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earthlybeam · 5 days ago

Note

May I have a Elrond, Haldir and whoever else you'd like to add reacting to a reader who wrote a story about them in secret and published it in a bookstore or market of some sort and the book gets extremely popular?

Thank you so much!

how would the elves react to this?

↓

Elrond, haldir, thranduil (added) Versions are below.

📜 𝓔𝓵𝓻𝓸𝓷𝓭

✶ Elrond had spent centuries weaving through the vast expanse of his responsibilities—his duties as the Lord of Rivendell, his leadership in the wars, and the never-ending work of ensuring the safety and future of his people. He was well-versed in the ways of diplomacy, of understanding politics and the intricacies of elves and men. Yet there was one thing that even his sharp intellect could not have prepared him for: his own life, written and displayed for all to see. It had started innocuously enough. He had wandered into the market in Rivendell to gather a few rare herbs, a small task that usually didn’t occupy much of his time. The hustle and bustle of the elves, trading goods and exchanging knowledge, was a familiar comfort. But as he strolled past the array of books and scrolls in the corner of the marketplace, something caught his eye—a stack of freshly printed books, all with a strikingly familiar cover.

✶ The title read: “The Life of Elrond: A Tale of the Half-Elven.” His breath caught in his throat, a flicker of surprise crossing his usually composed features. He reached out, unable to resist, and picked up the nearest copy. The weight of the book in his hands felt unreal—he had never approved of such a publication. He had never given permission, nor had he ever known anyone to capture his life in words. His heart quickened as he opened the pages. It wasn’t a typical recounting of battles, diplomacy, or governance. No. This was something different—something personal. The author had captured his essence in such intricate detail, the quiet sorrow in his eyes, the hidden burdens he carried, the moments of vulnerability he rarely shared with even his closest allies. The words felt as if they had reached deep into his soul and plucked out the parts he kept hidden, the parts only someone truly close to him could understand.

✶ His fingers trembled slightly as he read further, each word a testament to the person who had written it—the person who had observed him so intently, so intimately, that they had pieced together a portrait of his life. And there, among the passages, were references to moments he had long since buried—his childhood in Eriador, the pain of losing loved ones, and the complex emotions that accompanied his long reign as the Lord of Rivendell. But what struck him most was the sheer popularity of it. There, in the corner of the stall, the sign proudly declared: Best-Seller. The merchant standing beside the booth greeted him with an eager smile.

✶ “Ah, Lord Elrond! I see you’ve discovered the book. A remarkable piece of work, isn’t it? People can’t get enough of it. It’s been flying off the shelves since we got it in stock.” Elrond could barely process the words. The people of Rivendell, and even beyond, had found this story… important. His heart swelled with an unfamiliar emotion—pride? Or was it something else, something more uncomfortable? The knowledge that his life, his most intimate self, had been revealed to the world in such a way stirred something deep within him. “I… did not know of this,” Elrond said quietly, his voice betraying a rare hint of unease. “Who wrote this? Do you know who the author is?”

✶ The merchant shook his head, a bit puzzled. “No one knows! It was published anonymously. But there’s a lot of speculation. Some think it’s someone close to you—perhaps a companion or even one of your children. Whoever it is, they’ve captured you in a way no one else has. It’s as if they’ve seen the side of you that most don’t understand, and they’ve shared it with the world.” Elrond’s thoughts were in turmoil. The idea that someone had observed him so closely, understood his deepest fears, his internal conflicts, and the weight of his decisions, made him feel exposed. He had always prided himself on keeping his innermost thoughts hidden, not just from his people but from himself at times. Yet here it was, laid bare in a book that anyone could read. He glanced at the book again, this time seeing the way it had captivated the masses. How many elves, men, and even dwarves had read it? How many had come to see him in a new light because of it? It unsettled him to think that something so private was now in the public eye, so far removed from the quiet sanctuary of Rivendell.

✶ But amidst the shock, there was a strange feeling—gratitude, perhaps. The author had not painted him as a mere figure of myth or legend; they had captured his humanity, his flaws, his complexities. They had written a story that didn’t shy away from his darker moments, but instead, illuminated them, showing him as not just a ruler but as a person—one who bore the same struggles as any elf or man, no matter his title. His gaze shifted, and there you were, standing at the edge of the crowd, watching him with a mixture of anticipation and apprehension. It took only a glance for him to know who had written the book. You. His heart skipped, and for a moment, Elrond felt a rare vulnerability—one he had not allowed himself in centuries. You, who had observed him with such care, had written his story with such depth. You had taken parts of his life that he had never shared and turned them into something beautiful—something that resonated with everyone who read it.

✶ He moved toward you, the book still in his hands. His voice, when he spoke, was quiet, but there was an undeniable sincerity in it. “You wrote this,” he said softly, not needing you to confirm it. He already knew. Your face flushed with a mixture of guilt and relief, and you stepped closer. “I—yes. I didn’t mean for it to become so… public. I just… I wanted to honor you, to share your story in the way I’ve always seen you, not just as the Lord of Rivendell but as someone who has lived through so much.” Elrond looked down at the book in his hands again, his thoughts swirling. Part of him still felt exposed, unsure of how to reconcile the world’s perception of him with the quiet, reserved elf he saw in the mirror every day. Yet, as he met your gaze, something shifted within him.

✶ “You have captured me more truly than I thought possible,” he said, his voice still soft but filled with an emotion that felt like something between gratitude and awe. “I see now why you did it. I… I may not have been ready for the world to know these things, but you have honored me in ways I never imagined.” For a long moment, neither of you spoke, the market noises fading into the background as Elrond processed the depth of your words, the weight of your gesture. His heart ached with a bittersweet emotion—pride in the story you had told, but also an awareness of how vulnerable he felt being laid bare before the world. And yet, despite the discomfort, Elrond felt something else. Perhaps this was the kind of legacy he could accept—not just as a leader or a warrior, but as someone who had lived, who had struggled, and who had loved deeply. And perhaps, just perhaps, this was the most genuine legacy of all.

🏹𝓗𝓪𝓵𝓭𝓲𝓻

➳ Haldir’s first inkling that something was amiss came when he overheard hushed whispers in the heart of Caras Galadhon. The market was bustling with activity, the air thick with the scent of fresh fruit and the melodic hum of Elven voices. But through it all, the topic of the day was unmistakable. “Have you read it?” a young elf asked, eyes wide with excitement. “I have!” another replied, voice tinged with awe. “It’s about him… Haldir. The Marchwarden. It’s incredible—capturing every nuance of his character, his devotion, his… heart.” Haldir’s footsteps faltered, but only for a moment. His instincts, honed from years of service on the borders, had him scanning the crowd, his gaze sharp. The conversation continued around him, like a ripple spreading through the market, and the name of the book—the one that had been spoken with reverence—seemed to hang in the air like a weight upon his chest.

➳ ”Of a Marchwarden’s Heart.” He had heard the title before, but hearing it again, in connection with his own name, set off a strange unease within him. Curiosity clawed at him, and without fully understanding why, he followed the conversation, drawn to a nearby stall where books and scrolls were spread out for display. The stallkeeper—an elderly elf who had seen many seasons pass—stood proudly behind the table, a wide grin on his face as he spoke to a few customers. In his hands, he cradled several copies of the book. One of them was open, lying face-up on the table. There, in the flowing script of the first page, Haldir’s eyes found his own name: Haldir of Lothlórien, Marchwarden of the Northern Borders. The words danced across the page, detailing his strength, his unwavering commitment to Lothlórien, and the responsibilities that weighed upon him like an unseen cloak. His hand hovered over the book, but something in his chest tightened, and he pulled it back before anyone could see his hesitation. It wasn’t fear that held him, but discomfort—the unease of seeing himself so publicly laid bare, even in words.

➳ The stallkeeper caught sight of him then, a knowing smile crossing his face. “Ah, Haldir,” he said warmly, though there was a glint of something mischievous in his eyes. “I see you’ve found the book. It’s quite popular these days. Everyone is speaking of it. In fact, they say it captures your heart—every aspect of it.” Haldir stood still for a moment, as the stallkeeper’s words seemed to echo in his mind. Captures your heart. He had never wanted his heart to be seen by so many. His heart was a private thing, hidden beneath layers of duty and tradition, a heart reserved only for those he trusted implicitly. And yet, here it was—laid bare for the world, and for the first time, he wondered what had driven the author to capture so much of him in such a way. With his brow furrowed, he stepped closer to the stall, his fingers brushing over the pages as he picked up one of the books. There was a strange sense of familiarity about it, a weight that suggested the author knew more about him than he was comfortable with. He flipped through a few pages, the words speaking of his devotion, his watchfulness, the quiet burden he carried every day. His guarded nature was painted with delicate strokes, and yet there was also something softer—a mention of the times he had risked vulnerability for those he cared about, the quiet moments of reflection he rarely allowed himself. The book described not just his actions, but his soul, in a way that felt both intimate and foreign to him.

➳ As he scanned further, Haldir’s eyes caught a passage that made his breath hitch “He walks the borders alone, keeping the peace, guarding against danger, but in the silence of the forest, a deeper longing stirs within him. A desire for something beyond duty. A connection. A companion. Yet he fears this is a weakness, and so he buries it beneath the weight of his responsibility.” Haldir’s heart skipped a beat. The author had seen it all, understood his deepest fears and desires. How had they known? No one in Lothlórien, perhaps not even his own brothers, would have seen these things so clearly. He had buried those parts of himself long ago. And then it hit him—like a bolt of lightning. It was you. The realization struck Haldir so suddenly that he almost dropped the book in his hand. He looked around the bustling market, eyes scanning the crowd, as if the very air around him could reveal the truth. The idea that you—the one who had been near him, always present, always kind—had written this, was both thrilling and terrifying.

➳ His breath caught in his throat. He remembered the moments you had spent together, the quiet conversations, the stolen glances. All the times you had listened to him, noticed the things others missed. He had been so careful to guard his thoughts, his heart—but somehow, through the pages of this book, you had seen into him with a depth he had never allowed anyone to see. His eyes fell once more to the book, to the words that painted him in a light so raw, so vulnerable, that it made him feel exposed in ways he couldn’t explain. He had always prided himself on his control, his composure, yet here was a part of himself he had never given anyone permission to see. At that moment, he knew. He knew who had written it. And despite the fear that gripped him—fear of being misunderstood, of being seen as weak—he felt a strange warmth settle in his chest. A connection that went beyond the written word, one that tied him to you in a way he had never anticipated. He didn’t speak right away. The world around him continued, as if time itself hadn’t slowed for him. The book in his hands felt like an anchor, a reminder of the truth he had been unwilling to face. He couldn’t ignore it anymore. You knew him. And now, the whole world would know him, too. The stallkeeper’s voice broke through his thoughts. “Would you like a copy, Haldir? It seems you’ve already seen how well it captures your heart.”

➳ Haldir stood still, his gaze fixed on the pages in front of him. He took a deep breath, his voice low and measured, yet with an undeniable hint of vulnerability that even he couldn’t mask. “No,” he said softly, “I do not need a copy. But I would like to know who wrote it.” The stallkeeper, ever observant, gave him a knowing smile. “Ah, that is a question only the author can answer, I think.” Haldir nodded, his resolve hardening. He would find you. He would seek out the author, the one who had dared to see him so clearly. There were questions he needed answers to, but more than that, there was a part of him—a part that had long been buried—that wondered if he could allow himself to be understood like this. For the first time in a long while, Haldir felt a deep, lingering uncertainty. And it was in that moment, as the weight of the book still pressed against his palm, that he realized something. Perhaps, just perhaps, he wasn’t as alone as he had always believed. And the search for you—the writer of his heart—would begin.

🍷𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓾𝓲𝓵

𐂂 The sun had long since dipped behind the trees of Mirkwood, casting the forest in soft twilight. The rhythmic sounds of life in the kingdom continued, a harmonious lull that usually soothed the king’s mind after a long day. Thranduil sat in his grand hall, his golden crown perched with its usual grace upon his brow, yet something stirred in the air—something out of place. The moment was interrupted when a messenger arrived, breathless from his journey. The elf handed Thranduil a small scroll, its seal unmistakably pressed with the mark of a well-known merchant town just beyond the borders of the Woodland Realm. Thranduil raised an eyebrow, unfurling the scroll with the practiced grace that had become second nature over centuries.

𐂂 A story. About him. “Beneath the crown” The words on the parchment were simple, yet what followed within the pages, written by a mysterious author, was far from ordinary. The story spoke of the great King of Mirkwood—Thranduil—his triumphs, his sorrows, his wisdom, and even the more intimate, vulnerable moments of his reign. It painted him as both a fierce and noble ruler, a creature of beauty and power. But beyond that, the story delved into aspects of him that even he would hesitate to voice aloud—the emotions he kept hidden, the struggles of his heart that even the halls of his mighty kingdom could not shelter. The book had become wildly popular. It was being sold in the market at such a rapid pace that copies were flying off the shelves. The people who had read it, both elves and men, spoke of it with awe, captivated by the portrayal of the elven king. It was being praised far and wide, with many speculating about the identity of the author. But to Thranduil’s growing concern, there was one thing the story did not lack—an intimacy that left him feeling exposed, vulnerable, and for the first time in centuries, unsettled.

𐂂 He had read enough to know that the author had captured him in a way that no one had before. The words seemed to dance in front of his mind, unraveling things about himself that even he had refused to acknowledge. Yet, it was not the content of the story that left him uneasy, but the fact that someone—someone—had dared to write about him without his permission. His hand clenched the scroll tighter, his usually poised and composed demeanor faltering for a split second. The thought of someone peering into the private corners of his soul without his consent, weaving together his vulnerabilities into such a public display, caused a surge of conflicting emotions within him. “Who is this author?” he demanded, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

𐂂 The messenger’s voice was hesitant, unsure whether to even broach the topic. “It is… unknown, my lord. No name is attached to the book. It simply appeared in the market, and before we could even inquire about it, it had already captured the attention of many.” Thranduil’s lips pressed together in a thin line, the soft glow of the torchlight flickering against his features. His heart pounded in his chest as he stood, pacing slowly across the room. He knew the world had changed, but the thought of his private life being laid bare without his permission—without any sense of respect or boundary—struck him with an unexpected sting. His pride, so carefully nurtured over centuries, was at war with something else. A strange feeling he could not name, one that lingered like a shadow in his mind. He had seen countless people come and go, but this—this audacity—was different. Was it betrayal? Was it admiration? Or perhaps something in between?

𐂂 But then, as he recalled the words written within those pages, the thought struck him again: the author had captured a truth about him, one he had never allowed to be spoken aloud. Something buried deep within his heart. And despite the discomfort, a part of him could not ignore the curiosity that rose within him. They had written about him as if they had been there beside him, understanding him in ways even he had failed to. Thranduil stood at the window now, looking out over the expanse of his kingdom, the forest stretching into the distance. The book, now circulating through the markets, painted him as a ruler of strength, yes—but also as someone deeply burdened by loss, by the weight of responsibility. It was raw, unflinching, and honest in ways he had never allowed anyone to see. And though he despised the idea of being exposed in such a public manner, there was a subtle tug inside him—a pull toward the unknown author, someone who had, with their words, seen him in a way he rarely allowed. Who had written this? Thranduil wondered again. Why? A small part of him, the part that had long been buried beneath layers of rule and resolve, felt something he hadn’t in centuries: intrigue.

𐂂 The king, ever calm and composed, turned to the messenger with a quiet, controlled fury in his eyes. “Find this author,” he commanded, his voice low and dangerous, “and bring them to me. I would speak with them.” The following days were filled with tension, a palpable unease settling over the kingdom as the book continued to spread. Word had already reached Thranduil that the mysterious author had yet to reveal themselves, their identity as elusive as a whisper in the night. Yet, there was something about their words that had already taken root in his mind. Something about the way they saw him, not just as a king, but as a man with complexities, with desires and regrets.

𐂂 Finally, the author was found. When you arrived before him, Thranduil’s gaze was piercing, his regal presence overwhelming. Yet, beneath his anger and frustration, there was a flicker of something else—something unspoken, something deeper. His eyes locked onto the author, you who stood before him, unsure but unwavering. Thranduil’s lips twitched in the faintest of smiles, though it barely reached his eyes. “You’ve written about me,” he said, his voice calm but with an edge that could cut through stone. “You’ve seen things about me that no one else has. Tell me, what drove you to write about me?”

𐂂 There was a long pause, the tension in the air so thick it could have been sliced with a blade. And then, the author answered, your voice quiet but full of conviction. “Because I see you,” you said simply, your words soft but filled with an undeniable truth. “I see what you hide, what you refuse to show. I wanted to share your story, the story that I believe the world should know.” Thranduil’s heart stilled at their words, and for a moment, he said nothing. The weight of the truth you had written about him, the vulnerability you had so delicately exposed, hung between them like a thread. It was a strange feeling, one that he couldn’t quite name—yet, in that silence, Thranduil realized something unexpected.

𐂂 This author had seen him. In ways no one else ever had. The king’s gaze softened, ever so slightly, as his next words were more quiet, more intimate than he intended. “You are bold,” he murmured, his voice tinged with something that bordered on admiration. “But do not mistake this for approval, author. You have exposed parts of me I would have preferred kept hidden.” The author merely nodded, accepting his words with quiet grace. “I understand, my king. But your story—your truth—it was too important to keep in the shadows.” Thranduil’s eyes flickered to the ground for just a moment, the weight of your words lingering. He did not know where this path would lead, but in the quiet of his heart, something shifted. “Then perhaps it is time for me to face it,” he whispered, almost to himself. And thus, Thranduil—who had once ruled from a distance, aloof from the rest of the world—felt the stirrings of something new. Something more than a king’s pride.

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craig-parker-cravings · 1 month ago

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Rahl

Haldir

Character comparisons: The red cloaks

#craig parker #darken rahl #legend of the seeker #lots #haldir #lord of the rings #lotr #haldir of lorien #lotr elves #tolkien #the two towers #helms deep

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foedhrass · 1 year ago

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From left to right: a Teleri OC, Aegnor, Amras, Annatar, Caranthir, Gil-galad.

From left to right: Irmo, Eöl, a Nandor OC, Maeglin, a Mirkwood OC, Thranduil

And of course Thingol.

Welcome and thank you to all new followers! The Thingol cloak post brought you here, but I have several more Middle-earth cosplays, most of them own designs for Silmarillion characters.

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elficially-done-with-life · 11 months ago

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Hundred Years Ago

Pairing: Haldir x Reader

Summery: Haldir wants to ask you an important question, but you two are interrupted.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

"Will we be there soon?" you asked with feigned impatience.

Haldir snorted in amusement: "Can't wait, can you?"

"No." you admitted. You really wished you could see something, but Haldir was very thorough in covering your eyes. "I finally want to know what you are making such a secret about. You even took the day OFF! Until two days ago, I was sure you did not even know how to do that."

"Oh, shut up," you could hear from his voice that he was grinning. Then you felt him gently press his lips to the tip of your ear. "Do not worry, Meleth nîn, we will be right there."

Haldir had been very secretive for the past few days, sometimes whispering quietly with his brothers, but would stop talking when you were within earshot.

At first you didn't think anything of it, but you were very interested in what they were talking about.

When Haldir took the day off from his duties, you were sure that something was up.

And now he was leading you to a 'mysterious place'. Whether it was really that mysterious you didn't know, but as he covered your eyes you had no idea where you were going.

Suddenly he stopped and said: "Ready?"

"Of course!" you said excitedly and he carefully took his hands away from your eyes, and you couldn't help but notice that they were shaking a little.

It took a while for your eyes to find out where you were.

Spread out on the ground in front of you was a large picnic blanket with a huge basket on top, which, judging by the smell, was filled with all your favourite treats.

You were in a clearing that you knew only too well. "This is where we met for the first time!"

Haldir nodded. "Exactly one hundred years ago."

"What?" you asked in surprise and turned to face him. To your surprise, his cheeks were slightly flushed, which was a little unusual for Haldir.

"Exactly one hundred years ago," he repeated, "we met here for the first time."

"You mean when you nearly shot me with one of your arrows?" you replied, smiling gently. That he had actually thought of that was incredible.

"I thought you were an orc." Haldir only replied. "You were walking around far too close to the borders. Be glad I did not have such a good aim back then," he leaned forward so that you could feel his breath on your lips as he said, "I would not miss my target today."

He was probably expecting you to playfully punch him in the side or come up with a counter-argument, but he had surprised you today, so you wanted to surprise him too.

You quickly leaned forward and before Haldir could react, your lips had already captured his in a gentle kiss.

Haldir returned the kiss and wrapped an arm around your waist to pull you tighter against him, while the fingertips of his other hand glided over your spine.

Eventually he pulled away from you again and nodded towards the picnic blanket. "How about we sit down and eat something."

The food tasted delicious, and you knew from the first bite you took that Haldir must have made it all himself. It had probably taken ages.

You loved the food your beloved made, but unfortunately you couldn't eat it that often because he always had to work.

"I am really surprised that you remember exactly which day we met. I have to admit that I remember the year but I could not have told you the day," you admitted.

Haldir laughed softly. "I could not either. Orophin still knew. He accompanied me here for the first time because he was finally old enough to learn how to handle a bow and arrow."

You remembered well. Both of Haldir's brothers had been quite young at the time and he had cared for them since the death of their parents. One of the reasons why you had practically helped raise them after you two had become close.

"Then I guess I will have to thank him later," you said playfully and winked at him.

Haldir shrugged his shoulders. "He only provided the date, but I was planning to come here with you anyway." Suddenly his voice became a little quieter, almost uncertain. "I wanted to ask you a really important question."

He swallowed and put his plate aside, then reached for your hand. "Meleth nîn, I- "

But something interrupted him. Just as he was about to get to the question you were dying to know, there was a rustling in a bush not far from you.

Haldir jumped up and stood protectively in front of you. He pulled a knife from his sleeve, which he always had there, whether he was working or not, so that he wouldn't be unarmed in an emergency.

"Who is there?" he asked loudly, his eyes fixed on the bush.

You held your breath.

Then two elves you knew all too well poked their blond heads out of the bush. Orophin and Rùmil.

"You did not ask her!" Rùmil said indignantly and grimaced. "Do you know how uncomfortable it is to hide in a bush? We were here a few minutes before you and now we haven't even seen the big moment."

Haldir put the knife away again and massaged his forehead. "You two really are- "

"Besides, I contributed more than just the date," Orophin said to you with a pompous look, "I also chose the picnic basket! I borrowed it from Lord Celeborn, you have no idea how many he has lying around because he goes on picnics with Lady Galadriel all the time!"

You could hardly stifle your giggles as relief washed over you. For a moment you thought you were going to have to fight an orc or a wild animal.

Orophin and Rumil now climed out from the undergrowth of the bush with some difficulty and went over to you.

"Some stupid root cut me." Rùmil cursed.

"Serves you right." Haldir grumbled, but you could see his eyes immediately moving up and down his brothers body to see if he was seriously injured. Since he apparently wasn't, Haldir gave him an angry look.

Since his brothers obviously realised that they couldn't simply talk their way out of it, they turned to you with a nervous smile. "You are happy to see us, right?"

You gave Haldir a sideways glance before grinning back. "I am always happy to see you. But there are sometimes very inopportune moments, you know?"

They blushed and nodded cautiously.

Haldir rubbed his face with the hand he had just used to massage his temple.

"We will talk about it later," he finally said, turning to his brothers. "Go now."

Slowly, he let himself sink back onto the picnic blanket.

"I am sorry." he whispered, "I do not know if you still- "

You put a hand on his arm and gently pressed your lips to his cheek. "I would love to hear your question."

"We have known each other for a hundred years now," he began nervously, placing his hand under your chin so that you could look each other in the eye. "Would you do me the honour of courting you?"

Excitement rose in you and it took a few seconds before you were even able to form an answer in your head.

You couldn't believe he had actually asked that! No wonder his brothers had made such a fuss.

Meanwhile, Haldir's face looked very strained and only now did you realise that you still hadn't answered him.

A broad grin spread across your face and you said in a voice trembling with excitement: "There is nothing I would enjoy more."

Haldir slowly pulled you close and together you snuggled up on the picnic blanket under the stars.

When it was already very late, you made your way back.

Haldir carried the basket while you tucked the rolled-up blanket under your arm.

At first he had insisted on carrying both, but when you said you couldn't possibly leave everything to your future husband, he blushed and gave you the picnic blanket.

When you arrived home, all you wanted to do was fall into bed, but when you opened the front door, Haldir's brothers came to meet you.

"Now you are breaking into our house too," he said, but you could tell from the grin on his lips that he didn't hold it against them.

His brothers also seemed to have noticed the grin and with an excited squeal they ran towards you with open arms. "She said yes!"

#haldir x reader #haldir x you #haldir of lothlorien #haldir of lorien #haldir #x reader #tolkien x reader #tolkien #elves x reader #lotr #lotr x y/n #lotr x you #lotr x reader #lord of the rings

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windrelyn · 1 year ago

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This year I chose to draw Celeborn and Galadriel.

Happy new year everyone!

The commissions are still open! Visit my Ko-fi for more information!

#tolkien #celeborn #galadriel #elves #lotr #fanart #happy new year #new year #new year 2024 #middle earth #my art #lothlorien #lorien #lord of the rings #silmarillion #silm art

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mushroomates · 5 months ago

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Tolkein elves aren't vegan/vegetarian, they made that up for the Hobbit movies. Elves are renowned hunters in the books. They're hunting for meat.

don’t worry!! i’m well aware. you can read my other post on that. in short, i agree!

please keep in mind that a lot of these thoughts are headcanons! while i like to respect the original work, a lot of things are up to interpretation and i like to take that and run with it. (cheese wizard) i am in no way stating that everything i say is factual or is it the only correct interpretation.

with that in mind, a brief summary!

- hunting is great and valid, but there’s less things to hunt bc of sauron

- hunting is now more symbolic and regulated to protect the ecosystem

-they don’t domesticate livestock. they like to live with the earth, not impose on it. there are a few exceptions like horses, but even then, horses are seen as a companion, not a means to travel

-they also don’t farm. i’m sure they grow some things, but i’m talking at the significant level- again, respecting nature. for the same reason.

-this leads to a raw diet. it is both convenient and establishes a deeper bond to middle earth.

are elves, by a rule, vegan? no. are they vegetarian? no. they don’t follow any strict dietary laws, and also are individuals and not just a collective. i’m sure some elves choose to be vegetarian, im sure some elves also choose to eat lots of meat and pride themselves on hunting.

but elves are made up. so i can’t really ask them, and these are just my thoughts.

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emmyspov · 2 years ago

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Coming home (Haldir x reader)

author's note: i finished this while eating breakfast this morning - can you tell i'm sad and touch starved?? this is totally self-indulgent, i love him :( haldir brushes through reader's hair, otherwise no descriptions of looks. please reblog this if you like it and let me know if you want to be tagged in the future <3 english (still) isn’t my first language. also, please don't copy my work :)

warnings: nothing i'm aware of, just domestic fluff :)

word count: 0.9k

edit is my own :)

Haldir opened the door and stepped into the hallway. He just came home from a long and exhausting meeting with Lady Galadriel, but when he noticed the sweet smell of baked goods and spotted you asleep in your shared bed, clothed in one of his night gowns, his heart felt light again.

He knew you were waiting for him to return by the lit candle on your bedside drawer and the open book next to you and for only a second, an overwhelming amount of love knocked the air out of his lungs.

You looked absolutely ethereal. You always did, but seeing you dressed in his clothes in your shared home did something to the elf. The way you trusted him with your life and how you loved him endlessly made him emotional.

"What have you done to me, my love", he murmured and stepped closer to you. "You own my heart."

After getting ready for bed himself, the ellon carefully laid down next to you, trying not to wake you - but no luck.

"Haldir?" You turned around to your husband, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes.

"Shh. Sleep, meleth. You work so much", Haldir spoke quietly and cupped your cheek with his hand.

You leaned into the touch, closing your eyes again to really relish in the gentle contact.

"Look at yourself, marchwarden", you murmured and sighed softly. "You're gone for months and I know you don't get enough rest during your patrols. And when you come home, you take care of me. I admire your protectiveness, but you have to look after yourself, too."

Your husband's hand wandered from your cheek to the side of your head, carefully brushing through your hair before it settled on the small of your back, pulling you close to him.

"For me, looking after myself means being here, at home, with you. You bring me endless happiness, my love."

You let your head fall onto his chest as you wrapped your arms around his waist.

"Gi melin."

At your words, Haldir pulled you even closer into his side if that was even still possible and pressed a kiss to your forehead, letting his lips linger there.

"You're too good to me", you whispered, but the elf shook his head.

"You deserve everything, meleth. And one day, I'll figure out how to give it to you."

It was your turn to shake your head before you kissed his jaw. "You are everything I could ever want, ever need. Your presence alone eases my hard days and makes my good ones better. I know my heart is safe with you."

Haldir was at a loss for words. He never thought someone would come along who'd see more in him than a marchwarden and yet here you were, looking at him as if he himself had put the stars in the sky.

Still, he didn't know what to say to you. He was never good with romantic speeches and he despised it. You deserved to be wooed with words, too.

So instead, he cupped your face in his hands and leaned down to press his lips against yours.

What he didn't realise was that you weren't waiting for a big love confession. Your husband has always been someone who showed his love through actions - just like he was doing now.

"Hal", you mumbled and fisted his gown to ground yourself. How he was able to make you weak in the knees with a simple kiss was beyond your understanding - not that you cared. All sorts of physical contact with Haldir felt like coming home.

He smiled at your flushed cheeks after you parted and let his thumb brush over your jawline.

"What did you bake earlier", he asked and you needed a second to register his question.

"Oh", you answered, "Rúmil and Orophin came over earlier and asked if the four of us wanted to have a picnic together tomorrow afternoon if you're free. I thought that's a wonderful idea and then I saw that some of the wild berries in our garden are ripe, so I baked a cake with them that we can eat together then."

Haldir could feel himself getting choked up again. You, his found family, getting along with his brothers made his heart skip a beat.

"You are wonderful."

He could see the protest on your lips, but you knew better than to disagree. While he had won all the playful arguments, he was serious about you not talking yourself down.

"Thank you", you whispered instead, accepting the compliment, as you buried your face in the crook of his neck.

The elf chuckled as he felt the heat radiating from your cheeks and let his hand run up and down your lower back soothingly. "You're doing so well, meleth."

You stayed like that, your body half on top of Haldir's, his arm wrapped around you and your hand laying on his chest, right over his heart.

His heartbeat must have lulled you to sleep because the next time the marchwarden looked down at you, your eyes were closed and you were taking deep, even breaths.

Carefully, he turned around to blow out the candle before settling back into the former position, letting his fingers dance over your skin and pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

"Coming home to you will forever be the highlight of my day", he whispered before letting your breathing and the soft glow of the moon lull him into a restful slumber, too.

meleth = love

gi melin = i love you

Taglist: @shadowhuntyi

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sotwk · 9 months ago

Text

The Baker from Lórien (Haldir gen ficlet)

Summary: A visitor from Lórien brings some excitement to the kitchens of the Elvenking's palace.

Word count: 1.1k

Content: Pure fluffy randomness, mother-son relationship, toddler Legolas

Rating: General (no warnings apply)

To Read on AO3: Link

A/N: I wrote this ficlet purely on a whim; I had no plans or strategy for it going in. It could be nonsense, or I could be onto something. XD It's most likely going to stay a random SotWK AU one-shot, but who knows. I pretty much just wanted to finally write any story featuring Haldir, whom I love dearly and firmly believe was one of the most desired bachelors east of the Mountains. Special thanks to my friend @creativity-of-death who inspired the concept of a Baker Haldir long ago!

Headcanons about Haldir in the SotWK AU: Any questions you might have about the background history in this fic would be answered HERE.

The Baker from Lórien

Third Age 246 Spring

Bar Lasgalen, the Palace of the Elvenking

“Down and forward, turn, and fold over. Repeat. Remember to use the heel of your hand--this part, right here.”

The lump of dough felt pleasantly squishy in Legolas’s hands, and only with great self-restraint did the four-year-old elfling manage to resist playing with it like modeling clay, instead of following his instructor’s example. With eyes narrowed in determined concentration, he watched the steadily working hands of the elf across the table from him. After just a minute or so of observation, he began to mimic the brisk kneading motion.

“Yes, good! That is very good.” The visitor from Lórien seemed pleased, albeit surprised, by how quickly the child caught on.

Legolas beamed at the ellon’s praise, and held the smooth ball of dough up high over his head in triumph. “Is it ready for the oven now?”

“Not quite.” The silver-haired ellon took the dough from Legolas and checked it with a few expert prods of his fingers. “It needs time to rest and rise. An hour at least, although up to three is much better, and then we can reshape it into loaves. Then it must rest again, before it can be baked.”

“Three hours?!” Legolas exclaimed, already dismissive of whatever other steps came after. “Does bread really take that long to make every time?”

“The loaves should be fresh and hot out of the oven just in time for your Highness’s breakfast.” Legolas watched as his dough ball was placed into a large pan next to five others and covered with a dish cloth.

“And a delicious breakfast is best preceded by a sound night’s sleep, is it not?” The voice that came from the kitchen doorway made Legolas scramble off his stool. He smiled sheepishly at his nursemaid, Ninniel, as she entered with a knowing smile and firm shake of her head for him.

The older ellon spoke up. “My apologies, Emmë. I should have realized the hour was too late.”

“It’s all right. It appears some valuable learning has been accomplished here, at least.” Ninniel took in the rather comical sight of her grown son towering next to her not-at-all-grown charge, both of them dusted in flour, and felt all her exasperation melt away. She dipped a tea towel into the washing basin and set to work wiping the sticky residue off Legolas’s fingers.

“Will you come and get me when my loaf is finished baking, Halidr?”

“Well…” Haldir of Lórien glanced hesitantly at his mother. He was still unsure what to make of Thranduil’s sons, who all behaved without any regard or perhaps even awareness of their social rank. Legolas, in particular, had been unabashed in his fascination with Haldir ever since his arrival at Bar Lasgalen. Today was merely the first day of a month-long, overdue visit to his parents, and most of it had passed with the little prince turning up wherever Haldir happened to be, armed with a constant stream of questions. “It really is not my place to--”

“When your bread comes out of the oven, I will wake you to come and have it for breakfast, with me and Haldir,” Ninniel interjected smoothly. “But the sooner you get to bed, the sooner you can rise refreshed for a new day, yes?”

“That sounds excellent!” Legolas threw his hands up, and wriggled his hips in a little sort of dance. “I shall be back in a few hours, Haldir! Please take care of my bread!” he called out to the bemused elf before bounding out the door.

“Are you still finding everything all right, dearest?” Ninniel swept a light hand over her son’s broad back. In one touch she could tell Haldir was fairly relaxed, as she had hoped he would gradually become. Her eldest had always been the most serious of her children, and his nature only grew graver as the ages passed and the memories of hard years weighed on him. It had been far too long since his last visit to Eryn Galen, so rarely could he be persuaded to leave his post at the March, and Ninniel hoped the brief holiday away would be restful for his spirit.

“Yes, everyone here at the palace has been… quite attentive.” Haldir smiled and planted a swift kiss over his mother’s hair. “The prince’s arrival sent them scurrying off, I fear, but I do not think he seemed to mind or notice.”

Ninniel shook her head. “The only thing they were running from was their own embarrassment,” she said. “I will let you return to your work, my love. Legolas and I will be back soon.”

And indeed, as soon as she exited the kitchen, she encountered the gaggle of young kitchen maids waiting in the hall, preparing to re-enter now that the royal Highness had left and gone to bed.

“Lady Ninniel,” they curtsied to her, appearing only mildly abashed by her witness to their obvious intentions. But this was a small phenomenon Ninniel had grown accustomed to over the years, for it became clear early on that her handsome son elicited rather strong reactions from elleths, often without any encouragement.

“My lady, if we may…” one of the girls blurted out. “We were wondering… that is, we wanted to make certain… do you know whether or not Lord Haldir…”

“He is not a lord, and he would not appreciate being addressed as one,” Ninniel corrected gently. “And as far as I know, he is not engaged, involved, or taken with anyone at present.” She gazed at the line of hopeful faces and pressed her lips to smother a chuckle. “Any of you are welcome to try and draw his interest, if that is your wish.”

But best of luck, indeed. Ninniel sighed as she departed, leaving the sounds of pitchy giggling behind her as the pack descended on her oblivious son. Whether there was any chance of a maiden in all of the Woodland Realm catching Haldir of Lórien’s eye, much less his elusive heart, she did not know. That hope had certainly not borne any fruit in over a thousand years of matchmaking attempts. But any diversion, any added source of joy outside of his work, his books, or his baking, could only be a good thing.

Anything beyond that--dare say a betrothal, a marriage, or even a new precious grandchild--was something Ninniel was prepared to be completely surprised with. But a mother will always hope.

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