#lord of the rings reader's companion

[ellastone-olsen]

Could I request something Rhaenyra x Stark!reader smut with them being feral codependent soulmates? I love that trope. They would totally be unhinged and in love wives together plus the fire and ice parallels 😭 Like after Laenor “dies”, Rhaenyra’s goes looking for a new spouse and runs into Stark!reader and it’s just love/obsession at first sight?

My queen is cruel | Rhaenyra Targaryen

★Pairing: Rhaenyra Targaryen x fem!Stark!reader

Summary: your family comes from Winterfell to the capital at the invitation of the Targaryen family. Princess Rhaenyra announced that she would choose a new spouse. Your brother was a contender from the House of Stark, but it seems to the princess that another contender from the rulers of the north is more interesting.

★Warnings: NSFW 18+, soulmates dynamic, mentions of blood and alcohol, innocent reader, virginity loss, oral, fingering

★Word count: 3.1k

★AN: omg my first House of the Dragon fic, I hope I translated some titles and names correctly. Thanks for the request, it took me so long to write this, but I love Rhaenyra so much 💕

Rhaenys's bitter, heartbreaking cry is heard in the silence of the room. The woman looks at the burnt body that just a few minutes ago was her son. “Who allowed this?! Why wasn’t anyone around?!” Corlys embraces his wife in rage and grief. That day, sadness became the main companion of the grieving parents.

No one knows that on the shore, the one who is now considered dead is running towards the boat. Laenor Velaryon sails away to disappear forever from this life in which he was imprisoned. Rhaenyra gave him a chance at happiness and Laenor will not forget this.

Rhaenyra Targaryen is officially recognized as a widow. It is expected that rumors about the death of the princess's husband began to spread like a plague, from servants to other servants, and those to their families, from there the plague was transmitted to all seven kingdoms. Some believed in the official story, others, like the grieving mother, blamed the Targaryen family for everything, they said that the princess ordered the murder, that she was tired of her husband. But for Rhaenyra it was enough to know that this was absurdity and slander.

“So what are you going to do next?” Daemon approached unnoticed. Rhaenyra didn’t look at him, her gaze was directed far out to sea. "I think I'm looking for a new spouse." Damon thought the hint was crystal clear. He thought that she still wanted him, wanted to finish what they started that night all those years ago. “Rhaenyra...” He was interrupted, “No uncle, leave it alone. Kiss me and let me go. If you do not...” A ringing silence hung between them. The phrase did not need to be continued; he already understood it.

King's Landing was filled with lords, princes and princesses from all over Westeros. The royal family invited all the noble houses, announcing that the heir to the iron throne would thus choose a new life partner.

“I don’t understand why you took me with you.” Your carriage was approaching to the King's Landing. Your parents were, as always, calm and cool, as befits the Starks, the rulers of the north. Your younger brother looked around the windows excitedly, clearly excited about his first trip outside of Winterfell. “Your mother and I think that you also need to see the capital.” Your father, as always, spoke directly and to the point. You smiled bitterly. “Only we’re here to try to marry Rob to this pompous princess.” You didn’t hide your bias towards this whole thing, which was more like an auction. “Y/N just try to say something like that about the princess in public and you will disgrace the entire House of Starks.”

For the rest of the trip you rode in silence, only occasionally fiddling with the hilt of the sword hidden in a sheath under your heavy black coat. Perhaps you had a little curiosity about the princess. What does the one who will take the iron throne look like, against whom there was so much outrage just because she was a woman. You thought that she must be strong and stubborn just like her ancestors. The same as the previously lived Visenya about whom you once read.

The carriage stopped.

“Do I have to wear this? How will I take my sword with me?” Your mother stood in the chambers that had kindly been allocated to you and watched as a maid helped you lace up a black dress with antique long sleeves. “You don't need the sword today, honey. This is a royal ball and you are not a knight in service." You looked in the mirror, and even though dresses weren't something you wore often, it didn't look bad at all for your taste. Still, the velvet in tandem with the large fur coat that you took from Winterfell looked harmonious.

“But what if something goes wrong and I’m left without a weapon?” You insisted. After so many years of training, the sword became an extension of you, and going out without it was akin to death. "The Royal Guard will protect us all." Your mother tried to be gentle and calm your worries. The woman came up behind you and put her hands on your shoulders. “For just one evening, be a princess and not a rude warrior. For me." You covered her hands. "Okay, just for you."

All arriving guests entered the huge hall in turn, after which they were seated at long tables, which were bursting with an abundance of dishes kindly offered by the royal family. “The Starks of Winterfell,” the man shouted and your family entered the hall. You followed your parents straight to the table in the center, at which the Targaryen couple was already sitting with the king and that famous Princess Rhaenyra at their head. Finally, you were close enough that you could see a woman with dazzling white hair and sharp purple eyes. Your breath caught somewhere in the depths and you couldn’t look away. It seems at this moment the ice and skepticism inside you broke, burst into a thousand pieces. You had to lower your head according to the rules of etiquette, but you couldn’t tear yourself away from contemplation. And when she finally looked at you, when your eyes met, you realized that you had problems. “Your Grace, this is our son Rob and eldest daughter Y/N.” Your father, as the head of the family, introduced his children and added, “I hope that Rob can claim the place of your husband Princess Rhaenyra.”

At these words, you remembered why you were here and a little jealousy pricked somewhere in your chest. You were almost jealous of your brother. But who are you to be jealous, because you just met. This is all becoming too strange, but so tempting. You sat down and the evening began.

Wines of different varieties continually filled the glasses of rich gentlemen, everyone laughed, joked and discussed who the heiress would choose as her husband. The Lannisters were sitting next to you and you could hear snatches of greasy jokes about how their eldest son could have Rhaenyra in all poses. Anger boiled inside you, how could this bastard say such things about this woman. “And they also say that her sons are bastards, and she is a whore.” The loud laughter of the Lannisters infuriated you even more. “Then your house is no better for having sworn allegiance to a whore.” You thought you said it quietly, but they apparently heard you.

“I didn’t hear what the pup from Winterfell was barking just now?” Everyone who was at your table fell silent and the whole room also paid attention to this. “I said what I meant.” The man was already deeply drunk and clearly in the mood for a fight. He stood up and you stood up next, you were the same height. “If you are so brave, then say out loud what you think of the princess.” Rhaenyra's purple eyes watched your quarrel carefully, it would be a lie to say that she did not look at you all evening, knowing that all the men in this room would be denied. She definitely liked your spark and wanted to see what happened next.

“I said that her sons are bastards, and she is a whore.” The man said the last word slowly, syllable by syllable, everyone present was in suspense. King Viserys took out his favorite blade. "I'll cut out your filthy tongue." As soon as he finished the phrase, a knife, prudently hidden under a fur coat, appeared in your hand and pinned Lannister’s palm to the table. He tried to get it. “There are a lot of vital veins in this part of the arm; if you try to pull it out, you will bleed to death.” The white cloaks immediately drew their swords and stood ready. Rhaenyra's entire being was hypnotized in delight by your actions and words, at that moment she chose her spouse. The entire Lannister family stood up and was ready to tear you apart.

"Get them out." For the first time that evening, Rhaenyra's voice broke the silence of the event. The bastard's face lit up with a smile. “My princess, thank you...” But before he could finish speaking, the guards twisted his hands, pulling the knife out of his palm, causing the man to let out a bitter scream. The entire Lannister family was disgracedly eliminated from the feast; there was silence for several more minutes, only whispers were heard from different sides.

"What are you doing." Your father pulled you by the arm, urging you to sit down, and glared at you with eyes full of rage. “Your mother asked you not to take weapons with you.” “She asked not to take the sword, dear father.” Rhaenyra stood up. “Today, to our great regret, unpleasant and unacceptable events occurred for the royal court.” She paused, her gaze returning to you and a smile gracing her lips. “But let’s not let these events overshadow our holiday, let’s raise our glasses and have a feast.” The crowd cheered and raised their glasses as they praised Princess Rhaenyra's wisdom and resilience. The celebration continued until late at night, you drank several glasses of wine after the incident and by the end you were decently drunk.

All evening you kept looking at Rhaenyra, your head was filled with thoughts about how beautiful and wise she is, about how wrong you were, how you regret that you didn’t want to go to the capital. But then these euphoric thoughts were darkened by the fact of her imminent marriage to one of the men of these noble houses and perhaps even to your brother.

You headed to your chambers, every now and then passing by local servants. Your legs dragged you heavily, your mind only thought about taking a warm bath and washing away inappropriate thoughts about the heiress. The heavy door opened with a slight creak, letting you into the semi-darkness of the room. You thought that you asked the servants to extinguish all the candles, but for some reason they were burning. Your gaze caught on an unfamiliar figure standing with his back to you, and the knife that had recently been in the Lannister’s bastard was again in your hand, waiting to defend yourself from intruders.

"You're a little warrior aren't you?" A velvety voice broke the silence and the stranger turned to face you. You immediately lowered the knife. “Your Grace, forgive me, I didn’t know it was you.” You immediately bent your knee in front of her. You were absolutely at a loss and the whole situation was a little confusing, why was the princess, the heir to the throne, waiting for you in your chambers in the middle of the night? “No need for formalities, please stand up.”

She walked through your chambers looking at some of your personal belongings until she found the sword. “Oh, this is your main weapon, as I understand it, you don’t to swing a knife every time of course ...” she bent down to take a closer look at the sparkling silver blade. “Such a beautiful thing, to match the owner.” Her compliment made your already red cheeks flush. “Did you want to talk about what happened, Your Grace?” you desperately wanted to change the topic.

“Did your mother ever tell you the legend of soulmates?” You were dumbfounded by her question. “Your Grace, I don’t quite understand...” She continued to walk around the room. “Don’t they really tell such stories in the north?” Her tone sounded fakely upset. “They say I know one.” “Then tell me too.”

You didn’t understand anything, Rhaenyra Targaryen came to you at night to listen to fairy tales for children? Perhaps something was put in the wine and now you were hallucinating, but it seemed like everything looked real. The woman lit the fireplace and, unbecoming for a future queen, sat down on the soft fur in front of the fire. She looked up at you, inviting you to sit next to her, you obeyed. The crackling of logs, the heat of the fire and the soft floral perfume of Rhaenyra lulled to sleep.

“My mother... told me when I was a child that there was a belief...” you cleaned the throat. “That every person has their own soulmate, but not everyone is able to find it, it’s like a person who was created by the seven gods just for you.” Rhaenyra began to unravel her tight braid; her head began to hurt unpleasantly from her hairstyle. You watched out of the corner of your eye as her snow-white strands gradually fell onto her shoulders. “And how do you understand who exactly your person is?” She encouraged you to continue. “I don’t remember exactly, but they said that when you see him or her, you will immediately understand, just the first glance or the first meeting and…boom.” "Boom?" She asked again, not quite understanding your strange wording. "Yes." You were looking at the burning logs when Rhaenyra's hand covered yours. She has already unbraided her hair. “Do you want to brush them?” Something strange was clearly happening. But who are you to refuse, you nodded and took the wooden comb brought from Winterfell from the nightstand. Hands carefully took strands of silver hair and combed them, as if they would break from the wrong movement.

“Do you believe in this legends?” You thought for a second. “I’m not sure, or rather I didn’t believe it before, but now these fairy tales don’t seem so stupid to me.” You put comb down, combing all hair perfectly. “I don’t understand why these questions are asked, Your Grace.” Your head was a complete mess due to the mixture of alcohol and adrenaline caused by the woman next to you. “Please call me Rhaenyra.” She turned to face you. “You understand everything, little warrior, don’t lie to me.” The woman moved closer and closer until she placed one hand on your shoulder. "Your Grace...Rhaenira." She leaned in so close that her lips were almost touching yours. "I want you." You looked into bright purple eyes, which shone yellow in the firelight. “Tell me the wolf of Winterfell, do you want me?” Her perfume smelled so delicious, her soft skin, white as her hair, that the dress did not hide, begged to be touched, “I...yes please, I want you.”

Rhaenyra's lips touched yours, sharing the sweetness of the recently drunk wine. One of the woman's hands grabbed the collar of your velvet dress and began to pull it down your shoulders to free your soft breasts. She carefully laid you on your back, on the soft fur, holding the back of your head. Her lips moved to her neck, then to her shoulder and then wrapped around her pink nipple. The action caused you to place your hand on her head, stroking her silver hair. The princess's hands lifted the skirt of the dress to the waist and stroked the skin of your soft thighs. "Cute little thing." She giggled and touched your lips again. The kiss was untidy, but full of tenderness and desire. Rhaenyra relieved you of underwear, her fingers slipped inside without a barrier, you were completely wet, just for her, but then she remembered. “Is this your first time?” She stopped any action, waiting in horror for an answer. "Yes, my grace." Rhaenyra buried her nose in the crook of your neck and began to kiss you, whispering, “I’m sorry, I should have asked earlier.” Your hand rested on hers that was still between your legs. “Please continue, I want this more than anything.”

And she continued, gently pounding and curling her fingers to hit that sensitive spot inside that made you see stars and whine like a pup. "Rhaenyra, Rhaenyra, oh please my grace." Your hand touched the sensitive bud for additional stimulation. “Oh fuck, fuck...I'm gonna...” “Cum for me, cum for your queen.” Her movements became faster and clearer until you came, squeezing around her long fingers, biting your hand so as not to scream from the new sensations that she was giving you. She pulled out and showed you her hand, which sparkled in the firelight from your release, and then licked every last drop, causing your eyes to darken.

When you came to your senses, you stood up, only to strip completely and push Rhaenyra towards the bed, urging you to sit on it. "Please let me return the favor." You knelt in front of her, lifting the skirt of her dress up to expose her stockinged legs. Your lips kissed every centimeter of skin, no one worshiped it like you. When your mouth reaches her pussy, you notice that her arousal has left a wet mark on the bed linen. The tongue draws a line along the entire length, collecting her arousal, and the woman moans, lowering her hand to stroke your cheek. “My little savior, tell me, would you have killed him if I had not intervened?” You kiss her palm. "Yes my grace." And you hug her sensitive bud with your lips, simultaneously pushing three fingers inside, immediately picking up a fast pace. "Oh Gods!" She moans and screams without being embarrassed to be heard, the way you stretch her drives the woman crazy. “Fuck, that’s it!” and “Yeah right there, that’s my good girl.” You fuck her, trying to please your queen as best as possible and feel how she clench around your fingers. “Fuck fuck Y/N!” She cums, for a long time, and you fuck her through orgasm until she whines from overstimulation, asking her to stop.

You move onto the bed and lie on top of her again, kissing her. “I didn’t believe in soulmates until I saw you.” She hugs you, covering your naked body. You lie there, again inhaling the aroma of her perfume and not believing in the reality of what happened. “I would like to believe that it’s true,” she replies and you think.

“Have you already chosen someone to be your spouse?” You say this quietly, in a whisper. It was at this moment that you remembered why your family came here in the first place and how you may have acted meanly towards your brother. She laughs and you don't understand. "Yes, I chose you."

You lift your head sharply, looking into those purple eyes to see if she's deceiving you. “But...what if people are against it, what will you do?”

She thought about it, she knew that there would be dissatisfied people. “Then I will personally give Syrax the command to burn to the ground anyone who questions my choice.”

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

| When One Possesses A Thing | Aemond/Married!Reader

Summary: She arrives to the Red Keep immensely dissatisfied with her marriage. Aemond proposes an alternative | Word Count: 3.8k~ | Warnings below the cut!

Links to my Taglists: General Taglist | Aemond Targaryen Taglist

Warnings: mentions of being in an unhappy marriage, universe canon aversion of homosexuality, mentions of homosexuality being a sin, mentions of fertility, threats of death, voyeurism, breeding kink, size kink if you squint really hard, p in v sex

@ewanmitchellcrumbs Ty for reading this through first 😭

When Aemond was informed by his mother of the arrival of one Lord from the Riverlands, of whose name he could not even be bothered to remember, he’d merely turned his head away, resisting a shrug of his shoulders and expressing immense disinterest.

That was until, Aemond clapped eyes on his Lady wife. 

He observed as she often held back behind her husband, hands clasped at the front, her fingers glimmering with golden rings and wrists with intricate bracelets, as well as one particular necklace that hung daringly around her neck, the pendant lingering above the cut of her dress with the shadow of her cleavage beneath.

They had, of course, arrived in celebration of King Viserys’ upcoming nameday. Not an event Aemond could say for himself that he would enjoy with any degree of certainty. He knew Aegon would find any excuse to drown himself in his cups and leer at the accompanying wives of the elder Lords, and that Helaena would simply attend, but be preoccupied with her thoughts and imagination as she so often was.

The Lord himself was tall, but slender, as if he had not broadened from age. Aemond observed that he seemed sprightly but aloof. Several times he forgot to make the proper pleasantries and introduce his own wife. Her gentle, warm face did not flounder with embarrassment, but she simply smiled, curtsied and introduced herself with a smooth, honey-like voice. 

Her husband gave her a nod of the head, his mouth set into a frown as he whispered something to her as his companion threw his arm around the Lord and dragged him off to the closest place they could find wine. 

The look on her face made it seem like this was a regular occurrence. Her husband snubbing her in favour of spending time with his male friends, not really even bothering to ask what she would do to occupy herself in a new, strange environment. 

She slipped away like a whisper, a cloud of silks billowing behind her as she made for any spot within the Red Keep that might entertain her. Alone.

Several laps through the decorated hallways, brushes through the gardens and wanderings past the Library later, she soon found herself face to face with the skull of a dragon, hung high above a table thick with candle wax, hardened from the years of merely replacing them. The stench of tallow was overwhelmed somewhat by the dampness of the cavernous space, and the smoking incense placed at each corner of the table.

The skull was enormous. Bigger than any animal she had ever seen on land. Those big sockets where its eyes used to be staring down at her, sucking her into its world of rich histories and conquerors. 

“My Lady”

The echo of Aemond’s voice did not make her jump, but it did steal her attention, her waves rolling over her shoulder as she turned to see the source. 

He could not help but marvel at her grace and the way her dress, so traditionally worn, happened to hang off her body in the most tempting of ways, emphasising her womanly curves. Though he had one eye, he himself could not miss the pressing of her breasts against the front of her corseted garment. 

“My Prince” she greeted in the same manner of tone as him, her lips turning upwards almost indistinctively as she gave a polite curtsy. He gave her a small bow back, intrigued. 

He took wide, calculated strides towards her into the candlelight. And she watched as his form came out of the darkness, his silver Targaryen hair illuminated by the warmth around them.

“Do you know his name?” he asked, in a manner that insisted he might have been testing the young woman.

“Of course” she answered calmly, “Balerion. Ridden by Aegon the Conqueror, was he not?”

Aemond bowed his head, one eyebrow twitching, as if he had not actually expected her to know. This Riverland bound beauty was a surprise at every turn. He did not respond, feeling his expression was enough.

And it seemed she understood, as she smiled.

“I am no historian, my Prince. But it is difficult to feign ignorance to the victories that have been written of Targaryens”

He bit back a grin. Feeling his ego inflate somewhat.

“So you read then, my Lady?”

She cocked her head, “You seem surprised”

“Not surprised” he answered immediately, standing a good distance from her, “Merely intrigued”

He watched with further interest how her eyes were level with his chest, and how they dragged from the dragon-embellished doublet, over his neck, and to his gaze again.

“I do indeed enjoy reading” she mused, as if the suggestion she did not would have offended her.

“Only history?”

“Of all genres” she adds, with a knowing smile, “All such subjects are of interest to me”

They fell into comfortable silence, listening to the wafting of the candle flames whipping in the soft breeze. 

Her shoes clicked in a satisfying way as she turned back to the great skull.

“The King rode the Black Dread, did he not?”

Aemond fought back the urge to kiss his teeth, feeling as if at this moment, as he was lusting for the woman stood beside him, how much he did not want to think about his father.

“He did”

She turned to him, perhaps recognising the lack of affection in his reply.

“I suppose it is of no great merit to you, my Prince. As you claimed Vhagar after all”

“Vhagar is my pride” he answered, feeling warmth inside him as she recognised his efforts, one which cost him his eye. 

“As all dragons should be to Targaryens” she offered, “she is certainly a marvel. My Lord husband can barely tame a horse”

He laughed through his nose at her quip. Being able to envision the moment exactly as she described it. 

“And pray tell, how long have you been wed, my Lady?”

He almost regretted asking, seeing how her smile suddenly disappeared from her face. Like the sun had gone behind a cloud. She looked down, preoccupied with smoothing down her dress.

“Several years now”

“And no children?” he adds, watching the way she bites her lip, thinking he cannot see it.

“My husband does not enjoy the act of procreation”

His head tips at her reply. Perhaps not having expected her to be so honest.

“And what does your husband enjoy doing?”

Sighing distantly, her eyes ticked over to him, “Riding”, she replies simply.

His lips part to reply, and yet he does not have time to interject.

“Other men at least”

Silence falls between them at the weight of what she’s said. 

"A fact he conveniently kept hidden from me until marriage, I may add".

For a moment he is unsure what to say, as she stands, a sad, resigned smile on her face, waiting for him to reply.

“I see”

Absentmindedly, she wanders along the table, her hand running over the hardened wax.

"I care not of his affections for men. I only care that he does not conjure up the respect for me as he does his bedfellows" she sighs, “though as I am sure you understand, my Prince. As his wife, I must support him”.

“Even if what he does is a sin?”

It’s like she had expected that question. Something akin to a grimace appearing, “Even that”.

She sighs, “I must bear the brunt of the rumours surrounding my fertility and commitment to my marriage. Protect myself, where my husband cannot”.

“He does not protect you?”

“If we are speaking plainly, my husband rarely acknowledges my existence” she answers, her fingers playing nervously with one another, “more a hindrance than say, a life partner”.

“Then, if I might be so bold to say, you are doing more of your own duty than he is. The scales are unbalanced, so to speak”.

Her head raises to look at him, something playful lighting up her features, “And what is a husband’s duty?”.

“To protect his wife, of course”

She pauses. Knowing she cannot disagree to that. 

In any normal marriage, that is exactly what she would expect.

“And a wife’s is to provide him with children”

“That is no fault of yours, if you are to be believed” he raises an eyebrow. Attempting despite his nature, to be somewhat comforting.

She smiles again, laughing half-heartedly, her hand slipping from the table to wander about the room, trying to free herself from the stifling feeling of being close to him.

He remembered reading a book of loose morals, which at the time he recalled feeling indifferent towards, about the late Lady Coryanne Wilde, detailing her multiple escapades of lovers, indulging in the desires which had long been suppressed by women before and after her. 

“And you do not seek pleasure elsewhere?” he asked, hoping the suggestion would not offend her. But if he had studied her well enough in this short time he’d known her, he was confident it would not.

She smiled, her head lowered to the candles on the opposite side of her table. Her face illuminated warmly.

“Gossip is a ghastly thing” she stated, “Once a small fire is started then my dishonourable actions only fan the flames. I do not wish to be the subject of such disapproval, as I already am in my Lord’s eyes. And perhaps the Gods too”

“And yet, your husband has a lover”

Not a question, and her gaze averted at the tone of the statement. 

“His advisor. And childhood companion” she nods.

“In my view, it is only fair that he allow you to seek one”

“Perhaps that is where you are mistaken, my Prince. For I am the one with the womb” she responded, “therefore, I must bear the humiliation along with it”. 

Her gaze longingly lowered, and it did not go amiss that it happened to graze over his tall, broad form.

"In any case, it does not matter. Any children we would have had would be his, not mine"

That was true as well, Aemond mused. 

"His heirs. His future.

"By refusing to allow me to give him children, he is only doing more damage to his own house. 'Tis of no consequence to me".

She had done one lap of the large, candle adorned table. 

"You seem perfectly resigned to your fate, my Lady"

She hums. Standing before him, his eye raked over her, yearning for her, having had such an intelligent conversation with her. 

"Perhaps I am. My husband is young. Barely half a decade older than I" she says, "it stands to reason, I may be tied to him for quite some time".

Aemond cannot argue with that, try as he might.

Everything she has said so far, has been sensible. 

So he nods, "now, that is a sad thought" he muses.

It was only then either of them had realised how quiet their conversation had become, and how low his voice was when he spoke to her. It was difficult to deny how close they were to one another, in a manner most unbecoming of a single man and a married woman. 

And yet neither of them moved away.

It was unfortunate, her situation. And though he knew it might have been wrong of her to simply sit idly by, while her husband amused himself with his male lover, he could not find it in himself to reproach her. 

“Am I not how you envisaged, my Prince?”

He fought the urge to chuckle, “Not in the slightest”.

She bit her lip, to fight back a smile, realising perhaps she was doing so too much in his presence.

“That I was an intemperate wife, refusing to perform my duties? That I am barren, and incapable of giving him heirs?”

He felt his hands form fists behind him. 

“I would not think such things”

“Hm” her eyes once again went over him in a way that made him go all warm, “You are not how I envisaged, either”.

“How so, my Lady?” Aemond asked, amused that she had formed her own opinion before properly meeting as well.

"Many at court say you are tempestuous. Stubborn. Proud" she says, "and you very well may be all of those things. All pejorative descriptors. And yet…there is something else".

He wanted to laugh at that. Of course the other Ladies at Court had opinions of him that were unsavoury, given his common disposition. 

"I can be all those things, it is true" Aemond replies, "above all those, some say I am too particular. That I require too much in a person to respect them".

She tipped her chin up, meeting his gaze head on, but also emboldened by what she perceived was an intimate conversation.

“And what is it you require?”

He licked his teeth, smiling, watching her eyes as she stares at the way his lips turned upwards. As if entranced. 

“A wit” he states, “a passion” he purrs.

The tone does not go unnoticed. Aemond watches with satisfaction as she swallows thickly, now seemingly uncomfortable standing still on the spot. Her breasts pressed repeatedly and steadily against the corset of her dress as her breathing picked up.

“"And is that what you desire? Someone to match your wit? Your passion?"

All the air was thick in the room as he took one careful step forward, leaning over her, now able to see more of the shadow of her cleavage beneath the silks. Her cheeks bloomed with colour, but she dare not move off her spot.

“Perhaps”.

He could hear her breath. Like he was tuned to it already. The humming of her blood beneath her flesh felt invigorating, and for one brief moment, Aemond allowed himself to wonder what it would be like to sink his teeth into her, to taste her. To try and sense who she really was, what her desires were.

She shivered at his warm breath at the side of her face.

“"I could protect you, my lady" he whispers, blinking longingly, voice like the purr of a cat, "your husband cannot".

"If you were mine, you'd not want for desire. Nor affection. I would keep you round with child, you’d be such a beautiful mother with my heir inside you”.

She gasps at the blatancy of it, for they had for several moments danced around such a subject, in favour of decorum and manners. And now her chest rose and fall steadily with every utterance, "I am a married woman-"

"To a man who does give a shit about duty. About you" he counters, “nor your desires”.

“‘Tis not my husband’s nocturnal activities that vex me, my Prince, it is his lack of respec-”

"I would have you. Respect you. Ravage you"

For a moment, her mouth slams shut, fearing that her reaction to his flagrant desire for her would expose her.

“A good gentleman. A good man…rises above such mortal things as lust".

There she goes again, trying to be the ever-good wife to her husband, who even now, perhaps does not even know her true whereabouts. 

"Then perhaps I am not a good man" he replies, "and perhaps it is not merely lust".

"What then?" she asks quickly. 

There is a beat. Aemond wets his lips, watching as she trembles at his proximity. Each breath wafting the curls either side of her face.

“Intrigue”.

She swallows again, attempting to brush off the heavy tension with a half-laugh, “I'm afraid intrigue does not free me of my situation, my Prince".

Aemond hums, righting himself to full height, not stepping away from her, but rather using his size to his advantage by having her crane her neck to meet gazes. With a simple shuffle of his boots, he manages to manoeuvre her body without touching her, doing exactly as he planned and forcing her own feet to stagger backwards.

"Then how unfortunate it would be, for a terrible accident to befall your husband".

Her wide eyes caught the light of the candles as her back met the adorned table.

He did not stop coming towards her. 

Not until he was so close, that one exhale, and he would be pressed flush.

Her cheeks bloomed once more for him.

Aemond feigns a thoughtful expression, “Infection, as a result of injury?” he questions, “No. Too slow”.

The air felt humid and she felt her core clench around nothing realising what he wanted. 

Aemond’s large palms, even through the layers of silks, felt as if they were branding the very skin of her thighs as he lifted her onto the table. 

"Perhaps paying a servant to poison his wine?"

She made no protest, her eyes glimmered with anticipation when she felt his calloused, sword-worn fingers drift along her calves to lift her skirts. The air, though warm, prickled at her flesh merely at the idea of what he planned to do to her.

“I know” he smiled, watching as she gasped sharply as he pulled her thighs towards him, standing between her outstretched legs as they squeezed his hips.

“Thrown off his horse and trampled to death?"

He dragged his nose over her cheek, watching her eyelashes flutter at the sensation, his fingers digging into the meat of her thighs, dying to rip her smallclothes to shreds.

He whispered, placing a loud, open-mouthed kiss to the space between her ear and neck. She shivered in his touch, though not revealing any intimate part of her body, she felt very much as if he had peeled back her being, and stared into her soul.

“A fitting end”.

She exhaled with difficulty, feeling it catch in her throat as Aemond teasingly wrapped two fists around her smallclothes and tore without mercy to the fabric. 

He raised his head only slightly, to see the reaction he had extracted from her.

Her eyes were shut, her lips parted for breath.

"Gods, you look like a maiden when I touch you" he whispered appreciatively.

A pitiful moan fell from her lips as Aemond drew two digits up her womanhood, collecting the slick he knew would be there on his fingertips. Her hand tightened on his leather-clad arm, needing somewhere to express this overwhelming feeling.

"It is because it is you who has touched me like this for the first time".

His eye darkened, the colour eclipsed by black.

“Your husband has not even touched you?”

She shook her head softly, now revealing what embarrassment she had desperately kept inside for so long.

“The marriage was consummated…but that was all…” she answered through hurried breaths as Aemond drew patterns on her pearl with the aid of her wetness, "he would not touch me after that..."

"And you did try, didn't you? To tempt him? Like a good little wife?"

"Y-yes...but he refused..." she answered, her voice wavering, "...he would not even share a bed with me..."

He chuckled, "Then we had best make this a memorable occasion, then. My Lady”.

Having used his other hand to unlace his breeches, he released his cock, groaning with relief as he stroked himself, squeezing arousal from the ruddy tip.

Nobody was more surprised than Aemond, when his lady reached down between them to stroke him with smooth, languid motions, her hand in opposition to his, barely encircling his length. 

Their hedonistic expressions met. His breath coming in short bursts with every squeeze of her palm around his throbbing arousal. 

“I do not wish for him to die” she breathed, her voice heavy, “only for him to disappear. So that I may pursue my own happiness”.

He cocked his head.

“I do not wish to be a murderer”.

She was quite a woman, Aemond thought. Having gotten him this close to having her, and only now making demands, as if he could refuse her.

He smirked.

“Then it shall be done”.

With the promise sealed, she guided his length between her legs, angling her hips up for him as his cockhead kissed her slick folds. Impatient as Aemond was, he moved forward in one motion, watching her throw her head back as he sheathed the entirety of himself within her. 

Her cunt squeezed his cock like a maiden, and yet she did not protest to his harsh treatment of her, in fact, spurring him on with the sounds she was making, clutching onto the front of him with every sharp, true and deep thrust of his cock into her. 

"Gods - you are as tight as a maiden - squeezing my cock so tightly - "

One hand stayed around her back to keep her flush to him, sliding up her spine, long fingers threading through her hair at the base of her neck and pulling on her for leverage, using his hold on her body to fuck himself into her. Her breasts, beneath her dress, ached to spring free from their passionate movements, jolting the gold necklace held snugly there.

Aemond was entirely entranced by the image he saw when he looked between them, his cock driving into her with fevor, glazed with her arousal and meeting her fleshy hips with a wet smack each time. 

“I’ll have my heirs inside you in no time, Princess” he whispered, pressing his lips against the column of her throat, parting them once in a way to nip at her tender skin, “you shall have everything you desire”.

Her half-lidded eyes opened, the pressure in her core building excessively at the force of him driving so quickly into her, in this position, pulling her onto his length aggressively, bullying a rough, pleasurable place inside her she was not able to reach herself. 

“What is it you desire, Princess?” he asks, his thrusts becoming somewhat stuttered and messy, his eye screwing shut as his body wound tight, ready to burst at any moment. His hair stuck irritatingly to his forehead and face, from the exertion of fucking her.

“You…Aemond - you...”

He grinned, increasing the intensity of his thrusts, watching her warmed cheeks and body jolting with each smack of his hips. He felt her cunt flutter around him and reached down to apply the same pressure as he had before to her bud, to which she let out a near choked-moan, one hand tightening onto his doublet and the other white-knuckled holding onto the table, emboldened by the act and the fact that they could be caught at any moment in such a disastrous position.

He watches with excitement as she peaks around his length, her cunt sucking him within her from the pressure of her destructive orgasm, just begging for him to spend inside her, and hopefully, in nine moons time, round and large with his heir.

With a choked, staggered moan of his own, Aemond grips her so tightly, she would surely bruise, as he spills himself inside her hot, wet cunt. Filling her impossibly and entirely with his hot, sticky spend, thrusting shallowly to ensure it is as deep inside her as possible. His cock throbs with utter desire, hearing the little mewls of moans still falling from her glistening lips. 

She whines softly when he pulls out of her, watching with intense satisfaction at how his arousal as well as hers has made her womanhood glisten.

“You will really do it?...” she asks, still catching her breath.

Aemond huffs a laugh, tucking his softening length back into his breeches, “For your sweet cunt, I am confident I would do anything”.

His Lady smiles back, exhaustedly, pulling her tattered smallclothes off her legs, watching with both confusion and brief fear when Aemond smoothes his silver hair down and walks away.

“Where are you going?” she asks after him, pulling her skirts down.

He half turns, flashing a signature smirk.

“To ask your husband and lover to join me on a hunt. My dear Princess”.

dividers by @firefly-graphics

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard | @bellstwd | @blairfox04 | @hb8301  | @jamespotterismydaddy | @mochi-rose | @nenelysian | @natty2017 | @randomdragonfires  | @risefallrise  | @theoneeyedprince  | @thelittleswanao3 | @tsujifreya  | @urmomsgirlfriend1  | @valeskafics  | @watercolorskyy

Aemond Taglist (1): @asp3nxx | @avidreader73  | @bellaisasleep

[shirefantasies]

Lord of the Rings Masterlist

(All works are x GN!Reader unless otherwise specified!)

☆ = Personal Favorite

ღ = Suggestive

꩜ = Humor

𖠋 = Parent AU

☮ = Platonic

Reactions/Scenarios

How The Fellowship Acts Around Their Crush

The Fellowship When Their Crush Cares For Their Wound ღ꩜

Napping With the Fellowship ☆

Calling the Fellowship Pretty

When You’re Naturally Physically Affectionate

When You Give Them Flowers ☆

Their Favorite Body Part of Yours ☆

When You Call Everyone Pet Names

When You’re On Your Period (F!Reader) ღ

What Type of Kisser is Each LoTR Character? ღ☆

Reaction to You Wanting Cuddles When Stressed

How They Confess to You ☆

With a People-Pleaser

Cold Hands, Warm Heart ☆

How Many Kids Do They Want? ☆𖠋

When You Have a Loyal Canine Companion

Things You Do Together ☆

Youngest Member is in a Courtship ☮

How the Fellowship Comforts You After a Nightmare ☆

The Fellowship Reacting to Your Fear of Heights

LoTR Characters + Physical Affection (Suggestive Version) ღ

Lotr Characters + Pregnant Reader (Wife!Reader) 𖠋

How the Fellowship of the Ring Treat You When You’re Shy

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

How LoTR Characters Spend Your Birthday With You

LoTR Characters Finding Out You Were in an Abusive Relationship

Reacting to Their Flirty Jokester Crush

Seeing You Dressed Up For the First Time ☆

When They Accidentally Walk in on You Changing ꩜ღ

The Fellowship With Your Feline Companion

LoTR Characters + Buff Woman

One-Shots

Horse-Maid- Eomer x F!Reader

A Failure of Words- Haldir x GN!Reader ꩜

The Steel Lady of Imladris- Elrond x F!Elf!Reader

Sweet Spot- Boromir x GN!Reader ☆ ღ

Pie in the Sky- Pippin x F!Hobbit!Reader ☆

This Means War- Elrond x Wife!Reader (Drabble) ☆

The Weight of a Heart- Galadriel x F!Reader ☆

Hold Fast to Me- Legolas x Reader (Drabble)

Kissing Practice- Teen!Eowyn x F!Teen!Reader ☆

All the Pretty Things- Eowyn x F!Neurodivergent!Reader (Drabble) ☆

Safe Right Here- Faramir x F!Reader (Drabble)

Headcanons

Miscellaneous LoTR Headcanons

[utterlyazriel]

—whom the shadows sing for (and the thief’s echoing hymn)

FIC MASTERLIST

A story about one shadowsinger who did his time in the Illyrian Mountains and one warrior waiting out her own— who will do anything to keep her wings… even if it means posing as a Male.

fem!reader, mulan-esque au

1. STRANGERS

Someone in the Illryian Mountains has been making a name for themselves— a bastard like Azriel and his brothers, ruffling the feathers of a war camp's Lord. But they seem to have no loyalty to the fighting legion, or much to anyone for that matter.

2. ALLIES

Azriel trains you and is particularly unforgivable about it. Together, you tackle tonics. Azriel ponders the unmistakable pull he feels and you try your best to keep your secret under wraps.

3. COMPANIONS

Azriel leaves for Velaris. You reflect on old choices and everything that you lead you to where you are now— and realise it's been awhile since you had anyone to miss.

4. FRIENDS

You return to regular training for the first time in a month. Azriel asks a favor from Rhys and finds you in a less than stellar condition when he returns to camp.

5. CONFIDANTS

You test out if your efforts with the tonics are worth anything and Azriel bestows you with a gift. He asks about the Blood Rite and you ponder the strange, golden thread you've been feeling in your chest. Disaster strikes when night falls.

6. BETRAYERS

A secret you vowed to never reveal gets uncovered and Azriel struggles as all he's known is turned on its head. An unfriendly adversary from the past comes knocking.

7. MATES

Azriel mourns a mistake that will haunt him for eternity as he races back to you. You play the leading role in one of your nightmares, but you can't seem to wake up.

8. STRANGERS (AGAIN)

You wake up somewhere entirely new, a long, long way from your home.

9. FRIENDS (IN OTHER PLACES)

Adjusting to life in Velaris means learning to train with new, friendly faces. A tentative friendship forms. Azriel keeps his distance.

10. SHADOWS

Azriel's shadows find a new way to torment their master. The question of forgiveness follows you. Cassian gets you in the ring, testing out newly learnt skills.

to be continued…

chapters 10/?

[pursuitseternal]

“Lend You a Hand”

Ascended Astarion x f!Reader | E | 1.6K

🎨 by @kowashites (full nsfw in ao3 link)

Summary: His Consort has been away all day, and Lord Astarion has plans for some fun to be had in public… and in the privacy of your skirts. One Mage Hand, one Vampire mating bond, and it’s going to be a long walk back to the Palace.

CW: Inappropriate use of Mage Hand, dirty talking you through it, orgasm control and delay, vaginal fingering, aka the DnD Vampire equivalent of a remote vibrator and a phone.

Inspired by OGY’s amazing NSFW audio “In Public, Darling?”

Ao3 link | Astarion Masterlist

It had been a long day of meetings and social calls, of new important and powerful people to influence and bribe. Astarion didn’t expect you back at the palace quite so soon, so a few drinks with a couple of your old companions back at the Elfsong shouldn’t be a problem… should it?

After an hour of hearing how the Selûnite encampment was progressing, how the once Blade of Frontiers had settled into rubbing elbows politically, you felt a ringing in your ears, a tingle up your spine, and a voice in your head.

“Not so desperate to return to me?” Astarion, purrs down your bond. “Not upset at me, are you?”

His laughter is warm and taunting. He’s up to something, you can tell just by that tone. “I was just about to leave…” you think back at him. Only to receive a tickle of laughter in your ear.

“Step outside,” he commands, “I have a surprise for you…”

You obey, knowing his games are always… satisfying. Well, teasing and merciless until they are oh, so satisfying. As you exit, you look around for that head of tousled curls and those glinting red eyes. Nothing.

“Not here, darling, somewhere less public, but not by much…” his voice seems to creep from the alleyway, sounding in your ear as if he’s around the corner. You follow, a suspicion flickers in your head, one that’s confirmed when you see the glowing blue Mage Hand beckoning you closer. It presses a single, tingling digit to your lips before wandering that ice cold touch down the lines of your dress.

“You’re so good at hiding your thoughts, your desires… Why don’t we play a game? I’d hate to think you’d been out having all sorts of fun without me…”

“What sort of game?” You smirk as you reply.

“Hmmm, I’m going to make you come before you get into the door. Doesn’t that sound delicious, darling? Just to remind you how desperately you need me, how desperately you depend on me…”

That Mage Hand instantly flies under your skirts, sliding up your thigh until it sinks two magic digits knuckle deep between your thighs.

You squirm; a groan, a gasp, a noise of pure desperation slips from your mouth.

“Ahh, there it is, one of my favorite noises, that little bit of a gasp. Don’t fret, darling. Start walking… keep it together, and get home to our palace, dear Consort…”

“You can be such a controlling prick, you know that?” You taunt him back as you start to walk, your legs splayed a little to make room for those magical fingers digging in your cunt.

“Isn’t that part of the fun? Part of the game?” He purrs his taunt in retaliation. “Just think of all the fun things I can do to you in public… in the privacy of your skirts…”

“Fun for you, perhaps,” you grunt back as he digs those remote fingers to stroke you in just that right spot, the one that makes your knees go wobbly.

“Oh darling, I’m hurt. I thought we had something special going on here. After all, I’m doing all the hard work. All you have to do is keep that polite smile on your face and walk.”

Your breathing is rapid, and even your pale cheeks are beginning to flush with excitement. With every step, you feel the thrusting and prodding and burrowing inside you. A short walk, you console yourself. So close, it’s just… a bit more as you head down the bustling street, a hair closer with every step to the Central Wall and then to the tower entrance.

But that’s when his thumb joins the myriad of sensations between your thighs. “Fuck,” you curse aloud, your knees buckling until you have to catch yourself on the wall beside you.

And then that purring voice tickles inside your ear again. “Desperate, pet? I do so love to hear when you’re desperate.” His presence fills your mind, even as those fingers thrust and crook, thrust and crook in time with your air. Except now, you stand stock still, just trying to catch your breath and not fall. “That’s it, darling, steady yourself, I wouldn’t want you to trip.”

Your thighs shake as that hand catches you just right, your fangs biting through your lower lip as you quake and fight with all your strength not to puddle your mess on the stone streets.

“Mmm, delicious, I can hear your breathing, feel your heart racing. Hells, you’re desperately close, aren’t you? You’re just outside Sorcerers’ Sundries, aren’t you? Tell me, do all those innocent mages think something is wrong with you?” His voice grows more excited, frenzied, as if the idea of you getting caught with his literal hand up your skirts is getting him hard… which it undoubtedly is.

You can taste blood, a welcome distraction from the constant movement in and out… in and out… “Damn you to the hells!” You curse, your hips rolling on what looks like nothing. Your secret pleasure source, those deft, dexterous fingers show no mercy as you go careening towards your peak.

“My lady,” the kind vendor nearest you offers gently. But you just round on them, baring your own set of teeth in agitation to scare them off.

Your ferocity is rewarded with a warm laugh in your ear and a perfect circle of that magic thumb over your clit. “I’m sure you’re quite a sight by now. How sweet of them to come to your aid… my damsel in distress. A pity I’m the only one who can save you…”

He pulls those fingers out entirely, and you keen into your palm, crying tears at the absence and burning denial.

“Walk, pet. Get to the gate before I continue…”

It’s a promise and a threat, all in one velvet, sugar-sweet phrase.

You focus, feeling that cool shimmer of magic hovering over your skin, just brushing your thighs as you force yourself, will yourself, to take one step… then another. You have to tell your brain, as lust-hazy as it is, to breathe, to move, to smile and look demure. Even if on the inside you’re raging, blistering hot with need. You can’t even weave two words to curse your love, to snap at him for how much you’re suffering at his hands with this little game.

Suffering… and loving it.

A few more steps, and you managed to climb your sorry ass and slick thighs up to the walls of your home…

“Good darling… good Consort,” his praises pour over you, soothing and stoking your desire afresh somehow all at once. You almost tumble up the stairs in your delirium, the rush of pleasure as those fingers sink their cool touch inside you makes you moan, caught off guard, loud enough to bounce off the stone walls of the tower.

A few quick, shallow movements and you’re near the brink again, so quickly.

“Sweetling, tears already?” His satin syllables caress your ear, only adding to the rush of heat and wet between your thighs. “You sound… frantic, desperate. Desperate enough to beg.” That wicked, rumbling chuckle races down your spine and tickles your brain. “Beg for it, my love, what do you want from me?” The Mage Hand slips out mid stride.

“Come! I want to come!” You scream aloud as you make it to the parapet, one hand on the door to the palace as that Mage Hand sweeps its thumb perfectly over your clit and those cool smooth fingers crook just right.

You can hear his laughter from the other side of the door, the wooden panes barely muffling that annoying, perverted, deep-chested giggle. You grit your teeth, pushing on your bond as you come undone, as your slick soaks those magic fingers and your belly clenches and spasms until you lose your breath.

It’s all you can do, to dig deep and force your feelings back at your love, the bastard that he is. A smile turns your panting, slack-jawed lips as you hear his own groan. That’s all the encouragement you need. You throw your debilitating lust and mind-numbing pleasure through your linked minds… and the gut rending thud of a fist against the door, the way the Mage Hand disappears as he loses concentration… the way you hear his breath ragged and voice rough as he comes too….

You grin, feeling your mutual pleasure and delight shimmering between you, it makes your walls throb and your mouth smile.

Just a twist of your wrist, and you open the door to see him, the great Lord… the Vampire Ascendant… with sweat on his face and a cheeky, annoyed grin as he hunches forward to catch his breath. One hand grips his own cock at the head, cum leaking between his fingers… The other rakes his silver curls back, a meager attempt to regain some semblance of control. “Well, here’s my little treat with her cheeks all flushed and her thighs just soaked for me,” he croons, content even as he smirks at you, breathless. “To bed, I think…”

You give a brazen smirk. “This time, I want your real fingers without the distractions of your little game in public…”

He laughs, his true lips whispering in your ear. “Oh well, I suppose, there’s fun to be had in private, darling.”

[just-trying-to-fangirl-in-peace]

Ruin (Annatar/Sauron x Elf!smith!reader)

-> in which you and Annatar share a moment alone in the forge

Warnings: implied mind control, implied smut

The hour is late, and the forge is empty. It was restlessness that brought you here, a need for silence away from your own sheets, where sleep has too long eluded you. As for Annatar, you could not guess his reasons for being here. You doubt it was you he sought out in the dead of night. But it is you he finds nonetheless.

“Be at ease,” he soothes you when you first catch sight of him and rush to your feet, suddenly feeling as though it was unlawful to be sitting on the edge of the forge, lost in thought as you were. His words, however, coupled with the gentle smile you have come to know on his lips, banish the thought. How silly of you, to feel ill at ease in your own home. In the presence of a friend.

Then again, you feel many things in the presence of Annatar, Lord of Gifts. Most do, and with good reason. Each word that leaves his mouth feels imbued with ancient wisdom, even in idle conversation. In fact, he hardly ever makes idle conversation, ever so focused on the work at hand. Yet he commands respect without instilling fear, and somehow seems both leader and companion. To this extent, your fellow smiths feel as you do.

You are not sure they would feel as you do, however, if they were to be standing in your place right now. If they would be so keenly aware that this is the first time you are speaking to him without the work serving as an excuse, and without other eyes to see you. You doubt they would find it so difficult to listen to his words and conjure their own in response, or fear that the silence that sometimes settles between you might betray the stutter in your breath when your gaze lingers on his ethereal face, or hands. You find it difficult... yet there is a sweetness to the strain. Now that you have his presence, you cannot wish it away. You would never.

Stay, you cry out within yourself—not a thought, but a plea which resonates within every inch of your flesh, deafening you to all else. Even to his voice.

It must have blinded you as well—for a few moments, at least—because you find, all of a sudden, that he is close. So very close. And so very tall, compared to you. Looking up into his eyes feels like staring downward into an abyss, stomach plummeting as the pitch-black depths dare you to do the same. But his eyes are not dark, not in color at least. They are blue as the sky, blue as the rivers, blue as some of the precious gems you handle with nimble fingers day after day, creating beauty and striving for perfection, futile though as you know the effort may be. Perfection can only be found in Valinor, wiser Elves than you often say. Yet here it is, looking back at you. Studying you, it seems.

In all your years of life, rarely has a thought rendered you as breathless as this. What does he find, you wonder, when he looks at you—this Elf of uncommon beauty and knowledge, even for one of your kind? The talent of your hands as you work on the Rings? The disquiet in your eyes when he stands close, hand brushing yours as some tool or gem passes between them? The yearning surging within you, growing stronger with each moment the distance between you does not grow greater, but instead, you think—you hope, oh, now you’ve gone on to hope—has been diminishing in increments so small you’ve hardly noticed, not until his breath begins to caress your heated cheek?

“Your talent, I have admired for weeks,” he begins to speak, the rumble of his soft voice joined with a finger beneath your chin stealing your ability to do anything but tremble under his gaze. “Of your disquiet, I am well aware,” he says, and you feel he is pleased. “As for your yearning...”

It should frighten you—it does frighten you, how he has plucked each thought within your mind as easily as strings on a harp. But the iciness of dread is no match for the heat that engulfs your skin as his lips descend upon yours. You grasp at thoughts, at reason, but they slip from your reach as easily as his hand does into your hair. He tugs at the roots so much less gently than his mouth moves against yours, and a small, helpless whimper escapes your throat as he tilts your head further back. The strain on your neck is barely felt, and long forgotten as the kiss you had never dared imagine deepens. He tastes like flames, you think deliriously. Like the blackest hour of the night and the deepest-buried desires of the heart. It is sweet oblivion that plunders your mouth. Unquenchable greed that digs its fingertips into your hips. Inescapable ruin that lifts you up onto the forge and lays you down, hovering over your body like a storm ready to wreak havoc upon the land.

You are not sure, when his lips leave yours and you open your eyes, if all the lights in the forge have been blown out, or if he is simply all that is left in the world. All that is left of the world, once he is done swallowing it whole.

Because he will. Somehow, you know he will. He lets you.

And you let him begin with you.

[asumi2020202]

Things I never felt before

Pairing: Legolas Thranduilion x reader

Summary: You are Legolas' lover, he courted you before you both left to destroy the one ring. You are a healer who is needed almost all the times and a motherly figure to the hobbits.

A/n: My Lotr/Hobbit obsession has again started after I saw my husband, Legolas, in a youtube video. Anyways, Thank you for reading!

______________ฅ⁠^⁠•⁠ﻌ⁠•⁠^⁠ฅ___________________

The Fellowship had been assembled. Tens companions in total. Aragorn, the son of Arathorn. Legolas, son of Thranduil. Gimli, son of Gloin. The four hobbits- Frodo, the ring bearer, Sam, Merry and Pippin. Gandalf the Grey. Boromir, son of the Steward of Gondor.

And..Y/n, daughter of Lord Elrond. The only female.. Lover of Legolas Thranduilion....

Her father didn't want her to join, thinking she would get hurt. But her abilities, knowledge and skill is something that the Fellowship required.

The elves of Rivendell were sailing off to the Undying lands. Yet she told her father she would not. She would stay with Legolas.

The Fellowship left Rivendell after bidding goodbye. Arwen almost did cry to see her little sister go on a dangerous quest, she felt a bit of peace as she knew her sister had someone to protect her.

And so...their journey began....

_________________________________________

The fellowship were aiming for the gap of Rohan. After a while of walking the mountains they had stopped near a pile of giant rocks, some of which even looked as if they are stacked.

You handed a plate of food to Sam to give to Frodo. The others had already eaten. After doing so you blew out the fire and sat next to Frodo and watched Merry and Pippin train while Legolas was looking out for any enemies.

"One. Two. Good!" Boromir said, sword clanging against another.

"You got good Pippin" Merry said to Pippin.

"Thanks"

"Move your feet" Aragorn said.

Frodo looked at you and smiled.

"Ah!" Pippin squealed

"Sorry!" Boromir said. The two young hobbits tackled him on the ground as the three of you watched.

"hold him!" "For the shire!"

You gently laughed as you saw the two hobbits tackle Aragorn who tried to help Boromir. Aragorn groaned as fell on the ground as well.

Pippin got up and ran to you.

"Y/n I've got a cut on my finger. It hurts." He looked at you with his adorable little Hobbit eyes which melted your heart.

"Ah.. come with me, I will put some medicine." You led the little Hobbit to where the fire once was.

You were putting a healing balm on his hand. You turned your head and saw Legolas jump from one rock to another and stand on a giant boulder.

You finished applying the medicine and smile at Pippin as he runs to Merry. You got up from the ground and stand near Legolas.

Him standing on a boulder gave him better view whilst you stood on the ground, adjusting you satchel. You were shorter than Legolas too which gives him the tall height advantage.

"What's that?" One of the members asked.

"Oh nothing it's just a wisp of clouds." Came Gimli's reply.

"It's moving fast.. against the wind.." Boromir said, getting up from the ground with Merry and Pippin.

"Crebain from Dunland!" Legolas shouted.

"Hide!" Aragorn shouted.

"Hurry. Frodo.." you said as you guided Sam and Frodo to cover.

As crebains flew away, everyone got out from their hideout.

"Spies of ... Saruman! The passage south is being watched. We must take the path of caradhras." Said Gandalf.

You looked at Legolas as he gently held your hand.

_________________________________________

The path of Caradhras was difficult. Thick snow, extreme cold, heavy snowfall. Elves do not mind cold very much but the others do. So you and Legolas walked in the front.

You, Legolas and the others got stuck in the snow when a huge chunk of snow fell from above.

You helped Sam out of the snow and then got out yourself. Sam went to Boromir's side.

"There is fell voice on the air" said Legolas.

"It's Saruman!" Shouted Gandalf.

"He's trying to bring down the mountains" Aragorn said as well.

Gandalf started to chant a spell in Imladris to try and stop. But alas it did not work.

It was decided that the fellowship would go through the Mines of Moria. It was chosen by Frodo.

_________________________________________

Gimli sat down a bit away from the door. The Door of Moria was yet to open. Gandalf had tried all the password that he could come up with but it didn't work.

You and Legolas sat on a log. The two of you braided each other's hair. You saw Gandalf sigh of defeat. Legolas got up and walked around to see any incoming danger.

You went to Gandalf and stood in front of the door before looking at Gandalf. He looked at you.

"It is riddle......" You said.

"A riddle you say?" He replied.

"Mellōn" you said as the doors opened the Hobbits running towards you at once.

The events that occurred after that...were too cruel for all of you...

_________________________________________

The hobbits were shedding tears. Gimli was trying to get back in the mine but Boromir didn't let him. You sat on a boulder, unable to accept the reality like Legolas.

"Get them up Legolas, Y/n." Aragorn spoke to you and Legolas. Legolas came up to you and placed his hand on your back. You looked up from the ground to his eyes. He could see the pain in your eyes, for he too feels it.

"Give them a moment for pity's sake!" Boromir shouted.

"By nightfall these hills will be swarming with orcs. We must make for the woods of Lothlorien." Reasoned Aragorn.

"Come, Boromir, Legolas, Gimli, Y/n get them up." Aragorn said as walked up to Sam and held him up.

You got up from the boulder and gave Legolas a nod, after which you went to the hobbits, asking if anyone got injured.

_________________________________________

You and Legolas were close to eachother. Fingers intertwined as you walked through the woods. Aragorn was leading the way.

"I have the eyes of a hawk and the ears of a fox." Said Gimli as he almost got himself pierced by an arrow of a Lothlorian guard.

"A dwarve breathes so loud, we would've shot him in the dark" Said Haldir, an old acquaintance.

_________________________________________

"Mae g'ovannen Legolas Thranduilion, Y/n Elerondiel." Said Haldir. Welcome Legolas, son of Thranduilion, Y/n, daughter of Elrond.

"Ah, Aragorn in Dunedain. Istannen le ammen." Oh, Aragorn of Dúnedain. You are known to us. Haldir spoke, turning to Aragorn.

"Haldir." Aragorn greeted him.

"So much for the legendary courtesy of elves! Speak words we can all understand!" Spoke Gimli, annoyed because he couldn't understand what was being spoken.

Haldir simply turned to Gimli and spoke.

"We have not had dealings with the dwarves since the dark days."

"And you know what this dwarves says to that? Ishkhaqwi ai durugnul!" I spit on your grave.

"That was not so courteous" Aragorn intervened.

Haldir looked at Fellowship and then to Frodo.

"You bring great evil here.... You can go no further."

_________________________________________

You sat like the rest of the Fellowship while Legolas stood. Aragorn trying to convince Haldir to let you all stay the night.

Frodo saw Legolas look at him as the others looked at him too. He felt guilty. As if they are blaming him.

Frodo got up and went to you. He came to you and sat beside you as you opened your arms. He came in and laid his head on your chest as you hummed. He looked up in the sky and then closed his eyes.

Legolas saw you two cuddled up. He felt warm at the scene. Many would feel jealous at the sight of their lover with someone else but Legolas felt love for you grow further.

You and Frodo looked like mother and son. You ran you fingers through his head and held him close like a mother would.

Legolas smiled a little seeing you both. He imagined how it would be when the two of you would have children together.

_________________________________________

Night had fallen. Most of the Fellowship had gotten fallen asleep. Aragorn was with Boromir.

You and Legolas were in your sleeping place. He had re-braided your hair and you were currently doing his.

You ran your fingers through his hair, trying to untangle any knots.

"Melēth nin, what would do after all of this is over?" You asked him.

"Ah..... The first thing I would do is to marry you. I would still need to think of what to do next." He replied.

His reply made you blush a bit. The sad atmosphere lifting up a bit.

"I would have a big family with you, nin melēth. I imagine it every time I see you with the little hobbits. You would make an excellent mother to our little elflings." He continued.

Your ears had turned pink. You laughed gently as you finished braiding his hair. He got up from the ground and went to your side.

He sat down beside you and kissed you passionately. It was slow but filled with deep love.

Elves love once. They love slow but when they do, they love hard.

After a minute, his lips seperated yours. Your lungs felt empty before you inhaled air.

He laid down and patted the place beside him. You went to his side and laid your head on his chest.

Soon after you drifted off to sleep. Soft snores made Legolas smile. The world was harsh... But you both had each other and that was enough.

He ran his hand over your head, soothing you. He drifted off to sleep after sometime. He fell asleep admiring your beauty. He had said something before doing so.

It was what he felt since he met you the first time.

"You make me feel.. Things I never felt before..."

-Lillian

[thatlittlered]

the craft | celebrimbor

warning(s): afab!reader (use of the word lady), very discreet spoilers for rings of power

GIF by @leotanaka

author's note: i think i deserve a little kiss for my use of the title craft because of its dual meaning, don't you? going to write another part, unless I don't because I can't be trusted :)

also, requests for rings of power characters are open for now! give me some ideas and I'll see what I can do.

-.-.-

A beautiful sunset melts from golden to orange and fiery red hues, almost as crimson as the seeds of pomegranate in your fingers. Fruit of the only such tree in the whole of Eregion and yet another undoubtedly hospitable gift from the Elf-lord Celebrimbor, whose kindness and generosity have proven to be as boundless as his artistry.

 A guest within his palace for far longer than initially intended, you cannot help but feel horribly indebted to him; a sentiment he has always refused to allow you to express and instead showered you with even more gifts, so many that you could not possibly take them with you if and when you are ever to return home, or whatever might be left of it once these dark times are hopefully over. Such is the cup you are currently enjoying warm tea from, the kind that he personally recommended and had sent to you. Laced with intricate carvings of beautiful flowers you do not think you’ve ever even seen in your long lifetime, this gift surpasses the simple nature of others, for it was crafted especially for you and whilst you may not know this part, bears the likeness of his favourite flora that grows near the bank of the river Bruinen, where he had hoped to take you soon. Alas, his tender plans were soon cast aside when the mysterious stranger Halbrand unbeknownst to you, began to seduce him into isolation and an obsessive mulling over the Nine.

 You have not met with Celebrimbor in weeks and his forge, which had previously been open to you in yet another attempt to make you feel welcome and perhaps even timidly show off his craft, now remains completely shut off from the rest of the world. Your gentle requests to meet with the Elven-smith go unanswered, as do your letters to the dear and endlessly respected friends who had sent you here in the first place. Of course, neither attempt at communication ever reaches its intended receiver. The stranger has made sure of that, and while you suspect something is amiss, all this silence has become its own form of isolation.

 You were sent here as a trusted friend, meant to provide guidance and council while the High King leads the way toward the necessary path of war and your other companions follow, yet the situation has rendered you incapable of aiding either cause. It seems there is nothing to do but wait and carry on enjoying the commodities the Elf-lord sends your way despite his absence.

 As if brought to life by the intensity of your thoughts, there is gentle knocking on your door, the kind you recognize from the often times he has been so eager to be in your company before.

“Come in.”

 You try to wipe your fingers clean from the evidence of the sweet seeds, but his rushed entry in your chamber surprises you. Your still-stained thumb leaves the smallest of bloodlike marks on your tunic, but you do not notice when your eyes meet Celebrimbor’s. A smile blooms on his tired face instantly as he once again rushes to approach you.

“My dear friend, glassen na chen cenin.” It is my joy to see you.

 You move to take hold of his hands in reverence, but he once again surprises you by grasping your face in his palms instead. The stranger’s persuasion has given him a newfound confidence along with a sense of purpose, when he had been as shy as a youngling in your presence before.

“My Lady.”

 The title he has given you is not one of true nobility, for you bear no such titles, but one that simply rolls off his tongue in his endless admiration of you. Anything else seems too intimate when he tries to speak it, even your name in itself. His thoughts are muddled and overwhelming in your presence.

 His palms are warm and surprisingly soft when they hold you. It is impossible not to smile.

“I did not expect your visit, but I am glad to be proven wrong.”

 He frowns gently and you cannot help but admire the creases of his lovely face as they are illuminated by the last rays of sun for the day.

“I am deeply sorry for my absence. I can only hope you do not think I have abandoned you, for in my heart and thoughts, I am always with you.”

 Your own hand caresses just above his brow in an attempt to soothe him. He always worries so, but you would gladly take over each and every of his burdens if it meant he would finally be at peace. He has never spoken words like these to you before, always hiding behind the cloak of hospitality in an effort to be close to you. Celebrimbor, the Ñoldorin prince and last of the line of the Fëanor, has inherited none of his ancestors’ pride, but instead carries the shame of their actions deep within his soul, where it most wounds him. It is that shame that has for so long allowed him to succumb to loneliness and refrain from fantasies of greatness.

 Annatar’s revelation comes as a gift, a holy permission, to bring forth life’s work that could dare to compete with that of those who came before him. It allows him to venture and now, clad in this new air of hope and ambition, come before you as he truly is and as he truly hopes to be beside you.

“I couldn’t possibly think myself abandoned when you shower me with gifts, even in your absence. I am aware of the weight that has been placed upon your shoulders and you have rightfully given your time to more important matters, or persons.”

“None as important as you. Please, do not mistake it for hospitality, for I act based on my own selfish affections.”

“How can any such affection be selfish? I would say it is anything but.”

“Oh, but I fear it is. Even my coming here is to satisfy my own longing after having spent so many morns and nights without seeing you.”

 Neither of you possess the poetic prowess to capture the tenderness of this moment, the ceaseless warmth of still being held in his hands without a regard to impropriety. Even if you did, words would undoubtedly fall short.

“Well, I am glad to have your company, for as long as you can spare it.”

“I never wish to withhold it again.”

 Celebrimbor melts into this half-embrace until his forehead gently leans on yours.

“I only wish I could be of assistance and help you bear this great burden.”

“Your mere presence renders my soul lighter, guren vell,” my sweet heart, “but I know now that what has been bestowed upon me is not a burden, but a gift unlike no other. Just as you are. I have been sworn to silence, but know that we have been blessed and when my work is finished, our woes will be over.”

 Something has changed within him and it is there for everyone with eyes to see.

 It worries you.

“Sworn to secrecy? Even from me, who knows the truth of your assignment?”

 He lays a gentle kiss on your forehead, holding you even closer.

“What started as a desperate attempt to clutch at whatever power can be wielded in our favour during these trying times, has now become much larger, much more important than I could have ever imagined. Bigger than you or I, for it was brought forth by a glorious agent of Valinor and now I can finally be of use to this greater cause.”

 He senses the uncertainty in you before you can speak it.

“You must think I’ve gone mad.”

“Of course not. I would trust you with my life, my faith knows no bounds. My hesitance is rooted in concern.”

“Concern for the safety of the rings?”

“Concern for you, melethron nîn.” My beloved.

 There is such emotion in the way he is looking at you.

“I cannot gainsay that which has been asked of me, but afterward…”

“Afterward?”

“After I have proven myself worthy, perhaps you would consider staying here, with me. Perhaps then I will be someone you could imagine a life with.”

“Oh, Celebrimbor, you already are. What words must I speak for you to know the depth of my feelings?”

 Words are miniscule when faced with the self-doubt that’s so deeply rooted within him. The stranger has seen this and taken full advantage. The promise of glory has overshadowed the love you so willingly offer, even though the allure of recognition was that he might come to deserve it in the first place. His adoring smile distracts from how flat your reassurance has fallen. His mind is set.

“When all of this is over, I promise to devote myself wholly to you and only you. Gerog i chûn nîn. Until then...” You hold my heart. His hands leave your skin for a moment in order to produce what must be a gift, neatly wrapped in rich velvet fabric. “It is nothing of great significance, but I wanted you to have these.”

 You carefully unwrap it, only to find inside the most beautiful jewels, cast in gold and carved with astounding detail, so much so that you can clearly make out every petal, every stem of the flowers he has chosen that remind him of you.

“I noticed you like to adorn your hair. I thought these might be to your liking, though my hands could never make something akin your beauty. Only the Valar can master such a craft and you are the living proof.”

 Such sweetness comes from his mouth. Such thoughtfulness to even now, amidst the chaos he was forced in, dedicate all this time and effort to something just for you.

“Nothing of great significance? This is the most significant gift I have ever received. The gift of all gifts; a token of your love.”

 Proper elven courtship is forgotten when your eyes lock again. A kiss is required for the sake of both of your sanities and you happily initiate. You would have thought him shy and reserved, but he quickly responds in equal fervour. Your lips are soft against his thin ones and his heart sings. If only he could find within him the words to convey that. Nevertheless, you do not require it of him and he loves you even more for it.

 You are content to stay where you are; mouths and bodies tenderly interlocked. When you part, there are only childish grins to be shared, ones not to be expected from eternal beings, but perhaps maturity comes hand in hand with love and the two of you have only now found it.

“Might I?”

 With an approving nod, you turn your back on him, once again placing your trust in the man you’ve come to love. He laces his fingers in your hair so gently, as if set to work on fragile sheets of gold, but to him, any part of you is far more precious. You feel him carefully pick strands and clasp in them in the lovely jewels, up until the last one. Curiosity wins and you try to turn your head enough to see, only to witness him touch your hair against his lips before adding the last one.

 Celebrimbor blushes upon being caught, but does not look away. You take this opportunity to simply look at each other. He wishes to gather you in his arms, but does not dare. You, again, are happy to take the initiative, but he stops you before you can embrace him fully.

“Are you hurt?”

 There is ample confusion until you feel his hand gather in the skirt of your tunic where the blood-like stain still resides. The panic on his face is touching, yet unnecessary.

“Do not worry, my love, it is only pomegranate.”

 When in your arms again, he seemingly relaxes, yet his mind is still racing. A familiar sense of dread pools somewhere within him.

 This is a bad omen.

[doodle-pops]

Fantasise

Lords of Gondolin x reader

Request: Ok this is gonna sound crazy but…Consensual free-use kink fic where all the lords of Gondolin (that you write for) get to use Reader for one day however they please? She’s just going about her business that one day and they each get to take her aside or to their office to fuck her however they want? (Or idk maybe this has to be a week instead of a day to fit all the fucking idk. I’m not sure how you’d wanna pace this so I leave exact timing up to you.) - Anon

A/N: Thrilled to finally post this fic after staring at it for months and counting down the days. My first time posting something so daring in smut (for me), and I hope you all enjoy it!!

Warnings: female reader, smut, double penetration, gangbang, threesome, foursome, semi-public sex because it’s in a bathhouse, handjobs, blowjobs, rough sex, anal sex, manhandling, creampies, cunnilingus, fingering, aftercare

Words: 4.8k

Synopsis: At some point, all fantasies become a reality, especially those that involve assisting your fellow Lords in special ways when stressed.

“Oh God! Just like that…” you squealed as you fought to find the right words or sound to emit when a new wave of pleasure rocked your world as both Lord Galdor and Lord Rog synchronically thrust into you leaving you gasping for air and squeezing the young Prince Maeglin’s member too tightly. He hissed and groaned at the sensation of your smaller hand gripping tighter as his senior Lords took their time to fill your holes with their well-endowed member. Within seconds, his cock was being pleasured after you managed to find your bearings, slipping his tip past your lips once more. As Galdor and Rog rocked their sweaty bodies in tune with one another, it allowed you the right rhythm to stroke and suckle the head of Maeglin’s cock.

The harmonious moans, grunts and groans of the three Lords reverberated throughout the confined room of the bathhouse. A risqué place to be engaging in such frivolities, yet it was the best option for all the Lords to gather in the same room without servants muttering about the possibilities of your rendezvous. However, at the end of the day, you weren’t complaining when you knew many others wished they could be in your position. You considered your situation a fantasy come to life, and you were about to make every second count by taking all they gave.

The marble walls of the cream-coloured room supplied your hearing with the right pitches of their sounds, while yours were muffled by the assistance of the young Prince’s member sliding further past your lips until you broke free to inhale. You preferred all your sounds to be heard by only those engaging and no trespassers or wishers.

Under you lied Rog. His massive form coveted the floor, allowing your back to comfortably rest against his defined chest while his companion, the ever so delicate Lord Galdor hovered between your legs. His gentle hands held your legs future apart, only for Rog to pull them into your chest, applying little strength to prevent you from squirming away as his robust cock slid smoothly in and out of your ass. Lord Galdor was a dear to take your cunt, enjoying the idea of sampling the cream you produced which now formed a ring at the base, and Maeglin was satisfied to be included, having plump lips wrapping around his cock.

The unmistakable sound of their cocks sliding in and out of your holes left you drunk off their cocks and ecstasy. You couldn’t believe that you were taking more than one cock and managing just fine, especially with the roughness emitting from Lord Rog’s cock rapidly plunging in and out of your ass; you never knew he had so much pent-up frustration. Regardless, you were grateful because Lord Galdor balanced everything fine with his smooth and calculated thrust, ensuring that his tip repeatedly brushed your sweet spot and made your eyes cross.

All three Lords busied themselves, utilising as much of your body as you offered them, wanting to make this moment unforgettable. It wasn’t every day their close and dear friend proposed the idea of being the relief of their stress.

Struggling to keep your eyes open, the hand of Maeglin reached out to grip your chin and tilt your head to the side to meet his onyx eyes. Silently, his other hand reached out to guide his cock back to your mouth for you to swallow—his pleasure was building rapidly with the first-time experience of your warm cavern around him so deliciously. At the same time, Galdor’s fingers travelled down your legs to pinch your clit before aggressively rubbing it and Rog’s finger fiddled with your nipples.

It triggered a series of mumbling and your toes curling in on themselves as you were forced to lie there and take it. Muffled moans and groaning as you took more of Maeglin’s cock further down your throat caused the hand in your hair to tighten its grip and push your head deeper, taking over the pace. The mixture of having all holes occupied felt great on your body, yet confusing on your mind; you didn’t know where to focus. Each delivered a different type of pleasure that was impossible to focus on individually.

“Enjoying the pleasure, love?” teased Galdor as his fingers tweaked and pinched your clit. Your response was gurgled as your head was pulled off Maeglin’s cock, allowing you to catch your breath. “Of course you are.”

“Taking us well…” grunted Rog who delivered another smack to your ass, ensuring that he left his signature in his artwork.

Gasping for air as your eyes grew teary and the fire in the pit of your stomach increased, you nodded and whined in a needy tone, making all three of them laugh. You were adorable even when you were being fucked simultaneously by three Lords. You could feel your inner walls being flipped inside-out from their wicked thrusts, tugging and rubbing along their cocks, gifting you the heightened sensation of feeling the texture and hardness. All you could muster were your constant whines as the sensation grew.

“Are you close, love?” chuckled Maeglin. His voice was closest to your ear as his lips glided along your earlobe, nibbling your skin as he went. He made sure to keep your hand wrapped around his cock to continue stroking him off, knowing that he was close to cumming a second time tonight after being inside your walls earlier. “Go ahead and cum for us another time. Make a mess for us, hmm.”

The young Prince’s constant whispering in your ear, accompanied by his lips kissing your skin, Lord Galdor’s skilled fingers and Lord Rog’s timely thrusts, pushed you a little bit over the edge.

“Oh Eru! Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck!” Gasping for air and vibrating alongside the feeling of your skeletons rattling, your free hand reached out to dig into Galdor’s thighs viciously, causing his thrusts to falter momentarily as your umpteenth orgasm washed over you. Both males slowed their thrusts as your walls clamped and tightened around their members, leaving them groaning lowly and resisting the urge to empty themselves in you right away. Maeglin on the other hand had ended his reign as his orgasm arrived at the same time as yours, splattering his cum across your hand and chest, and moved to sit in the pool to wash off while observing.

Once they recovered, ignoring your orgasmic state, Rog’s hands cupped your breasts as his thrusts quickened while Galdor’s fingers continued rubbing your clit as if they had ever stopped. The extra sensation of your walls clamping around them and the lingering effects prompted their pace to increase. The obscene squelching and skin-slapping sound as their hips met yours echoed louder and faster. You could feel both their balls colliding with your ass, heavy and full of cum to empty. At the thought of being filled with more cum, your walls fluttered.

“Come on love, come on. Squeeze me a little tighter; I’m close,” growled Galdor as he bowed his head to witness the cream oozing out your cunt and coating his and Rog’s cock deliciously. “I wish I could frame this sight forever. Look at how well you’re taking our cocks.”

“Feels so good…please fill me up…” Whining and fluttering your walls more to clamp down on their cocks tighter to make them spill faster, your pleads were being answered by their sporadic thrusts and deep grunts.

Rog’s hands left your breasts to wrap around your thighs, allowing you to be pressed against his chest as his thrusts became rougher. His lips kissed your hair, grunting lowly into it as he fucked with more vigour coming closer to his last few strokes. By then, your ass was a lovely shade of red from the pounding, urging your teeth to chatter and eyes to roll into your head. Drool escaped your lips which Galdor was a dear to wipe away before groaning softly and his cock twitching endlessly in your cunt as it flooded your insides with another load hot load of cum.

He pushed himself all the way to the base, wanting nothing more than to bury himself in your cunt as hot ropes of his cum oozed out. Shortly after, Rog followed with a louder grunt, holding you still as he buried all of him to the hilt in your ass, emptying his load and filling you to the brim. The combined sensation of both of them filling you at the same time left you feeling satisfied. You doubt you could possibly move now that you had three loads of cum stuffed in you.

Reluctantly, Galdor was the first to pull out, leaving behind a stream of cum, followed by Rog who was busy kissing your shoulder and rubbing your ass with his calloused hands. His voice was still deep and sensual as he whispered about how good you were for letting him take your ass and relieve his stress. The other two looked on at Rog’s tenderness, smiling, before Galdor grabbed a wet cloth and moved to clean up the spilt cum dripping out. However, the sight was a beauty to their eyes, seeing you consumed by them with a mark left behind.

It wasn’t long before you were immersed in the hot water with Galdor attached to your side, washing you off while the other two Lords relaxed. His touch was gentle as he pushed your hair out of the way, or lifted your arms and parted your legs to wash the sweat off. The exchange was tranquil with the sounds of the water trickling into the pools the only sounds heard as you all cooled off. It was only a matter of time before the others showed up and had their turn.

“It would appear that the three of them are lost!” exclaimed Rog while he waded through the water to the deeper end, flashing you another view of his chiselled body. “Which is odd given their excitement to the proposal.”

“One can say so for lord Ecthelion, not the other two,” chuckled Galdor. He was entirely relaxed, his demeanour already switched from the charming devil he displayed five minutes ago.

Smiling and nodding along to the lords, Galdor brushed his fingers around your nipples, enjoying the sight of them erected from his touch having abandoned the washcloth. Listening to them discuss the turnout of events for the night should the others not show up on time, he gently guided your body to sit between his to allow his hands to cup your breasts and play with your nipples. Your body melted into his at the touch as your head rested against his shoulder. In no time, his left hand slid beneath the water to cup your cunt and slip two fingers between your folds to enter your heat.

Immediately, they curled against your sweet spot, having found it after a little searching, eliciting a faint gasp from you as your fingers curled into his thighs. Slumping against him, the moment was soothing and relaxing as he took his time to thrust his fingers in and out while the heel of his palm grazed your clit. With your eyes shut and lips slightly parted, the conversation continued without your care of whether the Lords would appear. At least you were being pleasured while relieving theirs since it was the deal made.

“Does it feel good?” His mellow voice tickled your ear compared to your ragged breathing as your pleasure grew in large increments. The aftermath of your previous orgasms left you sensitive and open for the rest to flow without resistance. Lifting a hand from his thigh to hold onto his submerged wrist, you clamped your legs around his hand, forcing it to stay there as you rocked your body in tune with his rhythm. “Are you close already, My Lady?”

Nodding with a soft, raspy whine, you bumped your head against his shoulder blades, while continuing your rocking motion. Galdor smiled down at your form unravelling in his arms from the use of his fingers alone; a bit of pride welled in his chest. Bounding his arms around your waist as he felt the tightness growing, he fastened his hold mustering a small portion of his strength as you wriggled. Steadying his pace and brushing his finger repetitively, it was easier said than done, you came apart in his arms with the release of a silent scream.

As though the timing of the situation could not get any better, the arrival of the three stooges waltz into the private section of the bathhouse, already disrobed and flaunting their majestic figures. Egalmoth was the first to enter, eyes landing on your slumped figure curled in his fellow Lord’s arms, followed by Ecthelion tailing behind Glorfindel. All three Lords strolled in with an air of confidence, ready for tonight’s frivolities.

“It appears that we arrived in the nick of time?” laughed Egalmoth as he entered the pool, his silvery hair undone and cascading his body like liquid silver.

“We assumed you all cancelled, giving us the opportunity to invest a little more,” counter Galdor with a smirk.

Clicking his tongue, Glorfindel was the one to reply as he waltzed closer to where you sat. “That does not sound like you Lord Galdor, greedy.”

“What can I say? I am a stressed Elf Lord.”

Tailing behind Glorfindel silently, Ecthelion took in your flustered appearance, melting against the Galdor’s chest. Mimicking his fellow golden-hair Lord, he squatted to brush your hair out your face with a small smile gracing his lips. Both Lord gestures prompted the brown-haired Lord to aid you to your feet and guide you through the steps they were waiting to pamper you.

Briskly, yet gingerly, you waded through the water, out of the pool and into the arms of Glorfindel who embraced you with a brilliant smile. Catching a glimpse of his and lord Ecthelion’s physique and other appreciative body parts, you were surely going to end up incapacitated tonight and you had yet to witness Lord Egalmoth. Regardless, you knew his physique was also impressive given his boastful tendencies.

You ran a finger down Glorfindel’s abdomen and outline his V-line, stopping right above his cock when you heard him hiss. The devilish grin which formed on your face only fuelled your actions when you also reached out to repeat the same on Ecthelion who stood adjacent.

“Greetings to you, My Lords. I hope your time spent in my company is pleasurable.” Falling to your knees while you looked up to witness both their brows arched and lips bitten, you cast a wink and gripped their cocks. The recognition that the others were watching was long gone from your consciousness when you had two Lords erected cocks in your face.

Stroking their lengths and listening to their moans, no time was wasted as you leaned forward to capture the tip of Ecthelion’s cock in your mouth, sucking the tip before pushing your head deeper. His hands immediately flew to your head, fingered entangling in your hair and guiding you along his length as choruses of moans escaped his lips. Bobbing your head along his length as best as you could, pulled away and switched to Glorfindel’s cock, though, he was much more challenging to take like Rog’s. Getting him past your lips was easy, but fitting the rest in your mouth, your hand had to cover.

Though, to Glorfindel, he enjoyed the sight of your mouth wrapped around his cock with a bit of struggle, and similar to Ecthelion, his fingers wove into your hair and did their best to move your head along his girthy length. As difficult as it was at first, you were able to take more of him and soon, you were switching between both cocks, lavishing them with your mouth and hands. Bobbing your head as you altered between different cocks, both Lords stood with their abdomen clenched and hands in your head, relishing in the heavenly abode of your mouth.

“I would not mind being treated like this every time I am stressed,” groaned Glorfindel as you placed kisses along his length, from the base to tip. “Fuck, just like that, sweetheart—you’re doing so well.”

“Is there room for me to be included because I feel left out?” The approaching footsteps of Egalmoth padded lightly from behind as he observed you caring for his friends while he stood with a painfully erected cock, leaking precum.

Opening his eyes at the intrusion of his moment, Ecthelion grumbled a curt, “Wait your turn.”

Laughing at the response after discussing all that they would do together with you, Egalmoth sauntered over and fell to his knees. There, amongst your ministrations with his fellow companions, his lips fell upon your skin. At first, his kisses and bites were affectionate, filled with a touch of playfulness while his hands roamed your front, fingers dancing dangerously close to your mound, and parting your hair to run his fingers along your lips. But easily his kisses grew hungry, and lust filled as he grazed his teeth against your skin while he ground his hips into your ass once a finger slipped between your fold to dance with your clit.

You partially froze with Glorfindel’s tip in your mouth, tongue swirling around the head, prompting him to jerk. Egalmoth took this as a sign to proceed and travel his finger further south where he came to your sensitive entrance and unmistakeably sunk two fingers inside, crossing them and aiming for your soft spot. Grounding his cock against your ass while matching the rhythm to the thrusting of fingers left you breathless on both Lord’s cocks. Your grip tightened every few seconds, prompting impatient hisses to be emitted from their lips.

Very soon, Egalmoth’s lips began to descend down your back, his free hand sweeping your hair out the way as he made a line all the way to your ass, not without biting a cheek.

“Are you serious?” you muttered with laughter in your tone.

A casual shrug before he parted your legs, fingers still embedded in your cunt, he grinned. “Couldn’t resist something so plump and juicy,” he laughed. “Why don’t we shift towards the bench; it’s more comfortable.”

The other two, frozen in their plethora of pleasure, were abruptly brought out of their revere and nodded along, not wanting to waste a second more when their pleasure was so high.

Within a matter of seconds, you found yourself being arranged into a familiar position you were folded into, moments ago. Back pressing against Glorfindel’s chest and legs crooked and pressing into your sides, Egalmoth knelt between them with his large warrior hands gripping the back of your thighs with his control slipping away inch by inch. To your right, you were met with Ecthelion’s elegant yet, angry erection contorting towards your face to be put out of misery. Inhaling deeply through your mouth, you bit your lips when Glorfindel’s cock head rubbed against your rear entrance before he gently pressed and inched himself in slowly.

“Shit,” you groaned as his cock slid in, thicker and heavier than most, making your eye droop.

Your entire body moved as he sharply inhaled at your tightness, wondering if the others had even dared to enter. Immediately, his hands found purchase on your breasts, his calloused texture, rough against your skin, provided the right amount of pleasure to your sensitivity. Once his cock was embedded and his feet were planted into the floor, Egalmoth descended, without a minute to spare, on your cunt, his mouth covering the entire to give you long lavish licks, making your toes curl and eyes cross. “Hmm, fuck you taste sweet,” came the muffled voice of Egalmoth as he wasted no time dragging his tongue through your folds. Not one for being left behind, Ecthelion soon followed with a firm grip on your jaw as he tapped the head of his cock against your lips for you to take him into your warm, wet cavern.

Feeling a greater pressure already welling up inside your lower abdomen from the steady mixture of Glorfindel’s thick cock thrusting deeper and Egalmoth’s tongue flicking your clit, you were well on your way to an early release. All your emitted sounds were being choked on Ecthelion’s cock plunging in and out your mouth. You could barely keep up with your tongue’s ability to run along his length as he controlled the pacing, leaving you gurgling and moaning in muffles.

“Such a good girl, love,” whispered Glorfindel as he spoke with a deep guttural. “You’re taking me so well.”

As you were being used for your purpose, your previous onlookers smiled and gleamed with desire still swimming in their eyes as they marvelled at the sight. Glorfindel’s and Ecthelion’s cocks worked in sync, thrusting with a rhythm alongside Egalmoth skilful tongue on your clit, to leave you trembling, unable to catch your breath. The slick sounds of wet skin against each other, accompanies by the sweet, lustful moans of the Lords made your pussy clench and leak more arousal for Egalmoth to swallow up. What he missed, covered Glorfindel’s cock to aid with deeper penetration.

Pulling Ecthelion’s cock out your mouth and wrapping your hand around his length. You sucked in a struggled, deep breath. “Sl–…ow down…too deep…” you breathlessly stuttered out as they were getting deeper and rougher with their actions. “Hmph! Shit!”

From beneath you, Glorfindel laughed and dragged his hands off your breasts to cup your ass and drive himself deeper, increasing the sounds of his heavy balls slapping your ass. On the other end, Ecthelion rolled his eyes and slapped your hand off his cock before directing himself back into your wet cavern.

For every penetration of Ecthelion’s cock, you felt every ridge and vein along his cock, tasting the semi-sweetness of his precum on your tongue, Glorfindel’s cock slid out slowly until the tip was all that was left in. For each thrust, there was a faint stinging sensation left on your ass from his powerful hips. Whereas Egalmoth refused to be a tease at this moment and sunk his fingers—three—into your slick entrance, ensuring that all your holes were occupied with something enjoyable. The combined act of both fingers and tongue fuelled the burn in your abdomen and the pulsation in your pussy like a small, violent heartbeat. You swore that you were straight up losing your mind the more they continued.

It was difficult to keep up with the wickedness of Egalmoth’s mouth on your pussy, licking and sucking as if there was some liquid gold running out. The lewd sounds of his mouth and fingers in contact with your slickness, caused a few of the onlookers to grin as they remembered your taste moments ago. In the back of your mind, you could make out the faint exchange of laughter they released as you shut your eyes and clenched your muscles around Egalmoth’s finger and Glorfindel’s cock as your umpteenth orgasm washed over. Ecthelion was the one to slip his cock out your mouth to give you a moment to breathe when Egalmoth waved him over to switch positions.

Immediately Ecthelion slipped his cock into your heat, swearing and shutting his eyes at how wet and warm you were. He knew in a matter of seconds he was about to combust; at least he needed to enjoy a minute or two. Wasting no time and not caring about build-up or matching Glorfindel’s pace, he inserted himself and started pounding away, gripping your thighs with more venom to ensure that you were filled to the brim. The weight of his cock, less than Glorfindel’s, still carried an unforgettable signature that left your toes curling as he fucked you into sensitivity while rubbing your clit.

“Gods you feel too good,” he groaned. “You’re going to make me finish early.”

Chuckling, Egalmoth had stepped aside, wanting to have you all to himself once they were over. He moved over to sit at the edge of the pool as Ecthelion and Glorfindel went to work, increasing their pace to drill into you harder. Your sweet cries turned into hiccups as you struggled to take the brutal pounding from both noble warriors.

“Oh fuck!” you whined, dragging your sound and turning it into a squeal when one of Glorfindel’s hands reached down to rub your clit, joining his friend. Your eyes were half-closed as they were a mixture of crossing and rolling into your head. “Nghh! God I close.”

Grinning triumphantly from under you, the golden-haired Lord’s lips ran across your shoulder, kissing and biting, whispering filth into your ears to drive you over the edge. For each word that left his lips, they both felt how you contracted around them and sucked them in further with absolute want. Needing them to drive themselves in further and deeper until they painted your insides white. Your desire for wanting to milk them dry as they melted within your soft walls, enjoying the lavish massaging in return for their cocks rubbing you just right, caused Glorfindel to spiral first.

His hips stuttered as his moans turned into grunts, and his fingers never ceased rubbing your clit as he gave one last hard thrust and pushed his cock to the hilt as he emptied himself, basking in the clenching of your muscles squeezing him. Ecthelion was one to follow shortly after with the swelling of his cock being felt by you before painting your insides white as well. Both their melodic panting, echoing in your ear was stirring your insides all over again as if to have another round. And, as if they were able to sense your thoughts, Ecthelion smiled and shook his head while Glorfindel chuckled. Furthermore, the sight of your cunt stained with cum was tempting to overstay and release another load.

Fighting the urge to stay a while longer in your warmth, he was the first to gently pull out and release your legs from his deadly grip, giving apologetic squeezes to them.

“So sorry, darling. Do forgive me,” Ecthelion sweetly apologised as he bent down to kiss your thighs. “But let’s get you cleaned up.”

Tiredly murmuring something unrecognisable, he brought you to your feet, leading you to wince at the sensation of their cum trickling out and down your thighs. However, Glorfindel was sad to let you go already, but he knew before the night was over, he’d have you again. As you stood, Glorfindel couldn’t resist outstretching his hands to give each of your ass cheeks a quick squeeze. Your head swivelled around to stare at him questioningly. In return, he offered a boyish grin. “I can’t resist it.”

Now on your feet, you melted into Thel’s embrace as he brushed your hair out of your sweaty face before whisking you over to the pool to immerse your body in the hot water. And like a magnet, Egalmoth found his way to your side and pulled you against his chest. “They were quite rough on you, sweetness,” he apologetically whispered into your shoulder as he kissed it. “Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle with you later.”

His words earned an eye roll from all the other Lords who either scoffed or slapped water at him.

Eventually, with all the Lords finally present in the pool with you, washing themselves off and discussing their daily gossip, you relaxed. The night was still young with many hours to go before everyone agreed that their fills were satisfied, and you were officially aware of how hungry each of them was. Thankfully with their caring nature and focus on aftercare, you were more than able to take them all over again…a few more times.

Feeling the wet sponge being dragged over your shoulders as Egalmoth continued to wash off the sweat, you closed your eyes and melted into his chest. “I don’t mind doing this more often once I get good aftercare.”

Growing content at your words, he leaned in and kissed your neck. “I’m glad that you are enjoying yourself,” he murmured while his other hand snaked around your waist to pull you onto his lap. The minute you sat on his lap, you felt his erection pressing against your back. “But I wouldn’t mind being a bit sneaky and having more of you right now. What do you say, pretty girl?”

“I would be a fool to decline,” you giggled as you shifted and eased yourself on his cock as he delicately slipped himself in, both doing your best to not make a sound as the others laughed.

“Now let’s see how well you can keep quiet…”

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[minaturefics]

Of the Earth

Request: Could I request a fic faramir x reader where she has stumbled into ithilien and he comes across her? he's all angry at first because it's dangerous, but it ends well :) (they don't have to know each other either)

A/N: This one has more ranger!Faramir which was fun to write. Boromir lives because I say so lol Hope you all enjoy it!

Faramir x Reader

Fem reader

No content warnings

4.1k words

---

You inhaled the cool evening air, breathing in the scent of fir and cedar. You followed the worn path, now dotted with primroses and overgrown with fragrant herbs of thyme and sage, and swept your eyes over the trees and shrubs. Where was the entrance to Henneth Annûn? Idhron mentioned that it would be along the side of the mountain. The dying light of the sun filtered in through the trees and the forest was bathed in a dreamy glow. Ithilien truly was such a beautiful land, even now, still sullied with the lingering darkness of the orcs.

Something rustled behind you and your hand flew to your short sword. Your eyes darted around, breath hitched in your chest. Were there orcs about this evening? Most of them had been driven away, especially after the destruction of the Ring, but there was always the risk of stray orcs around. The forest settled, still and silent, but you kept your steps light and quiet as you continued on. 

You neared the rock face and raised a hand to the rough surface. Idhron had said that the entrance looked little more than a crack, just wide enough for a man, and that what differentiated it from other cracks was the feeling of the stone. He had said that it would be cool and damp, and that there would be a change in the air, a subtle rushing in of the breeze. You continued past a few fissures until you felt exactly what he described. With a final glance behind you, you slipped into the stone. 

You felt along the wall of the crevice, eyes adjusting to the dim, careful not to stumble on any errant stones or steps. There was a faint glow on the wall ahead, orange and warm, and you frowned. Torches? A fire? But Henneth Annûn was supposed to be empty. You drew your sword and rounded the corner. 

“Do not move if you value your life,” a voice said, low and stern. 

You froze and blinked at the hooded figures in front of you. Their weapons were drawn. Your eyes darted to the white tree on the leather breastplates of the men and you relaxed a fraction. 

“Peace,” you said, lowering your sword. “I come from Minas Tirith.”

“We were not informed of any other parties dispatched to Ithilien. And you do not look like a messenger.”

“I come on behalf of Ioreth, of the Houses of Healing.” You sheathed your sword and offered the pommel, where the crest of the white tree was embossed, to the man. “Would the Enemy carry a sword from The White City? I think not.”

The figure threw his hood back and you flinched. Captain Faramir. 

Prince Faramir. 

“My lord,” you murmured, stunned, and he gestured for his company to lower their weapons.

His grey eyes were cold and stern, his lips set in a displeased line. “What are you doing here? Do you not know that there are still dangers lurking in Ithilien?”

“I am well aware. But I have come on a matter of urgency — I am in search of a plant, a herb, that they require. I have been searching for the last two days.”

“And you would dare venture out alone?” He frowned. “Why were we not informed of such an errand? My men and I could have found the plant for you.”

“By the time Ioreth realised what plant she required, your men had already departed. And it is not as though we, in the Houses of Healing, are told where the rangers go.” 

His brow cleared a little but his jaw was still tense. 

“As for leaving the city alone — there were no others we could spare to come with me. Our little band of foragers are not as well staffed as the rangers and guards,” you muttered, a hint of bitterness lacing your tone. “I was not going to let some woman die simply because I had no companion on this quest.”

“I cannot decide if you are brave or foolish,” he muttered and nodded to dismiss his men. They took one final glance at you then wandered off further into the cavern. “How did you find this place?”

“Idhron told me. It was getting dark, so I thought such a shelter would be a good place to camp for the night.”

He sighed and shook his head. “Come, my men were just about to sit and eat before we were alerted to your intrusion. Join us, and we can talk.”

He led you to one of the caverns where a few worn tables and chairs were scattered about. Some of the Rangers ate at the tables, but most were seated on some woven mats on the floor. Braisers lit and warmed the space and the distant hush of the waterfall echoed above the chatter. Faramir handed you a bowl of stew and a piece of bread and sat with you at one of the empty tables. 

“How do you know Idhron?” he asked.

“He is a friend of the family. They did not wish for me to join the rangers as they thought it would be too dangerous but I did not wish to be designated to a life of weaving or scribing. He had suggested foraging for the Houses of Healing as a sort of compromise. It allows me to be in the wilds, but the work is far less perilous than that of a ranger.”

He hummed. “He is a wise man.”

You nodded and went back to your stew. How strange it was to be seated at a table with Faramir. Prince Faramir, you reminded yourself. You tucked your dirt stained fingernails under your palm and tried not to slurp while you ate. You glanced up, eyes trailing over his wavy hair, to his proud brow, down to his lips and short beard. He truly was handsome up close; it was no wonder the Houses of Healing were all a flutter with gossip after he had stayed there. His eyes met yours and you nearly choked on your stew. 

You cleared your throat and let your eyes fall to the table.

“Tell me about this plant,” he said.

“I do not know what its proper name is but we call it Dawn Root. It is leafy and unassuming and the only way to find it is to listen for it.”

“To listen?”

“Yes, it… it chimes. It is easiest heard at dawn, hence its name.”

“How curious. I have never heard of such a thing,” he murmured. “Will you be searching for it tomorrow morning?” 

You nodded, and he said, “I would like to accompany you, if you are amenable to that.” His gaze had softened, the firelight melting the steel in them. “It is not because I think you are incapable. I simply wish to see this strange plant.”

Your stomach lurched and you gave him a hesitant nod.

”I must confess to some curiosity about how a practised forager goes about it. We are taught some basics, enough to keep us alive, but I’m certain there’s still much more to learn. Even after the sun has risen, perhaps we can still forage, if you do not mind sparing some time to show me.”

Your eyes  dropped to your half-eaten stew. Faramir wished to learn from you? “What would you wish to know about?”

“Mushrooms,” he murmured, a slight smile in his voice. “We’re taught mostly to avoid them unless we are absolutely certain they are not poisonous, and even then, most of us are wary. I am fond of morels, but I know they have a deadly counterpart.”

You shrugged. “They are easy to differentiate. In fact, it is the season for them now. We might find some while we are looking tomorrow.”

“I suppose, then, I can trust you to pick some?”

Your eyes rose to meet his. They were unguarded now, so different to how he looked before, and a gentle smile was on his face. He looked like the sort of man you would cross paths with in the market or in the library. Just an ordinary man, eager for mushrooms. 

 “And then you’ll cook them for us?” You asked with a chuckle and he nodded. “I did not think there would come a day where I would see Prince Faramir standing over a campfire, cooking.”

The moment the words left your mouth you snapped your jaw shut. What were you thinking? Teasing him like that? 

You opened your mouth to apologise but his eyes crinkled with amusement and a breathy laugh escaped from him. “Do you know how to cook?”

“Only well enough to survive.”

He grinned. “Ah, then perhaps this is something I can teach you in return.”

-

Faramir held the torch aloft and swept his eyes across the trees and shrubs. It was so dim, the sun still yet to break the horizon, that he could scarcely see beyond the torch’s little sphere of light. Every morning for the past week, he had set out with you to search for this plant. You walked beside him, steps so silent he wondered who had taught you to stalk and creep through the land, your eyes fixed on the darkness, focused yet distant. 

The light illuminated your profile, highlighting it in a soft orange. He followed the line of light down from the line of your forehead to the swell of your lips. You had shown up at the cave with your hair mussed and your skin shiny with sweat, and yet, in that moment, you seemed to him more beautiful than the courtly ladies of Gondor. 

Ever since his appointment as Prince of Ithilien, it seemed like there was no end to the subtle romantic overtures from the nobles.

There was no need for an advantageous match, both Boromir and Aragorn assured him, but even if there was, he could not betray himself to pick someone based on some arbitrary checklist of what would make a good partner. It wrenched his heart each time he spoke with the ladies — they were lovely and polite, intelligent and funny, but they were all lacking a certain something he could not name.

It seemed, to him, with each passing day, that he was destined to be a bachelor like his brother, though unlike Boromir, it would not be of his choosing.

When his brother had offered to temporarily take over the post of Steward while Faramir cleared and reestablished Ithilien, Faramir had marshalled his men and left the city within the week. It would be good to get away from the empty rooms and halls, away from the hollowness that echoed the loneliness within him.

Some part of him missed the warm and dry library, the scent of books and paper, but there was peace to be had in the wild too, in the quiet of the caverns, the stillness of the morning. And even now, in the silent understanding between two people united in the quest for something.

He squinted out into the dark and sighed. “We can hardly see in such low light. Perhaps we set out too early this morning.”

“You are not using the right sense, my lord,” you said, a sly smile growing on your face. “As I said, it chimes.”

“I cannot hear anything.”

“Perhaps if your steps were not so loud…” You flashed him a smile and he chuckled, a strange warm feeling growing in his chest. How long had it been since someone, anyone, aside from his company and his brother, dared to joke with him?

“My steps are hardly making a sound. You move like a cat; it is unnatural.”

“What is unnatural is seeing you out here.” You laughed. “I thought that —” Your smile vanished and you glanced away. “Forgive me, sometimes I forget myself, especially away from the city. I did not mean any offence.”

“I am not offended.” He smiled. “I would like to hear what you were about to say.”

You eyed him, hesitant, then looked away and spoke your words to the woods instead. “I… I thought that you would prefer to be in the city. I am well aware that you were, are, a good captain and ranger, but your love of literature and lore is just as fabled. I did not think you would return to your former roles now that we are in a time of peace.”

“Such a sentiment certainly isn’t unfounded,” he mused. “But sometimes even I, too, find the city a little stifling. It is nice to simply exist as oneself, unobserved by people.”

“I shall do my best to keep my eyes to myself then.” You laughed and he relished the sound before you pursed your lips and forced yourself to stop. “Um, what about your men?”

“We have travelled a long and weary road together. We see each other as friends.”

You opened your mouth then closed it with a snap, forging forward, and his chest tightened. He had thought that all the nightly conversations at dinner would have put you at ease with him but alas. He wished you would speak freely, like you did late at night when your tongue was loosened with fatigue. 

He adored the way you would speak of your little adventures out of the city, eyes aglow with a fond smile on your lips. How you had one too many mishaps with a collapsing tent, how one of your companions taught you the shapes of the stars, how there was no greater thrill than discovering some strange new herb.

And just last night, you had leaned close to him while he fried the morels. The cavern was loud with chatter, but he had deliberately kept his voice low and gestured for you to move closer when you said you could not hear him. He could smell you, musk and moss and lemon from the homemade bar of soap you said you brought. You were so real, so alive. And when an errant strand of hair fell over your forehead, his fingers twitched to tuck it behind your ear.

If he were to do such a thing, would you welcome it? Or would the height of his station prevent you from entertaining such a notion? It vexed him, the way you would speak to him as an equal, a friend, then suddenly pull back, withdrawing to formalities. Perhaps he should make it clear to you that there was no need for such things.

“I was thinking…” he began.

“Hush,” you whispered. “I hear it.”

He stilled, straining his ears, and there, just faintly to his right, was a clear tinkle. You followed the sound, pausing every other step to listen, and he trailed after you. The first of the sun’s rays spilled through the trees, casting the forest, and you, in a hazy glow. His eyes lingered on the lines and curves of your body, marvelling at your grace.

You let out a triumphant cry and knelt a few paces in front of him. Just as you had said, the plant, leafy and unassuming, was chiming softly. You gently dug it out and cradled it in the palm of your hand. Its roots were a deep crimson and remained undamaged. You grinned at him, so open and so genuine that his heart ached with some unknown feeling.

“I must head for the city at once,” you said, tucking the plant into a canvas bag.

“You do not have a horse, correct?”

“A horse? Valar, where would I get a horse? They have been in short supply since the war, and Rohan are yet to send more over. And should the city even have some, the guards and messengers would take precedence over the foragers.”

“I did not realise your company was so ill-equipped.” A strange discomfort settled in his stomach. “It is no matter. We have some horses, please, take one.”

You blinked at him, astonished. “Where do you keep them?”

“There is another tunnel in the rock face not far from the cave entrance. It is large enough for horses to pass through and widens onto a grassy plateau. Come, let us make haste.”

You nodded and the both of you hurried back to Henneth Annûn. While you gathered your things, he untied and retrieved a horse for you. When would he see you again? He supposed he could always visit the Houses of Healing and ask for you, but perhaps you would not appreciate that. You still seemed a little ill at ease with him and, despite his own stirring feelings towards you, he would not wish to discomfit you further. With a sigh, he led the horse out to meet you. 

Saddled and ready, you gave him a lingering look, then turned and galloped away. 

-

You handed Ioreth the most recent bunch of gathered herbs, trying to ignore the curious glances the other women gave you. Ever since you arrived in the city three weeks ago on Faramir’s horse, the Citadel and the Houses of Healing have been abuzz with rumours. It did not help that a couple of days after your return, a messenger had arrived at the Houses of Healing with a letter for you with the bright blue wax seal of Ithilien stark on the envelope. Your foraging company knew better than to ask, but it seemed everyone else was not above gossip. 

Iotheth gave the whispering women a stern look, thanked you for your herbs, and handed you another list of plants required. 

You grumbled to yourself. Faramir’s horse! You did not know it was his, but perhaps you should have noticed the round medallion on the bridle which bore the newly created crest of Ithilien. Still, in the quiet of the night, you wondered why he had chosen that particular horse for you. Perhaps it was the most agreeable one they had, or maybe it was the most well rested, or he thought that sending you on his horse would be the most efficient way for you to reach the city without anyone stopping you.

Or perhaps… perhaps he simply wished to send you on his horse.

No, no. What a foolish thought. Evenings spent in conversation and mornings spent foraging and letters sent with the supply carts and messengers was hardly a basis for anything more than friendship.

Still, the letters had been unusually intimate. There were the usual inquiries about the patients and medicinal herbs, how the outpost in Henneth Annûn was coming along, whether the resource changes he and Boromir agreed on were helping your company of foragers, but there were also little personal comments and questions. 

Other women here in the city might beg to differ, but I think the Rangers’ uniform is far more attractive than the guards’.

You’ve never used a bow? They can be quite handy, especially when hunting dinner. Perhaps when I am back in the city I can teach you. 

Thank you for the pressed primrose you sent, they remind me quite fondly of my time in Ithilien.  Do you have a favourite flower? 

We’ve had another delicious morel dinner. I must confess that the sight of them makes me think of you.

It would amuse you to know I overheard some ladies mourning your absence from the city. Though, I begrudgingly admit that I share their sentiment. 

The lily perfume Ioreth made for you sounds lovely. I imagine it must smell wonderful on you. 

No, I do not write to you out of a sense of obligation. I look forward to your letters; you bring me more joy than you can ever know.

And each time he had signed his letter as ‘Faramir’. Not ‘Captain Faramir’ or ‘Prince Faramir’, but just… Faramir. 

Your heart fluttered when you thought of that, but you squashed the feeling as soon as it arose. He was a prince, for Valar’s sake. And you were just… just…

Ioreth’s voice broke through your thoughts. “Girl,” she said, amusement in her eyes. “You have a visitor.”

“Who in Arda would come see me here?” you groused, pocketing her plant list. “All my friends are out —”

Faramir stood in the archway, his cheeks red from the wind and his cape hem muddied.

“Not all your friends, I hope,” he said, an unsure smile on his face.

“Fara — My lord,” you muttered, bowing your head a little. 

His brows drew together. “Please, I am certain we are past such formalities.” You cast a nervous glance around the room and his frown deepened. “Shall we speak elsewhere? There is something I wish to discuss with you.”

You nodded and led him to one of the secluded gardens outside. “I did not know you were returning to the city,” you said. 

“I had thought of sending a letter but I thought what I wished to discuss would be best done in person.”

“That sounds serious,” you murmured. “Not ill tidings, I hope?”

You paused by one of the shrubs, rubbing a waxy leaf between your fingers, avoiding his eyes. What could be so important he would make the trip back from Ithilien? 

“I hope you will forgive me for being selfish,” he said. “Coming to the Houses of Healing and seeking you out. I am not oblivious to the… the rumours circulating around the city.”

You took a hesitant look at him. “So why did you come?”

“I wished to see your face when you give your reply.” He swallowed and clasped his fidgety hands behind his back. “I have read your letters again and again, trying to find some sort of hint or clue in them, and in your last letter… You said I brought you joy.”

You stared at him, the sound of your heart loud in your ears. The words had slipped from you before you realised, but you had left them in, a cautious declaration of how you felt, hoping that he would take it as a friend being overly sentimental.

“I must know,” he said. “Is there… Is there a chance you might return my feelings?”

“Your feelings?” you stuttered, scarcely believing what he was saying. 

“Yes,” he said slowly. “You are a most singular person to me and there has been no other who has captured my heart so.” 

He paused and looked at you, hopeful and apprehensive all at once. You gaped at him. 

Singular… Captured his heart…  All this time, he felt the same?

“Ah,” he said, voice flat, eyes shuttering. “I suppose your silence is enough of an answer.” He took a step back. “Forgive me, I —”

“Wait, no, please.”

He stilled but his face remained impassive.

“I am simply in disbelief,” you said in a rush. “I did not think… I dare not hope…” A strangled laugh burst from you. “Of course, of course I share your feelings.”

A smile spread slowly across his face and he offered his hand, palm up, to you. You reached out, but the sight of your hands, rough and dirt stained, stopped you.

“Why do you hesitate?” he murmured.

“Faramir, you are a prince. And I am not of equal standing or birth.”

“I do not care for such things. You are kind and brave, and smart and good-humoured.” He offered his hand once more and you tentatively curled your fingers around his. “And you are beautiful.”

He tugged on your hand and you stepped closer. Slowly, slowly, he brought his forehead to yours. You sucked in a deep breath, inhaling his scent of leather and musk, relishing his nearness after so many weeks. He nudged your temple with his nose and pressed a kiss to your temple.

He hummed, low and satisfied. “The perfume really does smell wonderful on you. I suppose I must smell a bit ripe in comparison. Though, in my defence, it was a swift ride, and I was far too eager to see you.”

“I think you would benefit from a bath, yes.” You chuckled and drew back. “But Faramir, what about the court?”

“Tongues will always wag, my love,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “But we shall face them together. And besides, you have already shown your service and care for the people. What more could Gondor ask of you as my partner?”

“I suppose I cannot argue with that.” You grinned. “But maybe, we could proceed slowly? I do not think I would fare well if I were immediately tossed into society.”

“Of course. And it shall give me time to court you, properly. I will be returning from Ithilien soon, and then I assure you, there will be flowers and walks and picnics.”

“And mushrooms?”

He laughed and kissed your cheek. “Yes, and mushrooms.”

---

A/N: Lowkey feel like the pacing was a bit off. I originally planned for it to be longer, but my brain decided to be shitty lmao so I had to pare it back. I hope the flow is still okay.

Nirnroot was inspiration for the Dawn Root, lmk if anyone picked up on that lol

[rivendell-poet]

hi! i hope you’re doing well. i saw that you were taking requests and i was wondering if you would be willing to write for legolas? tenth walker reader who’s kind of like a witch (you don’t have to mention this at all if it doesn’t come up) and she and legolas have kind of been dancing around their feelings for a while (but they both Know), and when they’re in lothlorian she finally decides to confess after everything that’s happened. if you’re willing to write a little bit of spice, not full smut or anything but generally making out, that’s cool but if you’re not comfortable then that’s all good too!

have a great day

- anon (:

Hi! First of all thanks so much anon, hope you've been doing well too! Secondly sorry for the wait, but hopefully you enjoyed it! (also sorry if there isn't much spice, I tried)

❝𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞❞ « one-shot »

Pairing : Legolas X witch!Reader

Wordcount : 1.7k

Gender-neutral reader | TWs : None, but there's a bit of spice at the end

Summary : The two of you are dancing around your feelings for a while, even if it's obvious to everyone - even you two. But nothing happens, until Lothlórien.

When you had been invited to Elrond’s council it hadn’t been entirely surprising, after all you often assisted the Lord of Rivendell and Gandalf. What had been surprising was the nature of the meeting - the One Ring sitting right in front of you. You had volunteered to join the Fellowship, travelling with nine other companions. You had met the wizard of course, people of your ‘skill set’ tended to gravitate towards each other, but all except Aragorn escaped your knowing. And even your knowledge on Aragorn was limited.

Still, it hadn’t stopped you from starting to get to know everyone else - Merry and Pippin were particularly admiring of your gifts. The hobbits didn’t exactly understand how you could summon a small flame from the tip of your finger, or coax a flower into following you like the sun, but they still always enjoyed it. And you noticed that you’d gotten additional audience members as the journey went on. You weren’t a stranger to people staring at your magic, even with intense gazes, but they weren’t normally so fixated upon you.

The first time you had ignored it, only looking up as the fire’s flames changed completely from orange to blood red. Most of the Fellowship’s gaze was on the fire, so who’s gaze was on you? And then you see him through the darkness. Legolas.

For someone who had been staring so unashamedly before, he quickly lowers his gaze to the flames now. Internally you curse yourself for making the flames red, because it’s impossible to tell if his cheeks are blushing or simply reflecting the light of the fire. On Legolas’s part he’s very grateful for the fire, because it hides just how red his cheeks have become. Or how red he thinks they’ve become. Because you’re the first person to ever make him feel like this. He feels slightly bad for taking advantage of how much you focus on your magic, knowing he’ll look away quicker than you can look at him, but he doesn’t know how else to admire you.

And then the two of you catch each other across the fire. This time, you can see the dusting of his face is definitely blush - and he sees how beautiful you look in the firelight. Only somewhat illuminated - but in his eyes still glowing, almost ethereal. The darkness doesn’t claim your other features, but it does highlight your eyes. The eyes that are still staring into his.

Around the campfire there’s still chatter going on, but your mind manages to put it into background noise until you hear your name being called. Then called again. Coming back to the real world, sound resumes - the fire crackling and full conversations happening, and you quickly turn to Merry before asking him to repeat the question.

When you wake up the sun is in the sky, although it’s still early enough for there to be a covering of dew on the ground. There’s some movement, and you shake yourself awake to see both Aragorn and Legolas already moving. Because of course it’s those two. The two of them are already in their travelling gear, and your eyes search for where they’ve gotten changed. Which, based on the lack of anywhere else, you can only assume are the trees a little way out. Deciding not to bother yet you yawn before getting out of your bedroll, beginning the same motions of packing it.

“Would you like to eat?” Legolas’ question isn’t unusual, but something about it makes you stop for a second. And your heart to add an extra beat.

“As long as the rations aren’t stale.” You call back, hoping the pause wasn’t too obvious, before continuing to pack.

“Here.” The motion by which he passes to you is simple, but your brain decides to focus on the second in which his skin touches yours. The small gesture should be just that, small, but something about it is different. Because this is the first time you’ve interacted with him after you’ve noticed him staring.

You realise you’ve paused too much again, and so quickly pull it back. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” He nods at you before going back packing up his own supplies, and you try to focus on eating. It still feels awkward, but the two of you are mature adults. You can check each other out  make eye contact and still walk together. Like always, you go to get your travel clothes and get changed, this time looking at your other clothing options. Which is weird, because it’s not something you always focus on. This is a quest, not a fashion show.

But it doesn’t stop you from picking out something slightly nicer. And then second guessing yourself for most of the morning. It’s still practical, but nicer than what you’ve been wearing, and you hope the effort doesn’t go unnoticed - by a certain elf, that is. And Legolas certainly notices it. He tries to be subtle, but your eyes catch a few times and he isn’t quite as responsive to some of Gimli’s quips.

So the dance begins.

It’s never too obvious, just an extra smile - thinking too much about what you’re going to say to the other person, and then immediately forgetting half of it when they laugh. Thinking the others laugh is the most beautiful thing they’ve heard - the image of the other smiling is one of the most beautiful sights they’ve ever seen. Both of you sitting next to each other, and then not acknowledging it. Because when you’re on a journey to save the world when do you have time to confess?

The two of you keep being restrained, just talking enough and being together enough to keep interest and to keep your heart beating. Eventually, the moment that forces you to confront everything is when you’re in Lothlórien and you can feel safe. When you know you have the time to finally think about things. To maybe… do something about it.

You know that, reasonably, the two of you almost certainly like each other. The butterflies each of you give each other, the smiles and the way your faces heat up, cannot simply be platonic. Cannot always be excused as something else. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t nervous. You also know that, if Legolas does love you, it’s because of you and not the way you’ve dressed. That still doesn’t stop you from trying to dress up slightly more, thankful for the elven garments that you’ve been gifted. Trying to decide which one he’d like best.

Trying to decide one more time, you realise that it won’t matter at all if you don’t ask him to meet you. So you set both garments down, hoping one will look better when you return, before trying to catch the elven prince. He’s surprisingly easy to find, sitting alone, and almost doesn’t notice you. So, using a little magic to mask your footsteps, you begin to come up behind him - smiling when you’re only a foot or so away. The magic that masks your footsteps fade as you bridge the distance between the two of you. Lowering your head, you whisper, “Meet me here tonight?”

There’s so little distance between you that you can practically feel him tense, and you know his eyes have flickered to you. And then he breathes back, “Yes.”

The confirmation happens quickly, and you begin to whisk yourself away when he stops you - hand hovering over your arm. “I.. I look forward to it.”

Now your face is definitely heated up, although his is as well - so perhaps it’s not too bad. Still, you can’t make your escape fast enough. At least, when you head back to the chambers you’ve been given, the clothing choice is now clearer. And so, you find yourself waiting in the glen as it is finally covered in moonlight. When you’d chosen the garment you’d liked how it was fitted, the slight dips and tightness, but now you’re cold. And somewhat insecure. In an effort to hide the worst of it you begin to mutter a spell, a small orbs of light forming at your fingertips - drawing from the stars all around you. They’ve only just begun to circle you when you hear an intake of breath.

At the entrance of the glen Legolas is standing there, simply staring at you - as though you are the most wondrous thing he’s ever laid eyes on. As if it is a privilege to be staring at you, to simply be here with you (and for him it is). You meet his eyes, and he looks away for a second before going back to you, slightly more tentatively. “My apologies, you simply…”

His eyes trail up and down you again, and he takes a deep breath. “You look beautiful, ethereal-”

He cuts himself off, and you realise that - despite how obvious it is - the two of you have never truly confessed to each other. Like earlier you begin to close the gap, and he stays still - not moving until there is less than a foot between you. And then he moves to completely close the gap, eyes searching for something as the two of you are close together. So close you can see every detail, hear his breathing, feel his breath hitch on yours and then.

Gently, his lips close the gaps as they sink onto yours. Immediately you begin to deepen it, and he stills for a second before continuing as well, hands closing in slightly around your waist. Hands wondering as well, they find themselves in his hair - gently tangled, and only enough for painless tugging. As the kiss finishes you pull your hand slightly down, and you can see his eyes spark. He pulls away for breath, and then kisses you again - slightly needier this time. The two of you are very close together now, and when you break for the second time he keeps you close to him. As close as he can.

“I love you, meleth nîn.”

A/N : Sorry there's not too much spice - I can just never write it. Hopefully it was still enjoyable! Side note, really building up the Legolas content on this page, huh? Next requested one-shot is Aragorn however <3

« masterlist » thank you for reading *･༓˚✧ Taglist : @starwars2222 / @xiaoseminence / @withasideofmeg / @wordbunch / @bespectacledhuman /  @ferns-fics / @chewgazellechew / @recordofragnarokfan2 / @stormchaser819 / @raikan624 ✧ wish to be tagged?

[thewulf]

I Choose You || Legolas

Summary: Request - Hii hope you're having a good day, is it okay if I request a Legolas x reader where reader is Gandalf's granddaughter and joined the fellowship on their quest to destroy the ring? They both slowly fell in love with each other along the way and when the incident in Moria happened where Gandalf dies, Legolas comforts her.

A/N: Thank you for the amazing request! Had a blast writing this as usual :) It's a lil long, so enjoy!

Pairing: Legolas x Female Reader

Word Count: 5.5k +

TW: Talks of war/death, war, death, orcs, general LOTR triggers

You stand silently amidst the gathered council fading into the background as best you could. The murmur of many voices echoing softly through the vaulted halls of Rivendell. The air is crisp, filled with the mingling scents of ancient scrolls and the distant freshness of autumnal leaves. Elves, men, dwarves, and even a few hobbits have come to discuss the fate of Middle-earth, their faces marked by concern and resolve.

Your grandfather, Gandalf the Grey, stands at the center of it all. His presence both commanding and comforting. You’ve always admired his wisdom and strength and today, more than ever, you feel the weight of your lineage. You are his granddaughter, gifted with a touch of his magical prowess and a deep love for the mysteries of this world.

As the debate swirls around you, Elrond, the lord of Rivendell calls for silence. His gaze settles on the small golden ring laid upon the pedestal. It’s simple form belying its terrible power. The task is clear though the path is fraught with peril: the ring must be destroyed in the fires of Mount Doom. "We must form a fellowship," Elrond declares. His voice resonant and clear. "Those who will take this burden upon themselves and walk into the shadow to see this evil undone."

A hush falls over the council. Eyes turn, some in fear, others in anticipation, seeking those who might step forward. This is the moment you’ve prepared for, not just since you arrived in Rivendell but throughout your life under Gandalf’s tutelage. With a breath that steadies your resolve you step forward. The rustle of your cloak is like a whisper against the stone floor and several members of the council turn in surprise as you move into the circle of light cast by the morning sun through the high windows.

"I will go," you say, your voice firm and clear. "For the love of my grandfather and for the safety of middle earth. I will see this quest through to its end."

Murmurs of approval ripple through the room and Gandalf meets your eyes across the circle. There’s pride in his gaze and a touch of sorrow, knowing well the dangers that lie ahead. But in this moment you see also the unspoken bond between the two of you. An acknowledgment of the shared commitment to what is right, no matter the cost.

Legolas, a prince of the Woodland Realm, nods to you with respect clear in his bright eyes. Beside him, a stout figure grumbles under his breath, yet Gimli the Dwarf gives a curt nod of assent, recognizing your courage. Beside them a young hobbit named Frodo, who is to be the Ringbearer, looks on with wide, earnest eyes. It is for him, and for all who call this land home, that you pledge your strength. As the council disperses to prepare for the journey you stand beside Gandalf feeling the ancient power of Rivendell around you and the even older strength that lies within your own heart. This is just the beginning you know but you are ready. For the Fellowship, for middle earth, for Gandalf.

You will face whatever comes, together.

As the Fellowship journeys south from Rivendell the path grows increasingly treacherous, winding through craggy mountain passes and shadowed forests. The air is crisp and the first frost of winter sparkles on the leaves. Your companions walk close together. Each step a testament to the weight of the task ahead.

Aragorn leads with a steady hand, his ranger skills essential as the terrain becomes more challenging. Beside him, Boromir of Gondor often lends his strength. His booming voice echoing off the stone trying to keep spirits high among the group, especially the hobbits—Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin—who find amusement in the smallest wonders along the way. Like the frost patterns on the leaves or a particularly stubborn squirrel.

Legolas glides effortlessly beside you. His elven grace a stark contrast to Gimli who stumps along with a determined scowl, his axe ever at the ready. Despite the solemnity of your mission the elf and the dwarf have already begun what seems to be an endless competition, each trying to outdo the other in tracking skills, strength, and the telling of tall tales.

One balmy afternoon as the path narrows along the edges of a steep ravine the rivalry comes to a head between the two of them. Gimli insists he can clear a particularly large fallen tree with a single vault much to Legolas’s skepticism.

“Watch and learn, Master Elf,” Gimli grunts as he began to back up for a running start. Legolas watches with an arched eyebrow, clearly very amused by the red headed dwarf travelling beside him.

Just as Gimli begins to charge forward you step in placing a calming hand on his shoulder. “Perhaps, Gimli, it would be wiser to assist each other over the obstacle rather than compete with others. After all, the road ahead promises ample challenge for both of your strengths.” You smile warmly down at the ambitious dwarf set out to prove himself.

Gimli stops mid-stride puffing out his chest a bit as he turns to you, then to Legolas. “Hmm, perhaps you are right, lass. What say you, Legolas? Shall we make this journey a test of our cooperation rather than our competition?”

Legolas’s lips curve into a smile. His eyes sparkling with a newfound respect. “I believe our companion speaks wisely. Let us proceed together.” He offers his hand to Gimli who looks at it for a moment before shaking it heartily.

As the journey continues you find yourself often mediating and bringing lightness to tense moments. One evening as the Fellowship gathered around the campfire you recount a humorous anecdote from your days studying under your grandfather. Making sure to mimic Gandalf’s stern voice and dramatic gestures. The group erupts into laughter, the sound carrying through the trees and lifting the spirits of all including the hobbits who clap delightedly and ask for more stories.

Aragorn, sitting across from you nods appreciatively. His eyes meeting yours with a silent thank-you for the lightness you bring. Boromir chuckles, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes clearly more at ease. “You have the gift of your grandfather. Not only in magic but in spirit.” Aragorn comments, his voice warm in the chill air.

Legolas who was sitting beside you leans closer and speaks softly, “Your wisdom brings much-needed peace. And your humor is a light in dark times. It is a rare gift.”

You meet his gaze. The firelight cast dancing shadows across his features. All elves were beautiful but there was something about the Price of Mirkwood that drew you in. “We all carry our gifts, Legolas. Yours is your unerring optimism and sharp eye. Gimli’s his steadfastness and heart. Boromir’s his valor. Aragorn’s his leadership. And the hobbits’ their enduring cheer. Together we are stronger than each individual.”

As the nights grow longer and the path more daunting the bonds within the Fellowship deepen, fortified by shared challenges and your quiet efforts to understand, and support each other. In the quiet moments Legolas teaches you Elvish songs of old. And Gimli shares tales of the great Dwarven halls, their voices blending into the night creating a tapestry of friendship and hope.

As the Fellowship delves into the ancient depths of Moria the air grows thick with the mustiness of ages and the weight of stone. The walls echo with the memory of Dwarven voices, now silent. The path is lit only by the faint glow of Gandalf’s staff. Gimli moves with a mix of reverence and sorrow. His eyes reflecting a deep familial connection to the lost realm of his kin. The narrow passages twist and turn leading you deeper into the mountain’s heart. The quiet is oppressive, only broken by the occasional drip of water or the scuffle of a boot on stone. Tension mounts with each step and even the normally unflappable Legolas seems taut, his eyes scanning the shadows.

All too suddenly, the dark stillness erupts into chaos. A low growl escalates into a deafening roar as the Balrog, a creature of fire and shadow, reveals itself. The ground trembles beneath its weight and the air sears with heat. Gandalf steps forward his face set with grim determination. “Lead them on, Aragorn,” he commands. “The bridge is near. Do as I say! Swords are no more use here!” Your grandfather cries as he gives you a sharp look. Obey. You must listen to him now.

The Fellowship rushes forward driven by fear and the urgent need to escape, but you hesitate, your heart torn as Gandalf faces the monster alone. As the others cross the bridge of Khazad-dûm you watch, helpless, as Gandalf confronts the Balrog. His staff was raised, a brilliant light flaring to meet the darkness.

“You cannot pass,” Gandalf declares. His voice echoing powerfully. It sends a shutter down even your spine.

The Balrog advances and with a defiant cry Gandalf strikes the bridge with his staff. It crumbles sending the creature plummeting into the abyss. But the Balrog’s fiery whip lashes out, catching Gandalf’s leg, pulling him towards the edge. With a calm but utterly sad glance back at you, he murmurs, “Fly, you fools,” before falling into the darkness below.

Shock paralyzes you momentarily, tears blurring your vision. The others tug at you, pulling you away from the crumbling edge. As you flee Moria the loss of your beloved grandfather hits you. A deep ache that seems to echo through the empty halls. Outside, under the grey, mourning sky, the Fellowship collapses in a clearing. Each member grappling with grief. Your knees give out and you sink to the ground, overwhelmed by sorrow. Legolas is at your side in an instant, his presence a silent solace. He does not speak, but his hand finds yours, squeezing gently. A clear reminder that you are not alone.

Gimli joins you. His own eyes rimmed red. “He was the greatest of us all,” he says gruffly with his voice thick with emotion. “I am honored to have walked beside him and I vow to you, we will see this quest through. For him and for all our sakes.”

The words are a balm to your spirit even as you could not reply. Words were too hard for you now. You lean into Legolas, his strength supporting you. You mourn the loss of the only thing you knew. Legolas and Gimli by your side reminding you that even in the depths of loss, the bonds of friendship and love hold firm.

You manage to whisper a weak "Thank you," before the sorrow overwhelms you once more. Tears flood your cheeks, each one a memory, a moment shared with Gandalf that you'll never experience again. Overcome, you turn into Legolas's side, seeking the comfort that only close, physical presence can provide.  Though he was not typically fond of physical touch he does not hesitate to comfort you. He wraps his arms around you, his embrace firm and unwavering. In this moment your need transcends his usual reservations, and he holds you close. A silent sentinel in your hour of vulnerability.

His hands are steady on your back, one arm around your shoulders, the other at your waist, grounding you as your grief spills forth unchecked. Legolas's heart aches for your loss and though he may not express his emotions openly his actions speak a clear language of care and adoration. As you cry into his side, Legolas rests his chin atop your head. His gaze was fixed on the distant horizon where the last light of day gives way to twilight. He feels the weight of your sorrow as if it were his own, yet he knows he must stand strong for you.

Legolas knows that the road ahead will be fraught with further trials but for now, he offers you all that he can—protection, comfort, and an unspoken promise that no matter what lies ahead, you will not face it alone. In the stillness that wraps around you and Legolas there's a respectful pause from the rest of the Fellowship. They were giving you a moment to collect yourself under the cloak of Legolas's support. Aragorn, ever attentive to the needs of his comrades, notices the depth of your grief and the comfort Legolas provides. He understands the significance of this moment, the necessity of mourning and the importance of support in such times.

Standing a short distance away Aragorn speaks quietly with the hobbits making sure everyone is ready to continue but delaying their departure ever so slightly for your sake. His leadership is subtle. His decisions shaped by a deep understanding of his people's emotional and physical stamina.

After a brief moment, Aragorn looks over, his eyes meeting Legolas’s over your bowed head. There’s a silent communication between them. A leader’s acknowledgement and a friend’s gratitude for the support given to one of their own. Aragorn’s face softens, his respect for whatever was forming between you two clear in his gentle nod.

With a deep breath, signaling both readiness and respect, Aragorn approaches. His voice is soft yet carries a necessary urgency as he speaks. His words meant to soothe but also to remind of the path ahead. “We must move on for night will not wait for us and neither will our enemies,” he spoke with his tone conveying both compassion and resolve. “Take the time you need but remember we must not linger long.”

Legolas gently helps you stand straighter his arms still offering support. As you wipe away the last of your tears, strengthened by the comfort you’ve received, you nod in understanding. Legolas gives you a reassuring look. His eyes promising continued support and then he gently releases you. He was ready to stand by your side as you all prepare to resume the journey. With a final glance at Gandalf’s last stand you and the Fellowship gather your gear and set off once more into the fading light. The memory of Gandalf a guiding light that pushes you forward through the darkness.

Emerging into the sunlight of the world again does little to lift the sorrow of the Fellowship which soon deepens with Boromir’s tragic fall at Amon Hen. His valiant defense of Merry and Pippin against the Uruk-hai, though ultimately costing him his life, marked him forever a hero in the annals of your journey. The loss of such a stalwart companion leaves a void in your heart and within the group, casting a pall over your spirits.

Driven by a fierce determination to honor Boromir’s sacrifice, you, Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli give chase across the plains of Rohan to rescue Merry and Pippin from their captors. The pursuit is grueling. Pushing each of you to your very limits. The landscape of Rohan is vast and relentless, but the tracks are clear, guiding you unerringly toward the thick fringes of Fangorn Forest. The hope of rescuing the hobbits fuels your weary bodies onward even as your hearts ache with the memory of Gandalf's fall and Boromir’s courageous end.

As you follow the trail into the shadowy depths of Fangorn a sense of ancient watchfulness grows. The forest feels alive, old beyond reckoning, and filled with secrets. It is here among the whispering trees that the unexpected happens. A figure steps out from the shadows garbed in white, his presence bright against the dark underbrush. The shock of seeing what you believe might be Saruman stops you in your tracks. But as the figure approaches the energy changes—the air around him shimmers with a familiar warmth and power. Not the cold malice of Saruman.

"Gandalf?" Legolas breathes. A note of awe mingling with disbelief.

You squint, hardly daring to believe it to be true. As he draws closer, clarity dawns, and recognition floods your senses. Overcome with emotion you shout, "Grandfather!" and sprint toward him. Your heart swelling with joy and relief.

Gandalf opens his arms wide, and you crash into his embrace. The impact strong yet comforting. "My dear child," he murmurs. His voice warm and welcoming as he wraps his arms around you. His cloak envelops you with a familiar scent of pipe-weed and the road clinging to the fabric grounding you in the reality of his return.

"Yes, it is I," Gandalf responds gently, now looking down at you with sparkling eyes, "but as Gandalf the White. I come back to you at the turn of the tide. Stronger and renewed. Just as our hope must now be."

The grief at Boromir’s death and the shock of Gandalf's return blend into a complex tapestry of emotions. The initial shock gives way to a festive air as relief and joy wash over Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli. They join in, their earlier despair replaced by laughter and words of amazement, forming a tight circle around you and Gandalf.

As Gandalf explains his battle with the Balrog and his subsequent rebirth his words filling the gaps in your understanding and rekindling hope in your hearts. His return not only signifies a miraculous second chance but also invigorates the Fellowship with renewed purpose and determination. With Gandalf's guidance now as Gandalf the White you all feel a renewed sense of purpose. The path forward is still fraught with danger but with Gandalf returned, and in memory of Boromir’s bravery, you are reminded that even in the darkest times there can be resurrection and hope. Together you prepare to resume the quest, stronger and more determined than ever.

"Your guidance has been sorely missed, Gandalf," Aragorn says. His voice steady but thick with emotion as he joins you. He captures the mood of the moment, channeling the Fellowship’s relief into focus. "What should we do? Frodo and Sam are gone to Mordor. Merry and Pippin are captives of the enemy." Gandalf releases you from the embrace but keeps one hand on your shoulder, grounding, and comforting. He surveys the small group with a decisive gaze and the air around you seems to thrum with renewed energy and urgency.

"We will split our efforts," he declares. "Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, and you," he nods at you, "will pursue the orcs who took Merry and Pippin. Every second counts and your skills will be crucial in navigating this perilous chase."

You try and protest, but he shakes his head continuing along. "Meanwhile, I shall seek aid from the Ents of Fangorn," Gandalf continues, turning to look at the dense woods behind him. "Their strength will be necessary in the wars to come. We must rally all allies for the shadow from the East grows ever bolder."

As plans are made Legolas stands close by your side, his presence a silent vow of protection and partnership. You feel his hand briefly squeeze yours. A gesture of support that sends a surge of warmth through your heart that he had done so many times before.

"You have grown much, under shadow and trial," Gandalf remarks. Looking at you with a blend of pride and affection With the reunion drawing to a close and the path forward set you all prepare to leave. Gandalf’s return has not only brought back a beloved mentor and friend but has reignited the flame of hope within your heart. Together you feel ready to face the challenges that await knowing that the bonds of friendship and duty will guide you through the darkest of times.

As you traverse the expansive lands towards Rohan the camaraderie within the group deepens, each member adjusting to the rhythms of travel and the complexities of intertwined destinies. Amidst these dynamics your relationship with Legolas finds new ground. The elven prince, always serene and composed, begins to show a more attentive and tender side in his interactions with you. His glances linger longer and his conversations, once filled with tales of ancient elven lore, now often drift towards thoughts and dreams of the future, your future.

It’s during one of the long nights while camped under the vast, starlit sky near the borders of Fangorn Forest, that Gimli noticed the growing tension between you and Legolas. He decided to give you both some space. With a knowing wink and a gruff voice Gimli volunteers for the first watch, his tone unusually gentle. "I reckon the night is best shared with stars and heartfelt words, not an old dwarf's snoring."

Grateful, you share a smile with Legolas as Gimli settles a little distance away, his back to you, affording you a semblance of privacy. Legolas turns to you with his blue eyes reflecting the starlight, and for a moment he simply looks at you as if contemplating a thought long held in silence. "I have seen many wonders in my long life," he starts, his voice soft and mesmerizing under the night sky. "But none compared to the courage and kindness I've seen in you. In these trying times you have become a light guiding me."

Your heart flutters at his words, and you feel a warmth spread through you. "And you, Legolas, have been my solace. In you I find peace amidst turmoil. A joy that even the darkest shadows cannot diminish." He smiles. His gaze intensifying with affection and something more, something unspoken yet palpable between you. Then, in a move that surprises you both for its boldness and its intimacy, Legolas shifts closer and gently pulls you into his side. It's a daring gesture for an elf, particularly one as reserved as Legolas. But it feels right as if many paths had converged to bring this moment into being.

The warmth of his body against yours, the protective embrace of his arm—these are things you never expected to find so far from home. "It seems we have found comfort in one another's presence," he says softly. "Would that we might find a way to keep this light alive… no matter what lies ahead?"

"I would like that very much," you whisper as you leaned into the strength of his embrace.

The two of you sit under the blanket of night talking softly of dreams for a peaceful future and the immediate plans for the days to come. The reality of the quest remains but for now, under the stars, you both allow yourselves the luxury of imagining a life beyond the war. Both of you bound by a newfound affection that promises to grow with each passing day.

At Helm's Deep the air is thick with the tension of impending battle. The great fortress, built into the deep folds of the mountain, stands as the last bastion of hope against the relentless march of Saruman's forces. As the sky darkens and the torches flicker against the night you stand on the ramparts beside Legolas watching the sea of enemies gathering in the distance.

Legolas turns to you, his expression clouded with concern. “You should not be here,” he says softly. His voice barely above the howl of the wind. “This battle... it is not like the ones before. I fear—”

“I know,” you interrupt, understanding his fear but meeting his gaze with a resolve that mirrors the steel of the swords of your comrades below. “I know what this battle could mean for all of us. But I must stand with you, with all of you. There is no other place for me now, Legolas.”

Seeing the determination in your eyes, Legolas's expression softens and he pulls you gently against his side. It was a bold move for him, especially in such a public setting. “Then we will face it together,” he says squeezing your hand tightly as a silent promise passes between you.

The night deepens and the enemy’s drums beat a terrifying rhythm that seems to match the racing of your heart. Legolas pulls you closer. His eyes searching yours in the dim light. “No matter what happens tonight, know this,” he whispers, his voice steady despite the chaos swelling around you. “I love you. I have loved you amidst the shadows of our journey, and I will love you beyond the reaches of time.”

Your breath catches at his words. The simplicity and depth of his confession anchoring you amidst your fears. “And I love you,” you repl. Your voice strong even though you felt so weak. “Whatever may come, whatever we face… we face it together.”

As the battle commences the air fills with the clash of steel and the cries of warriors. You fight back-to-back, Legolas’s arrows finding their marks with deadly precision while you fend off attackers with sword and spell.

Gimli joins two of you, his axe a blur as he protects your flank. “Ha! I’d like to see them try to break this line!” he bellows. His voice a rumble of thunder over the din of battle.

The hours stretch. Each moment a lifetime but you fight with a clarity borne of love and the will to protect not just middle earth but the futures you hope to share. Legolas’s presence is a constant reassurance. His quick glances amidst the fray a reminder of everything worth fighting for.

As dawn breaks the tide of battle shifts. With Gandalf’s timely arrival and the charge of the Rohirrim, a new hope is rekindled. The enemy falters and breaks. Exhausted but alive, you, Legolas, and Gimli regroup, your bodies weary but spirits lifted by the victory, however costly it may have been.

Standing amidst the ruins of the battle you all share a look of relief and unspoken understanding. The war is far from over, but the strength of your bonds, the depth of your love, and the courage of your friends give you the fortitude to press on, to fight another day. With Legolas watch the sunrise, the light washing over Helm’s Deep painting the world in hues of gold and red. A daily rebirth, a reminder that after darkness there always comes a new dawn.

After the long shadow of war finally lifts with the destruction of the One Ring the world begins to breathe again. Minas Tirith stands gleaming under the bright sun, its banners waving in a joyous breeze. The streets are filled with music and laughter as people from all corners of middle earth gather to celebrate the victory. The air is sweet with the scent of blossoming flowers brought forth by a spring that signifies not just the changing of seasons but the dawn of a new era.

You, Legolas, and Gimli stand on a balcony overlooking the jubilant city with a cup of fine wine in hand. The Fellowship has been honored by kings and lords, sung by minstrels, and cheered by crowds. But in this moment, the three of you share a quiet moment that speaks of deeper bonds forged in the fires of your shared trials.

Legolas looks out over the city, his eyes reflecting the green of the fields below. “The world is changed,” he says thoughtfully. “I feel it in the earth, I smell it in the air. The darkness that once threatened to swallow us whole is now but a shadow of the past.”

Gimli nods. His eyes twinkling under his bushy brows. “Aye, and it’s time for more pleasant journeys,” he chuckles. “I promised you both a tour of the Glittering Caves, did I not? And I intend to keep that promise. You’ll find no finer sight beneath the mountains, mark my words!”

“And I,” Legolas adds turning to you with a gentle smile, “would have you both come to Mirkwood. The forests have suffered in the darkness. But they recover, much like us. There are places of such beauty and tranquility that they deserve to be witnessed with friends.”

You sip your wine, letting the rich flavors linger on your tongue as you consider the future. “And what of you?” Gimli asks, looking at you with an expectant raise of his eyebrow.

“I think,” you say slowly, smiling at the possibilities that stretch before you, “that I would like to see more of this world that we have fought so hard to save. From the forests of Mirkwood to the caves of the mountains and perhaps even beyond. There’s so much to explore, so much to learn.”

“And so much to rebuild,” Legolas adds. “Wherever we go we carry with us the legacy of those who fought beside us. Those who fell, and those who lived to see this day. Gandalf’s wisdom, Aragorn’s courage, and even Frodo’s quiet determination—they remain with us, guiding us forward.”

Gimli raises his cup, and you and Legolas do the same. “To the future,” Gimli declares heartily.

“To peace,” Legolas adds, his voice warm.

“To friendship,” you conclude. The three of you clink your cups together, the sound crisp and clear.

As the celebration continues below you lean against the stone railing admiring the city sprawling at your feet. Around you the laughter and music rise to the starlit sky, and you feel a profound sense of contentment. The road ahead is uncharted, but you face it not as a lone wanderer but as part of a fellowship that has endured the darkest of times to see the brightest of days.

With Legolas and Gimli by your side you know that whatever adventures lie ahead, they will be filled with joy, discovery, and the unbreakable bonds of friendship. This is not the end of your story but the beginning of a new chapter, one that you will write together.

As the celebrations in Minas Tirith begin to quiet down into a gentle hum of merriment and the evening deepens, Gimli, with a knowing grin and a subtle nod towards Legolas excuses himself to “inspect the integrity of the ale supply,” leaving you two alone on the quieter side of the terrace that overlooks the city’s sprawling, illuminated gardens.

Legolas watches Gimli depart and then turns to you with a serene expression. His eyes reflecting the myriad lights of the city. He reaches into the folds of his tunic and pulls out a small, exquisitely carved wooden box. “I have something for you,” he says. His voice low and filled with a tender emotion that sends a thrill through your heart.

You watch, curious and expectant, as he opens the box to reveal a pendant. It’s a delicate piece, shaped like a leaf but crafted with such intricacy that each vein in the leaf is visible. It shimmered with a light that seems to emanate from within the silver itself.

“This is a leaf from the Mallorn trees of Lothlórien,” Legolas explains as he carefully lifts the pendant from the box. “Galadriel herself gave this to me before we departed and though I cherish it... I believe it was always meant for you.”

He steps closer. His presence so familiar and yet so heart-stirringly profound at this intimate moment. “In the elven tradition,” he continues, his eyes locked onto yours, “to give such a gift is to choose a companion. To offer a token of one’s heart and soul. I give this to you not out of obligation but from a free and willing heart. I choose you and it’s you I wish to be with through all the ages of this world.”

He pauses while holding the pendant up between you. His eyes searching yours for an answer, a confirmation of your feelings. You nod gently, overwhelmed by the emotion in his gaze and the significance of his gift.

Legolas smiles, a soft, joyous curve of his lips, and delicately clasps the pendant around your neck. His fingers brush lightly against your skin as he secures the clasp sending shivers down your spine. The metal feels warm as if charged with his affection and presence.

“I cannot promise that the road ahead will be free from hardship,” Legolas says softly while drawing you close so that your foreheads touch lightly, “but I can promise that you will never walk it alone. Where you go I will follow. And where I go I hope you will be by my side.”

“Legolas,” you whisper. Your voice thick with emotion. “There is no one else I would rather have by my side. No one else I would want to share my path with. I choose you, too, today, and always.”

Without hesitation Legolas leans in to capture your lips in a kiss. It’s gentle at first. A tender meeting that speaks of mutual respect and deep affection. But as you respond the kiss deepens, becoming a profound expression of your shared love and commitment.

The world around you—the city of Minas Tirith, the sounds of celebration—fades into a blissful quiet. In this moment wrapped in Legolas’s embrace, you realize that while the war might have brought you together it is love that will lead you into your future. Beneath the stars and above the glowing city you share a promise of a thousand sunrises to come. Each one a new day to explore and cherish the world together.

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[dragon-kazansky]

Symphony of dreams

Morpheus x Female Reader

Now awake, it is time to rebuild The Dreaming. The Corianthian is still loose in The Waking World, and Morpheus is trying to make up for lost time. Your husband has a lot to learn.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Warnings: Starts off pretty steamy.

Chapter Four - Never let go

☆☆☆

Morpheus and you did not leave that room for several hours. Matthew had offered to come fetch you both, but Lucienne advised Matthew to leave you both for a while. There was a lot of time to be made up for.

Matthew understood what she meant.

You lay in the bed as you look up at your husband. He hovers over you, looking at you with soft blue eyes. She reaches out to touch his bare shoulder, stroking along his neck with gentle fingers.

He leans in and kisses your lips softly. You listen to quiet breaths as his lips move from your lips to your neck. His hair tickles your chin as he moves further down to your collarbone.

Your fingers tangle in his hair as his lips move down to your chest. His kisses are soft and warm. They have been missed dearly.

Though you have no aspect of time passing, he has spent a century locked away put of reach. He has felt every second pass by without you.

No longer.

You gasp softly as he moves further down. He commiting every inch of you to memory. It almost feels like he had never been away at all.

You become a tangle of limbs as the kissing turns into something greater.

It only after, when you're laying naked and wrapped up in one another, that you finally get the chance to speak. You have reunited and in the best way possible.

"Tell me what happened."

Morpheus presses his lips to the top of your head as he recalls all that has happened. He tells you of the moment he was captured, his escape, Gregory, Constantine, his trip to Hell, and to moment he got his full power back.

"Oh no, Jessamy..."

"I am sorry. She tried to help me."

"Do not apologise. She was very brave. She made us both proud."

He kisses your head again. "I have Matthew now."

"Good. You need a raven."

"I do not need a raven."

"You are the dream lord, and the dream lord has a raven."

He sighs in defeat. He knows he can not argue this with you.

"Very well."

You chuckle softly.

"I am sorry about your ruby."

"Why?" He asks, brows knitting together. "My power was released back into me after it was shattered. I am whole again. I am the one who is sorry. I lost my ring."

You look at his hand.

"Make a new one."

"It won't be the same."

"It doesn't have to be. Morpheus, you don't need a ring to show you are mine. You just need to love me."

"I do. I do love you."

You smile and reach up to stroke his cheek. He tilts his head into your palm, chasing your touch. He needs your warmth.

"I am sorry for leaving."

"Morpheus, if you apologise one more time, I'm going to push you out of the bed."

He chuckles softly and leans in, kissing your lips. "No, you won't."

You smile as you return his kiss. "You're right I won't."

☆☆☆

You walk hand in hand with Morpheus into the throne room. It hasn't yet been rebuilt. You smile as you approach Lucienne and Matthew. You reach let go of Morpheus to reach for Lucienne's hands.

"Lucienne."

"My lady," she smiles and bow her head.

You chuckles and wraps your arm around her. She is caught off guard for a moment but accepts your hug. You take her hands into yours again and smile at her. "Thank you."

"What for, my lady?"

"For looking after everything. For looking after me."

Lucienne looks a little awe struck.

"I heard you. I could hear you talking to me. Though my slumber was without dreams, I could hear your voice."

"My lady..."

"You stayed. You looked after me. Looked after the realm. I can not thank you enough for that."

Lucienne adjusts her glasses. "It was the least I could do."

You shake your head. "It was everything. I am honoured to have you as my friend and companion here."

Lucienne smiles.

"My husband is grateful too. He just doesn't know how to say it." You say, looking at Morpheus. He pretends not to hear you as he approaches the steps to the throne.

Your eyes turn to the raven. You smile as you gaze down at him.

"You must be Matthew. Its nice to meet you."

"You too, my lady." He bows his head with respect.

You look back up at Morpheus as he stands with his hand open and slightly raised at his sides. He takes a few deep breaths. You remain standing with Lucienne and Matthew as Morpheus uses his power to rebuild The Dreaming. He starts with the throne room.

The rubble and glass lift from the ground and slowly start to return to where they once were. Walls are rebuilt, the windows are mended, and the floors become clear of any debris. Bit by bit, the palace is put back together.

Morpheus lowers his arms and looks up at you. "The rest will be rebuilt in time."

You smile softly. "Take your time. Don't overdo it."

"Do I ever?"

"Sometimes."

Morpheus smiles softly at you and returns to your side. "We should take a walk."

You reach for his hand and then turn back to Lucienne. "I'll catch up with you again later."

She nods once and watches you walk out of the throne room with Morpheus.

☆☆☆

"Where are we going?"

"For a walk."

"Yes, but where?" You chuckle softly. Morpheus looked at you with a tesing smile. It wasn't often he did smile, but you found it easy to make him do so.

"To see some friends."

You chuckles as you follow him.

It's only when you see the two houses that you smile and let go of his hand. You hurry on ahead.

"Hello? Anyone home?"

You wait a few moments before the doors open on each house. A head pops out of each. You smile at the brothers.

Cain and Abel exit their houses and approach you.

"You're awake!" Abel smiles. "My lady."

The brothers both bow to her.

"It's good to see you both again." You smile at the pair of them. The brothers look at each other and then back at you.

"We're so glad you're awake!" Abel cheers.

"Yes. It is good news indeed."

"I want to apologise for Gregory, but he helped Morpheus greatly by what he did. It was very brave of you to let him go."

The two fall quiet.

"But I also hear you got a new friend." You smile.

"He's called Goldie." Abel calls for him. The baby gargoyle comes over. You chuckle softly.

"Hello Goldie."

The little gargoyle makes a little noise.

Morpheus just watches you silently from behind. You talk a little more with Abel and Cain and then take his hand once more. You wave to the brothers as you both walk away.

☆☆☆

"Fiddler's Green is gone?" You ask, looking at the vacant space the beautiful meadow once was.

"It seems he took his leave after I did not return."

You turn to Morpheus. "You blame yourself?"

"He never leaves his post before."

"Morpheus, it's not your fault. You need to stop blaming yourself."

"Everything happened because I left."

"No. No." You shake your head as you reach for his hand and hold them close to your chest. "I blame The Corianthian. If he had not left for the Waking World, you wouldn't have had to chase after him. You wouldn't have been trapped."

"We don't know that," he says.

"Let me have faith in the fact that it was just one thing after another. Things just did not go to plan, and a century was robbed from us. We're together again now."

"But he still out there," Morpheus reminds you.

"Yes, and you also have all your power back. You will find him again. I am certain of it."

Morpheus falls quiet. You reach out and caress his cheek softly. "Please don't blame yourself any more."

He says nothing as he looks at you. You do the only thing you can think of to cheer him up. You lean in and kiss him softly. You feel Morpheus melt as your lips touch his.

He's very soft when it comes to his wife.

"Everything will be okay. Let's take one issue at a time."

He nods softly.

You smile and kiss him again.

☆☆☆

The library had returned. Lucienne was beyond pleased, but that meant she had a lot of work on her hands. You offered to help her. At first, she refused your help, but you insisted. Lucienne lost that battle.

Books were stacked everywhere. You helped Lucienne take account of all the books that had returned. There are so many dreams, so many lives.

Matthew was perched on the table. He would fly off to find other books Lucienne asked for. It was quite nice spending time with them like this.

"So this is where you disappeared too."

You smile as you look up and find your husband walking over. You left his side about an hour ago while he went off to rebuild some more of The Dreaming.

"I figured I'd let you concentrate."

"That you did, but I found myself missing you when I was done. Having spent a century away from you, I dare not wish to spend another second apart."

You chuckle softly and glance at your companions. Lucienne is pretending not to listen, and Matthew isn't even attempting to pretend.

"Is that so?"

"Do you not feel the same?" He asks softly.

You look back at him. "Of course I do. Morpheus, I slept through that century, but believe me, knowing we spent that century apart breaks my heart." You walk closer to him and take his hands in yours.

"I'm sorry I keep mentioning it."

"What did I tell you about apologising?" She chuckle.

He smiles. "You'll push me out of our bed."

"Yes. Now hush. I think Lucienne and Matthew can take it from here. How about we go spend more time together? Assuming you're done for the day?"

He smiles again. "I would like that."

You take your leave of the library while holding his hand. Lucienne and Matthew watch you both leave.

"He seems happy," Matthew points out.

"He is," Lucienne smiles gently. "He always is when he's with her."

Matthew cocks his head to the side slightly. "I don't think I've ever seen love like that before."

"No. What they have is quite special."

☆☆☆

Morpheus stops you from walking and pulls you closer. He settles his hands on your hips and looks at you softly.

"What is it?" You ask, keeping your voice quiet.

"I just want to look at you."

You stare back at him, admiring his features, too. His pretty blue eyes, his pink lips, his strong jaw. He's handsome. A dream. A real dream.

"The entire time I was trapped, you were the only thing that kept me going. I thought about you constantly. It may sound cruel, but I am somewhat glad you slept through the whole thing. The thought of you here missing me hurt. I worried about you every single day," he confesses.

"Morpheus, you don't have to worry anymore. I am right here in front of you." You take his hands and place them on each side of your face.

"I know. I see you."

You smile and gaze into his eyes. "I see you too."

Morpheus wraps both of his long arms around you and pulls you in close to his chest. "I'm never letting go," he whispers in your ear.

You smile.

"Neither am I."

Morpheus takes the opportunity to steal another kiss from you. You happily oblige, wanting to remind your husband just how much you love him.

☆☆☆

@missdreamofendless - @mischievousvillainy - @kpopgirlbtssvt - @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy - @emarich7 - @lollipopsandlandmines -

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

A Companion (Otto Hightower x Young Widow!Reader) Chapter 1

At the wedding of of King Viserys and the Lady Alicent Hightower, the father of the bride has an unexpected meeting with a young widow.

Series Masterlist Here

Pairing: Otto Hightower x Young Widow!Reader (No use of Y/N)

Warnings: discussion of spousal death

Author's note: PEEPAW TIME

Chapter 1: A Meeting

The Great Hall was full of laughing, happy people, many well on their way to true celebratory drunkenness.

Otto Hightower was not one of them.

He had been enjoying the celebration of his daughter’s wedding. But that was before his son, Gwayne, had gotten so raucously drunk that two members of the Kingsguard were required to force him back to his quarters. And before the bedding ceremony was called for, and despite earlier agreements, several pieces of Alicent’s ensemble had been left on the floor of the Great Hall.

It was enough to tempt him into a second goblet of wine, dulling his mind just enough for him to begin to enjoy the music – and to be grateful the Princess Rhaenyra had sullenly slunk away before she could shove any young maidens at him. Perhaps she had entirely forgotten about her plan to arrange his marriage or given up on getting her revenge.

Then again, perhaps not.

Otto passed the time observing the remaining guests, noting who had spoken to whom and about what. It helped him discern who would make a potential ally, who needed more convincing, and who needed to be removed from court. He had just dismissed the grumblings of two minor lords as inconsequential when his eye caught on two people – a man and a woman - that he did not recognize.

They both seemed familiar, yet Otto could recall no name to match their faces. Perhaps he had seen them in passing during the events preceding the wedding – the tourney possibly, or even the morning feast. Though if it had been one of those, he likely would have remembered them.

Still, something about them was scratching insistently at the back of his mind and bringing an unpleasant feeling to his chest. More so the Man than the Woman, but still. If they were somehow a threat, as his instinct suggested, it would be prudent of him to watch them closely.

The Man wore entirely ostentatious clothing, the dyes obnoxiously rich and bright. A gaudy purple shot through with the whitest white silk Otto had ever seen. He was clearly trying to impress his peers and ensure his house was recognized. Still, Otto could not quite place the heraldry, an irony he allowed himself a moment to delight in. The purple and white were relatively unique, but stars were so common that they offered no hint of who the man was.

Northern, most likely, judging by his thick dark hair, hard gray eyes, and stocky build. His features, individually, were well-formed, yet it made an unpleasant whole. A man of brutality and brutishness. A man who smiled rarely. And when he did, his smile likely indicated something wicked. A thoroughly unpleasant figure.

But the Woman – the Lady…

A pretty young thing. A very pretty young thing, likely only a year or two older than Alicent. She wore no heraldry save a small silver pin on her breast. Her clothes were simple, all made of dark fabric that could easily be mistaken for black if one did not look closely. Though she bore no ring on her finger, her hair was worn braided and pinned back like a married woman’s.

With the sinking feeling of both realization and pity, Otto realized that there was only one reason why she would be wearing such clothes at a royal wedding, of all places – she was in mourning.

Yet her companion seemed to hold no pity for her. They were far enough away that Otto could not hear the words, but from the deep furrow of the Man’s brow and the Lady’s tired, resigned eyes, he knew the conversation was not pleasant. He had only just made the decision to stay out of whatever family squabble this was when the Man turned to look at him, then seized the Lady’s arm, hissed something into her ear, and thrust her in Otto’s direction.

At least this did not seem to be the work of Rhaenyra. No, this was all the work of the unpleasant man. It no longer mattered what house he was from or if he could be used as an ally. It only mattered that he was desperate to raise his station, and that Otto did not like him.

The decision was easy to make – he understood her pain, having lost a love himself. He would be kind to her but would not impose himself on such a lovely young woman in mourning any longer than necessary to temporarily sate her companion’s apparent social climbing aspirations. No matter his promise to the King, or his burgeoning desire for a companion of his own, this girl deserved better than an old man. Once he spoke to her, perhaps he could even introduce her to more suitable bachelors.

For he certainly was not the match for her.

If you thought the nearly month-long journey to King’s Landing was insufferable, it was nothing compared to the cacophony that was the capital during a royal wedding. In the last five days, you were forced to endure a parade in the sweltering heat, three days of brutal tourney events, and a “woman’s breakfast” the morning of the ceremony, during which no one spoke to you. And at the end of each day, a grand feast in the Great Hall.

Not that you could partake in much of the exquisite and exotic food, for your good sister Sybelle would not let you eat more than a few bites in worry that you would appear gluttonous and unladylike. Any respite that would have come when she inevitably flitted across the hall to grovel at the feet of the well-esteemed ladies from better-known houses was quickly squashed when her husband – your good brother, Gryff – whisked you away to present you to suitors like you were a prized cow gone to market.

Fortunately, your mourning clothes and shy demeanor meant that very few of the men were enticed by you. And any that were interested were quickly put off when they learned how small and insignificant your house was and that there would be little benefit for them in a match with you. Lord Jason Lannister even expressed surprise that you had been invited to the wedding. Gryff’s sputtering after that had made your evening.

But the more you were rejected, the more insistent he became. Desperate was perhaps the better word. Either way, it led you here – standing to the side of the hall with a still-empty stomach and Gryff hissing in your ear like the viper he was.

“Six days,” he spat, the smell of alcohol lingering on his breath, “six fucking days, and you have yet to tempt even one suitor! From among the two score I’ve introduced you to!” He scoffed and took another swig from his goblet. “Soon, I’ll have to start offering you to young twats whose stones have not dropped. At least they won’t be able to tell how hard you’ve already been ridden.”

“You are vulgar,” you said softly, not entirely wanting him to hear you.

But, of course, he did. Gryff rounded on you, his face reddened and blotchy from his imbibement. There was no pity or warmth in his eyes. There never was. “Vulgar it may be, but if that is what it takes to find you a new husband so you can finally get off my land and stop draining my coffers, so be it.”

You took a deep breath, trying not to cry or scream. It wouldn’t be proper at an event such as this and would provoke even more anger from Gryff and Sybelle. While they would not dare to harm you, they had found several other cruel and creative ways to make you miserable. Best to calm the fire before getting burned.

“I have done my best. I have been kind and amiable of every man you’ve thrust me upon,” you knew your attempt at reasoning with him would likely fail, but at least you would have tried. Locke would not have stayed silent in the face of such insults, so neither would you. “It is not my fault that they are well-mannered and civilized and therefore do not wish to court a woman in mourning.”

Gryff barked a callous laugh, drawing the attention of several of those around you. For once, he did not notice; he only continued to sneer. “But it is your fault, good sister. You may recall that before we left, I commanded that you leave your mourning clothes behind. That you wear something more attractive. Yet you disobeyed me, just so you would have a good excuse to continue living off my generosity!”

In truth, it was because your lady’s maids had known how much you still grieved your beloved husband and refused the order their new master had given. Though you were grateful for their thoughtfulness, you were very close to wishing they had not done it.

Pressing your lips together to stop them trembling, you replied quietly. Weakly. “You know that is not true. Locke was – ”

“A fool to fall for your little act,” he interrupted, smiling triumphantly when he saw tears forming in your eyes. “Always so sentimental and trusting. He may have put on a convincing façade, but he was weak. I have no doubt he would have squandered our fortune and destroyed our reputation just to please you.” He leaned forward to whisper in your ear. “Perhaps it is fortunate, then. That he met such an untimely end.”

A monster. That’s what Gryff was. To say these horrid things about anyone was terrible enough, but to say them about his own brother?

Your revulsion was almost enough to make you throw yourself at the next man you saw and beg him to take you on. But you could not, for you still saw Locke around each corner. The bright smile he always bore when he saw you. The way he held you close and kissed you, propriety be damned. The way he looked at you as though you were the Maiden herself.

He was no fool. He was not weak.

He was a good man. A good husband. Your great love.

And he was gone.

The crushing weight of the grief shattered any retort you had. Not that it mattered anyway – something had caught Gryff’s eye. He seized your arm, making sure his nails dug into your skin even through the layers of black silk, and leaned in to again spit his venom in your ear.

“It seems there may yet be one man remaining who is wealthy enough to suit your tastes,” he laughed gravely. “Do try to make a good impression, or else I shall have to start sending inquiries to the heathens in Essos.”

With that, he shoved you away, towards a shadowy alcove against the far wall. Partially hidden amongst the dimness and the curtains was a tall man. A very tall man. Lean for his age, but with an erudite look about him that suggested his prowess was not of the body, but of the mind.

He was a man you recognized immediately, having seen him in a place of honor at every celebratory you had attended in the capital. Even without that knowledge, you would have immediately known who he was by the golden pin on his breast.

Otto Hightower. The Hand of the King.

And he was looking directly at you.

Oh, Gryff was reaching far too high. And now it seemed you would be the one to weather the fall.

But there was a spark of kindness in Lord Hightower’s eyes – eyes as wise and perceptive as an owl’s – that assuaged your fears enough that you did not tremble as you weaved through the crowd to reach him. Still, you turned your eyes down and prayed he would not recognize you from the pin you still wore. Pity given for your mourning was bearable, but the Hand would know…

You reached him before finishing the thought and lowered yourself in a curtsy. “My Lord Hand,” you began, thankful that, for once, you were able to speak for yourself, “I offer my congratulations to you and your daughter on this joyous occasion. You must be very proud.”

“Hmm, proud indeed.” He held out a large hand to help you rise, a kind gesture you had not expected from a man of his station. When you met his eyes, they were searching your face for something. He did not recognize you then, a relief.

“Thank you very much for your kind sentiments, Lady…?”

A short relief.

Steeling yourself for the pitying coos and well wishes you were sure were coming, you told him your name, then added, “Born of House Fenn, now of House Whitehall.”

And there it was, that hateful glimmer of recognition in his eyes as he remembered the story of the unfortunate girl from the swamps of the Neck, plucked from her humble origins among the crannogmen to wed the dashing young lord of Highpoint.

It was a story fit for a fairytale. That is, until it was over within a year, when your husband was killed in an ambush by the wild men of the Northern mountains. Gryff, your late husband’s younger brother and presumptive heir, was intent upon sending you back to the swamps before he was stopped by his mother, who insisted that though the marriage was short, you nevertheless had all the rights accorded to the Dowager Lady of the hall, and as the potential mother of the new heir – should you be carrying one. After all, you and Locke were truly, deeply in love, and there was no reason to believe his seed had not found root.

Thus, Gryff had you confined to your rooms until your moon’s blood arrived – or didn’t. You were allowed no servant but the guard he had commanded to watch your every move and were forced to endure extensive examinations by the Maester daily. And when your moon’s blood came, Gryff had a carriage waiting to take you back to your father.

Unbeknownst to him, your good mother had sent a letter to both your father and Lord Stark at Winterfell. As a crannogman whose title of nobility was scoffed at by those outside the swamps, your father could do very little to help. But with Lord Stark also on your side, Gryff could not dismiss you so easily. He could, however, appeal the Lord of the North’s order to the only higher authority available, requiring that all involved – except you, of course – journey to King’s Landing to present the case to the King himself.

After hearing both petitions, the King – and Otto Hightower – had not only commanded that you be allowed full rights as a widow, but placed restrictions on how Gryff could treat you. Namely, he could not banish you from his lands or force you to remarry.

He could, however, make your life at Highpoint so miserable that you would wish to leave and be desperate enough to get away from him that you would marry of your own accord. It was something he and his wife were more than happy to do.

Still, as miserable as you were there, it was Locke’s home. The lands he loved so much he spent four whole days showing you the whole of it. And you quickly grew to love it, too, despite it being so drastically different from your home. It became your new home. Aside from the ring he gave you, the land was one of your only reminders of the great love you had lost.

How could you abandon it just because of two unpleasant people?

How could you marry someone else, like Locke had been nothing?

Even if you could, how were you ever to find a husband when every man you met looked at you as Otto Hightower did now?

His brow was furrowed above his water-blue eyes, and his mouth was pursed in thought. No doubt trying to find the words to offer you his pity, as if you had not already heard everything there was to say.

“I am very sorry for your loss, my lady,” he said gently. At least his voice was lovely enough to make the repetition of the words you had heard a thousand times more bearable. “I lost my wife only two years ago. To lose one you love so dearly… is a pain without description. I confess that, when I first heard of what happened to your husband and what was done to you, I could not understand why the Gods would do such a thing to someone so young and innocent and…”

He nodded, seemingly to himself. “I prayed for you, Lady Whitehill. In fact, I still do.”

Then he turned away, looking past you and into the crowd. Had he not still been holding your hand, you may have taken it as a dismissal. You almost wished it was as you felt his fingers tighten around yours and his face turn from pensive to grave. But the second most powerful man in Westeros was holding you in place. Gently, but still. Who were you to disobey him?

“I am surprised I forgot his face,” Lord Hightower mused, only half-speaking to you. “He is easily one of the most unpleasant men I have ever met.”

You turned, following his gaze back to Gryff, who was doing a very poor job of pretending not to be watching you. Turning back to Lord Hightower, you saw his lip curled in disgust. Something about that expression on the face of such a serious, incredibly important man tickled something inside you that you thought had died with Locke.

So, you laughed. Short and weak, but still a laugh. The sound drew Lord Hightower’s eyes back to you, and he smiled curiously. “I did not intend that as a joke, Lady Whitehill. Was I mistaken?

“No, forgive me, my lord.” You shied away from him, looking down at your joined hands. “It is only that I don’t often hear people speak of him with such… honesty.”

“Yes,” he murmured as he, too, looked at your hands. After a moment, he dropped his and crossed his arms behind his back. “He is not a man I would expect to tolerate criticism.”

You sighed, briefly missing the contact, the warmth of his hand. “He is not a man who tolerates many things. But criticism is one that… none at Highpoint dare even contradict him.”

Lord Hightower looked at you thoughtfully, as if you were a puzzle he couldn’t quite sort. “I have had the misfortune of meeting many such men, and I am very sorry you have had to meet even one.”

He was quiet for a while. Long enough that you began silently crafting your farewell and considering how you would explain the fruitless meeting to Gryff. He would not be happy with this particular failure, and you could not decide which of his threats he would follow through on – offering you to mere boys or to Essosi men. Either would likely take you far from home and had no guarantee that your situation would improve. Perhaps –

“Why did he bring you here?” Lord Hightower said suddenly. When you lifted your head to face him, he was again looking not at you but at Gryff. His face betrayed nothing, but a dark gleam in his eyes sent a chill through your blood and yet… made you feel safe. Protected. Like you could tell him the truth.

A foolish feeling. You could tell no one the truth. Telling the truth meant leaving Highpoint – leaving Locke – and that was something you would not do.

“He brought me for the wedding,” you lied. “He thought it might cheer me.”

It was the worst lie you had ever told, though you’d never been very good at them. Though this one was particularly bad. Not only had you not been particularly convincing in your delivery – your voice wavered, and your smile was too tight to be sincere – but Lord Hightower had been at Gryff’s petition to send you away. According to your father, Gryff had been in fine, horrible form. So, Lord Hightower knew better than most that your good brother would never do anything for your sake.

And the fact that you were pretending he would apparently made Lord Hightower very, very angry. It seemed as though the shadows of the alcove itself swirled around him and darkened his eyes. Still, you felt safe with him. You knew instinctively that his anger was not directed at you.

Yet you did shrink away slightly when he turned that dark gaze on you. “The King expressly forbade him from forcing you to marry.” His voice had taken on a low, sharp quality, which you were reasonably certain had often made Lords and Generals quake in their boots. Indeed, you were sure you would do whatever he wanted, so long as he asked it in that voice. “Has he disobeyed this? Did he bring you here to find a husband against your will?”

It was hard to meet his eyes. “He…” you swallowed, summoning every bit of your will to not tell him the truth. But even if you did somehow manage to lie convincingly, you did not doubt that Lord Hightower would nevertheless be able to see right through you. This was a political mind at work, the keenest in the realm. He likely knew the answer before he ever asked the question. Which meant…

What he was actually asking was something different. Something he dare not speak aloud in the presence of others? No, not that. He was the Hand of the King, and this was the Red Keep – his territory. You doubted there was anything he would fear to say here, save open treason.

What was it?

If this was a political move, he must want something from you. Locke had once told you when you were alone in your chambers sharing a bottle of wine after one of his taxing journeys to Winterfell, that amongst lords and kings, nothing was ever free. There was no charity.

And yet, you could not think of a single thing Lord Hightower would want from you. You had no wealth of your own, nor did your father in any meaningful way, and Gryff would not part with a single sliver of copper. You held no alliances of your own outside of the crannogmen, and you doubted they would ever be of any help to him or the King. That left only… yourself.

He could not possibly want you. Yes, he was a widower, but his loss had also been recent. He told you himself how much it had pained him.

Even if he was in the market for a new wife, he would not want some penniless widow from the Neck. With his family name, position, and new status as the Queen’s father, he could choose any woman he wanted to wife. Though if he was looking for a distraction rather than a marriage… you did not let yourself consider it. He had made no advance on you, and his eyes held no sign of lust. You had seen lust in Locke’s eyes, burning like silver flames. There was no such flame in Lord Hightower’s eyes, only pity and concern. And something gentle, almost like hope.

Was it possible that his daughter’s wedding had made him feel charitable? That he had seen a sad young widow and decided that it was in the spirit of the day to help someone in need?

Help.

That is what he was asking – if you wanted his help. If you said ‘no’ right now, even knowing what he knew, he would walk away.

But if you said yes – if you asked for his help?

The Hand of the King was a powerful ally, the father of the Queen even better. If someone who could as easily grant Gryff the wealth and reputation he so craved as he could ensure it never came to be offered his support and protection, you didn’t know what would happen. But perhaps it would be better.

“Yes,” you whispered. The word could either save or damn you, but you said it either way. “He wants rid of the responsibility of me, so much that he’s willing to give me to anyone who shows interest.”

His dark expression was interrupted by a brief flash of confusion. Before you could inquire about what had disturbed him, he leaned down towards you. A strategic move. Anyone looking at you would merely see a man attempting to charm one of the last women remaining at the end of the celebration.

“Forgive me for my forwardness, my lady,” he paused to look you over again, “but I admit I find it hard to believe that no man has shown you interest.”

Another veiled question. This one easier to decipher.

You ensured you were positioned so that Gryff could not see your face before answering, for you knew you could not hide your smug smile. “The mourning clothes help with that,” you admitted, “as do carefully timed tears.”

Lord Hightower seemed to relax at that and smirked at you conspiratorially. “I imagine the prospect of a permanent association with your good brother is the most effective deterrent.”

It was not a deception for Gryff’s benefit when you began to laugh together. You had not laughed with someone in so long nor felt as comfortable around another person since Locke died. Not even with your good mother. She tried, but she could not separate you from her grief for her son, so laughing with her was a sheer impossibility.

The realization sobered you instantly. This moment was a gift, yes. But the very fact that a moment of laughter with a stranger was the happiest you had been in more than a year and would likely remain so for some time. You would be returning to the North soon, back to a life with very little joy.

It was as though Lord Hightower could read the thoughts in your eyes. His own smile fell, and he again took your hand. “When do you leave the capital, my lady?

“We will remain several days more,” you answered, the words tasting like bitter wine. “Gryff is eager to make alliances and raise his standing.”

“Hmm,” Lord Hightower hummed as he absentmindedly stroked the back of your hand with his thumb. From how his eyes darted back and forth ever so slightly, you knew that brilliant mind was formulating some kind of plan.

Unfortunately, it seemed he would not share that plan with you.

He simply raised your hand to his mouth to kiss it as a proper gentleman does, the hairs of his beard tickling your skin, before looking at you once more. “You may tell Lord Whitehill that I was thoroughly charmed by you.” Something about the way the corner of his mouth quirked up made you think it was not entirely a fiction. “I suspect that will satisfy him well enough that he will be less… overbearing, at least for a while. In the meantime, I shall endeavor to find a more pleasant solution to your woes.”

Your heart quickened with anticipation and hope, something you had not felt in a long time. While your instinct was to ensnare him in a tight embrace and perhaps even kiss his cheek, you forced yourself to remain civilized, simply squeezing his hand tightly in thanks before letting go and curtsying to him again.

“My Lord Hand, I cannot find words to express my gratitude,” you said breathlessly. “I have known such kindness very little of late.”

He smiled and reached for you before folding his hand behind his back again. “That, my lady, is a tragedy in itself. Once that I swear I will do everything in my power to end as swiftly as possible.”

“Thank you. I…” words failed you entirely. “Thank you so much.”

“It would perhaps be wise to save the majority of your thanks until after I have discovered a solution,” he jokingly chided. For a long moment, he simply held your gaze. “Now, as much as I hate to do so, I believe it is time to return to your family. I have much work to do.”

“Of course,” you said with another curtsy. There was more you wanted to say, but it was too much to sort through in only a moment. So, you gave him another smile and turned away.

As you walked back toward Gryff – who was looking sinisterly pleased – you were amazed to find that, for the first time in a long time, you weren’t dreading tomorrow.

Otto left the Great Hall immediately, though it pained him to do so. But he had not wanted to tell her – raise her hopes too soon – that he was fairly certain he had already found a solution. Perhaps the perfect solution.

But he wanted to pray on it first.

It was too late to call a wheelhouse to take him to the Great Sept. Besides, the servants deserved the night to celebrate, as well. So, he made his way instead to the Royal Sept, which had the added benefit of being close to his own chambers.

The Sept was empty, thankfully. It was quick work to light a prayer candle and to place it on an altar Otto had not knelt at for years – the Maiden’s.

“I come to ask your guidance, Holy Maiden,” he prayed aloud. “There is a young widow who needs my help. Very desperately. I believe I can aid her – I know I can aid her. But I must be sure that I am acting rightly.”

He sighed, staring at the gently flickering flame of the candle. “When I first considered her plight, an answer came to me almost instantly, as if it were an instinct. But I worry… I worry that if I choose to enact it, I will be acting not out of charity and generosity but selfishness.

“She is young and very beautiful, and I believe she has a keen mind. And she understands! She knows what it is like to lose a great love – a true love. She is like me; she does not want to marry again. But it seems for both of us that there is no other option. Would it not then… would it not be right for us to marry?

“We can fulfill the desires and expectations of those around us while remaining devoted to our lost loves. I would expect her to fulfill no wifely duties, nor would she expect me to perform mine as a true husband. We would be… companions to each other. Someone with which we can share a life of contentment without feeling as though we have betrayed those who are gone.”

Otto sat back on his knees and looked up at the face of the Maiden. “Would doing so be a sin? Marriage is supposed to be the true joining of souls in holy and eternal love. That is what I had with Madelyn and what I believe she and the late Lord Whitehill had. Would it not betray the very idea of our past marriages to seek the same again?”

He sighed and dropped his head. “I would, of course, not force her hand. If I propose the plan and she refuses, I will dedicate myself to helping her some other way. But I cannot deny that this seems like fate, that the two of us would find each other. So please, Holy Maiden. Please, tell me if I am right.”

For what felt like the entire night, Otto sat on the floor of the Sept, watching the candlelight dance across the marble floor.

Then the dancing stopped.

Bewildered, he looked immediately at the candle. It was still lit, but the flame did not waver. Instead, it was perfectly still and seemed to grow taller and taller.

As if a cool hand lifted his chin, Otto turned his gaze up to the Maiden’s face. Somehow, she seemed to be smiling. A trick of the light, perhaps. But if the light itself was something impossible… Otto snuffed the flame with his fingers, which did not singe as they touched the fire.

He had never received a more explicit answer from the Gods.

[imagines--galore]

||Masterlist||

Please read rules before sending requests.

REQUESTS ARE CLOSED FOR THE MOMENT.

(Always Uploading new Fics)

Avatar The Last Airbender

Pairing: Zuko x Orora

The Thread of Fate - Masterlist

Pairing: Zuko x Reader

It Was Nothing

Theatrics

I’m Here Beside You

Big Hero 6

Pairing: Tadashi Hamada x Sakura Kamiya

Light 'em Up -  Prologue, Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, 

Criminal Minds

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Evelyn Richardson

Mind Over Matter - Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen, Part Fourteen, Part Fifteen, Part Sixteen,

(Companion piece to Mind Over Matter)

A Slight Frustration

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Hold Me Closer

First Kiss

Don’t Go!

Crossover - Frozen x Rise of the Guardians

Pairing: Jack Frost x Elsa (Jelsa)

One Step Closer - Part One, Part Two (InProgress)

Digimon

Pairing: Taichi Yagami x Hidemi Senshi

The Next Adventure

Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood

Pairing: Alphonse Elric x Willow Hawkeye(OC)

The Ties That Bind - Prologue, Part One,

Pairing: Edward Elric x Reader

Homecoming

The Language of Flowers

Pairing: Roy Mustang x Reader

I Will Always Choose You

Harry Potter

Pairing: Severus Snape x Reader

Reluctant Friendship

Justice League DC Universe

Pairing: Superman x Lucky Penny aka Clark Kent x Penelope Pennyworth

Lucky Break

Pairing: Superman aka Clark Kent x Reader

Part One - Convince Me, Part Two - I’m Convinced

Wedding Drama

Pairing: (Platonic) Superman aka Clark Kent x 12-year-old reader

A New Life

Marvel Cinematic Universe

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Rachel

Kiss It Away

Stolen Kisses, Stolen Moments - Part One, Part Two

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Confessions

Last Night

Empowering

Distraction

Pairing: Dr. Stephen Strange x Clea

Love, A Kind of Magic - Part One, Part Two

Pairing: Dr. Stephen Strange x Reader

Bleeding Love - Part One & Part Two

Perfection

A Surprising Twist

Sleep Deprived

What the Wife Says Goes

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Nothing But a Burden

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

A Pact Renewed

Because You’re Mine

Not a Waste of Space

Just Hold Me

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Never Leave Me

Pirates of the Caribbean

Pairing: Will Turner x Reader

My Heart Calls Your Name

Tavern Brawls

Rise of the Guardians

Pairing: Jack Frost x Evening Star aka The Blue Fairy

Two Spirits Meet - Wishing on a Snowflake I,

Sherlock (BBC)

Pairing: Sherlock x Reader

Serendipity

The Consulting Detective and the Serial Killer

His Love for Her

Your Hand in Mine

Drunken Comfort

Its All Been Arranged

An Unconventional Love Story (Victorian Era AU)

Star Trek(2009)

Pairing: Spock x Kealoha

The Roommate Experiment - Prologue, Part One

Pairing: Spock x Reader

The Little Green Monster

Chasing Away The Darkness

Here For You (InProgress)

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles

Pairing: Leonardo x Amal

Heaven’s Light

A Comforting Embrace

The Amazing Spiderman

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

A Nonverbal Confession

Falling For Him

Heal Together

Drunk on Pheromones

Take All The Time You Need

Falling for the Enemy

The Chronicles of Narnia

Pairing: Peter Pevensie x Reader

An Unexpected Turn

We Face It Together

Pairing: Edmund Pevensie x Reader

The King and the Commoner

The Hobbit

Creepy Crawlies (No Pairing)

Pairing: Kili x Reader

You Are Safe

The Lord of the Rings

Pairing: Legolas x Annúneth

Love Happens

Pairing: Legolas x Reader

We Meet Again A Confession Years In The Making

My Prayer, My Light, My Fëa

A Little Introduction to Rock Music

A Promise

Written In The Stars

Treasure Planet

Pairing: Jim Hawkins x Reader

A Little Competition Goes a Long Way

[sweetbonniebel]

Jaes's hen jēdar

God's of the sky

five

Daemon x reader, Rhaenyra x reader (platonic), Qoren Martell x reader

Masterlist <-previous , next->

110 AC King's Landing

You noticed Rhaenyra sitting on her balcony a book in her lap. You smiled and took a seat next to the silver haired girl.

"Rhaenyra" You smiled and the heir snapped her head from the tome.

"Is there something you need?" She asked

"Can't I visit my favourite niece?" You laughed and Rhaenyra chuckled. "I actually came to propose expanding your own court."

The realm's delight raised her eyebrows a curious expression etched on her Valyrian features.

"In what way?"

"As the heir to the iron throne you should build your own court. Invite the daughters of powerful lords to serve as your ladies in waiting or companions. They will secure loyalties of the great houses." You explained

"And who do you propose? I know you already have a list of candidates, their flaws and strengths memorised." She jested and you laughed, it was true your spies have told you everything you need.

"Lord Maths Tyrell has a sister, Elinor Tyrell. Lynara Stark the cousin of Lord Rickon. Your mother's half sister Elys has two daughters perhaps we could invite the three of them I know that they have been quite close as children." Rhaenyra visibly saddened at the mention of her late mother "Borros Baratheon has five daughters I would invite the oldest Cassandra and the youngest Floris, I know you hold disdain towards the Lannisters but they are rich in gold the crown does not posses. Lord Tymond has only one daughter Jocasta she is only nine years of age nonetheless we have to have a ward for the south. The Tullys do not have daughter but we could invite their vassals like house Blackwood, Mallister and Mooton. Lord Veron Greyjoy has twin daughters Lanna and Margot, I think it would be unfair if we separate them" Rhaenyra nodded approvingly.

"And what of the minor houses?" She asked

"I have already sent word to the minor houses with the invite to kings landing, their daughters will serve you and their sons have been offered squire positions of famous knights." You said, the responses have not yet arrived but you knew all of them would be positive. They could not refuse the crown.

"That is good and you know all of these people?" She mused and you nodded.

"Not personally, but whatever my spiders hear I hear." You said and Rhaenyra chuckled. "I shall write to the houses in your steed you will have to seal the letters... Rhaenyra?"

"Yes?"

"I wish to take Aegon with me to Sunspear to be fostered."

"Do you think that Alicent and Otto will agree?" She asked.

"It does not matter if they agree or not. If Viserys agrees the matter is settled."

Rhaenyra nodded playing with the rings on the fingers.

"While on the subject of family I thought that we could pay a visit to the Velaryon's to mend the rift between our two Valyrian houses."

"Rhaenys hates me..." The realms delight whispered.

"She does not hate you, Rhaenys is... conflicted. The realm refused to crown her as heir but she watched as you accomplished what she could not." You liked the dark haired woman, she was strong yet kind. Despite the loss of her inheritance she remained proud and important at court. "Befriending Rhaenys could also provide support from the Baratheons. They posses Valyrian blood and have been our allies since Aegon the Conqueror." 

"Shall we send word to Driftmark to prepare for our arrival?" Rhaenyra asked, a small smile on her lips, you nodded approvingly.

...

The dragon keepers prepared the bronze fury and the golden lady for travel. The two dragons got on exceptionally well, unusual for their species.

"Dohaeragon Vermithor." One of the elder dragon keepers said, y/n noticing the scene interrupted with anger bubbling in her insides. (Serve)

"Zaldrīzoti gaomagon daor dohaeragon" y/n raised her voice, she ran up to her steed dismissing the dragon keepers. Rhaenyra chuckled and mounted her own dragon, Syrax roared happily. (Dragons do not serve.)

"Ivestragī's sōvegon ñuha raqiros" y/n said atop her steed. Vermithor roared and straightened his wings. The bronze fury took off along the golden lady. (Let's fly my friend.)

...

Driftmark is an island in black water bay, the seat of house Velaryon. Next to Drfitmark was Dragonstone, the ancestral seat of House Targaryen. The two Valyrian houses always were close.

Vermithor and Syrax flew alongside each other, the endless teal sea stretching under them. A comforting breeze caressed your cheeks, you could smell the salt in the air and see the mountains of Driftmark in the distance.

Banners of a silver seahorse on sea green background stood proudly at the entrance of castle Driftmark. You and Rhaenyra walked confidently towards the gates, your dragons circling the island flying towards Meleys, Seasmoke and Vhagar.

"Cousin!" You said happily walking towards the black haired woman, she smiled slightly hugging your form. "It is so good to see you."

"Princess Rhaenyra." Rhaenys spoke eyeing the girl. "To what do we owe the pleasure of your presence."

"Princess Rhaenys." Rhaenyra stared "We have come here to offer a truce."

"A truce?" Rhaenys questioned, hiding her curiosity. She invited the two princesses towards the main hall of castle Driftmark. A servant placed pies, cakes and other dishes along with wine.

"We have never been close..." The heir begun "And I'd like to change that. I know that you feel stripped of your inheritance, but you can't change history. I think that we could help each other."

"With what could you possibly help me?" The older woman asked, she glanced at the servants standing near the walls of the chambers. "Leave us." She ordered

"Cousin you see what happens at court." You said, staring into the violet eyes of the Queen who never was. "Our house grows weaker everyday, the Hightowers claim more and more power. We need to unite the blood of old Valyria." Rhaenys raised an eyebrow, sipping her wine.

"How do you propose we do that?"

"I suggest inviting Laena as Rhaenyra's lady in waiting." You proposed, Rhaenys nodded but pressed the matter further.

"And what of my son?" She questioned.

"Perhaps an alliance could be made." Rhaenyra said, you looked curiously at your niece. She has not mentioned any alliance before. "As you know my father intends for my to marry, thankfully he has given me the right to choose my royal consort."

Your eyes widened at Rhaenyra's words, it would make a great political move but her aversion towards marriage prevented that. Now she was proposing an engagement herself?

"Your son Laenor would become my royal consort our children would become Kings, uniting our two houses." The heir spoke.

"I would have to consult with my husband." Rhaenys said, but deep down you knew that they cannot refuse such a match.

"And where is lord Corlys I would like to pay my respects." You asked but Rhaenys sighed.

"He is deeply injured and the maester's said that he should not take any visitors. But I will pass the message." Rhaenys said and left the hall.

...

You watched as Rhaenyra and Laenor walked on the sandy shore of the sea, engaged in conversation. You glanced from the balcony of your chambers. A knock interrupted your observations, you walked towards the doors opening them to reveal Laena.

"Please come in." The silver haired woman walked inside. Her teal dress flowed elegantly behind her. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I came to visit you, cousin. We have not seen each other since I was considered as a possible Queen." Laena said and took a seat.

"In retrospect if you had been given the choice now, would you marry Viserys?" You ask Laena shrugged her shoulders.

"If I was given the choice I do not think so." She responded.

"You wouldn't want to be Queen?" You asked curiously.

"Too much responsibilities, I would not be able to ride Vhagar instead I would have to entertain dull ladies. And the realm would except me to constantly squeeze out heirs." You nodded at her reasoning, you knew that some courtiers proposed you as a possible wife to Viserys but he quickly shut down those ideas.

"Then I am happy to say that Rhaenyra would not strip you of your right to bond with your dragon, perhaps we could fly together some time." You proposed and the Velaryon smiled.

"I hope we become friends." She said and you nodded.

"I would like that."

...

Coming back to King's Landing with Laena and her mount Vhagar certainly surprised the small folk as well as the court. The Velaryon and Targaryen walked together engrossed in conversation, you however departed from the two girls. Viserys was easily impressionable, Otto didn't have to try hard to manipulate him. So you needed to be quicker.

"Princess y/n Targaryen, your grace." The kings guards announced opening the heavy doors to Viserys's chambers.

"Your grace." you said bowing slightly. Viserys laughed and ushered you inside. " I come bearing good news."

"I am eager to hear them then." Viserys smiled, continuing to work on his old Valyria sculpture.

"Rhaenyra has proposed to marry Laenor Velaryon." His grace whipped his head in your direction. Surprise etched on his features.

"Really?" He asked.

"Yes, I think it is a good match. The Velaryons are the richest house in the realm, they are the blood of old Valyria and they have three dragons." The king nodded "Rhaenys said she has to consult with Corlys, once the word arrives you should officially bethrode the two."

"I will do so, yes." Viserys muttered

"Were you looking for houses were Aegon and Aemond could be fostered?" You asked changing the topic, Viserys raised an eyebrow curiously.

"I have not no. Why?" He asked.

"I would like to take Aegon with me to be fostered in Dorne." You said

"Marvellous idea sister!" His grace said smiling from ear to ear. "I know how much Aegon loves you. It would do him good."

You wanted to laugh, was Viserys so blind as to not see the rift creating in his household? Alicent and Otto will stew in anger at the news.

Many letters and offering were sent to the great houses, y/n's idea to bring influence over the houses of Westeros. She would do anything in her power to help Rhaenyra. With limited time in the capital she worked tirelessly, writing to many lords and ladies in Rhaenyra's name.

Now over four dozen lord and ladies made their way towards king's landing as members of Rhaenyra's court. The houses were delighted for their daughter to become members at court and their spare sons receiving knighthood's as well as a place in the king's guard.

The Targaryen princess poured the hot bronze wax over the folded parchment and placing her houses sigil and waited for the wax to harden.

The small council meeting was to take place today, the matter of Rhaenyra's engagement and Aegon's fostering would be discussed. You knew that they could not refuse, despite only Viserys knowing that you proposed the idea yourself.

Your maids dressed you in a pink dress made from silk, small gems were embroidered on the shoulders of the gown. The sleeves ended at the elbows and a loose, puffy white fabric covered the rest of the arm.

Ser Lorent Marbrand escorted you to the small council meeting, Rhaenyra was already there as the heir. She sat on the right of her father while Otto sat on the left. You kissed Rhaenyra's cheek and sat next to her, taking your place as the mistress of whisperers. The rest of the council arrived shortly after, Viserys arrived last.

"Your Grace." The people present bowed and sat as the King allowed it.

"I came to the conclusion that my son Aegon is of age to be fostered." Otto and Alicent widened their eyes as this was news to them. "I want him to be fostered in Dorne, my sister will take care of his upbringing as the ruling Princess of Dorne."

"And what of Prince Aemond?" Lord Lyonel asked.

"He is too young to be fostered but once the council deems him suitable I propose to foster Prince Aemond in Rivererun. Lord Grover has sons close to my nephews age." You answered glancing at Otto as fire burned behind his eyes.

"A great idea Princess." Lyman Beesbury smiled. "The crown was always close with the river lords. ."

"Thank you, my Lord." The master of coin bowed his head.

"As you know my daughter, your future Queen has been searching for a possible prince consort." Viserys began glancing lovingly at his daughter. "Princess Rhaenyra has decided to marry ser Laenor Velaryon."

The small council stared in shock at Rhaenyra, she in turn smugly smiled.

"The bethrodal has not yet been officially announced as Lord Corlys is ill, but Princess Rhaenys has agreed." Rhaenyra added.

"A fine match, your highness." Maester Mellos responded, that grey rat you thought. He is the one responsible for killing Aemma.

"As per my aunts advice I have decided to expand my own court." Rhaenyra announced.

"In what way princess?" Alicent questioned.

"I shall invite the daughters of the realm to serve as my ladies in waiting and companions, I also intend to provide the son's with squire positions."

"Can the crown withstand such a strain?" Otto questioned glancing at the master of coin Lord Beesbury.

"It should be no problem, lord hand. The ladies shall receive a pensions of a five hundred golden dragons as is customary. The princess and I have gone over a list of possible candidates and it amounts to thirty ladies and twenty lords."

"The princess is right, with the increased demand for spices the crown has gained much gold." Lord Lyman advocated.

"Then it is settled." Viserys concluded. "y/n if you could write to the the lords and ladies."

"The letters are waiting to be send."

...

The red keep was a marvellous building it's construction lasted for ten years started by Aegon the first and finished by his second son Maegor. The heels of your shoes clicked against the stone floor, see Duncans armour rattled with every movement. You nodded at the two guards stationed outside the nursery, they opened the heavy doors and you walked in.

Two maids and a septa watched the green children. Aegon played with the wooden soldiers you have gifted him for his seventh name day, Haelaena watched her younger brother Aemond chortle in his crib. When the door opened and the children noticed your presence they smiled and ran towards you hugging your skirts.

"y/n!" Aegon said happily you smiled and kissed the crown of his head doing the same to his siblings.

"I thought that we could go to the dragon pit and visit your hatchling." You proposed and the boys eyes lit up he nodded vigorously, you laughed at his excitement.

"Septa Tesha I shall be taking the prince and princess to the dragon pit." The holy woman nodded "Perhaps you could join us?" You proposed, but you knew she would not agree.

"Thank you princess but I shall stay here and wait for your return." She answered, the woman was Alicent's servant and yet she talked without a care to your spiders.

...

"Elder Jaqos could you bring Sunfyre?" You asked the elder dragon keeper he nodded and ventured deeper into the caves of the dragon pit. You held Helaena in your arms as Aegon gripped your skirts. You smiled as you heard the familiar screeches of Sunfyre. The small he dragon possessed gold scales with pink membranes. It is believed that the dragon hatched from one of dreamfyre's eggs and was the sibling of Caraxes and Meleys.

You watched as Aegon took little steps towards his dragon, the creature also watched curiously. The boy petted his mount and Sunfyre purred happily. You walked over with Helaena, you hummed a Valyrian lullaby and kneeled next to the dragon. Its head turned towards your from, you gently grazed his horns. Sunfyre leaned into your touch.

"y/n how come every dragon likes you?" Aegon asked watching the golden dragon smile.

"I do not know sweet boy." You answered "Why do you think they like me?" The boy raised her faint eyebrows.

"I think it is because you like them. They can sense the respect and love you hold for them." He responded after pondering on the question.

"That is a very smart Egg." You mused and caressed the boy's silver locks.

"Aegon would you like to go with me to Dorne?" You asked to boy, his violet eyes shone brightly and he nodded quickly.

"And what of my sister and brother?" He asked letting Helaena grip his finger.

"They will stay here, Rhaenyra will take great care of them."

...

You watched from the balcony as carriages arrived at the courtyard, the sigils of house Stark, Reed, Bolton of the north the Tullys, Blackwoods, Mallisters and Mootons of the riverlands and Arryns, Royce, Waynwood of the vale waved lightly in the wind. The children of house Tyrell, Redwyne, Tarly and Oakheart of the reach have arrived a few days ago. The Lannisters along with their vassals Banefort, Clegane and Payne have arrived first along with the Baratheons, Dondarrions, Buckler, Errol and Selmy of the storm lands. Now the only house you were waiting for were the Martells.

You watched as Rhaenyra along with Laena exchanged pleasantries with the new arrivals, gifts and thanks were given to the realm's delight. You nodded at your servants to tend to the noble houses and show them their new chambers in Aegonfort. They were instructed to pay close attention to the lords and ladies what they say, how they act, the look in their eyes, everything.

Ser Steffon Darklyn stood behind you as he observed the royal courtyard. You turned towards the knight and whispered in his ear.

"I want your most trusted men to observe the new guests." The knight nodded. Ser Steffon became your sworn shield, a strong and seasoned knight second only to the lord commander of the Kingsguard ser Harrold Westerling. You did not worry for the commander as he held great love for you and Rhaenyra. He was your and your nieces guard for almost ten years. His loyalty was certain. Your sworn shield nodded and followed after you as you descended the stairs standing next to Rhaenyra and her sworn shield Ser Criston Cole.

"My servants are tending to the new guests." You said in high Valyrian bowing your head at every lord and lady that kneeled before the two of you.

"Good, I am rather bored greeting all these people. Did you have to invite so many?" Rhaenyra questioned and you let out a laugh.

"If not me then who?" Rhaenyra chuckled and you did the same, your arms entertained as you greeted the guests.

...

Your maid Annora quietly walked into your solar, you put down your book and raised an eyebrow at the red haired girl.

"What is it?" You asked curiously and pointed to the chair next to you she swiftly took her seat.

"A party with Martell banners has been spotted on the King's Road few leagues away from King's Landing." She whispered and you nodded.

"Thank you Annora, you may leave." The maid nodded and left your chambers.

You sighed, things very hectic with the arrival of the courtiers you had to arrange a wider net of spiders. Accommodating the new guests was also tiring, you wrote down every extra expense and consulted with lord Lyman Beesbury the master of coin. It gave you an idea to find new and more successful ways for the crown to make money. In your investigation you found that most of the lands that belonged to House Targaryen in the crowlands have been unused. The lands were scattered with abandoned mines containing materials like iron, copper, gold and even gems. You could not believe that Viserys has forgotten or ignored such viable land. The smallfolk have been offered work in these mines and soon the crown was making more money than ever before.

The hours passed by quickly and soon came the word that the Martells have arrived in King's Landing. The whole royal family came to greet the prince of Dorne. You were curious of Qoren, the last time you saw him was nine long years ago. Four great black stallions pulled the carriage of the Dornish prince. Their sigil a red sun pierced by a golden spear decorated their orange banners.

Qoren Martell grew to be tall, slender and golden skinned. His face is slender with thin eyebrows, deep brown eyes and a sharp nose. His hair is lustrous and black. A thick and short beard covered his chin. He was the epitome of Dornish beauty. He bowed before the Targaryen's and smiled showing off his white teeth. As soon as he left his carriage his brown eyes met yours. A blush spread on your cheeks, as a small fond smile formed on your lips. Your little interaction was interrupted by Alicent.

"Prince Qoren we thank you for coming such a long way." Alicent spoke breaking the silence.

"The pleasure is all mine your grace." He responded, a small smile appeared on your lips. Daemon and Rhaenyra looked with disdain at the Dornish man.

Pleasantries were exchanged and servants led him to his chambers. One of your maids have instructed him to come to your chambers for supper. Despite being betrothed you wanted to avoid scandal, two of your trusted maids would be present during the ordeal.

You waited for the prince to arrive, dressed in a black and purple dress you sat in the comfortable armchair. Soon a knock interrupted your inner monologue.

"Your royal highness." He approached and bowed his head, you stood up and nodded.

"My prince, please sit down." You offered the seat across from your own. "I hope you will not mind that we are joined by my chaperones." You said cutting the food on your plate.

"Not at all your highness." He answered "I am glad to see you again." Qoren said and a rosy blush decorated his slender features.

"As am I, Qoren... I am very sad for your loss." You added. "From what I've heard your mother was a great person and ruler."

"Thank you, princess. But it was years ago." Qoren added.

"I didn't have the chance to say my condolences in person, I can only imagine how hard it is to loose a mother."

"It was hard, but I suppose time heals all wounds." The prince hummed. "After all you have lost your mother too."

"Oh, I do not remember my mother." A sad smile ghosted over your lips. "Perhaps that made it easier, as I never got to know her. Losing her didn't hurt."

"I'm sorry... no child should grow up without parents." Your betrothed offered his condolences.

"You have changed." You tried to change the moody subject.

"As have you, I never thought you could be even more beautiful and yet you have." He coyly said and a blush reddened your cheeks.

"Such flattery my prince."

"I cannot help it, my betrothed."

"I remember how you used to stumble over your words, now it seems the gods have blessed you with a silver tongue."

"You remember that?" Qoren smiled sheepishly, even though he was a man grown you could still see the boy you once knew shine thorough him. "I had hoped you would have forgotten." He placed his large warm hand on yours, the large sigil ring caused goosebumps on your skin.

"How could I forget, my prince? I remember the time we spent together fondly, as children life was much easier was it not?"

"Yes." Qoren agreed. "I am glad you remember me fondly."

"I do, after all you were the first friend I ever made."

...

You saw Rhaenyra surrounded by her ladies, they chatted, laughed and ate cake. When the time comes you will help your niece find suitable matches for the young ladies.

"Sister" Daemon said sneaking up on you, you gasped surprised.

"Seven hells" You whispered "What is it Daemon?"

"I have come to ask if you were serious?" He accused and you raised an eyebrow.

"Serious about what?" You countered

"That Dornish cunt." You sighed deeply, the last thing on your mind was Daemon's jealousy.

"What about him?" You questioned, Daemons eyes narrowed.

"Why are you marrying him?" He asked anger evident in his tone.

"Why shouldn't I? He's handsome, kind and the prince of a kingdom." You shot back not understanding this sudden outburst.

"You can't marry him." He ordered, a laugh escaped your throat at his child like behaviour.

"Daemon my sweet brother what do you expect I do? I have agreed to the bethrodal in fact I proposed it. Why would should I listen to a desperate plea from a man who inherits nothing, has no real position at court and his only allies are his family." You answered anger boiling in you insides.

"Careful little girl." He said menacingly.

"Or what Daemon? You'll kill me? Be serious, you had opportunities laid at your feet and you snubbed or ruined them." You had enough of him on his high horse.

"We should have wed in the traditions of old Valyria." Daemon said angrily, his silver brows furrowed.

"Maybe in another life we could have... But we don't get what we want simply by wanting." You answered and left Daemon alone.

...

Your insides were boiling, thoughts swarming your mind. You rode to the dragon pit eager to visit your friend. You stomped through the hidden passageway moving with knowing expertise among the many caves and crevices. Vermithor rested comfortably in his den, the burned stone and animal carcasses decorated the stoney cage.

"Vermithor?" You asked walking to the creature's snout, he lazily opened his yellow eye. The dragon screeched and straightened his wing so you could climb upon his back. The bronze fury gilded gracefully through the dragon pit the roars and screeches of other dragons resting in their dens brought you a sense of comfort, the heat from their flames only increased this feeling.

Without saying a word your mount soared to the sky, his mighty wings lifted you leagues into the sky. You smiled the cumbersome thoughts fleeing from your mind as if they were petals blown by the wind.

...

It is said that over one hundred crows have been sent on the eve of the first day of spring. And soon enough over four dozens members of the nobility travelled to king's landing. Many believe that the whole ordeal was singlehandedly arranged by Princess y/n Targaryen. In doing so she gained many wards of the great and minor houses of the seven kingdoms. Some gave her a new alias the good Tyanna of the Tower.- From the dragon bringer by the feather and quill of Grand Maester Roland.