#oropher would be proud

[wild-typo-turtle]

Threads - Part 15

Explicit (slow burn, 18+ only) - Rings of Power - Gil-galad x OFC (Elf)

Includes S2E8 of Rings of Power - spoilers ahoy!

Gil-galad had only taken a handful of steps when his gaze passed over yet another collapsed building. From the looks of things, it had once been an open, airy shop that had faced directly into the plaza. The roof had caved in, creating dusty shadows, and even his keen eyes might have missed the slumped figure had he not heard the tiny whimper from the darkness.

Eregion has been destroyed; Sauron is gone. And yet, the sun still shines, as the ruined city holds the last thing that High King Gil-galad had ever expected to find.

Themes: #Idiots in love, #love at first sight, #soulmates, #smut with feelings, #fix-it, #everybody lives

Content Warnings: Explicit content (parts 9, 11, 13, and 15), canon-typical violence; loss of parents; grief/mourning. This part contains smut! Please do not read if you are not of age to do so or if such is not your cup of tea.

Tag List: @morganas-pendragons, @stellar-solar-flare, @the141bandicoot; @inyx-writes44, @melmel-fandom, @hufflepufferine, @shadows-and-flowers, @xcrybaby555x, @bespectacledhuman

Face claim: Keri Russell as Linnea

Part 1 (includes A/N and credits), Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9 (contains smut), Part 10, Part 11 (contains very brief, light smut), Part 12, Part 13 (contains smut), Part 14

Part 15

For such an occasion, the trappings of state are largely absent, but Gil-galad is accustomed to that from Oropher. His hall is functional, and its simplicity is still beautiful in its way. The food is good, and plentiful, but a far cry from Lindon’s talented cooks. He has dressed as plainly as possible for the visit - as has Linnea - to attempt to put Oropher more at ease; it does not seem to have much effect. 

But Linnea would look beautiful anywhere, in anything - and he sees the relaxation on her face at the surroundings. Two years in Lindon has made her more accustomed to the life that will be hers for the rest of her days, but he knows that she still cherishes the memories of her home in Eregion, the peaceful and quiet times with her parents and their shop. 

She fits in well here. Tinnaril has come to court for their visit, and while he spends endless hours arguing with Oropher, Linnea disappears to pass her time with the Woodland queen. They clearly enjoy each other’s company; Tinnaril joins them for dinner regularly, speaking to Linnea about her music and ignoring the rest of the room. 

At night, in their rooms, she tells him about her days. She has brought a chest full of fabrics with her, gifts to Tinnaril that have been received with gratitude. Oropher may be difficult, but there is still goodwill to be had here, and Linnea is doing her part to nurture it.

And before they leave, there is an agreement. A fragile one, but a pact to come to the aid of one another when the enemy stirs. It is not everything Gil-galad had wanted; Oropher is proud, and refuses to surrender any command of his own forces when Lindon and the Woodland join together. But it is a start.

Gil-galad had always been partial to the council chambers. They were on the ground floor of the palace buildings, and they were open to the air, allowing him to breathe the smell of the trees and hear the song of the birds. More than once, such had allowed him to settle his mind before saying something he likely would have regretted later. And perhaps, that had been the intent of its designers when the rooms had first been built. 

And over the last years, necessity had demanded that the rooms be expanded. The council had grown, augmented by representatives from the artisans of Lindon, the smiths and the growers and the weavers and the others that were contributing to the preparations for war. The city administrators had always had seats at the table, but Linnea had observed that perhaps the artisans might wish to speak on their own behalf - and he had immediately seen the sense in it.

And of course, there was Linnea herself. The High Queen.

She had taken her seat after their wedding. And they had not always agreed - as he had foreseen, there had been times when her wishes and the realm’s needs diverged - but he had always welcomed her opinions. And she had never failed to stand by his side.

Just as she did now.

They had ridden back at speed from the training grounds. He had sent runners ahead of them to begin assembling the council, but the room was still empty as he and Linnea walked in. The large table was strewn with maps and scrolls from previous meetings, although someone must have been notified of their approach. The lanterns had been lit, and water and wine had been laid out on the sideboard. 

He paused at the head of the table, resting his hands on it and suppressing a sigh. But Linnea could tell he worried; she always could, and she came up to his side, leaning against him and covering one of his hands with her own.

“Meleth nín,” she murmured.

He turned, kissing the side of her head gently. “We knew it would come,” he said softly. “We have had ample time to prepare. And yet, so has our enemy.”

“Oropher asked,” she reminded him. “You were unsure that he would.”

She was right; he had been wary that the Woodland King would hold to the agreement they had forged. He spread the scroll out to read it again, the message written in Oropher's own hand. 

High King,

The enemy presses against our southern borders with a great force. We have them held at the edge of the Greenwood for now, but your aid is necessary to maintain our defense and mount a counterattack. I look forward to your speedy arrival.

Simple and direct, as was Oropher's way. Yet his message told them nothing of the numbers they were likely to face, the disposition of the enemy, or their equipment and arms. Perhaps Oropher did not consider such as important; Gil-galad did not like to think about the alternative, that Oropher had deliberately withheld details that might have given Lindon pause before coming to assist. Or perhaps he was being uncharitable - Oropher might simply have entrusted Arondir with the information. 

It made no difference, in the end. He would hold to his word.

He left the scroll and crossed to the sideboard, pouring water for himself and Linnea. She joined him, taking the second glass in hand; they were both still in their training attire, having taken no pause upon arrival and coming straight to the council chambers. The refreshment was welcome, as were these few moments alone.

Inside him, he felt the ósanwë tremble, as if it were a candle flame sputtering in a passing wind. And he did not have to consider long to know its cause - they had had five years of relative peace. His hand had not taken up Aeglos save for training. 

This would be the first time he had ridden into battle since they had wed. 

“Linnea,” he said quietly. “Melethel. Rîn vuin.”

“I know,” she whispered. “As King, you must lead. And doubly so now, else Oropher might take offense were you to send someone else to command in your stead.”

Her eyes were cast downward, and he smiled softly at her, reaching for her chin and tipping it up so that she had to look at him and see it. 

“We shall go together,” he murmured. “Let this be a show of Lindon's strength as well as the Woodland Realm. You shall be with us, you and the Pilino Tarí.”

Her blue eyes widened. “Ereinion…”

He could feel her surprise, and again, it was not hard to know its source. She had expected to have to press him to include her and her company; he had been protective of her from the very moment they had met. And indeed, that great beast inside him that she had first awakened was even now growling at the idea of her being put in danger. 

“A sword is not forged to be left in the armory,” he said. “And you have not trained all these months for me to leave you here, awaiting news.”

Gil-galad could see that he had pleased her. She took no pleasure in the thought of battle; her nature was not formed of such stuff. But she was pleased by his respect for her, and the sober look in her eyes said that she understood the responsibility he was sharing with her. 

“Thank you, my love,” she said softly. 

They were still alone. And there were no warning sounds from outside that they were about to have company, no approaching footfalls or crunching of leaves. It was safe to slide his arms around Linnea and to draw her close to him. 

“You fear for me no more than I fear for you,” he whispered. “Do not think that I am not tempted to keep you safe in Lindon. But I would not dishonor you so, my queen.”

He dared not speak of his other reason. It felt as fragile as the thinnest cobweb, spun overnight and sparkling in the morning with fresh drops of dew. But that vision of Linnea with child, the one that had not yet come to pass - it wrapped itself around his heart, soothing the beast in him, saying no, there is no danger, this yet lies before you. 

Perhaps she knew. She had not seen it for herself; it was not as close for her as it was for him. But perhaps it was in her mind as well. 

Her hand reached up, cupping his face and drawing his head down. Gil-galad smiled again as their lips met; five years ago he had wondered if he would ever get used to such, the sheer joy of a kiss. And even with what they were about to face, he was pleased to reaffirm that no, he was not used to it. 

“Aran vuin,” she murmured against his lips, when they separated slightly. He kissed her once more, quickly; they would have company at any moment, and as little as he cared for anyone else's opinion, it would not do to be perceived as disrespectful of the situation at hand.

But on the other hand, he still remembered Celebrimbor's wise counsel.

It is not strength that overcomes darkness, but light.

They were joined soon enough by the rest of the council, at least what could be assembled of it so quickly. The commanders of the armies, the representative of the smiths, Master Círdan as the master of ships, and of course, himself and Linnea. And Arondir as well, representing Oropher.

And so he kept his hand nestled at the small of Linnea's back, even as they stepped back to the table.

Gil-galad waited until they all were gathered around the table before speaking. A great map was spread before them, carefully detailed and lettered, and he looked first to Arondir to begin.

“What is known of the disposition of our enemy? What numbers has he brought forth?”

Arondir contemplated the map for a moment before reaching for the box of tokens to the side. He looked through it briefly before extracting a handful of black towers, carved from ebony, that were made to represent the enemy - representations of the fortress that had risen in the land of Mordor. Their scouts had, at great peril, reported that the tower was yet incomplete, but that was scarce comfort.

And it was no comfort at all how many of the black tokens that Arondir plucked from the box. They filled his hand, and he placed them deliberately, one by one, along the southern and eastern borders of the Greenwood. They formed a line that snaked around the forests, nearly to the Celduin in the north and the Anduin to the west.

“Each represents five hundred orcs,” Arondir said softly. “We estimate their total force to be forty thousand. They have no cavalry, but their infantry is fierce and reasonably well-armed. Their archers have a short range, and thus far, our longbows have kept them at bay.”

Gil-galad barely heard the last part; he was too busy staring at Arondir. And across the table, he could see the army commanders doing the same thing.

“Forty thousand,” he breathed. “How has such a thing come to pass in so short a time?”

Arondir signed, his shoulders drooping, as he looked down at the table. “We know not,” he said softly. “It may be that Adar’s forces at Eregion were but a small part of the orcs at his command. And that Sauron, when he took control of Mordor, seized what was left behind.”

Rúsiel, commander of the Eastern Armies, stepped forward. Her eyes were glued to the line of black tokens, and she gestured at the box. “And what numbers has the Woodland Realm fielded, to keep such an army at bay?”

Arondir nodded at the question. He delved back into the box, coming out with a new handful of tokens. They were trees this time, wrought of bronze, and he set them in a pattern along the edges of the forests. There were not as many as there were of the towers - perhaps a ratio of three to one - but the positions were advantageous. 

“Amdír has come to our aid as well,” Arondir added, once he was finished with the tokens. “A small force from Lórien, under the command of Prince Amroth. Perhaps a thousand, no more. But they have assisted with our efforts admirably, harrying the enemy’s supply lines and barring them from advancing farther to the north.”

A thousand from Lórien. And ten thousand from the Woodland Realm itself. Fewer than Gil-galad had hoped for, but more than he had anticipated. The odds were not insurmountable, and he forced himself not to think about how events might have been different had he been able to summon Oropher’s aid to Eregion.    

He looked to Rúsiel, raising a brow. “We dare not leave Lindon undefended,” he said. “How much can we commit to assisting our allies?”

Rúsiel did not answer right away. Instead she stepped around the table, bringing her attention to the south. 

“The path to the Greenwood is long,” she mused. “Commander Arondir, what route did you take through the Misty Mountains?”

“The High Pass,” he answered. “The better to reach the safety of Imladris. Lord Elrond provided me with a fresh horse and supplies for the remainder of my journey.”

Rúsiel nodded slowly. “Yet one Elf, alone, may move both more swiftly and quietly than an army,” she observed. “High King, I would advise we make the largest part of our journey by ship. We dare not advance to the Anduín, it is far too close to Mordor. Yet our smaller, swifter vessels might make their way up the Angren.”    

He saw the sense in it - and more, the strategy. “And come at the enemy from behind unawares,” he said. 

Rúsiel nodded. “We can spare half our cavalry. And a detachment of the infantry. And…” She paused, inclining her head to Linnea. “The High Queen’s company of archers. Altogether, six thousand.”

Gil-galad had not been High King for so long without understanding a key principle of ruling: that of asking questions he already knew the answers to. This had been one such, and the answer Rúsiel had given was the same as in his mind. He nodded his assent to the number and then turned to his right, where Linnea stood, and beyond her the one who spoke for the smiths. 

“How quickly can such a force be supplied and ready to sail?”

It was the smith, Hinnor, who answered first - but not without a quick glance at Linnea, who nodded her encouragement to him. 

“The army has been well equipped, High King,” said the young smith. “Their armor and weapons are in readiness. There will be no delay on account of the smiths of Lindon.”

Hinnor looked once again to Linnea, seeking her approval. She rewarded him with a smile, and then turned to face Rúsiel.

“How many ships to transport our forces, Commander?”

Rúsiel had plainly been calculating in her head; she answered with barely a pause. “A fleet of twenty, High Queen.”

Linnea inhaled, thinking for a moment as she contemplated the map. Gil-galad could see her measuring distances in her head, thinking about the time needed for the journey as well as the fight itself. “Two days to outfit the ships,” she said, but there was a question in her voice, and she looked across the table for confirmation. “With your agreement, Master Círdan.”

“I agree, High Queen.” Círdan's voice was quiet and calm, as was ever his way. “Two days is time enough.”

Linnea nodded. “There are ample stores at the ready,” she said. “And we may rely on Imladris for ongoing support. We need not carry all with us.”

“Lord Elrond anticipated as such,” Arondir said. “I have dispatches from him as well, High King. He has already set a guard on the High Pass, to ensure Imladris is not cut off from the east.”

Two days to supply the ships. And the army itself would muster swiftly; most of Lindon's forces were gathered in the training camps much like the one he and Linnea had been at that morning. 

“We depart in three days, then,” Gil-galad pronounced. “Arondir, I must ask that you return to the Greenwood with all haste, to alert Oropher of our coming. He must hold his defenses until we can attack.”

“Arondir, might you journey by sea as well?” Linnea reached out, tracing a finger along the coast. “A light vessel would allow you to reach Oropher quickly, more so than traveling overland.”

Arondir paused, considering. “I have little skill with a sail, my lady queen,” he said carefully. “But I agree, it would be the swiftest way to travel.”

“We shall find a craft that suits your needs,” Círdan said. “Return to the Havens with me once this council concludes, and we shall have you on your way.”

Arondir nodded, undaunted by the task that was being asked of him. He had barely arrived in Lindon and now he was being asked to make the return journey at once. But he stood straight, and his eye was determined. Not for the first time in his long life, Gil-galad felt the weight of his kingship; how often had he asked the same, or more, from his subjects? How was it his right to make those demands, and what repayment had he ever made for them?

But Linnea, as she ever did, knew his mind.  

“Tarry for a few moments before you depart,” she said softly. “Lindon will not send you away empty-handed, Arondir. We shall supply you with lembas for your journey.”

Arondir's eyes widened.

“You honor me beyond my deserving, High Queen,” he murmured, casting his eyes downward. “Your generosity will not be wasted.”

Gil-galad had to stop himself from smiling with pride. It was indeed an honor, granting Arondir the lembas that had been made by Linnea's own hands. Yet he saw the second purpose behind her gift; the lembas would provide Arondir with strength and vigor beyond any other foodstuffs. It would lend speed to his journey, allowing him to return to the Greenwood well ahead of Lindon's army. 

He spread his hands on the table, leaning forward and taking the box of tokens. The pieces that he plucked out were cast of gold; golden stars, the same as his sigil. 

“Then all that remains is for us to decide upon our plan of attack.”

It was hours yet before they left the council chambers. Some had been dismissed before the work of battle planning began; Hinnor the smith and others had been sent to tend to their labors. Despite the army already being well-supplied, none would lack for tasks during the next two days. And those that had remained were equally as occupied, detailing each aspect of how the journey would unfold, where precisely they would hope to strike the enemy forces. Arondir's contributions had been invaluable, for he had scouted the enemy's lines before leaving the Greenwood. 

And now he was on his way, leaving for the Havens with Master Círdan.

Despite the gravity of the task ahead, Linnea smiled as Gil-galad offered her his arm to depart the council chambers; five years of marriage, and yet, he still deeply cherished the small graces of a husband. They walked together through the quiet halls; the hour was late, although Linnea fancied she could feel a restlessness beneath the silence. Soon enough, many would stir from their beds and turn their hands to the plans that had been made that night. 

But these last few hours were still theirs.

She found herself not wanting to leave his side, not even to return to her own rooms and prepare for the night. And he seemed to know her mind; he was leading them to his rooms without a word needing to be spoken. He led and she walked with him, their guards behind them, his arm warm beneath her hand even through his clothing. 

And when his door had shut, leaving everything else outside it, he offered her a soft smile as he turned fully towards her. She saw the mantle of the High King fall from his shoulders, as it did when they were alone; it had come easier over the years, the change more natural for him as he grew accustomed to it. 

“What is your will, my lady?” Ereinion murmured. 

She smiled. “You seem to already know it, my love. My desire is only to spend this night with my beloved husband, before we must take up our roles once more without knowing how long before we may put them down again.”  

His lips curved ruefully, in acknowledgment of her words. Privacy would be precious once they departed Lindon, and even when it was achieved, they would both have many cares intruding on their time. But that was the nature of a royal marriage, as they had learned - the important thing was to seize what time they were given.

“Then let us begin with our tea,” he murmured. “It has always soothed my mind, and I shall use such tonight to focus solely on my wife.”

That sounded like an excellent beginning. 

Ereinion’s servants had visited prior to their return from the council chambers. The fire had been laid and lit, as had the candles and the lanterns, and the rooms had been set to rights. A silver jug of fresh water awaited her by the hearth; all that remained for Linnea to do was to fill the steel kettle and swing it over the fire to boil.

Yet, as she did so, she saw the traces of dirt upon her hands, still left from training. It was a simple matter to remedy - but her hands were not the only thing in need of cleaning. She smelled of the practice field, and of Súrë, and while the smells were not unpleasant she did not wish to bring them to bed.

And so once the kettle was positioned, Linnea stood. 

Ereinion had been standing at the window, looking out at the night, but turned in curiosity as she walked to the door and opened it. The guard outside snapped to attention as she leaned out.

“Send for Hrivend, please.”

At the name of his body servant, Ereinion left the window, taking a step towards her as she shut the door. “Are you in need of some assistance, melethel?”

Linnea smiled at him, raising a brow slightly. “I thought we might enjoy a bath together after our tea.”

His eyes lit up, and her smile widened as she saw it. She wondered if he had had similar thoughts of making use of his gift to her.

His gift.

It had been shortly after their wedding. Her begetting day had been only a few months later, and she had known better than to try and protest a gift. And Ereinion had outdone himself, taking advantage of the two weeks she had been gone visiting Khazad-dûm to have the work performed.

And when she had returned, he had shown her. The bathing tub in his rooms - generously sized already, to accommodate his tall form - had been removed and replaced with one much larger. A tub large enough that they both could fit in it, if they desired; a prelude to love, or after it, or simply another way of being close.

It had delighted her then, when she had first beheld it. And the thought of using it now brought equal delight. 

The door opened just as she was lifting the kettle from the hearth and adding the tea leaves to it. Hrivend entered and bowed, and she offered him a smile of greeting. “Thank you for coming. Would you fill the bath, please?”

Hrivend nodded, and without any need for words, proceeded into the bathing room. A moment later she heard him pouring water and stoking up the fire; like her own, Ereinion's bathing room had a hearth. 

Linnea washed her hands while the tea steeped, listening to the soft sounds of Hrivend working. Ereinion had gone back to the window, still looking out at the night; she knew what he was seeing, the glimmering lights of Lindon twinkling in the dark like a sea of fireflies. She could feel his mood from the ósanwë, his resolve and his strength like the greatest of mountains. But also his grief, that this time of peace had come to an end. 

The tea, and the bath, were finished at approximately the same time. She thanked Hrivend and then, as the servant departed, poured the tea into their customary cups. The earthy aroma filled the room, and Ereinion turned from the window, smiling softly.

“I am sorry,” he murmured, as he came back over to the hearth. “My thoughts are…”

“...are where they ought to be,” she finished, handing him one of the cups. “With our people. But I believe I was promised that our tea would allow you to focus on other things?”

He chuckled, raising the cup to his lips. “Indeed, my love. Indeed.” 

Hrivend had added oils to the bath, and Linnea smiled at the mixed scents. Cedar and pine, and a hint of lavender - not too much, but just enough to add a touch of softness to the stronger smells of the trees. She settled into the hot water with a happy sigh; Ereinion was doing the same next to her, draping his long arms over the edge of the tub. 

His eyes were closed as he leaned back. He had knotted his hair up with a golden stick to keep it from trailing in the water, and Linnea let her gaze rove over him. 

“I can feel your eyes on me,” he whispered, smiling. “What is it that you stare at so?”

He was teasing, but she did not mind. It was a sign that he was indeed turning the direction of his thoughts, and so she reached up, tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear. 

“You,” she murmured. “Ereinion. Artanáro. My husband, and my love.”

He didn’t miss that she had deliberately avoided any hint of his titles, his rank. This moment was for them. 

Ereinion opened his eyes, meeting hers, and reached out to repeat her gesture. She had put her hair up as well, but there were several curls escaping the silver stick she had used, and he smoothed one of them back for her.

Linnea leaned in, brushing his lips with hers. Softly, enjoying the moment, sitting together in the hot water with the scented steam rising around them. He returned the kiss, equally as gently, and she felt his hand cup her face tenderly.

“Come,” she murmured, when their lips parted. “This is a bath. Allow me to help you wash.”

It was not the first time by any means, but the smile and the delight on his face said that it might as well have been. It had taken time over the years to accustom him to being cared for, but she had been patient, and slowly he had learned to surrender himself to her loving attention.

Ereinion slid forward, making space for her, and Linnea moved to settle herself behind him. There was a sponge resting in a small basin on the edge of the tub, and she loaded it with scented soap before beginning to gently run it over him. She started where his neck met his shoulder, squeezing the sponge to let the soapsuds trickle over him, and then rubbed in a slow, soft circular pattern. He groaned softly, leaning back against her, her legs on either side of his hips and his back against her chest.

She dropped small, soft kisses on the other side of his neck. And with her other hand, she reached around him, clasping him to her, her hand splayed out on his bare, damp chest. He took that hand in his, lacing their fingers together and holding the hands against his heart, and she both felt and heard a deep purr of contentment rumble from him.

“You are too good to me,” he whispered. “Melethel…”

“Hush,” she murmured. “This is for you, my love. Enjoy it.”

She continued washing, taking her time, deliberately avoiding any touch that might arouse him too greatly. Lovemaking would happen that night, she was confident of that, but there was no cause to hurry into it. Far better to savor it, savor him, and allow him to do the same. And so she moved the sponge slowly, down each arm in turn, and then to the broad chest that rested against her. But her hand did not rove too far beneath the water; instead she shifted, sliding the sponge down the outside of his thigh and to his knee, and he bent his leg to bring it above the water so that she might continue. 

And every so often, she kissed his neck, his ear, his face. Reminding him that there was more to come. 

Although, perhaps he needed none of that. His hands were growing more restless, seeking beneath the water to find her thighs. She kept them tight around him, denying him any more than to stroke his palms down the tops and the sides of her legs, and another purr escaped him - this time, one of gentle frustration. 

“Enjoy,” she admonished, and he laughed.

“I am,” he muttered. “And I shall enjoy you even more, before the sun rises.”

Linnea shivered at that, smiling. But his hands did fall still, allowing her to finish with the sponge, and he even leaned forward enough so that she could wash his back. And when she was done, and had set the sponge back in its basin, he leaned up and back for a soft kiss that she gave him gladly.

He had been patient. He deserved a reward for it.

He had been patient, but his body had responded to her. When she finally let her hand wander below his waist, his sex was hard and hot, and he moaned as she took him in hand. The sound made her core clench; she was not immune to his closeness, to the feel of him against her, to the soft, low whimpers that escaped his lips as she stroked. It was not always easy, making him solely enjoy his own pleasure rather than giving to her, but when she managed it, his response was gratifying indeed.

“Let me touch you,” Ereinion groaned quietly. “Please, my love…ah, oh…”    

She had squeezed his sex - gently, but the pressure had driven the words from his lips. “Not yet,” she whispered. “I have more for you. Sit here.”

Here was the edge of the tub against the wall. Just wide enough, as it happened, to perch on and to lean back. Ereinion let out a long, shuddering breath as he guessed her intention, but he did as she asked, levering himself up out of the water and taking a seat. Linnea moved between his legs, kneeling in the tub, and she smiled as she watched him watch her. 

Love was many things. It was the flowers that still appeared fresh in the vase by her hearth every day, even after five years. It was the respect that Ereinion had shown her in the council chambers, not leaving her behind and not even making her argue for it. It was the war-cloak she had made him for their wedding, the cloak that would be around his shoulders when they departed Lindon three days hence. It was the time they spent together riding, or training, or having their tea in the evening. 

And it was this. This elemental connection, as she took him in her mouth, closing her lips around the thickness of him. Linnea ran her hand up his thigh, slick with the oily water, the scent of cedar and pine and him filling her nose. He moaned as she took as much of him in as she could, swiping at the underside of his sex with her tongue, sucking gently until it was almost too much for him - and that was a point that she knew very, very well. 

Ereinion's hand tunneled into her curls, grasping gently. But he wasn’t controlling her movements; he was simply looking for something to hold onto. She kept her motions slow, languidly licking him from tip to base over and over, before taking him in again. At one point, in between licks, she quickly glanced upward, and it made her preen inside to see his head thrown back against the wall, eyes closed, mouth open and gasping for air.

Beneath the water, her core clenched again, longing for his touch. For him. 

But the longing was manageable, especially when he looked like that, lost in the feeling of her mouth on him. She kept going, playing his pleasure like the finest harp, feeling the tremble of the thick muscles of his thigh beneath her hand as a way to gauge his tension. He was close, and she began wondering if she wanted to finish him this way or…

But before she could decide, he reared up. In a moment she was on her back, the water crashing up and spilling over the edge of the tub, Ereinion pushing her legs apart even as his hips settled between them. His hand cupped her and sank two fingers into her, testing her readiness, and she moaned a ragged, eager yes into his ear. He needed no more encouragement; his hand moved out of the way and one push buried him inside her to the hilt, and then he was thrusting with long, slow strokes. 

“Melethel,” he groaned, leaning down for a hard kiss. “You…by the Valar, you…”        

Linnea lifted her legs, wrapping them around his waist, caring nothing for the water slopping again onto the floor. Their lips met again, and again, Ereinion’s hands gripping the edge of the tub as he moved, and she could tell he was not going to take long to reach the peak. Her legs tightened, heels locking at the small of his back to hold him closer, her fingers sliding into the knot of hair at the back of his head. The feel of him inside her, stretching her open and filling her, as close as it was possible to be to another living being - 

And the ósanwë. That candle inside her heart, flaring up as he found release. It could not be described, not with words, not if she had the rest of her days to try. The sheer love and joy that she felt from him in that moment that lasted an eternity, his body trembling in her arms, hips pressing and stuttering, spending himself within her. 

Linnea trailed her hands over his damp back as he came down, his head buried in the crook of her neck. Once again, she feathered soft kisses over the side of his face, easy and unhurried, savoring the feel of him still inside her. 

At last Ereinion sighed, and backed off, settling back against the empty side of the tub and opening his arms. Linnea went, curling herself against his side; the water was low as a result of their activities, but it was far too much effort to even think of replenishing it. They would be out soon enough.

She had no expectations, at least not at that moment. She knew he would not leave her unfulfilled, although the pleasure she had taken from his pleasure was quite satisfying all on its own. But his hand was restless again, his fingers trailing up her side and seeking her breast, and she hummed and stretched. 

“Come, melethel,” he murmured, his voice still the tiniest bit rough. “Come here to me.”

She went, settling herself in the same position on him as she had that morning, his hands on her waist guiding her. Now it was her back against his chest; now it was his arms wrapping around her. 

Ereinion's breath teased her ear. “It is your turn to enjoy,” he whispered. “Just as you cared for me, now I shall take care of you.”

She trembled. There was promise in that low whisper, a promise she very much wanted him to fulfill. Immediately.

He did not make her wait. He slid a hand between her legs; he was being gentle, mindful that she would be sensitive from having him inside her. Instead of sliding his fingers into her again, he teased the tender flesh with the very tips, tracing the delicate folds with maddening slowness. Linnea rocked against him, pushing, craving more; her pleasure had ebbed but came roaring back to life with a vengeance at the soft stroking, and he chuckled. His fingertip circled her entrance, still teasing and tempting, denying. 

As his finger moved, so did his lips. He nibbled the side of her neck, holding her in place with his free hand cupping her breast, and she moaned as he lightly pinched her nipple between two fingers. Sensation coming from everywhere, neck and breast and core, everything moving and flooding her senses. It threatened to overwhelm, and yet, he knew her as well as she did him - he could play her just as finely.

Just when she was about to scream from it, he slid the teasing finger inside her. A second joined it a moment later, the pair of them easing first in and then out, setting a rhythm that was still careful of her. It was relief, if only for a moment; his wrist shifted slightly and then his thumb was rubbing, rubbing, soft circles along with the thrusts. Not hurried, not at all; the pace was even and steady, taking her towards her peak one slow second at a time. 

A kiss on the shell of her ear. “I can feel it, how close you are,” he whispered. “There is no greater pleasure for me than to give this to you. Take it, my love - go ahead, take what you need…”

His voice, his love, was enough. Linnea shoved her hips against his hand, crying out, needing just that tiny bit of extra friction to fall off the edge. As she shook with the force of it, she felt his thumb slow but not stop, continuing its gentle rubbing of her in order to draw out the release. Another thing to savor, knowing that it would likely be long weeks before they returned to Lindon and could enjoy one another like this again.

She did not let fear into her heart, as she had in the council chambers. Not at that moment. Tomorrow she could worry about losing him; tomorrow she could fear that one of them, or both, might not come back. But those fears had no place here, or now, not with Ereinion's strong arm around her, his lips caressing her neck, his fingers easing out of her tenderly. Not with the glow of love covering her like a warm blanket. 

“We have made a mess,” he rumbled, and she laughed, opening her eyes. It was true, there was water all over the floor, and they would need to fetch towels to mop it up before making their way to bed. 

But that was another thing that could wait.

TBC...

[meadowlarkx]

elvenkings

Fic for @sindarweek day 2: Locations | AO3

Afterwards, they went back. No tale contains this part: no one set it down. Few set out: Oropher, his tall, gangly son, and a handful of others. A small cluster of green shoots. Spring was returning to the forest, and it smelled sweet, like unfurling leaves and old rot melting. They were very careful. They moved and slept in the trees, wishing their foliage fuller and missing Melian’s temperate cradle. But at the rushing Esgalduin, before Menegroth’s bashed-in mouth, there were no boughs to make the going safer.

“Finrod’s brother,” one said, weeping, “wished his mortal’s beauty to live on unmarred in his memory.”

Oropher looked searchingly at his son. Should we not have come back? the look asked. Should I not have brought you back?

Thranduil shook his head. He was serious-faced, with an edge of temper and a merry wit that darted free at times like a bird startled from a branch. No humor glinted in his gaze now. He was named for the spring, but perhaps it had been this kind of spring. “We had to,” he said simply. “Pass me a lantern:” and he crossed the stone bridge and went inside.

Ringing silence, orchestral silence, the tremor of the air from breath and speech shimmering up the vaulted halls roofed by gleaming roots, through the wide proud galleries with their pillars fashioned like beech-trees. No robbers or kinslayers had made lair of this place. Still they trod softly, reverently, until in the garden with its fountain gone quiet—not the throne room—Medlithor sang out clarion a love-song of Daeron’s, and briefly illuminated the dark like lightning.

Three of Nimloth’s gowns for the little princess. Torn tapestries—gleaming silver. A great book of heraldry, and another of sketches, plans for uncarved statuary. Daeron’s prized notes nowhere to be found. A chest of Oropher’s things, still fastened shut, guiltily perfect. A zither broken and unsinging. The dark space where the bodies had been heaped and burnt atop the frozen ground by their enemies. White bones of a few they had missed. The tree-roots embracing them, the new moss blanketing them. Circles ever widening outward, months late seeking children who would never be found.

Somber return, days in the making. Thranduil sat on a pier and watched the silt swirl and mingle with the clear salt of the ocean. Something tugged in his young breast: he could not name it. It was not sea-longing.

“It was very fine. The floor was fashioned like a vast ocean, sweeping out—oh!—with bright fishes, and strange sea-weeds like purple flowers, and amongst them, stars.” Evranin’s hands fluttered like birds, even when she was not at her stitching. “You used to hop from one spotted ray to the next.”

Elwing nodded dubiously.

“You remember it, don’t you, my girl? I know you do.”

“I think so,” Elwing said.

“Your great-grandfather planned it. He was the first to make the journey across the Sea, and he returned with a beautiful light in his eyes: they glowed in the endless dusk under the starlight.”

Elwing flinched.

“Not thus, sweet,” Evranin said, “like auntie Idril’s. ‘Twas a shine like the dawn, though of course, we knew no dawn then.”

Elwing looked confused, then squinted her eyes like two clenched fists, as though trying to work out a time before sunlight. Evranin thought this very Bëorian of her. At last, satisfied, she gave a little nod of approval.

“He loved the Sea: your great-grandfather. He and his brother meant to cross and live by the shore on the other side—where the fish leapt in the colorful shallows, and the stars’ reflection could yet be seen.”

“But he did not,” Elwing interrupted, frowning. She knew this part, and meant not to be appeased.

“He loved your great-grandmother more, and the woods’ green smell underfoot in the summer. But his brother—your great-great-uncle—did cross over, and he built a fair city for our people by the water. When you look west, my dear, think of all your family waiting to meet you. We live on the shore now, just as they do.”

“I don’t remember the floor of that gallery,” Elwing said quietly. “But I remember the music of the fountains through the room, and Naneth dancing with Ada. There were nightingales in his hair.”

If you looked carefully, as Bilbo was wont to do, you could see the places where the tapestry in Elrond’s library had been repaired. It nearly covered one complete wall of the hexagonal room, confidently draping languid and liquid across space where more books and scrolls could have been squirreled away. Its colors seemed to shift, unearthly, and the weave was finer than any Bilbo had seen—which made the repairs, neat as they were, quite obvious. The image was one of a shadow-crowded forest of brambles and feathery boughs, and in the foreground dark, shimmering water. Shapes were awakening beneath the stars in the twilight by the water’s edge, stretching up glistening bodies and dancing and drawing one another in to embrace. At one corner the winding border had been singed and the damage had not been mended. Still, it was very beautiful. Nearby, upon a varnished wooden stand, a book sat partly open, with thin, cracked pages of birch-paper. It was full of sigils, but Bilbo, despite making a study of Elf-lore, recognized none of them.

“Nor do I know most of them,” Elrond said, when asked. “It is far older than I, and a gift from Oropher from long ago, ere he left eastwards. See, though. Here is Beleg’s seal, and Mablung’s: the marchwardens from Túrin’s unhappy tale.” Bilbo exclaimed over these a while, and then asked: “What about the tapestry?”

“Melian the Maia wove it in the Elder Days.” He did not need to add: I thought it should be admired.

They had argued bitterly on the day the gift was made. It was vanishingly rare to see Elrond angry, but Oropher had managed it.

“Name me not king. I have chosen my king, and I am his herald. Leave it, I have begged of you. I won't ask again."

“And in what world am I to be named lord, while Elwing’s son bears no title? While our prince—”

“You might stay!” Elrond said rather wildly.

“And you might come with us—to oak and elm, the deep forest, people of our own ways—”

“I have made my choice.”

Silence fell between them, a silence of set jaws and brittle gazes. It was from an excess of care that they crossed wills.

“You are so like Lúthien,” Oropher said at last. Pride was soft in his voice. “Nay, your mother in her lordship. You are so like all of them.”

Elrond did not know what he meant.

“Accept these at least. They are your own inheritance. How I wish we had been able to offer you more.” Oropher said nothing else, but Elrond heard in his inmost heart all he meant, and opening his own heart he offered him forgiveness for the harsh words freshly spoken and for the old aches, the beaded necklace of orphans upon orphans, the bruise-tender childhood, the sunken continent, the houseless shades of the dead that crowded like moths: all the wounds still bleeding, and in which Oropher was faultless.

When Amon Lanc grew too dangerous, Thranduil knew what had to be done. Harried and unmerry was the Wood-elves’ journey northwards through the forest’s tree-paths. They took from the hill only what they could carry. Those of Thranduil’s people whom he met on the way—for many lived simply in the trees throughout Greenwood with their companions and children, and had joined themselves to no great settlement—spoke with him in troubled voices, though on the nights his following gathered around their small talans wine flowed and songs were sung.

“We need to make fast a stronghold,” he said. “Underground: a place of stone.”

“Better to go through the trees quickly! to travel lightly!”

“And if there is nowhere left that the Shadow has not touched?”

These Elves shook their heads and he read their thinking: we have always dwelt in this forest. But Thranduil’s heart misgave him, insisting the direst hour was still to come, and that he ready all his scattered people a sanctuary in advance of that hour.

Kingship did not rest easily on this son of Oropher. He had not been born to it, and he had meant never to find it. He preferred swimming the forest’s rivers and downing the sweet nectar of more summery lands to difficult counsels and deference, however warmly they were offered him. Very often since his father’s death, the way did not seem clear.

It was clear in this moment. He felt Elu Thingol’s hand cool upon his shoulder, as surely as if the king sojourned with him in the dappled wood and spoke as he had at the height of his wisdom. He saw in his mind’s eye the bridge that would cross the running water, the enchanted door, the roots that would be sung into high ceilings, the beech-carved pillars, the golden lamplight.

__________

From The Silmarillion: "But the Elves also had part in that labour, and Elves and Dwarves together, each with their own skill, there wrought out the visions of Melian, images of the wonder and beauty of Valinor beyond the Sea. The pillars of Menegroth were hewn in the likeness of the beeches of Oromë, stock, bough, and leaf, and they were lit with lanterns of gold. The nightingales sang there as in the gardens of Lórien; and there were fountains of silver, and basins of marble, and floors of many-colored stones. Carven figures of beasts and birds there ran upon the walls, or climbed upon the pillars, or peered among the branches entwined with many flowers. And as the years passed Melian and her maidens filled the halls with woven hangings wherein could be read the deeds of the Valar, and many things that had befallen in Arda since its beginning, and shadows of things that were yet to be. That was the fairest dwelling of any king that has ever been east of the Sea."

[sotwk]

Hi, I was just wondering if you have any thoughts on Oropher’s wife/Thranduil’s mum? Is she dead? If so, how did she die? If she’s alive, is she still in the Greenwood or is she kicking about elsewhere? I have my own half-baked ideas but I wondered what yours were

Oooh thank you for asking for my thoughts on this! I got thoughts on everything, like a good Thranduil-obssessor. *pulls out my Notes folder* This dear, sweet lady never gets any attention, but she is certainly not forgotten by me!

I mentioned Thranduil's mother in this headcanon post about his birth, as well as my one-shot fic The Crown, but I am happy to provide more info below!

Thranduil's Mother in the SotWK AU

Oropher's wife was Lady Meluiel of Doriath, a Sinda from the same clan of Teleri that migrated into Beleriand, following Elu Thingol.

Apart from being Thranduil’s mother, she was also the younger sister of the great Beleg Cúthalion, which made Beleg Thranduil's uncle and mentor. (more HC info on their relationship here)

Meluiel was a trusted handmaiden to Queen Melian, and for a time also helped raise Lúthien Tinúviel during her childhood.

She was known for her sweet and cheerful disposition, contrasting with Oropher's more somber personality, but Oropher loved her so very deeply.

Thranduil was a bit of a rebellious child, with a wilder spirit than Lord Oropher would have preferred, so it was not uncommon for Meluiel to have to play mediator between father and son.

She would often encourage Thranduil to pursue the interests Oropher disliked, and behave according to his true self, rather than adjust his personality to please his father. Thranduil took this to heart and developed a fierce independence from his father (and his like-minded kinsmen) early on.

Sadly, Meluiel was among the many Elves of Doriath who perished in the Second Kinslaying. At the time, she was a lady in Queen Nimloth's court and was with her at the time of the attack. Meluiel was slain in a final stand trying to protect the young princes, Eluréd and Elurín.

For this reason, Oropher developed an unforgiving prejudice and hatred for the Noldor, which he carried with him for the rest of his life. This is also why he fought against Thranduil's love for Maereth (of direct Fëanorian descent--the horror!) for centuries before he finally (and reluctantly) consented to their union.

Thranduil was only 54 years old when his mother died; enough to have memories of her and to miss her terribly. As a result, he too was angry at the Noldor, and remained biased against them.

However, his bias was not strong enough to prevent him from fighting alongside Noldorin warriors during the War of Wrath. During this war, Thranduil befriended a few Noldor, some of whom he continued to associate with in the Second Age while he lived in Lindon. The most notable of these friends is Ivenil (a SotWK OC, appears in "Greenleaf's Day Out"), who followed Thranduil and his Sindarin kin to Greenwood. He eventually became an important member of King Thranduil's council.

Thranduil's openness of mind and ability to see past his own hate and prejudices in effect made him a stronger ruler than his father, since it allowed him to foster relationships with the other Elf-lords and peoples of Middle-earth--even the Dwarves!

His beloved mother would have been proud. <3

For more Thranduil/Mirkwood headcanons: SotWK HC Masterlist

Elves HC Tag List: @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @achromaticerebus @aduialel @asianbutnotjapanese @auttumnsayshi @blueberryrock @conversacomsmaug @elan-ho-detto-elan-15 @entishramblings @freshalmondpandadonut @friendofthefellowshipsnerdblog @glassgulls @heranintomyknife23times @ladyweaslette @laneynoir @lathalea @lemonivall @LiliDurin @quickslvxrr @ratsys @scyllas-revenge @stormchaser819 @talkdifferently6 @tamryniel @tamurilofrivendell

Other useful links:

Introduction to SotWK

Fanfiction Masterlist

Fanfiction Request Guidelines

[i-did-not-mean-to]

S&D Drabbles

Let's start with the actual drabbles.

(Yes, there will be 4 posts...I am endlessly sorry...)

For @sortumavaara

🐙 Fire Touch - Smith - G

🐙 Beloved companion - Seasponge - T

🐙 Tag, you're it - Anairë & Nerdanel - T

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆

For @maglor-my-beloved

🐙 Hush now, don't say a word... - Fëanor/Nerdanel/Rúmil - T

🐙 Her feet never touch the ground... - Celegorm/Lúthien - T

🐙 A good time - Gil-Galad - M

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆

For Lferion

🐙 Stubborn light, immortal hope - Nerdanel & sons - G

🐙 A new star on the horizon - Finarfin & Indis - G

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆

For @goschatewabn

🐙The best boy - Celegorm & Huan - G

🐙 A stable relationship - Rochallor & Asfaloth - G

🐙 Spill the tea... - Fëanor & Indis - G

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆

For @kayleearafinwiel

🐙Uin's Delivery Service - Uin - G

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆

For @scyllas-revenge

🐙 Fly you fools - Éomer & winged horses - G

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆

For @welcomingdisaster

🐙 Motherhood - Indis/Míriel -G

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆

For @thedaughterofshadows

🐙 B-Art - Aulë & Mahtan - G

🐙 I know you... - Irmo & Námo - G

🐙 Would you be proud? - Maeglin & Rog - G

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆

For @mulasawala

🐙 Very small heroes - Bagginshield - G

🐙 Shared Warmth - Bagginshield - G

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆

For @maglorslostsilmaril

🐙 The things we do for love... - Erestor & Children of Elrond - G

🐙 Sanctuary - Tar-Ancalimê - G

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆

For @mirkwood-hr-department

🐙 A brief glimpse - Fox - G

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆

For Anne Wolfe

🐙 Sunset - Gildor - G

🐙 I've got your nose - Amrod & Amras - G

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆

For @searchingforserendipity25

🐙 Regrets - Daeron/Lúthien - G

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆

For @elanna-elrondiel

🐙 In vino veritas? - Huan & Celegorm & Aredhel - G

🐙 Let me go - Aredhel/Eöl - T

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆

For @ridiculoussquid

🐙 Leap of faith - Ori - G

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆

For @cclumsyart

🐙 Forget me not - Melkor & Nienna - T

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆

For @ruiniel

🐙 Forget... - Glaurung & Niennor - M

🐙 Freedames - Míriel/Indis - T

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆

For @solmarillion

🐙 If I could hold you one more time - Daeron/Maglor - T

🐙 Wet - Silvergifting - M

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆

For @niasfanspace

🐙 The world wide web - Ungoliant - T

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆

For @the-red-butterfly

🐙 My last breath is for you - Oropher & Thranduil - T

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆

For @the-girl-with-the-algebra-book

🐙The Fallen Maia - Balrog - M

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆

For Ibissal

🐙 Harvest Moon - Celebrimbor/Narvi- M

Please keep in mind that I might have tagged the rating completely incorrectly. Heed the tags on every fic

@fall-for-tolkien

[elronds-pointy-ears]

At your Mercy Chapter 7

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6

Pairing: Gil-Galad x human! fem! Reader

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1973

Summary: Dramatic elf makes his entrance and cute moment with Gil-Galad. Let the festivities commence.

Thank you for reading 💜

It was a hectic day. You ran from one place to the next. Being the High Kings sort of manager you had a lot to do. Especially the days when his herold was absent. You carried a lot on your shoulders at court. It turned out you were handling it well and the High King appeared to be pleased with the work you managed to get done. Downside was that he had high expectations. He saw your negotiating with other elves, high ranked ones at that and he saw you had a hand for these political matters. You should be proud how far you‘ve come in such a short time but at times like these you would rather just have a simple life with a simple job. Your excellent work had you now running around like a wild chicken because the elven Lord Oropher was yours to take care of.

The elf was a menace. He had much to complain and very little praise for anything. If you had to decide who the most unlikeable elf was you would not have to think long. He stood only 5 feet away from you with his long blonde hair, blowing in the wind. He stood tall next to his kin, head held high and a piercing gaze. „Y/N is it? I want to retreat to my quarters now. Go ahead and tell them to arrange everything!“ You were not sure what exactly he meant so you stood for a moment contemplating what exactly he was talking about. „What are you waiting for? Off you go!“ he commanded. With that you decided to just listen to him and walk straight to the closest maiden. „Excuse me. Lord Oropher sends me to let you know he wants everything  ‚arranged‘ in his quarters?“ you told her with a questioning undertone hinting at your confusion. „Lord Oropher oh my? He is here already? I will take care of it right now. Thank you for letting me know.“ With that she was off leaving you still clueless what he meant by „arranged“. 

Deciding not to dwell on this arrogant elf and his stupid desires for one more minute you went to the first place that came to mind when you thought about a peaceful moment, the big tree you admired so much. After spending the whole day as Orophers personal slave you had had enough. You needed a break, fresh air and just really some peace. 

You made your way up the hill. The sun was about to set and it‘s rays set the land in a golden light. Standing in front of the tree you saw far over the city. The pinkish and orange sky took your breath away. You closed your eyes and you felt your tense shoulders relax. This is more than you initially thought you would get by coming up here but this view was absolutely everything to get your spirits back up. You stood there for a long time just breathing, basking in the warmth of the last rays of light the sun was casting over the lands when you felt a presence next to you. You kept your eyes closed and prepared for someone to interrupt your peaceful moment. A few moments passed and you could not hear anything. Whoever stood next to you granted you a few more seconds of peace. Out of curiosity you decided to open your eyes and see who came to stand next to you.

���Oh. High King“ you blurted. „I uh excuse me your grace I was not aware someone was here.“ you lied trying to smooth out your clothes to make you more presentable. You figured it would be the easiest way out of this situation. „Do not worry Y/N I am just here to do the same as you.“ he said turning his head from looking at you to the far lands ahead. „What I am doing?“ you questioned. Honestly you had no idea what exactly you were doing here. You were just standing around. „You are running away from Oropher.“ he smirked. „I understand how dramatic he can be. I am stressed out as well.“ Another pause. None of you spoke and it was a comfortable silence until Gil-Galad decided to let you in on a tiny piece of information about him no one really knew. „In fact when I am stressed out I come here. It is a peaceful place and usually the only place in the city that can be found free of anyone.“ You turned to face him trying to apologize „Oh I am so sorry I did not know I will not come here if you wish this place to be..“ you babbled but his deep baritone interrupted you „No I am not saying you are unwelcome Y/N.“ he stared back into your eyes. The sun kissed your skin and made it glow in beautiful golden hues. His favorite colour.

„What I am trying to say is that I am grateful you are here. Having to listen to Oropher all day and doing his biddings is exhausting and by handling him you are taking away a lot of that weight from my shoulders.“ You held his gaze. Something about his dark orbs in the light did wonders and you felt drawn to him. „I uh thank you.“ you stammered. His eyes bored into yours and he towered over you, but not in a threatening way. No in a friendly, warm way.

This was the first time you felt relaxed in his presence. Maybe it was the time you spent together, working for him, that you finally got used to it. Maybe it was just the utterly exhausting Oropher who in comparison was way worse than the High King could ever be. Or his soft deep words of gratitude that made your heart swell in your chest. His eyes dipped down to your lips for a moment and your eyes did the same. His lips look so soft and kissable right now. You wondered what they would feel like... STOP!!

You shook your head, feeling your ears heat up from embarrassment. You must have hit your head or something since you‘ve been training with Glorfindel. These inappropriate thoughts had been plaguing your mind recently and it only seemed to happen more often the more time you spent with the High-King. 

Little did you know the High King stared at you for a moment longer than he should have. He saw your expression change quickly and it brought a smile to his lips. He saw your ears turning a slight shade of pink like the sky above and he enjoyed seeing you so flustered.

Before he could think of anything to say to make you blush more you straightened up beside him. „Very well I am going to retire to my quarters now. I am sure Lord Oropher will have demands tomorrow morning so I better not get to bed too late. Have a good evening, your grace.“ With that you turned on your heels and headed back down to your room, leaving the High King pondering.

In the morning you woke up tired and sleepy. You had trouble sleeping. The events from yesterday still clouded your mind and you could hardly get Gil-Galad out of your mind. Even though you were alone in your room, he was present in the back of your head. Everything about him seemed to be so perfect. He was not just nice to look at no. What actually surprised you was, that he was actually a good person in just an attractive body. At first you thought he was as arrogant as any elven King would be. But after a while he showed you more facettes of his true character. He was a King and a ruler to most. But there were many other parts of him hidden behind the facade of the High-King. He proved to be kind and warmhearted. You spent most of the night wondering about the many other sides the great elven King might have hidden behind the mask he wore at all times. 

Oropher was not helping, as he had requested you to accompany him on his morning ride through the woods. After preparing everything for him you had a few minutes of peace riding alongside the blonde elf. All you had to do now was listen to his endless bickering about humans. He disagreed on many things humans did. Especially the way they treated nature and the very place they call home. Destroying more than creating or nurturing their homeland. After a few minutes he paused and just admired the view.

„I have always preferred the woods. They are so calm and eternal. This is where I feel most peaceful. Don‘t you agree Y/N?“ Oropher said, waiting for your response. „I do like the woods as well, yes. They are full of life and mysterious. You never know what to expect behind the next tree.“ you agreed. As much as you wanted to rebel against Orophers opinions you could not disagree because he was simply stating the truth. Humans were awful beings. Sometimes worse than the dwarves could ever be. It was terrifying to think about all the bad things happening at the very moment, somewhere in the world at the hands of humans. And the woods you did not even have to act like you liked them. How could anyone not like the trees that stood in the very place for thousands of years. The rest of the ride was relatively relaxed and not too exhausting. Oropher seemed to be a better company in the presence of trees you thought. 

When you came back to the city you heard Oropher asking for a servant to bring him tea to his quarters and prepare a bath. He talked about not going to the festivities without a proper bath and you nearly facepalmed. You had forgotten about the day. It was the High-Kings birthday. They would hold a ceremony this evening in the High Kings name with music, food and dances. You quickly made your way over to Oropher to ask if he needed anything else. He waved you off, already heading to his quarters. 

Nearly tripping over your own feet you speed-walked to your own to get everything sorted before heading to Elrond and the other elves to make sure everything has been prepared and is ready for the celebration held in about four hours from now on. You found Elrond after a while walking around the many elves running around carrying boxes of wine or fireworks, tables and seats had already been arranged and a dancefloor had formed in between them. „Y/N there you are.“ Elrond came strutting over to you and stood beside you. „How has your day been? I hope Oropher behaved?“ he raised one eyebrow at you. You laughed „Ha, you mean to ask if he ever behaved, right?“. The ellon beside you laughed out loud at that. „Just what I‘ve been thinking,“ he mused. Elrond and you helped wherever a set of hands was needed and slowly the gardens turned into a mesmerizing scenery.

Everyone kept working on decorations and preparations for the evening and after about two hours the splace had changed completely. The party was set to be in the already pretty gardens and beautiful lanterns lit every corner in a warm and welcoming light. Pretty flowers adorned the wooden tables  creating a magical ambience. Soft tunes could be heard from the musicians that had started to play and you headed back to your quarters to get dressed for the occasion. In about 30 minutes the celebration was supposed to start and you needed to clean up a bit, before jumping in a wonderful dark green dress.

Tagging @lotrnonsense​ / @captainbutterflygirl2 @thesolarangel​ @lazymeriadoc​ @bananaphanta​ @betty-not-boop​ @fenharel-enaste @eowyn7023

[esculentevil]

🧶✨🌲Duil Doll Dress🌲✨🧶

IT’S DONE!!! =D

The Mini-mockup for my Thranduil Cosplay—that I’ve been talking about for legit months in posts like Elven Excalibur, Pan Flag Flower Crown, and Camouflage—is finally DONE~!!! ｡ﾟ✧.ヽ(♦*´∀`*)ﾉ.✧｡ﾟ

The doll (Duil Doll) that wears it isn’t finished yet (I need to redo the hair since it doesn’t quite work right with the sleeves AND I still need the yarn for the eyes) but he looks fantastic in this dress still (in my opinion, at least xD;;;)

And, either way, I’m just... so proud of myself xD This is the first design/pattern I’ve thought up myself and it legit turned out better than I thought it would.

((O, and don’t mind the bundle at the bottom: the picture was just so plain without them and, honestly, the orange leaves were roughs for my Leafy Vine Vest [which I haven’t talked about but am almost done with—I think lol—so please look forward to that, too!] and the Fellowship broach because I wanna make a Legolas doll, too, for both Duil Doll and myself when I cosplay Duil so I’m gonna give him a lil Lorien Leaf Broach when he’s done! The flower was random [pretty sure it’s like a year old now lol] and the green leaf [lol the legolas] was one of my first leaves ever and actually also the same as the leaves in the Pan Flower Crown just in a different yarn [they’re also meant to be American Beech Tree leaves but we’re gonna get to that Oropher headcanon later]. Lastly: I went with bell sleeves [yes I know that’s not canon/accurate] because the doll’s hands wouldn’t really fit well if the sleeves were slim/tight like they should be and I just think it’s pretty))

[amethysttribble]

Nimloth was kicking her legs, swinging her arm as she laid upon one of the arching branches above the grand hall of Menegroth.

Here, enclosed by vines and flowers and moss, she would remain unseen, but she need only ask to plants to move a little to see everything. Mother said she was too young to be up so late and watching such proceedings, but that just went to show what she knew.

Queen Melian saw all in Doriath, and had not yet reproached Nimloth. That must mean her 'snooping' was righteous.

But even being resolved of her righteousness had not stopped Nimloth from growing... bored.

Her kin, who were not the kinslayers, but were kin of the kinslayers were proving to be shockingly dull. Her cousins, Lord Finrod and Lady Galadriel- named such by Uncle Celeborn, in what the whole court agreed was a very romantic display, but Nimloth thought was mostly funny- made merry the same as anyone else. There had thus far been none of the drink throwing and hair pulling that her friends whispered would happen, when their kin who were the kinslayers' kin were re-invited to Doriath.

Still, Galadriel and Finrod glowed, and that was just interesting enough to watch from above. They took up so much space. Only Luthien and Daeron could match them for gloriousness, and for some reason that annoyed Nimloth. She wasn't quite sure why.

Ah, that would probably fade once she met them. Mother and Father were agreed that she should be of age before consorting with their strange, proud, lying, kinslayer's kin kin. Nimloth thought that was foolish, but she picked her battles.

Mother and Father could be so over-protective, and what stung the most was that she knew they had not always been this way. Why-

"You always find the best spots," a voice said from her left, as a weight settle next to her head.

Nimloth gasped and sat up, a grin splitting her face.

"Oropher!" she whisper shouted, and her cousin smiled brightly at her. He held up an arm, allowing her to throw herself around his torso, squeezing as tightly as she could. He dropped his arm around her shoulders and squeezed right back.

"I missed you," she said into his shoulder, "you've been gone so long, why are you always gone these days?"

Oropher laughed softly and said, "Part of the job, kid. Marchwarden Mablung runs a tight outpost. I'm not about to go asking for time-off and make him hate me. Or worse- think I'm soft."

Nimloth rolled her eyes and did not hide it. She knew Oropher had this grand and horrible fear of people thinking he was 'soft', because he grew up in Menegorth with Mother, Father, and her, and not in some desolate outpost with Aunt Tanwendess, who Nimloth had only ever called Marchwarden Tanwendess. She was the toughest elleth Nimloth knew, and as different from Mother as could be, though they were twins.

Personally, she thought it was a grand thing that Oropher had been raised by Mother and Father and not that steely marchwarden. It made him as good as her brother, which could only be a good thing. But Nimloth knew that Oropher disagreed- about the raising part, not the brother part, he always assured her- so she did not say anything.

He was so sensitive.

"But you're here now," she said happily, pulling away from the hug.

"I am," he agreed, releasing his arm from around her shoulders and ruffling her hair. "A lucky break, I was assigned to escort your Noldor kin to the city, with a few others. I'm only here for two days, but we'll make it count, yeah?"

Nimloth ignored the stab in her heart at hearing he would be leaving so soon. He was gone so often... Nimloth bit the inside of her cheek, to halt the sorrow. If he could not stay long, she would have to be resolute. Resilient like an oak, as Oropher said. They'd make the most of it.

"Yeah," she agreed, trying to remain cheery. "Right. I can't believe you've met my cousins and I haven't! Did you tell them you were my kin?"

Oropher laughed, loud and deep and Nimloth knew at least someone below must have heard him and looked up. He could not be sneaky for the life of him. But even if Mother and Father caught wind of her being out of bed, now that Oropher was here, they would only sigh, rather than punish her.

They knew he would take care of her.

"Absolutely not," he said, only marginally less loud. "Your Lord Finrod is a trial even if he does not think you have anything to offer him. If he knew about Aunt Tathrenes? Insufferable, I would not have been able to breathe, Lothig."

"You do not like him then?" she asked, eyes widening, "Everyone seems to like Lord Finrod, even Uncle King Elu."

Oropher made a considering sound, looking down at the party below.

Yes, they had long since been spotted by everyone below, and Lord Finrod even noticed them looking at him. He waved.

"That one is good with egos," Oropher said carefully, voice much lower. "He likes it when people like him, and so tries to be as likable as possible, no matter who you might be. He changes like water, to fit the needs of anyone he speaks to. And once he has entranced them, then comes the favors, both to and from, until you are ensnared in his web. It's a very pretty trap, and I must respect it, but-" He sneered suddenly. "I have nothing to say towards the deceitful. He and his brothers lied to our people once for their gain, and I do not forgive so easily."

"You sound like your mother," Nimloth said.

Oropher smiled at her like this was a compliment.

"What about Lady Galadriel?" she quickly changed the subject. "What do you make of her?"

He lapsed into silence again, considering. At long last, he said, "Your uncle is going to marry her and I am going to be a menace at their wedding."

"Oropher!" Nimloth laughed, and his façade of seriousness cracked, and then they were laughing together.

They collapsed their heads and shoulders together, giggling, and she said, "Can I help cause trouble?"

Nimloth loved, loved, loved Uncle Celeborn, but he was very silly and took himself very seriously, and Oropher said that was never a combination to celebrate. He was very fun to tease and also eternally indulgent. And he never snitched, so even if it was his wedding day, she was sure to get away with mischief.

Oropher would not get away with it, but that was how things with him and Uncle Celeborn went.

"'Course," he said, "as long as you're able to get away from your parents. Do you think if they tie the knot before you're of age, you'll even be allowed to go to the wedding?"

"Oh no," Nimloth whined, "No, Lady Galadriel doesn't have any sisters, they must allow me to attend to her at the wedding, they must. Or, I guess... do you think she will even care to remember me?"

Oropher's eyebrows furrowed and then he rapped his knuckles on her head.

"Lady Galadriel," he said, "by my estimation is the opposite of her brother. She is as straight-forward as they come. She will remember you, if only for duty. If she will care too, I cannot say. What do you even care?"

"She is family," Nimloth grumbled, crossing her legs and leaning over them to look all the way down again. Her cousins, all of them except for Oropher next to her, were so bright. They took up so much space, and she faded into the shadows.

"I don't know," she sighed into her knees, "Princess Luthien is not interested in me, so I wondered if maybe..."

"Hey, hey, hey," Oropher said, tugging on the back of her nightgown until she was sitting up again. He leaned in close to whisper in her ear, "Princess Luthien has her head stuck in Iluvatar's grand beyond. Her lack of notice is not an insult, it is just..."

Just Luthien.

Nimloth pressed her lips together tightly. When Oropher pulled back and noticed her expression, he frowned. He reached for her hair, pulled out several strands, and started to braid.

"Besides, you are young," he said, as his fingers soothingly threaded through her silver-white hair, for which she was named. "Not every adult is so gracious as me to take interest in such a little thing, with a spirit half-formed."

She half-heartedly slapped his bicep, pouting, but he just laughed and said, "Give it time, Lothig."

"It feels like all I do is give 'it' and everyone else time," she snapped, crossing her arms. "Time to be allowed to do anything, time for my relatives to care about me, time for you to come home. I want to be alive now, Oropher, not when I'm 'of age' or the war is over."

Oropher did not immediately reply. He pulled a string of dyed leather from his hair and used it to tie off the braid he'd weaved in hers. Only once he'd given her braid a slight tug for good measure did he softly say, "I understand that."

Nimloth looked up at his shadowed, far-away eyes and knew he was thinking of his mother. She who- after his father died and he was sent to Menegroth- he did not see again until he was a warrior grown. Because the border was too dangerous, Father said. Because the grief was too strong, Mother said. As far as Nimloth knew, Aunt Tanwendess had never said anything on the matter.

Nimloth reached out and grabbed Oropher hand.

"Can we go camping while you're here?" she asked, and he looked at her curiously. "If we leave now, it'll be a nice little trip, just us. And we can do whatever we want."

"Don't you want to meet your cousins?" he asked, but he was smiling, fond and happy and boyish still. "I was going to offer to introduce you."

Nimloth shook her head.

"No. I like you better."

Oropher let out another booming laugh, and then he stood. No doubt the whole court was looking at them; Nimloth could never use this hiding spot again. Oh well.

She took Oropher's outstretched hand.

"Well, how can I turn down an invitation like that? Sure, let's go camping. Auntie and Uncle can yell at me later."

Nimloth, as she frantically packed to make her escape from the city with Oropher, knew that Mother and Father would not yell. They loved Oropher and they trusted him. She'd say 'as much as she did', but that was impossible. Surely no one loved and trusted Oropher as much as her.

Unlike all her bright and fancy cousins, Nimloth knew that Oropher would never, ever let her down. And that he would love her- even if she was small and plain and trouble.

[demonscantgothere]

1, 7, 12, 13, 18 (the Great Slavery), 43!!

1. What fic of yours would you recommend to someone who had never read any of your work? (In other words, what do you think is the best introduction to your fics?)

I recommend Litost because I think is has most of what I consider my forte in writing - emotions, angst, and drama. Beasts of the Hill will have a lot of this later on in quantities just as high as Litost by the time I reach the area between chapters 48 through 52-ish onward, but most of it hasn't even been reached yet.

7. Any worldbuilding you’re particularly proud of?

The worldbuilding going on in Beasts of the Hill and Serpents of the Den, especially once they have to leave Tol-in-Gaurhoth. But also, very proud of the setup I did in Though the Gods and the Years Relent, Shall Be, too.

12. Are there any tropes you used to dislike but have grown on you?

Answered! xD

13. Are there any tropes you used to like but don’t anymore?

I can't think of any, no.

18. If you wrote a sequel to [insert fic], what would it involve?

I am already writing a sequel to The Greatest Slavery! It involves Sauron coming back, laying an assault upon Celebrían, Galadriel, and Celeborn as they travel to Rivendell from Lothlórien to reclaim his daughter now that Galadriel has had sufficient time with her. Celebrían, upset that her parents Celeborn and Galadriel have basically lied her whole life to her about Celeborn being her father, agrees to leave with him if he doesn't harm them. Galadriel then concocts a plan to rescue Celebrían from Sauron's new fortress at Amon Lanc after he drove Oropher out of it - and what will be the future Dol Guldur.

43. If you take/write prompts: what’s your favorite prompt fic that you’ve written?

At present, Litost is currently my favorite because it's so, so tricksy, lol.

[sansaorgana]

— FADING LIGHT (II)

PART ONE ONCE UPON A DREAM (SAURON X MORETH)

PAIRING — Adar x fem!Elf!Reader

SUMMARY — After your daughter's choice to go down the dark path and to stay with her father, you leave to Mirkwood where you spend your days on grieving and rethinking the choice that you made. One day, King Oropher's guards catch an Orc who is believed to be a spy and you accompany the King during the interrogation. You find yourself befriending a creature you have never expected to have anything in common with and your own light begins to fade when you decide to go back to your family and join the darkness.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — I have been asked quite a few times – incuding some anons – if I would write a part two to this fic and even though I was happy with the open ending of the first chapter, I also had an idea for this second part, so here we go! 😌 But considering the fact I am writing two multichapters at the moment (one is with Adar as well) and I am starting a job in a week, I doubt I'm going to write more parts to this story. 🥺

WORD COUNT — 7,970

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

FADING LIGHT (II)

You had tears in your eyes when you reached Mirkwood. You had just lost your daughter to the darkness and found out the most dreadful truth about your own husband whom you had been loving, admiring and missing for centuries. Of course you were crying.

You considered going back home to Mithlond but King Oropher in Mirkwood was expecting you after all the letters he had received from you and Gil-galad about the sickly state of your daughter. So, you decided to go to him instead, hoping that the seclusion of Mirkwood would serve you well in this difficult time.

The gates were opened in front of you and you rode your horse inside the well-hidden palace. You had not been there before but you had been given clear instructions on how to find the passing. Despite being King Oropher’s guest for the first time, it was not the first meeting of yours. You had met him on multiple occasions when there were meetings of the Elven elders. And even though you were not a part of any council, your age and wisdom often made you an advisor of the High King.

King Oropher was a proud man – he always had a problem with Gil-galad being the High King and above him. Actually, you were convinced that according to Oropher, he had no one above him in the Elven hierarchy. Still, he was your kin and a friend who would help in need just like every other Elf would do.

He greeted you himself when you dismounted your horse. His long, blond hair was waving in the air and a beautiful, wood crown was placed upon his head. You looked around and if you weren’t grieving, you would have to admit that this place was different from the other Elven realms in a wonderful way. It was… wilder and more raw.

“My King,” you bowed your head in front of him and he nodded, looking you up and down.

“My dear Lady (Y/N)... and where is your beloved daughter?” Was the very first question he asked.

“She…” You stuttered. You knew what to say, you had been preparing an excuse but now it did not make any sense. However, there was no time to come up with any new ones. “She passed away on the way, my King,” your lower lip trembled and eyes filled with fresh tears.

Oropher’s cold eyes filled with compassion and grief immediately. He was an Elf, after all, and no amount of pride could hide it away.

“I am so terribly sorry…” He gasped and put his hands on your arms to give you a little comfort. “What about her body? Have you buried her yourself?”

That was the question you dreaded. You had no idea what to say when asked about your daughter’s body.

“The illness… It did unspeakable things to my sweet Moreth,” your voice trembled as you confessed. This sentence was not truly a lie, after all. “I have given her a small funeral of my own. That was all I could do with… With what was left of her,” you added and Oropher nodded. So far, you could not spot any suspiciousness in him.

“I cannot imagine the pain you are going through,” he sighed. “We have been awaiting your arrival, I have prepared all the books that could help you to find the cure…”

“You are so thoughtful, my King,” you sniffled your tears back and looked down. “Can I perhaps… Stay here for a while? I do not think I can face Mithlond once again, so full of life and all my friends asking endless questions,” you explained. That part was also not a lie.

“You can stay here as long as you wish, dear friend,” Oropher nodded. “Perhaps the books will help you to find out the reason for your daughter’s illness. It might give you the peace of mind to know what happened,” he explained.

“Yes, thank you,” you bowed your head.

“I shall inform Gil-galad about your daughter’s passing and that you are about to stay here. Or would you rather do it?” Oropher furrowed his brows.

“No, please, my King, you do it,” you shook your head. 

“Alright then. Follow me inside and my maids will show you to your chambers,” Oropher put his arm around you and then he squinted his eyes at your horse, which was being escorted to the stables now by one of his Elves.

“What is it, my King?”

“That horse has a mark of the father of the Orcs,” he pointed out and your heart skipped a beat at the mention of your husband. “Where did you get it?”

“Oh? I did not know that mark,” you explained. “I lost my horse after Moreth’s death. I did not chase him because I wanted to give her a burial. After that, I found this one in the forest. I thought it was a gift from the Valars so I could continue my journey,” you came up with a quick and swift lie.

Oropher seemed to believe you and you were scared of your own ability to deceive.

Weeks had passed. Months. You were nothing but a shadow around Mirkwood, wandering through its halls and spending most of your days in the library, pretending to read the books that had been prepared by Oropher.

You didn’t need to find out the reason for your daughter’s illness anymore. Everything was as clear to you as a day. So, most of the time, you were staring at the walls and ceilings, looking out through the window, wondering… Wondering where Moreth and Adar were at the moment, what were they doing. Had she changed even further? What did she look like now? What was she like? And the light of Valinor inside of her… Was it completely gone now?

You grieved the loss of your daughter but your foolish, naive heart, was still holding onto hope because, after all, she was not dead. You had been her mother for centuries and being a parent to her was one of your personality traits now. Losing it all of a sudden simply felt wrong. 

When Moreth had been born, everyone had been saying to you that you would have a big family. That Adar and you had been born to become parents. Indeed, you had been devoted and loving – both of you. And when you and Moreth had been left alone, you had been trying to love her for the both of you. You had felt as if you had owed it to your husband, who had been defeated by Morgoth – so you had been thinking. Foolishly.

Adar had been in Moreth’s life for a few years only – which is nothing to an Elf. And yet, she had never forgotten him. She had always talked about him fondly and had been trying to do everything to cherish his memory. His influence on her had been short but very strong and you always loved that bond. You were convinced that the reason behind it was Adar’s love – perhaps Moreth had been raised by him only for a few years but she would never forget a love so strong.

Now, you cursed that love and you cursed that bond.

But you could not stop thinking of Adar as well – after all, you had a bond with him, too. For the past few centuries of missing and grieving him, he had been in the back of your mind while you had been making decisions or raising Moreth. 

“Why can’t you stay, mother? We could be a family again.” You remembered Moreth’s plea. You remembered it over and over until it stopped being outrageous and became… tempting.

Not the darkness around your husband and daughter, not the life they wished to live but you craved to be in their presence. To be in your husband’s arms, which you had been missing for centuries. To keep your daughter close and be able to spend time with her every day. Who were you without your family? You felt as if without them your life had no purpose. 

Giving advice to the High King, expanding your knowledge, serving in the Elven realms… None of that would make sense anymore. None of that would be worth it without your family by your side.

Still, the fact that you even considered going back to Moreth and Adar was enough to make you feel sick out of guilt. And so you looked and acted sick – so sick that Oropher began to be worried that your daughter’s illness was contagious. So worried that he was sending letters to Gil-galad that your grieving state was concerning. And you were receiving letters from the High King who was trying to make you see the meaning of this suffering and to cheer you up. It was not enough. It could never be without your daughter by your side.

“Being a carrier of the light is an honourable task but the light is often a burden, too. I want to be free of the shackles – no matter how virtuous they are,” Moreth had explained to you her decision. And now you understood her words. The light could be a burden – if you were not an Elf, the natural bearer of it, you would leave Mirkwood and look for your family.

“Stay with us,” Adar had pleaded right after confessing that you – alongside Moreth – were still everything to him. And you knew that it was Sauron’s illusion about your deaths that had pushed Adar into such a deep darkness. Your heart mourned for him and after seeing all the scars on his body, you could only imagine what pain he had suffered. You had nightmares at night about the tortures Morgoth and Sauron had put him through. You wanted to ease his pain.

He was still everything to you, too. He had always been. From the very first shy smile he had given to you in the courtyard after spotting you, with your hair waving in the wind and a flower crown in your hair, laughing at your friend's joke. 

“You know very well that Moreth’s darkness does not come only from me,” he had told you and despite your denial – you knew that he had been right.

You had named your daughter Moreth – gloom. And a few people back in the day had mentioned to you how similar it sounded to the name Morgoth, which you had not even thought of while naming her. But perhaps it had been your intuition.

You had never discouraged Adar’s thirst for knowledge even if you had known the knowledge he had been seeking was forbidden. You had been pretending to not know but in fact, you had been jealous of his courage. You had always been curious about it yourself.

The Elves had spent centuries fighting the shadows. Of course the shadows fascinated you, too. You had to know your enemy and you wanted to understand it. But the longer you looked at the beast, the longer it was looking back.

Perhaps you could had prevented Moreth’s transformation. If you truly had been as pure as you posed to be – as you wished to be – you would had seen her sickness earlier. Or perhaps you had been too forgiving towards her thirst for forbidden knowledge – just like with her father.

Every day was a drag now and to know that even after death you would be separated for your husband and daughter were no longer welcome in Valinor… It was only making it worse.

On that day, your usual and boring routine was interrupted by the alarmed guards. You walked out of the library and curiously watched them whispering between each other and running to the gate. You could see that they were pretty concerned with the situation, so you walked closer to Prince Thranduil who was standing nearby, observing like you.

He was as handsome and stoic as his father – his back straightened, his hands clasped behind and his chin held high proudly. It was nearly funny but you were in no mood to laugh.

“What is happening, my Prince?” You asked with a small bow of your head.

One thing you did not like about Mirkwood was the atmosphere around Oropher and his family. Gil-galad was your High King and yet, you felt more comfortable around him. Like a friend. Being around Oropher and dealing with his family was forcing you to bow your head more often these days than you ever had before.

Prince Thranduil should be the one bowing to you and your wisdom, your knowledge and experience. But no, of course not. You were no Queen.

There was only one place where you would be a Queen. But of that you did not wish to think because it was nothing but the poison spreading throughout your already slightly corrupted heart.

When the heart got broken, the light could get inside through the cracks – that was what the Elves said often. But they never mentioned how easy it was for the darkness to slip in as well. Perhaps much easier, in fact.

“They caught an intruder, my Lady. An Orc,” Prince Thranduil informed you. “My father suspects he might be a spy because he was dangerously close to the gate.”

“I am on my way to interrogate him,” King Oropher walked past you in the corridor and you both bowed your heads in his direction. “Lady (Y/N),” Oropher looked at you, “do you wish to join me?”

You did not know what to answer. You were curious about the Orc. You were curious if it had anything in common with your husband. On the other hand, for the very same reason you wished to avoid this situation. However, you knew that you were already prolonging your stay in Mirkwood and saying no to anything simply felt wrong.

“Yes, my King, of course,” you nodded and followed him. “Why would you request my presence, though?” You asked.

“I know that Gil-galad often seeks counsel from you and he must have his reasons to,” he explained and you nodded.

You followed Oropher to his throne room and stood beside him. There were many guard Elves around as well for protection, holding their bows and arrows. It felt excessive since it was only one Orc they were talking about. They dragged him inside and you nearly pitied this creature because he looked a little scared and intimidated and he was alone and unarmed but treated like a sack of potatoes, thrown to the ground in front of Oropher.

“You are in front of King Oropher of Mirkwood. You will show him respect,” one of the guard Elves spat out while looking down with contempt at the Orc.

His small eyes looked up at the King but then they moved and they landed on you. For some reason, you felt as if you had seen that particular Orc before and now you could feel cold sweat running down your back. What if he reveals something about you?

The Orc bowed down in your direction and you moved uncomfortably as Oropher gave you an unpleasant look. His pride was hurt and everyone in the room could sense it.

“My Lady, all respect to my Lady,” the Orc added and you pursed your lips, hoping he would not say anything more because it was awkward enough. If he called you like that one from the camp – Lady Mother – you would have a lot of explaining to do.

“This is the King, you filthy Orc!” The guard pulled him by the ear and forced him to look upon Oropher.

“Uruk,” you fixed him and everyone laid their eyes on you once more. You bit your own tongue. Why had you said that? Well, you could not help feeling bad for this poor thing. He had not hurt anyone here, he had only been wandering around the gates.

“What are you saying, my Lady?” The guard barked at you.

“Uruk is the name they use for their kind. He is not even found guilty but only accused of being a spy, he deserves respect like every other prisoner,” you informed him.

“Is that the advice you give to Gil-galad? To respect the Orcs?” Oropher hissed at you quietly.

“How you treat the kin of your enemy – no matter how low their life form is – reflects who you are. You shall respect his rights not because of his nature but because of yours, my King,” you explained calmly.

“Very well then,” Oropher moved slightly on his throne. “Orc or Uruk, it does not matter to me. What matters to me is what were you doing here, creature? Are you a spy?”

“If I was, why would I say?” The Orc asked.

Well, the Uruk. Now, when you were the one preaching about such things, you should think of them as the Uruks as well, so you wouldn’t be a hypocrite.

“This is not a game,” the Elven guard kicked him and you looked away for a moment to avoid staring at such a violent scene.

“I am simply lost in the woods,” the Uruk explained. “My cousin lives nearby, I was visiting and I couldn’t find the path leading out of the woods,” he added and the Elves laughed.

“Are there any Uruks living nearby?” You asked King Oropher.

“Unfortunately,” he nodded.

“Why would he lie then? He does not look like a threat,” you pointed out.

“He does not,” Oropher agreed. “Either way, kill him,” he ordered so carelessly as if the order was not about someone’s life.

“Wait! He was not found guilty!” You protested as your eyes widened and everyone looked at you as if you were crazy. “Do you order to kill humans who are being found by your gates, too, my King?”

“Usually, after interrogating them, I send them back home,” he answered calmly but he was visibly outraged with your question. “He is not a human, though, is he?”

“No, he is not but he is a living being with blood in his veins and a heart pumping it throughout his body,” you said. 

“The Orcs would kill you if it was you being captured by them, my Lady,” Oropher pointed out.

“We do not have to lower ourselves to their standards and if you wish to know, I have been captured by them with Moreth but they set us free when I told them about searching for the cure to help my daughter,” you lied. Of course that was not what had happened and you actually doubted it would but for some reason you really hoped to save this Uruk’s life.

Oropher was surprised to hear your story and so were the other Elves. He hesitated for a moment before waving his hand to dismiss the Uruk.

“Let him go then but make sure to escort him out of the lands belonging to my realm. Show him the path to take to get out of the woods,” he ordered and you sighed with relief. “Allow me to make this one exception in return for the exception your kin has shown to my friend – Lady (Y/N),” he looked at the Uruk and stood up from his throne.

Oropher approached you and grabbed you by your elbow gently to walk you out of the room. Once you were in the corridor, he gave you a stern look.

“Why did he bow for you?” He asked and you bit on the insides of your cheeks, thinking of an answer.

“Just because I defended his right to live does not mean I think highly of his kind. You do know what the Uruks are like, my King. I have no idea why he acted this way but I do think it was to spite you or to cause this very situation we are having at the moment – to plant the seed of mistrust between us,” you explained nonchalantly but this time Oropher did not seem to believe your lies so easily. “He was trying to deceive you,” you added.

“Perhaps you are the deceived one, my friend. You became their defender,” Oropher raises his eyebrow and let go of your elbow. “They served the Dark Lord.”

“It was long time ago and the Dark Lord is gone now. I simply felt sorry for him, he didn't look dangerous. I would not feel sorry for every single one of them,” you explained and Oropher kept staring at you in a way you were not approving of. You did not feel the need to explain yourself to him. “I think it is time for me to go back to Mithlond, my King,” you said. “This interrogation made me realise how dearly I miss our High King. He is my friend and he worries about me,” you added.

“Perhaps it is time for you indeed, my friend,” Oropher nodded and you smiled sadly. You knew that he was more than happy to hear the news after today’s situation. He just wanted to get rid of you.

“I shall go and pack myself,” you said.

“You wish to leave today already?” Oropher furrowed his eyebrows at the rush you seemed to be in.

“Why wait, my King?” You bowed your head and hurried to your chambers.

You were waiting in the courtyard for your horse to be brought to you and Oropher joined you to bid you farewell. He was calmer now than before and he even gave you a smile that seemed to be genuine and full of affection.

“Forgive my anger and confusion. You are a grieving woman who has lost her daughter recently and you perceive life in a different way now. I should have known better,” he explained.

“There is nothing to forgive, my King. I do not part our ways with any resentment towards you,” you assured him.

“It is such a shame we could not save your daughter,” Oropher changed the subject suddenly and you raised an eyebrow at him. “She was a great beauty, I remember her from Mithlond. Her long, black hair like her father's; waving in the air as her laughter filled the halls. And she had your eyes and your wisdom. Your melancholy, too,” he looked into your eyes and you smiled sadly. “I was thinking she would make an excellent bride for my son,” he added then and you were visibly surprised to hear such a revelation.

“Prince Thranduil?”

“Yes,” Oropher nodded with a smile. “I was thinking we could heal her and I would ask you to let her marry Thranduil in return for that favour,” he explained.

“So, you did not want to help me out of pure heart?” You asked.

“Oh, no, do not think so. If you said no, I would not do anything,” he assured you and you nodded. And even though you believed him, you did not like the fact that he had been planning to take your daughter away from you either way. You would never live in Mirkwood and he knew it. Yet, he wanted your daughter to spend her forever in this place.

“My time here is over for now,” you said when your horse was finally led to the courtyard from the stables and stood in front of you. You caressed his neck and hopped on him gracefully. “My King,” you looked down at him and bowed your head.

“Lady (Y/N),” Oropher nodded. “Please, let me remind you before you go that you will see your daughter and your husband again in Valinor,” he tried to make you feel better, not knowing how false his words were. “But do not hurry to go there yourself,” he added and you shook your head at him.

“Believe me, my King, I do not hurry,” you promised him and nodded one last time before ordering your horse to go.

You rode out of the Elven realm and hit the road leading out of Mirkwood. Just as you suspected – the Uruk was waiting for you at the crossroads. At the sight of you, he bowed his head again.

“My Lady,” he greeted you and you furrowed your brows at him.

“Are you following me, Uruk?” You asked him coldly while looking down at him from your horse. “Were you sent by my husband to follow me?”

“No, my Lady,” the Uruk shook his head. “By Lady Moreth,” he explained and your heart clenched in your chest at the mention of your daughter. Your sweet, beloved Moreth. She could not stop thinking of you just like you could not stop thinking of her.

“For how long have you been searching for me?” You inquired.

“I am not sure, my Lady. A few weeks, surely, but then I got lost in the woods,” he admitted with a hint of embarrassment. “It was an accident that I got caught, but you… You saved my life,” he bowed his head down again and you could hear that he was moved by your act.

“What is your name, Uruk?” You asked him. “Do you have names?” You wondered out loud.

“We do,” he nodded as he looked up at you again. “They call me Glûg, my Lady,” he introduced himself. 

“Alright then, Glûg,” you nodded your head at him and moved slightly on your horse to make more space in the saddle. “You will take me back to your kin and to your Lord Father,” you told him because you didn’t expect him to deny you.

His small eyes sparkled at your words and he seemed to be genuinely excited about the idea, although when he approached the horse, you could already see he would struggle with hopping onto it. After a short while of hesitation, he took a step back.

“You ride, my Lady. I will walk,” he decided.

“Do not be daft, Glûg. We have a long road ahead of us,” you sighed and extended your hand to help him to mount your horse although you waited for him to actually dare to take it.

You could see he was shocked but so were you. You had never expected to touch any Uruk willingly, especially to help them to get on the same horse as you. And perhaps you could find Adar and Moreth yourself without his help but it felt wrong to just leave him behind.

Glûg was not only surprised but also a little intimidated and you could sense that he was not trusting you fully. After all, you were an Elf and there was no guarantee that you wouldn’t take him to Mithlond for example; where he would get tortured and killed. But despite feeling guilty towards Gil-galad and your other companions, your mind was made up. You chose your family over your friends – even if it meant going down a very dark and treacherous path.

“I do not have a whole day,” you teased and Glûg finally took your hand. It didn’t feel very pleasant to touch him but it was also better than you had imagined what it would be like to touch an Uruk. You waited for him to adjust himself behind you on the saddle before you ordered the horse to go. “Be careful back there. Us, Elves, do not ride carefully because we do not have to,” you told him and you could feel him grabbing the edges of the saddle. “You can hold onto my cloak if you must,” you allowed him.

“Yes, my Lady,” he nodded.

“Let us get out of Mirkwood first and then you will tell me where to go. South, I assume, but I want to know exactly where to go because I want to get there quickly,” you explained.

“Me too, my Lady. I miss my son,” Glûg admitted and you smiled to yourself although you were surprised.

“You have a son, Glûg?” You asked. “A wife?”

“Yes, I have a wife, too,” he nodded.

“I had no idea that Uruks had families,” you hummed to yourself.

“There are many mis… Mis…,” he struggled with the word.

“Misconceptions,” you gently reminded him. For some reason, you didn’t feel the need to be patronising with this one.

“Yes, that’s the word Lord Father uses sometimes,” Glûg’s voice sounded excited. “Why are you going to him, my Lady?”

“I am his wife,” you revealed. You didn’t want to tell him too much because it was your private matter.

“I know, I was there,” Glûg reminded you and you suddenly realised why his face looked so familiar. “I was the one who unchained you and Lady Moreth, my Lady,” he added and you nodded at his words, remembering very clearly now.

“You were the one who stopped your friend from hurting us. You told him that your Lord Father wouldn’t be happy about it because we were Elves,” you suddenly had a flashback of yet another memory. “Thank you, Glûg.”

“I want to serve Lord Father well,” he said to that.

“I am sure he is very pleased with you,” you assured him with a head nod and he didn’t say anything but he adjusted himself slightly in the saddle and dared to hold onto the hem of your cloak.

According to Glûg, it would take you about two or three days to get to Adar’s camp. Most of the Uruks were staying in a village with the humans who had decided to obey your husband. You only hoped that they hadn’t changed their location ever since Glûg had left it to look for you.

You were an Elf and you were sure your body could handle the lack of sleep for two or three days but Glûg obviously needed it, therefore you decided to stop for the night. Your horse needed its rest, too, since it was not any Elven breed that could handle longer distances with less rest.

You caressed the horse’s mane as you watched Glûg start the fire to warm himself up. He looked up at you and offered for you to come over and get warm, too, but you shook your head.

“I do not need it,” you assured him. Even though your body was not radiating so much warmth anymore, it was not like you actually felt any coldness.

He didn’t need much to sleep. He just laid down on the grass and began snoring not long after. You sighed and sat by the tree. Even though he seemed to be deep asleep, you still did not trust him enough to fall asleep yourself. You only allowed him to ride behind you on the horse because you knew that his dagger had been taken away from him back in Mirkwood.

You kept watching the stars and praying quietly to the Valars, hoping they would understand your decision. And when you spotted the fire dying out, you put more wood into it, so Glûg wouldn’t get too cold on that night. You were not scared of the light attracting the enemies because in these lands, you were mostly scared of… well, the Uruks.

And you actually met a few on the next day. They jumped out on the road, threatening you in Black Speech and shouting obscenities. Then, they saw Glûg emerging from behind you on the horse and they looked at each other, confused.

“What are you doing up there, Glûg?” One of them asked. “Have you found yourself a new lady? Where did you get an Elf stupid enough to want you?” He laughed and others followed.

“You idiot!” Glûg shouted at him. “This is Lord Father’s wife!” He scolded his friends and they all closed their mouths before bowing their heads so much they nearly touched the ground.

“Forgive us, my Lady!” They begged, visibly scared.

“Forgive them, my Lady, they are our scouts from the most distant lands and no one bothered to tell them about you,” Glûg stood up for his friends.

“Get up, Uruks,” you laughed at the ones below you. “I understand why you found this funny,” you assured them. “Glûg here is escorting me,” you explained because you didn’t want him to look stupid in his friends’ eyes – after all, he was unarmed and on the back of the horse, sitting behind you like a child.

“He always gets the best jobs,” one of the Uruks muttered and you chuckled.

“Such jobs come with a price. Glûg has nearly lost his life,” you bragged on his behalf and they hummed to each other.

“Has Lord Father moved from the village in the last few weeks?” Glûg asked them and they shrugged their arms, answering in Black Speech.

“What did they say?” You asked Glûg, turning your head around.

“I’d rather not say, my Lady…”

“What is it?” Your heart skipped a beat. Had something bad happened?

“They said: the fuck we know?” Glûg swallowed thickly but you laughed at that, sighing with relief.

“You do not have the best communication with your scouts,” you pointed out.

“I’ve been trying to make Lord Father realise that for years now!” Glûg complained and you nodded at that. Perhaps you would tell your husband about it later.

“We shall go now,” you nodded at the Uruk scouts and they nodded back. You ordered the horse to go and that was when Glûg tugged onto your cape. “Hm?”

“I had no idea Elves could understand humour,” he admitted and you smirked.

“There are many misconceptions,” you answered smugly.

You arrived at the village in the evening on the second day and, thankfully, Adar was still there. At least that was what the Uruks by the gate had told you when they were opening it for you and Glûg.

“Do you want to jump off of the horse and make it seem as if you are leading me?” You asked him when you crossed the gates.

“Good idea, my Lady,” he nodded and you heard him clumsily jump down onto the muddy ground. Then, he grabbed the horse by the reins and led you to the centre of the village.

You looked around and it was a different village than the one you had bid your farewell to your daughter at. Adar’s army was slowly going up North.

When you arrived at the market square, you spotted Moreth immediately and your heart clenched inside your chest. She couldn’t see you yet – she had her back turned and she was crouching down, surrounded by a bunch of the Uruk babies. Some of them looked rather gruesome but they were only little and innocent babies. And you found it absolutely endearing that your daughter still – even on her path towards the darkness – remained the gentle one, who would spend her free time with the most delicate ones; entertaining them with nursery rhymes in Black Speech that she had to learn recently.

She had some sort of a crown upon her head but it was made of old branches without any leaves on them. Instead of flowers, it was decorated with small grey stones of various shapes and small skulls of the small forest animals. But knowing Moreth, you just knew she had not harmed any of them and had to find these in the local woods. Or perhaps they were leftovers from the Uruks’ soups.

“That one is my son,” Glûg pointed at one of the babies. The little one was sitting on the ground and clapping his hands at your daughter’s nursery rhyme. You winced slightly at the sight of that baby.

“He is… adorable,” you lied and Glûg seemed to be very happy with your comment. That was the moment when his son spotted him and squealed, extending his hands towards his father.

Glûg ran up to him to pick him up and Moreth turned around. Her face lit up at the sight of you and she immediately stood up to approach you. Her long, black hair was bouncing in the air and she had a new, black dress on. She looked happy but you couldn’t ignore the fact her skin looked even paler than the last time you had seen her and even though her eyes were filled with joy now – they seemed to be more hollow than you remembered as well.

“Mother!” She hugged you when you dismounted the horse. “I’ve sent Glûg to find out your whereabouts but I was not sure if you would actually visit me!” She smiled widely and you caressed her cheeks before leaning in to place a kiss upon her forehead.

“Oh, my sweet Moreth… You smell like an Uruk,” you chuckled and she rolled her eyes. “What is this beautiful dress? Where did you get it?” You asked her, trying to focus on something cheerful.

“I have no idea. It is a gift from father,” she answered and you smiled to yourself. It was no surprise for you that Adar would get everything for his daughter but you wondered where he had found such a gown. Had he requested someone to make it? You found it quite adorable in a way.

“Are you happy here with him?” You asked.

“Oh, mother, you have no idea,” Moreth chuckled. “I can be myself here and I no longer have to bear the shackles of guilt,” she admitted and you nodded sadly, grabbing her wrists. They were colder than they should be.

“The light of Valinor is nearly gone, my child,” you hummed.

“Your hands feel a bit colder as well, mother,” Moreth teased and you furrowed your brows. She was right, you didn’t want to deny it. “Either way, I would be happier here if I had you by my side,” she sighed. “But father was right. He told me you would be back.”

You opened your mouth to answer her but you were interrupted by the door of one of the houses being opened. Both you and Moreth turned your heads around to glance in its direction and you saw Adar walking out slowly out of the house and walking towards you.

“Father!” Moreth ran up to him, excitedly. “You were right! Mother came to visit us!” She informed him.

“No, she did not come to visit us,” Adar pointed out calmly, standing right in front of you and staring at you intensely. Moreth’s smile dropped in an instant.

“What do you mean, father? Mother?” She looked at you and her eyes filled with tears.

Sometimes, she still acted like a very young Elf even though she was centuries old. She had been born in the First Age but you had been spoiling her ever since Adar’s disappearance and now it simply felt wrong to abandon her when she was still so dependent on you. You wondered now how could you have bid farewell to her all those months ago.

“She came to stay,” Adar explained calmly and you straightened your back at his words as you took a deep breath in. He was right, so you nodded. 

Moreth smiled again although you could see she was finding it hard to believe. She kissed both of your cheeks and ran away to dance around with the Uruk children out of happiness. You chuckled at that as your eyes followed her movements and then you looked back at your husband.

“How did you know?” You asked, quietly.

“Because I know my wife,” Adar took a step ahead to be even closer to you and he extended his rough hand towards you. “I know she will always choose her family in the end. You have always been the most devoted mother. And wife,” he explained and you took his hand gently. It felt so odd to be able to touch him and to be with him again.

“I have spoiled her,” you sighed and looked back at Moreth again, dancing around with the children.

“I would have done the exact same,” Adar cracked a smile and you dared to smile back at him shyly. In a way, it felt as if you were a young Elven maiden again, all those centuries ago, being courted by him.

“I know,” you answered. “That is the reason why I have done it,” you added.

“Your hands do seem to be colder than the last time indeed,” Adar hummed to himself and lifted your wrist up to place a small kiss upon your knuckles. “But they still remain soft.”

You had a feeling this comment was supposed to contrast your hands with his rough and scarred ones and it made you sad. You squeezed his fingers reassuringly.

“I must admit, it feels… odd to be here. Odd to have you back by my side. I have grieved you for an Age,” you confessed. “I might need some time to adapt,” you explained.

“You may have all the time in this world that you need,” your husband assured you and you smiled at him. “Come, let me show you inside. We are staying here for a while,” he pointed at the door leading inside the house and you nodded before gathering your skirts and following him through the mud towards your new home.

It had no luxuries but it was enough. Elves did not require much to survive and being here with your husband and daughter felt better than being surrounded by all the riches of Mirkwood but far away from them.

You looked around with a small smile and followed Adar upstairs.

“The room on the right is Moreth’s,” he opened the door slightly so you could look inside. You grinned at the sight of how she had decorated the place with all sorts of books, dried out leaves and flowers, pretty stones and her drawings.

“Living inside her own world as always,” you pointed out and Adar closed the door with a smile.

“It is one of her best qualities,” he admitted and you agreed with a head nod. “The room on the left can be yours,” he opened the door for you to walk in but when you looked around, you saw some of his belongings scattered around.

“Is that not your room?” You asked.

“I do not need one,” Adar shrugged his arms and walked inside as well. He began gathering his belongings but you stopped his hand gently as he looked up at you, questioningly.

“I do not mind sharing a chamber with you, husband,” you assured him. “We were wed, we are one,” you told him, “for eternity. It might feel odd in the beginning after such a long time but the more time we spend together, the sooner I shall adapt,” you added.

“I have spent an Age missing you and grieving you,” Adar whispered, taking your hand into his. “I might find it difficult to keep myself away from you now.”

“Oh, Adar,” you cupped his cheeks and looked deep into his eyes. “I have been suffering without you enough and I have been with Moreth and all of my friends, surrounded by the beauty of the Elven realms. And you… You have been so lonely. I cannot imagine what you have been going through,” you admitted quietly and felt a single tear streaming down your cheek.

“It does not matter anymore,” your husband assured you and wiped the tear away from your cheek. Then, he placed the tip of his thumb on his tongue to taste it. “You truly are growing colder, my dear,” he pointed out.

“I can feel it, too,” you nodded. “The rot is making its home inside of me,” you admitted. “But I would rather be damned with you than to carry the light alone.”

Adar seemed to be moved by your confession and you kept caressing his cheeks gently to soothe him. You saw a tear escaping his eyes, too, but you only shushed him gently, making no comment about it.

“There is only one thing I shall never forgive you,” you confessed.

“Taking Moreth down with me?” His voice broke.

“No,” you shook your head. “She is an Age old. That is quite enough to be able to make your own decisions, don’t you think?” You chuckled through your own tears. “But you have forsaken me. You have gone away from me – from us – to Morgoth…”

“I wanted to come back for you, I have told you already. It was Sauron who made me believe that you and Moreth had been dead,” Adar reminded you. “You have always been a part of my plans. Everything I have done, I have done for my family. Morgoth knew about my devotion. He often used you or Moreth to torture me or to tempt me to stay and learn more,” your husband confessed and you furrowed your brows as your eyes filled with fresh tears. “Sauron knew. He observed him at work. He knew how much you meant to me. That was the reason for his lie. For his illusion that has been haunting me for centuries,” Adar winced a little as if he had just remembered the vision of you and Moreth dying that Sauron had shown him once.

You caressed your husband’s cheeks again and leaned in to place a gentle kiss upon his lips, feeling the tears of the both of you mixing on your skin.

“If what they say is true… That the Dark Lord is back… We shall defeat him together, my love,” you promised in a quiet whisper.

“I would never ask you or Moreth to fight for me,” Adar shook his head and pressed his forehead to yours. “But your presence gives me strength to face my battles.”

“As it should be,” your fingertips reached his temples and you pressed them softly, giving them a little massage. 

Your little moment of intimacy was interrupted by Moreth who stood in the doorway and cleared her throat. When you both turned around to face her with widened eyes, she chuckled.

“Do not fret. I am an Age old,” she pointed out with a smile. “And it does make my heart content to see you two like this. I was only wanting to ask how do you find your chambers, mother?” She grinned at you.

“I do find them good enough, thank you,” you answered her.

“I have a gift for you. When father assured me you would come back, I worked on something to give you. I thought you would only visit, so I wanted to give you something to remind you of me. You do not need a reminder, I guess, but you might still want to wear it,” she smiled mysteriously and extended her hand towards you.

You took her hand and she led you to her bedroom. Adar followed you, too, with a gentle smile as he leaned on the wall and watched you two interact. Moreth opened one of the boxes under her bed and she handed you something. It was a necklace made of black metal and a ruby stone. It was of great beauty but you wondered how she had managed to make it.

“I asked the human smith for help,” she revealed as if she knew what your questions were. “And the ruby was a gift for me from father,” she smiled at Adar.

“Where did you get it from?” You asked him, turning around.

“You do not want to know,” he shook his head and approached you. He took the necklace to clasp it behind your neck. “Perhaps I shall tell you one day, when your heart rots enough to handle it.”

And when you felt the ruby stone brushing your skin, you could feel the rot growing stronger and overtaking the cold light within you, but the rot was warm and rooted in love, therefore it could not be wrong. Could it?

MASTERLIST

[alwaysunabasheddelusion]

The Emissary

The emissary approached the gatehouse only to have her entry blocked by two glowering Wood-Elves. She swung down from her horse and surveyed the guards with clinical interest. She had forgotten how short Wood-Elves were. Of more concern than height was the state of their armor and the spears they aimed in her direction. If she succeeded in her errand then the flimsy leather armor they wore meant most of these Elves would be nothing more than a lost heap. 

She kept that thought to herself. She was here to gain their alliance, not frighten them into further isolation. Many people would sacrifice their lives if Middle-Earth was to remain free. Insufficient armor or weapons shouldn’t prevent anyone from joining in the rebellion. They would make do. 

“What business have you in our forest, High Elf?” 

“I am here to deliver a message to your King.” She answered coolly, spreading both hands wide at her waist to display her peaceful intentions. Or, as peaceful as the intentions to request a martial alliance could be. 

The guards exchanged mute glances, then one turned on his heels and led the emissary through the gatehouse into the castle.

Torches flickered in brackets along the walls, casting long shadows down narrow corridors. She followed through twisting tunnels and down spiral staircases, past the unfriendly stares of palace servants. The faint glow from her skin, diminished from long ages away from Aman, mingled with the low light of the torches. 

The throne room itself was brighter than the dimly lit corridors the guards had taken. Light cast from high chandeliers bathed the court in brilliant orange. A harpist occupied one corner, long fingers playing along silver strings, the only member of the court who didn’t fall silent in wary anticipation with the entrance of the emissary and her escort. 

A Sinda lord sat on a carven throne, wearing a crown of holly like some common Avarin Lord untouched by the journey from Cuivienen. He had a wild look about him, fierce and proud as one of Manwe’s Eagles and just as dangerous to unwary foes. He watched her approach with mingled curiosity and distrust. 

The emissary did not lower her eyes from the King’s as she strode forward, arms still outstretched. She was keenly aware that all eyes were fastened upon her in hostile scrutiny. Her armor was of superior quality to that of his guard’s and she towered over the Woodland Elves, but she was only one and they were many. 

“It has been long since one of your kind was seen under the Green Wood.” His voice was soft but no less dangerous for that. “What errand have you in our Kingdom, High Elf?” 

“I come with a message from the High King Gil-Galad for King Oropher of the Woodland Realm.” Her voice rang out across the throne room, steady and clear. The doubts she held about the viability of her mission were masked with haughty confidence. 

“The High King,” Oropher repeated, his eyes narrowing. “The High King knows that he is unwelcome here. For what reason would he send one of his people?” 

“War.” 

Urgent murmurs broke out all around the court at this proclamation and were only silenced when Oropher held up one hand. “War. There have been many wars in Middle-Earth. The Wood-Elves do not concern ourselves with the wars of other Kingdoms.” 

The emissary’s expression was grim as she answered. “You would do well to concern yourself with this one. Sauron has returned to Middle-Earth. He set the White Tree of Gondor ablaze and has taken Minas Ithil. The High King seeks to dislodge him permanently lest all of Middle-Earth fall.” 

Although she had finished speaking, the murmurs did not resume. The entire court stared at the emissary in astonished silence, faces pale as they processed this most unwelcome news. 

“Sauron has returned, you say?” Oropher at last broke the silence with a whisper that carried throughout the hall. “But how is that possible? He drowned with Numenor nigh a hundred years ago.” 

“He was un-bodied,” The emissary answered gravely. She, too, had believed Sauron to have perished; they all had, the High Elves and the Numenoreans alike. If they had known he could return they surely would have been more alert to the signs. But this surprise was a failure she would not admit to in the Wood-Elf court. “To truly destroy one of the Maia is a…difficult feat. Particularly a Maia as powerful as Sauron, who has learned many tricks from his Master.” 

Oropher’s face darkened. He had no love for the High King or his people, but he also did not believe they would lie about a catastrophe of this scale. No, if they believed Sauron had returned then he would listen, though it cost him dear in pride. He would not endanger his realm by ignoring so serious a threat. 

“Very well.” He answered heavily, inclining his head towards the emissary. “Tell your High King that the elves of Eryn Galen shall come. We shall march under our own banner, but march we shall.” 

The emissary bowed. “I will inform the High King of your decision.” 

But as she strode forth out of the fortress at Amon Lanc she couldn’t help but snort to herself in derision at the thought of what forces Oropher would be able to muster. Vintners and carpenters! But vintners and carpenters would have to do. 

[antleredthrone]

I think you're brave enough to become a King when you were at your lowest point in life. Oropher would has been proud of all these achievements you made for your family and your kingdom.

“I… Thank you. I have hope that my father would be proud, but I could never be certain.”

[sotwk]

Ok, lets do the OC Matchmaker game!

Bullet points!

🔫His name is Taughadron ("firm warrior" in sindarin) and he is a silvan elf lad, son of a brief yet proud line of silvan warriors.

🔫Having joined the armies of Oropher in the Second Age, he bravely fought in the Battle of Dagorlad only to be captured and enslaved by orcs under Sauron's command.

🔫As a slave, he was forced to reproduce and conceive uruk-hai offspring for Sauron's armies countless times.

🔫Castrated himself to ensure that Sauron couldn't further use him, was terribly punished as a result (Sauron removed his right eye and replaced it with a magic eyeball that reveals all that he thinks or feels, stripping his privacy from him).

🔫Is almost faded away, his fëa barely remains (body so thin he looks emaciated, extremely pale skin, cold body, eyes without any shine, opaque and thinning hair, fragile nails) and his body is covered in scars, with the biggest being the cut scar in the right eye all the way to the neck (he never opens this eye).

🔫Has a fatherly and kind personality, especially towards children and teenagers, but also has a certain ferocious side due to his harsh enslavement, and he also sometimes behaves in the manners of orcs.

🔫Has no more fear, does not back down anymore, and is not the kind to be commanded anymore; his loyalty towards Oropher and his descendants is all that remains from his past self as well as his hesitation to return to Greenwood due to shame.

🔫Currently lives with surviving uruk-hai camps at the borders of Greenwood after fleeing Mordor, as a dancer and bard for the richest orcs and ologs around; is under the protection of his former torturer, an olog named Az-Turduk.

🔫Can no longer fight or read, cannot run without a limp, cannot jump at all, can barely swim or stay afloat, needs to be reminded to sleep, eat and drink because he no longer feels his bodily needs; often wakes up screaming from nightmares and is repulsed by physical contact or fire.

🔫Feral traumatized gremlim, he can stomach anything and seems to not be surprised or disgusted by gore or violence anymore, and has developed a fondness for grog; absentmindedly eats small critters...

Oh boy, I hope these are not too long to be bullet points XP hope you like this poor ellon, my friend!

Oh my Valar, you really went to town WHUMPING this poor ellon, didn't you?? XD He definitely needs tons of gentle love and patience and someone with a strong heart and stomach just to lead him out of the horrors he's been through! The gentlest healer in Middle-earth would have to step up.

Do I know such a person?? As a matter of fact...

The SotWK Matchmaking Machine pairs Taughadron with:

PRINCESS ANARIEL, granddaughter of Thranduil! (SotWK OC)

The daughter of the late and great Crown Prince Mirion is so sweet and pure and innocent one might think she would faint at the history of someone like Taughadron. But truthfully, she has the strength of both her kickass parents within her, AND she happens to be an extremely skilled healer. Most importantly, only Nienna herself has more compassion than Anariel.

Of course, Thranduil will not approve at ALL, but well... <insert shrug meme>

PS. Theon Greyjoy in his "Reek" stage came to mind when I read about Taughadron. I hope you don't mind the fancast! :)

Thank you for trusting me to match up your OC! :

This OC Matchmaking game is part of SotWK's Summer Campfire Sleepover 2024. (Requests accepted only on July 11-15, 2024.)

[secondageweek]

Hello everyone!

For the second time we have decided to host this week to show our love and appreciation for the Second Age in all its facets. From proud Númenoreans to deep digging Dwarves, to the last High King of the Noldor, and the Dark Lord of Mordor - this week is dedicated to all of them and more!

A list of non-mandatory prompts below:

Day 1 Elves - Gil-galad, Oropher, Celebrían and many others - Lindon and Belfalas, Imladris and Eregion, Lórinand and Greenwood. What were the elves doing in the Second Age?

Day 2 Men - On this day of Second Age Week, we explore the race of Men - from proud Númenoreans, through those who would come to be known as Dunlendings, to the Haradrim in the South.

Day 3 Dwarves - From Ered Luin through Khazad Dûm to the Eastern Realms, dwarves played an important role during the Second Age. On this day you can explore their history and culture, events they participated in, prominent characters such as Durin IV. or Narvi and more!

Day 4 Sauron and his minions - With his lies and deceits, Sauron spent the Second Age weaving his way across Middle Earth and started a reign of terror from his fortress in Mordor. This day is dedicated to him and his many followers.

Day 5 Worldbuilding - Rings of Power and the White Tree, faraway lands, countless battles - Middle Earth has a rich history and stunning locations to explore.

Day 6 Original Characters - An unnamed wife of a king of Númenor, a guardsman from Lindon - who are they? What are they up to? On this day the spotlight is given to characters outside of the narrative focus.

Day 7 Freeform - Did we forget about something or is there a prompt you want to revisit? Feel free to use this day for any Second Age related content!

The week will run during January 2023 - 9th to 15th - and will be hosted by @tilions​ and @armenelols. ​ We will operate in a mixture of queued posts and direct reblogs.

To note:

Tag your work #secondageweek in the first five tags of your post and tag us @secondageweek so we can find your post

Should your post not be reblogged, feel free to send us an ask or a message

The same goes with all problems and questions; the ask box is open!

All kinds of content are allowed - fanfiction, fanart, headcanons, meta, edits, etc

For NSFW content and such, please tag your work accordingly.

We are looking forward to your creations!

[fellowshipofthefics]

Hey Fellowship of the Fics! Please welcome @the-girl-with-the-algebra-book​ !! 👏🥳 Mattie decided to share her thoughts and impressions on their fic: A Tussle at Turuhalmë.

Question 1: Is this a fic you would recommend to someone who has never read your work? Why or why not?  

Yes, I would! I feel that it is a good example of my writing. On the surface level, it's a very funny, fluffy read. However, there is also a deeper layer to it in which I take a deep dive into the character and how they interact with the world around them. This fic is a prime example of that, and the content in it is not as angsty of some of my others - a good way to dip your toes in!

Question 2: What small detail are you super proud of?  

The nod towards my favorite pairing, Glorfindel and Erestor! I couldn't possibly write a fic set in Imladris without those two being together. :)

Question 3: What is a worldbuilding fact about this work that didn't make it into the fic itself?        

In this fic, Legolas and Gimli are debating who actually started the tradition, but I don't give a definitive answer until the end notes. It was, in fact, the dwarves who started the tradition of Mistlefoe, and Oropher and his people were taught it by the dwarves of Gundabad.

Question 4:  What made you want to write this fic?     

There is a popular Tumblr post that talks about fighting under the mistletoe instead of kissing under it, and like I do with everything nowadays, I looked at it and said, "Yup, I wanna turn this into a fanfic!" And so I did, that very same day!    

Question 5: What is something you wished we had asked you about this fic? (And then please answer it.)        

"Will there ever be another installment of the mistlefoe series?" Yes! I have an alternate version involving the Hobbits being the ones to celebrate Mistlefoe instead of the Elves and Dwarves. Make sure to keep an eye out for that fic this holiday season to see what hijinks Sam and Pippin get up to...

If you haven’t read this story yet, go back up to the top and be sure to click the link. Also if you haven’t seen Mattie’s works before, here are some other fics that they have done that are worth checking out as well:

Turn of the Season

The Second in Arda

Watch You Sleep

If you would like to get you and your story featured in Monday Mentions, please click the Application Link! If you have any questions/concerns with the form, please feel free to leave an ask or DM one of us! Questions will be updated each month so repeat writers and stories are welcome. New writers will be prioritized.

[is-it-mungojerry-or-rumpelteazer]

#legolas you SHIT #this very much tracks #legolas is a feral gremlin (and daddy is SO proud but also prudent enough to ''woodland realm it'' for the sake of the forest) #this is what they mean by ''more dangerous and less wise'' you know#they're all like this #actually this is why you have silvan kingdoms with sindar kings #it's not actually colonial or classist bullshit it's because nobody silvan wants ANYTHING to do with diplomacy #(diplomacy in mirkwood is just a longer way to spell ''biting you'' actually) #so they outsource that shit to their sindar buddies who don't start biting QUITE so fast #king is a very boring job nobody in mirkwood wants it but thranduil and oropher lived through doriath after melian peaced-out #so they accepted the responsibility when nobody else wants to do the job #(obviously this plan did not work so well with oropher because he acclimatized to ''just bite them'' VERY fast oops) #honestly thranduil was so relieved when legolas married gimli because gimli is a diplomatic GENIUS capable of charming ANYONE #and now legolas's diplomatic disaster's are gimli's responsibility to deal with HAVE FUN DWARF! #that's why the valar brought him to aman too: they heard enough stories that they decided it would be less of a headache for everyone #if they brought the dwarf too. much lower chance of future kinslayings if gimli is around to smooth-talk everybody thanks!

I don’t even ship Legolas and Gimli but this is a hilarious headcanon so I’m going to adopt it anyway ^^

(Also “Oropher acclimatized to “just bite them” very fast” is a great sentence)

I have a question

Did anyone ever acknowledge the fact that the Prince of the Woodland Realm threatened the life of the new heir to the thrown of Rohan?

Is this why nobody mentions Thranduil? Because Legolas is a diplomatic disaster?

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Either or— or both the quote

if you want 🥺👉🏼👈🏼

Thrandy?

Oh yes...My pleasure :D Sorry this took a moment

Words: 1,4 k

Warnings: theft, fear

To say that you had been distracted would have been a weak excuse for the unpardonable mistake you had just committed, but it was hard to keep your thoughts straight when you were writing a stupid Romeo and Juliet story in your mind.

It ran as follows: your parents were the proud owners of a small bookshop in a quaint little street in which a hitherto rather inoffensive flower and decoration shop was situated as well.

Recently though, old Oropher had left the business to his son Thranduil who promptly decided to open a small café – serving mysterious teas and other semi-magic potions – which made them your family’s rivals all of a sudden.

Your run-of-the-mill coffee and home-baked goods were clearly less attractive than the mystery inherent to the fantastical and enchanting ambience of the revamped flower shop, and that would have annoyed you much less if Thranduil himself had not been the most exquisitely intriguing creature you had ever met.

Brazen and arrogant, he had strolled into your shop with a self-satisfied smirk to purchase one of the lovingly crafted cinnamon rolls that were your specialty; he even went so far as to choose a small book of poetry – your favourite – that he slipped carelessly into the pocket of his coat as his long legs carried him out of the front door.

It was only then that you realised – shocked beyond what words could express – that you had left your own copy on a presentation table and that it had mysteriously vanished while you rang up that annoying pseudo-customer, flaunting his new-found wealth so shamelessly.

Had it been any other book, you would not have minded, but this particular tome contained notes and drabbles of your own that you had scribbled into it through the long years of your loving ownership.

“Blast it,” you cursed under your breath; for a moment, you considered running after him and simply asking him to swap the old copy with a new one, but you were sure that he’d demand to know your reasons for such a ludicrous request.

From what little experience you had had with the man, you knew that he was not the type to let anyone off the hook easily; he enjoyed teasing and mocking those he considered inferior to himself too much for that.

Switching the small, hand-painted sign swinging on the door to ‘closed’, you hastened after him, decided that you’d have to proceed with the utmost care if you wanted to swap the books without him noticing.

Despite the chill wind already carrying the first tentative bite of a crisp autumn, his open coat flapped in the draft like the sable wings of a mystical bird, and your heart beat a little faster.

It’s just the lack of regular exercise, you told yourself cantingly, and not at all the otherworldly beauty of Thranduil’s almost colourless hair shining like diamonds and platinum in the buttery glow of the timid sun, veiled like a virgin on her wedding day in a layer of clouds.

Your chance came when a random customer – not as if you’d take specific note of the stunning redhead making doe eyes at Thranduil – stopped him and, true to himself, he let himself be drawn into a lengthy conversation during which the lady touched his long, slender arm several times seductively.

Creeping closer, you inserted your hand into his coat pocket, drew out your own copy and replaced it with the brand-new one you had brought along; you might be a pickpocket, but you weren’t technically a thief.

Retreating slowly again, you turned on your heels and almost ran down the street back to your shop before your mother could come by and find it mysteriously closed in the middle of the day.

When you reached the door, panting and holding your precious personal copy clutched in your sweaty hands, you took a deep breath of relief.

You had never stolen anything ever before, but a strange sense of accomplishment and pride overcame you as you pondered the fact that you had managed to pull off your ludicrous plan; also, you had inserted your hand into Thranduil’s pocket, a weirdly intimate action that you would rather not dwell on lest you waste the rest of the workday as well.

After a mercifully uneventful day in your little corner of paradise, you finally locked the front door and pulled down the iron shutter that you father had installed recently.

As you walked down the street to the small house in which you had rented the second floor – despite your parents’ ardent protestations – you couldn’t shake the disgusting feeling of being followed.

Your little town was your nest; you knew everyone and didn’t usually feel unsafe in it and yet, you couldn’t help the cold shiver creeping down your spine as you dug into your pocket for your keys to save time and – if the worst were to befall you – defend yourself.

“Stop right there,” a velvety voice called out when – throwing yourself up the stairs in your eagerness to get a solid door between you and the world – you reached the front door of your building, “you little thief. What would your parents say?”

You whirled around in wordless shock and there he was, shining like silver-inlaid marble under the blurry halo of the streetlamp, Thranduil the Handsome.

In his slender hand, he held a bouquet of pale lilies that couldn’t compare to the elegant pulchritude of the crooked smile blossoming into mockery on his statuesque face.

“Thranduil,” you gasped, transported back into your youth when you would see him from the corner of your eye as he strutted up and down the street with his cronies; he was a tad older than you and you had never been part of the same circles, but somehow, you had still grown up side by side.

The shock and bad conscience sketched across your face made his own mien mellow into soft indulgence though and he admitted that he had known that he had grabbed your personal copy.

“It was a joke,” he laughed ruefully, handing over the bouquet with an affable smile, “but you seemed so distracted by something; it was in bad taste, forgive me.”

Then he took out the new edition you had slipped into his pocket and waved it slowly in front of your eyes.

“A thief,” he chuckled, “but an honest one. I confess I do regret the loss of that priceless artifact that contains all your thoughts.”

Your eyes grew ever rounder, the adrenaline not having subsided completely yet.

“Either way, where are you going? Were you going to throw yourself at the mercy of some poor, unsuspecting stranger or why did you choose this particular building, charming as it might be?”

Ever curious to the point of coming across as almost intrusive, Thranduil cocked his head inquisitively and gave you a dazzling smile to calm your frayed nerves.

“I chose this building,” you replied acrimoniously, “because this is where I live.”

“Oh truly?” He seemed surprised by that, “I wouldn’t have thought that you’d already moved out.”

“What you think is of no importance?” you grumbled, fiddling with your keys nervously while you wondered if he would insist on retrieving your copy.

“Alright,” Thranduil nodded slowly, “but I’d still be honoured to hear some of your thoughts though at least if that is permitted. How about a private book club?”

Well-meant irony tinged his deep, melodious voice now and you suppressed a warmer, more seductive shiver caressing your skin.

“My thoughts about what?” you asked wearily.

“My shop, your shop, the poems…” he shrugged casually and grinned, making a vague gesture that englobed seemingly the whole street, maybe even the whole world.

“You better come in then,” you sighed, finally pushing your key into the lock and accepting that – whether you wanted it or not – this man would manage to drag out your most secret and private thoughts so he could examine them like insects on a corkboard.

Interestingly enough, you were looking forward to the endless bickering and negotiations already; you’d give as good as you gave and let him have a taste of his own medicine.

With a peal of genuine laughter, you pushed open the door to your little realm.

I hope you liked this...

Lots of love from me <3

@fellowshipofthefics this is probably the last one for May (except Shalini decides to get something after all)

❤️