#mereth nuin giliath

[kai-janik-art]

Mereth Nuin Giliath - 2023

An A2 size painting I made for this year's celebration themed Oxonmoot exhibition.

[sotwk]

Hello! No pressure and admittedly self serving ask (since I’m writing a fall chapter): do you have any headcanons about Silvan holidays/celebrations?

Ooooh this question! Festivals in Eryn Galen is a BIG TOPIC, in my opinion, because those Silvans love to party! Writing an extensive post describing the annual feasts and festivals throughout each of the seasons has been on my Headcanon To-Do List for a while, and because of your Ask, I'm going to return my attention to that.

While I work on it, for purposes of your fic, here are my basic headcanons about....

AUTUMN CELEBRATIONS IN ERYN GALEN

Mereth Nuin Giliath: The Feast of Starlight

This is the biggest and arguably the most important of all annual celebrations in Eryn Galen for three reasons:

It is the oldest of all Silvan feasts--older than the Woodland Realm itself. It commemorates the awakening of the Elves on the shores of Cuiviénen--literally the first event in the history of the race. Although the manner of feasting and traditions have changed over the millennia, it has been observed for as long as the eldest of the Nandor could remember.

It celebrates the light of the stars and the Queen of the Stars, Elbereth Gilthoniel. The Silvans may admire Oromë most out of all the Valar, but they still highly value and honor Varda as the source of light, goodness, and protection.

On a more personal note, Elvenking Thranduil met (SA 1358), was betrothed to (SA 3262), AND married (SA 3265) Elvenqueen Maereth all during the Mereth Nuin Giliath. Therefore it is an important anniversary for the royal family, which they choose to celebrate with the entire realm throughout their rule.

Art credit: Miriam Ellis

Mereth Nuin Giliath is celebrated both in Eryn Galen and in Lórien. In the SotWK AU, Thranduil and Maereth meet for the first time during the Mereth (see fic: "Sins of Our Fathers"). In Chapter 1 (the only chapter, so far) is the most I have attempted to describe this celebration.

The feast is held during the "Middle Days" (Enderi), for 3 straight nights, roughly during the first week of October.

It involves three nights of eating, singing, and dancing under the stars. With the entire kingdom invited, it is always the most well-attended community event.

In Eryn Galen, when its population was at its peak, this meant tens of thousands of revelers gathered in one place!

Although technically hosted by the King, the whole community pitches in and works together to arrange everything.

Harvest directly precedes the Mereth, so the realm is well-stocked with food for the massive celebration.

Hunting season comes after the Mereth, so food is additionally replenished for the coming winter.

These are just the basics, so more details will follow in the complete "Celebrations by Season in Eryn Galen" post. Coming soon...hopefully! :) I will tag you, @dilettantefeminist -- thank you again for prompting me to think about this!

OTHER USEFUL LINKS:

Introduction to SotWK

Main Headcanon Masterlist

Fanfiction Masterlist

sotwk headcanon - This tag captures all SotWK headcanon posts, including minor ones that might not be on the Masterlist.

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Mereth Nuin Giliath, or The Feast of Starlight, takes place every month on the night of the new moon, when that celestial orb is not illuminated and when stars can be seen at their brightest.

Festivities vary from region to region. Some are more restrained with celebrations, while others have grander affairs. Elves spend this night first giving honor and praise to Varda, Queen of the Stars. Then they will recite poetry and songs and tell stories, especially stories of the stars themselves. Families, friends, and lovers will go out to stargaze if it is safe enough to do so.

[rottencherrypie]

R-18+; Beneath the Stars (Aragorn x Reader)

Summary - A woman draped in cloth cut from the night sky, an awestruck ranger admiring from afar, and a bet between elven royals—what could go wrong?

Warnings - Smut, language, afab!reader, fem!reader, mention of alcohol (poorly written), poorly written dancing (I do not know how to dance), woodland elves getting crunk (they know how to party), heavily implied marriage (Aragorn and Reader), heavily implied wife!Reader, heavily implied husband!Aragorn, simp!Aragorn (man loves his betrothed), mention of bets (Legolas and Arwen), nonsexual tension (Legolas and Arwen—they just want to win the bet), heavy dom/sub undertones and dynamic, sub!Aragorn, dom!Reader, heavily alluded worshipping kink (Aragorn is just a simp), unprotected sex, mention of a womb (reader), mention of female genitalia (reader), mention of male genitalia (Aragorn), handjob (Aragorn receiving), lowkey humiliation kink (Aragorn having), degradation (Aragorn receiving), poor attempt at dirty talk, name calling (Aragorn is called a dumb whore), reader is called mistress and goddess, slight mean reader (but in a hot way), hair pulling (Aragorn receiving), semi-public sex, creampie, and maybe more (I might have missed a few things).

Pronouns & POV - She/Her, third-person (starts more Aragorn leaning)

Pairings - Aragorn x Reader (romantic), implied Reader x Arwen (friendly). Arwen x Legolas (friendly rivalry)

Word Count - 6,100+ (I do not know how we got here, but we did)

A/N - Another one from the suggestion box! "This takes place in Northern Mirkwood, where Legolas is from. Maybe Aragorn and Reader are there for some sort of formal event? Reader stuns Aragorn in an Elvish dress and she kinda takes advantage. Poor Aragorn becomes a mess! Arwen and Legolas have made a secret bet on how fast it’ll take for Aragorn and Reader to sneak away. Reader is wearing a pretty dark blue Elvish dress with long sleeves and some kind of pretty silver embroidery." — @tsum00 (I hope I tagged the right person, please correct me if I am wrong!) This may have gone a bit off from the suggestion, so I do apologize for that! I hope you enjoy regardless, thank you so much for your suggestion and your kind words! I really enjoyed writing this and ended up with more plot written than I expected, so I do apologize for that! I made the feast, the feast of starlight as that was the only one I could remember at the moment. I kept the reader as vague as possible but included the dress, the only defining features are plump lips. I got way too into writing this while simultaneously having writer's block...it was an experience but an enjoyable one. Smut below the cut!

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Mereth Nuin Giliath, otherwise known as the Feast of Starlight in the common tongue. A celebratory feast held in admiration for the various lights that shone within the darkened sky alongside the vast moon that loomed over them.

The exact origins of the feast were unknown to those outside of the woodland halls, and the king of Gondor was no exception to said fact. However, it mattered not to the recently crowned king why he was there to celebrate such matters; he was merely joyous to be invited to such festivities—vastly aware of the secrecy of the northern elves.

A gentle breeze drifted throughout the woodland halls as the celebrations echoed within, carrying the strumming of harps and the chatter of elves as it floated through the chilled air. The soft glow of candlelight illuminated the dancing figures on the busied floor, painting the walls with tall, darkened reflections of their graceful movements as they basked within the energy of the natural light from above.

The various figures swayed upon the dance floor, yet the grace within their movements began to gnaw away with each sip of rouge liquid that stained the various elven lips. A similar hue dripped onto the old, wooden floor beneath them, quenching the dried wood with the taste of aged elven wine as their goblets flowed over while their movements became more primal.

Amongst the sea of dancing figures, there was one whom the recently crowned king's eyes could not part from—his dearly betrothed, Y/N.

To say the woman was a vision was an understatement to the king. The deep blue silk draped upon her heavenly figure made her appear like a goddess wrapped in the same night sky the elves danced under. The soft twinkles of the silver spool sewn into the gown shimmered with each sway of her hips amidst the mixed lights.

As the elves continued to rejoice beneath the light of the stars, the new king could not help but envision how he might later rejoice beneath the light of her. The moisture within his mouth began to overflow at the thought as he shifted upon the heels of his feet, the old wooden floor creaking beneath the moving weight as his mind continued to wander—picturing the heavenly flesh hidden beneath the smoothness of silk.

"Your mind wanders." A familiar voice broke through the static of the king's trance, reminding the man of the familiar elven prince who stood to the right of him. "Have you heard a single word I had spoken?" The prince questioned, a thick brow quirked upwards as the man nervously raised the goblet of rouge liquid to meet his thin lips.

"I, erm..." Any hint of excuse died within Aragorn's throat as the blood within his cheeks burnt hot, his eyes betraying him as they continuously darted back to the packed floor—watching as the beautiful temptress swayed amongst the sea of elves. "I had not." He uttered, a soft admission as he attempted to revert his eyes towards the prince beside him, yet he struggled to pull his gaze away from the temptation upon the dance floor.

Lost in a trance, like a sailor lulled to the depths of the sea by a siren, his gaze followed each hypnotic sway of the woman's hips. The deep blue fabric swished side to side with each motion, the silver embellishments twinkling within the pale moonlight, pulling him deeper into the trance of arousal.

"Why stand and watch when you could be beside her?" The elven prince questioned, once again pulling the man back from the depths of his desires. "No one would fault you if you were to slip away for a moment." Legolas continued, his tone sounding more like a tempting song. Though Aragorn could not see it, he could hear how Legolas' smirk dripped upon each word he uttered.

"Legolas," Another familiar voice spoke from beside Aragorn, one full of softness and femininity—yet the slightest twinge of irritation weighed heavy upon the elf's name. "Aragorn is in no need of your council." She continued, the soft swish of her wine tapped against her glass, her hand clenching around the stem as her gaze fixated upon her fellow elven royal—sapphire eyes narrowing in displeasure as the prince's ocean ones twinkled with mischief.

"Perhaps I shall accompany my betrothed." The words that left Aragorn's lips were in a dream-like trance, light and airy—full of desire and satisfaction as he continued to admire his beloved.

The sound of his betrothed's laughter floated alongside the strumming of harps in the air, fluttering into the man's ears, filling his chest with a glow of warmth and a yearning for her tender caress. There was not a single flaw within the woman upon the dance floor, none that the recently crowned king could find—and if any dared to utter otherwise, he would ensure they would be unable to utter another word ever again.

The thought alone was enough to cause the man's grasp to tighten around his goblet, clenching around the cold metal within his calloused palm as the muscles within his jaw began to tense at the nonsensical fantasy his mind had composed.

As his mind continued to string along peculiar fantasies, the woman spun around. The corners of her plump lips quirked into a playful smile as the weight of her head tilted back in laughter, the hue of her hair cascading down her scalp like a waterfall beneath the pale moonlight as she continued to rejoice in the festivities. That was all it took; the sight of his beloved so wild and free was all it took to break his resolve.

"Pardon me." Aragorn uttered, his words barely catching within the sensitive ears of his royal elven companions as his feet guided him onto the dance floor. Discarding the goblet of rouge liquid upon the way, wishing to have his hands free for what was to come.

As the head of auburn hair disappeared amongst the sea of elven heads, an amused snicker slipped out of the elven prince's thin lips.

"It appears you will have to make good on your bet, my lady," Legolas began, his voice laced with smugness as he brought his goblet to his lips, allowing the pool of rouge liquid to enter them. "I shall be expecting the wine by the next full moon." He continued, earning a scoff from the elven lady's plump lips.

"You merely led him to her," Arwen rebutted, a slender hand waving slightly to dismiss the notion Legolas had proposed. "I have faith that I shall be the victor of this bet. Aragorn is no animal."

The statement, ever innocent and determined, caused a sea of laughter to bubble up from Legolas's throat—nearly causing the typically stoic prince to choke upon his wine. "We shall see." He spoke once his throat cleared of laughter, yet the smug grin remained carved upon his thin lips.

──────

The auburn-haired man continued to push through the sea of elves, uttering soft apologies when he accidentally bumped into one through the cramped path, yet he couldn't stop. He cared little about the path or those in his way; all he cared about was you.

The pale moonlight shone down upon you, bathing you in the silvery hue of its aura as you continued to sway on the floor—appearing like a goddess amidst a sea of faithful servants despite being a mortal amongst near immortals.

The thump of the ranger's booted feet against the wooden floor echoed throughout the air as he approached, garnering your attention as you ended yet another twirl. The deep blue gown fanned out as your motions halted, much attention falling onto your hips and waist as it momentarily tightened around them before returning to its loosened state.

"Y/N," Aragorn breathed as he stood before you, the leather of the tips of his boot touching against the smoothness of your dancing shoe—desperately attempting to be as close to you as possible. "you look lovely." His voice was no louder than a whisper, as the heat of his words gently caressed the flesh of your neck as he leaned closer to you. "Utterly lovely." He repeated the word like a prayer, desperate for his goddess to hear it.

The smile upon your lips curved differently, one of mischief and delight, and the gaze your gemstone-colored eyes held began to narrow. "Oh?" The word left your lips in a breath, watching as the once ranger eagerly bobbed his head to answer you—like the good boy he was. "And tell me, just how lovely do I look?" You teased, eager to hear him sing praises of your beauty as he squirmed with desire under your stern gaze.

"You look like a goddess sent from the heavens," Aragorn breathed dreamily. The heat of his body radiated off of him as he leaned closer to you, desperate to be within your presence, yet knowing better than to touch without permission. "one who I yearn to worship." The heat of his whisper grazed against the sensitive flesh of your neck, his lips hovering a mere breath away from your delicate flesh as his gaze rose to meet yours.

"Is that so?" You questioned, the smug grin never leaving your lips as you gazed down upon the ranger—his knees bent slightly, subconsciously preparing to kneel before you and abide by your beck and call. "And is that how you properly ask to worship me? Is it?" As the taunting question left your lips, the ranger's icy eyes slowly widened in realization. You wanted him to beg among the sensitive ears of elves.

"I..." The moisture dried from the man's mouth, words catching within the back of his throat as his head rose from your neck. "You wish for me to beg?" He whispered, his eyes anxiously darting throughout the room as a heat began to spread throughout the center of his chest. Though the warmth had started as one of unease, it began to settle into a burn of arousal.

"I do not see why not." The floor creaked slightly beneath you as you inched closer to Aragorn, the tips of your shoes pressing into the tips of his boots, forcing them to squish into the flesh of his toes. "But, the others—" "Oh, now the presence of others troubles you, my dear?" You taunted, the heat of your breath grazing against the flesh of his pricked chin, furthering the heat of arousal that spread throughout him.

"You appeared to have no issue ravishing me with your eyes moments ago." You continued, inching closer to the man before you, the softness of your flesh pressing into the hardness of his—causing the hardness within his trousers to grow further. "Well, I, erm..." Aragorn trailed off, unable to find a viable excuse that would explain both how he stared at you and how hardened his cock had become whilst doing so.

"Tell me, pet," The words escaped your lips in a purred tone, as the smoothness of your hand gently encased the side of his face, the roughness of his beard grazing against your palm as he leaned into your touch. "what were you envisioning as you stared at my hips? Hm?" Your thumb grazed against his bottom lip, stained lightly by the rogue hue of the liquid he had so easily downed prior whilst gazing upon you.

"You using me for your pleasure, mistress." Aragorn admitted sheepishly. The heat beneath his cheeks was now a roaring wildfire as the tingling of embarrassment rushed throughout his veins, allowing the flow of blood to fixate on its trail down to his cock.

"Is that so?" You cooed as the smoothness of your thumb continued to caress the smoothness of his stained lower lip. His head bobbed eagerly in agreement, the harshness of his bearded cheek rubbed against your palm as his icy eyes bore up at you large and sparkling with a lustful desire to please you. "Yes, mistress." He breathed, his eyes never leaving yours as he sank his cheek deeper into your touch.

"Such a good toy." The softness of your palm dropped from his face, earning a displeased whimper from the ranger's lips as you inched away—his body seeking yours out as he leaned forward slightly, desperate to be in the warmth of your aura. "Mistress, please." He whined, his desperation to please you overflowing, washing away all his previous worries of the woodland elves hearing him pleading to please you.

Despite how he pleaded, you continued to inch away from him, earning yet another whine to slip through his wine-stained lips. The sight of your heavenly figure backing away from him was near torture as if the gods were ripping away the angel sent to save him from damnation—or rather, bring him closer to it.

Before another sound of displeasure—or another pathetic beg—could escape the king's lips, you curved a finger in his direction, signaling for him to follow, which he did eagerly.

His steps held a bounce as he rushed after you like a stray dog being brought home during a storm. Though the thumping within his chest was rapid, all blood flow fixated on the cause of the growing tent pitching within the front of his trousers as you led the king of Gondor away from the festivities.

──────

It was a bit of a blur how the ranger ended up in this manner: back pressed firmly against the twisted woodland halls, the old wood digging into the exposed flesh of his rear as his trousers laid upon the ground. The bitter night's air nipped at his exposed flesh, yet his cock was warmed beneath the smoothness of your touch.

His breath hitched within his throat as your delicate hand continued to glide upon his throbbing member, dampened with the saliva you had spat upon it the moment his trousers fell upon the floor.

"What if we are caught?" He whispered, his voice quivering in pleasure as the tip of your thumb grazed over the throbbing head of his cock, smearing the off-white liquid of his pre-release. An amused scoff fell from your lips as you continued to stroke his throbbing length, feeling pulsations of his racing heart within his cock.

"Then they would see what a good whore you are for your mistress." Your cooed words caused his cock to twitch within your touch, the lids of his eyes dropping slightly as the pleasure of praise sunk within his veins. "Though I doubt they would see much, my damn sleeve blocks even my view." You grumbled beneath your breath, your free hand hoisting up your long sleeve yet again as your preoccupied hand continued to twist upon the leaking length, the sleeve soon drooping down—sheathing the king's cock from the night's air and the heat of your gaze.

An annoyed tsk fell from your lips as you attempted to fix your sleeve again, yet to no avail. The smooth silk continued to sway around Aragorn's throbbing cock, occasionally gliding against it as your hand sunk to his base, making a shiver roam down his spine at the pleasurable sensation.

"Mistress, please." He whined, the weight of his head falling back, tilting against the harsh wooden wall behind him as his cock continued to pulsate in your hand. The creamy liquid coated his length entirely, making the motions of your hand even smoother upon his hardness.

"Please what?" You purred as you leaned closer to him, the floor creaking under the shifting of weight as your hand continued to circle his throbbing member. "Use your words like a good whore. Tell me what you want, pet." The heat of your breath grazed the shell of his ear, causing more droplets of his pre-pleasure to leak from the slit of his reddened head.

"Please fuck me." He groaned in pleasure, his eyes looping towards the back of his skull as he felt your hand tighten around his throbbing cock; you could feel each beat of his heart within your palm. "I cannot take it any longer. Please, mistress." His pitiful whines only furthered the grin upon your lips; the mighty King Elessar here, in such a compromising position, begging for your cunt like a pathetic little whore.

"Aw, you want my pussy around your cock? Squeezing all around it while I use it for my pleasure, hm?" The words left your mouth in a teasing purr, yet the king did not deny it. A blur of auburn locks rapidly bobbing filled your view before he weakly leaned back against the wooden wall, his chest rising and falling at an uneven speed as he tried to resist painting your hand white with his seed from your words alone.

"Gods..." He whimpered out, his body quivering in pleasure at the thought of your wet walls wrapped around his thickened cock; gliding up and down it, making it glisten under the moonlight as your warmth enveloped him. "The gods aren't here right now, pet." You hummed, leaning even closer to him as your grip tightened around his sensitive member, causing him to hiss in a mixture of pain and pleasure at the sharp tightness.

"Tell me you want it." You breathed into him, lips grazing against the sensitive shell of his ear before they enveloped the lobe for a moment, surrounding his flesh for a split second before your teeth encased them, tugging the flesh downwards, causing the king to groan in pleasure.

"I want it—fuck!" The hand that fiddled with the smooth sleeve of your gown dipped downwards, finding its way where the full sack of his seed rested to which it cupped in a firm grasp. "Shit—I need it, mistress. I need you." He whined in pleasure as your hands continued to stimulate him. One toying with the length of his aching cock as the other massaged his sack, toying with the balls as you rubbed them within your smooth palm.

"That's what I thought." You hummed, your grasp tightening around both manhood and sack for a moment—earning a hiss of pleasure from the king—before you released both. The chill of the night air nipped against Aragorn's sensitive flesh, his cock twitching slightly at the lack of warmth as it drooped ever so slightly without the support of your palm.

The soft swish of fabric hoisted up caught Aragorn's attention, his glazed-over icy eyes slowly fluttering back open to a glorious sight before him: you lifting the skirt of your gown and positioning yourself before him. You reached forward, the warmth of your hand once again encasing the ranger's throbbing cock as you brought the oozing tip to your dampened entrance.

But, instead of sliding the aching tip into the warmth of your cunt, you decided to tease him. Slowly rubbing the angry head against your dripping hole, tapping it against where it so desperately desired to sink into as you looked back at your beloved; his face twisted with a mixture of lust and annoyance.

"Mistress." He whined, it was a pathetic sound you loved to hear him make. It was almost amusing to you how easily you could turn such an admired king into a whining little bitch from the promise of your cunt.

"Patience, my love." You continued to rub the head of his cock against your open entrance, earning an annoyed groan from your desperate pet. Normally, Aragorn would relish in your teasing, the anticipation of sinking into your cunt, yet the influence of the wine had made him very impatient. He needed you now.

The floor creaked under the shifting of his weight as he attempted to slide into you, thrusting into the palm of your head and nearly piercing your entrance with the oozing head of his cock—yet it did not enter.

"Ah, ah, ah." You tsked as you inched back slightly; the grasp you held upon his cock tightened in a warning hold, causing the man to groan in further desperation. Before Aragorn could utter a single complaint, your free hand darted up to his hair, tangling within his auburn locks. "Did I give you permission to do that?" "N-No..." The word quivered upon Aragorn's lips as what he had done slowly sunk in.

"No, what?" You questioned, your tone dripping with assertion as your grasp upon his hair tightened. The soft sting of your nails digging into his scalp caused his cock to twitch within your palm. "N-No, mistress. I am so sorry, mistress." The words left his lips in a nervous, humiliated quiver as his pupils dilated in a mixture of anxiety and arousal. A pathetic little whore, that's what he was. Your pathetic whore.

A mocking laugh rumbled within your chest as you snagged at the auburn strands, forcing his head to the side and exposing the clean flesh of his neck. No longer did it bare the marks of your teeth, the wordless brand that he was yours and yours alone, but now it stood as plain flesh. "You want to fuck your mistress, do you, whore?" A question wordlessly answered with an attempt to nod, his smooth locks rubbing into your palm as he stared at you like a hungered man placed before a feast.

"You are lucky I am feeling generous tonight." The warmth of your palm departed from his cock, yet again, yet your other remained tangled within his auburn locks. The front of your gown had managed to stay hoisted up despite your actions, leaving the ranger whimpering in desire at the sight of your exposed cunt. "You better make this worth my while."

Within a moment of the warning words leaving your lips, you were soon pressed against the wooden wall—backed into the corner as the ranger hoisted one of your legs around his waist, ensuring it circled him firmly as he aligned the tip of his cock with your center. His movements stalled for a moment, his icy eyes locking onto yours, searching for your approval, and with a simple nod of your head, he allowed his thickness to sink into your welcoming walls.

Though you had felt this stretch countless times before, it was as pleasant as the first time. Aragorn's cock slowly sunk into the wetness of your cunt, pushing in inch by inch until the bones of his hips pressed into yours: tearing through your inner walls, stretching them to a satisfying fullness, as the sturdiness of his arms encased you.

His hips remained stagnant for a few moments as he savored the sensation of your cunt gripping him. It was wet, warm, and welcoming—clinging all around him as the weight of his body leaned into you, seeking to be even deeper in the warmth of your grasp.

"Fuck..." He breathed, the heat of his breath grazing against the nape of your neck as he continued to press into you. The harsh prickle of his beard tickled the crook of your neck as he buried his face within it.

Though you loved to see the king in such a vulnerable state, relishing in the heaven that was your cunt, your patience was waning. With a huff of your plump lips, you slowly rolled your hips—forcing an even deeper stretch, one that made the ranger whimper against your neck.

"I said fuck me, not stand there like an idiot." You huffed as your hips rose and fell against his, gliding upon his cock as if it was nothing but another toy for your pleasure within your collection—after all, that's what he was. Your pleasure toy first, husband second. "Or are you too stupid to fuck me properly?" The ranger's cock twitched against your inner walls as you mocked him, feeling every ounce of his cock throbbing within you. The large vein that curved upon it throbbed in pleasure as you berated him, as another pathetic whimper vibrated against the crook of your neck.

"I can't help it." He whined, no longer sounding like the regal king he was at the beginning of the night—turned into a pathetic little fuck toy for the woman who slid upon his cock. "You feel so good, mistress." He continued to babble excuses against your neck, his calloused hands grasping at your arms, clinging onto you like a sailor to a piece of plywood stranded at sea.

The sudden sting of your hand snatching his hair, nails pricking against his scalp, as you tugged his head to the side caused his cock to stir inside of you again. The vein upon the middle throbbing in excitement, droplets of his nearing release oozing out, staining your inner walls.

"I said: fuck me. Not babble like an idiot." You hissed, the grasp held upon his auburn locks tightening—earning a hiss of pleasure from the ranger as his hips finally began to rock into yours. "That's a good boy." You purred, the grasp upon his hair remaining firm as his hips bucked into yours.

Each thrust was slow and deep, allowing you to feel every ridge and vein upon his throbbing, thick cock as he slowly split your inner walls open. A faint sheen of sweat began to form upon your forehead as the ranger continued his thrusts, making your skin glisten under the faint glow of candlelight; making you appear more heavenly than before.

"There we go, just like that." Your hums of pleasure further encouraged the motions the ranger held within his hips; a slight burn began to spread throughout his lower abdomen as his balls tightened slightly—threatening to spill his heavily stowed seed into your willing womb, yet he attempted to resist the lull of release. The squelching sound of your pleasure bounced throughout the woodland halls, likely falling within the ears of every elf in the presence of the celebrations—yet you worried not of it, simply sinking into the deep stretch of the ranger's cock pounding inside of your core.

The swollen, leaking tip of his cock continued to pound away inside of you—grazing against your most sensitive spot. In response to the grazing, your inner walls tightened their moist grasp around his throbbing member as a moan fell from your lips, a sound that nearly pushed the ranger over the edge.

"Aw, are you about to cum?" You cooed, the words oozing with mock care as Aragorn's hips quivered against yours. His tightened balls were slick with the essence of your pleasure as they tapped against your cunt as his aching, desperate cock delved deeper within you. "Y-Yes, mistress." The words left his lips in a shaky breath, the weight of his head quivered within your smooth palm as your grasp upon it tightened further.

"Are you really that pathetic that you cannot fuck me for five minutes without bursting?" The lids of Aragorn's eyes fluttered together tightly, a desperate attempt to restrain himself from emptying his seed within your core. The muscles within his abdomen clenched tightly as he continued to carve his cock within the heavenly embrace of your dripping walls, desperate to be good, desperate to please you. "Do it." You breathed into his ear, causing all motion within his hips to stall as the lids of his eyes flew open.

The weight of his lower jaw dropped, his eyes widening as large as the full moon in the sky as he stood there—mindlessly staring at you. "I—you—what?" He breathed; the nonsensical babbling left his lips in a quiver as his mind struggled to process what you were asking of him. You wanted him to spill his seed within you?

"I said do it." The heat of your breath grazed against the shell of his ear, his hips jutting up into yours mindlessly as your leg tightened around his waist. "Cum in me like the pathetic whore you are." That was all it took for the dam of the ranger's seed to break, bursting into your cunt like an endless river as rope after rope of hot, white liquid poured stained the walls of your womb.

His body trembled within your grasp, the harshness of his nails dug into the smooth silk of your deep blue gown as he continued to splooge ropes of his hot seed deep within your core; rushing to your womb.

"Fuck..." He hissed in pleasure as the grip of your inner walls tightened around him, clenching your inner walls in tauntingly pleasurable sensation for a few moments before releasing and clenching again; allowing his seed to rush even deeper within your core. "Such a pathetic little slut." You breathed, the corners of your lips returning into a smug grin as your gaze narrowed at the man.

A mixture of lust and false annoyance flashed within your eyes, yet you could not deny how pleasurable the warmth of his seed felt within your womb.

"So fucking pathetic, can't fuck me for five seconds without cumming like a little bitch in heat." You continued, making him whine in pleasure, his cock twitching within your core at the degrading. "I am sorry, mistress." He mewled pathetically as his face burnt with embarrassment, his hips mindlessly jutting against yours as his slightly softened cock continued to push his seed within you.

"Show me how sorry you are." You breathed as you tugged at his auburn locks, forcing his head to arch further away from your neck—the burning snag of your grasp toying with his sensitive scalp caused his cock to reharden within you. "Make me cum, and I'll forgive you."

A renewed energy spread throughout Aragorn's body at your command, the speed at which his hips moved quickly turned rapid as his cock pounded away inside of your core earning a surprised squeak to fall from your plump lips.

His aching cock carved itself deep within your walls, the leaking head of his cock thumped against the most special spongy spots within your core in a repeated pattern as his grasp tightened around you—desperate to hold himself back from spewing his seed inside you again, and even more so desperate to give you the pleasure in the manner you had trained him to.

As he continued to pound away inside of you, one of his hands dropped from you and slipped down to the sensitive flesh of your cunt—the heat of your arousal emanated off of it, a sign that he was pleasuring you despite the little sounds of pleasure that left your lips.

You found yourself getting lost in the unintentional pattern of the ranger's hips, sinking into every thrust as the weight of your head tilted back against the wooden wall. It was easy to forget that you were in the halls of the woodland elves, only the muffled cheers of their celebration and varied footsteps that ended just short of you brought you back to the reality of how close you were to getting caught—yet that did not cease your arousal. The squelching sound of your cunt grew louder as the pattern of footsteps grew even louder as the slap of the ranger's hips meeting your own echoed throughout the halls.

"More." You breathed, your voice no louder than a whisper, but not out of fear; out of pleasure. "Give me more. Be a good little fuck toy and make me scream." A command that was promptly heard, the ranger's hand no longer hovered above your heat but now connected with it as the tips of his calloused fingers made contact with your sensitive bundle of nerves.

Your back arched at the sensation as Aragorn began to toy with your clit, applying a faint amount of pleasure to the twitching bundle of nerves as he began to massage it in a circle. The sound of your arousal grew even louder from his touch, the silence your lips held now a slew of groaned praises of pleasure as the wetness of your cunt echoed throughout the woodland halls for all to hear.

The air within the halls weighed heavy upon you as a familiar static sensation began to spread throughout your core, as your hips mindlessly rose and fell under Aragorn's touch as you used him for your nearing pleasure.

"That's it, right there." You breathed, your voice rising in pitch as the throbbing head of his cock continued to abuse your spongy spot. The tips of your toes began to curl as a familiar tingling, nearly burning sensation rose within you. The grasp you held upon the back of his head tightened further, a desperate attempt to remain upright as your pleasure neared.

With each stroke of his cock, you grew more sensitive. Each twitch and throb was a steady beat, a song that led you in the dance of pleasure as you neared the endless abyss of what was to come. You attempted to withhold for a few moments longer, wishing to hear him whimper a few more times before breaking yourself, yet with each punch of his cock into your core you grew weaker and weaker.

Within a matter of moments, you were thrown over the edge; a howl of pleasure escaping your lips as the pressure within your core bursted, coating his length and balls with the sweet nectar of your pleasure. Your body shivered in pleasure, waves of ecstasy roaming throughout your veins as your inner walls fluttered around his aching cock, pushing him over the edge yet again.

A small bump distended from your lower abdomen as the familiar, hot gush of his thick seed flooded your core yet again. Drenching the inner walls of your womb with the endless cups of cum you had forbidden him from spilling days prior.

As the static within your mind began to clear, the stars within your eyes slowly fading away, you released the grasp upon his head. Reddened marks of your nails painted his lightly tanned scalp, a marking of your pleasure that was thankfully hidden from the eyes of most—though his tousled hair was enough proof of what had transpired if one had not heard the previous moans.

"That was..." An amused laugh fell from your lips as he attempted to speak yet the pleasure left him unable, his mind still in a cum-drunken trance as his body quivered within the night's air. "Alright, lover boy, let's get cleaned up before someone walks by." You spoke as you dropped his leg from your waist. A stream of white, hot liquid flowed forth from your aching cunt as you slid his throbbing member out of you—earning a displeased whimper from the king, yet he knew better than to utter a single complaint while you were holding his cock.

──────

As the celebrations began to die down, various elves passed out upon tables and the floor, the King of Gondor and his beloved bride attempted to slip back into the festivities unrecognized.

But they had forgotten of the sharpness of elves' eyes.

"I knew it!" The golden-haired elf boasted, his arms thrust up in the air in victory nearly causing him to spill his goblet of wine upon the raven-haired princess to his right.

"You two could not wait another five minutes?" The elven princess grumbled, her sapphire eyes narrowing in displeasure as she raised her goblet to her lips. Drowning her displeasure of losing in the bitter taste of wine.

"You two knew?" Aragorn questioned, the pitch of his voice rising slightly as it slowly dawned upon him that his elven companions had heard what transpired in the hall. "Knew of it, bet on it. Potato, potato as the hobbits would say." Legolas spoke, his shoulder rising and falling in casualty as the lady of Rivendell grumbled into her wine.

"I cannot believe you allowed him to fuck you so easily! I aided you in finding a gown!" Arwen huffed, her plump lips protruding outwards in a slight pout as her narrowed gaze focused on you.

"I waited as long as I could, my lady. I grew impatient." You spoke, grabbing a goblet of wine from a nearby table as you approached the trio. A familiar heat returned to the king's face as it slowly dawned upon him that his own wife had bet upon his eagerness to bed her. "You were in on this?" His voice was no louder than a whisper, yet as squeaky as a mouse.

The blur of your head nodding caused the heat within Aragorn's cheeks to burn righter, nearly matching the shade of rouge within the elven princess' cup.

"She offered me half her winnings if I aided her." You explained casually, allowing the sweet tang of wine to trickle into your mouth as the elven prince gloated about his winnings.

The king of Gondor stood there mindlessly, his face as red as wine as one thought looped within his mind: elves and their damned betting.

[tamurilofrivendell]

Hello, I very much enjoy your works! I would love to see 15 from the list you reblogged with Thranduil if you feel so inclined. Thank you! :)

Thank you so much, I'm glad you like reading my silly little writings! This is what came out so hopefully this isn’t too awful for you!! <3

title: First Kiss

pairing: Thranduil/Reader

summary: Reader's father is a valued council member to King Thranduil and Reader has had feelings for the king for a very long time. Turns out the king may just return those feelings.

prompt: (#15 on this list). It’s in bold in the text below.

It was Mereth Nuin Giliath and you were the most excited you had been in a long time as you readied yourself for the celebration that was to come. It was one of your favourite festivals and you could not wait for the night of dancing and feasting and singing that lay ahead.

The night passed in a beautiful blur of colours and laughter and exquisite wine. You had just finished twirling with a friend on the dancefloor before excusing yourself. You rushed out of the great doors of the hall and out into the night, seeking some fresh air. Your cheeks were flushed from the warmth of the hall and the alcohol courtsing through your veins. Leaning against a railing, you turned your gaze skyward and sighed contentedly.

“You looked to be enjoying yourself.” Came the deep voice from somewhere behind, causing you to nearly jump right out of your own skin. Turning, your gaze fell upon the tall form of the Elvenking pacing carefully towards you.

Immediately dipping into a little bow as your eyes went wide at his appearance. You had seen him across the ballroom a few times but he was engaged in deep conversation with many different people as he always was at these kinds of events. “My Lord Thranduil!” You looked up, nodding quickly. “Oh, I--I was. I am! It is wonderful.”

“Then why do I find you out here all alone, hm?” He questioned, moving to lean against the balcony himself, peering out at the view though it scarcely interested him as much as you standing beside him.

“I just need a moment to catch my breath, my lord.” You explained, sending a little smile his way. “I seem to have imbibed a little too much wine.”

No matter how many times you would come into contact with the king, he never failed to make you so uncontrollably nervous that it was downright embarrassing. It had to be obvious, you knew it, though ever the gentleman he had never drawn attention to it, never mocked you, looked down on you. You just thought he was... perfect. There was no other way to put it. King Thranduil had been the unwitting object of your affections for too many years for you to count. Your father was a prominent figure on his council, a trusted friend in truth, and so you had had a great many interactions with the king over the years. As awkward as you felt you could be around him, it never made in his presence any less thrilling.

“I hope you do not mind if I keep you company?” He inquired, glancing back over his shoulder towards the hall where the festival was still in full swing before he turned back to you and leaned in conspiratorily. “I am afraid that I tire of all the boring political small talk and would much rather hide out here with you.”

You giggled at his tone, his words warming you even as you told yourself it meant nothing, following his lean as you whispered back. “Do not worry, my lord. I will not tell a soul.”

Thranduil grinned as he leaned back and you did your best not to mourn the loss of his closeness. You went quiet, studying him for a few moments, though did your best not to be overly obvious about it. His crown was sitting atop his head and he was clad in a perfectly fitted green and gold brocade tunic, a matching robe, and his favourite boots over plain breeches. Your eyes followed the wave of his fair hair over his broad shoulders, wondering what it would be like to run your fingers through it.

However, when you lifted your gaze to his face, you found that he was already watching you and probably had been the entire time. There was a kind smile on his face but you felt mortified nonetheless, turning your head to look back out at the view, biting your lip. Oh, Valar, you could have burst into tears of embarrassment right there and then!

Thranduil shifted beside you, his hand coming into view as he gently tilted your chin towards him with a finger, urging you to look back at him. “Do not be ashamed.” He murmured, gaze roaming across your face for a long moment before he spoke again. “I fear, my lady, my motives for leaving the party are not entirely as pure as I made them out to be.”

You were pretty sure that your face was bright red at this point but you dare not look away in case you upset him by defying him. Not that he had actually given you a direct order to look at him but still... your mind was all over the place. “Wh--what do you mean, my lord?”

His finger was still under your chin and you gasped a little when his thumb came into contact with your mouth, gently brushing across your lower lip. The two of you stood like that for a long moment, just sort of looking back at each other, as you tried to calm your now reeling mind.

“But...” You breathed, a soft frown clouding your expression as your gaze briefly dropped from his face to the collar of his tunic. “I have never kissed anybody before.” The admission slipped from your mouth before you could even think about it, cheeks immediately heating up once more when you realised what you had said. First of all, he hadn’t actually said that he wanted to kiss you, what if you had simply misunderstood?! Secondly, it just felt embarrassing to say it out loud to him, though you were not sure why exactly.

Thranduil didn’t speak for a moment, he simply looked back at you, studying your face like he was committing you to memory. You really started to think that you had misunderstood and he was trying to decide how to let you down easy, when he finally spoke again.

“I see. Well, if that is the case, my lady...” Thranduil’s perfect mouth curled into a devastating smirk as he gazed back at you. “...I can show you how it works.”

If you had still been drinking, there was no doubt that you would have choked on it. Your gaze snapped back up to his face again, wondering if this was some kind of joke or if you had started hallucinating all of a sudden. Your tongue flicked out over your lower lip as you did your best to calm yourself, doing your utmost to stop your whole body shaking as you looked at him, up into the eyes of the king, which were full of gentle humour as he looked down at you. He did not look like he was playing with you. Yes he looked amused but he also looked kind. His gaze dropped to your mouth when your tongue flicked out and you realised, to your absolute horror, he had not yet moved his thumb and you had just licked it!

You immediately began to stammer out an apology, trying to jump back away from him in pure mortification, but Thranduil gently reached for your wrist and tugged you back to him, shaking with soft laughter as his other hand moved to your waist. The fingers around your wrist released you and returned to your chin, tilting your face gently so you were looking at him again.

“Do not be ashamed.” He whispered, echoing his earlier sentiment as he leaned in, closing the now minute distance between the two of you, and pressed his lips to yours in the sweetest kiss you could ever have imagined. Your lashes fluttered as your eyes closed and you practically melted into him. If it hadn’t been for him supporting your waist, your legs might have completely just given out beneath you.

He kissed you a few more times this way before, when he felt no resistance, he started to kiss you a little harder and began to silently ask for entry into your mouth. You were not sure what to do but when he, sensing this, nipped at your lower lip, you gasped and he took the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. The new sensation overwhelmed you but it was not horrible and, as his tongue sought out yours, you found that you enjoyed the dance.

You became a little bolder, following his lead but feeling a little more confident when he seemed to enjoy kissing you. When you heard something close to a low growl rumbling in his chest, you moved, pushing yourself closer to him, fingers clutching the fabric of his tunic. He seemed to like this if the way he grabbed your hips with both hands and pressed you back against the nearest pillar, deepening the kiss hungrily, was anything to go by.

You had no way to gauge the time that had passed until he finally pulled back and broke the kiss. You opened your eyes, trying to hold in the whine that you felt bubbling up at the loss. You didn’t quite manage and your disappointment was plain to see on your face as he smirked softly down at you.

“Do not worry, my darling.” He whispered, reaching up to brush a stray wisp of hair back into place. “This is only the beginning.”

[meluiloth]

Just saw your post for the greenwood headcannons (lemme first tell ya, I also love them to a fault, such a shame we have almost nothing on them that is cannon), and do you have any thoughts about holidays or parties they might have? We know of the Feast in The Hobbit book where Galion drinks himself unconscious lmao (iconic of him btw), but seeing as they are apparently a very happy population in general, I'd wager they have more than just that one yk

Thanks for the ask!

I think the Silvan Elves are a very celebratory people, and will take any opportunity to partake in feasting, wine, and song. There are banquets and parties often, sometimes for no occasion other than to make merry (as is seen in The Hobbit, where the Elves host parties for many nights in a row!) That being said, I do think there are also holidays of special significance throughout the year and are commemorated differently than the common feast. Birthdays, for example, are a citywide affair, as are marriages and new babies; the Elves are a very family-oriented community, where everyone pretty much knows everyone. Aside from those, I've compiled a small list of holidays the Silvan Elves would celebrate!

Among the most well-known and extravagantly celebrated holidays are the Seasonal Masques, which are festivals that take place at the height of each of the four seasons. The Elves honor the bounty of nature and the beauty of every season to the fullest, and a lot of preparation is put into these four festivals.

First is the Spring Masque, which is focused on the joy of new blossoms and blooming fruit after winter. They dress mostly in white during this festival, so as to devote their full attention to the vibrant colors around them, and all of the food is found fresh in the wild: berries, fruits, and greenery in particular. There is no meat consumed during this festival, to preserve and honor the new life in this season.

A few months later is the Summer Masque, which is held on the longest day and is a celebration of the lushness of the forest; this day is full of dancing and song to display the excitement of the wild. The outfits of this festival are quite extravagant, featuring a lot of animal and flower motifs.

When the days shorten and the forest is completely covered in the colors of fall, the Autumn Masque arrives, bringing with it a bounty of harvest, changing leaves, and preparation for colder months ahead. The colors of this festival are warm and rich, and there is plenty of hot food and aromatic spices in every dish.

Finally comes the Winter Masque, and the end of the cycle of seasons. The Elves gather inside the Elvenking's Halls, where it is warm, making this a quieter and gentler holiday illuminated with candles, starlight, and snow; the forest is sleeping, so the festivities are quieter to avoid disturbing it. Often, there is a hunt, and the costumes are very fur-based to keep warm, and fresh spiced venison and wine is served.

There is also the Feast of Starlight (or Mereth Nuin Giliath in Sindarin) which takes place in the early winter, when the trees are bare and the stars are clearest; this is the feast that is featured in The Hobbit films, and, as its name suggests, it is a commemoration of Arda's dearest creations.

However, not all of the Silvan Elf holidays are joyful. Lû-o-fuin, or Time of Darkness, is a period of mourning for the Mirkwood Elves; it is a week-long fast in honor of all the lives lost during the War of the Last Alliance. Though the rest of Middle-Earth celebrates this time for the fall of Sauron, the Silvan Elves remember it for the grief it caused to their people - they lost King Oropher and an overwhelming number of their army, and this also marks the time in their history when the Necromancer first came to Greenwood and the trees began to wither. To honor this loss, the Elves do not eat or drink for a week, and wear only ash-colored robes. On the last day of mourning, they go to the Forest River, where they make small boats out of leaves and set them floating in the water, to signify the souls of those who died returning to Faerie (Valinor).

Those are some ideas for Mirkwood Elf holidays! I hope you like them (because I spent a lot of time thinking about these and even longer looking for the right images...), and thank you so much for giving me the opportunity to share this!

If you're interested in my imagining of the Silvan Elves in Mirkwood, check out my mirkwood headcanons tag! If there's a headcanon you want me to explore that I haven't already, my ask box is open!

[ladywithaquill]

The Line of Durin was Tainted by an Elf (Series)

Together Forever

Trying to Save His Friends

A Dwarf’s Declaration

Unsatiable

The Portrait

Smaugs ~For Smoking Hot Bois and Gurls~

A Love Hate Relationship

The New Cute Boy

A Surprise Gift for Christmas

To Survive a Dragon

Happy Birthday T

You

There Once Lived Kings

Strong Like a Horse

Their First Meeting

Still Connected

A Love Lost During Battle

A Feather Will Do

In Dire Need of a Smith

Initium Novum (Series) WIP

The Perfect Christmas (Latest)

Shut Up and Kiss Me (Latest)

A Marriage of Convenience

Mereth Nuin Giliath (Latest)

Meeting The March Warden of Lothlórien

Becoming a Father

Blonde Thieves

Rescue at Helm’s Deep

New Beginnings

Because You Are a Sindar Elf

New Beginnings

The Recital

Another Love

A Merry Christmas Indeed

A Visitor

The Birth of a King (Series)

Thorin and His Burglar

Making the Right Decision

The King's Lover

You Should've Killed Me

The Loss of A Lover

Ethuil

A Marriage of Convenience

[lovefairymina]

Dear Beleg,

You remind me of the moon, far and out of reach. Your grace and beauty is incomparable to any other I have seen in my years of living. I would like nothing more than to be able to kiss you, hold you and call you mine. If you would be interested in meeting, I will be waiting for you at the feast for Mereth Nuin Giliath with a green ribbon tied to my wrist.

Faithfully awaiting your presence,

Your secret admirer.

His eyes widened as they roamed the letter, absorbing each word and meaning. He felt as though there were wings sprouting on his nack at the acknowledgement of having a secret admirer. What had the Marchwarden done to deserve love from an unknown person? Surely, you had to be someone he was familiar with. “Well then, looks like it's time to tidy up and appear decent to swoon someone.”

[arethinn]

Mereth Nuin Giliath by Kai-D-Janik on DeviantArt

[delicatenightfury]

Star of the Mountain: Chapter 17

Warnings: fluff, angst, canon-level violence, spoilers for the Hobbit films

Pairing: OC x Thorin Oakenshield

Beta'd By: @mistys-blerbz

Author's Note: please do not steal my work! I do not own the Hobbit or the characters, but I do own my OCs and the parts of the plot that are not part of the movies. I have worked very hard on this fic. Please be respectful and do not steal.

Please comment, reblog, and like!

Masterlist - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Vedis refused to look back at the guard behind her, the one pushing against her shoulder every now and then to continue walking. As if she had reason to resist. They were armed, and while she could probably handle them, she was not about to make the situation worse than it already was. 

She kept her eyes on Oreliell, who was being led ahead of her. She could tell that her sister was worried. Oreliell hid it well, but they were sisters and they could read one another like a book. A blessing and a curse sometimes. 

Mere moments after Bilbo had fallen down into the river to join the rest of the company, Tauriel and a group of guards appeared. They had been detained quickly, chains clasped around their wrists once again. One of the guards left to alert the prince and not long later, an elven horn was sounded.

Now, the two were being led back through the prison and the vast halls toward the throne room. Tauriel had gone to join the pursuit of the dwarves, taking a squad of guards with her - there were reports of orcs in the woods.

“Oreliell, are you all right?” Vedis asked.

She saw Oreliell shrug ever so slightly. 

“I will be.”

The guards nudged them again, moving them closer to the throne room. The halls were quiet now, the music from Mereth Nuin Giliath having died down several hours before Bilbo had arrived. The celebration had gone on long into the night.

Vedis slowed to a stop as they neared the throne, and had to resist pulling her arm away from the guard as he jerked her to a stop.

“{Wait here.}”

Vedis gave a short nod of acknowledgement before turning her head away from him. She heard them move down the steps but stop at the bottom to stand guard. The sisters stood quietly, neither speaking to one another. Vedis was trying to determine where they went from here. She had her suspicions about what was about to happen once King Thranduil arrived and she knew that Oreliell’s mind was too preoccupied to be focused on that.

She did not have to read Oreliell’s mind to know that she was worried. She was swaying ever so slightly and her hand lay at her neck. They had offered to stay behind to distract the elven king, only for the company to encounter guards outside and an orc pack. They did not know what state the dwarves were in. Were they alive, dead, or injured? Had they been captured again, had they gotten away, or were some of them separated? There were too many unanswered questions.

Vedis glanced over her shoulder at the sound of footsteps. Thranduil was approaching, his cloak flowing freely behind him. She was a little off-put by how close he was, but she supposed that was what happened when they had been traveling with dwarves for so long.

Thranduil climbed the stairs, stopping only a few feet away from Vedis. He did not speak. He simply observed the two of them, though his gaze lingered longer on Oreliell. Vedis cast a small glance at her sister. Oreliell didn’t seem to realize that Thranduil was standing with them. Vedis felt her heart ache slightly. She looked back at Thranduil; the elf king looked on silently, seemingly pondering how to begin.

Vedis took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. The movement caught Thranduil’s eye, drawing his gaze to her. Vedis paused for only a moment before offering him her hand. He stared at her before he looked at her hand. His piercing blue eyes darted between her face and her hand twice, eyebrow raising slightly. When he made no movement, she rolled her eyes and extended her hand a little further, wiggling her fingers slightly.

Thranduil seemed to get the message and took hold of her hand. Vedis breathed deeply again and did her best to focus.

“I apologize for the unconventional approach, my lord, but this was the easiest way we may be able to converse.”

Thranduil’s eyes widened. He glanced down at their joined hands for a moment before looking back at her.

“Interesting,” he said. Vedis resisted another eye roll. “Your sister appears to be distracted.”

“Yes.” She would reveal nothing about where Oreliell’s thoughts lay, but she knew Thranduil had his suspicions. “It is the reason I have offered this link of communication.”

He nodded.

“Your company managed to escape my dungeons. How?”

Vedis smirked.

“A halfling.”

His eyes narrowed slightly.

“And how did a halfling manage to get past my guards?”

“I am told that they are quite light on their feet.”

“What was your purpose in staying behind?”

“We had hoped to reason with you.”

“After the dwarves had already escaped?” He huffed a small laugh. “I assume you’ve already heard about the orc attack at the river.”

Vedis nodded.

“I will not lie, I wish one of us had gone with them.”

“I would hardly think you two would separate from one another.”

“You do not know us, my lord. We will do what it takes to protect the company.”

“Evidently not, seeing as you are here and they are running on borrowed time with an orc pack on their tail.”

“As I said, I wish one of us were with them.”

He hummed.

“Earlier, your sister claimed that you joined Thorin Oakenshield of your own free will. Is that true?”

“It is. We met Thorin several years ago and befriended him. We went our separate ways for a time, but reunited on the road. He asked if we would join him, and we agreed.”

“And why is that, I can’t help but wonder.”

Vedis narrowed her eyes slightly.

“It is what any friend would have done,” she replied.

Thranduil looked as if he were about to ask another question when a look passed over his face. It almost looked like concern.

“Are you all right?” he asked. She raised an eyebrow at him in confusion. “You are beginning to pale and your hand is shaking in mine.”

It was then that Vedis realized that she was shaking. She could feel her strength starting to wane and she cursed herself for being careless. She was pushing herself too hard. She subconsciously gripped his hand a little tighter, trying to keep herself upright. Thranduil reached for her with his other hand, apparently noticing her weakening state, and wrapped his arm around her back.

“Do not strain yourself further,” he said aloud.

Oreliell’s head suddenly whipped around, all of a sudden realizing that they were not alone. Her eyes quickly darted between Thranduil and Vedis before they widened in shock.

“Vedis!” she said. She started rushing toward the two of them, but at the sound of her call, the two guards came rushing up the stairs to come between her and their king. “Let go of me! What did you do to her?” Oreliell demanded.

Thranduil straightened himself but kept a firm hold on Vedis.

“I have done nothing to her. She brought this upon herself.” Oreliell’s eyes were filled with fire as she glared at Thranduil. The king ignored her and turned his gaze back to Vedis. “Are you all right?” he asked again.

Vedis took a deep breath before she looked up at him. She could feel her strength draining. She couldn’t continue for much longer, not unless she wanted to lose consciousness. But she pushed forward a little more to give one last message:

“Do you not think that Thorin will fight for what is his, just as you fight for your wife’s memory?”

With that, she severed the mental link between the two of them. Thranduil stared at her. His face gave nothing away, but she could tell in his eyes that he was shocked by her words. 

Suddenly, another guard quickly approached them.

“{My king,}” he said. “{I bring news.}”

“{Speak.}”

“{The dwarves have passed beyond our borders and the orc pack still pursues them. But Tauriel and Prince Legolas have captured one of the orcs. They are on their way now.}”

Thranduil finally looked away from Vedis to look at the guard.

“Have them bring the orc here,” he said. “I will question it myself.” He then looked at the guards that still held Oreliell back. “Take these two to one of the guest rooms, and do not bother separating them. Bring them food so that they can regain some of their strength. I will speak with them later.”

The guards bowed their heads in acknowledgement. One grabbed hold of Oreliell’s arm while the other approached Vedis. Thranduil looked down at her once again before handing her over. The guard was far gentler this time, apparently understanding from Thranduil’s own treatment that she was weak. 

The sisters were led down the stairs and out of the grand hall. In the distance, Vedis could hear the growls of an orc. Vedis was led down the hall first, followed by Oreliell. She heard Oreliell trying to get her attention, but she felt too weak at the moment to try and respond.

They eventually came to a set of large doors. The guard next to Vedis pushed open the door. He led Vedis inside and tried to guide her to a seat. Vedis tugged her arm away, glaring slightly at him before gently waving him away. When he tried again, Oreliell quickly stepped up to them.

“I’ll take it from here,” she said, practically growling at the ellon.

The guard stared at her for a long minute before nodding. The sisters watched as the guards pulled away and stepped out of the room, shutting and locking the door. Oreliell turned her attention to Vedis, her eyes scanning over her.

“Are you all right?” she asked. Vedis nodded. “What were you thinking?”

Vedis simply closed her eyes. 

“I-”

“No. Don’t talk. You’ve used too much energy already.”

Vedis nodded. She knew that Oreliell wasn’t going to be entirely pleased with what she had done, but Vedis would not change what she had done.

A short time later, someone came by with food, which the sisters picked away at. They sat in silence, both trying to figure out what to do next.

Suddenly, the door unlocked. Oreliell stood up as the door cracked open. The sisters could hear a familiar voice dismissing the guards. They exchanged looks with one another before Tauriel stepped into the room. Her back was straight and there was a look of determination in her eyes.

“Your friends are in danger,” she said. “I am leaving to help them. Will you join me?”

Vedis followed after Tauriel, lightly moving over the rocky terrain along the river. Her strength was still coming back to her, but she was more agile now than she had been when they left Mirkwood. Oreliell was close behind her, keeping a close eye on her. No one said anything as they passed a deer carcase. They had tracked the orc pack to the end of the river, which let out into a lake. In the distance was Lake-town.

The trio slowed to a stop, taking in the lake and its floating town. They were not still for long before they each reached for their weapons, Tauriel with her bow and arrow drawn and the sisters with their swords. Standing several yards away was Legolas, bow also drawn.

“{I thought you were an orc,}” Tauriel called to him.

“{If I were an orc, you would be dead.}”

Vedis exchanged glances with her sister before they sheathed their swords. She was grateful that Tauriel had returned their blades to them as they departed from Mirkwood. They would need weapons to fight against the orcs.

“Tauriel, you cannot hunt thirty orcs on your own,” Legolas said.

Oreliell scoffed.

“But I’m not on my own,” Tauriel replied.

“You knew I would come.”

“And I brought backup.”

She motioned to the sisters. Vedis gave the slightest nod before looking back at the lake.

“The king is angry, Tauriel,” Legolas said, coming closer toward them. “For six hundred years, my father has protected you, favored you. You defied his orders; you betrayed his trust.” He glanced at the other elleths standing with them. “{Come back with me. He will forgive you.}”

“{But I will not. If I go back, I will not forgive myself.} The king has never let orc-filth roam our lands. Yet he would let this orc-pack cross our borders and kill our prisoners.”

“It is not our fight.”

“It is your fight,” Oreliell snapped. “It will not end here.”

“With every victory, this evil will grow,” Tauriel continued. “If your father has his way, we will do nothing. We will hide without our walls, live our lives away from the light, and let darkness descend. Are we not part of this world? Tell me, mellon, when did we let evil become stronger than us?”

Legolas stayed quiet. Oreliell turned to Vedis, glancing at the lake.

“What do you see?” she asked.

“They seem to have gotten a ride.” Vedis motioned to the dock up ahead. “The bargeman must have taken them into the town.”

Oreliell turned back to the Mirkwood elves.

“Is there another way into town?”

“There is a singular bridge that leads into town. But it is at least a full day’s journey.”

“When does the next boat arrive?”

“Not for some time.”

“Then we have no choice. Let’s get moving.”

[queenmeriadoc]

Never mind it's going to be

Mereth Nuin-Giliath

@lady-of-imladris

Legally changing name to

Mereth Aderthad

[sotwk]

The universe has graced me with one (1) thought just now brought on by your post:

Is Mereth Nuin Giliath literally just ...a birthday party? But for all elves??? Maybe since they get so old, they all collectively stopped counting and remembering birthdays because EVERY day it's SOMEONE'S birthday and instead just decided to celebrate the birthday of all elvenkind?

I never thought about it that way, but that is such an EXCELLENT POINT! :D If we mere mortals eventually get "blah" about birthday celebrations, surely Elves quickly get sick of it too as an annual celebration??

I LOVE IT. Makes total sense. You may have just blown my mind.

Mereth Nuin Giliath is a collective, race-wide "birthday" celebration observed by Silvan/Woodland Elves.

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Part 4

Pairing: Thranduil x Fem. Reader (Elf/Noldor |Third Person POV)

Themes: Minor angst | Soft-ish ending

Warnings: Alcohol use | Weapons use | Injuries | Betting

Wordcount : 2.1k words

Summary: During the feast of Mereth Nuin Giliath, Thranduil tries to apoligize for hurting y/n

Minors DNI

A/n the previous chapters can be found here: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Thranduil POV

Mereth Nuin Giliath began as it always did, with evening prayers after the first star for the night was seen.

Thranduil, garbed in silks of pale blue with a crown fashioned to look like glittering stars sitting amidst his hair, walked just behind his father as he led the procession to Varda’s shrine. The lamps had been dimmed, and the candles had been snuffed out. All the windows were opened to the night sky, and starlight slowly flowed in.

It was a somber affair, to be sure, and long and tedious. Still, Thranduil willingly played his role in all that was required of him and conducted himself in a manner befitting a crown prince during the rituals.

Once the solemnity of this affair is over, he reminded himself, the merrymaking can truly begin.

And the solemn affair did come to an end, much to the quiet relief of many involved. Then the elves poured out of the shrine and walked in twos and threes and more, making their way past lofty halls and vaulted ceilings and into the grounds that had been prepared for the evening’s contests.

The braziers had already been lit by the time Thranduil took his place by his father’s side in the gallery while the others took their places on the field. Then he looked around for y/n. The maid was standing behind them all with a pitcher of wine in hand. She startled and turned her gaze toward her feet when she found the prince’s eyes resting on hers. The sleeves of her new livery reached up to her wrists, but he was certain the bruise that had been an inadvertent gift of his was still there.  

“You stare at her, my son,” Oropher remarked, though not harshly. “May I ask why?”

“No reason, father,” Thranduil returned and turned to face the field again, his voice perfectly calm. Deep within, he was haunted by feelings of guilt.

The king studied him keenly for a while. “The maid is quite fetching, I grant you,” he allowed, albeit rather reluctantly. “But do not allow yourself to grow too attached to the likes of her. She is one of them, after all.”

It was Thranduil’s turn to startle. Does he truly think I am drawn to her? He thought. Does he not know what happened?

Feren had assured him—after expressing his disappointment with the prince’s behavior, of course—that no one in the kitchens had been the wiser. Y/n had not uttered a word of what took place in the gardens that day.

“I am not attached to her, my lord,” he replied. And he had to reply. His father was waiting on an answer. “There is no cause for you to worry on that score.”

Oropher, gratified, nodded. Then the master of revels came forth, and the first of the contests began in earnest.

It was a mock battle, and it was fought on soil that had hardened due to a late autumn frost. The elves that took part protected themselves with shields and armor and blunted swords, and yet, more than one fell to the earth, crying out from pain. Cheers and loud gasps followed each blow and each loss, and healers stood nearby to aid those in need of them.  

While elves fought and laughed and cursed out on the field, beneath canopies of green and gold velvet, food and wine flowed freely for those who watched. The stars burned brightly that night, as if the Star-Kindler herself was watching the spectacle taking place beneath the night sky. Thranduil, however, did not savor the magic of the night. He paid little heed to the rousing cheers that greeted those who did well, and the encouragement shouted down to those that fared poorer. He did not see the last warrior stand to accept their victory, the archers that took the field after a series of targets were neatly arranged at the far end of the field, the courtiers who parted with their jewels or the others who readily accepted purses full of gold coins. All he did see was the maid going from noble to noble, pouring wine and clearing dishes whenever it was asked of her, without saying a word in return.  

“Y/n,” Thranduil called softly before he could stop himself. “Wine, if you please.”

She obeyed and came to him. He watched her discretely, how her hands trembled even as she poured more wine for him. Then her sleeve shifted ever so slightly, and the bruise came into view. Thranduil kept his composure. He felt his father’s eyes on him.

“My thanks,” he replied, then turned his attention to the two remaining contestants. Feren and Angon were all that remained of the archers, and the next few moments would decide who would be the victor.

A hush settled upon the field, and the throng went silent. Angon was the first to nock his arrow. He took a deep breath, and then took aim. When he breathed out again, the arrow flew toward its target, and everyone watched, breathless. A soft thud was heard. The arrow nearly found its mark.

“A fraction too far from the center,” Oropher observed to his son. “But I wonder if it is close enough.”

“Feren still has to take a turn, father,” Thranduil replied. “Anything can happen.”  

They waited with bated breath while a herald called Feren to come forth. Thranduil’s steward took his position, nocked his arrow, and breathed in. When he exhaled, the arrow flew true to its aim, and all who had gathered erupted into thunderous applause when the arrow struck the target in the center.

“A pity we did not hold a wager, you and I,” Thranduil smiled, rising.

“A king does not partake in wagers, not even with his son." Oropher’s steely eyes glinted with amusement. “Come. It is time we rewarded the victors and prepared ourselves for the feast.”

While the service of prayers was a somber affair, the feast itself was not. Minstrels walked from table to table strumming harps and playing viols and flutes, while servants brought forth dishes of quail and venison and boar roasted in honey and herbs. There were heaping platters of cheese and pears and wild berries and apples and apricots, with golden flagons of wine and ale and mead for anyone who had a thirst for it. Many of those present ate and drank their fill. Some drank more than they should, and they gathered together in groups of threes and more to sing vulgar tunes that would have made even the bawdiest sailors amongst the Edain blush.

His father saw no harm in such amusements. He would have participated in them as well, had he not been king. More than once, Thranduil caught him drumming his fingers against the table and humming along to songs that caught his particular attention. Then he made his excuses and left the dais, and Thranduil watched while his father stopped by one table or the other to speak with their guests. The prince joined him not long after and waited his turn to be introduced to those he had never met before, unwed maidens in particular.

Father still clings to the hope of my wedding and producing an heir, Thranduil thought with affection. Ever since he attained the age of majority, his father spoke to him about prospective brides and encouraged him to form friendships with them. And while the prince was ever willing to indulge his father where friendships were concerned, he practiced greater caution when it came to his choice of bride.

I will make my own way when it comes to marriage, Thranduil thought to himself. And after I have finished establishing a household for myself. 

That household was a vast cave system north of Amon Lanc, and the work to make it a suitable home for a crown prince was nearly complete. His father encouraged it, thinking it was high time his son established a proper home for himself.

“Will you stay for the dancing, my lord?” A nobleman inquired of Oropher.

“Alas, my featherbed calls,” Oropher replied in jest. “And I fear that for tonight, I must answer it.”

The others laughed softly, then bowed when the king took his leave of them and retired to his chambers for the night. Thranduil remained. He returned to his seat on the dais, his golden hair limned by the flickering light of clear, amber lamps. Then the music changed, and the singing stopped. The time for dancing had come.

The prince had to leave his place a second time and he joined the others, graciously asking one lady to dance with him before turning to another after the music stopped and partners changed. His eyes widened like anything when Angon finally mustered the courage to ask Nitiel to dance with him in full view of his mother and father, and he quickly turned the other way when the general found him looking and flushed all over.

So it has happened, Thranduil realized after seeing thin bands of silver gleaming around their fingers. He has finally made the lady his wife. But will his mother and father accept his choice?

If Angon’s mother and father were displeased by their son’s brazen act, they did not show it. They simply rose and joined the others in dancing and exchanging pleasantries with their son’s lady. Then he became distracted by the sight of Feren walking toward the few remaining servants that had gathered at one end of the feasting hall. His steward approached y/n and then asked her to dance with him. Perhaps it was out of pity, as many of the others had been asked to dance. Or perhaps, he simply asked out of kindness. Either way, it did not alter the fact that Feren asked the lady to dance with him, and she, after a great deal of reluctance, agreed.

Thranduil gracefully led his own companion on more than one turn around the hall, but his eyes were on Feren and y/n most of the time. The maid proved to be a skilled dancer, and she followed Feren’s steps with great ease. When the music changed, partners changed, and whenever a change took place, Thranduil found y/n dancing with Angon, and then Galion, and then Elros, a wet-behind-the-ears elf who pledged himself to the king’s service only a turn of the moon ago. The elf’s countenance was bruised; he was one of the unfortunate warriors to take a blow to the face during the mock battle.

The music changed again, and this time y/n danced a turn with Amdír. The king of Lórien was a splendid dancer, and he made her laugh more than once. It was the first time Thranduil heard her laugh, and he shivered despite himself. Then, when the music changed for the final time, the prince himself had to dance a turn with y/n.

“My lady,” he bowed, for all eyes were on them now. “Would you do me the honor?”

“I… Of course, my lord,” y/n returned, and she dipped to her knees in a deep curtsy. When the music started, she placed her hand in his, and they danced in a circle around the floor.

While kindness or perhaps pity drove Feren to ask y/n to dance, shame over his own conduct led Thranduil to talk.

“You dance uncommonly well, my lady. Was it your mother who taught you how to dance?”

“My father… my lord. My mother… she said that was how father caught her eye. By how good he was with dancing.”

“I see,” Thranduil commented. “And how do you find life in Amon Lanc, my lady? Is it to your liking?”

Y/n was startled. “I do not understand my lord. Has… has someone said something? Has the king said something?”

She was frightened; it would have been plain to anyone who saw.

“No one has said anything against you,” he said softly in an effort to dispel her fears. “I merely wish to know if you are happy here.”

“I… I suppose I am happier here,” she replied.   

“Good,” Thranduil said. Then he felt her palm against his. It trembled. The hand resting on his other arm shook even as he held her steady. “Are you afraid of me?”

She was quick to shake her head and declare otherwise. Thranduil was not fooled, however, and whispered, “You are afraid of me. And I know my own actions have led you to fear me. Please, allow me to make amends for my behavior.”

“Why?” She asked after a while, in great confusion. “You are the crown prince of this great realm. I am Noldor, and I am the daughter of a kinslayer. Why would you even wish to do such a thing?”

Why indeed. Thranduil did not understand why the notion of asking for forgiveness entered his thoughts, only that it was there and that he would know no peace until he did.

“I do not know myself,” he confessed. “All I do know is that I truly desire to make amends for my behavior from before. Please grant me the opportunity to do so.”

tags: @deadlymistletoe @lemonivall @coopsgirl @tigereyesf @thranduilseyebrows​ @cupids-got-me​ @jane0error @asianbutnotjapanese

[im-way-too-many-fandoms]

Just finished The Hobbit Trilogy❤️ It was amazing and I immediately had to draw an angsty Thranduil during Mereth Nuin Giliath✨ Maybe I'll write a story to this picture?

[heartmira]

Greenleaf ｡ﾟ･ Thranduil x Fem!Reader

Summary: In which Legolas asks her Naneth ( Reader ) how she and his father met each other.

A/N: This is the first time I'm writing fluff and a fic for middle-earth, so it must be weird lol. I'm more confident when I write angst.

tw: arranged marriage and soulmates (marks/tattoos)

ion - son , naneth - mother , adar - father , mereth nuin giliath - feast of starlight

word count: 1,042

"Naneth, how did you and Adar met each other?" Little Legolas asked, beaming at his mother, who smiled at his question, stroking his white hair. "It is a rather long story, ion. Would you really like to hear it?" Y/N, the Queen of Mirkwood, said.

"I promise that I'll halt my archery lessons for a week if you'd tell me, Naneth," Legolas promised, raising his right hand as if to pledge. "All right, ion..." Y/N chuckled before trailing off, starting her story as Legolas listened intently.

Thranduil, Prince of Mirkwood, was in a sour mood ever since the night his father, King Oropher, called him upon his study, disclosing him of his agreement with the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn, that when their children are finally of age, they would be arranged for marriage to strengthen the alliance between Mirkwood and Lothlórien further.

Thranduil, a faithful believer of soulmates and their bonds, immediately turned down his father after unconsciously touching the green leaf mark on his wrist. But, unfortunately, the agreement was already made even before he and the daughter of the Lord and Lady of Lothlórien were born into Middle-Earth.

When the day that the party of Lothlórien was due to arrive, the elves of Mirkwood worked in such haste, for they dusted every corner of the castle, arranged the best chambers and suites, and organized their large dining halls, rivaling the beauty of it during the celebrations of Mereth Nuin Giliath.

As one of the guards of Mirkwood announced the arrival of the Lothlórien party, Thranduil's eyes wandered over every individual that stepped into the throne room, trying to find the Lady who would soon be his wedded wife, but as the greetings between the Lord and Lady of Lothlórien and King Oropher ended, Lady Galadriel turned to him.

"I understand your nerves, Thranduil Oropherion. My dear Y/N is also lost in these decisions and has just learned of its existence just as your father had told you so. You'll find her somewhere in these woods, for she wanted to clear her thoughts before she faces you." Lady Galadriel spoke in his mind, and with a slight nod to the Lady and his father, he excused himself from their presence and walked out straight into the forest.

Thranduil searched for the Lady of Lothlórien for about half an hour, going circles over the stone path and listening for any indication of the Lady's whereabouts, but he found none. However, when he was just about to give up and walk back in the direction of the underground castle, his ears heard a dulcet tone humming a soft tune right just where his 'secret' place is.

As he reached the source of the melodic sound, his eyes wandered over Y/N, who sat upon a large stone Thranduil frequented, staring at the shade of the sun from the sleeping trees. She was too absorbed with the sound of her voice to hear the soft stirring of the leaves around her as Thranduil slowly walked towards her.

As soon as Y/N turned her head in the direction of Thranduil, she squealed out of surprise, almost falling off her back, but balanced herself in the last second and immediately took out a dagger from her dress' pocket, aiming it at the stranger in front of her who stood with both his arms raised. "Who are you, and how did you find me?" She questioned, her voice firm yet soft.

"I'm Thranduil of the Mirkwood realm, and your mother told me you'd be here somewhere." Thranduil answered, and with a small 'oh' from Y/N, she offered the space beside her and stared back at the sun. "This is my favorite spot in the entirety of Mirkwood."

"It is a good place. Quiet, peaceful, and hard to find." Y/N remarked, turning her gaze towards the prince as he stared at her. "I don't want this as much as you don't. My original plan was to journey through middle-earth to find my soulmate like my sister and every elves I've ever known."

"We're not different in that case. I'd be truly delighted to know who bears the same mark as mine does." Thranduil confessed, kicking a pebble at the ground. "You know, I think I have the strangest mark."

"Why do you think so?" Y/N asked curiously, mindlessly staring at every feature of Thranduil's face.

"Others that I've known typically bears a mark of words written in Tengwar, but mine is rather simple; a green leaf." Thranduil explained, raising the hem of his robes to reveal his soulmate mark. "It's rather strange, isn't it? I heard from past visitors from Lothlórien that yours are different too. Would it be alright if I could take a look at it?"

Thranduil looked at Y/N after noting her silence, and he saw how she stared at him with a mixture of anxiety, surprise, and happiness. He watched as she quickly folded the sleeves of her dress before practically shoving her wrist at Thranduil out of excitement. The two of them stared at each other's wrists for quite some time, their eyes darting towards one another wrists like they couldn't believe their eyes.

After a while, they raised both their head in unison, and without a second thought, Thranduil enveloped Y/N in a tight hug. And after overcoming their initial shock, the two decided to walk back to the castle. Those who passed by them stared in amazement as they've noted their intertwined hands and the bright smile on their faces.

Once they've reached the dining hall where their parents were sitting, they did not seem shocked, for they took terms to envelop the two in a warm hug as King Oropher welcomed Y/N to their family, and so did Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn with Thranduil.

"And that's how we met, ion. I suppose that also answers your questions about how your name came to be." Y/N beamed, bopping Legolas' nose as he laughed. "I'd like to hear more stories about how you and Ada were before I was born, Naneth." Legolas requested, showing his puppy dog eyes as Y/N rolled her eyes with a laugh. "Perhaps someday I'll tell you about how your father once mistook my Naneth as myself."

[selenavtl]

Travels of a Broken Heart ( Thranduil x reader) DISCONTINUED : Prologue

My name is Y/n. I was born in Rivendell, 3215 years-ago, and raised by Lord Elrond, until my fate took me away. My parents died so early in my life that any memories of them disappeared with time, and all that is left, are the powers I inherited from them. From what Elrond told me, my mother was a healer, but he never really spoke about my father.

When I was old enough, Elladan and Elrohir, Elrond’s sons, started taking me out of Rivendell. We went searching for herbs, and occasionally, we would hunt down packs of Orcs coming from the mountains. I instantly knew I was meant to be outside, and not in the beautiful safety of the Hidden Valley.

As a result of those trips, I started training with Elrond’s soldiers, and quickly became one of the best archers. These fighting skills, along with my healing abilities, made me “the most powerful edhel on Arda”, as Elrond says. 

Life went on and on, peacefully, for hundreds of years. I’d be sent away on political trips, or charged to rid areas of Orcs and other disgusting creatures, almost every day. 

Until darkness took over the world and the War of The Last Alliance took place. Men and Elves, fighting together against the forces of Sauron, for years. This is where I first saw him. 

Amongst the thousands of men, elves and Orcs’ dead bodies, the Prince of the Woodland Realm, Thranduil. Fighting two cavern Trolls by himself, with for only weapon his bleeding sword.  Even swollen in black blood and dirt, his long white hair shined like a ray of light, in the dark fields of Mordor. Seeing him was like being struck by lightning, and that’s when I knew he was my One. 

Elves already have a special vision of love, only having a single lover for the eternity that is their life. But a One, is more powerful than any possibe feelings one could have. Once you find it, your souls are bounded until death, and when the end comes, whether you die together, whether the remaining  beating heart breaks. That is, if the feelings are mutual. Which wasn’t the case for me, since the Prince was already married. 

When the war ended, and Sauron died ( or at least that’s what we thought), I decided to not go back to Rivendell, the main reason being that it was too far away from the Woodland Realm, and from Thranduil who was now King considering his father died during the War. 

Though, Elrond was still too saddened and traumatized by the Battle, so he told me to go and find a wizard, Gandalf the Grey. Finding him was easy, but living with him was not. We were always on the road, from North to South, and East to West, taking care of situations only a wizard could handle. I was happy since I was travelling the world, but the ache of being far from my One only grew harder to bare. We travelled together enough time for Gandalf to become a father to me, just like Elrond. 

One year, we were (mostly Gandalf) invited to Mereth Nuin Giliath, the Feast of Starlight, by the Elvenking Thranduil himself. The prospect of seeing him again was relieving, but also worrying considering that he was not even aware of my existence, nor that I would come along with Gandalf. 

It occurred that I was right to worry. I never felt so unwelcomed and out of place in my life, and yet, it felt like home. The realm was dark, but warm and inviting, candle light illuminating every bridges and trees. We were led to the throne room as soon as we arrived by an elf named Feren. He also was fighting against Sauron back then. The room was huge, but what impressed me the most was the large and high wooden throne, ornated by what seemed to be elk antlers, and covered in silk drapes. Two guards were standing before it, and two other ones arrived, escorting the King. 

Seeing Thranduil again was like I was reborn, all the pain and feeling of emptiness leaving my body as he welcomed Gandalf. Our eyes met for the first time, his icy blue ones piercing into my E/c ones. He seemed surprised at first, but finally welcomed me as well. 

We never exchanged a word, even when I was sitting by his side during the dinner that took place that night. Gandalf, who sat next to Thranduil’s wife, was recounting our adventures, which allowed me to embrace the relief my body felt. 

The King was as stunning as ever, the wooden and spiky crown on his head made him look even more regal and majestic, yet he seemed somewhat older, and more similiar to his father. Gandalf told me that evening that a crown can change a person in many ways, a statement that confirmed itself many times all along my story. 

I made the biggest (and worst ) decision of my life later that night. Gandalf was already asleep, and possibly a bit drunk considering the amount of wine he drank, but I, on the other hand, couldn’t sleep. I decided to head to the library Feren showed us earlier, but didn’t suspect that the King would be there, and very much alone. We didn’t speak much, but it was enough for me to tell him that I felt incredibly good in the realm, and for him to tell me to try and stay here for a while. 

And so I did. I lived by his side for years, and it was better, better than being away, but still not enough. I barely saw him, barely talked to him, and his wife was never truly nice with me. To this day, I still wonder if she suspected or even knew my feelings toward Thranduil. The only friend I ever made in the kingdom was Feren, who knew all of it, and who was always here whenever I needed an advice. 

Until one cold day of October, my feelings and pain became unbearable, so I decided to tell the King everything. How I felt, what he was to me, everything. He didn’t believe me at first (and I don’t think he ever did), but his wife knew it was true. She rejected me, banished me from the realm for my feelings and he watched, silent from up his throne. She made the guards escort me out, with no weapons, no food, nothing. I ran and ran, out of what was still Greenwood, until I felt it. The pain of a heart, literally breaking. No wound I’ve ever gotten was as intense and painful than that. The only thing I remember is  crying out of pain in the middle of nowhere, and then eveything went black.

When I woke up, the wooden elven walls were replaced by cold, stone columns. Actually everything seemed to be made of stone, even the bed felt like it. The room was empty, besides a few candlesticks here and there, and a desk covered in fresh food. Then I noticed a young dwarf, with black hair and a beard quite short for his kin. His name was Thorin, grandson of the King of Erebor, where he brought me. I knew Erebor because of the stories about golden rooms that people talk about. He told me he found me a few days before, unconscious near the forest, and brought me to his kingdom. 

Thorin quickly became my best-friend as I recovered for more than a month. The pain was still here, going back and forth, but I felt better as the days flew by. I was ready to leave, far away from all of this, but Thorin almost begged me to stay. So, I did. 

I lived peacefully, away from the world, in Erebor for years, and it becamr the closest thing I ever had from a home, since Rivendell. 

The first time I heard about Thranduil again was when a messenger from the Woodland Realm came to the mountain, to inform us that the Queen died. He was carrying a box, full of white gems that were hers, and that Thranduil wanted to be made as a necklace. He came to Erebor when it was done, but Thror, who was already consumed by sickness,  stole them from him. 

We didn’t hear from him again, until the dragon came and took our home away from us. We were all hurt and desperate, and he just watched, and left. Thorin never forgot, nor forgave, but I did, somehow. 

But here I am, today, in a place I didn’t even knew existed called The Shire, in front of a small, round wooden door, marked by a certain grey wizard, waiting to go take our home back.

Elvish translation:

Edhel = elf