he could keep you with him by sheer force of will. “But here you are. Alive. And I—” His words faltered, breaking under the weight of everything he felt. “I never want to let you go again.”

➳ “I will never leave you, Haldir,” you whispered softly, your voice breaking as you rested your forehead against his. The words felt like a promise, one that neither time nor distance could take away. “Let me heal you now,” you murmured, your hands brushing his cheek gently, wiping away the tears. “Let me be here for you. Let me show you that we can find peace again, together.” For a long moment, the two of you simply stood there, your bodies entwined, hearts beating in unison. The war was over, but in its place, there was a new battle—one of healing, of rebuilding what had been broken. But with each breath, each soft word exchanged between you, the weight of the past began to lift, and the love that had never faded began to blossom once again.

➳ When Haldir finally pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, a smile full of quiet promise. “I will never let you go again, meleth nín,” he murmured, his voice steady once more, but with a tenderness that had been missing for so long.

➳ And in that moment, the world outside seemed to fade into nothing. There was no war, no grief, no loss—only the warmth of your presence, the unwavering connection that bound you together, a love that had withstood the tests of time and distance. No matter what came next, Haldir knew he had found you again—and this time, he would never let go. Together, you would face whatever came, knowing that your hearts had finally found their way back to each other.

Aftermath:

➳ In the days that followed, the world for Haldir felt both new and familiar. The reunion with you, the love of his life, had been everything he could have dreamed of and more. Yet, as the days slipped into weeks, there remained a shadow that followed him—a shadow not of war or grief, but of time itself. The realization gnawed at him, a quiet ache in the deepest part of his heart. He had lived for countless ages, seen the rise and fall of kingdoms, watched the world change in ways that few could comprehend. His existence had stretched into eternity, a timeless rhythm, a slow and steady beat of life that allowed him to witness the birth and death of the seasons, the turning of the world on its axis.

➳ But you—his beloved—were different. Time would not wait for you. You would age, you would grow frail, and one day, far too soon, you would slip from this world as quickly as you had come into it. Haldir could no longer ignore this, though he tried. It lingered in the back of his mind as he held you at night, as he kissed you in the early mornings, as he laughed with you over meals. Every moment with you, every touch, every word felt precious. But the love he had for you was colored by an undercurrent of sorrow, one that grew more pronounced with each passing day.

➳ He would not be able to protect you from time. There was no shield against it, no sword to fight it, no battle to win. Time would take you, as it had taken so many before you, and no amount of Elven strength or magic could prevent it. At first, he tried to bury his fears, to hold on to the joy of having you in his arms, of sharing this time together. The two of you found moments of peace amidst the tension that clung to him—walking through the forests of Lothlórien, whispering sweet words to each other as the stars flickered above, listening to the soft rustle of leaves in the wind. You brought color back into his life, warmth where there had only been the cold emptiness of mourning.

➳ But time continued its inexorable march, and with each passing season, Haldir’s heart grew heavier. He could see the subtle changes in you—the faint lines beginning to form at the corners of your eyes, the softening of your youthful skin, the occasional weariness that would settle over you, even when you tried to hide it. He noticed how you moved, no longer as quick and unburdened as you once were, how you laughed less freely, as though each moment of joy was now a little more fragile.

➳ And it was in these moments—when the years seemed to press against his heart—that he would withdraw. He couldn’t help it. The pain of knowing that the love they had shared would someday be cut short by the passage of time was too much to bear. He would wander the forest alone, seeking solace among the trees that had stood for millennia, the ancient trunks whispering secrets of a time long past.

➳ The memory of his brothers, the other Elves of Lothlórien, came to him in quiet moments. He had lived so long with them, shared their experiences, their pain, their joy. But he knew none of them could understand the weight of his loss. They did not have to face the crushing knowledge that one day, the light of his life would fade as the seasons turned. His kin were eternal, as was he, but you—his beloved human—were not. The thought of losing you, of watching you grow old and fade from the world, was a constant ache that he could not escape.

➳ One evening, as the sun dipped behind the distant mountains, casting a soft glow over the forest, he found himself staring at you, lost in thought. You were standing near the water, the light catching your hair as it blew gently in the wind, your back to him. He could see the way you held yourself, strong yet weary, and the thought of someday losing you was unbearable. He stepped forward, quietly, until he stood beside you. You didn’t turn to look at him, but you could feel his presence beside you, the weight of his gaze upon you. Slowly, you reached out, taking his hand in yours, and for a long moment, neither of you spoke. Words felt unnecessary; the quiet understanding between you both was enough.

➳ “You’re thinking of it again, aren’t you?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper. Haldir didn’t answer at first. He didn’t need to. You knew him too well, had seen the way his gaze would wander, the way he would pull away in moments of silence. He had never spoken of his fears, not aloud. But you knew. “I can’t help it,” he murmured finally, his voice thick with the weight of emotions he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years. “Time is not kind to you, meleth nín. I—”

➳ “I know,” you interrupted gently, squeezing his hand. “I know, Haldir. But don’t let fear steal what we have now.” You turned to face him, your eyes meeting his, filled with both understanding and sorrow. “We can’t stop time. We can’t change what’s to come. But we have this moment. We have today. Let me love you in this moment, and tomorrow, and every day that follows.” Haldir’s heart clenched at your words, the rawness of them cutting through his carefully built defenses. He wanted to hold on to you, to keep you here forever, but he knew that wasn’t possible. Still, your love was the greatest gift he had ever received, and he would not let fear overshadow that gift.

➳ “I will love you, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “Every moment, every heartbeat, I will love you.” And for a while, the fear that had gripped him so tightly began to loosen. He couldn’t change what was to come, but he could choose to live fully in the time they had together. Even as the years slipped away, he would cherish every day with you, every touch, every word, every shared silence. In the end, that was all any of them could do—love as fiercely and fully as they could, until the time they had together ran out. And Haldir, for all his pain, was determined to make every moment with you count.

Bonus as I’m a smitten for Elrond god love the man (love older version Hugo.) 🫶🥰❤️‍🔥

📜 𝓔𝓵𝓻𝓸𝓷𝓭

✶ The winds of war had long been howling across Middle-earth, and Elrond, the Lord of Rivendell, found his heart weighed down with an unbearable burden. Years had passed since you had left to join the free peoples in their fight for survival. Your mortal life called you to the front lines, while Elrond remained behind, bound to his responsibilities in Rivendell—offering counsel, wisdom, and healing to those who sought it. But despite his centuries of knowledge and the depth of his experience, Elrond could not escape the gnawing fear that something terrible would happen to you. Every day that passed brought him closer to the heart-wrenching reality that, sooner or later, he might never see you again.

✶ The day had come when Elrond, alone in his study, When the news came—the dreaded news that your battalion had been lost, that you were presumed dead—he could not have prepared himself for the devastation that followed. The feeling of his heart sinking, of his entire world unraveling, was something Elrond, despite his countless years of wisdom, had never experienced before. He had always prided himself on his ability to remain composed, but in that moment, he felt as though everything within him had shattered. In the silence of Rivendell’s halls, the place that had once been full of life and laughter, now stood cold and empty to him. The absence of your presence left an unbearable void in the very air he breathed. His beloved—his heart—gone forever…Elrond, Lord of Rivendell, felt a heaviness settle deep within his heart. He could no longer ignore the gnawing fear that had consumed him for years—the fear of losing you. The love of his life, his heart, his soul—lost in a war that he could not protect you from.

✶ Every report from the front lines brought a fresh wave of dread, though he clung to the hope that you would return, even as the weight of time pressed down upon him. He had known of your courage, your strength, but no amount of wisdom could prepare him for the moment when the news arrived—your battalion had been lost, the battle you fought in was disastrous, and you were presumed dead. The world seemed to collapse around him as he stood in the silence of Rivendell’s great halls, a place once filled with hope and life, now haunted by the absence of your laughter and love.

✶ He searched for you, though he knew, deep down, that the chances of finding you were slim. He traveled to the battlefield where your battalion had fallen, desperate to find any trace of you, hoping against hope that you had survived, that you might be out there, somewhere. But when he arrived, all he found was your brooch—the one you had stolen from him in jest, a gift he had given you years ago, which you had always worn. Now it was stained by the dirt and blood of the battlefield, and Elrond knew, in that moment, that he had lost you forever. His heart ached with a sorrow so deep it seemed to permeate every fiber of his being. The brooch felt like the final testament to the love they had shared—a love that seemed to have been ripped away from him by fate.

✶ In the three years that followed, though Rivendell remained a haven untouched by the horrors of the outside world, Elrond could not escape the weight of his grief. He threw himself into his duties—leading, guiding, offering counsel to those in need—but nothing could ease the longing that had taken root in his heart. There were moments when he would sit by the river in Rivendell, the waters glistening beneath the stars, and he would think of you. He would remember the way you would sit by his side during the evenings, talking about the future, discussing everything and nothing, always with the same warmth and laughter that had drawn him to you all those years ago.

✶ Elrond never let on how much he missed you, but you had always had an uncanny ability to see through his stoic exterior. You knew when something was wrong—knew when the weight of the world had become too much for him to bear. And you always knew just how to lift his spirits. The best way to cheer Elrond up, you had learned, was to talk to him about the future you both dreamed of. A future together, one free from the pain and loss of the present. He would listen, his face softening as he imagined the life the two of you would share: growing old, discovering new wonders, finding peace in each other’s company. The thought of those days yet to come always made him smile. He would hold your hand, his fingers warm against yours, and for a moment, the burdens of the world would fade away.

✶ When you were sad, Elrond was always there for you, offering his unwavering support. He would make sure you had everything you needed—food, warmth, anything that might ease your discomfort. He would never leave your side until he saw that familiar smile return to your face. You, too, had your own moments of melancholy, but Elrond’s presence, his devotion to you, always helped chase the shadows away.

There were those quiet evenings when Elrond would retreat to his books to escape the stresses of his world. He would sit, absorbed in the words of ancient texts, letting the pages carry him far from the weight of responsibility.

✶ You would leave him to his solitude, knowing that he needed the time to rest his mind. Yet, it was never long before he would beckon you over, silently passing you a book of his own. “Your presence calms me,” he would say, his voice barely above a whisper, though his lips often curled into the smallest of smirks as you would look up, embarrassed by the attention. Those quiet, shared moments were the moments he cherished the most.

✶ Elrond missed those times. He missed the way you could always make him laugh, even on his darkest days. He missed the way your presence could fill the air with warmth and light. But most of all, he missed the simple, quiet comfort of knowing that you were there, just beside him, in a world that seemed to keep shifting and changing.

✶ He missed you with a depth that words could scarcely convey. He missed the sound of your voice, so full of laughter and light, even in the darkest of times. He missed the way you’d always manage to draw him out of himself, coaxing him from the shadows of his responsibilities to enjoy the simple joys of life. There was a day, early in your time together, when you had convinced him to go out into the gardens, despite the pouring rain. At first, he had been reluctant—Elrond, ever the reserved and composed half-elven, did not see the appeal of dancing in the rain. But your eyes, bright with mischief and love, had won him over. “Just one dance, Elrond. I promise, you won’t regret it,” you had said, your voice warm and full of promise. And so, he had relented, allowing you to lead him into the rain-soaked garden, the droplets falling all around you both.

✶ You laughed as you twirled him in the wet grass, and though he had protested at first, soon enough, Elrond had found himself laughing too, lost in the joy of the moment. Of course, you both ended up drenched, shivering from the cold, and neither of you could stop giggling as you tried to dry off afterward. It had been one of those rare, carefree moments in his long life, the kind he cherished the most. But as the days wore on, Elrond found that those simple, shared moments with you became more precious than ever before.

✶ Afterward, he had caught a cold, something that had been all too rare for an elf of his stature. You took great pleasure in teasing him for it, even as you carefully nursed him back to health. You insisted on bringing him hot tea, wrapping him in blankets, and refusing to let him leave his chambers until he had fully recovered. The memory of your gentle care, your laughter as you made him rest, was something Elrond held close to his heart when the darkness of the war began to weigh too heavily on him.

The return:

✶ Then, one evening, as the twilight bathed Rivendell in its soft, golden glow, Elrond found himself walking alone along the banks of the river. The waters of Imladris flowed serenely, a timeless current that had witnessed the rise and fall of ages. The air was cool, fragrant with the scent of pine and damp earth, and the land around him seemed still, as though holding its breath in the presence of the moment. His mind was heavy, filled with the weight of years gone by, years in which you had been absent, lost to the war that ravaged the world. He had spent countless hours contemplating the future, wondering what would become of his people, of his family, and of himself. But more than anything, he had wondered about you.

✶ And yet, every day the gnawing emptiness in his chest seemed to grow deeper. How many times had he walked these very halls, the memories of you so vivid in his mind? How many times had he sat by the hearth, imagining what your voice might sound like in the quiet evenings, the firelight dancing across your face as you spoke of your dreams, your hopes, your future?

✶ Elrond’s footsteps were almost soundless on the stone path, his cloak trailing lightly behind him. He was lost in thought, his gaze fixed on the river that had been a constant companion throughout his long life, when, from the corner of his ear, he heard it. A faint sound, barely perceptible, a soft footfall on the earth. At first, he thought it was the wind—after all, Rivendell had a way of carrying the wind’s whispers through its woods, the rustling of leaves and branches almost sounding like distant voices. But then, it came again. A sound so delicate, yet unmistakable—a footfall, the lightest of steps, as though someone was walking toward him through the quiet dusk.

✶ His heart stuttered in his chest, an unfamiliar jolt of hope coursing through him. “Meleth nín.” The words slipped from his lips before he even realized he had spoken them, a breathless whisper full of longing and disbelief. He had not allowed himself to hope in so long, but now, in the depth of his soul, he knew—he felt—something had changed.

✶ He turned, and there you were. You stood in the soft light of the evening, your form outlined by the fading glow of the sun, the last rays of the day catching the delicate strands of your hair, which seemed to glow like starlight itself. For a long moment, Elrond could only stare, his breath caught in his throat, his entire world shrinking to the vision of you before him. His heart beat in his chest, each pulse like thunder in his ears, a sound that seemed louder than the river itself. There you were, alive, your eyes meeting his with the same warmth, the same strength that had once made him feel as though nothing could touch him. The agony of loss, the years of uncertainty and grief, all of it seemed to vanish in an instant, swept away by the overwhelming flood of joy and disbelief.

✶ His legs nearly gave out beneath him, as if the sheer weight of your return had drained all the strength from him. Without thinking, he crossed the distance between you in a few swift strides, his hands reaching out as though to touch you, to make sure that you were truly there, truly real. He clasped your hands in his, pressing them gently against his chest, as though to prove to himself that the ache in his heart, the longing that had consumed him for so long, was finally coming to an end.

✶ And without a word, Elrond sank to his knees before you, pulling you down to him as if he could not bear the distance between you for a moment longer. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close, his face buried in the soft fabric of your clothing, your warmth the balm to a wound that had festered for far too long. His tears, long held back, shimmered in his eyes but did not fall. It was as though the weight of all those years, the grief, the fear, the longing—everything—had been too much for him to bear, and now that you were here, it was as though he could not bring himself to release the sorrow, even though he felt a profound relief flood his being.

✶ “My heart…” Elrond’s voice was thick, raw with emotion, trembling with the weight of the years that had passed. His words were soft, barely above a whisper, yet they carried the grief of lifetimes. “I thought I had lost you forever. The ache within me… it has been unbearable.” He shook his head slightly, as though the thought of a world without you in it was simply too much to fathom. “I… I could not bear the thought of losing you. Not again.”

✶ You cupped his face in your hands, your fingers brushing against the dampness on his cheek. His eyes were filled with a sorrow so deep, but they held something else now too: the flicker of hope, the tenderness that had never truly left, no matter how many years had passed. “I am here, Elrond,” you whispered, your voice low and steady, yet filled with a strength that only he could hear. “I’m here, my love. I never stopped thinking of you. I never stopped longing to return to you. The war may have stolen so much, but it never took my heart. It always belonged to you.”

✶ Elrond’s heart swelled at your words, and without thinking, he pulled you closer, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was slow, deliberate, and filled with everything he had longed to say, everything he had carried with him for all the years of uncertainty and pain. The kiss was full of tenderness, the kind that only time and separation could breed. It was the kiss of a love that had endured the test of time, a love that had never truly faded, no matter the distance or the years apart. He kissed you as though he feared that if he did not hold on tightly enough, you would slip away again.

✶ When the kiss finally broke, Elrond rested his forehead against yours, his breath shallow, his heart racing in his chest. For a moment, the world seemed to stand still, as if it too were taking a breath, giving you both this precious, fleeting moment. His voice was firm, yet filled with all the tenderness in the world. “Together,” he whispered, his eyes closed as if to hold on to the moment. “Always together, my love. No more distance between us. I will never let you go again.”

✶ And though the world beyond Rivendell still carried its burdens, though the shadows of war still loomed over Middle-earth, Elrond knew that with you by his side, he could face anything. The love between you had not been lost, not even by the ravages of time and battle. It had only grown stronger, deeper, and as the stars began to glisten overhead, you both knew that your hearts would forever remain united—no matter the storms that might come. The world might change, but your love would endure. Always.

✶ In that quiet, timeless moment, as the stars twinkled above and the river flowed gently at your feet, Elrond felt as though the world had finally returned to balance. The pain of the past, the loss, the war—it was all still there, but it no longer had the power to tear them apart. With you, his heart was whole again. And together, you would face whatever the future held, side by side, forever.

Aftermath:

✶ The days after your reunion were a haze of joy and sorrow, a bittersweet blend of love and inevitability. Elrond, Lord of Rivendell, had lived countless ages, seen kingdoms rise and fall, and had endured the loss of many dear to him. Yet none of it, none of the weight of time and fate, could have prepared him for the agony that would come with the knowledge that your time with him—your mortal life—was limited.

✶ Even now, as he walked through the halls of Rivendell with you by his side, his heart could not fully rid itself of the weight of that truth. The joy of your return, of having you here with him again, was overwhelming, but it was marred by the shadow that always lingered in his thoughts—the shadow of time slipping away. It was always there, lurking, like a dark cloud on the horizon, and despite his efforts to remain present in each moment, it tugged at him, reminding him of the fragility of your existence in a way that no mere mortal could ever understand.

✶ He had known this truth long before you had returned to him. The years had always been numbered for you. He had watched countless mortals come and go, each one touched by the brevity of their lives, and though he had lived with that knowledge, knowing you would one day fade away had never been a burden he had been willing to bear. Your love had been worth the sacrifice, and he had cherished every moment, every second, as if it might be his last with you. But now, as he held you in his arms, that knowledge had become more than just an abstract thought. It was a constant presence, a weight pressing on his chest, that your time was slipping away, and he could not stop it.

✶ The passage of time had always been something Elrond had managed to bear. He was an Elf, and he had known loss and grief before, but to love a mortal—you, the love of his life—was a different kind of agony. It was a cycle of beauty and pain, joy and inevitable sorrow. He would not force you to endure the years of his existence; his love for you was too great to watch you grow old, your body changing, while he remained the same. And yet, to see you face the years that slipped away so swiftly… it tore at him in a way that even the countless wars and losses he had endured had never done.

✶ There were mornings when he would wake beside you, watching the sunlight play across your face, feeling the warmth of your breath against his chest. In those moments, his heart would swell with joy, and he would hold you tighter, as though afraid the very light of dawn might fade before he could hold you in his arms again. But in the quiet moments that followed, in the spaces between, his thoughts would inevitably turn to the future—your future. He knew he could not stop the inevitable. Your time was finite. In the stillness of the night, as you slept beside him, Elrond would lie awake, staring at the ceiling, his mind lost in the torrent of his emotions, knowing that each day with you was one day less.

✶ He had never wished for immortality in the way his brethren had. He had not desired to outlast the world, nor to be untouched by time. But now, as he watched you—his beloved, his heart—grow more tired, more fragile with each passing day, he longed for something he could never have. He wished, more than anything, that he could turn back time, that he could change the rules of fate, and grant you the same immortality that he had been blessed with. But he knew this was impossible. He had known from the start, from the moment he had fallen in love with you, that this was the price he would pay. And yet, knowing it did nothing to ease the ache within him now.

✶ As the years wore on, Elrond tried to focus on the moments, on the love you shared. He lived for the quiet evenings by the fire, the shared laughter, the moments when you would walk together through the gardens, your hand in his, your voice filling the spaces between the rustling leaves. He cherished the mundane, the small, beautiful things that often went unnoticed. He would often find himself gazing at you as you spoke, your voice soothing his restless heart. He would listen to you tell him of your hopes, your dreams, the little things that made up your mortal life, and he would hold onto each word as though it were a treasure.

✶ In the quiet moments when the two of you would sit together, reading, or in deep conversation, Elrond would push the future aside, focusing solely on the present. You spoke of the life you had lived, and of the life you still hoped to live, and you shared your stories of the world, of the beauty you had seen. These moments were everything to him—his heart was full in these precious intervals of time, and he would give anything to stretch those moments, to keep you by his side for just a little longer.

✶ But the inevitable truth would always return, creeping in like a shadow in the corner of his mind. There would be a moment when he would see you—your face pale, your movements slower, your strength fading—and the ache would return, sharp and relentless. It was then that Elrond’s heart would break all over again, as he realized that no matter how much love and care he poured into every moment with you, there would come a day when the passing of time would take you from him.

✶ And yet, despite the pain, despite the grief that clung to every passing day, Elrond never let go of you. He refused to. He held onto you, fiercely and without reservation, because he knew that this love—your love—was worth every moment of suffering that might come. The years might take you, but they could not take away the love you had shared, the memories that had been forged in fire and warmth, and the quiet promise that no matter what, he would always carry a part of you with him.

✶ When the time came—and it would come, as it always did—Elrond would be ready. Not because he had accepted it, but because he loved you, and that love would remain even when the world had moved on. He would hold onto you, always, knowing that every moment spent with you had been worth more than all the centuries he had lived.

✶ And so, he would cherish the time left, every second, every heartbeat, until the inevitable came. Even in his sorrow, he would find peace in the knowledge that he had loved you truly, deeply, without regret. In the end, the love that had bound you together was the truest, most eternal thing in a world full of fleeting moments.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

My hand aches from all the writing I’ve done, but it was completely worth it. It was so deep tears streamed down my face when I was writing like this, so honest and profound, feels like diving into the core of my soul. It’s painful yet beautiful goddamm wish it wasn’t fictional characters love to he their in middle earth. 🫶🥹❤️‍🔥

But enjoy my dearies. 🙏

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

567 notes · View notes

earthlybeam · 5 months ago

Note

Hello! can I please request elves not knowing our language well enough like innuendos or slang and getting the reader flustered by saying something double meaning ..😏😏😏 (like sleeping together spicy or not)

Apologies for the delay—I’ve been working on this in bits and pieces. I wasn’t sure which character you had in mind, so I went ahead and worked on my main three I write for. If you’d like me to focus on a different character, feel free to leave a comment or request it directly. Hope you enjoy!

↓

Thranduil, Elrond, Gil-galad Version below.

🍷𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓾𝓲𝓵 (two versions below)

(First one)

The air around you is cool, a refreshing contrast to the lingering heat of the day. You stand near the tranquil waters of the forest stream, looking out at the setting sun filtering through the trees. The serenity of Mirkwood feels almost overwhelming, the world slowed down to the soft rustle of leaves and the occasional bird call. You feel yourself relaxing—until a familiar presence at your back reminds you that this stillness is about to be broken. You hear the soft crunch of leaves beneath boots before Thranduil’s voice reaches you, smooth and unhurried. “You look worn, my guest,” he remarks, his tone soft yet authoritative, like he’s seen the fatigue in your posture from a distance. You turn to face him, the King of Mirkwood, his figure standing tall and imposing, yet there’s something unexpectedly gentle in the way he regards you. “I could make you feel so good with just a little pressure, you know,” he says, his voice low and oddly intimate, a slight, lingering pause in the air between his words. His fingers graze the bare skin of your shoulder, the touch so light it’s almost like a whisper of contact. But that small touch carries more weight than it should. You swallow, caught off guard by the sensation, a shiver running through you at the lightness of his caress. His fingers press just enough to leave a warmth lingering, a promise that extends far beyond the simplicity of his words.

“Trust me enough to let me,” he adds, and it’s almost a challenge, though not in the way you’d expect. There’s a quiet command in the suggestion, the kind of confidence that comes from a ruler who knows the power of his own allure. His words hang in the air, curling into your thoughts like a slow, intoxicating pull. You open your mouth to respond, but something in his gaze stops you. His eyes—always calculating, always observing—lock with yours, and suddenly, everything feels far more personal, far more intimate than it should be. Your heart beats faster, a fluttering in your chest that you don’t quite understand. It’s not just the offer of a bath, not really. It’s the way his fingers linger, almost imperceptibly, against your skin, as though waiting for you to make the next move, to decide what happens next. Your thoughts race, clouded by an undercurrent of something you don’t know how to define. Did he mean it the way you think he did?

Your cheeks flush, a crimson warmth spreading across your face. You try to compose yourself, to steady your breathing, but the heat of his touch refuses to fade. You find yourself unable to meet his gaze, unsure whether you should speak or remain silent. You didn’t expect this kind of attention, not from someone so regal, so commanding. And certainly not from someone who feels like an enigma wrapped in a thousand years of experience. Thranduil watches you closely, an unreadable expression passing over his features. He doesn’t comment on your flustered silence but offers you a small, almost knowing smile, his gaze never leaving yours. Without saying another word, he turns and begins walking toward the hidden pathway leading deeper into the trees.

“Come,” he says softly, his voice still smooth but with a certain undertone of reassurance, as if he is guiding you rather than commanding you. You hesitate for just a moment, unsure of whether to follow, but you find your feet moving behind him almost instinctively. There’s a curiosity gnawing at you, a mix of confusion and anticipation, as you trail after him through the thickening forest. The path grows quieter the further you venture, the sound of the forest dampened by the thick canopy above. You walk in silence, the tension from before lingering in the air, until you come to a secluded stone chamber, the entrance concealed by thick vines and foliage. Thranduil steps aside to allow you to pass, his gesture graceful, yet his eyes are still focused on you—unwavering, assessing.

The room before you is bathed in a soft glow, the flickering light from several candles casting long shadows against the stone walls. In the center of the room, a large pool of water waits, steam rising from its surface. The scent of lavender and something musky fills the air, calming and inviting, a sharp contrast to the electric tension that still crackles between you. It’s only then that you realize exactly what he meant by his earlier words. The bath. The pressure. It’s not just a physical offering—it’s something more intimate, more vulnerable. Your eyes widen in realization as you glance back at him. He’s still watching you, waiting for you to come to terms with the situation. The flush on your cheeks deepens as the realization sinks in.

Thranduil’s gaze softens for a moment, though his confidence never wavers. “I find that a long day’s journey is best followed by a moment of true relaxation.” He speaks with such ease, as if this was a perfectly normal offer, but you can’t shake the underlying tension between the two of you. You stand there for a moment, at the threshold of the bath chamber, a part of you wanting to turn and walk away, to ignore the way his presence fills the room and how you suddenly feel as if you’re being held in a delicate balance. But you don’t. You step forward, drawn by a force you can’t explain, still unsure of what exactly you’ve stepped into. Thranduil’s voice breaks through your thoughts, warm and deep as ever. “Don’t worry. I will make sure the waters are to your liking.” His hands, smooth and practiced, reach for the edge of the stone basin, and you feel his gaze on you like a tangible thing, though his tone remains gentle, almost reassuring. You realize in that moment that whatever you had imagined this encounter would be, it’s nothing like what you’ve expected. It’s far more intimate, more intimate than you were prepared for, but something tells you, as his eyes flicker to you once more, that this moment—whatever it is—might be just the beginning of something far deeper than you had anticipated.

(Second one)

Thranduil’s presence surrounds you, a palpable force that draws you closer with every step you take. His steps are measured and calm, but there’s a magnetic energy in the air that leaves you feeling disoriented, as if your very thoughts are caught in a haze. You follow him instinctively, your mind still tangled in the weight of his words, which seem to echo through the space in your mind, growing louder and heavier with each passing moment. As you walk, you can feel his gaze on you, unwavering, almost predatory in its intensity. The air between you two is thick with something unspoken, a quiet tension that sets your heart to racing. You can’t seem to escape it—the way he moves, the way he speaks, the way his words weave a spell around you, drawing you deeper into his influence. “I could show you how to be truly loyal,” he says again, his voice smooth, each syllable slipping over you like a velvet caress. But this time, the weight of his words hits you differently. The phrase itself, at its core, seems simple enough. Loyalty. You’ve heard the word before, perhaps from your own lips or from those of others. It’s meant to convey trust, duty, service. But in his voice, there’s something more—a hidden layer that twists the meaning, that turns it into something else entirely.

The way he says it, so slow, so deliberate, sends a shiver down your spine. You almost feel as if the word has taken on a life of its own, as though it’s no longer about allegiance or honor, but something far more personal, far more intimate. It’s as if he’s promising you something, something you’re not entirely sure you’re ready for. His words hit you like a spark in a dry field, igniting a fire you can’t quite control. Your breath catches in your throat as you realize that his suggestion is more than just about loyalty in the sense you’ve known. It carries a weight, a pull that makes your pulse quicken, your chest tighten, and your mind start to wander down paths it shouldn’t be going. Your face flushes, the heat creeping up your neck, as you begin to wonder if he’s implying something far more sensual. Loyalty? you think to yourself. It seems innocent, but the way he said it… the way his voice lingers on each syllable—there’s a darkness to it, a quiet invitation that feels charged with promise. You’ve been around the king long enough to know that he’s not a man of simple words. Every sentence feels calculated, every glance laced with purpose. The thought of loyalty becomes something else entirely in your mind. It shifts from the idea of service to something more personal—more visceral. Your stomach tightens, a flicker of something stirring deep inside you as your thoughts race down that path. What did he mean? The heat in your cheeks intensifies, and you find yourself stumbling over your own thoughts, as though your body is reacting before your mind can make sense of it all.

His gaze never wavers, watching you closely, as though he can sense the confusion, the uncertainty, the sudden shift in your demeanor. That knowing smirk pulls at the corner of his lips, and the flicker of something darker, more dangerous, dances in his eyes. It’s a look that says he knows exactly what he’s doing, exactly how his words are landing on you, and it makes your heart race even faster. He tilts his head slightly, a motion so small, so imperceptible, that it only serves to draw you in further. He’s watching you closely, his eyes scanning your face for the smallest change, for that flicker of recognition. The tension between you thickens, a quiet storm gathering on the horizon. He’s waiting, and you can feel it, the expectation hanging in the air like a breath held just out of reach.

“Would you let me?” His voice is soft, almost soothing, but there’s an undeniable edge to it. An authority that lingers in the command. The question itself, the way he asks it, is layered, rich with implications you aren’t entirely sure you’re ready to face. His words drift through the space between you, thick with that unspoken promise, and for a moment, it feels as if time itself has stopped. You can feel the weight of it, the anticipation hanging heavy in the air. The flush on your cheeks deepens, and you swallow hard, unsure of how to respond. His presence, the way his words have wrapped themselves around your mind, has left you breathless. You’re not sure if you’re responding to the promise of loyalty in the way he means it, or if you’ve misinterpreted it entirely, your thoughts racing into dangerous territory. But Thranduil, ever the observer, sees the shift in you—the way your breath quickens, the subtle tension in your shoulders, the flush in your cheeks—and it only serves to further amuse him. He’s playing with you, testing the boundaries of your control, and you can’t help but feel as though he’s already won.

Thranduil steps closer, his presence overwhelming as the air between you seems to narrow, charged with something unspoken. His smirk deepens, a subtle curve that holds both amusement and intrigue, as though he’s unraveling every thought tumbling through your flustered mind. “You’re trembling,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a tone that feels like silk brushing against your skin. His hand, so light yet deliberate, grazes the barest edge of your wrist. The touch is fleeting, almost innocent, but it sends a wave of heat coursing through you. His gaze sharpens, watching as your lips part slightly, caught between a breath and a response you can’t seem to find. “Don’t worry.” His words are a low purr now, each one carrying a weight that presses down on you. “I’ll show you exactly how to handle it.” Your chest tightens at his phrasing, the suggestion hanging heavy in the space between you. He seems so certain, so effortlessly calm, while your thoughts spiral deeper into dangerous territory. The confidence in his tone, the commanding edge laced with that undercurrent of promise, leaves you unsteady on your feet. You know—you know—he means something else entirely, but the way he says it… your cheeks burn hotter, and you can’t stop yourself from imagining something far more intimate.

📜 𝓔𝓵𝓻𝓸𝓷𝓭 (two versions below)

(First one)

The sun had set, casting a gentle twilight glow over the valley of Rivendell. The golden light reflected off the rushing water that wound its way through the valley, bringing with it a sense of calm. The two of you had taken a stroll earlier, as you often did, your arm linked with Elrond’s as you walked side by side, occasionally exchanging soft words or comfortable silence. But now, the day had worn down, and you found yourselves in the quiet warmth of Elrond’s study, where the glow of the fireplace danced over the high, arched stone walls. He had been seated at his desk, reading through scrolls of ancient knowledge, but his attention shifted to you as he noticed the slight tension in your shoulders. You were curled up in a chair, your legs tucked under you, and your posture stiff. The weight of the day—of your thoughts, of your quiet anxieties—had settled on your body, making you uneasy. You hadn’t realized how tense you were until Elrond’s gentle gaze swept over you. His piercing eyes softened in concern.

As the leader of Rivendell and one of the most ancient of the Elves, Elrond had seen countless expressions, heard many words, and understood much of the hearts and minds of those around him. But the slight crease of your brow, the tension in your shoulders—these things spoke to him without words, louder than any speech could convey. He stood from his desk, his movements deliberate and calm, yet there was a tenderness in the way he approached you. “Mellon nín,” he murmured, his voice low, “You carry the weight of many thoughts this evening.” He moved closer, his presence filling the space, a steady, comforting warmth. The proximity between you both—just a step away—was enough to send a quiet ripple through the air. He was a tall figure, regal in his manner, and yet now, he leaned down slightly, his gaze fixed on you with both understanding and something softer.

He knelt down beside your chair, his hand resting lightly on the back of it. His fingers brushed the delicate fabric of your sleeve, the touch of his skin just enough to draw your attention to the closeness, the subtle pull between you. “You’re so tense,” Elrond said, his voice carrying an innocent sincerity, unaware of how his words might be interpreted. He leaned in slightly closer. “Shall I massage you? You’ll feel much looser under me.” The words slipped from his lips in perfect sincerity, his intent to ease your discomfort pure, but they hung in the air between you both, carrying a double meaning that left you with a quick breath. The way his gaze lingered just a moment too long made your heart skip. Elrond, for all his wisdom and centuries of experience, seemed blissfully unaware of the innuendo his words had inadvertently conjured.

Your breath hitched at his words, a flush rising to your cheeks as his innocent suggestion landed. You knew Elrond, knew how his mind worked, and yet there was something in the way he spoke to you—so direct, so matter-of-fact—that it felt a little too intimate, a little too close to the edge of something deeper. His words were innocent enough, the kind he would offer any guest in need of comfort or care, but his proximity—the warmth of his hand just behind your shoulder, the way he was bending just slightly to meet your gaze—made everything feel… different. You shifted in your seat, feeling the heat in your cheeks. The space between you both, so often a comforting familiarity, now felt charged. His deep, velvet voice, his gaze steady and soft, seemed to understand exactly where you needed to feel safe, but in that moment, his words somehow stoked the fire of your own flustered thoughts.

Trying to compose yourself, you cleared your throat, offering a forced smile, but the playful glint in his eye made it hard to keep your composure. “Elrond…” you began, but your voice faltered slightly, unsure whether to address his words directly or to brush it off. His brows furrowed ever so slightly in concern. “Did I say something wrong?” You hesitated, looking at him. His earnest expression was almost too much to bear. He truly did not seem to realize the effect his words were having on you. How could he, when his understanding of language was so direct, so innocent? He had always been somewhat naïve to the nuances of human interaction—those sly little jokes or innuendos that often slipped past him. “No… No, it’s nothing,” you said quickly, trying to regain your composure. “I just—wasn’t expecting it.” You laughed softly, but the flush on your skin remained.

A soft chuckle escaped him then, low and melodic, as he leaned in just a touch closer, his face now mere inches from yours. “Ah, Mellon nín, I meant only to ease your tension. I would never wish to cause you discomfort.” He reached out then, fingers gliding over the tense muscles in your shoulder, as if trying to physically soothe you. His touch was gentle, purposeful, and you couldn’t help but feel the unspoken understanding in the way he moved. Elrond was so tender, so deliberate in his every action. His closeness only amplified the heat that had begun to settle beneath your skin. “I will ease your discomfort,” he said quietly, his voice both reassuring and soft. As he leaned in just a little closer, his breath brushing your ear, the innocent nature of his words took on a different edge. For all his wisdom and poise, Elrond’s understanding of the subtleties of human relationships had its limits.

Yet, in his earnestness, he seemed to have unwittingly created a moment where closeness became more than just physical, but something more intimate, something personal. Something you weren’t sure whether to welcome or to shy away from. You exhaled slowly, trying to calm your racing heart. His presence, his touch, had the power to disarm you in ways you hadn’t anticipated. And yet, as you looked up at him, you knew—despite the growing warmth between you both—that there was something undeniably genuine in Elrond’s actions. He was here for you, as always, whether you needed the massage he offered, or whether you needed space to clear your thoughts. Still, the tenderness in his gaze, the soft, deep sincerity that flowed through his words, left you wondering just how much of his affection was truly as innocent as it seemed.

(Second one)

The room was quiet, save for the faint crackle of a fire in the hearth. The high stone walls of Rivendell’s training hall stood as a testament to the skill and discipline of its people, and tonight, you were once again in Elrond’s care. You had come here to learn, to train in the ways of combat and defense, and Elrond—masterful as always—had been a patient, dedicated teacher. His lessons, though often stern, had always been delivered with a quiet kindness. Tonight, however, there was something different in the air. You could feel it, a shift. Elrond had been watching you closely as you practiced your swordplay, your form becoming more fluid, more precise with each strike. You had improved under his guidance, but this evening, it felt as if he were less focused on the formality of training and more on the connection between you both. He stood behind you now, the weight of his presence almost overwhelming, his tall figure casting a long shadow over the floor. His hands were behind his back, watching intently, but there was a certain softness to his expression. A small, approving smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he observed you, the practiced ease with which you handled your weapon now a point of pride.

His gaze never wavered from you, studying your movements, the subtle fluidity of your form, the grace that was slowly becoming evident. You have done well, he thought, but the satisfaction of seeing your progress only deepened the quiet hunger to see more. To guide you further. To understand you more fully. He could feel your energy—a faint tremble in your stance as your muscles burned from the exertion, the focus in your eyes that spoke of a deeper engagement than simple technique. It was a connection that went beyond instruction. His voice, when it came, was soft, measured, and tinged with a warmth he often reserved only for those who proved themselves worthy of his trust.

“You’ve been such a good student,” Elrond said, his tone low, the hint of praise lingering in the air. “I can see the effort you’ve put in. Would you like to know what happens to those who please me?” He stepped forward, his presence drawing near. The words, though they could easily be interpreted as praise for your progress, seemed to hang in the air with an almost too suggestive quality. His smile lingered just a moment too long, and the glint in his eyes—the subtle flash of something darker, more possessive—suggested there was another lesson at play.

It was as if he were offering more than just guidance. As if his approval meant something deeper. Something he had not yet said aloud, but you could feel it nonetheless. His words echoed in the stillness of the room, and for a moment, the weight of the air between you both seemed to thicken. You straightened instinctively, unsure whether to respond with gratitude for his praise or to question the meaning behind his words. Elrond had always been so careful, so precise in his speech, that the unexpectedness of his tone took you by surprise.

At first, his statement appeared innocent, almost like a mentor’s simple acknowledgment of your hard work. But the way his smile curved at the edges, the way his eyes softened with that knowing glint—suddenly, you weren’t so sure. There was an unspoken weight in his voice, a shift in his demeanor that was hard to ignore. It felt as though there was more to this than mere praise for your training. He was closer now, his presence towering over you in a way that made your breath catch. His words—were they a test? An invitation? You couldn’t tell, but the air felt charged. You knew he was a master of more than just combat and wisdom; his understanding of people, of connection, was something that had always been subtle, even hypnotic. You could feel your pulse quicken as his proximity made the room feel smaller, more intimate. What happens to those who please him?

The question lingered, and you found your own thoughts flickering—should you ask him to clarify, or did you already know? Had you somehow crossed a line without realizing it? His quiet confidence, his effortless power, made everything seem so delicate, so easy, as if he could command anything with just a look. You swallowed, trying to steady yourself, but there was something about him that made it difficult to hold onto your usual composure. His praise was a rare thing, and you’d always known that earning it from him was something special. But now, the edges of his words seemed to promise something more—a lesson that could very well be more personal than you’d anticipated.

The silence between you two stretched, thickening the air. Your heart pounded against your chest as his gaze never left you, an intensity in his eyes that made it difficult to breathe. His words, though seemingly innocent, were loaded with meaning you couldn’t quite grasp. You felt your mind scrambling for something to say, something to break the tension, but all you could hear was the steady rhythm of your breath, growing faster with each passing moment. It happened before you could stop yourself. The words slipped from your lips, an unbidden response to his question—almost a whisper, but they were there, unmistakably. “Please you, my lord?” The moment the phrase left your mouth, you froze, feeling a rush of heat surge through your cheeks. The words had sounded so innocent, so formal in your mind, yet hearing them aloud, spoken directly to him, suddenly carried a weight you hadn’t anticipated. You hadn’t meant to say it like that, but there it was, and the immediate flush on your skin made it clear that you understood exactly how that could be taken.

Elrond’s expression didn’t falter. His lips remained curved in that knowing smile, though now, there was something in his eyes that made your pulse spike even further. He was no longer simply the patient teacher, the wise healer, the master of Rivendell’s ways. No, now there was something more, something darker, flickering just beneath the surface of his calm demeanor. His voice was soft when he finally spoke, but it was laden with a layer of amusement, as if he found your slip both endearing and… intriguing. “My, my,” he said, stepping even closer, his presence now almost overwhelming. His words felt like a caress against your skin, both gentle and possessive. “It seems you’ve already understood part of the lesson, though not quite in the way I intended.”

He leaned down slightly, his breath brushing your ear, and the proximity made everything inside you tighten, an unfamiliar tension pooling in your stomach. There was no escaping the look in his eyes now, the glint that told you he knew exactly what had just happened, and the way he was savoring the moment made you realize that the balance between your training and something else entirely had shifted. “I didn’t expect you to be quite so… eager,” Elrond murmured, the faintest trace of a tease in his voice. Your heart hammered, your thoughts in disarray. You had never meant to sound… that way. But now, it seemed your slip had opened a door to something you weren’t sure you were prepared for. His proximity, the heat of his gaze, the soft, commanding tone of his voice—it all swirled together, threatening to pull you into something deeper, more complicated.

You shifted uncomfortably, not sure how to respond. Did you try to correct yourself, explain it away? Or did you simply accept that your slip had led you down a path you might not have been able to turn back from? The answer, it seemed, lay in the tension that still hung heavy between you both, a tension that, for the first time, you weren’t sure you wanted to escape. Elrond’s lips quirked slightly showing his amusement, as if he were waiting for your response, patiently observing the way your mind worked to piece together the right words, or whether you would simply… remain silent, letting the moment unfold on its own. The choice, it seemed, was yours.

🏵️𝓖𝓲𝓵-𝓰𝓪𝓵𝓪𝓭 (two versions below)

(First one)

The small, dimly lit meeting chamber hummed with quiet tension. The heavy wooden door closed behind you, cutting off the noise of the bustling halls. A faint smell of polished wood and old parchment lingered in the air, but it did little to mask the energy that crackled between you and Gil-galad. He stood near the center of the room, his regal armor gleaming under the soft light from the high windows. Even in the stillness, his presence was undeniable. The way he stood, tall and poised, every inch the king—yet there was something about the way his eyes followed you, focused with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. You couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was, but something about this moment felt different.

Gil-galad’s gaze remained on you, calculating, as if he was measuring more than just your physicality. He’d always been a master of reading the room, and you could sense that, just as in battle, he knew exactly what kind of challenge to present to draw out your true strength. He stepped closer, the sound of his boots against the stone floor the only noise that broke the silence. “I would show you the full extent of my strength,” Gil-galad’s voice was low and controlled, but there was an undeniable edge to it—like the calm before a storm. His eyes never left yours as he continued, his words slow, deliberate. “But only if you can prove you’re worthy of it.” You blinked, momentarily stunned. Was this a challenge of combat? Or something more? There was a dangerous undertone to his words, one that made your heart flutter uncomfortably in your chest. He wasn’t just speaking about strength in battle. You could tell. The way he phrased it, the soft command in his tone, suggested that this challenge was more than physical. It was something deeper, something rawer. A game of wills, a clash of desires, emotions, and unspoken promises. Your body tightened, and before you could stop yourself, your mind wandered—unbidden—to places it shouldn’t. You thought of him not as a warrior but as a lover, the power that surged through him in a far different context. You imagined his strength, his solid frame pinning you against the bed, his hands gripping you with that same firm intensity he used in battle. The thought hit you like a sudden wave.

You found yourself blushing—a heat flooding your face that spread rapidly through your chest. You couldn’t look away, but you couldn’t stop the surge of thoughts either. Was that the kind of strength he was speaking of? Was he daring you to enter a different kind of battle? One where his strength would take on a far more intimate form? You felt a flush rise to your cheeks, your breath catching in your throat. Gil-galad, ever perceptive, saw the change in you immediately. His lips curled up into the faintest of smiles, but there was no hint of mockery—only a knowing look, as if he could read your thoughts more clearly than you ever could. His gaze deepened, and for a moment, he was still—waiting, watching, allowing the silence to hang in the air between you like a taut rope ready to snap. You swallowed hard, your pulse racing as his next words came with even more weight than before, his voice dropping an octave lower, more gravelly. “You think you can match my strength in more ways than one?” he said, his words slow, testing, his breath warm against your skin as he stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. “Prove it. Show me you’re worthy.” Your heart skipped a beat, and a wave of warmth rushed over you, thick and heavy. There was no mistaking what he was implying now, no ambiguity. Gil-galad wasn’t just offering a challenge of strength, he was inviting you into something far more intimate, a space where emotions, desires, and vulnerabilities tangled together.

You could feel the tension thickening, swirling between the two of you like an unseen force. His posture was perfect, commanding, yet there was a subtle shift in him now, something just for you. His eyes never left yours, daring you, waiting for you to respond. But the only thing you could feel was the heat in your chest, your lips dry, your body both frozen and yearning. How would you respond to a challenge like that? The words were barely on your lips, but before you could speak, Gil-galad spoke again, his voice softer now, but just as heavy with meaning. “I’ve seen your strength.” His voice was almost tender now, though still laced with that underlying edge. “But now I wonder… how far you’re willing to go to prove it.” You swallowed again, your mind a whirl of confusion and desire. He was daring you. But to what end? You couldn’t even find the words to explain how his presence, his strength, and his challenge had you reeling.

The silence stretched unbearably as your thoughts churned in disarray. Your heart pounded in your chest, so loud you were sure Gil-galad could hear it. The weight of his gaze, the intensity of his words, the challenge in his posture—all of it was too much. You wanted to respond, to summon some clever retort or steady reply, but nothing came. You simply stood there, caught in the maelstrom of emotions and desires he had so effortlessly stirred within you. Then, the corner of his mouth twitched into the faintest hint of a smirk, and he took another step closer, the faint sound of his boots on the stone floor breaking through the haze clouding your mind. Before you could retreat, his face was inches from yours, his tall frame towering over you as he leaned down slightly. His breath was warm against your skin, his voice low and teasing as he finally broke the silence.

“Earth to Y/N,” he said, a rare flicker of humor coloring his tone, though the intensity in his eyes never wavered. “Are you still with us, Y/N?” The words startled you, pulling you back to reality with a jolt. His tone was playful, but the proximity, the way his voice wrapped around your name, and the sheer force of his presence made your breath hitch. You tried to respond, but your tongue felt tied, your thoughts still caught somewhere between propriety and the wicked turn your imagination had taken moments before. “I—yes, my king,” you managed, though your voice cracked slightly. The heat in your cheeks deepened as you quickly looked away, but it was impossible to escape him. He didn’t move back. If anything, he leaned even closer, his presence utterly overwhelming.

“Good,” he murmured, his voice softer now, though no less commanding. “Because you seem… distracted.” Your eyes snapped back to his, wide and alarmed. His gaze searched yours, and there was no denying it—he knew. The faint smile that lingered on his lips told you that he’d read every thought that had crossed your mind, every inappropriate flash of imagery you’d tried so hard to suppress. “I—no, I’m not,” you stammered quickly, though you cursed yourself for how unconvincing you sounded. “Is that so?” he asked, his tone casual but his words deliberate, as if testing the weight of each one. He tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing. “Because for a moment, you seemed far away. Lost in thought. Or perhaps…” He let the sentence trail off, the silence more damning than any words he could have spoken.

Your pulse raced, and your knees felt weak as his gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that left no room for escape. You couldn’t tell if he was toying with you, testing you, or something more, but every inch of your body was hyperaware of him—his closeness, his strength, the sheer power he exuded even in such an intimate space. “I’m not distracted,” you said finally, though your voice lacked the conviction you so desperately wanted to project. He smiled then, a slow, knowing smile that sent another wave of heat through your body. “Good,” he said softly, his voice carrying the same weight it had before, but now laced with unmistakable amusement. “Because I’d hate to think my words went unheard.”

(Second one)

The air between you and Gil-galad seemed thicker than before, a charged stillness filling the dim chamber as if the very walls were listening. He stood before you, radiating a calm and calculated strength, his piercing eyes fixed on you with a weight that made your heart thunder. The subtle tilt of his head and the way his fingers rested lightly on the edge of the table spoke volumes, though his words were yet to come. There was an undeniable authority to him, but it wasn’t the kind of authority that demanded—it was the kind that commanded. “I know how to break a person,” he said at last, his voice low, steady, and smooth as molten silver. The words sent a jolt through you, not because they sounded cruel, but because of how deliberate they were—measured and intimate, like a confession meant only for your ears. “But I would much rather see you surrender willingly.”

The way he spoke made your mind falter, tripping over the multiple layers in his statement. Was he speaking of battle? Testing your defenses, your resolve? Or was this something else entirely? You swallowed hard, but your throat felt dry, and the faint heat already rising in your chest now rushed through you like wildfire. Your gaze darted to the floor briefly, unable to meet the intensity in his eyes, but the moment you did, the unbidden thought crept into your mind—a thought you couldn’t unsee. Surrender. The word seemed to echo in your mind, taking on a form all its own. Your traitorous imagination painted the image with startling clarity: you, on your knees before him, your head bowed in submission, not in defeat but in something far deeper, something raw and entirely outside the bounds of propriety. The thought burned through you like a brand, and you felt a flush creep up your neck and into your cheeks. You tried to push it away, to remind yourself of who he was and who you were, but his words… they lingered. The way he had said willingly felt too intimate, too knowing, and it unraveled you further. Gil-galad, perceptive as ever, noticed the change in your posture immediately. His gaze sharpened, his lips curving into the faintest smirk—not one of mockery, but of quiet understanding. “You hesitate,” he said softly, the corners of his mouth twitching upward, his tone low and coaxing. He took a step closer, the movement precise and deliberate, closing the already small gap between you. “I—” Your voice faltered, caught somewhere between protest and surrender, but the words wouldn’t come.

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” he asked, his voice quieter now, but somehow heavier with meaning. He tilted his head slightly, his eyes boring into yours. “What it means to surrender. What it would feel like.” Your heart leapt into your throat. He couldn’t possibly know what had just crossed your mind, could he? The thought was mortifying, but the way his voice dropped, the way his words lingered, made you wonder. “N-no, I wasn’t,” you stammered, though the heat in your cheeks betrayed you. “No?” he murmured, stepping even closer. His presence was overwhelming now, his height, his posture, the sheer weight of his attention all crashing down on you like a tide. He studied your expression carefully, and for a moment, you thought you saw the barest flicker of satisfaction in his gaze. “Then why are you blushing?” You froze, the words catching you off guard. Your lips parted, but no sound came out as you scrambled for a response that wouldn’t further incriminate you.

“Do not lie to me,” he said, his tone soft but commanding, a gentle nudge that stripped away your defenses. “You can deny it all you wish, but I see it. The idea tempts you, doesn’t it?” The weight of his words made your knees weak, and for a brief, terrifying moment, you wondered if he would notice if you truly sank to them now. The image in your mind surged forward again, unbidden and undeniable. You, kneeling before him, surrendering not out of defeat but because of the trust and power he exuded—because of the unrelenting pull you felt toward him.

Gil-galad leaned in slightly, close enough now that you could feel the heat of him, his voice dropping to a whisper that sent a shiver down your spine. “There is no shame in surrender,” he murmured. “Not when it is given freely.” Your breath hitched, and for a moment, all you could do was stare up at him, your pulse pounding in your ears. The weight of his presence, his words, his gaze—it was too much. You felt like you were unraveling beneath him, but the faint, knowing smirk on his lips suggested that he wouldn’t let you fall completely. At least, not until you chose to.

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