#marchwarden of lorien

[craigmania]

“I don’t think I suit blonde, but the wigs were these spectacular things which were $15,000 worth of human hair. I was always aware that if I fell over and damaged the wig, it cost a lot more than I did. 😬" - Craig about Haldir's wig. [X]

[earthlybeam]

Requested by @grand-admiral-ano

how would the elves react to this?

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Gil-galad, haldir Versions are below.

👑𝓖𝓲𝓵-𝓰𝓪𝓵𝓪𝓭

🜲 Trapped in a Burning Building in Lindon While defending Lindon against an invasion, Gil-galad is trapped in a building that catches fire after an enemy attack. He’s knocked unconscious by falling debris, and the fire spreads quickly. The reader risks their own life, rushing through the smoke-filled building and dragging him out of the flames just as the walls begin to collapse.

🜲 The air was thick with the acrid scent of smoke, swirling around you in suffocating tendrils. The once grand halls of Lindon, now under siege, were quickly becoming a hellish inferno. The sound of battle echoed through the streets, but here, inside the burning structure, it was a different kind of chaos. The roar of flames filled the air, licking at the wooden beams above and sending splinters of burning debris raining down. The heat was unbearable, searing the very stones beneath your feet, and the choking smoke blurred your vision. Gil-galad, ever the leader, had been at the forefront of the defense, his sword in hand, his face a mask of determination. His presence had been a beacon to his people, his calm authority inspiring strength in the midst of chaos. But even he was not immune to the fury of the enemy’s onslaught.

🜲 Amidst the chaos, a blast had rocked the building, shaking the very foundation. A mass of timber and stone had fallen from above, striking Gil-galad across the back and sending him sprawling to the floor with a sharp, painful crack. His body had crumpled under the weight, his breath knocked from his lungs in a heavy gasp. The sound of the collapse had reverberated in your ears, and when you rushed toward him, you saw the High King sprawled motionless beneath the debris.The fire, fueled by the invaders’ attacks, quickly spread, and it was clear that there was no time to waste. The air grew hotter, the smoke thicker, and the danger more immediate with each passing moment. His normally stoic face was hidden beneath layers of dust, and his form lay still—too still. You didn’t hesitate. You couldn’t. Every moment you spent contemplating the situation was one that could have been too long. The weight of the rubble didn’t matter. With sheer force, you wrenched the stones from his body, your hands burning from the heat as you pulled him toward you. His head lolled to the side, the blood from a cut on his temple staining the ground beneath him. His breathing was shallow, and there was a faint pulse beneath your fingertips—but he was unconscious.

🜲 The building groaned ominously as another burst of flame tore through the walls, and you knew that time was running out. The floor beneath you creaked in protest, the walls threatening to collapse in on themselves at any moment. Every instinct told you to leave—to save yourself, but you couldn’t. Not when Gil-galad, the King of the Noldor, lay helpless before you, his life in your hands. With effort, you dragged him across the smoke-choked room, your heart pounding in your chest as the flames licked at your heels. The roar of the fire was deafening, and every second felt like an eternity as you carried him toward the exit, the weight of his body making it harder to move with each step. The hall, once filled with the soft murmur of Elven voices, now only held the sound of destruction—the crackling fire, the rumble of collapsing stones, the fierce wind of a building in its death throes.

🜲 When you finally reached the doorway, the wood above you cracked, splintering as if it were alive and eager to consume you both. You stumbled, nearly losing your footing as a piece of the burning ceiling came crashing down behind you. With a final burst of strength, you pulled Gil-galad into the open air, out of the fire’s reach, and collapsed with him onto the grass beyond the building. You lay there for a moment, gasping for breath, your lungs burning as you fought to clear the smoke from your throat. Gil-galad, though unconscious, had been saved. His chest rose and fell, weakly but steadily. He was alive. As you caught your breath, the High King slowly stirred, his eyes fluttering open, the smoke and debris still clouding his vision. He blinked, disoriented, as the full weight of the situation began to register. The fire raged behind you, but here, in the cool air, the world seemed to slow down for just a moment.

🜲 Gil-galad, though weak and disoriented, tried to push himself up, his body protesting the movement. His once-pristine armor was singed and scarred, the elegant golden cloak now frayed and scorched. His normally impeccable appearance was marred by soot and blood, and the usually composed expression on his face faltered as he took in the destruction around him. His breath was shallow, and he winced in pain, but when his eyes met yours, there was something different in them—a raw, vulnerable gratitude. “You… saved me,” he murmured hoarsely, his voice barely audible over the lingering crackle of the fire. His gaze, though weak, held yours with a steady intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. There was no pride in his words, no authority—only quiet, humble acknowledgment. His fingers twitched slightly, as if he wanted to reach for you, but he lacked the strength to do so. Instead, he offered a small, respectful nod—barely perceptible, but it spoke volumes.

🜲 In that moment, the High King of the Noldor, the legendary ruler who had seen centuries pass, who had led armies and fought countless battles, looked at you with something that could almost be called… awe. It wasn’t just the gratitude of a king to his subject—it was the recognition of a fellow soul who had risked everything for him, a moment of vulnerability that even Gil-galad could not hide. His chest heaved with another labored breath, but despite the shock of the close call, his usual composure began to return. He would not let the fire have the satisfaction of claiming him. Not when there were still battles to be won, still people to protect. And yet, for the briefest moment, he was simply Gil-galad—alive, fragile, and deeply indebted to the one who had saved him.

🏹𝓗𝓪𝓵𝓭𝓲𝓻

➳ Tackled to Safety During a Storm While patrolling Lothlórien during a violent storm, Haldir narrowly avoids being crushed by a falling tree when the reader/you tackles him to the ground just in time. The two land in an awkward, close position, leaving Haldir uncharacteristically flustered.

➳ The storm raged through the woods, the wind howling like a feral beast as rain lashed the canopy above. Haldir moved with silent precision through the underbrush, his sharp eyes scanning the darkened landscape for any signs of disturbance. The weather had grown increasingly violent, but his duty as Marchwarden left no room for retreat. Even in the worst of conditions, the borders of Lothlórien had to be protected. Lightning lit up the forest in blinding flashes, momentarily painting the world in stark white before plunging it back into shadow. Haldir’s silver hair clung to his face, the relentless rain plastering it to his skin. His usual elegance was somewhat diminished by the storm, his cloak soaked through, boots caked in mud, yet his posture remained firm, his focus unbroken. The storm did not intimidate him—it was but another obstacle to overcome.

➳ Suddenly, a deafening crack split the air, so loud it seemed to vibrate through the earth itself. Haldir’s head snapped to the side, his sharp elven hearing pinpointing the source of the sound. A towering tree not far from where he stood had been struck by lightning, its mighty trunk splintering under the force. Time seemed to slow as he watched the massive tree begin to fall, its thick branches clawing through the air, the weight of it careening directly toward him. For a fraction of a second, he froze. Not out of fear, but because the situation was so sudden, so precise, that even his elven reflexes couldn’t save him in time. He prepared to dive, but before he could move, something collided with him from the side—a force strong enough to knock the air from his lungs. He hit the ground hard, water splashing around him as he was tackled into the wet, mossy earth. The crash of the tree landing mere inches from where he had stood was deafening, the impact sending shockwaves through the ground. The storm howled around them, but all Haldir could focus on was the weight pressed against him, the warmth of another body shielding him from the cold, rain-soaked earth.

➳ He blinked, his vision adjusting to the dim light, only to find himself nose-to-nose with the one who had saved him. You. For a moment, neither of you moved, the world around you drowned out by the pounding of rain and the hammering of your hearts. Your face hovered just above his, your breath mingling with his in the narrow space between you. Haldir’s silver-blue eyes, normally so composed and unreadable, were wide with surprise. His lips parted slightly, as if to speak, but no words came. You were drenched, rain dripping from your hair onto his face, and you suddenly realized the compromising position you were in. You were lying directly on top of him, your hands braced against his chest, the soaked fabric of his tunic clinging to the hard muscles beneath. His expression was utterly unguarded, caught somewhere between disbelief and astonishment.

➳ Finally, he spoke, his voice low and tinged with faint amusement. “You… tackled me.” You blinked, struggling to catch your breath. “I saved your life!” you countered, trying to shift your weight off him. However, the rain-slicked ground betrayed you, and you slipped, your hands sliding awkwardly, leaving you pressed even closer against him. Haldir exhaled sharply, the barest hint of a blush rising to his cheeks—though it could have been attributed to the cold or the exertion of the moment. His tone was wry, but the faint crack in his usually calm demeanor betrayed him. “And nearly crushed me in the process.” You pushed yourself up again, this time managing to regain your footing, and extended a hand to help him up. He hesitated for the briefest moment before accepting, his strong fingers gripping yours as you pulled him to his feet. The two of you stood there, drenched and panting, the storm raging around you.

➳ Haldir brushed himself off with as much dignity as he could muster, though the faint blush on his face remained. He ran a hand through his wet hair, smoothing it back as he regarded you with a mixture of exasperation and reluctant gratitude. “I suppose I owe you thanks,” he admitted, his voice steady now, though his eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary. “Next time, however, a simple warning will suffice.” You opened your mouth to retort, but his words carried a faint warmth that wasn’t lost on you. His usual air of detachment had cracked, just slightly, revealing something softer beneath. As he turned back toward the fallen tree, the corners of his lips twitched into the faintest ghost of a smile—a rare expression that made your heart skip a beat. “Though,” he added, glancing back at you with a smirk that sent a spark through your chest, “your form was… effective.”

➳ Despite the storm, despite the near-death experience, you couldn’t help but smile. Haldir’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, as though he were memorizing the details of your drenched and disheveled appearance, before he turned back to the task at hand. But even as the two of you moved to navigate the storm-drenched forest, you couldn’t shake the memory of the way he had looked at you—unguarded, surprised, and, perhaps, just a little bit enchanted.

[the-lady-auri]

Finished commission for a regular of their new LOTR elf, Nínel, a Marchwarden of Lothlorien. Finally figuring out this lined mixed with painted style properly I think.

[craig-parker-cravings]

[whitegoldtower]

I think one of my favourite things about Haldir is that looking at all the other elves, they’re kiki. Looking at him? He’s a bouba elf.

The other elves are all super skinty with sharp features n shit, and even though I love that too…

When Haldir rocks up with his soft features, a little extra cushioning and the possibility of there being a bit of a tummy and some thick thighs under that armour?

I am a feral creature, crawling through the tv screen to get to Lothlórien. I want him to fold me and not stop until I’m pretzel shaped. I am a man unhinged and I need the thicc elf sat on my face tyvm.

[the-elvenprince]

🤣🤣🤣🤣

[fantasies-fairytales-n-fics]

Holy Haldir! 😍

[cclumsyart]

Haldir of Lórien

[elentarial]

For the first sentence game. Sweet preferred, please. If you don't mind visiting this character, that is. :)

"Celebrían watched snowflakes drift from the darkening sky like falling stars and smiled, then frowned; they still were not home and it was growing cold."

She had the utmost faith in her father’s marchwardens; Haldir and his brother Orophin were competent and brave. They would lead their small party safely through the mountain passes and back to Lorien. Still, she felt something was not as tranquil as the gently falling snow suggested, and her mind wandered back to the warmth of the Hall of Fire. Oh, how she longed to be back there, basking in the warmth of the stone pit, blue and silver flames dancing. Celebrían was so consumed in dredging up memories that she failed to notice the approaching rider and nearly flopped inelegantly off her mare when a gloved hand reached out. 

“You left this in Imladris. I thought to return it to you before you crossed the mountains again.”

[earthlybeam]

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

Thank you so much!

how would the elves react to this?

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

📜 𝓔𝓵𝓻𝓸𝓷𝓭

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

🏹𝓗𝓪𝓵𝓭𝓲𝓻

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

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

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

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

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

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

🍷𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓾𝓲𝓵

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[wareagleofthemountain]

Long Story…

Summary: Orophin and Caladwen have a little adventure.

Caladwen leapt from tree branch to tree branch, sharp green eyes fixed on the ellon beneath her who was currently plodding along the muddy path pulling a cart behind him. The chilly air nipped at her fingers and the earth was left dampened by the recent rainfall. The rivers of Lorien were at their most productive, flowing fast and running deep. It had been Orophin’s idea to set off towards the creek bed and try to pan for gold as all the recent activity would have no doubt stirred up the sediment which lay below the water.

“Could use a little help here.” Her brother in law grumbled, the wheels of the cart having gotten caught in the mud for what must have been the fiftieth time that day.

Caladwen grinned, swinging upside down on a Mallorn limb by her ankles. “What’s wrong? The big, strong Marchwarden Orophin having a hard time?”

“I’ll show you a hard time, you elfling!” He smirked, muttering a hushed command to the tree she was hanging from, a vine promptly slithering out to fling her off.

“Oof!” She sat up from the bush she’d landed in, scowling at the smug face staring back at her. “Real mature.”

“You had it coming.” His eyes sparkled with mirth and he extended a hand to help her up. “Alright, let’s get the shovels. Again.”

Caladwen chuckled. “I love how you bought these with the intention of digging up rocks in the creek, but all we’ve done with them so far is excavate our cart from the mud.” She reached out and retrieved the two items in question, both Warden-grade shovels struggling not to bend under the thickness of the mud and already caked in grime.

“I’m just glad Rumil reminded me to grab them when I was headed out the door this morning. Nearly forgot.” Orophin panted, chucking away his third scoop of debris into the tree line.

“Eru forbid ‘tis one of us who should get caught in this stuff. It’s like quicksand.” It was now Caladwen’s turn to take up pulling the cart loaded with mining supplies, the elleth noticing the fatigue in Orophin’s arms.

“If the bounty in that river is half as plentiful as the dwarves say, the mud will be worth it.” Orophin was known to frequent bars run by dwarves, as he claimed they lead to more interesting stories to tell at the end of the night. Though his brothers certainly stopped finding this habit of his amusing after the time Orophin had come scrambling home in the early hours of the morning, hurrying to lock the door and constantly looking over his shoulder. As it turns out, the young fool had been so caught up in his cups that he’d spent all of his gambling money at the bar. And dwarves, especially the very greedy miner Orophin had played cards with that night, do not take kindly to not receiving their winnings. The dwarf spent two hours banging on their Tallen door and shouting curses at the ellon inside about what he was going to do if Orophin didn’t pay up. Haldir ended up having to foot the bill that night, and in turn Orophin earned a very long lecture about responsibility the next day as well as being put on paperwork filing duty for the following week to teach him a lesson.

But did that experience deter the willful ellon from returning to such establishments? Of course not!

“Haldir thinks we’re mad carrying on out here in the cold like this.” Caladwen’s heart clenched, already missing her husband. She thought back to Haldir’s soft blue eyes gazing up at her as he knelt to tie her boots this morning, draping his rainproof cloak over her shoulders as she walked out of the door. Even now she could feel his warm breath ghosting over her pointed ear, and hear his voice making her promise to stay safe in its usual gruffness. It made her long to be in his embrace once more, Caladwen focusing her attention on her fea to connect with the ever present reassurance of their soul bond. It was like having her skin kissed by the thin reys of the sun on a warm summer day; not overpowering, but just enough to feel its comforting presence.

“I’m sure he’ll warm up to the idea when we bring home the gold!” Orophin puffed his chest out confidently, and Caladwen could see that he had no intention of leaving the creek without his treasure.

Both elves stopped and turned to each other when they saw the steep slope that lay before them, terrain dotted with boulders and trees. It was the only way to get down to the water they realized with a shared sigh. Now, had it only been the two of them, this hike would have been no trouble. But unfortunately, there was no way they could make it down while pulling the cart.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Orophin gave her a sly wink.

“No. Come on. No! Orophin!” Caladwen was now seated in the cart, Orophin standing behind it with his feet ready to give him a running start.

“It’ll be fine.” He assured her.

“Famous last words!” The elleth protested. “How are we even going to get it back up here when we’re done?”

“Meh, that’s our future selves’ problem.” Was the last phrase Caladwen heard before her world became a blur of colors zipping by as they rolled down the cliff, Orophin having pushed off and now sitting behind her. “Lean left!” He commanded between gritted teeth, struggling to throw his weight around enough to guide the direction of the cart.

“Look out!” Caladwen’s eyes went wide, seeing a huge tree only a few feet in front of them. “Need a plan here pilot!” Her voice was panicked, but also agitated by his lack of response.

They held their breaths and leaned in the opposite direction, just barely grazing the tree. Orophin was the first to burst out laughing when the shock wore off, Caladwen joining in with shaken hands.

“Woooo! Take that! We rule this mountain!” Orophin threw his head back, howling their victory.

“Uh… Orophin?” Caladwen’s shaking again.

“Oh no…” His eyes fall on the ledge in their path, approaching too fast to react. “Brace for impact!”

Instinctively, Orophin moved to cover Caladwen’s body with his own, wrapping around her to break her fall as the two were ejected from the cart. The wood splintered as it hit the ground below.

Orophin landed on his feet, carefully lowering her to the soil. “You okay Cali?”

“Yeah, I think so…” She panted.

“Haha! See? Told you we’d make it.” He patted her shoulder as he walked off to scavenge for their mining supplies which were now strewn about all over the bank. Eventually, everything was retrieved, and the wide array of tools Orophin managed to procure for their trip was truly impressive; old kitchen pans with holes poked into the bottom of them to act as sifters, a pick to scrape mud and moss off of potentially valuable rocks, and the aforementioned shovels. Lastly, each elf brought a pack filled with food, fresh water, and plenty of space to take home any treasures they might find. They eagerly leapt into the cold water, standing about waist deep as they began digging for handfuls of rock to sift through.

Caladwen stifled her laughter as Orophin nearly face planted trying to walk in the stream, his boots so close to getting sucked off of his feet by the mud. “You good?”

He immediately picked up on the sarcasm in her tone, gathering a clump of slimy moss from the end of his shovel and holding it in front of his face with a wrinkled nose. “Ewww… think fast!”

The elleth yelped as it landed in her already messed hair, overbalancing and landing in the stream. Sputtering, she scrambled to her feet.

“You look like the creature from the Black Lagoon.” Orophin chuckled.

“Who eats troublesome lads like you!” She couldn’t help but splash him to even the score.

Not having any luck in their current position, Caladwen decided to branch off and sift in a shallower section of the creak by the bank, perching atop a rock outcropping. Her eyes lit up when they caught sight of something interesting in the bottom of her pan.

“What is it?” Orophin’s ears pirked up.

“Not gold, but look at this beautiful wild clay!” She exclaimed, holding the chunk of clay, a marbled combination of orange and purple, up to him. “This would be perfect for making jewelry beads!” She set about collecting as much as she could, even happening upon a few patches of yellow clay, and wrapping the material in damp cloth before placing it in her bag. Orophin, for his part, was not able to locate any gold but collected a few unique small fossils embedded in rocks.

He was the first to notice the darkening skies, having learned through all his years as a warden that it would be unwise to travel given how intense the rainstorms have been in case of mudslides. “Let’s tuck in for the evening. I saw a cave about half a mile upstream.”

XXX

Caladwen and Orophin were eager to put their supplies down once they reached the mouth of the cave. The cart had been broken in the crash, leaving them to carry their tools along with the heavy packs. Caladwen built a fire and they left their cloaks and boots to dry by it, nibbling on lembas and relaxing in a soft patch of moss by the warmth.

“I’m bored.” Orophin groaned, apparently unable to withstand the lack of activity in the last five minutes.

“Hmm…” Caladwen tapped her chin thoughtfully, eyes wandering over the stalactites on the roof of the cave. “Want to play a game?”

“I’m listening.” He rolled over to face her.

She picked up two sticks from the surrounding area, dipping them into the charcoal and water mixture that had collected in puddles in the darker regions of the cave, creating a quill of sorts. “It’s called three line. You draw three arbitrary lines and the other person has to create a picture out of them.” She demonstrated by scribbling three lines on the cave wall, Orophin quick to follow. They switched places and proceeded to begin to craft an image using the abstract lines they were given.

“There. A masterpiece!” Orophin said ostentatiously as he unveiled his work.

Caladwen squinted. “What is it?”

He swats her playfully, his face a mask of mock offense. “A slice of cake!” As if it was obvious.

“Did it get run over by a horse?” She quipped.

He laughed. “Don’t blame me, they were your lines.” He leans over, looking at her drawing. “A sun?”

“You got it!”

Their night was filled with laughter, paining the walls with round after round of three line until they drifted off to sleep.

XXX

They must have been quite the sight, coming over the hill caked in mud and carrying supplies that were even dirtier.

“What… happened to you two?” Was all Haldir could muster as he leapt down from his watch tower to meet them.

“Long story…”

[sanisse]

Um hi hello you asked about one of my blorbos?? You get a couple babies because we might as well talk about the Lorien boys together.

(Gods, I’m so sorry I didn’t realize how long this was. )

I’m also now realizing that despite me also having a side lotr blog, I haven’t posted about this. ANYWAY.

In addition to previously mentioned:

-Haldir, as previously discussed, is fairly vanilla when it comes to sex. Maybe more neutral or just not into dynamics is what I’d call it? Like he’s unlikely to Be a Dom, but he can be dominant in the bedroom. I also don’t see him as very verbose in general (unless he’s being a snarky bitch which is why I love him) and this translates to the bedroom. Lots of raised eyebrows or gentle flicks if you’re being a tease; pressing your hands into the mattress to show you that’s where he wants you; etc. He’s very show and action through indication rather than telling or ordering you around. You know what it means. If you don’t, you’ll find out because he will pick you up and rearrange you for him. Then you’ll get one of his very few verbal good girl/boy/etc. Homies a Marchwarden, he more than has the strength. Alternatively, he’ll kiss you until you’re breathless and whimpering and arching against him and then he’ll move you where need be.

-He checks in with you a lot, mostly by pressing kisses to places or running a hand over you to give you a minute then asking “good?”. He’s very considerate and careful with you at all times. He doesn’t leave bruises (unless you ask but he hates seeing you injured). Even his hickies tend to be fairly light unless he’s leaving the next day for patrol. Which is good considering how many he gives you. He’s a kisser and a biter. Also, again, this man is Marchwarden. There’s no place safer in the realm than with his arms tight around you, whether that’s in a hug or holding you up while he takes you against the wall.

-Really into kissing and nuzzling and soft caresses and keeping a gently hand on you to guide you. He’s so overwhelmingly sweet that it will bring tears to your eyes. More than once. Not to say that he’s not rough, though. He’s just better at taking roughness than doling it out. He’ll spank you if you ask but if you spank him, he’s to come before it’s over.

-Haldir’s not not experienced sexually but a lot of it is mutual masturbation and him getting fucked while out on patrol.

-If we’re talking dynamics, I actually hc him as more submissive. He’s very worshipful of his partners and will spend hours giving oral and kissing their bodies. He loves holding others and being held. Very soft boi in emotion and sexually. But he also loves being the bottom of a prone bone and just being lovingly railed. (And vice versa; the man’s arms) He loves getting praised and it will make him melt into you and cling to you. Very shy when he’s submissive. He’s got quiet, open-mouthed gasps and pants, but he’ll scream when he comes if it’s good. His voice is so much higher when he’s like this. Especially if you tell him how good he his while you’re holding him to you and you let him come inside you. Doesn’t have a big sub-drop. Coming kind of just takes him out of it and then he’ll get flustered when you take care of him.

-I can not emphasize enough how much of a sweet man he is. Prickly on the outside, teddy bear on the inside.

-I’ve seen a lot of people hc that he’s a jealous type and I don’t agree. With him being gone so often on patrol, any relationship he engages in requires a lot of mutual understanding and trust and he will not enter into a relationship without one. What I do see him as is incredibly protective and a worrier. Esp if his SO has an illness or disability. He makes sure they have an adequate support network and will lock them away when he gets home for a day or two if he can get away with it for lots of soft sex and kissing. But you have had more than one fight about his over protectiveness because it tends to be controlling. When he cools off and he admits he’s wrong, best fucking sex. Everything is does is to please you and push over the edge again and again. Very good at overstimulating his partner and less enjoys orgasm denial. (Unless it’s him, he loves being overstimulated and denied; either is fine.)

-I also read in a fic somewhere (and I’m sure this is hc), that masculine elves cook rather than feminine and I see Haldir as such a good cook and baker. If he knows he’s leaving ahead of time, he’ll make a ton of his SOs favorites and leave them for her. He’s no talk, all action.

-Now, now if you want a Hard Dom (the whole nine yards I’m talking spankings, whippings, power play, restraints, long complicated scenes etc), you go to Rúmil. This ellon is In Charge and does not submit. (He’s tried because he believes in knowing what his partner is experiencing so he can make adjustments and act accordingly but he did not have a good time. Just emotionally and mentally it really fucked with him.) He, like Haldir, is a very attentive and caring partner, but you know. With whips 😂 He’s incredibly experienced and regularly takes partners to bed. If there were Lorien and middle earth munches and clubs, he’d be a regular. He’s just very sturdy and will lock his arms around you. Actually very good with subdrop (because again, he makes it a point to be a good dom). Has more experience and leans toward men and enbies, but he’s up for any partner. He’s also more than willing to teach people so they’re safe, sane, and consensual. He’s just a heart of gold hidden behind snarky words and cold glares. All the Lorien boys are like that; it’s called trauma.

-Orophin is my babie. He’s a sex-repulsed asexual who spent a lot of time trying to figure out sex and being confused with it until one of his brothers asked why he was doing something he didn’t like and then he was like OH. Gets railed about once every 300 years if he’s having a really bad day and needs to take his mind off of life, but he regrets it every time because his hand would have been better. Note: I don’t see him as aro so sometimes if there’s like Lothlorien Valentine’s Day, he’ll make sure to get lots of smooches for the soul.

This has been in my inbox forever bc every time I read it steam just comes out my ears. I have nothing productive to add. It’s all so good. I just want you all to look at this 🙏🫠

[craig-parker-cravings]

[bisexualbumblebee-writes]

Fluffuary 2023 Day 13: Secret Relationship- Haldir x OC

Haldirx Sephera

Description: After the fall of Gandalf the Fellowship seeks refuge in Lothlorien, where Sephera is faced with the one she'd been secretly courting.

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: This oc is so new I haven't even put her in my oc guide lmao.

Challenge made by the lovely @darthglitterfanfictionictionnfiction

It felt like Sephera couldn’t breathe. Watching Gandalf fall into the abyss below with a Balrog had almost been too much for her to handle. For a moment all she could do was stare at the place he previously stood in shock. Then she tried to go after him (though she knew it would be in vain), but was stopped by Aragorn, who led her outside as quickly as he could. 

Once outside Aragorn forced the grieving Fellowship to get up and continue on lest they fell victim to swarms of Orcs. They traveled for almost the entire rest of the day until they came upon the treeline of a massive forest. They stepped through the treeline and began trekking through it carefully. Sephera nearly faltered in her steps when she realized where they were. She hadn’t been there too many times, but she knew that they were in the forest of Lothlorien simply based on its beauty alone. She remained close to the Hobbits as Gimli began speaking. 

“Stay close young Hobbits,” he instructed, gently holding Frodo’s arm. “They say a great sorceress lives in these woods, an Elf Witch of terrible power. All who look upon her fall under her spell…and are never seen again!” Sephera couldn’t help but roll her eyes at him. Dwarves were so dramatic when it came to Elves. 

“Well, here’s one Dwarf she won’t ensnare so easily!” Gimli continued boastfully. “I have the eyes of a hawk and ears of a fox!” Not even a five seconds after he finished speaking were they suddenly surrounded by armed Elves. In an instant everyone was on the defense. Sephera prepared to pull out her sword out of pure instinct, but was stopped by Aragorn’s hand on her wrist, his other hand being held up in peace. The girl slowly let go of her sword and copied him hesitantly. 

“The Dwarf breathes so loud, we could have shot him in the dark,” a blonde Elf said as he stepped forward, raising an unimpressed brow when Gimli growled. The girl’s breath hitched at the mere sight of the Elf. It was Haldir, Marchwarden of Lothlorien, and the Elf she’d secretly been courting for nearly a year. 

Well, she didn’t know if they could classify it as secret, per se. They’d met almost a year and a half ago when he was on patrol of the surrounding woods. Sephera had accidentally wandered in while on a mission for the Wanita Hutan. He helped her find her way out, and they just kept finding each other until he finally asked her to court him. The problem was that neither of their kingdoms knew about it as they wanted to have some privacy before they announced it. After all, Haldir was one of the leading Elves of Lorien. It was sort of thrilling, knowing that they had each other to themselves, but Sephera had begun to wonder when the time would come where she could show him off as hers. 

She didn’t say anything to him quite yet, though, and she certainly wouldn’t right now. It felt odd to see him here while she had multiple arrows pointed at her and her companions. He seemed to have heard her breath hitch because their eyes met just a second later. Sephera watched as a look of recognition filled his eyes. However, before he could speak further, Aragorn did. 

“Haldir o Lórien, henio, aníron, boe ammen i dulu lîn. Boe ammen veriad lîn (Haldir of Lorien, we come here for help. We need your protection).”

“You bring great evil with you,” he said, looking at Frodo, then he paused. “You can go no further!” Everyone turned to Frodo, but Sephera’s eyes stayed on the Marchwarden as Aragorn quickly pulled Haldir to the side, beginning to speak avidly to him in Elvish. After several minutes it didn’t seem to be working, and Sephera decided it was time to step in, secrets be damned. 

“Aragorn,” she called softly, resting a hand on the Man’s shoulder and causing both him and Haldir to face her. She shot him a look, and he seemed to understand what she wanted because he moved away to stand beside Legolas and Gimli. Once he was far enough Sephera faced Haldir. 

“Haldir, henio, oe ammen veriad lîn. Andelu i ven (Haldir, please, we need your protection. The road is fell),” she said softly. 

“Edest tau rachathren (It is too dangerous),” he responded in the same tone. “Boed hernia han (You must understand that).” 

“I caro, savnen i caro. Ach edest tau am rachathren an men ed ennas than andh misi (I do, believe me I do. But it is more dangerous for us out there than for you in here),” she said desperately. 

“Sephera-”

“Andelu i ven. Henio, aníron, boe ammen i dulu lîn! (The road is very dangerous. Please, understand, we need your support),” she pleaded, taking his hand in hers. “Henio, Haldir (Please, Haldir)!” The Marcharden sighed, seemingly having an internal debate with himself. Finally, he offered her hand a small squeeze before facing the rest of the Fellowship, who perked up when he addressed them. 

“You will follow me,” he instructed, turning to walk away. He kept a grip on Sephera’s hand, and everyone could see it. The thought admittedly made her smile as she walked along beside him. 

Once they reached the city and were on a wide fleet, they were greeted by Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel. Sephera, shamefully, didn’t actually focus much on what was said. Haldir stood just a few feet away from her and all she wanted was to feel his hand in hers once again. It was only when Lady Galadriel’s eyes landed on her that she was pulled from her thoughts. 

“Do not let your hearts be troubled,” she spoke kindly, looking at each member of the Fellowship individually. “Go now and rest, for you are weary with sorrow and much toil. Tonight you will sleep with peace.” 

The Fellowship was led to a pavilion that sat amongst the trees near the fountain. They were allowed to clean up and change into nicer clothes. Sephera ended up in a nice silver and white Elven dress, and when she walked out to the others she was surprised to see Haldir standing with the Fellowship. Once he noticed her, however, he turned to fully face her. Sephera noticed his jaw drop just enough for her to notice in awe, which made her giddy. He quickly got over that however and offered a hand to her. 

“Tolo, padradi nin (Come, walk with me).” It was more of a statement than a question, but she still linked her arm in his and allowed him to lead her away from the others. 

Just faintly she could hear Pippin questioning whether they were together, which somewhat worried Sephera. Hopefully Haldir was ready for others to find out about them or this would be a bit of a problem. They continued walking in silence until they came upon a pavilion, which they stepped under. Only then did Haldir finally turn to her, and Sephera was surprised to see a worried look swimming in his eyes. 

“Are you okay?” He asked softly. The girl knew he was referring to what happened in Moria. 

“I think so,” she ultimately answered after some thought. “I am in mourning, but I know that he would not wish me to feel this way. I will say that I am feeling much better now that I am in your presence again.” A small chuckle left the Elf’s lips at her last sentence, and he shook his head amusedly. 

“I’m glad that I could be of service,” he joked quietly, something she’d come to realize he only did with her. It brought a smile to her face as she leaned forward to rest her forehead against his. Even the smallest act was more than enough to comfort Sephera, and Haldir knew that. So, he pulled her close to him and just held her for as long as she wished to be held. They knew that people could see them as the location wasn’t exactly a secret, but they couldn’t bring themselves to care. It was about time for them to announce it, anyways.

[fantasies-fairytales-n-fics]

Modern day santa Haldir 🎅 🎄

[cclumsyart]

Haldir WIP

2013 X 2023

Took a long time, but some progress