#lotr x oc

[marsconer]

writing lord of the rings fanfic is like. *has three versions of how an event goes* *goes into research tangent on folklore and anthropology* * cries about it* it’s what tolkien would have wanted.

[tamurilofrivendell]

{Read Story} - {Playlist} - {Inspo}

pairing: Thranduil x Eirien (oc)

included characters: OC elf characters. Feren. Galion. Tauriel. Legolas. Bard.

warnings: sexually explicit scenes, brief threat of rape in a later chapter, violence/battle.

synopsis: It had been many years since the King had thought about taking another to his bed. He suffered many long, lonely nights without his beloved Queen until, after his son leaves him, he cannot handle the silence and he finds himself seeking something in the arms of another. When Eirien finds herself summoned to the King’s chambers out of the blue, she is more than a little confused, but finds herself more than happy to serve her King despite the cost to herself. The biggest rule the King has for this arrangement is to not fall in love with him and it seems such an easy thing to just agree. The Queen may be dead and gone but they are still bound for eternity and will one day reunite. Eirien knows this... but the more time she spends in his company, the more she gets to actually know him, the more she begins to realise that she has already fallen too deep. Eirien finds herself at a complete loss. If she confesses, she will lose him for good, but if she keeps quiet, she will only further torment her already broken heart. As time continues to pass and Mirkwood continues to darken, the threat of Dol Guldur only growing, Thranduil and Eirien continue to be tested at every turn. They have confessed their love to themselves but can they ever confess it to each other?

[gracehateseggnog]

a quiet rivendell wedding ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ legolas x oc

summary: one year after the events of the lord of the rings, legolas and talwynn get married in rivendell.

pairing: legolas x fey!oc

word count: 4.5k

a/n: been waiting to write this one 4 eva! love u @gu1ltyassin!

tw: some angst, but plenty of comfort <3

gif creds: unknown

Thranduil didn’t approve. Unfortunately, Legolas had assumed since the very blossoms of him and Talwynn’s relationship that his father wouldn’t gaze upon her with a fond eye, but the bloodied eye of anger towards Legolas and towards his lover was still hurtful. Many people whispered about Legolas over the years, when he walked into taverns with Aragorn when the latter was a teenager, and they’d talk about his platinum hair and pointed ears, perhaps even murmur about the son of Thranduil, and how he would never live apart from his father’s reputation as a killer. Those Legolas could ignore, but his father’s words had a way of weaving into his heart and piercing it that killed him from the inside like a Morgul blade, it would poison him slowly until all he could think about was how good death would finally feel. He loved his father deeply, though it didn’t seem like it from outsiders that peered in to look at their relationship. They had been tense since the Battle of The Five Armies, and had never mended the tear between them, but a part of Legolas had hoped his news of marriage would make Thranduil put aside their past.

But his father was a bitter man, and he could hold a grudge as if his life depended on it, and his immortality only strengthened his resolve. Thranduil had sent them away when they had delivered the news of their betrothal, a sliver of hope in Talwynn’s heart that Legolas’ father would allow them to marry in the woods of Mirkwood, now lifted of Sauron’s darkness, Legolas didn’t hold that same sentiment, but he took her to his father, anyway. He had shunned them, called her a ‘fey’ and demoted his own son to ‘the elf’. His father had changed in the past, in the years of Tauriel and her love for the dwarf Kíli, and he had told Talwynn of his change in heart then. Perhaps that was why she was so adamant to go, to try and change his mind like Tauriel had about love. Tauriel wasn’t of his blood, Tauriel wasn’t his son. Thranduil cared, Legolas had grown to know that during the sixty years they had been apart, but it seemed like anything but love, at times, especially when Legolas would receive letters from Samwise detailing how excited he was for his daughter’s upcoming birth. 

“Mellon,” Aragorn pulled Legolas from his deep thoughts. “This is a happy occasion, is it not?”

The closest place to home Legolas would get was Rivendell, and that is where he and Aragorn stood. They had quite a large room set aside in the east wing of the Main House, thanks to Elrond’s kind hospitality, right out front of the gardens he was to be wed in. Aragorn, as one of his closest friends, was his best man, and so was Gimli. (Aragorn wouldn’t have fought over the role, and Legolas really didn’t want one of Gimli’s “bachelor parties”) Apart from Tauriel, who was apologetically swamped with work from Thranduil, and Arwen, who Talwynn had as her maid of honour, most of Legolas’ friends were dead or too busy to come all the way to Rivendell. He understood, of course, and so did Talwynn, as most of his friends were hers from the days of the Fellowship, and a small, quaint wedding was much more preferable to him than a large one, but he envied those of such popularity they’d be begged for an invite. To be fair, Gimli was more than enough to handle for one evening that Legolas wanted to be calm and preferably without drinking on the dwarf’s part.

“Of course,” Legolas nodded, carefully placing his circlet atop his head, dutiful not to let it snag in his long, blond hair. “If I were younger, perhaps I would have wished more for my father to be here. It seems a hopeless thought to imagine him appearing at the last moment to bear the rings, like I thought of him to as a child.”

“Legolas,” Aragorn buttoned up the top of Legolas’ white, royal tunic, embedded with silver and gold threads as a sign of the wedding to come. “You may not have your father here, but you have Talwynn, Gimli, Arwen, and I. I know it is not enough to make up for the loss of love in blood, but I also know how much greater those bonds can be.” He placed his hands on Legolas’ shoulders and brushed off any dust that remained from how long the outfit had sat in a closet, awaiting the moment Legolas would marry for hundreds of years. “Your father can not hold a grudge for your entire life.” He added.

“You do not know my father.” Legolas shook his head, not meaning it in an aggressive way, just an informative way. He knew how long some prisoners had stayed in the Mirkwood dungeons. Some had been there since before he was born. “He uses his immortality as if it is a threat to all that try to cross him.”

“I have met him once or twice, mellon, and that was enough to know his weakness.” At this, Legolas met Aragorn’s eyes. “He may be able to hold a grudge that lives longer than his victim, but he has always loved you, Legolas, and I don’t believe he will ever stop.”

When Legolas was much younger, he fell out of a tree in Mirkwood while trying to shoot down a practice target one of the warriors had set up for fun with a bow that was much greater than he could handle, which was what led to the branch snapping beneath him and his topple to the grass. His father had scolded him for what seemed like hours that day, droning on and on about how he needed to take much more responsibility for his life, being the only heir to the Mirkwood throne (Legolas bit back at some point about how Thranduil was immortal, so there was really no need for the stress of being a prince, which Thranduil did not appreciate.) Despite their quarrel, the next day, they went on as usual, silent around each other as Legolas tried to learn everything he could from Thranduil. They didn’t discuss mother, they didn’t discuss his immortality, and most importantly, Legolas had learnt not to mention anything about any girl his age he had found to look dashing in the sunlight. His father always had a way to ruin those fleeting crushes, not unlike how he had tried to quash his betrothal to Talwynn before they had exchanged rings that promised them to one another.

That's how most of their conflicts went. Legolas would do something to invoke his father’s anger, or vice versa, Thranduil would yell at him, and they would live in silence for a short period of time before things naturally returned to their beginnings. It happened in Erebor, sixty-one years ago, when Legolas had defied his father’s instructions in Dale, and they had fought harshly with one another following Tauriel’s short-lived banishment from her home. Then, the following day, Thranduil had sent his son on the greatest expedition of his extremely long life; to go see Aragorn, though he was quite fond of “Strider” back then. Legolas hadn’t had a proper conversation with his father since then, one that wasn’t filled with venomous spats or a few quick words of where he would be going, which was the simple back and forth that led their meeting before last, before Legolas had left for Rivendell to join the Fellowship. Perhaps this was no different, perhaps after a year or so, give or take, Thranduil would invite Legolas and Talwynn for a feast in Mirkwood, and act as if no time had passed at all, and no words of hatred had been passed between him and his love, his wife. He smiled at the thought. Once, nuptials had meant little to him. Now, it seemed to be one of the most important moments in a long time.

“Lad?” The questioning tone of Gimli echoed through the room, though the dwarf was careful not to tread on the tense moment between Legolas and Aragorn. He was loud when he wanted to be, Legolas knew that better than most, but he was also someone who felt so deeply for his friends that when they had a quiet moment, he knew how to deal with it in his own way. 

“You’re right.” Legolas nodded, and smiled at Aragorn. His friend dressed like a King, but now, he was dressed in elven garbs to celebrate the ceremony, which was how Legolas remembered him most fondly. “He will come around, even if it is not now.”

“I am glad you see what I see.” Aragorn stepped back from Legolas, taking a look at his beautifully intricate outfit. It had taken forever to be sewn, as Legolas wanted as much of his wife’s heritage in it as his own, and a plethora of questions about the fey people from the seamstresses had followed. “You look finer than I did on my wedding day, mellon.”

“It was not hard.” Legolas smirked in jest, looking at his right hand, looking at his betrothal band for the last time before it would be replaced with one of marriage. “I am surprised Elrond allowed you to look so Man-like.”

“Oi! No fighting on such a day!” Gimli announced, stopping the comb he had been raking carefully through his beard to scold the two. Aragorn and Legolas could only smile at the dwarf, knowing that on any other day, he would have been the first to throw punches, but he had a particular soft spot for marriages.

“Apologies, my friend.” Aragorn chuckled, a smile gracing his expression as he looked down at Gimli. “I forget how important a wedding is to your kind.”

Gimli crossed his arms in a huff. “Well, often I forget how unimportant a wedding seems to your kind!” He countered mockingly. “If I were one of your kind, I would not be joking about such matters before walking to the garden!”

“I assure you, Gimli, my joking is only due to a matter of worry.” Legolas replied, a soft smile on his lips despite the tone of his words. Not a lot seemed to surprise him anymore, after his over two thousand years of living, but the feeling in his chest that accumulated as the hour of his wedding drew near. 

“What is there to worry about, Legolas?” Aragorn asked, buttoning the top of his own royal tunic, one that had been gifted to him by Elrond many moons before. “Talwynn loves you just as you love her, she would not have accepted your betrothal if she could not imagine herself in this garden.”

“Her love I do not doubt.”

“Then what is on your mind, mellon?”

“Perhaps it is those thoughts that linger in any elf’s mind.” Legolas looked to one of the openings in the room, gazing out to the beautiful glade. He could only imagine the arch he would be standing beneath, hidden amongst the trees. “She will die and there is no place for her in Valinor.”

“That may change, you can not see all that may happen to Talwynn. Someone may offer her a place there, as Lady Galadriel promised Gimli his.” 

“I would give it to her without question.”

“But where would that leave her? In a world where she knows nobody, and you do not have a place.” Aragorn finished buttoning up his shirt, his hands moving to pick up a small piece of fabric from one of the dressers. The marriage rings that would soon be on him and Talwynn’s index fingers were kept safely inside the sage fabric. “Do not give yourself to worry on this day, Legolas. Those are concerns for you and her to consider years from now.”

Legolas nodded once more, a smile beckoning on his lips as the thoughts drifted away merely at Aragorn’s instruction, and his eyes travelled back to the gardens to his left. He missed Mirkwood dearly, but those regrets faded too when he looked upon the tall trees that Lord Elrond ruled over. When the Fellowship travelled through Lothlórien, Legolas had looked through the Mirror of Galadriel. He had seen many things that evening, many versions of this day with and without Talwynn by his side, but none of them took place in his home kingdom. He wondered then if it was a sign that he was never to marry, if it was a bad omen that he should avoid marriage and live his life without the love his father had once found with his mother and Tauriel had found with Kíli. Now, as Aragorn gathered the rings and Gimli opened the door of the Rivendell chambers, he knew that what he saw was never an abysmal sight. He could live without his father alongside him, he had done it for a long time, and he would be able to marry Talwynn without his support and without the trees he once called home. Rivendell had become as much of a home to him as it had become to Aragorn throughout time, perhaps this was where he was always meant to be.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

“Your hair is beautiful.” Arwen commented kindly, running her brush through the last of Talwynn’s blonde, tangled hair. 

“Thank you.” The fey blushed under her compliment, her fingers tangling into her necklace.

Arwen and Talwynn sat alone in one of Rivendell’s main house chambers, the final touches going onto the latter’s appearance before she would walk to the gardens and marry the elf she had fallen in love with. The brown-haired half-elf was one of her only friends outside of the Fey Realm, and the two had become close through frequent visits to Gondor on Talwynn’s behalf, and letters sent to each other in hopes to continue their close friendship. Talwynn adored the advice Arwen would give her, the dresses she would deliver, stitched delicately by her handmaidens just for the fey as gifts, and the way she would teach her how to braid her hair like an elf did. Arwen missed the fleeting moments of girlhood she remembered from when she was a child, and Talwynn reminded her of those times, especially when the two would lounge in the Rivendell gardens in the afternoons, talking endlessly about anything that came to their minds. They loved each other in their own way, and Arwen learnt how to embrace her newfound mortality from the fey most out of the others that surrounded her, because Talwynn seemed to have a love for life that slipped from others. Arwen pulled two large chunks of Talwynn’s hair from each side and joined them at the back with a silver clip.

“There.” Arwen remarked, stepping back from behind Talwynn and looking over her face.

Her dress had taken a month to make, but Talwynn wanted it to be perfect. It combined the styles of fey and elven wedding dresses, creating a mesh between the greens and silvers that cascaded down her body, a short but elegant train following her feet. The bodice and sleeves were made out of sheer silk, adorned with stitchings of green leaves and small, pink flowers that represented the wings of matching colour that protruded from her back, and the bottom of the dress had the same design, but didn’t cling to her body as the top did, instead draping atop her legs. After years of wearing strictly clothing she could fight in, Talwynn felt the prettiest she had in a long time, her confidence only matched to how she felt during Aragorn’s coronation. Then, she represented the Fey Realm, now, she represented her and her betrothed’s people, sending a message to any who doubted their matrimony (not many did.) Her engagement ring sat low on her ring finger, soon to be replaced by the silver marriage ring that elves exchanged during their wedding. Her heart beat against her chest, she was so excited.

“I’ve never felt this wondrous before.” Talwynn exclaimed, rising from her chair and turning to face Arwen, whose hands were clasped at her hips, clad in a whimsical, light brown dress. “I fear I may faint.”

“I felt that same excitement when Aragorn and I married.” Arwen smiled, holding her hands out for Talwynn to take. “It didn’t dissipate until the wine was served that evening.”

Talwynn clasped softly onto her friend’s palms, grounding herself. “I wish I could feel this way forever.” She admitted. “I can’t begin to explain it.”

“You don’t need to, I know exactly what it’s like to stand in your situation, waiting for the moment to walk through those doors and try not to lose your footing. Though, I was wearing quite more elaborate footwear than you are.” Arwen looked down to where Talwynn’s silver flats poked out from beneath her dress, no heels to help her walk through the grass. “Legolas feels that same worry, I’m sure. He won’t know what to do with himself when he sees you.”

“How do you think he’ll react?”

“Well, I have never known him to be a crier, but I haven’t known him for my life. I believe it would be hard for him not to shed a tear or two at the sight of you.”

“You’re too kind to me, Arwen.”

“Nobody can be too kind on a woman’s wedding day, not when she has the honour of giving her away to another dear friend. I only wish I could have brought your father here to take my place.”

“I wouldn’t rather have anyone else with me other than you.” Talwynn held tighter onto Arwen’s hands, smiling at the bittersweet situation. None of her family could make it, but those she had chosen to surround her as she lived had. That was enough. “My father longed to make it here, but we both knew it would be impossible.”

“We are both too poetic for our own good.”

Arwen grinned, then a knock came to the door. Aragorn’s knuckle rapped against the wood three times, signalling to the woman on the other side that Legolas would be awaiting them at the arch in Lord Elrond’s gardens whenever they were ready to leave. After giving the sign, he walked alongside the groom and Gimli through the large door at the end of the hall that opened up into the garden. Large, weeping trees paved the way through the grass, leading to a natural arch made from the trees over time, a history of thousands of elves’ marriages standing in the centre. Legolas had seen many trees in his long lifetime, but the sight of Lord Elrond’s gardens never ceased to amaze him, no matter how many times he had wandered around as a younger elf, dreaming and wondering about the day he’d get to stand in the flowers and marry. Birds chirped ahead, sensing the special day that befell the summer afternoon. As Legolas looked at the nearly shrouded sun in the sky, he couldn’t help but smile and think about the hobbits that he and Talwynn had grown to love so long ago. He wondered if they were having elevenses or luncheon.

“Are ya’ nervous, lad?” Gimli inquired when they reached the arch.

Legolas took his place off to the left side, and Aragorn and Gimli joined at his right. “Extremely.”

“You two fought the grips of Mordor from Middle-Earth.” Aragorn reassured the elf. “There is not much that can come between a bond as strong as yours.”

At that, the gardens surrounding them hushed, and Talwynn emerged from the shadows of the trees. Legolas’ eyes widened slightly, his lips pulling tight against his cheeks as his eyes threatened to give away the emotion he felt when he saw his bride for the first time. Her dress was elven, he noticed, with enough of a hint of her fey ancestry to pay homage to the wings that fluttered against her back, brightening the foggy forest. She looked as beautiful as she did every day, but it was a royal kind of beauty that day, and Legolas flushed when his mind wandered to what she would look like under her true title, Princess of Mirkwood. Nothing could truly compare to the buzzing inside his stomach, he realized, and there was no replication to how he felt about Talwynn, walking down the aisle of dotted, white flowers and grass, holding onto Arwen’s arm with a graceful, excited smile on her face. He adored her unabashed emotion, the way she would smile in the heat of battle, teeth bared at him when she passed his count of fallen orcs or trolls (she never did, but he wouldn’t admit that to her.) Legolas also realized i8n that moment that though Talwynn dressed in many different ways across their travels as members of the Fellowship, nobles of Gondor, and now bride and groom, her smile never failed to beguile him.

When Talwynn was close enough, Arwen let go of her arm, retreating to her side and allowing the fey to stand in front of her elf. “My handsome elf.” She remarked, looking up at him, the spattered light that seeped through the tree leaves reflecting in her eyes.

“Faerië nín.” Legolas lifted his left hand, placing it under her hair and on the side of her neck, smiling as she leant into his palm lightly. He thought of their first kiss. “You are beautiful.”

My fairy.

Talwynn blushed a deep red. She would later blame it on the heat. “You are my life, Legolas. I can not imagine continuing forward without you, no matter what the future means for us both.” She spoke without thinking, words tumbling from her lips without sign of stopping. “Adventures or late mornings, I can’t fathom having an empty tent or bed now that I’ve felt what it’s like to have you at my side. Even if travels keep me from you, or another global battle takes us away from each other for a short time, I have faith that we’ll find each other, that is what we do. Not one ounce of fate from the Halls of Mandos can change our trajectory, constantly pointing towards each other.” Tears had begun streaming down Talwynn’s face without her knowledge, she only knew she had begun to cry when a soft breeze blew through the garden, chilling the tears on her cheeks. Legolas lifted his thumb and brushed the wetness from her skin, tears welling in his own eyes. “I love you, Legolas.”

“And I, you, Talwynn. I believe I knew there was a beautiful love between us, even when you were simply a fey who had run into the Fellowship in the midst of the most important journey of our lives. I don’t—” Legolas sucked in a tight breath, a tear straying from his eye. Elves were known to be good at protecting their emotions in the heat of any situation, but when it came to their love, the masks dropped. “I don’t know where I would be after the journey of the Ring if you had not joined us on that mountain outside of Rivendell. Perhaps the only change I would have made to our adventure would have been that you had come to us sooner so that we may have more time with one another. You are my trees, my flowers, my beauty. I could not have ever dreamed of having someone else share my bed and my heart as deeply as you, meleth nín.” It was Talwynn’s turn to reach her hand up from her side and wipe Legolas’ face of tears. “I love you.”

My love.

Aragorn took the short moment of silence that followed to present the two silver marriage bands to Talwynn and Legolas. Both had inscriptions engraved on the outside; Talwynn’s read, ‘forever adventures, even in mortality’ in Sylvan, while Legolas’ said, ‘even when memory fails, you are my history.’ Legolas reluctantly tore his hand from his bride’s neck, replacing the skin of her face with her hand, delicately holding her fingers up. He pulled off the gold betrothal ring from her third finger, placing it down on Aragorn’s green fabric before taking Talwynn’s silver band from it. The ring fit perfectly around her index finger, running down every blemish in her skin with ease and finding its forever home near her palm. Legolas pulled her hand up to his mouth, placing a loving kiss against the outside of the ring and blessing it with his breath.

The tears had dried from his cheeks, but Legolas’ lip still quivered as Talwynn flipped their hands, his palm resting atop her own. Her other hand slid his engagement ring off just as she had done to hers, and she let it sit right next to his on the blanket of green. They would be displayed in their forever chambers, wherever that would be, for them to gaze upon whenever they wished, and Talwynn couldn’t help but hitch her breath at the thought that one day, their rings would be artifacts that represented a historic marriage between the fey and the elves. She smiled again, taking Legolas’ silver ring from Aragorn and letting him retreat back behind the elf before placing it on Legolas’ finger, careful not to hurt his beautiful, pale skin. She didn’t kiss the ring, but kept their hands intertwined between them, running the tips of her finger over his ring, grounding herself and making sure she realized that the moment of her wedding was real, and they were now married.

Silence overcame the glade once more as Aragorn, Gimli, and Arwen witnessed the matrimony between their dear friends come to its fruition as their rings exchanged, a certain hush of love overcoming the group that harboured an unexplainable feeling. Legolas smiled, his long, blonde hair blowing gently in the wind as he looked upon his wife for the first time, and Talwynn upon her husband. He ran his hand back up to her neck, pulling her forward gently and letting their lips meet elegantly. Talwynn hummed against Legolas’ lips, unable to help her grin from creeping up her face. Legolas met her expression, pulling her closer but not letting go of his grip on her hand. Their hair tickled each other’s skin, their eyes shut but knowing of the other’s colour by heart, and their lips reluctantly parted, only to be replaced by the touching of their foreheads against each other. After everything they had been through together, Legolas and Talwynn had finally married, dedicating their love for as long as eternity could offer an immortal.

No wedding would attest to be as beautiful as theirs for hundreds of years, and no fey would marry an elf again until after they had both passed, Talwynn into the earth, and Legolas into Valinor.

[maul-of-shame]

Okay so hey hi hello there, welcome back to me screaming! 🤣

Soooooo, this bitch (me), has been busy and as a result I'll post the 7 one-shots fics requests on AO3 but fret not, I'll be sharing them all in a post today here on tumble-doodle to make sure you get them!! I have one one-shot I have to wrap up for the late-comer peep but it'll be done asap!

ALSO yesterday ended up being more busy than expected so "Gilded Choices: The Reaping of stars" Chapter 6 part 2 is now around +30k words and going up today too!! Just gotta push through the editing process!

ALSO ALSO- Yeah I know I'm adding more but listen Linda, I got some ideas and of course I'll talk about them, plus my adhd hyperactive a$$ cannot stop working on stuff so I'm happy to announce I have a very specific crackship going up tomorrow, Geralt/Hattori from "The Witcher 3 Wild Hunt" because I'm doing a re-run of that game and you CANNOT tell me Big Ol' G doesn't have at LEAST a tiny crush on that blacksmith elf, like he is so PRECIOUS I wanna smother him with kisses 🤣🤣🤣

And oh yeah it's minimum 20+k words because who am I if not "this smut needs to be +15k words minimum or I'm gonna set myself on fire because this is sh*t" then who am I? 🤣☠️☠️☠️

[anarchy-n-glitter]

ah, my favorite trope: male manipulator husband and dragon wife

(just a fun lil thing i cooked up for my fic Blood of the Dragon. this is more of a in between scenes thing and just something i thought was cute like yeah they’d totally do that.)

[thewulf]

Only You || Legolas

Summary: Request: Can you do a elf reader x Legolas where he's finally home in mirkwood after the quest? Maybe Gimli is with him and he's like 'i see why you always talked about the lassie.' or something funny that exposes Legolas for how much he really likes her. He then confeses and asks to court her or something sweet pleaseee?? My fav fluff writer! Thank u!

A/N: Thank you so much for the kind words and sweet as heck request. Really love this one. I didn't edit it too heavily so please be wary of general writing mistakes! Hope you all enjoy my fav elf imagine :)

Pairing: Legolas x Female Reader

Word Count: 2.9k +

TW: Pure fluff? No LOTR triggers

You had finally gotten a free evening to yourself after training for the better part of every evening for the last year with your father, Girdirion. He had been training you relentlessly after Legolas had left of the quest his father, King Thranduil, had sent him off on. That was over a year ago. You hadn’t heard much other than they had made it to Minas Tirith a few months ago.

Your father suddenly saw you as defenseless without your longtime friend at your side. Being the kings most trusted advisor, he had been trained for centuries and was a formidable fighter. It wasn’t until after Legolas had left that you had realized how serious the threat to middle earth was. Your father must had realized it too as he worked you to the bone, training you at every chance he could.

It was only after King Thranduil received word that the ring had been destroyed and his son was heading home did things begin to change. Your father still made you train but it wasn’t at every waking moment any longer. Tonight, was one of those nights that he had given you off as he had meetings to attend to with the king.

Time felt too slow as you waited for Legolas to return. He promised he would. You knew he would. He was all the way across middle earth, but you just couldn’t seem to wait any longer. You longed for you best friend, who meant much more to you than just a best friend, to come home.

As soon as you settled on your bed to begin reading the novel you had been meaning to finish there was a quick knock at your door. Who could that be? You weren’t expecting anybody at this hour after dinner. Begrudgingly, you set the book down just as you had gotten comfortable and made your way over to the door.

When you opened the door you scrunched your face in confusion, “Father? What are you doing here? I thought you were meeting with the king?”

He nodded, “I was. Then we got interrupted. There is somebody here I think you may want to see.” His smile let you know exactly what you were thinking. Legolas was home. He was back in Mirkwood after nearly a year and a half away. Sure, it wasn’t that long of a time for you in the scheme of your lifetime but it did feel like the longest year of your nearly two thousand years in middle earth.

“Legolas?” You tore out of your room not waiting for his response as you made your way to the throne room. You heard your fathers deep laughter behind you before he jogged to catch up with your lighter than air pace.

Once he caught up to you he had that knowing smile on his face. He had watched the two of you dance around the obvious feelings each other had. You never thought you were good enough to be with the kings son. He never thought you were interested in that way. But to everybody on the outside looking in it was rather obvious the two of you were destined to be together. Even if it was taking longer than expected. A thousand years longer than expected. See, King Thranduil and your father had agreed they would bless the union between the two of you should it come naturally. But neither had the heart to force it. He and your father knew as good as anybody these things had to find their way on their own, naturally. Even if it drove the two elder Ellon’s mad.

“Indeed, your elf has made it home.” He spoke as the two of you walked, much faster than normal, towards the kings room.

Before you opened the massive wood doors you turned to him with a sly smile and a hint of a blush dotting the apples of your cheeks, “My elf?”

Your father raised his eyebrows at you, “Go on then.” He pushed you forward ignoring your question.

When you pushed open the doors you couldn’t find the familiar blonde hair of your best friend. Even as you walked closer to the throne you looked all around the hall and only spotted King Thranduil who was giving you the same smirk your father just did. What were they up to? Where was Legolas? And why was the king looking at you like he knows something you didn’t?

“I apologize my king.” You bowed unsure of what else to do. When you turned to see if your father had followed you in you were left biting your lip seeing the door closed without him in the room. What was he up to? “My father said…”

Thranduil put his hand up pausing you right in your tracks, “Legolas is out in the gardens with a dwarf. A dwarf!” He sounded more frustrated than excited to his son after the time away.

But you cracked a smile instead. That was so him. He was anything and everything his father was not. The two of them could not have more different personalities. Your best friend was the one to push boundaries no elves would or could do seeing that his father was the king, “A dwarf you say? That sounds like him.”

Thranduil studied your happier than he’s seen you in an entire year expression full well knowing it was because Legolas was back from his grand quest. Thranduil rose from his throne before walking down to you. Having to look up to him because he was so tall all you could do was wait on his word.

He pointed his hand towards the entrance to the kings private gardens, “Go, you audience is rather impatiently waiting on you.” He gave you a knowing smile before retreating towards the door you had originally come in, likely to go find your father. Not wasting anymore time you made a beeline towards the doors that led to the private gardens you so rarely got to enjoy. He must have deemed it enough of a special occasion to grant access to not only you, but a dwarf as well. You knew Legolas was behind that as well. He was the only one to get the king to agree to something he might not want to do.

For the second time in a few moments, you threw open the heavy wooden doors leading out to the gardens. It did not take you long to hear the pair before you saw them. You paused hoping to catch just a brief moment between the two of them before you made your presence completely known. As you suspected the dwarf had Legolas distracted from hearing you walk out.

“Look at ya lad. Pacin’ like a horse.” The unfamiliar voice chuckled. You had a feeling the dwarf poked fun at the ellon more often than not.

You just knew he was rolling his eyes, the beautiful blonde prince he was, “I am not Gimli.”

But the dwarf just kept laughing, “Ya’ weren’t even this nervous when we rode up to the Black Gate.”

“Would you quiet down dwarf. She will be out momentarily.” That sounded just like the elf that had left a year and a half prior. It was almost too easy to get him worked up and the dwarf called Gimli certainly enjoyed playing into it.

“The little lassie has you this nervous huh?” You? You made him nervous?

Legolas let out a huff, “Gimli!” And you knew that was your queue to help spare the ellon from his friend who seemed relentless. You already liked Gimli from the sounds of it. You shut the door behind you louder than necessary to signal your arrival.

Taking a deep breath, you walked forward suddenly terribly nervous after those comments. What was Gimli playing on? Why would he be nervous to see you? You didn’t want to get your hopes up on feelings as you buried those away centuries ago. Your crush for the ellon grew slowly the first thousand or so years you knew him. Truly organic in the best way possible. Childhood friends to training partners to friends then best friends after it all. Once your training to become a healer had completed you had a sneaking suspicion all his injuries in the field were so he could come see you after some time away. He would only request you. Straight refusing the other healers help when offered. He would wait for you.

But then it just stayed like that. You thought it could grow into something more, but it dawned on you over the next few centuries his father had a say in who he courts and marries. Why would King Thranduil allow his son to court you of all elves? Sure, your father was his most trusted advisor, but you were no political gain in marriage. So you did what you did best, buried the feelings deep and bottled it all up.

The two of them quieted quickly hearing the door close. When you turned the corner you finally spotted your prince after far too long apart paired with an adorably red-headed dwarf who was staring right at you. You however were staring straight at Legolas as your small smile turned into a massive one. There he was, as handsome as ever, standing right there in front of you after too long. The longest either have you had spent apart from each other.

“Legolas.” You grinned before pulling him into a tight hug. It was when he gave you a big squeeze back that you simply just melted into the ellon completely forgetting you had an audience yourselves.

“Aye lad! You left out the detail of your Y/N being quite the beauty.” Gimli spoke up from beside you breaking the trance the two of you seemed to be under. You giggled once you pulled away from him seeing the look of horror cross his face at his friends comments.

You turned to the dwarf feeling the nerves wash away. You had the advantage here as Gimli seemed to want to torture your friend, “Hello. It is lovely to meet you. I am Y/N. Daughter of Girdirion, King Thranduil’s advisor.”

He pointed at you before narrowing his eyes at you, “Do you hate dwarves as much as his father does?”

You shook your head, “Hardly. You are actually the first dwarf I am meeting. I do not get away often.” You knelt down making yourself level with him, “You are much cuter than made out to be.” That earned a few stumbling words and a rather mighty blush to the warrior who seemed to have nothing but words. You managed to render him speechless.

This earned a snicker from your favorite ellon, “Elf got your tongue there Gimli?”

That comment must have meant war between the two of them. The dwarf cocked his eyes up to his friend, shook his head then turned back to you who was now back to standing instead of crouching, “Lady Y/N. It is lovely to finally meet you too. I feel as though I already know ya lassie.” He grinned knowing exactly what he was about to do.

You looked at Legolas with curiosity framing your face before returning your attention back to Gimli, “Do you?”

“Aye.” He nodded, “Legolas here would never shut up about ye. Y/N this. Y/N that. Y/N would love this. Y/N would hate that.”

You knew your cheeks were surely aflame with embarrassment just as Legolas’ were, “We have spent quite some time together over the years.”

But Gimli wouldn’t have that, “I think it has something to do with you lassie. The way you look. The way you dress. The way you seem to occupy his every thought.”

“That is enough.” Legolas finally chimed in giving his friend a hard stare telling him to get the hell out. But that only egged the red head on further. Your eyes bounced back and forth between the two of them before Gimli relented.

He bowed his head, “My lady.”

Echoing his actions you responded, “Gimli.” Before turning your attention back to the prince. Your eyes finally were able to scan his features. Not a hair seemed out of place. He was exactly as you remembered.

“Welcome home.” You gave him your biggest smile feeling like you could finally relax after seeing him alive and well.

He wasted no more time before pulling you into a second bone crushing hug. He had never been so forward causing you to let out a slight stutter in surprise of his actions. It was the last thing you had expected from him. But then again, who knew what he went through out there. Legolas was a strong warrior, but you knew how deeply this could impact anybody who had to go through it.

“I have missed you.” He whispered into your ear not letting his arms go from around you. He had no clue how his words were affecting you in that moment. Suddenly you felt that stupid little crush, that was surely love at this point, bubbling up from the depths of your heart that you had long since locked away.

When he pulled away after a few moments he took the time to look you over just as you had moments prior. He didn’t drop his hands from around your waist though, simply holding you loosely in his embrace. You had never felt his eyes or his hands on you heavily before or that you had noticed in the past, “I have missed you beyond words Legolas. I have spent a year and a half filled with the dread of the thought you may never come home. Seeing you here is the greatest gift Eru Ilúvatar could have bequeathed.”

It was then that Legolas knew just how deep your feelings ran for him just as they had run for you. He too had spent the better part of a thousand years being absolutely in love with you, his favorite elf, but making no indication of it. For he thought you may have eyes for someone else. He could not risk losing you in the event you said ‘no’ to his request to court you. But by the way you were looking at him he knew that was wrong. Your love laced eyes could not break away from his gorgeous blue ones.

He knew he needed to take the next step with you. Gimli was right. His dwarf friend spent the better part of the journey home convincing him he needed to ask the question he had been dying to ask you. He wanted to court you. Spend the rest of his middle earth life and the next one with you. He had never been so sure of that. The thought of courting another elleth felt wrong. It was you. It was always going to be you.

“Gimli was not lying, my lady.” Even though it came out as a whisper your ears could pick it up with no problem.

That shocked you. Was he admitting the same thing that you were? Did he have feelings for you too? “Pardon?”

He grinned seeing your dumb struck face, “You do in fact occupy my every thought. You are the reason I am here now. I fought for middle earth, yes. But for you more. Thinking of your smile pulled me out of the darkest of times

Your lips parted in utter shock at his admission, “Legolas, I…” You were at a loss for words as you processed his confession to you. Your heart was giving you away completely though as it beat faster than it ever had before.

He continued seeing as you were rendered speechless, “It was only ever you. It was only every going to be you, my love. You are my very best friend Y/N. I would never want to continue this life with somebody who was not you. It is only you. It will only ever be you.” He paused finding the courage to say what had been on the tip of his tongue for centuries, “I love you.”

Your jaw might have been on the floor at this point, “You love me?”

He nodded with a nervous expression, “More than you will ever know.”

That was all you needed before you walked forward, butting yourself right against his chest, “That is a relief my prince. As I love you too. More than you will ever know.”

Euphoria. The truest form of euphoria pulsed through your body as you too admitted what had always been so hard to admit.

His expression melted to that of pure elation. Gently he placed his hands under your chin, cupping your face so carefully, “May I begin to court you, my love?”

“I would be so honored Legolas.” Your head was turned up as you looked into his eyes for likely the millionth time. It was different this time. Charged with love and lust. Like you were looking at a new Legolas. One that you could get to know at a much deeper level.

He brushed his thumb over your lips sending shivers racking throughout your body, “Only you. Only ever you.”

Taglist Sign Up): @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @hardballoonlove @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @guacam011y @illisea @il0vebeingdelulu

[essenceofarda]

Sometimes a family is an elf, a dwarf, and the human orphan infant they find amongst the rubble after the Battle of the Pelennor Fields,, whom they decide to raise together,, 🥹

Anyway, yeah! Introducing Gigolas' daughter 👧🏻

(I still need to figure out her name--I want something that is a blend of dwarven and elvish, so suggestions from those more knowledgable about tolkien's languages/etc would be super appreciated! Also I have SO many fanart ideas for this lil' family, idk, let me know if you wanna see more art of them 🤩🥰)

[gulnarsultan]

Thranduil: I believe in free will. Everyone has the freedom to make their own choices.

Fairy Reader: So I can leave with the dwarves?

Thranduil: No, dear.

Fairy Reader: But you just said that.

Thranduil: I meant everyone but you.

Fairy Reader: That's not fair.��

[finnofamerica]

Reblogging to save for later 💞

Promise Me ~ Prologue

Summary: Friends since childhood, Gabriella has long held back her feelings where Boromir is concerned, as she did not want to risk losing his friendship if he didn't feel the same. But, then he is summoned to Rivendell, and the night before he is to leave, he stuns Gabriella by confessing his feelings for her as well. 

But, war is coming and he cannot put off what he knows must be done. All Gabriella can do is wait for him and pray for his safe return. 

Fandom: The Lord of the Rings (AU, Boromir lives)

Pairing: Boromir x ofc Gabriella

Characters: Boromir 

Warnings: Some angst… 

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.1k

Tag List: @sotwk @heilith @fizzyxcustard @evenstaredits @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @emmyspov @finnofamerica @lathalea

If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!

“You can swing at me, you know. You are not about to hit me.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Gabriella grunted as she sat up. Her sword lay on the ground beside her, her arms ached from the effort of wielding it, despite the fact that it was made especially for her. Not only that, but it was commissioned by the man now standing over her, looking more than a little smug as he folded his arms over a broad chest. 

“So, why don’t you?” Those thick arms unfolded and he held out a large hand with deceptively elegant fingers. 

She lay her hand in his and let him draw her up. “I don't know. I suppose I fear hurting you.”

He chuckled. “I think it would take more than what you could deliver to hurt me, Gabby. Come, let’s try again.”

“No. I’m sore and tired and my arms might very well fall off if I so much as think about swinging that blasted blade even one more time.”

He moved to pick up the blade in question, then handed it to her. “I don’t know when the next time I’ll be able to spar with you will come, you know.”

“Don’t remind me, please.” She took the sword from him, carefully slipped it back into its scabbard, then looked up at him, squinting as the sun sinking into the horizon behind him temporarily blinded her. She blinked the spots from her eyes and looked instead at him. Boromir, oldest son of Denethor II, Steward of Gondor, and her closest friend in all of Middle Earth. They’d grown up together, and in recent times he was away from Minas Tirith more often than he was there. But when he did come home, he made certain to come by the tavern and see her. And if he planned to be around for more than several days, he found the time to work in a sparring session with her. 

Come the sunrise, he’d be leaving. Rivendell was his destination and he would not say why he’d been summoned there, which meant it couldn't possibly be good. War was coming. She knew it. They all knew it. For the last several weeks, men had been working almost round the clock to attempt to fortify the city, to evacuate as many of the women and children as they could. 

“You’re staring,” he broke into her reverie, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“At you? Hardly,” she snorted. “Why would I stare at you?”

A lie. Of course she stared at him. How could she not, when he was, quite simply, the handsomest man in all of Gondor? He was tall and broad of shoulder and chest, with hair the color of fresh honey and eyes the same green as a lush meadow after a spring rain. He was noble and proud and kind and strong.

And he saw her as nothing more than a friend. The sister he’d never had. 

One dark gold brow rose ever so slightly. “Why, indeed.” He glanced up at the thickening clouds. “Let me see you home before the rains come.”

She nodded and they set off back toward the tavern not far from the inn. Her family ran said tavern, and lived above it and while her best friend Dora liked to tease her about someday marrying Boromir, Gabriella knew such a match was unlikely to happen. He showed little interest in any woman, and even less in the notion of marrying any time soon. Of course, the time would come when his father would decide it was absolutely time, and so would choose a suitable bride for his son.

And that bride would not be the daughter of the tavern keeper. 

They made an odd pair as it was, but no one seemed troubled by it, and she valued his friendship above all else, so if friends was all they were to be, she would treasure it still.

“Do you truly have to go? It’s grown so dangerous to travel beyond the city walls.”

“We’ve talked about this, Gabby. And yes, I truly do have to go.”

She peered up at him as they walked. He was almost a head and a half taller than her, and always gave off that feeling of security. No matter what, she was safe with him and she knew it. He made certain she did. 

“The side of my face grows hot.” He stopped and turned toward her. “Going to tell me you aren’t staring again?”

“Not this time, no.” She shook her head. “I am instead trying to find a reason to convince you to stay.”

“Gabby,” a hint of a smile pulled at the corners of his lips, “please stop. Staying is not an option. You know this, so please stop asking me to.”

“I know, I sound like a child and I pout like one, but I’m terrified something will happen to you. Something terrible.”

He caught her hands in his and her heart gave a mighty leap at the way the air seemed to crackle around them. His hands were rough from riding, and large enough that they swallowed hers. “I will be fine and when I return, you will laugh at yourself for being so worried.”

“And if you aren’t? If you don’t?” She looked up at him. “I know that sounds so ominous and dramatic, but—”

“Gabby,” he broke in gently, his normally guarded eyes softening as they met hers, “I will.”

Thunder rolled low in the distance as he held her gaze and her heart sped up as she whispered, “Promise me.”

“I promise you. And perhaps by then you will have finally worked up both the nerve and the strength to knock me down.”

“I most definitely will.”

He winked then. “Promise me.”

“I promise you.”

“Good.” He bobbed his head slightly. “Because I will be back. I have a very good reason to be, you know.”

“Well, yes, you have to take your place eventually as steward.”

“Yes, but that’s not quite what I mean.”

Her heart sped up again as his eyes grew softer still and the crackle in the air seemed louder now. Loud enough that she almost expected to see very real sparks shoot between them. The fine hairs along her arms stood and a slight, teasing chill ran along her spine. 

He leaned over and their lips met in a gentle kiss that had her curling her toes in her boots and her fingers about his. His lips were so incredibly soft, much more so than she’d ever imagined, and she had to fight back the rising sigh as they moved against hers. The neatly trimmed hair of his mustache and beard tickled, but only for a moment as he tilted his head slightly, parted those soft lips, and the tip of his tongue eased between her lips to caress hers. 

His one hand fell from hers to come to rest on her hip, then he eased that arm about her waist to tug her flush against him and her heart soared as his kiss deepened, as he bent her body back just enough. It wasn't her first kiss, but it was the sweetest she’d ever received and he drew back to press his forehead to hers, a sheepish smile playing at his lips. “I’ve wanted to do that for some time now.”

“I’ve wanted you to for some time,” she replied softly.

“So then you are not about to slap me?”

“Not this time, no.”

He chuckled softly. “Good.”

This time when he kissed her, there was no hesitation, and she melted against him as he wrapped her in his arms as if he’d never let her go.

The next morning, she slipped away from the tavern to head to the stables, where Boromir was readying his horse. She came around the corner, not wanting to startle him, and called, “I thought you’d be gone by now.”

He peered over one shoulder at her. “Trying to get rid of me, are you?”

“What do you think?”

He turned away from his horse. “I thought you’d be with the others to see me off, actually.”

“I will. But, I wanted a moment alone to give you something.”

“What’s that?”

“This.” She closed the gap between them and held out her hand. Coiled in her palm, on a delicate silver chain, lay a silver medallion with a bear etched into it. 

He lifted puzzled green eyes to her. “Gabby?”

She smiled despite her heavy heart. “My father gave it to me when I was a child because I was afraid of the dark. The first night I slept in the dark alone, I was so scared, it took me forever to actually fall asleep. But, I remained in my own bed and left him and Mama alone and so he had this made for me. He told me it was a symbol of my courage and that the bear would watch over me on the nights when I was still scared.”

“I cannot take this.”

“You can,” she caught him by the wrist to turn his hand palm up, let the silver chain spill into the middle of said palm, then closed his fingers over it, “and you will. But, just so you know, I expect it back some day.”

“Are you certain?”

“I am.”

“Very well. If you’re certain.” His eyes softened once more. “Would you put it on me? I’d rather not mangle the clasp.”

“Of course.” She took it and, despite her heavy heart, smiled as he turned away from her. “You’ll have to crouch a bit, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, sorry.” He did as she said and bent his knees to bring him low enough for her to fasten the delicate chain about his neck.

He straightened up then and turned back to her, tucking the medallion beneath the neck of his tunic. “You are certain about this?”

“I am, yes. As I said, I expect it back, so now you have a reason to return.”

“I have more than one reason, Gabby. And I will return.”

Her eyes stung as she nodded slowly and whispered, “Promise me.”

“I promise you.” He bent to her, his kiss light and gentle and when he drew back, his eyes were soft. “I will be back.”

“You had better, Boromir.”

“I just promised you, didn't I?” He stepped back and caught the reins in one hand. “And I will be.”

She nodded, pressing her lips together to keep them from trembling. Her throat tightened. Her eyes stung. “Be careful, won’t you? It’s so very dangerous beyond these walls.”

“I will be fine.”

“I know. But I’ll still worry just the same.” She closed the space between them once more, easing her arms about his waist, and let her head come to rest against his chest. Beneath his tunic, his heart beat softly, and she desperately wished they had more time. She should have spoken up long before now, but she was so terrified of ruining their friendship that she kept her budding feelings for him carefully tucked away. But if she’d been brave enough to risk it, they would have had time to share more than a couple of tender kisses.

He folded her into his embrace and she bit down on her bottom lip at the gentle pressure of him kissing the top of her head. “I will be fine,” he whispered once more. 

She nodded, although she wasn't nearly as confident and he held her for another moment or two, then, with a deep breath, pulled away. “I really must go now, Gabby. I’ve a long ride ahead of me.”

“I know.” She swiped at her cheeks, at the stupid, stubborn tears that refused to remain at bay. 

“Don't cry,” he told her, reaching out to brush his thumb along her left cheek. 

“I can’t help it. My stupid eyes will not listen to reason.” She swallowed hard against the lump in her throat and stepped out of his reach. “You should go. Everyone else is waiting to see you off.”

He bobbed his head and then swung up into the saddle. “I will see you soon, Gabriella.”

She managed a smile. “Promise me.”

He winked. “I promise you.”

“I’m holding you to it, you know.”

“I fully intend to keep it.” He clicked his tongue against his teeth, and his horse ambled down the path from the stable to the road.

She had planned to follow, to join the others in seeing him off, but as he grew smaller, she couldn’t bring herself to move. His scent hung in the air—leather and hints of horse and cloves—and as the silence settled about her, she finally gave up trying to hold back the flood of tears burning the backs of her eyeballs. 

[cowboybeepboop]

Fields 

"Come, let us get you into bed. You need your rest."

Pairing: Thranduil x fem! Human reader

Genre: Romantic smut 

Word count: 4.4k

Summary: You’re the King's human lover and you share a special night together. 

Warnings: Romantic sex, oral fem receiving, riding him, unprotected sex, p in v sex

a/n: Guys please bear with me, I’m working on some new lotr/th oneshots that shall also be posted soon. As per usual, please let me know if you have any requests and I hope you enjoy. 

Thranduil had a quiet moment to himself, laying in a field of flowers as the sun set behind him. He had a look of tranquility on his face as his mind wandered to many different things. He kept his eyes closed. He heard footsteps coming near him, he didn't give a reaction to this though.. he had an idea of who it was.

“You look so peaceful like this,” you hum, lowering to your knees next to his muscular body. You brush his hair from his face, touch light and delicate.

Thranduil didn't move a muscle when you knelt down in the grass beside him. He was quiet for a moment before he spoke, his eyes still shut for the time being. “I am at peace, for now..” He said before his lips curled into a small smile. 

“Until someone decides to ruin it,” he added, opening one of his eyes and looking up at you with a slight teasing tone in the last part.

You press a gentle kiss to his lips. “Shall I leave you alone then?” Thranduil's smile widened into a grin as your soft lips brushed against his. 

He chuckled softly as he took your hand, looking up at you with a playful look in his eyes. “Don’t you dare,” he said in a quiet but firm tone. 

“Come. Lay with me.” His voice turned more of a request as he tugged on your hand ever so gently, coaxing you to lay down next to him in the flowers.

You press your cheek to his chest, eyes fluttering shut as you listen to his heart. “As you wish my King.”

Thranduil wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his chest as his hand came up to brush through your hair gently in a soothing manner. He gently took one of your hands in his free one, intertwining his fingers with yours. 

His chest rose and fell with each deep breath as the two of you lay there in the grass, just listening to one another's heartbeats. "That's a good girl.." he murmured with a soft, affectionate smile.

You find yourself drifting off to sleep, the warmth and comfort of his body like a lullaby. Thranduil noticed your eyes growing heavy and your breathing starting to slow, it was a sure sign that you were falling asleep. 

He carefully wrapped his arms around you, gently rolling onto his side to pull you closer, holding your body flush against his. "It's okay, little one. Rest.." he spoke quietly, one of his hands gently tracing soft patterns down your back as he held you in a protective embrace, the sound of his steady heartbeat in your ear.

“Mm..” your voice is a soft murmur as you cuddle closer to him.

Thranduil smiled as you cuddled closer to him, his arms holding you in a firm yet gentle embrace as he buried his face into your hair, inhaling your scent. He gently nuzzled his head against yours, relishing in your warm and softness against him. 

"Sleep, my darling," he whispered softly, gently starting to stroke his fingers through your hair as he held you in his arms. Thranduil's chest rose and fell with each quiet breath, finding himself starting to grow just as relaxed as you.

After hours of holding you in his arms, Thranduil felt you shiver slightly as a cold breeze blew through the garden, gently stirring the grass around them. Thranduil's heart ached to see you cold, his arms instinctively holding you tighter in an attempt to keep you warm. 

He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, before carefully pulling you even closer to his chest. "Are you cold, my love?" he murmured quietly, his fingers continuing to glide softly through your hair.

“It is growing cold, Thranduil..” you murmur against his chest, not willing to leave his warm side.

Thranduil gently adjusted his grip on you, pulling you closer against him, almost as if he was trying to shield you from the chill in the air. He lifted one of his hands from your hair, tracing it to your cheek, gently rubbing his thumb against your skin, before he spoke again. 

"We should head inside. You'll freeze out here.." he said in a low, gentle tone, his lips brushing against your forehead in a soft kiss.

“Could you carry me..” you bury your face into his chest, shivering against him.

Thranduil felt your body shiver against him once more, and he gently lifted his head off of yours so he could look down at you. He chuckled softly as he heard your request, gently running his hand down your back. 

"Of course, darling," he said with a hint of fond amusement. With a slightly playful smirk on his face, he shifted his body, carefully scooping you up into his arms, holding you tight against his chest.

Thranduil walked through the halls of his palace while carrying you in his arms, his long strides eating up the distance quickly. He could feel you melting against him as he walked, feeling a sense of satisfaction of being able to provide you with warmth and comfort. 

Soon enough, he reached your shared room and he pushed the doors open with one hand, stepping inside and lowering you gently onto the bed.

You cuddle into the sheets, your skirt hiked up over your hips, revealing your smooth skin to his gaze.

Thranduil's eyes roamed over your body as you settled onto the bed, his gaze lingering on your exposed skin. His eyes darkened slightly as he took in the sight of you, looking so vulnerable, so delicate, and yet so alluring at the same time. 

His own clothes were slightly disheveled, the top of his shirt unbuttoned ever so slightly, adding to the overall rugged appearance. He could feel a familiar heat rise in the pit of his stomach as he looked at you, slowly approaching the bed.

Thranduil's breath caught in his throat as you wrapped your arms around the pillow, your legs slightly parted and revealing even more of your skin to him. He could feel the tension in the air as he watched you, his eyes tracing along the curves of your body, like a predator stalking its prey. 

He approached the foot of the bed, slowly crawling onto the mattress behind you, his large form hovering over you as his hands rested on either side of your hips.

“My king..” you murmur, relishing in his touch. Thranduil leaned down, bringing his body close to yours, his chest pressing against your back as he leaned down towards your ear. His breath ghosted across your skin, making you shiver as he gently spoke in a low, deep tone. 

"Yes, darling?" he muttered, his hands on your hips, rubbing small, teasing circles against the bare flesh of your skin. He could feel your body heat against his, his own desire growing more and more as he looked down at you.

“You’re trying to seduce me..” you murmur against the plush pillow.

Thranduil chuckled softly, his hands slowly moving up and down your sides, his touch just light enough to tickle. "Is it working?" he spoke in a low, sultry tone, his breath warm against the nape of your neck. He lowered his head, gently nibbling on the exposed skin just below your ear, his tongue darting out to taste you.

You moan softly, enjoying the gentleness of his caresses. “Perhaps it is,” Thranduil's lips curled into a small grin as he heard your moan, the sound like music to his ears. 

He gently licked and kissed the sensitive skin of your exposed neck, his hands continuing to roam over your body, tracing every curve, every dip and contour of your form. 

"Perhaps?" he repeated with a hint of amusement in his voice, his mouth finding its way to your shoulder, gently nipping at the soft flesh. "Only perhaps..?" he teased softly, his thumbs pressing into your hip bones.

“My King..” You gasp, feeling the familiar warmth in the pit of your stomach as he touches you. 

Thranduil continued to shower your exposed skin with kisses and nibbling, his eyes roaming over every inch of your body as he continued to touch you intimately. At the sound of your gasp, he let out a low, approving hum against the skin of your neck, his hands slowly moving from your hips, running up along your sides, to your stomach. 

"Does it feel good, my darling..?" he murmured quietly, his fingers gently tracing patterns against your skin, leaving little jolts of pleasure in their wake.

“Very good..” you moan, shifting beneath him so you can gaze up at him, your arms wrapping around his neck.

Thranduil let out a soft, guttural sound of approval as you shifted beneath him, his hands still gently caressing your skin as his eyes met yours. He could feel the heat and desire building between the two of you, the air growing heavier as you looked up at him. 

He couldn't deny the effect you had on him; just the sight of you alone was enough to make his heart clench. Thranduil slowly lowered himself down, his body resting fully against yours as he leaned down to capture your lips in a deep, searing kiss.

You tangle your fingers in his hair, tugging at the roots softly as your legs wrap around his hips.

Thranduil let out a low growl as you tangled your fingers in his hair, the tug on his scalp sending a wave of pleasure throughout his entire body. He pressed himself down onto you, his hips slotting perfectly in between your legs as you wrapped them around him, trapping him against you. 

He couldn't help himself from pressing himself against you, his own desire growing more and more intense as he felt your body against his. Thranduil's lips moved furiously against yours as he deepened the kiss, his tongue seeking entrance into your mouth.

Thranduil felt a shudder of pleasure as you parted your lips in submission, his tongue slipping past to explore your mouth as he claimed it for his own. He savored the taste of you, his own lust and hunger fueling his actions as he kissed you like an elf starved. 

His hands slid down your body, seeking purchase and finding purchase on your thighs as he pushed them further apart. His own hips rocked against yours, the thin barrier that remained between their bodies slowly becoming an increasing irritant.

Your muffled moans fill his mouth as he grinds against you, sending shivers of pleasure through you. Thranduil swallowed each moan you made as he continued to kiss you, his hips rolling against yours in an almost feral manner. 

The friction between you was maddening, only adding more fuel to the fire burning within him. He could feel your body's response to his movements, each shiver and shudder driving him even further to take what he wanted, to claim what was his. 

Thranduil broke the kiss, lifting his head so he could look down at you, his eyes roaming over your flushed, panting form. "You're mine..." he breathed in a low, possessive tone.

“Always, I’m forever yours my King.” You cup his face, lips parted and cheeks flushed. 

Thranduil's heart jumped in his chest at your words, the pure devotion in your voice making his own desires flare even stronger. He leaned into your touch as you cupped his face, his eyes dark and stormy as he looked down at you with a mixture of lust, love, and possessiveness in his gaze.

"You better be," he said in a low, gruff tone, his voice heavy with emotions. "Because I have no intention of letting you go, my darling. Ever."

You smile up at him feeling his fingers tugging at the hem of your skirt. “I shall not leave your side, love.” 

With a gentle yet firm tug, Thranduil lifts the dress from your body, the fabric slipping off your skin like silk. He pauses for a moment, drinking in the sight of you laid bare before him, your curves and contours bathed in the soft glow of candlelight. 

His eyes sparkle with hunger and admiration as they rove over your flesh, lingering on the swell of your breasts and the dip of your waist. He lets out a soft groan, his desire palpable in the air as his hands move to trace the newly exposed skin, his fingertips leaving a trail of heat wherever they go. 

You can feel his arousal pressing into you, the proof of his desire for you unmistakable. His gaze meets yours, filled with a fierce love and a burning need to possess you completely.

With eager, trembling hands, Thranduil tugged at his own clothing, each button and lace coming undone with a sense of urgency. His garments fell away, revealing the sculpted planes of his body, his muscles defined by moonlight and shadows. 

His eyes never leaving yours, he reached out to cup your breasts, his thumbs flicking over your nipples in a feather-light touch that has you arching your back with a silent plea. He smiles, a smoldering fire in his gaze, and then his hands slid down your body, his fingers hooking into the delicate fabric of your panties. 

With a firm, yet gentle pull, he slid them down your legs, baring you fully to him. His arousal grew even more prominent as he took in the sight of your naked body, your legs open and inviting, revealing your slick and swollen folds that begged for his touch. 

He leaned back down to kiss you once more, his hand moving to caress the soft, wet warmth between your thighs, his fingers slipping inside you easily, making you gasp into his mouth.

With a soft growl of desire, Thranduil settled himself between your open thighs, his eyes never leaving yours as he lowered his head to the juncture of your legs. His mouth watered at the sight of your glistening sex, your arousal like a sweet nectar to him. 

He took his time, savoring the moment as he gently parted your folds with his thumbs, exposing the delicate pearl of your clit to the cool air. His tongue darted out, tracing a line from your entrance up to the sensitive bud, tasting you with a hunger that was centuries in the making. 

His touch was feather-light, yet firm, as he licked and kissed you with an expertise that sent waves of pleasure crashing through your body. Each stroke of his tongue against your clit brought forth a new gasp, each nip of his teeth a shiver of delight. 

He held your legs wide open, keeping you open to his ministrations as he explored every part of you with his mouth, his teeth grazing against your inner thighs, his tongue delving deep inside you, and his breath fanning the flames of your passion. His hands remained on your hips, keeping you firmly in place as he devoured you, his mouth moving with a rhythm that was both torturously slow and exquisitely perfect. 

You could feel yourself growing wetter, your body responding to his every touch, your legs trembling as he brought you closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy.

Your back arches off the bed as needy moans escape your lips, your entire body quivering with the intensity of the pleasure he's giving you. Thranduil's mouth is relentless, his tongue flicking and circling your clit with a precision that speaks of centuries of experience.

His strong hands hold your hips in place as you try to buck against him, the sensations threatening to overwhelm you. His teeth graze against your sensitive skin, sending jolts of pleasure through your body that make your toes curl and your fingers clutch at the bedsheets. You can feel your orgasm building, a coil of tension tightening in your belly as his mouth works its magic. 

You're so close, so very close, and he seems to know it as he increases the tempo, his tongue dancing over your clit in a way that has you on the brink. Finally, with one last, firm flick of his tongue, you fall over the edge, crying out his name as waves of pleasure crash through you. 

You're a trembling mess under him, your body wracked with spasms as he continues to kiss and suck, drawing out every last drop of your climax before finally, mercifully, letting you collapse back onto the bed. He watches you with a smug smile, licking his lips as he takes in the sight of you, fully sated and utterly his.

With a gentle touch, Thranduil brushed your hair away from your cheeks, his eyes filled with love and concern as he studied your flushed face. "Are you tired, my love?" he asked in a voice that was a blend of tenderness and desire, his breath warm against your skin. 

His thumbs traced the outline of your jaw, his gaze lingering on the way your chest rose and fell with each ragged breath you took, your breasts pressing against his chest with each gasp. The question hung in the air, filled with the promise of more intimate moments to come if you weren't too exhausted from the passionate encounter.

As you nod softly in response to Thranduil's question, you reach down and wrap your hand around his thick, aroused length. The velvety skin is hot to the touch, pulsing with the beat of his heart, and your grip tightens slightly, feeling the veins that run along his shaft. 

"I'm not too tired to make sure you're satisfied," you murmur against his ear, a hint of mischief in your voice as you start to stroke him, your hand moving in a slow, firm rhythm. Thranduil's eyes close, his breath hitching in his throat as your touch sends waves of pleasure through him. 

His hands tighten around your hips in response, pulling you closer as he lets out a low groan of appreciation. His eyes flutter open, meeting yours, and he smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling with affection and desire. 

"Thank you," he whispers, his voice strained with pleasure, as he leans down to kiss you once more, his tongue tracing the curve of your bottom lip before delving back into your mouth.

With a soft whine of anticipation, you position yourself over Thranduil's erect length, the tip nudging against your entrance as you hover for a brief moment. Looking into his eyes, filled with a fiery passion that matches your own, you slowly start to sink down onto him. 

The initial stretch is exquisite, his warmth and hardness filling you in a way that feels so right, so perfect. His hands tighten around your waist, guiding you down as he groans into your kiss, feeling the tightness of your body enveloping him inch by inch. 

Each breath you take is shallower than the last, each movement of your hips sending shockwaves through both of you. Once you're fully seated on him, you pause, savoring the feeling of fullness before you begin to rock gently, setting a rhythm that's as ancient as the forest itself. 

Thranduil's eyes never leave yours, his hands roaming over your skin as if he's trying to memorize every line and curve by touch alone. His breath hitches in his throat with every movement you make, every gasp and whimper that escapes your lips. 

The bond between you, the connection of flesh and soul, is palpable as you move together, lost in a dance that's both fierce and tender, a symphony of love and lust that echoes through the very air of the room.

As you reached up to gently trace the pointed tips of Thranduil's ears with your fingertips, his eyes rolled back in pleasure, his hands guiding the rhythm of your hips as you moved above him. The soft touch was a heady sensation that seemed to resonate through his entire being, making him shiver and his grip on you tighten. 

His breathing grew ragged, matching the pace of your movements, as you both danced together in the throes of passion. Each brush of your fingers against his sensitive skin sent bolts of pleasure through his body, making him growl low in his throat, his hips rising to meet yours with increasing urgency. 

The room was filled with the sweet symphony of your combined sighs and moans, the rustling of the bed, and the occasional clank of his jewelry as his head moved back and forth against the pillow. Your breasts bounced with each thrust, the friction of your skin against his sending sparks of desire through both of you. 

Thranduil's eyes remained locked on you, his expression a mix of love, need, and pure animal instinct. The way you touched him was like nothing he had ever felt before you, a tender yet powerful caress that seemed to ignite every nerve ending in his body.

As you continued to ride him, his own movements grew more demanding, his hands moving from your hips to cup your breasts, his thumbs rolling over your nipples as his hips met yours in a relentless rhythm that sent shockwaves of pleasure through both of you. 

Thranduil's eyes widened in pleasure as he felt your inner muscles tighten around him, signaling your approaching climax. His own was building, the pressure inside him growing with each stroke as your bodies moved as one. 

With a final, deep thrust, he swelled inside you, filling you completely as he reached his peak. The pleasure was intense, a crescendo of sensation that seemed to consume him entirely. You gasped as your orgasm washed over you, your body clenching around him as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through you. 

The bond between you grew stronger, your spirits intertwining as your love and desire for each other reached new heights. Thranduil's eyes squeezed shut, a roar of ecstasy tearing from his throat as he released himself within you, the warmth of his essence mixing with the heat of your passion. 

Together, you rode the crest of the wave, your bodies trembling with the force of your shared climax, until finally, you collapsed against him, both spent and utterly content.

Thranduil gently untangled himself from your embrace, placing a soft kiss on your forehead before rising from the bed. His eyes roved over your spent form, a mixture of love and adoration evident in his gaze. 

He padded across the room, stepping into the connected bathroom. He turned on the taps of the large, stone bathtub, filling the room with the sound of rushing water and steam. As the tub filled, he added some scented essential oils to the water, creating a relaxing aroma that filled the air.

Once the bath was ready, Thranduil returned to the bedside, his gaze meeting yours. You gaze at him through hooded eyes, reaching for his soft blond hair. 

Thranduil's hand found yours, and he gently helped you off the bed. "Come, my love," he murmured, his voice still husky. With steady steps, he led you into the bathroom, the steam from the warm water filling the room.

He helped you into the bathtub, his touch tender and careful as he guided you in. Once you were settled, he called for a servant to change the bedding, his voice carrying out into the hallway.

“Will you join me?” You murmur, sinking into the warmth of the water. Thranduil's eyes darkened as he watched you sink into the warm water, your body enveloped in steam and bubbles. 

"Of course," he murmurs in response, his voice rough with desire. "I could never resist joining you." He entered the tub, settling in behind you, his strong legs on either side of you.

Thranduil's hands caressed your wet skin, lovingly trailing over every dip and curve as he gently washed away the remnants of your recent encounter. With each touch and movement, his love and devotion for you shone through, his fingers tracing patterns against your skin that felt like a silent declaration of his love.

"You are so beautiful," he murmured, his mouth hovering just beside your ear. "Every inch of you is perfect."

“My King…” you murmur, relaxing into his strong chest, your eyes flutter closed.

Thranduil wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close against him so that your back was flush against his chest. His chin rested on top of your head, and he inhaled deeply, breathing in the scent of your hair. 

"Yes, my darling?" he asked softly, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your stomach.

“You flatter me too much.” You reply, head falling back against his shoulder as you relish in his touch.

Thranduil chuckled, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. He moved his head down to place a soft kiss on your neck, his mouth skimming along your skin until it reached your ear.

"I cannot flatter you enough," he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. "Every word I say to you is true. You are everything to me, and I will never tire of telling you how beautiful and perfect you are."

“You are beautiful as well, my love.” He washes your body as you lean against him comforted by his warmth.

Thranduil's hands continued their gentle caresses as he washed your body, his touch strong but still impossibly tender. He savored the feeling of your body pressing against his, and he took his time, relishing the moment.

"Your words are sweet," he murmured, his voice low, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. "But it is you who brings the true beauty into my life."

Thranduil carefully pulls you out of the water, his hands gentle and strong as he wraps a soft, warm towel around you. He takes his time drying you off, his touch reverent as he caresses each inch of your skin.

Once you are dry, he helps you into your nightgown, his fingers grazing over your sensitive skin in lingering touches. "There," he murmurs, stepping back to admire you. "Perfect."

“Thranduil, my love.” You cup his cheek, kissing his lips gently.

Thranduil's eyes closed at your touch, a low growl of pleasure rumbling in his chest as you kissed him gently. His arms slid around your waist, pulling you closer against his chest. He deepened the kiss, his mouth claiming yours with a fierce but tender passion.

"My darling," he breathed against your lips. "You undo me with a single touch."

Thranduil's gaze softened as he looked down at you, taking note of the exhaustion in your eyes. "But you’re weary," he observed, lifting a hand to caress your cheek gently. 

His thumb traced over your skin in soothing circles, his touch filled with tenderness. "Come, let us get you into bed. You need your rest."

[bamsywrites]

And Comes Dawn.

Pairing: sauron/halbrand x reader, more pairings in the future to be tagged

Summary: In all beings, there exists darkness. when the deciver finds one who seems to defy this, he becomes obsessed with finding it within her. and if he can't find it, he will ruin her himself.

Tags/Warnings: clichés abound, opposites attract, sauron being evil but also hot but also evil, no use of y/n. This is pretty barebones. There's not much to tag, I don't think.

Notes: there was a lot of interest in this when I made a post. This is not super duper long and a Lil choppy but I wanna see what people think. Lemme know if you like it. If I should continue it. I have a lot of ideas. It's all written and edited on my phone so I'm sorry if it looks bad or mistakes were made.

Series Masterlist

The wind from the sea felt nice on his face. After so many years spent as nothing more than mud and slime, it was nice to feel. Feel anything. Freedom, independence, revenge. His plan to create order and heal the world would come to fruition. Being stuck on a ship with these men was worth that price. They were like bugs. If he wanted to, he could squash them and feel nothing. Though there was one who spoke to him kindly as a mentor would, and there was the ever so slight stirring of emotions he presumed were long dead. The old man was enough to make him question what it was he desired. Did he want to be good? Did he want a fresh start? What about his plans? The desire for order was there, the want to heal the world and bring peace, but would he get that through evil, through deceit and violence? Or could that be obtained another way? He continued to stare over the vast ocean as the wheels in his head turned, and he waged a war inside himself.

"It's beautiful, is it not?" A voice broke through the silence of the night.

He turned sharply, greeted by the image of a young woman. You were beautiful. He noticed it right away. Never had he looked at a human and thought they were beautiful. The thought was usually reserved for elves, but you were different. He could tell just by looking. You were soft, gentle, pure. There was a light to you that permeated all of your features.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to intrude. We have more food tonight than expected, and you had been on your own so long before finding us. I supposed you might be hungry." You held up a bowl for him, which he accepted with a nod.

"Thank you. I don't think we've been introduced. I'm Halbrand."

You smiled softly back at him, giving him your name and taking a few small steps towards him. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

He watched you. It was curious. Everyone here was gruff and rude, not wanting to help a stranger, yet you brought him a bowl of soup instead of keeping it for yourself. He watched as you looked up at the stars and how they were reflected back in your eyes. Humans didn't often intrigue him, but you did.

He leaned back against the railing of the boat with his arms crossed, but before he could speak to ask his question, you spoke.

"The stars are beautiful, aren't they? The light against the immense darkness. It reminds us that there is light in all things. Even in the darkest of times, there is hope."

"Your people were just slaughtered by orcs. You're on the run. Hope in the stars seems pretty useless." His eyes watched you with keen interest.

"Hope is never useless. Without it, all is lost." The earnestness in your voice further fueled his curiosity.

"And what do you hope for in times like this?"

"A new start. A place to start fresh..."

"Yes," he interrupted, "That is what all hope for, but what do you hope a new place or fresh start will do? What do you want from it?"

"I want a safe place to lay my head. I want to live without shame. I want fresh air and to grow my food and I want music and I want laughter. I want to drink tea with my friends. I want to love and feel the wind on my face. I want happiness. I want peace." You smiled and closed your eyes as you pictured this serene future.

He watched you, his brows furrowed. You were odd, but he wasn't sure if that was a bad thing as of yet.

"You have a lot of this hope. It's almost oozing out of you. I can almost taste it." He took a step towards you. "As if there is no evil out there."

"There is evil, yes, but there is good. Do we despair because there is evil or have hope because there is good? I do not think there is truly anything that is created evil. Evil is only when the good is taken from someone, and if you're able to take it, then it's able to be taken back." Your eyes had opened, and you looked up at him.

"I doubt you'd believe that if you knew the evil I'd done."

"Thousands of years ago, the people of the southlands sided with Morgoth. Our ancestors fought alongside the most evil being to ever exist. Most would say that the things our people did were deplorable and worthy of the worst shame. But I look upon my home, I look upon the people I have grown with, and I do not see evil. The people here, I am but a stranger to them. I have yet to meet most of them, but they took me in, as they did you. If my ancestors were evil, they could not have created such good."

“Whatever evil you did, it can be forgiven. You can do good, be good.” You moved closer to him, placing a gentle hand on his arm. The feeling brought a sense of warmth that he had not felt since before he joined Morgoth, when he went by a different name. His eyes traveled down to where your hand rested, and you dropped it back to your side. He'd found himself missing the feeling.

"Your ancestors did do evil, though. They did plenty of evil things. Just as I have."

"Did they do evil out of the desire to be evil? Or did they do evil to protect those they loved? Were they born that way, destined to be only evil? Were you made evil? Or was it thrust upon you in a moment of hopelessness? Does every being have the capability to do both good and evil?"

He was left stunned at what you said, it took longer than usual for him to come up with a response. He wet his lips, looking over the ocean for a moment before looking at you once more. Your hair was gently blowing in the breeze of the ocean and he found the sight captivating. His intuition told him you were telling the truth, that you believed the words you were saying with your whole being. How could that be? There had to be some darkness that motivated you, that tainted your soul.

Everyone had darkness.

His mind played over the interaction long after it had happened. He wanted to feel that warmth again. You were a puzzle, a mystery. He would not know peace until he figured out what darkness was inside you because surely there had to be something. It was one of the many things that plagued his mind late at night. He watched as you slept peacefully. You were rows and rows down from him, but he could zoom in on your form. He watched your chest rise and fall, the calm of your features. You were a mystery that he had to solve.

This was what was on his mind when the worm attacked. He needed to know you. Even now, he watched as you attempted to help an elderly woman stuck under a beam instead of rushing to safety yourself. He couldn't bring himself to save the old man, but his fingers wrapped around the relic, and as water rushed the ship, he lept over and shielded your body with his.

He couldn't let you die. He had to understand you, to know you, to find out what motivated you, he would find your inner darkness.

And if he couldn't, he'd ruin you instead.

next

[tamurilofrivendell]

Where We Go From Here | Thranduil & Calithil

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She just wanted him to talk to her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still, he persevered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

This thought only spurred him on.

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

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

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

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

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

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

She nodded. “Show me again.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” She asked after a beat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[gracehateseggnog]

talwynn of the fey realm ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ legolas x oc

summary: a few days out from rivendell, the fellowship meet an odd character on her way to helm's deep for a peculiar mission not so different from their own.

pairing: legolas x fey!oc

word count: 6.3k

a/n: this is the first chapter of legolas & talwynn's story. if you want more context, check out the battle of helm's deep author's note to understand a bit more.

tw: probably a lot of incorrect lore. again, fairly new fan.

gif creds: unknown

The Fellowship of The Ring had come to fruition after little persuasion yet much gambling on Gandalf’s part. Aragorn, son of Arathorn, the heir to Isildur’s throne took the end of the group, protecting and honouring his oath to keep an eye on Frodo, to defend the Hobbit with his life until they had returned from Mordor. Legolas, son of the elven King Thranduil, was just shortly ahead of him, turning his head back to look at his dear friend to converse every once in a while, but mostly keeping vigilant in his surroundings, his right hand holding tightly to the wood of his bow. Gimli, son of Glóin, walked beside Legolas, much to the elf’s disappointment, his axe swinging across his body with every step across the grassy hills he took. Samwise’s pony, Bill, carried the group’s excess supplies, such as rations and clothing from Rivendell, through their journey in front of Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas. The four Hobbits, Frodo, Samwise, Merry, and Pippin took the lead of the group with Gandalf and Boromir their only heads.

Deep valleys became their only view ahead, sipping deep beneath the mountainous earth and revealing a large, daunting river and waterfall beneath them and blocking their path directly into Mordor. The Misty Mountains were due east of their path, towards the Gap of Rohan, which they had planned to stay, on behalf of Gimli’s quite adamant instruction. He had a sort of cousin living in the gap, a leader that held his people, made up of many dwarves, inside of the gap. Legolas wasn’t truly paying much attention to what Gimli was saying, though it quickly became a harrowing challenge to hinder the arrogant dwarf’s words from weaseling into his head. Thankfully, no wind had cursed their tenth day out from Rivendell, not even as they neared the mountains that Frodo’s uncle, Bilbo Baggins, had crossed sixty years ago in search of the ancient dragon Smaug. Frodo couldn’t help but be reminded of the story Bilbo had told him, and as he walked, it continuously felt like he was continuing what his uncle had started with the ring.

“Yur’ seem lost in thought there, Leggy. What’s on that mind o’ yur’s?” Gimli’s voice rang through the elf’s ears, his deep, broad tone making the tips of them flutter from the sheer volume the dwarf could produce. He was shorter than most on the journey, but he was most definitely the loudest of them all. 

“If you must know, Gimli, I’m thinking about how much quicker this journey would go by if you weren’t speaking.” Legolas replied shortly, his fingers flexing against the handle of his bow as he looked out towards the valley of water to the west.

“Legolas.” Aragorn sighed, yet concealed his amused expression as they walked on. He knew as well as any other in the group how much the elf despised Gimli, whether it was because of the battle of Erebor or simply because he hated the dwarf in particular, that Aragorn did not know.

Legolas just hated Gimli. “He asked the question, Aragorn. And a foolish one, at that. Why are you so keen to understand what I think about?”

“I am just curious!” Gimli defended.

“Perhaps you should stay curious. One does not need to know everything they wonder about.”

“We are surrounded by wonder! It’s not my fault I wish to have some relief from all this thinking.”

“I doubt you do much of it, Gimli, you need not worry your thoughtless head.”

“Hey!”

Aragon heaved another sigh, yet it was no mask to cover amusement this time, it was only in the best interest of the entire group, of which most had turned their heads at Gimli’s sudden exclamation. “Legolas—”

“There is no need for interjection, Aragorn, I was done speaking.” Legolas shook his head, looking once at Gimli without so much of a revealing emotion as a huff, whilst the red-bearded dwarf crossed his arms against his chest, tucking his axe handle in between.

“You are a piece of work, elf. Like most of your kind.” Gimli scoffed.

“It is called resilience.”

“It is called stubbornness!”

“Enough. Both of you.” Aragorn’s voice was firm, but not heavy-weighted. He was not angry with his dearest friend nor the dwarf, though he had purpose and means to protect the Fellowship from gaining any excess attention than what they already had, and the loud fighting was no help. “If there were Orcs on the other side of the mountains, they would have heard you both bickering, and we would soon be dead by their black poison.”

“He started it—”

“Gimli, is this not a child’s game?” The dwarf felt as if this was a conversation worthy enough to stop in the road for, but Aragorn and Legolas kept walking forward, along with the rest of the group. “Passing the blame will get us no further than Rohan before the Fellowship is disbanded due to your differences. As much as I am sure it pains you both greatly, you can not sacrifice Frodo’s purpose.”

The back of the group fell into silence save for their harsh footsteps against soft, grassy ground. Rivendell had been nearly two weeks ago. It felt to Legolas he had parted from his people far too soon, but he knew that Bilbo’s ring had to be destroyed with as much haste as the Fellowship could offer, and that meant an equally hasty goodbye to his father and Tauriel. It was true that he had felt homesick as soon as he had departed from Mirkwood, as soon as his home had vanished behind him, and a new journey opened up in front of him. Something in him had known it would be long before he returned, but no amount of homesickness could balance the scale of what needed to be done with the ring. Gandalf had brought him to council for a reason, had accepted his help when he offered it for a reason, and he was standing alongside his oldest friend, Aragorn, for a reason. He had to push his longing for his normal life to the side, and make way for the excitement and thrill of a new adventure—

A small pressure pushed onto Legolas’ back and disappeared just as soon as it had gone, followed by a short squeak and a thumping noise against the grass beneath him. Whatever had landed so forcefully against him, a bird, a rather large insect, or perhaps even an arrow that had torn open the back of his green, elven tunic, had the sound of human shock. Legolas couldn’t trust a familiar tone of voice, though he had heard many tales of beasts that mimicked the voices of those who they killed in the past. He twisted around carefully, his hand flipping his bow into a position he could easily pull from, and his other fiddling with his quiver of arrows. In front of him, nothing but the horizon. Above, nothing but the sky. Below, nothing but grass, except for a small, moving, blob of red. His eyes adjusted, and he could see clearly what had run into his upper back so quickly. 

A fey. Small, winged with dragonfly-like glides attached to her back, fluttering off the dust that had accumulated from her tall fall to the ground. The flash of red Legolas had seen was of her outfit, which he could scarcely make out the details of from his suddenly towering height. She had ashy blonde hair, much darker than yet so similar to his own, but his was braided and straight as a boar’s, while hers was messily curled into many different patterns, wisps flying across her face and into her blue eyes. Though he could not see it from his position, the fey’s eyes matched the colour of her wings, alighting in reflection of the sun and finally ridding themselves of the rest of the dirt that had latched onto them. Legolas hadn’t seen a fey in his lifetime which was incredibly rare, considering how long he had lived. Of course, his father Thranduil had mentioned a few in his many stories, but they had disappeared into just that, folklore and legends that travelled down through generations of elves, dwarves, Hobbits, and humans.

“Legolas?” Aragorn called, now a few feet from the elven prince who had turned around.

“Just a moment.” Legolas replied.

He watched as the fey’s wings began to flutter quicker, letting her rise to meet his eye level. Here, he could see everything about her. A red outfit that reminded him of what Tauriel would wear on casual occasions, not a dress yet not pants, a mix between the two that told Legolas she was on an adventure, as well. Her darkened blonde hair glistened in the light and so did her wings, fluttering with a slight ‘bzz’-ing sound following each movement that kept her upright in the air. A brown satchel he hadn’t noticed before was strewn across her torso, the flap closed tightly with a golden buckle yet still moving through the slight breeze as it wandered through the valley, not affecting Legolas but affecting the fey greatly as she swayed back and forth. Curious, nobody had mentioned her kind in hundreds of years, not since Sauron had been banished in the Second Age, it was quite intriguing that this fey had suddenly appeared during the Fellowship’s journey to destroy the ring he had once used to return to his full power all those years ago. 

“My greatest apologies!” The fey spoke hurriedly to Legolas, and he wondered if she knew his title by the way she was acting. “I am in quite the rush, I was looking to the Misty Mountains, and was not paying attention to my direction.”

“It is quite alright.” Legolas nodded, but didn’t smile. 

“Maybe you could help my cause!”

“Oh?”

“I am in search of Gandalf the Grey, I was told he could help me in a very important search of mine.”

Legolas was not surprised when Gandalf appeared beside him, sensing the presence of the fey in need of his help. His appearance to the back of the group had halted the Fellowship completely, and Legolas looked back to see Frodo and the other Hobbits stopped with Aragorn, Boromir, and Gimli at their sides. The ancient wizard had seen better times, his eyes scornful with age and determination, but they seemed to soften as they looked upon the fey flying in front of Legolas’ face. He knew then that Gandalf had seen this fey before, that much was clear, though Gandalf seemed to have been aware of everything that went on in Middle-Earth, whether or not it concerned him. Aragorn stepped closer to the newfound group, his eyes catching the fey and furrowing deeply. Her race had been talked about in legend for years in many families, surely including the Gondorian royal family, and most definitely not excluding the tales of Hobbits and dwarves. But that is exactly what the fey had been to them until now, legends and tall tales, now there stood, or rather flew, one in front of the Fellowship.

“I am Gandalf, Gandalf is me.” The old wizard introduced himself, a wary eye from Legolas still on the fey as he spoke. “Why do you search for me?”

“It is an honour, Gandalf the Grey.” She bowed in the air, holding one palm against her stomach as she looked back up, turning to face Gandalf instead of the blonde elf. “On behalf of my people, I am in request of your help in the search of the Hurbryn Amulet in Helm’s Deep.”

“Helm’s Deep?” Legolas wondered aloud.

“Your people have been enshrouded in darkness since the Second Age,” Gandalf stated. “Why have you emerged now?”

“There have been rumours of Sauron’s plans to enact his full potential and strength once again, to cover Middle-Earth in shadow. We have been preparing for this since our concealment all those years ago. We have an army to offer, but we are of no use unless we can find the amulet.” She replied. “We have been in contact with the dwarves of Erebor, and they have offered to melt down the amulet to supply our warriors in the Fey Realm.”

“Hmm…” Gandalf hummed, tapping at the bottom of his pipe, charring his middle and index finger with the scorched Southlinch. “And you are a warrior?”

“Yes.” She answered, turning to the side and showing a sheathed sword, though it took the size of something more comparable to a toothpick. “But I am of little use without the amulet, all of us are. The Hurbryn Amulet is our only hope to grow to human size and fight, without it, we will be forced to enshroud ourselves again.”

“We will be passing through Helm’s Deep on our way to Mordor.”

“To Mordor?!” The fey exclaimed. “Sauron’s power must be greater than we originally thought.”

“If you wish, I can offer you passage to Helm’s Deep alongside our Fellowship.” Gandalf adjusted his hold on his magical staff, crunching it further into the dirt and grass beneath. “But I can not offer safety. We are being hunted by Sauron’s Nine Riders. You will not be safe as long as you are with us.”

“I am not safe without you, either, sir Gandalf.” She replied. “Orcs have been migrating from Mordor and moving west, they mean to end the Fey Realm, I fear that Sauron is aware of our army and wishes to see it destroyed before I can return the amulet.”

“I see.”

“You must understand that I will be of little help without it, all I can bring is my sight ahead. If you will still have me despite this, I will gladly join your cause as far as Helm’s Deep.” She ended her remark with another short bow, this time addressed to the group that had gathered at the commotion; Gandalf, Legolas, Aragorn, Boromir, and Frodo. “I am Talwynn, daughter of Mabonan, honourable soldier of the Fey Realm. I thank you endlessly for your help.”

One by one, Gandalf introduced the Fellowship to Talwynn. “This is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Isildur’s heir to Gondor.” Aragorn, his hair wet and slightly curled from the humidity, nodded respectfully to the fey.

“Oh! Your majesty,” Talwynn bowed again. 

“There is no need, Lady Talwynn.” Aragorn shook his head, dismissing her use of his proper name. “I dismissed my title long ago, Aragorn is enough.”

Talwynn nodded politely, and Gandalf continued, gesturing to the blonde elf beside him. “This is Legolas, son of King Thranduil of the Elves.” He stated.

“King Thranduil had a son?” Talwynn inquired aloud.

“Are you familiar with my father?” Legolas asked.

“My brother, Faeber, is a messenger, and he frequented Mirkwood often to keep trade and diplomatic relationships well with your father.” Talwynn answered. “They haven’t spoken in many years, not since the quest to find the Hurbryn Amulet has begun, it has taken all of our resources without reserve.”

Legolas nodded in understanding, keeping respectful of Gandalf’s time and deciding to speak to Talwynn about her knowledge of his father later on. The old wizard continued, “Boromir, son of Denethor the second, valiant warrior of Gondor.” Talwynn met each name with a polite bow of her head, strands of blonde hair falling into her eyes. “Gimli, son of Glóin, fearless dwarf fighter of the House of Durin. Our Frodo, nephew of Bilbo Baggins, leader of our journey to Mordor. And over there,” Gandalf gestured to their path onwards, where the other Hobbits were gallivanting around. “Samwise, Pippin, and Merry.”

“It is an honour to be alongside you all for this journey, truly.” Talwynn nodded.

“We shan’t waste another moment.” Gandalf remarked, looking to the sun before turning back around to face the other Hobbits. “This walk will take us forty days, I assume you do not want to make it fifty?” He scorned the shorter fellows, and they immediately straightened back into place, walking shortly behind the wizard so they could ask him questions.

Boromir and Aragorn nodded to Legolas and Talwynn before joining the pony, talking amongst themselves about Gondor as the adventure continued. Gimli stayed near Legolas, but let him keep the rear of the group and remained a few feet ahead of the elf. The fey kept alongside the archer, perhaps she felt his skills would be the most useful if she was attacked, but she also enjoyed his company, even after only knowing of him for a few moments. She hovered beside his right shoulder, keeping an eye out for any sign of danger whilst also letting her eyes gaze intently over the beautiful landscape of the outskirts of Bruinen. Talwynn had been outside of the Fey Realm plenty in comparison to many of her kin, but she rarely ever ventured outside of Cardolan, the surrounding area. She had never been so close to the Misty Mountains, and knowing she was going to climb through rich valleys and rivers and fly above forests and plains made her nearly vibrate with excitement, her wings fluttering doubly.

The blonde elf noticed the fey’s natural inclination to stay close to him, which was endearing. Legolas, alongside most of the company, had never met one of her kind before, and though he was curious, he reserved his many questions about her and her brother’s relationship to and knowledge of his father in an attempt to remain suspicious about her character. He was not one to trust easily, despite how it may seem with Frodo and the Hobbits, but he had cared about them as soon as Gandalf had entrusted their protection with Aragorn, Boromir, Gimli, and him. Talwynn had not asked for protection, but she also had not given them her story. She was looking for an amulet Legolas knew nothing about, but it was clearly enough for Gandalf to offer her sanctuary with the Fellowship, and he judged character better than anyone in the group, so there was truly no need to be wary, but Legolas kept his guard up. It was what his father had taught him to do in order to protect his people and to protect himself. But being cautious did not mean he could not be curious. “My father never spoke of the fey people.” Legolas broke the silence.

Talwynn looked to him, and he felt her gaze boring into the side of his head, even as he looked on towards the leader of the pack, Gandalf, who had gained a healthy distance. “The elves are the only race we continue to keep relations with, they are the only ones who know we were not destroyed by Sauron in the Second Age.” She replied. “We requested he never spoke about the alliance, and we would not have requested his help if we did not gravely need it, but we were lacking fundamental resources to keep our people alive.”

“You became myths and legends, only to be repeated in writing.”

“We could not allow Sauron to discover he had not burned the rest of us. Living in fear was better than not living at all, and we knew, without the amulet, we would not be able to survive a second time.”

“He destroyed your people?”

“Nearly. Thranduil, your father, warned us one month before Sauron’s attack. He gave us enough time to hide the Fey Realm completely from the outside world, his heed is why we have stayed so close to the Mirkwood elves. For that I have never gotten to thank him.”

“My father is not one for thanks in words, he must see in your people something worthwhile.”

“My brother said the same. Thranduil saw our community, our resilience, how prepared we were to fight alongside the elven army if Sauron returned to Middle-Earth, that is why he has given us protection for so many years.”

“He has changed since then.” Legolas finally turned his head to look at Talwynn, whose eyes were glistening with the reflection of the Misty Mountains ahead. “He is not so willing to give anymore, not to those who will not give anything in return.”

“My brother said that, too. When Sauron is finally defeated, the Fey Realm will open again, for the first time since the Second Age. It will be a glorious day, and the fruits and animals that grow on our soils that we have been nurturing for the last thousands of years will be open unto every Middle-Earthian trade route, and Mirkwood will have first pick.”

“Your people have thought about this moment.”

Talwynn turned her head to look at Legolas, a hint of a smile gracing her lips at his remark. “It is all we have thought about since the Fey Realm closed. We did not want to be separated from the rest of Middle-Earth, to be conjured and remembered as fables told to children before bed, but it was our only choice, we were outnumbered and outmanned in every area of war, Sauron would have extinguished our people with the flick of a finger. So, underneath the thick ivy that held us prisoner under our own defenses, we planned and we prepared for the moment that would trigger Sauron’s growth, and that day is seemingly not far.”

Legolas nodded thoughtfully, looking out onto the horizon as they bared west around stone ruins, the remnants of a castle taken by the course of time. “Gandalf is certain this will be Sauron’s last stand, but he is also skeptical that we will make it to Mordor in time.”

“And what do you believe?”

“Hm?”

“You seem one of the more level-headed companions of your group, although that is not much to say when you are travelling with four Hobbits, a wizard, and a seemingly quite temperamental dwarf,” Talwynn smiled, amused at the travelling group she had found herself in on the way to Helm’s Deep. “You are also an elf, you have lived many years longer than the Man that walk alongside you. Do you believe you will make it to Mordor before Sauron casts his eternal Shadow across Middle-Earth?”

Though Legolas stilled, he did not stop moving, but his brows furrowed and his lips turned down into a frown. Perhaps he had not given it much pessimistic thought as he usually did, but then again, his father was the one who would give him doubts of the work he did, even all those years ago when he had departed from his king to save Lake-Town. Now this fey had asked him what seemed to be the simplest question that would surely guide his mind throughout the Fellowship’s journey, but he hadn’t thought about it in such a way before. Aragorn and Gandalf both believed they would make it, but Legolas often wondered if it was their need to have hope that spurred them onward, and his chest grew tight in envy for their passion to destroy this ring. He was glad to see it rid of the world, as well, in every way possible, but Legolas could imagine his life if they did not succeed, whereas he supposed the others could not. He remained passionate no matter his internal discourse, no matter how hard it was to ignore, and no matter how his stomach twisted in thought of what would happen if they failed, or even if they succeeded.

“For him,” Legolas gestured to Frodo, who had separated himself from his fellow Hobbits, and began to look to the valley below, their path onwards, with a troubled expression across his face. “I hope we triumph.”

Before Talwynn could reply, Gandalf’s voice boomed across the Fellowship, his staff pounding against the ground with each step he took as they began their descent down the hill they had begun on. “We must hold this course west of the Misty Mountains for forty days. If our luck holds, the Gap of Rohan will still be open to us. From there, our road turns east, to Mordor.” He instructed loudly, the rest of the group nodding and whispering affirmatively between one another.

Legolas turned to Talwynn with a wondering gaze. “Will you be able to traverse this landscape for forty days?” He inquired.

“I have not tried to before, but if I can not continue, I will not hold your people back, I can continue on my own if I must.”

Legolas nodded, and soon thereafter realized that her possibility of slowing the Fellowship down if the journey became too much was not what he was truly asking about, but he continued the path forward silently.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

It hadn’t been long since Legolas had eaten a well cooked meal, though it had been a much longer stint than his usual appetite schedule, it was incomparable to those such as Frodo or Aragorn, who had come from much further than he had from Rivendell. Despite this, Legolas ate one of Samwise’s sausages as he perched atop one of the cliff edge rocks, scouting across the land for any hint of unusual movement. They had set up a temporary camp atop one of the highest ridges of the valley, before their journey would take them downwards and to the bottom of the Misty Mountains, and then eventually back upwards again. Legolas’ bow sat snugly close to him on his right side, his quiver still attached to his back as he still had unnerving thoughts about their placement. He had been an archer for his whole life, he knew the signs to look for, and even if he smiled and looked back at Boromir’s play fighting with the Hobbits, his ears were always pricked for danger.

The Eregion Hills served them well as a flat, rocky surface for the Fellowship to sit atop of, with an overhanging stone near the uphill cliffside that gave them a temporary relief from what the elements were sure to throw at them, Sauron’s will or not. Talwynn sat at a decent distance from the elf, biting down on a small piece of mashed potato that Samwise had graciously cut off the rest of the group for her, despite her telling him she had plenty of her own rations to take for herself. His cooking was something she would have never found if she had stayed in the Fey Realm. There were many cooks, sure, and many of those cooks were brilliant at their craft, but the supplies and spices Samwise had sitting in his backpack made his dish feel so much more alive. She smiled as she ate it, enjoying what she was sure to be one of the last, warm meals she would be having on this long adventure, but the appearance of company had given her much hope that her journey to Helm’s Deep would be successful.

“A Castar for your thoughts?” Gandalf’s crooked voice broke Talwynn’s own moment of silence, and he sat down next to her tiny form.

“Potatoes do not grow in the Fey Realm, neither are pigs fostered.” Talwynn replied, her wings fluttering as she finished the last of the small portion Samwise had given her. “I don’t think I’ve had something this delicious in my lifetime.”

“Samwise is quite the chef,” Gandalf nodded to the Hobbit sitting next to his friend, surely gossiping about their future as adventurers and their legacy to their Shire. “He has given the Fellowship warm, full stomachs. He is very worthy of this task.”

“I wish him well, he seems quite frightened at the prospect of leaving his home for something greater than himself.” Though Talwynn didn’t know what it was that the Fellowship had been tasked to do in Mordor, she assumed the adventure was for great reason. “Much like I.”

“You are naturally curious.”

“I am, but I do not wish to stick my head into a discussion where it does not belong. The Fellowship’s business is not my own, I only wish you the luck I can muster to make it safely into Mordor.”

“I, for one, would argue that it is plenty your business, Talwynn. If you and your people are willing to blindly follow our battle, you deserve to know what you are to fight for.” Tentatively, the fey nodded, and Gandalf continued, “Frodo Baggins,” He gestured towards the younger Hobbit that sat next to Samwise with curly, brown hair, fidgeting with a chain around his neck. “Has inherited the Ring to Rule Them All from his uncle, Bilbo Baggins. We are to take it to Mordor to destroy it once and for all, before Sauron can return and cast Middle-Earth into Shadow once more.”

“This truly is an important task, then.”

“Extremely. There are orcs and wargs at every crossroad and path we trek. You must know the danger of travelling alongside the Fellowship, their duties—” Gandalf gestured to Boromir, Legolas, and Aragorn, “Are to protect Frodo, whether it be their life at the cost. If Sauron takes the Ring, the days of light will be forever diminished, this is the last stand.”

“I am grateful, Sir Gandalf, that you have entrusted me with this information.”

“Has it changed anything?”

“I will keep my eye on Frodo, though he is quite well-protected already. You are granting me help with passage into Helm’s Deep, it is the least I can do to give you peace of mind.”

“Thank you.”

Gandalf gave Talwynn a respectful, polite nod before standing up using his staff for stability, retreating back to his original position under the protection of the overhead stone cliff. Legolas craned his head to watch the wizard’s leave, his ears having heard snippets of the conversation, but only enough to understand that Gandalf had entrusted Talwynn with the information about the Ring. He trusted Gandalf to a certain extent, but not as much as Aragorn did, his whole life revolved around Gandalf’s words and promises, whereas Legolas was still suspicious about the journey in general, especially with the appearance of Gimli throughout it all. Gandalf was a good enough judge of character, Legolas admitted to himself, and the fey didn’t seem worthy of the suspicion he had initially given her, there was no point in furrowing his brows and pondering her motives any longer, it was clear to him that she just wanted to get to Helm’s Deep, and she was no inhibitor on their progress.

“Get away from the blade, Pippin.” Boromir instructed the young Hobbit as they clashed swords together, the taller Man disarming him during every spar they completed. “On your toes… good, very good. I want you to react, not think.” Aragorn gazed upon them with a hint of a smile on his lips, tossing an apple between his palm.

Samwise, who was still sitting beside Frodo and finishing his dish of sausages and mashed potatoes, watched intently, learning from the advice Boromir gave Pippin as they fought. “Should not be too hard…” Samwise remarked to himself in a murmur.

The end of Boromir’s sword tapped on Pippin’s tunic, signifying he had lost again. “Move your feet.” He instructed, and Pippin smiled as he successfully defended himself from Boromir’s following attack.

“Quite good, Pippin!” Merry exclaimed, sitting with his back against one of the lone rocks.

“Thanks.”

Talwynn took the moment of silence, only broken by the sound of sword against sword as Boromir and Pippin continued to spar, to look around the area they had settled, more specifically on the elf, Legolas, who had separated himself from the scene to keep watch over their camp. Out of the many different characters in the group, he was the one who had managed to intrigue her the most, which was saying quite a bit, since Talwynn was of a curious kind. She knew more about him than the others, despite her curiosity, because of the stories her brother had told her about Thranduil and his wife, the tragedy that struck the nation and him when she passed, and his constant effort to obtain her jewels from The Lonely Mountain when it was under siege. A strange aspect seemed to haunt her; despite the fact that she knew more about Legolas than she had wanted to, than she felt appropriate to know having only met a few days prior, she longed to know more, to question, but perhaps that was just her fey ancestry, the race being well-known for their inquisitiveness.

Gimli’s voice cut through Talwynn’s thoughts like a well-sharpened sword, severing her tie to the back of Legolas’ head and forcing her to focus deeply on the conversation the dwarf was presently having with the old wizard, but his voice told her he was talking to everyone. “If anyone were to ask for my opinion, which I note they have not, I would say we are taking the long way around.” The dwarf shook his head, feet firmly planted on the stone beneath his body. If dwarves were one thing, they were extremely stubborn. “Gandalf, we can pass through the Mines of Moria. My cousin, Balin, would give us a royal welcome.” Gimli turned to the others, but only Aragorn and Legolas turned their heads to look back at him, amused expressions on their faces. “Gandalf clearly thinks that is a bad idea.”

“No, Gimli. I would not take the road through Moria unless I had no other choice.”

Those who were sparring didn’t seem to have a care at what Gimli and Gandalf were discussing with the group as they continued to spar, Boromir’s sword slicing against Pippin’s and thrusting forward, catching him against the hand. Talwynn assumed that Hobbits were unskilled with weaponry, considering very few pieces were made with their statues in mind, and her assumption reigned true as Pippin struggled against the Man’s attacks. So, Pippin threw his sword to the ground, Talwynn wincing at the sound of metal clashing and scraping against the rock and moss below, before running and lunging into Boromir’s torso, grappling his arms as far as they could go around his stomach and taking him to the ground in an epic takedown. In an act of near-proudness, Boromir began to laugh, and Pippin followed, and soon enough, most of the Fellowship, save for Gandalf, Gimli, and Legolas, had cracked a smile at the interaction. 

Before the sweet moment could last any longer and be called a memory, a darkness began to enshroud the blue sky many kilometers away, hovering over the Misty Mountains and its shadow telling that it was only gaining position towards the Fellowship. Talwynn flew towards Legolas, who had already spotted it, catching advantage from her height in the sky, but only enough to see that they were in fact, headed in a direct line to their cliffside. The dark presence caught the others’ eyes immediately after, and Aragorn lunged to his feet in as fast of a reaction as he could muster, the years had not been as kind to him as they had been to the long-livers such as Legolas or Gandalf. As the mass got closer and closer, it became clear that it was not just one being, it was a flock of something dangerous and dreadful, so much so that a shiver went down Talwynn’s spine as she gazed upon them from afar. Smoke in the wind was no longer a phrase she would use to describe the phenomenon.

“What is that?” Samwise inquired.

“Nothing… it’s just a wisp of cloud!” Gimli explained, using the moment to capture another sausage from Samwise’s cooking pot for himself.

Boromir’s eyebrows furrowed in worry, and he stood back up from his position on the ground, nearly pushing Pippin off of himself. “It’s moving fast against the wind.”

“I will look.” Talwynn offered, leaving Legolas’ side and shot across the sky, nearly touching the clouds as she met the eyes of whatever was targeting the group. She let out a breath at the sight of the mass of deep, black birds with brown tar dripping from their beaks. “Crebain! It is Crebain!” She cried back to the Fellowship, screaming as loud as she could muster before dipping back down and fluttering her wings to race back to the cliff.

“What?!” Aragorn exclaimed.

Legolas answered, repeating what only he could hear from Talwynn due to his elven ears; “Crebain from Dunland!”

Aragorn hurriedly pushed the Hobbits towards the rocks that gave them shelter as Talwynn barrelled into their airspace. “Hide!” He shouted, watching as Gimli took cover underneath the main rock alongside Gandalf.

Boromir pulled himself down on the opposite side of the largest rock on the cliff, his right arm resting against the ground as he looked at the smaller members of the group. “Merry, Pippin, Sam, take cover!” He commanded, and Talwynn realized why he was such a revered Captain of Gondor as she herself ducked into the area that Aragorn and Legolas had taken cover under, shoving herself in between blades of grass.

With curdling screeches and thick, black liquid oozing from their beals, a horde of at least a hundred Crebain birds flew overhead of the Fellowship, temporarily blinding the group from the sunlight as they wailed with an ear-piercing tone. Talwynn winced as a moment’s chill passed through under the shadow of the Crebain from Dunland, the ones that were surely of Sauronic origin, covered up her only sense of heat, making her wings flutter in discontent and her body to shiver in its entirety. As soon as the dark crows had come, they had disappeared into the Southern sky once again, squawking terribly and announcing their presence for all nearby to hear. They had completely turned around from whence they came, telling the Fellowship that they had seen what they needed to see, which was either nothing at all or a group of poorly-hidden Hobbits, Elves, Men, an old wizard, and a Man the size of an acorn with dragonfly wings.

Gandalf was the first to rise from his hiding position, staggering to his feet with the support of his grey staff. “Spies of Saruman.” He announced gravely as the remainder of the Fellowship stood. “The passage South is being watched.” Gandalf glanced at Aragorn for only a moment, the Gondorian heir‘s flat expression unwavering as the wizard then looked upon the mountain pass North. “We must take the pass of Caradhras.”

[temporarily-your-saint]

Under the Stars

A Rings of Power fic has been brewing inside of my brain but unfortunately Elrond will be going through so much pain... As if he hasn't been through it enough. :') BUT. I really wanted to give him a soft and sweet moment, so here we are. Our sweet summer boy deserves only love. <3

Word count: 3.8k

Warning(s): none, kissing??, some (lil bit) of spice??? more like suggestive spicy?

Themes: Friends to lovers, mutual pining, sort of submissive elrond??? hehehe

Also all translations are at the end!

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Elrond could always be found underneath the golden trees that surrounded Lindon, Írimë could be sure of that.

The elleth watched her dear friend from afar, awestruck by the scene before her. The half-elf seemed to glow underneath the mallorn trees, almost shining while he wrote his poetry and speeches for the king. 

She always admired his passion for the melodic words that danced along the pages and never grew tired watching his quill flick skillfully. After a moment, her legs finally moved through the field and towards the king’s harold.

As she approached, his gaze continued to stay fully enveloped within the binded pages, unaware of her presence. 

“My heart sings to see that not much has changed,” her voice rang, breaking the silence.

Elrond, slightly startled, smiled when he heard the familiar voice. His eyes flickered to her face and then down her body, taking in her figure with a subtle glance.

"Írimë? Is that really you?" He spoke calmly as he stood up from his sitting position atop the tree and stepped forward to approach her. "It's been a while. You haven't changed a single day."

As he grew closer to her, she reached out and placed a hand against his cheek. “Neither have you, mellon nin,” she breathed as her thumb brushed against his skin, tenderly just beneath his eye.

Warmth immediately poured over her as they greeted one another. It had been years since the two had seen one another and by the Valar, she had truly missed his affable smile. While years in the lives of elves passed swiftly and without much notice, she had still ached to lay her eyes upon him once again.

A light blush trickled along Elrond’s cheeks as his eyes danced across her face. “I’ve missed you, my dear friend,” he spoke softly.

She couldn’t help but beam with happiness at his words, a smile never leaving her lips. Her bright blue eyes stared into his gray orbs, not daring to look away.

“And I you,” her voice whispered. The elleth’s heart pumped quickly as her stomach filled with butterflies.

His hands wrapped around her one that had held his cheek and brought it down between them. She could let him hold her there in place for centuries if Eru Ilúvatar allowed it. 

He squeezed her hand gently, feeling the warmth of her touch while his gaze held hers as it shined with merriment and affection.

Gods, had he missed her.

The half-elf studied her features, captivated by the beauty of the elleth. A strange but not unpleasant flutter raised inside his chest. He always thought she was beautiful; any being that roamed Arda could see she was well-favored by the gods, but something felt different now.

“There was not a day that went by when I did not think of you,” he admitted, voice just above a whisper.

His forward words only quickened her pulse more. She wasn’t so sure her heart wouldn’t fully beat out of her chest at this point for she would melt under his gaze if he wasn’t currently keeping her grounded, holding her hand between his two.

“Surely I didn’t cloak your thoughts too much,” she teased him, a smile dancing across her lips.

Elrond let out a soft huff of amusement at Írimë’s teasing. He gave her hand another gentle squeeze and shook his head with an affectionate smile as he spoke, "You know very well that you have always occupied a significant amount of my thoughts," he replied in a teasing tone of his own.

He brought her hand up and pressed a soft, gentle kiss against her palm. It was a small yet intimate gesture.

Elrond had always been fond of the elleth before him. He hadn’t always noticed the peculiar feeling for it only seemed to grow stronger within the past years that had passed. And here she was before him once again. He couldn’t pass up the opportunity this time to tell her.

“Elrond…” she breathed, unable to formulate a witty response. He was being serious.

His lips…His eyes…The way he peered into her soul dizzied her senses. She had noticed Elrond looking at her differently the last time she was in his presence and now…Here he did it once again.

Elrond watched her reaction carefully. He saw the way her breath caught in her throat and he heard the slight tremble in her voice. His heart beat a little faster, his breath catching in return.

His thumb traced idle circles on her palm, the contact between them making his skin tingle. Elrond swallowed tightly, meeting her gaze with a gaze full of sincerity.

"Írimë... I have wanted to tell you... that I..."

His voice trailed off, his words failing him. How could he tell her that he felt for her without sounding foolish?

“Yes…?” Wide eyes stared into his own, searching for answers. Something… anything.

Írimë felt like she was on fire. Blood pumped through her veins that felt like lava—heavy, scolding. Pink lips parted as she licked her lips.

Elrond hesitated, struggling with how to properly articulate the storm of emotions he felt inside. He swallowed again, swallowing his last remaining doubts.

He brought her hand up to his chest, placing it right over his rapidly beating heart. The warmth of her palm pressed against him nearly made him shiver.

"Írimë... I have come to realize...”

Every passing moment made her heart boom louder. Her hand placed over his heart was so intimate, so raw. He wanted her to feel his heartbeat. 

And she did.

Before he could finish, a loud voice came barreling over the hill, running toward them through the grass.

“Írimë! Elrond!”

The voice broke their trance, not allowing Elrond to finish his words. Gods, how she needed him to finish those words.

She stepped back, allowing some space between her and the half-elf before her as she retracted her hand. Her gaze met a familiar figure walking towards them. 

“Vorohil!” She exclaimed, welcoming her old friend.

Elrond's heart felt heavy inside of his chest, the moment stolen from him just as he was about to confess his true feelings. He took a step back as well, his shoulders slightly slumped in defeat.

As Vorohil approached, Elrond looked up, his expression slightly irritated at the interruption. He had been so close to speaking up, so close...But now there was no chance of picking up from where he had left off. The mood between the two souring now that Vorohil had joined them.

"Vorohil," Elrond said in greeting, forcing a small smile.

The ellon acknowledged Elrond with respect and then rested upon the raven-haired elleth. “I heard you just arrived. I have come to fetch you for the feast!”

Írimë grasped her dear friend’s forearm and gave it a light squeeze. “Thank you, my dear friend,” she said softly. Her bright eyes then met Elrond’s gaze, “Shall we join?”

The half-elf let out a soft sigh, his disappointment still evident on his face. However, he offered her a small, reluctant smile and nodded, "Yes, let us be on our way."

As they began walking, Elrond fell into pace beside her, their shoulders brushing slightly. He kept his hands clasped tightly behind his back to stop himself from reaching out to her again. The words that he had wanted to say lingered on the tip of his tongue, yet he held them back once more.

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The feast was a splendid affair. Food was plentiful and wine flowed freely. Music played in the background, filling the air with cheerful, light elvish tunes.

Elrond walked beside Írimë, though his earlier enthusiasm had wilted slightly. He occasionally stole glances at her but made no attempt to resume their earlier conversation. His heart ached with unspoken words, yet he couldn't bring himself to speak them, not with so many peers around.

Írimë made her rounds throughout the evening. It had been many, many moons since she had last seen the trees of Lindon. How she had missed it so…

A familiar gaze lingered on the elleth though she welcomed it. She knew he watched her. Their keen senses made it near impossible to ignore. She found herself biting her lips more than not, swinging her hair, and smiling more than not as Elrond watched. The half-elf had such a peculiar way of affecting her; it was like she was a young elleth once again the way she yearned for his gaze.

And he noticed it all. The way she strode with more confidence and grace, the way she flipped her waves of midnight hair around, the way her smile glowed.

Every movement she made, every gesture, he absorbed them all, devouring them like a sweet dessert. 

His gaze lingered, continuing to watch her closely, trying to memorize every detail. The half-ellon’s fingers squeezed the chalice he held.

The more time passed, the more his heart longed for her, desperate to reach out and touch her, to speak the words that were dying to leave his tongue.

As the feast went on, Elrond eventually found himself able to slip away. He walked outside into the cool night air, his heart still pounding in his chest. He couldn't stay inside anymore, being so close to Írimë yet unable to speak to her; it had become too much to bear.

He ran his fingers through his curly locks, feeling tired and frustrated as he stared off into the night sky. "If I could just have one moment alone with her," he muttered to himself.

“Who is this elleth my dear friend frets over?” The very voice he daydreamed of rang through the air as she approached Elrond. 

He gave a small huff of laughter in response to her question as he turned toward her, "You heard that, did you?"

Her eyes narrowed curiously at him. As he spoke, he wouldn’t meet her eyes, instead talking into the distance as he turned back away from her.

Taking a sip of the wine he held, he sighed, "She is someone I cannot seem to get off my mind, even for a single moment. She occupies my thoughts from dawn to dusk, filling my heart with a melody I have never felt before."

His words cut into her. Was she being farcical? Was this an unknown lover of his? Or…?

She sighed and took a large gulp of wine from her own chalice. The sweet wine from the First Age coated her tongue and warmed her insides. “A lucky elleth,” her voice strained. “You must write poetry about her…” She whispered as her eyes turned down.

Do not shed tears, she thought to herself. 

Her response startled Elrond. It was almost as if she... as if she didn't seem happy for him. Or, perhaps, jealous? But surely not. He shook his head slightly, his heart starting to pound in his chest.

Írimë stood beside him, looking out into the late evening.

Elrond looked over at her, his gaze fixing on hers. He could see the forced smile spread across her lips and he knew that there was something deeper behind her words.

"I have written many poems about her," he admitted, his voice quiet. "She is my muse, my light, my everything."

Her voice hitched in the back of her throat. His everything… His words echoed throughout her very being.

She swallowed hard and met Elrond’s eyes as she tried her best to hold back tears. “This elleth must feel only warmth and sunlight then,” her voice came out as a whisper.

Elrond could hear the hitch in her voice, the barely concealed pain in her words. His heart ached hearing the sadness that coated her tongue.

He took a step closer to her, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You do not sound as if you are happy for me, Írimë. Do my words cut you?"

Their bodies almost touched. Her heart pounded as the tears began to swell over. Tears streamed down her pink cheeks as blue eyes searched Elrond’s. 

A forced smile still strained on her lips as she spoke, “I wish you nothing but happiness, mellon nin.” 

She avoided the question, only wanting to relieve him but the pain was too much. Until it hit her. I love him. The words ran through her mind as realization kicked her in the chest.

The sight of Írimë’s tears broke him. Seeing the pain in her eyes, hearing her voice crack and her forced smile... He couldn't bear it anymore. But he needed to know why. Needed to hear her say it.

"You wish me happiness yet the sight of me talking about another pains you so," he said softly, taking another small step forward.

He reached up, gently brushing away her tears with his thumb. His gaze pierced hers as he spoke, “Tell me, Írimë. Why does this make you grieve?"

His question echoed through her mind. She had to tell him. Needed to. Though she felt foolish to love him if he was already promised to another. How could she do that to such a friend like him?

But what if she never told him? She would have to endure and watch him love another. Could she handle that?

Trembling lips parted as whispered words fell from her lips, “I remember when we were younger. You always wiped away my tears.”

A wavering smile crept upon her lips as she looked up at him. “You have always looked out for me, even knowing that I did not need it. Always tended my wounds. Always filled my heart with nothing but warmth and joy,” her eyes searched his, almost pleading as she spoke. 

Her hand reached up to cover his own that lingered on her cheek as his thumb wiped away the wet remnants.

“When your face fills my dreams, I sigh with comfort and happiness. When your skin meets mine,” she began as she turned her cheek inward toward his hand, placing a soft kiss in the middle of his palm. 

Her eyes met his again. “A current runs through me as if something becomes awakened when we touch. A wildfire that cannot be contained. A light that can never be diminished. You are as bright as daylight and warm as summer, Elrond.”

Elrond's heart pounded in his chest as he listened to her words. Every sentence, every sentiment... It was everything that he had been waiting for. Every bit of validation that he needed, it was in her words. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

The tear-stained face, the trembling lips, the hand on his... It was so raw, so open, so vulnerable, and yet so beautiful. He ached to say something, anything, but he was frozen in place. He could only stare at her, his face mirroring every emotion that ran through him.

He swallowed hard, his voice barely more than a whisper, "My dear Írimë, I... I never knew...I wanted to…"

His eyes flicked down to her trembling lips, his heart pounding louder and louder in his chest. The hand on her cheek moved down, tenderly cupping her face as his thumb brushed over her lips.

She sucked in a breath at his touch, closing her eyes in the process. A slow exhale left her lips as she slowly looked up at him.

The way she looked up at him was entrancing. Eyes of blue wide, pleading for him yet sad. She had never wanted something so badly in her immortal life. 

His finger brushed against her bottom lip again, softly pulling on it and then brushing it over. An agonizing ache reached below her stomach from the way his eyes bore into hers. He felt her breath hitch at his touch, her eyes closing for a brief moment once more.

“The elleth is you, meleth nîn,” his voice whispered. He placed both hands on either side of her cheeks as she looked up at him.

Everything fell into place at his words. The elleth is you, he had said. 

“Elrond,” her voice squeaked. 

A wave of relief washed over Elrond. Every ounce of tension left him as he heard the relief in her voice, knowing that he hadn't made a terrible mistake. He had never felt so vulnerable yet so complete at the same time. His thumb traced over her cheek gently, feeling the smooth skin beneath his touch.

"Írimë," he whispered back, his eyes roaming her face as if trying to memorize every little fleck of cerulean in her eyes, every curve, and every freckle on her skin.

He bent down and rested his forehead against hers. The two closed their eyes and shared breaths in the silence. She placed her hands over his own, her touch sending yet another shiver through him.

After a moment, she whispered, “Kiss me.”

When Írimë’s whispered words reached his ears, it was like a dam had burst.

The words had barely sunk in before he leaned in and hungrily pressed his lips to hers.

Long, slender fingers gently wove into her hair, holding her in place as he deepened the kiss. Their bodies close, so close that he could feel the heat radiating from her like a fire. All the years of longing, of hidden desires, were suddenly let loose in the kiss. His heart pounded in his chest, feeling as if it had finally found its home.

His other hand slid down, curling around her waist, pulling her in even closer, holding her against his body, as if trying to merge their very beings.

She could almost feel their souls become one as his lips pressed against hers. The hungry kiss released everything she had been feeling for him. Everything she wanted to envelop into words but did not have the ability.

They let their lips speak for them as the kiss deepened and he pulled her tighter into him. She could feel him, feel everything beneath his linens. 

A moan fell from her lips as his tongue danced with her own. She reached up, letting one hand curl into his dark locks. 

“Elrond…” her voice gasped his name. 

He felt every sound that left her lips—every soft gasp, every whisper, every moan. It was like music to him, the most beautiful symphony that his ears and soul had ever composed. Only the welcoming melody to Valinor could compare to this.

His hands wandered over her body as his tongue moved against hers, feeling her every curve, his touch desperate and hungry, yet tender and gentle.

Nothing else mattered in that moment but them. The dark night hid their figures outside, luckily, as their bodies intertwined. 

Her hand slid down through his hair, making its way next to his ear. Her fingers brushed over the pointed tip and she heard him whimper. Finally, she thought. 

The pointed ears of elves were incredibly sensitive, especially when senses were heightened. And they were left only to the touch of those that were promised, only to the most precious of close loved ones.

A jolt of pleasure shot through his body as her fingers glided over his ear. He had never felt something like it before, the sensation so intense, so intimate, that it almost overpowered all judgment. He let out a small gasp against her mouth, his body tensing up briefly before relaxing again.

His mind clouded, his focus entirely on her and the way she touched him. He pulled back from the kiss, breathless, and looked into her eyes, the intensity of his gaze almost dizzying.

"Do that again," he whispered, his voice husky with desire.

She had never heard his voice like this before. It was so gruff yet, he was begging? Or was that a command? She intended to find out.

Darkened eyes stared up into his piercing grays. Her thumb slowly, and barely even touching the tip of his ear, slid across the sensitive skin.

She watched his brows furrow and eyes close. No, she thought.

“Look at me, meleth nin,” her voice commanded, breath against his lips. Her thumb then traced down the outer part of his tapered ear.

Elrond's breath hitched in his throat as she touched him again, his eyes nearly rolling back into his head with the sensation. But the sound of her voice pulled him back into focus, a mixture of command and desire in her tone.

His eyes slowly drifted open, finding hers. He swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest, his lips parted as he let out a shaky breath. His fingers traced along her waist, drawing her as close as he could.

Hearing his song of pleasure spill from his lips rang through her.

His lust-filled gaze peered into her dilated pupils. She had never felt like this before. Her body could not get enough of him; it sang to her as hers sang to him, and she wanted to pluck every note.

Elrond’s breath deepened, his fingers gripping at the fabric of her dress, as if trying to hold himself back. His gaze darkened, the intensity in his eyes burning brighter with need.

He couldn't take it anymore. The fire coursing through his veins demanded something more. He wanted Írimë—needed her. Needed to feel their bodies fuse together, needed to taste her, needed to make her his entirely.

What was this?

Their chests heaved as they exchanged breaths, staring at one another. Desire filled their eyes as heat pooled deep within them.

“Elrond,” she breathed, looking up to him. In the quietness, eyes searched each other.

“We have been gone from the feast for so long,” her voice was unsteady, breath hitched from the shared intimacy.

Hearing her mention the feast reminded him of the festivities that still occurred. The thought of leaving her side to return made him wince, his heart clenching at the idea of being apart from her again.

His fingers flexed against her waist as he held her gaze, his mind and body both fighting against the rational part of him. He knew they needed to return but he didn't want it to end.

"You speak...words of reason," he said, his voice low and uneven.

She reached up, placing her hand against his cheek softly as her eyes peered into his. They both knew they needed to make an appearance once more.

”Meet me under the stars once more tonight…After the feast,” she finished, whispering her words.

His gaze softened as she touched his cheek, the feel of her skin causing his eyes to close for a moment. Elrond then turned to press his face into the palm of her hand, keeping her there for a moment as her words sunk in and he reopened them. 

“Under the stars, melnā,” he murmured, his voice as soft as a whisper against her skin.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　

mellon nin: my friend

meleth nîn: my love

melnā: beloved

Írimë: lovely, desirable

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　

[anarchy-n-glitter]

Blood of the Dragon

Summary: Lord Viseryon Draecyr and his dragon blooded companion Lady Aelora arrive in Rohan seeking refuge for a week. No one knows the true reason they're there, but many are suspicious of the lord's intentions. Along the way, Gríma finds a sort of kinship with Lady Aelora.

Chapter 1

A Dragon in Meduseld

It was said that the scales of dragons could be used to create life.

The dragon blooded were volatile yet loyal creatures said to be gifted with the beauty of elves and the strength and cunning of their dragon kin. Their blood red eyes were a distinctive trait of the race, as well as the talon-like nails that grew from their nail beds, blending with the tips of their fingers. They were not scaly, nor were they slimy, and they did not sprout bat-like wings from their backs. Not much was known of what exactly it was these creatures inherited from their dragon kin. 

The practice of creating a dragon blood was said to have been banned amongst sorcerers and alchemists across Middle Earth, for the life it created arose from a corruption of nature’s will. Those who defied their brethren to create such a creature often held ulterior motives - they created out of their need to play God and acquire power that was never theirs to begin with. And so, those who created a dragon blood were often banished from their homes… or they were put to death.

Never did Gríma expect to see a dragon blood in his court.

Naturally, when he was informed that the alchemist Lord Viseryon Draecyr and his dragon blooded companion Lady Aelora Draecyr would arrive at Meduseld he was suspicious. Sorcerers using their dragon bloods to carry out political assassinations was not entirely unheard of, in fact, it was part of the reason the practice of creating a dragon blood was banned. They were loyal, if their creator asked them to kill for them the companion often would.

The duo had clearly traveled far, seeing as Lord Viseryon was from Gondor. They had to have been traveling for three days straight, and for the most part, they looked like it. The usually well kept lord seemed exhausted, with dark circles under his silver eyes, and his usually slicked back silver-blond hair was frizzy and hastily pulled back into a ponytail. His dragon blooded companion seemed to fare better, with the only thing out of place being her similarly colored hair, which was braided back but similarly frizzy. Small bits of her hair fell from her braid and framed her face nicely. Lady Aelora was all around much more radiant than her creator.

Gríma quickly found the legends surrounding dragon bloods to be true. Lady Aelora was quite beautiful, with fair skin and striking silver-blonde hair and solemn red eyes. He was sure he was leering at her - or at least that’s what he assumed since any time he so much as glanced at a lady in court he would be accused of leering - but he certainly knew he was staring. She stood silently beside her creator with her hands folded in front of her, and although there was a sadness behind her icy expression, he could almost detect a loathing. Whether it was directed at him (which would hardly surprise him, most women stared at him with loathing), or the king who sat beside him, or the man she arrived with he would never know. One thing was for sure, there was something that lurked beneath her solemn and serene surface. It intrigued him.

For a moment he let himself get his hopes up, and at that he had to swallow a bitter laugh. Lady Aelora would never look in his direction if he wasn’t seated next to the king. Even then, she shared a last name with the Lord Viseryon, and while relations between a creator and their creations was frowned upon and even forbidden, Gríma wouldn’t put it past the treacherous lord. After all, he defied everyone in creating her and got away with it. He knew better than to underestimate and trust a man like him.

Ironic, wasn’t it?

Still, out of curiosity he would grant the lord whatever he pleased, and perhaps he would get something in return. Or he would lose another political rival. He considered both options a win.

“I apologize, King Théoden, for the intrusion. You see, my companion and I have been traveling for days… our home was…” Lord Viseryon trailed off, hiding hurt in his voice. Lord Viseryon talks too much, Gríma concluded as he tuned him out. He already recognized what the lord was doing - dressing up his story as a means to hide his true intention and invoke pity - a play Gríma was very familiar with seeing as he often used it himself. Despite the theatrics of her creator, Gríma’s attention was stolen by Aelora, who managed to enchant the advisor without uttering a single word. He wasn’t sure what brought the duo to Edoras, but against his better judgment, he was determined to find out. 

Luckily for him, King Théoden was hanging onto every word that left the lying lord’s mouth. For a moment Gríma wondered if the king knew of what truly happened to Lord Viseryon - why he hadn’t been at a gathering in Gondor for years, why no one spoke of him anymore. It was as if the lord had ceased to exist. 

“We humbly ask for a place to stay in our time of need, your highness. For the roads have grown perilous - lawless - as of late.” And there it was. Of course, Gríma never would have expected the lord to be so forward and obvious with his plans, but he assumed Lord Viseryon was not the brightest lord in Middle Earth. This was certainly going to be interesting.

The tired king glanced at his advisor, finding himself unable to answer the lord without the opinion of Gríma. The mere idea of having to think on his own was exhausting, and with his illness setting upon him again it seemed nigh impossible. All he could think about was the burning in his eyes and lungs, and the way his heart beat irregularly in his chest, and the ache in his bones. When he was able to think clearly, he found himself wondering if he was even fit to rule in this state.

This was, of course, by design - unbeknownst to the king. 

The raven haired man beside him paused for a moment, taking one last look at the lord and lady before leaning over to whisper in the king’s ear: “Let them stay, they have traveled long enough.” His eyes flickered to Aelora, and for a moment her intense eyes held his gaze. Oh yes, this time he certainly saw something stirring within her. Had she been watching him?

He stood, still staring down at Aelora, and gathered his cloak. There was a chill in the air, and it was getting rather late. He could see the shadows growing longer and the sunlight shone a darker golden color. There seemed to be a shift in Aelora’s demeanor; her hands dropped to her sides and she was focused squarely on Gríma, staring at him through half-lidded eyes. For a brief moment, his heart swelled with pride - who was leering now? 

No, he thought to himself, she must be tired. He could feel the disappointment as Aelora dropped her gaze once more, returning to her earlier stance but this time briefly looking at her creator. He shouldn’t be surprised, his own staring probably scared her away like it did everyone else. 

“And how long did you intend on staying?” He inquired, somehow still finding it hard to tear his eyes away from the dragon blood. Viseryon took a step forward, most likely knowing the king’s advisor wasn’t looking at him, and crossed his arm across his torso in a half bow. Gríma knew the narcissistic lord wanted his attention, and for a moment he wondered what would happen if he didn’t give it to him. He hoped the lack of the spotlight would drive the lord mad.

“Only as long as it takes for our carriage to be fixed. From the looks of it, we should be gone by the seventh day.” Viseryon claimed, to which Gríma nodded and looked back to King Théoden.

The king appeared to be half asleep in his throne, and he gazed upon everyone with tired eyes. His advisor silently encouraged him to speak, but he could not find the strength to do so. Each breath took too much from him, the thought of speaking was nauseating. King Théoden solemnly nodded.

“Seven days it is then.” Gríma confirmed. “I’ll have the castle staff prepare rooms for you both.” There was a sudden, almost violent shift in Viseryon’s demeanor. He wondered what it possibly could have been about. 

The lord let out a small sigh and all of the sudden tension in his stance melted away. He took another step forward and bowed properly, only addressing King Théoden and looking right past the raven haired advisor. 

“Thank you, your highness.” The lord’s words fell on deaf ears seeing as the king was too far gone in his pain to hear him, and Gríma’s attention was stolen by Aelora, who coyly curtsied and locked eyes with the advisor once more. 

It had to be some sort of trick - a tactic to distract him and throw him off of their track. No woman would ever willingly look at him like that… he would have to keep tabs on her and see what she was up to. With the king seeming sicker than he ever had been before, he figured that would give him a few days to do as he needed. With one last glance at the duo, with one last look shared between him and the dragon blood, he turned on his heel, his cloak billowing dramatically, and helped escort the king back to his chambers. 

✵✵✵✵✵

Lady Aelora seemed to be a quiet girl, preferring to stay out of everyone’s way and only really spoke when spoken to. She enjoyed sitting alone in the courtyard with her books or embroidery. The day before she found herself amongst the other ladies of the court who seemed surprised by her presence, wearily spouting their introductions before taking over the space. They would gossip amongst themselves while someone gently played the harp in the background. He noticed Aelora subtly tapping her fingers along to the tempo of the music. She seemed to be able to hold her own in conversation with those women rather well, laughing along with them with a sweet laugh that reminded him of a bell. He could tell she was raised amongst the noble men and women of Gondor - she fit right in with the other lords and ladies.

Although, he did wonder if she knew what the others said about her, how they would give her odd looks and keep her at arm’s length when around her, never truly considering her “one of them.” The other women seemed to almost prefer not speaking or looking at her. He knew exactly what that was like, although in recent years it seemed like everyone was much more open with their disdain for him. They called him “wormtongue” to his face now instead of behind his back, often using it as a title or - even worse - in place of his actual name.

The people of Edoras often acted like they would rather die than be near him, not that he minded. Over the years he’d grown accustomed to the strange looks, and the way others would cross to the other side of halls when they’d see him coming. It hardly bothered him anymore. 

He could sympathize with her, though - after all, he knew exactly what she was experiencing. He was sure she was used to it as well, she was a dragon blood, and no amount of odd excuses could hide that fact from the world. She must have lived her entire life this way, never truly being able to be close with anyone other than her creator. 

What a miserable life that must be, he thought, stuck with Viseryon as your only friend and companion. Really it was no wonder Aelora seemed so at peace when by herself. 

Gríma also noticed that she would go about her day without interacting with Viseryon. He would have expected her creator to lurk around her, or at least the other way around, but it seemed she spent her days unbothered by what the bratty lord may be doing. She was alone, but she seemed to thrive in her loneliness. He assumed being alone was better than the other option, better than the whispers and the hurt - being treated as the ‘other.’ It was no wonder she enjoyed the silence, the peace that came with being alone. He wondered how she dealt with the empty feeling that came with being alone. Perhaps it was because she was always occupying her mind, but he would never know for sure. 

She hardly seemed concerned with the state of their carriage, only going once the day before to check on the progress with Viseryon before returning to her usual mundane tasks, which was slightly concerning to her raven haired admirer. It made him wonder if she was restless at all - it made him wonder if she had other business in Edoras that she hadn’t attended to yet. 

He found it hard to keep convincing himself she was up to something, and he worried for a moment that perhaps Aelora was a red herring - a pretty distraction for him to chase around and get lost in his thoughts over. He dismissed that idea almost entirely, determining that Lord Viseryon wasn’t smart enough to think of that, and from what he knew, the obnoxious lord was too busy terrorizing others to get even remotely close to the ill king. 

It had been three days since she arrived in Edoras, and she had yet to do anything worth noting so far. She seemed to have a routine that she followed closely; each day he would find her near the feast hall in the morning, where she would take a single green apple and stand silently beside Viseryon while he rambled on, before excusing herself and heading to her room. From there she would retrieve whatever activities she would use to keep herself busy for the day and head to the courtyard, and there she would stay until the sun would begin to set.

Yet that day, she seemingly broke her routine. When he followed her from her room that morning and she took a completely different turn than she usually did it completely threw him off. She walked right past the courtyard and out the front doors. Clutched in her hand was a leather bound book and a quill. She made her way down the steps and towards a small clearing just behind Meduseld. 

She stood out amongst the sea of green, in her black and red gown with her silver hair. She shone like a beacon, and it was hard to miss her. She waded through the tall grass to a large, bare tree that had lost all of its leaves to the chill. It was old and twisted, and its bark had turned pale in the sun. The tree must have been dead, but that didn’t stop Aelora from sitting at its base. He watched her closely from the shadow of the hall on the hill, hoping she wouldn’t notice him. For a while all he could see of her was the top of her head, with the breeze revealing more of her every so often. She wrote for hours, only stopping for a moment when a court musician stopped and chatted with her. He could have sworn she glanced his way a few times during this conversation, and for some reason it made him feel uneasy. She was polite and even laughed at a few of his jokes, before he went on his way, and she went back to her leather bound book which she wrote so furiously in. That was another sign that she had been raised like any other high born lady, she could read and write.  

“I don’t bite, you know.” She called out, and for a moment he was taken aback by the sound of her voice. He hadn’t heard her speak before. She had a regal voice that somehow reminded him of the sweetest song he’d ever heard. Surely she wasn’t talking to him. Her red eyes settled on his shadowy form, and she simply stared. “I’ve seen you every so often, I wasn’t sure if you were afraid of me, but I can assure you it won’t hurt to come sit with me for a while. I understand the curiosity… or do you prefer to lurk in the shadows?” She spoke with a jovial tone but he could tell there was more to her words. 

Gríma stepped out of the shadows of the hall and into the sunlight. She didn’t gasp at his harsh appearance in the light, not like the others would. She didn’t speak either, though, and he wasn’t entirely sure if that was a good or bad sign. He knew she had seen him before, but there was still a nagging insecurity deep down that she would treat him like everyone else did. He couldn’t have that happen when he needed to keep an eye on her. He inched nearer, the fallen leaves crunching beneath his boots. 

“You’re a dragon blood.” He stated, still standing over her, trying to find a way to continue a conversation. She smiled wolfishly.

“How could you tell?” Aelora had a wicked playfulness to her that seemed to put Gríma at ease. 

“Who’s your kin?” That question seemed to catch her off guard. She placed her quill in her book and closed it, placing it on the ground and standing. She was shorter than him by a few inches. 

“Ancalagon the Black.” Impressive, he thought, very impressive. He wondered where Viseryon even managed to get one of Ancalagon’s scales. 

“Really? I wonder what you inherited from him, certainly not your stature.” His tone wasn’t nearly as distinctively playful as hers, in fact, he spoke in his usual monotone. He worried for a moment that she might take his words the wrong way. The dragon blooded girl feigned being hurt, bringing a hand to her chest where he could see her blackened fingertips and nails. “Your hair is almost white…” He trailed off, bringing his hand up to touch it before stopping himself. He watched as her eyes flickered between his hand and his face.

“You seem knowledgeable, you should know my hair color is courtesy of my creator, Viseryon.” She stopped and gently grabbed his hand. Her touch was soft and took him off guard, he was so used to women - mostly one woman - recoiling from his touch. She brought his hand closer to the side of her head. “You can touch it if you’d like.” His eyes met hers and he was ashamed to say he felt something. It was a feeling he only had when he was around…

Her silver curls were softer than he’d thought they’d be, especially after seeing her that first day. His hand traced down the side of her head, gently pulling a tuft of hair forward with it, where he laid it over her shoulder. He found it hard to look her in the eye again, but he knew she was staring at him intensely. 

“I know you know who I am, but you have yet to give me your name, king’s advisor.” She breathed. His eyes flickered to meet hers again before looking away. He focused on the tree. 

“I am Gríma, son of Gálmód.” He finally introduced, bringing a smile to the dragon blooded woman’s face.

“It’s nice to have a name for my admirer.” She remarked, and silence fell upon them again. They both waited on baited breath, wondering what the other would do, both hoping the other would take the chance… It was Gríma who broke the silence.

“Does it get lonely?” She tilted her head at his question.”Being a dragon blooded, I mean. I see how others treat you.” She smiled, turning around to collect her book, before answering. When she faced him again, he saw something else in her eyes. She placed her hand on his chest, and in it was a piece of paper from her book. He paused for a moment, still unsure if she was comfortable with him touching her. His hand had barely ghosted hers when she pulled away, leaving the page from her book in his waiting hand instead. 

“Of course not.” She began, trying her best to keep the conversation light. She brushed past him. “All I need is my creator.” There was a coldness in her voice, that loathing he saw when he first met her. 

When he turned around she was gone.

✵✵✵✵✵

It was dark when Viseryon stormed down the halls of Meduseld. He often strut about the hall, acting as if he were king, much to the dismay of the staff. He always seemed to be worse at night, constantly mistreating the staff who would attempt to hand him new sheets or candles. He was an impatient, almost spoiled man, who felt the need to lash out at the world for whatever reason. He was rude, and thought highly of himself. Many attempted to avoid Lord Viseryon when they could, and those who did interact with him often wished they hadn’t. 

The lord only had one thing on his mind, and it was that he couldn’t sleep. He mentally cursed the weaselly advisor for having the staff set up two separate rooms for Aelora and himself - the longer he was away from his dragon blooded companion the more he had convinced himself that Gríma had done it purposefully. Viseryon knew he needed to be rested for what was to come.

The halls were cold at night, and dark, with sparse torches lighting the way due to the straw roof. The stone steps were like icy daggers in his feet, but that would hardly stop him from getting what he wanted. As far as he knew, Aelora’s room was closest to that advisor’s. He wondered if she knew that when she spoke with him in the garden earlier that day, when she let him touch her hair. He wondered how long this had been going on - how long Gríma had been vying for his creation. 

The mere thought of someone stealing something that was his made his blood boil. 

He stopped at her door, taking a deep breath to try and compose himself before knocking. His knocks were gentle, unsure if Aelora was already asleep at this late hour. 

“Aelora?” His voice was soft. He felt as if he was going crazy being without her. Ever since they arrived in Edoras she had been withdrawn. She hardly spoke to him when she was around him during the day, and now she sleeps by herself. In that moment he convinced himself she was cold and alone. 

There was no answer. 

He knocked again, this time harder. 

“Aelora? Please, I need to be with you.” Again, he was met with silence. He banged his fist once against the door and shouted out. “Aelora!”

✵✵✵✵✵

His lips were heavy upon hers and his hands wandered around her body - feeling every inch as if to commit every curve to memory. Every now and then he would grip her hips and pull her closer to him, grinding his hardening cock against her, making her ache with need as she never had before. Her hands were tangled in his raven locks, tugging every now and then as a soft moan escaped her lips. 

Her back was pressed against the wooden wall beside her bedroom door; only a measly few inches of oak shielded them from the watchful eye of the outside. No one would hear how she panted his name, nor would they see how his boney hand clung to her clothed pale breast. His body caged her in, pinning her in place as his shaking, slender fingers trailed to the lacing on her bodice. Slowly, almost in an unsure manner, he pulled the lace to undo the knot at the top of her dress. His hands felt frigid against her fiery skin, keeping her grounded in the moment when her head was buzzing.

She’d never done anything like this before.

The excitement of it all, the way it felt forbidden - oh it was too delicious. 

When he had read the note Aelora had graciously written him during her time clearing before they spoke he was sure she was playing a joke on him. It was a relatively short note, laced with her usual sarcastic banter, but it was enough to frighten him and excite him at the same time. 

To my admirer, 

Meet me in my room after dark, I know your room is beside mine. 

When the sun finally set and he was done with his duties for the day he rushed to his quarters, worrying for a moment what might happen. Their encounter in the garden left him thinking of her for the rest of the day, wondering why she felt so comfortable around him, wondering why she wasn’t repulsed. Her touch was burned into his skin. 

Gríma’s lips left hers for a moment and she found herself desperately chasing him, wanting more, before he settled in the crook of her neck. He quickly pulled her dress’s bodice aside, exposing her breasts to the cool night air. He couldn’t help but run his hands up the length of her torso, squeezing her soft flesh as he bit down on her shoulder, eliciting a sigh from her - it was the sweetest sound he had heard by far. 

He hardly knew her, and yet he felt as if he could love her. 

He felt her body grow rigid at the sound of a knock at the door. His eyes met hers and he saw actual fear in them. They had nothing to fear, at least, that’s what he believed. In a moment of greed and pride, he continued to ravage her neck, pulling her close again. Let them hear, he thought to himself. 

He paused at the feeling of her hands gently pushing him away. 

“Gríma… Gríma, stop for just a moment.” She commanded in a hushed tone, and he obeyed, watching her with curious eyes. She didn’t attempt to cover up, and she still held him close despite pushing him away.

“Aelora?” Gríma couldn’t help but drop his head in frustration. It was Lord Viseryon, of course. Who else would dare bother Lady Aelora so late into the night?

Well, besides himself, of course. 

Aelora held Gríma’s gaze for a moment, and he could tell she was trying to think of what to do. Another knock resonated through her room, this time louder. She pressed her lips into a thin line, and he could tell she dealt with him doing things like this often. Her hands began to slip from his shoulders, causing him to panic slightly.

No, no they couldn’t be done. He couldn’t just leave her like this.

Perhaps it was selfish of him to want to continue. He gently took her hands in his.

“Aelora? Please, I need to be with you.” Viseryon whined. The way he phrased that made a wave of unease come over Gríma. He hated to think of what the lord could possibly mean by that, surely it wasn’t the same as what they were just doing. He hoped it wasn’t. 

Aelora’s hand slipped from his and she brought a finger to her lips, telling him to stay quiet. Viseryon hit the door this time, causing her to jump. He called out her name one last time, and Gríma saw her expression change from one of fright to that same icy expression she wore the day she arrived. He saw the loathing in her eyes. He was relieved to know it wasn’t directed at him after all. 

“Not tonight, Viseryon.” She stated sweetly.

“Aelora, my dear, it’s been two nights. I haven’t been able to sleep without you.” Gríma furrowed his brow in confusion. She continued to stare at him.

“Please? I would like to spend another night alone.” She answered, practically begging to have her own personal space. 

“You know you’re all I have.” Not for long, both Gríma and Aelora thought, unbeknownst to the other. “Just let me have this one night, then you can have the rest of our stay here alone, I promise.” She rolled her eyes, knowing every word from his mouth was a lie.

“Please go. I would like to sleep.” She finally said, this time much more sternly. There was a moment of silence, and he reveled in that silence. He watched how her expression changed as she returned to their moment - their moment of intimacy. He felt the urge to touch her again, bringing his hand up to her face. She leaned into his touch, closing her eyes and letting out a shaky breath. He wanted her more than ever. 

He leaned close again, hoping she would reciprocate, and as she leaned in too…

Viseryon banged on the door once more, letting out a growl of frustration before storming off. They could hear him grumbling obscenities as he marched away, and she knew she was in for some sort of punishment the next day. 

Gríma stared at her, unsure of what to do next. Much to his dismay, Aelora gathered her bodice, pulling the garment back over her arms and lacing it back up. She was done for the night. She looked back up at him, and for a moment he wondered if she could see the hurt in his eyes. As if to reassure him this wasn’t rejection, she leaned up and gently pressed her lips to his. 

The kiss was short and sweet, but it was enough to set him at ease. When she looked at him again she had tears in her eyes.

“I want Viseryon dead.”