#the last goodbye for thranduil

[red-dead-sakharine]

Thranduil's Last Goodbye

As the snowflakes cover my fallen brothers I will say this last goodbye

[mochi-marmalade]

The Love of the Princess

a/n: i stayed up until 2am writing this :') possibly one of my favorite works i've written?? the title is from a song i listened to while writing, very dreamy vibes. NOT proofread, might proofread later. BIG thankies to @lillisummers for the inspiration!! reader is the daughter of elrond & celebrían :)

Legolas x female elf reader

3.8k words

warnings: none i think....

“My dear, you look wonderful.” Lord Elrond, says as he places a gleaming silver circlet on your head. “Thank you, father.” You reply, smiling. Truthfully, you are hesitant and unsure of what the future holds for you. Soon you will be traveling to Mirkwood to meet your betrothed, away from your family and the place you have called home your entire life. 

A short time ago, your father brought you on business for a diplomatic meeting with King Thranduil. While there, you slipped away to explore. Though you had been in forests before, Mirkwood had a certain air about it, veiled in mystique. “You,” A voice cut through the silence. “I have not seen you before.” You turn around and come face to face with a pale elf. He is fair as the moon and moves nimbly as he walks towards you. “I am the Lady of Rivendell, daughter of Lord Elrond.” He looks you up and down, then slowly nods. “Where is your father?”

“He is… Meeting with King Thranduil.”

The blond elf cocks an eyebrow, wondering aloud, “Should you not join him?”

“I am on my own business to meet handsome strangers.”

He smiles and asks in a sing-song voice, “Is that so?”

You return his smile, but before you can ask him for his name, another voice echoes through the trees. “Your father calls, my lady.” You look between the elf and the passageway to the Elvenking’s Halls, and he dips his head to bid you goodbye. “Farewell, fair sir.” You say before hurrying away. Thankfully, you received only a light reprimanding from your father for sneaking away that day. 

Perhaps life in Mirkwood wouldn’t be so bad, if only you could see that elf again. Then you remember that you are already meeting none other than Legolas, son of Thranduil, and it would be most inappropriate to have relations with others. You hope Legolas is a kind, reasonable person- you don’t even know what he looks like! However, if your father suggested you marry him, then Legolas must be an honorable elf. “We must go.” Your father states. Soon, you are on your horse, traveling once again to Mirkwood for a feast. Here you will meet Legolas. 

After nearly two weeks’ journey, you arrive at Mirkwood. Though it is nearly midnight, you are greeted by the King’s stewards, who lead you to the chambers you will sleep in during your visit. You thank them and quickly close the doors behind them. After a few moments, you decide that the halls are empty enough to quietly creep out of your chambers. You take the same path that you found the elf on during your last visit, hoping to see him one last time. “My lady, it is hardly safe to be away from the Elvenking’s Halls at this hour.” You know that voice. You swivel around to find the stranger smiling from behind you. “It’s you.” Your worried face morphs into a grin, and you step towards him. “I was hoping I might see you.” You tell him.

“Oh? And to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I… I am here to meet King Thranduil’s son. My father and the king have agreed a marriage would be most practical, so we are to meet tomorrow before the feast.”

It doesn’t take long for the elf in front of you to notice your troubled demeanor. He places a hand on yours, and reassures you, “Do not fret, my lady. I think the prince will take a liking to you.” “Do you know him?” You wonder. He chuckles and mutters, “You could say that.” 

“What is he like?”

He looks up at you confused, as if the question was completely surprising. “Well, let’s see,” He begins. “Our prince is a skilled bowman, very attractive, loyal beyond compare, wise, and personable.” You suppress a laugh, and share, “It almost sounds as if you should be the one marrying him.” His eyes widen and he laughs, a sound that rings like chimes in the wind. “I think not.” He says matter-of-factly. You smiled amusedly before yawning. He advises, “I should think it is time for you to retire to your chambers.” “I suppose you are correct.” You agree.

“Shall I escort you?” 

“I would like that very much.” 

You hook your arm in his and he takes you through the great halls to your room. You release your arm and he says, “This is where I bid you goodnight.” You press a kiss to his cheek, and say, “Goodnight.” You hope for the sake of your arrangement that this is the last time you’ll see him, but at the same time, you hope your paths will cross again. You settle on your bed and drift into sleep.

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ☼ ﾟ｡ ⋆

The next morning, you are awakened by elven servants. They bring you food, draw you a bath, and lay out your clothes. After preparing for the day, your father comes to collect you and take you to King Thranduil’s throne room. Lord Elrond seems to sense your anxiety, murmuring, “Do not worry, child. I will be here with you the entire time.” His words soothe you a bit, and you swallow thickly as you near the throne room. Lord Elrond announces your presence as the two of you enter, and King Thranduil eyes you from his seat. The blond elf from your encounter last night is present as well, perplexing you greatly. Perhaps he is a servant, a guard, or a steward of the king. Thranduil rises, beckoning to the elf and declaring, “This is my son, Legolas.” “You are Legolas?” You ask, shocked. He bows his head in respect, saying, “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, my lady.” For a moment, you are speechless, but you manage to respond, “As am I.” Legolas takes your hand and asks you if you’d like to walk. You nod and he asks your father, “May I?” Lord Elrond and King Thranduil both look puzzled, but Elrond responds, “You may.” With that, you and Legolas take your leave, walking out of the grand room and into the halls. Once you are out of earshot, you retract your hand and turn to Legolas. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me! This entire time… You played me for a fool.” He reaches for your hand again, explaining, “No, I don’t think you’re a fool and I didn’t mean to lead you on. My intentions are honest, and I meant to tell you my identity, I swear. Once it became apparent I needed to tell you, I just didn’t know how. You seemed so interested in me, I was afraid you might change your mind if you knew.” You look at him, still hurt and reassured at the same time. “Legolas, you should have said something. I don’t care if you’re the prince. Even if you were the king, my feelings would not change.” You allow him to hold your hands and he lifts one to press a kiss against your knuckles. “I am glad. I look forward to getting to know you better.” You feel heat rise to your cheeks. You spend the day with Legolas and you find he is everything you had hoped he would be- and more. “The time of the feast approaches, shall we return?” He asks. You tell him, “The feast is for us, is it not? Could you imagine a feast without its honored guests? I think we must go… Unless we convince others we are already there by replacing ourselves with remarkably lifelike replicas.” He laughs, then places a hand on the small of your back to lead you to the mead hall. The feast is merry and all who attend appear jovial. There are many elves dancing and singing and, of course, eating. You can’t help but look at the attendees and smile, as if the cheer were contagious. Legolas comes up behind you and notes your smile, asking, “Are you enjoying yourself?” 

“Yes, very much. I have never attended a feast in Mirkwood before.”

“Is it everything you had imagined?”

“That and more.”

He places a hand on your shoulder and draws you near. His heart warms at the way you look up at him, mirthful and kind. As each moment passes, he can almost feel his affection for you growing. “Legolas, would you like to dance?” He raises his eyebrows at the unexpected question, but before he can answer, you take his hand and drag him into the middle of the floor. Laughing, you take his hands and whirl to the sound of the music. He can’t help but watch the way your dress flows and how happy you look to be here. Heavens, the look on your face- he could stare at you forever if you’d let him. The two of you dance for a while, then take a break to drink and converse. You look at Legolas’s flushed face and can’t help but ask, “Are you liking the feast?” “Yes,” He replies. “Truthfully, there are very few times I’ve had more fun.” You beam at him and tell him you are very glad. He murmurs, “Come, I should like to show you something.” You both steal away from the feast and you follow Legolas until you come to the large doors that lead to the rest of Mirkwood. “Legolas, we shouldn’t.” You warn. 

“Do not worry. It will be worth it.”

You creep past the doors and run into the woods together, where he signals you to stay close to him. He says, “I know these woods well, but there is no doubt that danger lurks hidden from sight.” You are no fighter, versed only in combat with weapons. Here, however, you have no bow nor any sabre. Legolas looks back at you and it’s as if he read your mind. “I do not leave the halls without a weapon. I will make sure no harm comes to you.” He says, spinning a small blade in his hand. He begins to climb a tree, and, though you are wearing a particularly elaborate dress, you follow suit. Once you reach the top, you draw in a sharp breath. Naturally, you have seen the night sky innumerable times, but it still leaves you awe-stricken. “Gil-Estel,” You say breathlessly. “It is so bright.” You examine the dark blanket of the sky, peppered with glittering stars. Turning to Legolas, you can’t help but tell him, “It is beautiful. Thank you.” He gazes at you with such tenderness, you wish that he may be yours for a short while. Even if just for this night, you wish that he will stay by your side and grace you once more with his smile. You tell him, “I made a wish.”

“What?”

“I have heard that some men make wishes to the stars. I am not certain of the merit of this belief, but I made a wish myself just now.”

“I see. I only wish that I may be worthy of you one day.”

His response leaves you silent. You want to say, “Oh, Legolas, hûn nín, you already are.” But you cannot speak. His eloquence and timing leaves you dumbstruck every time without fail. His expression is unreadable, and you’re afraid he might think you don’t care for him in the same manner. Just when you open your mouth to speak, he says, “We should return. Too much time has already passed.” Trying to conceal your disappointment, you agree and climb to the ground. He helps you slink back into the mead hall unnoticed, and doesn’t stray far from you for the rest of the night. As the sun rises, elves begin to filter out of the hall one by one. Legolas is talking to King Thranduil, when your father says, “I hope you enjoyed your escapade.” You look at him embarrassedly, and he asks, “Did you think I would not notice? I admit, I still worry for you as if you were a small child, feeling the need to guide your every step. However, I have trust that you are capable of making wise decisions. I only hope that you will be happy.” You tell him, “I am very happy. Legolas is a good man.” Lord Elrond smiles and walks away as Legolas returns to you. “Are you fatigued at all? Do you wish to rest?” He asks. You laugh, “No, Legolas, I feel quite alright.”

“Your hair… It must have come undone in the woods.”

You touch the back of your head to feel that your braids either have unwinded or are tangled. “Would you help me with it?” You ask. Legolas looks at you wide eyed. “Me…? Are you sure?” He questions. You consider it for a brief moment- are you certain you want to take that big a step? When you look at him, though, your concerns melt away. You trust him, wholly and completely. “Yes.” With your answer, Legolas brings you to your chambers and has you sit at the vanity. His fingers are hesitant and hover over your hair for a moment before he deftly begins to detangle your tresses. His fingers are slightly cold, but it doesn’t bother you. He works quickly and skillfully, neatly setting your hair into pleats. You can’t tell exactly how many pins he uses to secure your hair in place, but his gentle hands make them nearly unnoticeable. After a short while, he proudly declares, “I am finished. You may now tell your friends that your hair was pleated by a master.” “Oh, really? A master?” You quip. He nods enthusiastically and you can’t help but laugh. Your smile slowly fades as you realize you must leave within the next few days. “Is something the matter?” Legolas asks sweetly. 

“I must leave soon.”

“Don’t go.” He urges.

“I cannot stay here. I must go home.” 

“Must you?”

“Legolas, I… It is hardly appropriate to stay with you given the circumstances.”

“Then I shall ask to court you.” 

Again, you are taken aback. Legolas, though not always reserved, is acting uncharacteristically bold. You feel his forehead, wondering, “Are you sick?” He huffs in amusement, but takes your hand from his forehead and quickly regains his serious look. “I am being sincere. I would like to stay with you longer.” He says. Your head is swimming with thoughts of him, and your heart is racing in excitement. He calls your name softly, and you bring your gaze to him. He looks earnest, nervous, and enthusiastic all at once. “I would like nothing more.” You answer. He laughs and embraces you, his warmth enveloping you. It is caring, inviting, comfortable and unlike anything you have ever experienced. He lets go and straightens his tunic, uttering, “I do not know what came over me. I apologize if I was too forward.”  You hold his hand, telling him, “Legolas, it is okay. I am happy too.” He grins and ushers you to follow him to ask your father. Lord Elrond looks surprised, but grants Legolas permission nonetheless. King Thranduil’s face is unreadable as ever, but he does not object, which you suppose is good. Your father then takes you aside to speak, saying, “I did not expect to return to Rivendell without you.”

“I am sorry.”

“Do not be sorry, I only mean that your presence will be missed.”

Tears well in your eyes as you realize you do not know when your next visit to Rivendell will be. “Do not cry,” Lord Elrond says softly. “Your journey has only begun. Your family will be ready should you need us.” You nod, suppressing tears. “And,” He adds, peering at Legolas. “You are not alone.” You turn to see Legolas waiting for you beyond the large doorway. “Thank you, father.” You give him one last embrace, and Legolas joins you to see him off. As you watch the horses gallop away, you sigh deeply. Your life will be different from now on, but you’re glad. 

°•. ✿ .•°

You spend much of your time with Legolas, and he quickly learns that you are a woman of many interests. You are skilled with both a bow and a sabre, your fingers move expertly to weave baskets and plait hair, and you enjoy several forms of visual art. He praises your abilities- you are multifaceted and so resolute in your beliefs. He goes so far as to request paper and a utensil as a means for you to draw. Day by day, you explore with Legolas and occasionally stop to sketch the scenery or a species you may have never seen before. During these times, Legolas likes to watch you with deep admiration. Your reverence and appreciation for nature are other things he likes about you. Being the simple creature you are, you find solace just being with Legolas. He provides comfort and care you didn’t know you could have. 

Then, perhaps months later, Legolas is called to Rivendell. “I must go.” He states apologetically. “Take me with you.” You plead. 

“The journey will be dangerous. I do not wish to place you in peril’s way.”

“Legolas, you know I can hold my own.”

He seems to consider it for a moment, but concedes, “I feel you will be safer here with my father and the guard.” “Legolas, who better to ensure my safety than you?” You reason. That seems to have been more effective, as he sighs weakly before saying, “Fine. You may come with me, but we must return to Mirkwood.” You agree, and he hastily prepares extra supplies. King Thranduil emerges, but only to stare at the two of you coldly as you venture into the distance. 

Traveling with Legolas is like a dream. Both of you are often alone in Mirkwood, but there is something to be said about journeying with him. It is truly just the two of you, with no chambers to return to at the end of the day and nothing keeping you confined within one area. You banter with Legolas often during the trek to Rivendell, and at night you bring your head to his chest. You gaze at the stars together as you did that night many moons ago, and you slumber peacefully drawn close to Legolas. He offers you lembas, which you graciously accept each time, and is careful to wipe away any crumbs left on your face. You almost prefer this life to the one in Mirkwood, but it is cut short when you finally arrive in Rivendell.

Your father greets Legolas at the entrance to the great valley and is especially glad to see you. “My dear, it is always a delight. I would talk with you longer, were it not for a pressing situation.” “Yes,” Legolas begins. “I offer my deepest apologies to you.” Lord Elrond looks at him for a moment, then begins, “Oh, no, it is not that. There is… something else that has come up.” You and Legolas look at each other with confusion on your faces, but Lord Elrond is already bringing Legolas further into Rivendell. “Am I not to come?” You ask, feeling a bit dejected. Father turns to you, and says, “My daughter, you must not attend this meeting. I apologize but the magnitude of this is far too great; it will not be safe for you.” You nod your head slowly, and make your way to your sister’s quarters. Arwen embraces you with a wide smile, and you each share what has happened in your lives since you last met. Eventually, your father returns and informs you that you may want to speak with Legolas. You look between Lord Elrond and Arwen worriedly at first, then heed your father’s suggestion. You arrive outside and there are several strange men gathered near the entrance of Rivendell. Legolas turns to greet you and, for the first time, you can see fear on his face. “What ails you?” You ask him as you rush to meet him. “I have been appointed to a task, which will be great in time and distance. It will be treacherous and… I fear I may never see you again.” He explains. “Do not say that. You are steadfast, both in will and in strength. I am sure we will meet again.” You try to convince him. He nods and holds your face in his hands, then presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Meleth nín.” He mutters, still holding your face so you cannot see him. Carefully, you raise your head to meet his eyes, and say, “I love you.” You can see in his eyes he is unbearably upset, as if he cannot bear to leave you. “Go. I will wait here.” With those words, he turns and leaves.

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

It is many months before you see Legolas again. You see your people leave, and it pains you to watch the very life of Rivendell leave the place you once called home. Arwen and your father spend many moments together, discussing something that is beyond your knowledge. However, they also spend many moments attempting to comfort you. You have faith that Legolas will return, so you wait patiently, always watching the horizon for his lean figure. It isn’t until you travel to Minas Tirith with your father and sister that you finally see Legolas again. Arwen weds Aragorn in what seems to be a human ceremony. There you see him: Legolas, casually conversing with some people that you think you saw him set out from Rivendell with. The stout dwarf next to him sees you approaching first and gently elbows Legolas. He looks up, and with a grin opens his arms to greet you. Breaking into a trot, you launch yourself into his arms and he wraps his arms around you in a tight hold. “Legolas…” You sob softly. He quickly leans back to brush your tears away, saying, “None of that, love. I’m here now.” He holds you to his chest pressing kiss upon kiss to the crown of your head. “My lady.” The dwarf grunts, bowing slightly to you. Then he turns to Legolas to ask, “Is this…?” Legolas laughs, “Yes, this is her.” You sigh at the feeling of being in Legolas’s arms again, but you are interrupted by Legolas saying, “Actually, I have something.” He reaches into his pocket and produces a silver ring. “Legolas…” You gasp, eyes welling with tears once again. You nod your head vehemently, and Legolas slips the ring on your right index finger. Legolas doesn’t waste any time kissing you, in response to which you place a hand on either side of his face. When you pull away, tears of joy stream down your cheeks. “What’re you making her cry for now?!” Gimli reprimands Legolas. The elf simply replies with a smirk, “Gimli, have you ever been to an elven wedding?”

[faeriichaii]

Heyyy, I hope you are doing alright!

I wanted to request a kinda mean but later soft Thranduil x Shy Fem!Reader smut ♡ in which the Reader loves to read and sneaks into a forbidden part of the library and gets caught by Thranduil ;) ♡

Bookworm ~ Thranduil x Fem!Shy!Elf!Reader

A/N: Omg never did I ever expect to see a Thranduil request (even more shocking that it is a smut request🤭) But sure, I can do that for you <33 (Ngl I was very scared about writing this cause Thranduil is like such a hard character for me to write but I obv still appreciate it when I get him requested <33)

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Warnings: Smut (MDNI), unprotected sex, bj ࿐ྂ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Words: 3k ࿐ྂ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Request: Yes <33 ࿐ྂ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Hiril vuin ~ My Lady ࿐ྂ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Meleth Nin ~ My Love ࿐ྂ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Agórel vae ~ You did well ࿐ྂ

Summary: Legolas let the secret of a restricted area in the library slip, which makes you of course very curious. So after deciding to enter the forbidden part, you get caught by none other than the elven king himself.

Enjoying the serene chirping of the birds, you turned the page of your book. You sat under a tree in the beautiful garden of Mirkwood. The book in your hand only had a few pages left and you just had to know how the story of the princess goes. Does she get her happy end or does the prince of hearts decide to take her down? You don’t know yet, however you are very keen to find it out. A soft gasp left your lips, as your book was taken out of your hands. “Isn’t this one of the books in the restricted area?” Legolas asked, as he turned the book around to quickly skim over the summary. His finger was still placed between the pages, in order to not make you lose the spot you have last read. He once did it by accident and he still hasn’t really recovered from the hell that you let loose upon him.

“Restricted area? I never saw a restricted area.” You said, as you stood up from your place on the ground and snatched the book out of Legolas’ grasp. “I probably shouldn’t have mentioned it.” The prince began to walk away from you, however you couldn’t just let him go after he dropped this very important secret. “Wait Legolas! You can’t just walk away now. Where is this restricted area?” A sigh left his lips as you stood beside him and looked up at him with your big eyes. “My father would kill you if he spots you in there (Y/N). It really isn’t even worth it. The only person who walks in there is him and I sometimes join him, and let me tell you, the books are mostly on history about middle earth and nothing special.” He tried to reason with you, but you were insisting on finding this so-called restricted section.

“Legolas, we have been friends for more than just centuries, you do know me and you certainly know that I know the layout of the library better than anybody else. So how come I have never seen the restricted area?” Legolas stopped walking, which made you also stop in your tracks. “There is a mechanism to it. You have to pull a lever in order to open the restricted area and enter it. But (Y/N)…” He turned towards you and grabbed your shoulders tightly. “You really can’t enter. If my father finds out, that you have been in the restricted area, then he will certainly send you far away or set an even worse punishment upon you.” His worried eyes locked onto your own. You gave him a reassuring smile, before shaking his hands off from your shoulders. “Don’t worry, I will not go in there. I promise.” What the prince didn’t saw, were your crossed fingers, that were hidden away in the pages of the book you now desperately wanted to return to the library.

After you said your goodbyes to Legolas, you decided to take a detour to the library. Just to put away the book you still held onto tightly. No other reason. Opening the big wooden doors, you walked towards the designated shelf and put away the book. Turning around, you scanned the whole room for any kind of lever. You walked towards the few golden candle holders, that were attached to the wall. Letting your fingers graze over the cold metal, you carefully tried to pull it, however it didn’t budge. A sigh left your lips as you continued to stroll around the library. You have been walking around for quite some time, until you noticed a little shelf that is tucked into the corner of the room. Examining it, you decided to try and search through the books, if they possibly could be the lever, you have been searching for.

Your eyes focused on a dark green book. The golden edges almost seemed to glow, as you let your fingers trail over the intricate design. Gently pulling on the book out of the shelf, you heard a click. The shelf started to move to your right, opening a small staircase to you. A smile spread across your lips, as you decide to walk down the few steps. Your eyes widened at the few shelves, that lined the stone walls of the small room. Each of the shelves were filled with various books and scrolls, some even in a language you can’t read. ‘How to Brew the Perfect Concoction’ or ‘Middle Earth: Past, Present and Future’ were only a few of the titles you have read on the spines. You took out a dark blue book, dusted it off and read the title. ‘The Golden Egg: A Guide for Dragons’. You didn’t even know that there was a book, explaining how to care for dragons. Putting it back on the shelf, you continued to stroll around the room. Time flew by quickly, as you read various pages of different books, and scrolls, until you found one you really wanted to take back upstairs. Tucking it in your small bag, you walk back up the stairs, pulled the lever that was attached to the wall and walked out. It only took you a few steps until you realized that the king himself was browsing through a shelf that was a little too close to the opening of the restricted area. His eyebrow raised, as he spotted you walk out of the direction of the small shelf. A blush dusted your cheeks, as you quickly did a curtsy and muttered a ‘My King’ in greeting. He mustered you from head to toe, until he noticed the small book that was peeking out from your bag.

You were ready to quickly exit the library, until Thranduil began to talk. “You did not perhaps take a book from a shelf you are not supposed to touch?” He asked, almost daring you to lie to him. The blush on your cheeks intensified, as you looked up at him. “I don’t think I understand, my king. I just took this book from a shelf that I have inspected earlier.” His eyes moved from your own, towards your bag again. “Well, I do hope so. If you would ever enter places, you are not meant to be in, than you will leave me with no choice but to set a punishment upon you.” He spoke, authority dripping with each word. A shudder spread through your body, as your mind registered his words. “Of course, my king. I would never do such a thing.” You smiled softly at him, before politely curtsying and leaving him be in the library. After walking through the big wooden doors, you let out a deep breath you didn’t even knew you were holding. Hopefully the book will be worth the trouble.

A few days passed and you devoured each and every single word, that was written on the pages. Hence you were once again standing in the middle of the restricted area, searching for another book to pass your time. You were at the furthest corner of the room, intensely reading a scroll, that you have found, until you heard the sound of the shelf moving. How come the shelf is moving? Your eyes widened, as the sound of footsteps walking down the stairs echoed throughout the room. Quickly shoving the scroll back into the shelf, you hid behind the burgundy armchair, that was tucked in a neat corner of the room. Holding your breath, you watched as Legolas entered the room together with his father.

“Why are we down here father?” The prince asked, as he let his fingertips glide over some of the dusty books. “We need to search for a scroll. It should be wrapped with a red ribbon around it.” A shudder went down your spine, as you spotted the red ribbon you have removed earlier from the scroll on the ground. In the exact same moment, Legolas picked it up from the floor and wrapped it around the scroll you carelessly shoved into the shelf. “I think I have found it.” He said and presented the item to his father. The king raised an eyebrow at the unravelled scroll. “Did you start reading it already?” “No, not yet.” Legolas answered, wrapping the ribbon around the paper and walking towards the stairs, in order to leave the room. He tilted his head, as he noticed that his father didn’t follow him. “Do you need something else?” “Yes, but you can already start reading the scroll if you want.” Thranduil said, his eyes still carefully scanning the room. Your head was ducked, in order to not get spotted by his hawk-like gaze.

The fading footsteps of Legolas leaving the room made you feel a little bit more relieved. However, you still felt Thranduils looming presence in the small space. “There is no need to continue hiding Hiril vuin.” His voice still seemed a little too far away for him to have spotted you. “You think I didn’t know you took the book from this very room?” Steps slowly started to approach your hiding location, making you duck even further behind the armchair. “I was the one who sorted through the books and scrolls and decided if they would be fit for this restricted area of the library. You weren’t even supposed to know of its existence. So how exactly did you find this room?” His feet stopped in front of the burgundy armchair. “And how dare you lie to me and still hide away like a little mouse.” A shameful blush dusted your cheeks, as you slowly stood up from your position on the floor. “My king, I can explain-“ He waved his hand, signalling you to stop talking. His eyes were filled with rage, as he deeply looked into your own ones. “You lied and now expect me to listen to your pathetic excuse?” You swallowed thickly, looking down at your feet. “You leave me with no other choice but to banish you.” “Banish me?” Your head whipped up, eyes wide and lips parted. Your heart beat faster and faster, as the punishment of your actions settled into your brain.

“Please my king, don’t banish me! I will do any other punishment that you are willing to put me through, but I am begging you, don’t banish me from Mirkwood.” Hands clasped in front of you, you fell down on your knees in front of him. Tears were lining your vision as slight panic settled into your body. You can’t get banished. You have family and friends in Mirkwood and where else are you supposed to go? The king raised an eyebrow, as you kneeled in front of him, pleading him for mercy. “You are willing to do anything?” You quickly nodded at his question. Hope filled your mind and soul as you stood up from the ground. Thranduil took a step closer to you. His right hand wiped a tear away, that escaped your eyes. Heat spread through your body at the realization of your close proximity.

“Show me how much you want my forgiveness.” He whispered, his fingers holding onto your chin. A shaky breath left your lips, as you let your eyes trail down to his own. The magnetic pull towards him was almost unbearable. The urge to just put your lips over his own and entangling your hands in his hair driving you crazy. You looked back up into his eyes, that were glistening over with unspoken want. Grasping his shirt, you quickly pulled him down, encasing his lips with your own. His hands held onto your waist, pulling you closer. You let your hands slowly trail from his chest to his neck, as you opened your mouth, letting your tongue entangle with his in a passionate kiss.

Thranduil separated from you. Your cheeks were bright red, as you took a few breaths to relax from the heated kiss. “Can’t you take more than a mere kiss Hiril vuin?” His head tilted to the side, as mockery dripped from every word he muttered. A huff left your lips. “I can take more than you think.” And with that you pulled him down once more, kissing him even more feverously than before. His grasp on you tightened, as he approached the armchair. Parting from you, he sat down on the plush furniture. His legs were slightly spread, as his arms leaned on the armrests. Your eyes trailed his form, until they stopped at the slight tent, that seemed to grow in his pants.

“Let’s see how well you listen to my orders now. Take off your clothes.” Your hands went to your shoulders. Fingers grazing over the fabric, you took your time pulling the sleeves off of your body. Your dress gently slid down your body, as it pooled on the ground. Eyes still focused on the king who sat in the armchair, you hooked your fingers into your panties. Pulling them down, you stepped out of the pile of clothes and began to approach Thranduil.   

His eyes trailed over your body, leaving a hot trail as they go. Your walls clenched around nothing, as you inspected him. “What do you wish me to do next my king?” A chuckle left his lips. His fingers motioning you over. “I want you to prove your statement. You said you can take more than I think, so I want to see how much you can really take.” Thranduil unbuttoned his pants, lifted his hips from the chair and discarded the garment on the ground. His cock was long and thick. A soft gasp left your lips. You moved down on your knees in front of him, your mouth mere inches away from his tip. “My king, will you allow me to take a taste?” Innocence laced your voice, as you looked at him through your lashes. He nodded at your suggestion.

At the approval, you wrapped your hand around his base. Your mouth encased his red tip, gently sucking on it. A shuddered breath came from Thranduil, as he held onto the back of your head with one hand, making you moan softly at his touch. You took more of him into your mouth, gagging slightly at the process. Your tongue stroked the vein of his cock as you slowly started to bop your head up and down, hand covering the part of him that didn’t fit into your mouth. Groans could be heard from the elven king, as his piercing eyes stared at how well you took him with your mouth. Your walls clenched around nothing and you could feel your wetness almost drip onto the floor. Craving to be touched, you let your free hand wander to your clit. “Don’t you dare touch yourself.” Retreating your hand from yourself, you let out a sad whine. Thranduils hand pulled on your hair gently. You let his cock go with a ‘plop’ and tilted your head to the side, awaiting your new order. “Sit down.” He said, patting his thighs.

Standing up from the ground, you placed your legs on each side of his. Cold air hit your dripping core, making you gasp. Thranduils hands grasped your hips tightly as the tip of his cock grazed your swollen clit. A whine escaped your lips at the intimate touch. “I want you to ride me. Work for it and earn your orgasm.” His lips brushed against your ear. You took his cock into your hands and aligned it with your entrance. Slowly you sank down, the feeling of the stretch making you part your lips in a silent cry. A groan from Thranduils lips bounced off the walls. You tightly held onto his shoulders, as you let yourself settle down and embrace his sheer size inside you completely. He was longer and thicker than you expected. After a few seconds of letting your pussy adjust to his size, you started to slowly move up and down. The elven kings hand trailed up your body, to grasp your boobs and twirl your nipples between his fingers.

Moaning at the feeling of his cock hitting your cervix and completely filling you up, you connected your lips to his. The wet squelching sound of your pussy filled the small restricted area of the library. A familiar warmth spread through your lower region. Thranduil detached himself from your lips and leaned towards your ear. “Are you really already close? Is my cock so satisfying to you?” He gently bit into your elven ear, making you gasp out loudly. Your walls squeezed him tightly, welcoming him even deeper into your core. The king let his hand travel down your body, his fingertips gently leaving a trail. He drew circles on your swollen clit, making you arch your back.

The knot tightened, as your walls clenched on his dick. “Don’t cum yet. You have to wait. After all, it is still a punishment.” A whine left your lips at his words, only wishing to let the orgasm wash over you. “Please.” You begged him, as he even start to move his hips upwards, matching your rhythm. “What do you want Hiril vuin? Use your words.” “Please Thranduil, let me cum.” The sound of his name leaving your lips makes his dick twitch inside you. His hand grabbed your chin and pulled you in for another quick kiss. The heat that travels through your body is unbearable, as you try to hold back your orgasm. “You can cum Meleth Nin.” And with that, the knot unravelled and you came, squeezing his dick inside you. His big hands moved towards your hips, shoving you up and down on his dick at a relentless pace. Whining at the overstimulation, you buried your head in his neck. After a few more thrusts, you felt his cock twitch, as he filled you up with his seed.

He continued to move inside you for a few more times, before pulling out. His cum mixed with your own slowly started to trickle out of your core. “Agórel vae Meleth Nin.” Thranduil held your warm face in his hand, thumb drawing circles onto your cheek. He gave you a gentle kiss on the lips. “Do you still wish to banish me my king?” You asked him, arms wrapped around his neck. “I think you proved that you definitely deserve my forgiveness Hiril vuin.”

[itsonlydana]

"passenger princess" | chapter four

the hobbit | a modern!AU by itsonlydana

❱ pairing: Thranduil x fem!reader

❱ wordcount: 3,3k

❱ summary: a ride home

❱ warnings: none

❱ an: could he be any more perfect? y'all, tell me if you have some guesses how this will go on🤭

general m.list + series m.list

🌿 reposts and comments are appreciated, they motivate me a lot - especially with longer projects <3

CHAPTER FOUR: STARS

"Come on, I'll give you a ride."

You whirled around to Thranduil, ready to argue that it was far too late considering he had to work the next morning. You'd imposed on him too much already, the kitchen was in a state that would need a deep cleaning and the boys would certainly sleep in.

"You don't have to," you tried as he passed you and grabbed his coat from the counter. "In fact, you shouldn't–"

Pushing his arms through the coat, Thranduil flipped the collar up and sorted his long hair over his shoulder. He seemed unbothered by your protests and continued to slip into his boots. "I forgot something at work that can't wait anyway, so grab your shoes."

Pursing your lips but swallowing the pouty reply you wanted to throw at him for ordering you around, you slipped into your sneakers, glaring at him while hugging Legolas and Gimli, and then Aragorn Goodbye.

Gimli even dared to wink at you, shoving his elbow into your side with a rumbled: "Fun ride"

Naturally, you punched his arm for that.

Your bag shouldered and the phone that continued to light up with messages shoved deep into it, you followed Thranduil out into the surprisingly cold night.

The gravel path leading to the, well, almost mansion, crunched under your footsteps, filling the silence that you yourself didn't know how to break.

Your last conversation didn't offer much transition to normal small talk, and you didn't want it to.

You wanted to be wrapped up in the warm flirt in his voice, in that heated look that he had thrown you as you'd left him in the hallway.

The nerves of the skin he'd touched still fizzled and ached for him to return his hands onto you, an itch that only he could scratch, a burn for him to sooth.

That though, was most definitely not what you would say right now.

But you didn't want to spend the rest of the way in awkward silence, so you resorted to the manners Thranduil valued. Not only because he worked as a lawyer with a very important –rich, conceited, snobbish– clientele, but because he still held onto the hope that some manners would rub off on Legolas.

"Thank you for offering to drive me." You bit your bottom lip through a smile that has him cracking one as well, soft lips breaking up the stern expression his dark eyebrows sometimes gave him.

"Don't," Thranduil shook his head, the movement sending some of the shorter strands framing his face back over his shoulder, "knowing you're home safe gives me a peace of mind. I wouldn't have been able to sleep if you were waiting on some bus right now."

"Well," your cheeks grew hot, "thank you anyway"

Turning to the road you watched your shadows move in sync, the lights of the house falling through the trees lining the way and flittering on the gravel like scattered fireflies.

You saw how his shadow stepped closer, your hands dangling close enough that one small movement would've led to them brushing against each other. The space was small, easily crossed yet it stayed that way for the rest of the walk.

It wasn't the time.

Not right now; nevertheless how fucking close you had been to kissing him in the hallway.

Arriving at his car, he opened the door of the passenger side, your place, as Legolas had once joked.

He had a point because after Thranduil had first picked you up from the bar, he'd come to your rescue many times, and he helped you to the passenger side first each time, as if he wouldn't allow anything else.

You didn't complain.

Sitting next to him allowed you a perfect view of those sharp cheekbones and cutting jawline that your hands itched to cup and draw your fingers along of. Not only that but whenever the whole group was being driven around, you could enjoy the drive without a shoulder nudging yours or a hand reaching over to open a window.

As you sat down, you took notice of the seat setting, namely how it was perfectly adjusted to you.

If Legolas had ever ridden with his father, you always had to pull forward, because Legolas, in addition to his looks, did, of course, inherited Thranduil's incredibly long and enviable legs to tower over everyone else. A gift he constantly misused to kick you, or to rest his arm on your shoulder.

Once seated in the car, you pressed deeper into the fabric of the seat. Even the headrest was perfectly at your height, so you didn't have to do more than place your bag in the foot well.

As Thranduil's door swung open a gust of chilly air rushed into the already cold car, prompting you to roll your shoulders and hug your torso.

Apart from your shirt, you hadn't brought a jacket, considering it had been warm earlier when you stashed your backpack in the dorm after class.

Thranduil folded himself into his seat, his long legs first, and shamelessly you stared at him as he elegantly lowered himself and tossed his hair over his shoulders before pulling the door shut.

Another flood of cold air.

This time Thranduil noticed how your arms wrapped tighter around yourself and without saying much, he turned slightly and reached behind his seat.

"Here," in the silence of his car, his voice sounded even deeper and the warmth in it was almost enough for you when he'd already put something in your lap. "And don't you dare tell me it's not necessary. Not giving you a choice!" he ordered, a teasing smile taking out all the sterness of his tone.

"Thank you," you breathed, unfolding a navy blue sweater, one that had a white deer stitched over the breastbone, and as soon as you pulled it over your head, the world flimmered at its edges, reducing to just the inside of this car.

"It's not washed, but I promise you it's clean."

Which you couldn't care less about, not even a flying fuck was given toward this precious item of clothing that rocked your world and completely spun it out of its axis.

This was his sweater, his clothing that he gave up for you. This happened in dreams, in books and stories and wishes and hopes– not in the real life.

Maybe this was another thing that separated Thranduil from those Fratboys and overmasculine guys that thought the most romantic thing they could do was pop a mint-gum before smashing their mouths onto yours in slobby kisses.

He has years of experience against their lousy teenager moments.

The sweater smelled so much like him and his house, only much stronger. His scent, rich, full of his perfume and him, took over all your senses. The fabric was so damn soft, so warm, so cozy; you were ready to sink into it and never leave.

Literally, because even sitting down, the waistband bunched up in your lap and you would have had to push the sleeves back, but you made yourself comfortable in the way too big sweater.

Thranduil –most likely unintentionally but who knew– seemed to have decided on torturing you in the cruelest way possible, and maneuvred the car one heel of the palm on the steering wheel, and the other conveniently placed behind your headrest, his head angled so that he could watch through the back window instead of the mirror.

That position, arm outstretched, muscles subtly flexing and his prominent jawline close enough that it could cut your held breath in two, did unexplainable things to you.

If anyone asked you would deny that this movement alone had you blushing and your stomach curling, heat rushing through your body over something so simply yet breathtakingly beautiful and assertive.

He caught your gaze quicker than you could have fixed the blown-wide look on your face, the corners of his mouth twitching.

So he did know.

You laughed softly, "Show off."

His grin became sly. "No idea what you're talking about," he murmured, low and deep and very much a lie.

"Besides, there could've been something behind the car, who knows," he said nonchalantly as he steered the car toward the front gate, the black, tall halves that opened for you at the push of a button.

My ass, something behind the car, you thought and coughed to cover up a laugh.

The mansion grew smaller in the rearview mirror, hedges and tall trees framing the white brick facade and gray shingles until the last of the lit up windows was nothing more than a small dot that disappeared after blinking.

There was something special about driving around at night. The lots in the area where Legolas and Thranduil lived were large, as were the houses and the distance between them, and unlike the city, you were the only ones on the streets.

The night was dark, the sky black, like ink and endlessly stained with countless stars that you couldn't see from your dorm room due to the many skyscrapers and their ever-shining lights. At your place, it was loud and bright, and you leaned back in your seat to watch the sky through the window in front of you.

There was no one else on the road, not this time of night, not in a neighborhood where most didn't even need to work much: no headlights, no cars, no one else but Thranduil and you.

Where that awareness would've brought a subtle panic and anxiety with it a while ago, there was tranquility instead.

All worries about the crush you harbored for Thranduil and how he could find out were replaced, softened up by the memory of his hands on your body, that damn painting burying itself into your back and the sharp edges reminding you that this had been very much real.

This was very much real.

"You're thinking very loudly."

You turned your head, furrowing your brows at Thranduil, "Am not."

He scoffed. "No, darling, you most definitely are. I have never met anyone who is that bad at keeping a straight face." Thranduil switched the lanes, this time checking the mirror and meeting your gaze in it, "Next time we play poker, please remind me to bet on your cards."

Huffing and rolling your eyes you did what any other adult in your position would do, and stuck your tongue out at him. "Maybe I won't play poker with you anymore, how 'bout that?"

"What's your other option? Legolas is good but honestly- the boy would throw his cards away for Aragorn," Thranduil mused and when you laughed he raised his thick eyebrows once, "It's me or Gimli, sweetheart."

You didn't even need to think back to the last poker game you'd played with Gimli, that was too far away and this evening's endless round of Monopoly sufficed generous arguments against him as well. Why you've ever thought it was a great idea to play any competitive game against the most thick-headed people was a mystery on its own.

Another shudder ran through you then, but not because of the cold– the sweater provided so much warmth and your cheeks burned from smiling so much, but rather because your mind did in fact remind you of the faithful poker night. The most chaotic one in the history of poker games.

"Oh," you exhaled a deep breath.

Thranduil's head turned and you made a point of looking thoroughly distressed.

"I don't think I'll ever recover from the awful talk I had with Professor Gandalf." Your whole body shudders just like then, transporting you back to the awkward shuffling around, the stuttering and the many, many, many excuses you'd babbled.

"It couldn't have been that bad," Thranduil said and then, tilting his head as you slowly shook your head, he added an unsure: "Right?"

"Thranduil," you stared at him, barely noticing how the corner of his eyes crinkled at his name out of your mouth, "Thranduil– I was piss-drunk and sent my 70.. or hell, 80-something Professor an E-Mail…at three in the morning. With just a winky smiley!" Your voice had taken on a desperate edge at the end, cutting it close to such a high pitch that you fell breathless into the seat.

All the while Thranduils laughter grew and grew until he gasped for air, his one hand swatting dramatically in front of him. "Mhm.. oh yes, I'll never get tired of hearing it," he giggled, a sound that did not fit the first impression most people got of him.

"Yeah you can laugh all you want," you tried to come across as stern though failed miserably at the sight and sound of Thranduil chuckling. He made it impossible to do anything else but smile. "Jeez, thank god the old man found it funny as well. I think I would've died if I'd sent it to Professor Sauron instead. He hates me."

Thranduil opened his mouth, then closed it again.

A bit quieter than you expected he started again after a while: "This may be delusional since my line of work shows me the worst of people, sides you wouldn't think exist, but I think that you are the loveliest woman I've ever met. That Professor must be out of his mind to hate someone as clever, beautiful, and magnificent as you."

Those words, coming out of his mouth shot you straight into the heart, hollowing out that pit in your stomach and filling it endlessly with messy butterflies and fireworks in such an overtaking force you couldn't find it in you to answer.

You knew he liked you, or at least appreciated your presence.

You had felt it earlier, had seen in his eyes that he was interested and oh– that this picture-perfect specimen of a man would look at you like that was more than you could want.

It had been such a far-fetched wish that there would be anything else except this lust that hearing him compliment you, raising you to a pedestal you never dared to dream about, was astounding and unfathomable.

Thankfully, Thranduil put you out of the misery of searching for something equally important to retort.

He reached over to rest his hand on your thigh, calming the slight bouncing you'd fallen into. "I know it's nothing like Legolas poetic words."

The heavy air that had taken hold of you lifted as you let out a breathy laugh. "He's an idiot. Took after you, am I right?" you teased and slightly flicked a finger against the soft skin of his hand.

You didn't know what led to that sudden contact, one he mostly initiated wherelse you didn't dare to act upon more than friendly handshakes or brushing his fingers while passing the butter or salatbowl.

He grinned, wiggling his eyebrows teasingly, "When they grew him in the lab I made sure to tell them to crank the dumbass level high enough as to not let an identical version of myself get loose on the world."

You pretended to frown, sizing him up and down, "Surely they should have added less then."

The disgruntled snort coincided precisely with a playful tap against your thigh, a swift movement you couldn't have defended against. The moment his hand made contact with the outer part of your leg, you heard the smack, felt the entirely harmless and certainly not painful pull, and your jaw dropped as you stared at Thranduil.

"You didn't just do that!"

"What?" Thranduil blinked innocently at you.

"Ohh, how dare you pull off the eyebrow thing."

"What eyebrow thing?"

"You know," you raised a hand and gestured towards his entire face, which now turned back to the street with a far too sly grin. "That thing you do. You raise those thick eyebrows and open your eyes wider like you're patronizing me and act all virtuous at the same time."

"I have no idea what you are talking about," he said and did exactly what you'd just explained.

You simply glared at him and flicked his thigh as well.

The car turned, departing from the serene country road to navigate through the sparse traffic of the city streets.

Instead of stars, blinkers and billboards now raced past the window, casting their bright lights on you and immersing you in a cascade of brightness that prompted you to blink a few times.

Previously, where it had been just you, Thranduil, and the hum of the engine, you hadn't realized how comforting those few sounds were. As Thranduil drove along the main street, more focused and enveloped in the watercolor hues of the city, you almost asked him to turn around again.

A yawn overtook you just as you wanted to reply to his compliment from before, feeling slightly dazed by the atmosphere, cutting you off just as you said his name.

"Oh god," you mumbled and checked the display for the time, "How can it be two already?" Unconsciously you cuddled the sweater, burring your nose in the seam while fighting another yawn.

Thranduil turned his head and a soft smile played his lips. "Nearly there, sweetheart. When do you have to be up again?"

You groaned, rubbing a hand over your eyes, "Eight? I think… maybe eight thirty if I skip breakfast and rush straight to uni." He tilted his head and you shrugged, "Eight fifteen and a small breakfast?"

Satisfied he nodded. "Better."

It was such a small thing that he cared about, though the heat rushed into your cheeks all the same.

He parked the car right in front of the dorm complex and after peeling yourself out of the comfortable warmth he led you to the main entrance.

Not wanting this night to end, you took your time searching inside your purse for the keys, fumbling around and pushing some mints and loose papers back and forth until you couldn't drag it out any longer, and then some more finding the right one.

Thranduil waited patiently, leaning against the brick wall, the headlights of cars washing his ivory skin silver.

"So," you said as you couldn't drag the goodbye out any longer.

"So," he repeated.

Standing together in the small alcove of the entrance felt more confined with the tension between you, drawing you closer to him.

Tilting your chin towards the ground, you looked up at him through half-closed, weary lids. "Thank you again. For driving... and thank you for what you said. It.. that whole speech, y'know? That means a lot to hear it and like especially from you."

Thranduil smiled. "Anything for you," he whispered.

Then, he withdrew his hand from his coat pocket. Your eyes followed as he approached your face, his fingertips gliding over your temple, following the curve of your eyebrow until he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and cupped the back of your neck.

Yielding to the gentle pressure, you let yourself fall into the embrace he pulled you into. His coat cascaded down your sides, brushing against your knees pressed against his, and as he rested his chin on your head, you couldn't help but sigh contentedly.

Even though you stood there, fully clothed in street attire and the entrance of your home, it was as close as you could imagine to falling asleep with him. And you nearly did.

"Goodnight, darling." His words were nothing more than a whisper, rough and muttered into your hairline, but you still beamed, your face pressed against his chest.

"Goodnight, Thranduil."

"Oh, wait–" you stepped back, realizing your still wearing that sweater, hands already on the hem, "here"

Large hands covered yours before you get to pull it off, stopping you with a gently push.

"Keep it. You wear it better than me."

He paused, breathing in and out as if to assure himself that whatever he thought was what he wanted to say. "Keep you thinking of me while you get some sleep."

You're nothing but a blushing mess as you quickly hurried up the staircase to find your roommate on the stairs, typing on her phone and sparing you one lousy "Thanks" that you ignore to rush into the silent apartment.

You didn't even turn on the light in your room but went straight to your window, facing the street. What usually bothered you turned out to be incredibly practical because you could wave to Thranduil one last time.

As always, he had been waiting next to his car, his gaze directed up to your window, and only when he saw you behind the glass did he get in.

However, he didn't continue straight to his firm; his car turned on the street, taking the same direction you came from. Towards his home.

taglist [still open]: @mushroomemeralds @mssuguru , @solartoge @12134z03 @fruitymoonbeams-blog @finallyforgotten @lady-of-imladris @123forgottherest

[madwomansapologist]

Autumn Thunderstorm | Series Masterlist

Pinterest Board | Spotify Playlist | AO3

series synopsis: Thranduil thought the recent attack of spiders on a periphery village was the only thing deserving of his attention. If he could've imagined what he would found there, who he would found there, the Elvenking would wait a millenia in front of that river so he could see her sooner. Or: how Gandalf managed to keep a secret for 14 months.

warnings: female!reader. lotr kinda of violence. pre-Smaug. first meetings. age gap. pining. falling in love. love letters. true love. memory alteration. ice powers. elemental magics. trauma. attempt murder. blood and violence. swordfighting. near death experience. wargs. spiders. gandalf likes to keep secrests. saruman is a asshole. awesome galadriel.

first chapter: Thranduil traveled to a village that reported spider attacks with his army to protect those who need it, and accepted when a respected family offered their inn so his army could rest. He didn't expect to find a mage there. Or for the dam to break. [3K]

second chapter: Curious about last night's events, Thranduil dedicates his dawn to understanding who exactly you are. Accumulating questions and very few answers, you allow yourself to remember the past. Aerin, uncertain of your future, tries to make sure that you won’t be around to attract more attention to yourself. She should’ve known better than that. [4K]

third chapter: After being bitten by a warg, after almost dying, something changed. Something evolved. Things can't stay the same forever. You just didn't imagine they would change so fast. Or that Thranduil was as bad with goodbyes as you. [3K]

forth chapter: Letters are vessels capable of conveying so much. From the concern with survival, to the regret of having left. Letters speak of the most varied emotions, contain the most intrinsic truths, and are always written with someone in mind. It's a problem when that letter is read by the wrong person. But what can happens when it's read by right one? [3K]

fifth chapter: As the Enemy's actions became more and more clear, Thranduil discovers that there is a traitor among the free people. After an unexpected problem, you have to made a decision. [4K]

sixth chapter: It was a difficult choice, but Aerin made it for you. Now with nothing holding you back, you already had the answer Thranduil longed for: yes. Now your only concern is the anxiety about the reunion. [7K]

seventh chapter: Tomorrow came and became yesterday. In Woodland, you found more than just a roof over your head: you discovered a different way of living. And Thranduil also discovered something, a secret hidden by his own heart. [4K]

eigth chapter: A surprising invitation made you discover a different, incredible place hidden in Greenwood. You were glad that Thranduil showed you such a special place. But probably you were even more glad that he was there with you. [3K]

nineth chapter: Gandalf had his first good morning in ages. It ended as quickly as it started. [1K]

tenth chapter: As the world turned against Greenwood, Thranduil finally broke down. The broken pieces of his heart fell all over you. Would you ever be able to glue it back together? [2K]

eleventh chapter: Surrounded by pain and grief, Thranduil found himself willing to be something more simple than a king: he was just a man in love. [2K]

twelfth: Thranduil gave you his heart, knowing one day you will break it. It's past time you trust him too. [1.6K]

soon!

AUTUMN THUNDERSTORM: @ferns-fics @notanalienindisguiseblink @rayrlupin @elvyshiarieko @graniairish @h0ly-fire @whore-of-many-hot-men @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @homewhereitsat @instantnoooodles @hungrh4yyy @scrumpdidlyuptious @mirandastuckinthe80s @linaaajackson

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

[intoxicated-chan]

𝐘𝐨𝐮❜𝐫𝐞 𝐆𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐖𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐍𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐇𝐚𝐝 𝐌𝐞𝐭 𝐌𝐞

Summary ➳ Thranduil’s words ring in your head as reality of your immortality hits. You should’ve known that it was too good to be true.

(A/n) ➳ Inspired by “Rolling in the Deep” by Adele. This is going to have two other endings, one happy ending and angst ending.

Word Count ➳ 1.4k

Content Warnings ➳ Female reader, Reader is an Elf, pet names (amrâlimê, meleth nîn), heavy angst, mentions of death, mentions of violence…

Thranduil’s words hit you hard when you were brought in front of him while the rest were locked up. He sat cockily on this throne and spat out words that enraged you right down to the core. But it made sense… You were an Elf, not a half-Elf. You cannot choose between immortality or mortality.

You would walk the lands of Middle-Earth until you were struck down or go to Valinor. Dwarves live long but not close enough to compare to an Elves’s lifespan. Even so… Even after death, Kili will go where you cannot follow.

“If you love him, and you are confident that he loves you. It would be best if you parted ways now or until either of you die on the field.” Thranduil spoke soft and low. “You have enough time in your life to find another or none at all. You will face his death or he will face your immortality. It’s a relationship that will never hold happiness.”

“I can’t go with you Kili.” You pulled your hand from him while stepping back into the direction of Mirkwood. “I cannot continue with you all.”

“W-What do you mean?” Kili was already in pain, was it the adrenaline or the pain throbbing from his thigh that was keeping him from thinking the worst? “Come on, we don’t have enough time. The orcs are on our tail.”

“Let me rephrase…” You took a deep breath to relax your beating heart and to clutch the hilt of your stolen sword tightly. “I’m not coming. This is where my journey ends.”

“You can’t say that! You’re part of the company-!”

“I am part of no company. I came with you all out of pity.”

“You’re lying!”

“This is where it ends for me-!”

“Enough!” Thorin interrupted, marching to you and Kili, he was already angry, tired, and completely drenched. “If she wishes to leave then let her! We have no time to carry dead weight!” He said before turning back to the rest of the Company who were trying to decide what to do.

“(Y/n), surely this isn’t you. You cannot turn back now, we are so close.” Kili pleaded with you, using whatever strength to stand on his own.

“Kili-”

He snatched your hands, holding them together in his own bloody hands to lay a kiss on them. “Please, do not go. Don’t go where I won’t be able to follow. I want you to lay your eyes on my home, I want to do it with you.”

He looked up at you with watery eyes and a tear falling…

Kili then gripped your shirt with both of his hands to pull you down into a frantic kiss. His lips quivered as he held back the urge to burst into tears right in front of you and the rest. “I beg you, amrâlimê.”

“...Goodbye, Kili.” You pulled away once more and could see everyone staring at you. You gave no time for them to say anything, only a silent nod in Thorin’s direction before rushing back to Mirkwood and hopefully talking of leaving the forest the same way you came in, even if it met you’d have to face the spiders again.

You chose to lay down your sword and leave for Rivendell to spend your many years in solace until you were ready to sail to Valinor. You believed that Thranduil informed Lord Elrond that you were on your way since he welcomed you with open arms but he refused to say anything.

There were many Elves, but not once have you attempted to have conversations with them. You kept to yourself, reading, walking, eating and then bed, almost like a pattern.

It continued for months until you received two letters. One from Thranduil and one from Kili. But they were delivered at the same time, the messenger explained that Thranduil let Kili write to you one last time.

Thranduil wrote to you, his words solidified your choice to leave the Company behind. Yet there was guilt still residing since what you said was a lie. You joined because you genuinely wanted to help, you hoped that it would’ve been easier on the rest.

When it came to Kili’s letter, you wanted to push it aside, hoping to read it when you felt ready. But you knew you couldn’t push it back anymore.

‘Amrâlimê,

It has been some time since I’ve last felt your warmth, or heard your voice, or held your hands. I miss the way you speak in rhymes, or stories of your adventures and battles. I wished you too could have laid your eyes on Erebor, and I’m still sure you will love it here. Everyone knows you didn’t mean those words, they didn’t take it to heart. They wish for your return as well, as do I.

I wish to spend the rest of my days with you and you alone, and if I must come and find you then I will. You have my heart, you have me in your hands, and my home isn’t truly home if you aren’t there with me.’

You still had a second page to read but you broke down, sobbing as you held the letter like your life depended on it. You were fighting with yourself, you were desperate to rush back to Erebor and see him.

But Thranduil’s words once again rang through your head. You can go back to Kili but then face his death or you could stay here but still face his death… Either way, he dies in the end. There was no way around it.

Lord Elrond comes into your line of sight, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. You managed to slow your tears and clear your throat. “When is the next ship to Valinor going to leave?”

“If you make this decision, you cannot go back.” Lord Elrond warned you. “You still have time to be with him. Do not make a decision you will regret.”

“I’ve had my time, I know my choice. Kili should be with his people.”

“(Y/n)-”

“Kili shall receive my sword, Fili will get my knives, Thorin will have my collection of jewels, and Bilbo will be gifted my journals.” You looked back at the nicely boxed items. “The rest can get a choice of my belongings.”

“You have planned this out from the start, haven’t you?”

“Elves can only love Elves, it’s easier without heartbreak.” You folded Kili’s letter neatly. “I would like to thank you for the hospitality.”

“A group is leaving now.” Lord Elrond can see that you weren’t going to change your mind, he sighed and nodded. “I wish you well (Y/n).”

“Thank you once again, Elrond.” You grabbed your cloak and wrapped it around your shoulders as you left your room and towards the group of Elves leaving for Valinor as well.

‘Kili,

From the day you sought me out and I watched you climb that tree to proclaim how you wished to be with me. Or the hours by the campfire exchanging stories. It saddens me that this will be my final words to you, if there was some other way for us to be together without it being painful then trust me when I say I would run right back to you.

You amazed me each day, the jokes, your skills, you will continue to surprise me from this day and until my last. I will think back to you and your smile, but please understand that my decision is for the best.

With all of my life, meleth nîn. Someday, we shall meet again but not in this world.’

“This is a lie.” Kili slammed his hands on the table. “Where is she?!”

“Kili!” Fili pulled him back.

“I speak nothing but the truth, she left for Valinor, she’s days away if not then boarding the ships.” Elrond informed the two brothers. “Either way, she’s gone, beyond your reach.”

But Kili still refused, he shook his head angrily. “That’s still a chance.”

“You won’t be able to change her mind.” Fili warned him.

“If she wanted to… She would say it to my face.” He rushed off, nearly taking a tumble down the steps.

Fili chased after him, grabbing his arm to stop him. “You heard what the Elf said, she could be boarding the ships.”

“Or days away!” Fili froze as he saw tears swell his eyes. “I cannot let her go, I promised myself that wherever she goes, I will go. I could not do it the first time, but I am now.”

© Intoxicated-Chan 2023, I do not allow my work to be copied, translated, modified, adapted, or put on any other platform without my permission.

[lost-hope-but-funny]

when legolas and gimli were sailing to valinor, thranduil did not cry

he did not cry, when bidding goodbye, did not cry when asking only once if his son had everything ready

did not cry when gimli, son of gloin, nodded to him ever so briefly in 'he will be fine, I'll make sure of it'

didn't cry when he nodded back

---- ---- ---- ----

the tears were staining his eyes when, at last, he called out for his, oh so bright, son, when the latter was already one foot in the boat

the tears were staining his eyes when legolas turned around and walked back, standing before him

tears were staining his eyes when he cradled his son's face, with barely any pressure, and pressed his dry lips ever so gently onto his son's forehead, trying to ignore how the latter sucked in air and stilled himself

tears were staining his eyes when he pulled back, muttering blessings for a safe road and well welcome

---- ---- ---- ----

tears were staining his cheeks when his star and his star sailed away, at last

---- ---- ---- ----

when legolas and gimli were sailing to valinor, thranduil did not cry

he wailed

[sotwk]

Greenleaf's Tree (child!Legolas & Thranduil fic)

For the THAUC Event by @fellowshipofthefics

Artwork by event partner @thatonetimetraveller

Summary: Six-year-old Legolas goes on royal progress with Thranduil for the first time and learns more about the sort of king his father truly is.

Event Prompt: "What is Legolas' favorite memory of growing up with Thranduil as his father?"

Word count: 2.8k

Content: Growing up, Family Fluff, Father-Son Bonding, Good Parent Thranduil, Thranduil's kingship, Greenwood the Great, the Golden Age of the Woodland Realm, Pre-Mirkwood/Dol Guldur, Easter Eggs for the SotWK AU

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: None

To Read on AO3: Link

Greenleaf’s Tree

Third Age 248 July 10

The Woodland Realm, Greenwood the Great

Legolas was early. Ninniel had tried to warn him; the King’s instructions had been for the prince to be dressed and ready to depart at the main courtyard an hour past sunrise. But the elfling had scarcely slept a wink the previous night (again, against his father’s instructions), and had pounced on his nursemaid to rush through the process of helping him into his brand new clothes, made especially for the occasion. Afterwards he scarfed down a few mouthfuls of his eggs and hash before sprinting through the halls across the awakening palace with a half-eaten bun in his fist. 

The skies were just beginning to lighten in the burgeoning dawn when Legolas descended the grand stone stairway of the palace entrance. He was not the only early arrival! The elfling took a giant leap off the last three steps and skipped towards the tall, imposing figure of the Crown Prince of the Woodland Realm--whose back was turned to him as he conversed with one of the guards in the king’s escort. 

Prince Mirion felt the polite tug on the hem of his tunic and turned his head to look down, down, at the elf-child that barely came up to his hip. “Ah, and there he is! Bright and early, just as I expected!”

“Still not early enough to beat you,” Legolas chirped, ducking the broad hand that attempted to ruffle his hair. “Good morning, Feren!” he sang out to the young soldier in his brother's company.

Feren's eyebrows rose as he lifted his head from his bow of greeting to the little prince. “His Highness knows my name?”

“Certainly, you are Celuwen's twin! She talks about you a lot and she is ever so nice to me!” Feren’s sister was indeed, in Legolas’s opinion, the nicest of the scribes in the royal library, save for Arvellas, and the only one not to stifle a look of exasperation whenever he would pop into their sacred space to ask about picture books. Celuwen was also the only one who took the time to seek out for him books that contained mostly illustrations, instead of sniffing that “his Highness must take the time to practice his reading!”. 

“Well, now there are two of you going on the Progress for the first time,” Mirion said, clapping his hands on Legolas’s skinny shoulders. “You will both see there is nothing to it, and I believe you shall find it to be the most pleasant, almost relaxing, trip.”

“It is a high honor to finally be appointed, sire,” Feren said stoutly, his chest puffing with pride. “Rest assured that the King and Prince shall have my utmost protection on their travels.”

Mirion smiled. “The promotion is well-deserved, perhaps even delayed in its coming. I have no doubt you are up to the task.” 

It did not take long for the courtyard to fill up with more people. First, seven other soldiers trickled in to complete the escort, and with them their mounts. Then, the rest of Legolas’s brothers arrived, along with several members of the royal court fulfilling their duty to tradition. By the time King Thranduil himself descended the steps with Queen Maereth on his arm, the entire palace staff had assembled at the periphery to see their lord off.

Legolas had said his goodbyes to his family the previous night, so that he could express his emotions in private, especially with his Ammë, in whose embrace he shed some tears. The Progress would not be his first time away from home, but would be his first prolonged time apart from her.

“Do you remember the two things I asked for, my Greenleaf?” the Queen whispered as she bent low to give her youngest one last hug. 

Legolas nodded vigorously. “To always stay near the escort and to take care of Ada!”  He planted a kiss on her fair cheek. “I shall do both, Ammë--I promise!”

The elfling trotted behind his father to the middle of the procession, where Alvar, the great King’s Elk, awaited between his two wary wranglers. “Up you get,” his Ada said, and hoisted him into the special dual seat upon the beast’s broad back. With a billowing swish of his hunter-green cloak, the Elvenking effortlessly leapt into the saddle and circled his arms around his son to take the reins.

The lead rider blew the heralding horn, and as the sound pierced clear through the forest air, their party headed out. Legolas turned back to wave at the gathered crowd until they vanished from his line of sight. As Bar Lasgalen’s ivy-covered walls sank behind the sentry line of ancient oaks, the reality of his adventure ahead firmly sank in, setting off a rush of tingles from head to toes. It would just be him and his Ada on the road, traveling together, for an entire month! 

At only six years of age, he was much younger than any of his brothers had been when they went on their first King's Progress. Legolas knew his parents had gone over many discussions about his readiness for the Crown’s most anticipated summer tradition, ever since he started declaring at the family dinner table that he “will tour with Ada next year”. Apparently none of his brothers had been smart enough to just say that they wanted to go. Now there he was.

Legolas had not expected, however, to be sent on the journey alone with the King, without his mother or even a single brother to act as a buffer between them. Not that he thought one was necessary, but he had never enjoyed such bountiful access to his father before!

“How long until we are there, Ada?” the elfling asked, after holding in the question for what already felt like half the day.  

“We are perhaps an hour away still,” Thranduil responded. “From Rowanhill. Our first stop, if you recall.”

“Yes, I remember!” Legolas drew himself up proudly, confident that he memorized, in order of scheduled visit, the names of all ten Greenwood villages listed on their itinerary. “But there is no mention of Rowanhill at all in my book, so I could not learn anything about it beforehand.”

“Book? What book?”

“It is in my pack…” The child leaned over in the saddle and pointed to the four riders to their rear, whose horses also carried the personal items they had packed for the trip. One gesture from the King, and the guard bearing the prince’s belongings rode forward to allow him to procure the wanted item. 

Legolas flipped through the leather-bound tome while his father peered over his shoulder at the pages filled with colorful illuminations. “Celuwen found this for me,” he explained. “She said it names and describes almost all the towns and villages in the realm--except for Rowanhill and a few others.”

“That is because Rowanhill is younger than even your six summers, ion nin .” Thranduil smiled. “The village was raised only this past year. I shall be seeing it with eyes as fresh as yours.”

The rest of their hour in the saddle passed by much more quickly, as they went over Legolas’s discoveries from the book together. The young prince might not have realized they had reached their destination were it not for the convoy that emerged from the trees to meet them on their trail through the woods. A mixed cluster of Greenwood Elves approached the small procession, all welcoming smiles and low bows before their king. 

“You honor us with your visit, Arathawar,” said the evident leader of the group, who later introduced himself as Narchon. “We are delighted by the opportunity to show you what we have built here.”

Rowanhill itself appeared to be as cheerily unobtrusive as its residents. A few dozen cottages squatted about the slopes of a patchily grassy knoll, but the people milled about the open spaces, with everyone's attention focused on the royal procession's arrival. 

As Thranduil and Legolas dismounted Alvar, a crowd converged around them, while giving a wide berth to the imposing elk-steed. The abrupt intrusion into their space almost frightened Legolas, who had never seen so many people come this close to his father all at once before. But he felt his Ada’s strong hand on his shoulder, keeping him guarded and close to his side, and it eased the elfling’s discomfort. 

Rapid and raucous chatter flew above his head as the Elves of Rowanhill spoke over one another to greet their king and vie for his attention. Legolas wondered at the guard’s lack of intervention, until he caught a glimpse of his father’s face and heard his booming laugh, which made clear what he thought about this behavior. It was vastly different from what Legolas was accustomed to observing at court, where only a few people had appointments and waited to be called forward for their turn to speak before the throne and council. And at the palace court, no one touched the king. 

Gradually, the initial excitement subsided. The village leader Narchon took his place at the king’s right side, and a proper tour of the settlement began. As the grown-ups droned on about household counts and housing, community infrastructures and activities, and many other words Legolas frequently overheard but poorly understood, the young elf’s interest in the conversation dropped to zero. His eyes continued to roam their surroundings, searching for something else to capture his interest. 

There were no other children around, he noted with disappointment. None his age or close to it. This observation might have baffled him had his mother not previously explained that some Greenwood communities had much fewer elfings, and outside their kingdom elf babes could be as rare as dragons. 

Finally, Legolas’s roving eyes landed on a sudden peculiarity. Nestled within a copse of beeches, a thatched building the length of three houses stood apart from the rest of the village structures. Surrounding it, with no identifiable pattern or design, stone figures of varying shapes, sizes, and hues stood out on the grass like a bizarrely decorated garden. 

“Legolas?”

The princeling blinked up at the questioning gaze of his father, surprised to once again have his notice. He had been tailing the adults blindly until the mystery building caused him to stop in his tracks, and that quickly regained their attention. Completely unabashed, he thrust out his arm full-length and pointed. 

“What is over there?”

Narchon stepped forward to answer. “That is our guild hall, Your Highness. It is where we gather to work.”

Legolas pivoted to stare back and forth between the elder elf and the garden of stone curiosities. “Are you an artist?”

“A sculptor, Your Highness. If you would care to be specific.” Narchon beamed. “Sculpting is our trade here at Rowanhill.”

An entire village of sculptors? A grin lit up Legolas’s entire face. The book described village guilds of builders and smiths, of huntsmen and herdsmen, even of cask makers and candle makers. But the only sculptor he ever met had been a Noldorin lord who came all the way from Imladris to deliver a Begetting Day present for the Queen from Lady Celebrian. 

“If you would like, sire, I can arrange for someone to conduct a demonstration for the Prince, and perhaps instruct him in some of our rudiments. It may be an enjoyable diversion for him while you conduct your audiences.”

Legolas froze, realizing just in that moment that he had run straight to the guild hall without seeking pardon or permission, overcome by his desire to view the collection of sculptures up close. There were warriors in heroic poses, eagles in flight, stags in full gallop, and giant insects the size of ponies, many of them painted in lifelike color! But hearing Narchon’s gentle suggestion, and the sight of the adults strolling down the rise to catch up to him, called the elfling back to the reality that he had neglected his manners. 

Peering up guiltily at his father, Legolas was yet again surprised by the absence of disapproval on the King’s face. Rather, Thranduil was studying the stone creations with open interest, and when he caught his son’s eye, the edge of his mouth curled in a smile. 

“That is a marvelous proposal, Narchon. Except I request a demonstration for both Legolas and I.” Thranduil nodded and wagged a finger at the sculpture in front of him, depicting a fish leaping through a curling wave. “I too would like to see how wonders such as these can be wrought.”

With great speed did they hasten to fulfill the King’s request, and in no time at all, father and son were given a workstation inside the sculptors’ hall. Thranduil removed his fine embroidered cloak to instead cover his silver tunic with an apron made from a stiff fabric that resembled a grain sack. It took Legolas several minutes to stop gaping at the strange sight, and he pondered whether this was something his brothers had never seen before, or they just somehow never bothered to share it with him. 

Not one but three of the best guild members volunteered to do a demonstration for them. The royals were then given their own mounds of clay so they might attempt to replicate the completed example--a straightforward representation of a beech tree, just like the ones growing outside the hall and throughout Rowanhill.

Legolas chewed on the tip of his tongue as he thrust his fingers into the soft, cakey brown substance, pulling and pressing and rolling the clay in an effort to mould it into a trunk-like shape. After a while, and only when he was moderately satisfied with his progress, he looked over to check how his father was faring. 

Legolas watched, transfixed, as his father’s large elegant hands glided over the unmistakable likeness of a small tree. Streaks of clay coated his apron and stained his arms all the way up to his elbows, and at closer scrutiny even small splatters of it dotted his taut cheeks and furrowed brow. Legolas could recall seeing only one other time his Ada might be described as looking “dirty”, and it was during a private sparring exercise with eldest brothers. Nothing at all like this situation he had never expected to witness on their public tour. 

“That is very good, Your Highness.” Narchon praised, bending over the workbench to examine the child’s work in progress. “A natural high talent is evident in your labors.”

“Thank you.” Legolas beamed, trying not to look overly pleased with himself. “But how are we to get that bright green color on the leaves?”

“Once your tree is fully moulded to your liking, we will bake it in our ovens and then paint it.”

“Or,” Thranduil spoke suddenly from his side of the table. “We can try something else.” He motioned for Narchon to lean in so he could whisper something in his ear.  

Legolas caught a glimpse of confusion on the sculptor’s face before he turned away to leave the room and retrieve whatever the King had asked him for. He returned promptly with a shallow pot of what looked like a mixture of common soil and mulch, dug straight up from the forest floor. 

“What is that for?” Legolas asked.

“A little test for myself,” the King said, scooping up a fistful of the loose dirt. “To see if I have not forgotten what I have been taught.”

Perched on the very edge of his stool, Legolas watched with bated breath as his father moulded the soil into the slender, yet still leafless branches of his soft clay tree. A deep, melodious humming emanated from the King’s throat, before his lips moved to form words, a song from an ancient language Legolas could not discern. 

As the singing continued, Thranduil slowly moved his hands away from the clay figure. Legolas’s eyes widened as he noticed the branches quiver and shift on their own volition. And then finally, slowly, verdant leaves began to sprout from the dead clay, unfurling and multiplying and growing until they transformed the naked branches into full bowers. 

“Most… extraordinary , Your Grace.” Narchon croaked, amid cries of delight and amazement from the other craftsmen watching in the hall. “Yet with those leaves, we cannot place your sculpture in the fires. The clay will not properly set and will remain fragile.”

“Then it will be fragile,” Thranduil said simply. “But it will be alive. For a time, at least. And in exchange for its mortality it shall bear real green leaves, fitting for Prince Greenleaf’s tree.”

“It is wondrous , Ada!” Legolas burst out with a sharp clap of his hands and an un-princely whoop. “It can make a perfect gift for Ammë. She will love it! And won’t she be so surprised?!”

“She will most certainly love it. But as for being surprised,” Thranduil chuckled and swiped the back of his hand across his cheek, leaving yet another smear of dirt on his regal face. “Who do you think taught me this little bit of artistic enchantment?”

“Now…” He lifted another handful of dirt from the pot and held it out to his awestruck son. “If you are ready, I think I would like to pass the knowledge on.”

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Other useful links:

Introduction to SotWK

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[meadowsofmay]

what always leaves me in tears in the end of the battle of the five armies is not necessarily deaths but farewells. thorin saying farewell to bilbo before letting out his last breath. thranduil saying goodbye to his son for he leaves him. tauriel kissing kili as a declaration of love and as a farewell all in once. bilbo saying farewell to the company before he leaves for the shire.

the goodbye is always the hardest part.

[lucigoo]

So, I'm going to make this a Masterlist of all my Hobbit fics as I write them. I'm also going to attmept to put them in some type of order. Hopefully it's easier for others to anvigate the mess that is my Tumblr lol <3

The Hobbit - All are Bilbo/Thorin unless stated otherwise Active Wips: A Home, A Pack, A Place of Love (Animal Au) Summary: Bilbo is a corgi and he has become the guardian of a traumatised little corgi pup. He has to leave their cosy home and hope for the best. For him and Frodo.

Hopefully he will find a ew place to call home, a new family for him and Frodo, hopefully they will thirve. I want you right here, where you belong:Home with us (Bilbo/Thorin, Sirius/Remus crossover) Summary: Thorin has moved to "The United Kingdoms" with his friends and family.

Follow his life as he ends up an unexpected father, Uncle and husband, and extends his family with wizards, witches, centaurs, goblins and, sadly, elves.

Bilbo stays in Erebor fics:Stop me Fading (Needs major re edtiting) Summary: Its a few weeks since BOTFA. Bilbos running around like a headless chicken, The Company are being plonkers, Thranduil and Dain are being antagonistic, Bards just a cinnamon roll and Gandalf keeps disappearing for long amounts of time (for good causes of course). There's one lonely, sad little hobbit on the plains outside of the Lonely Mountain. Bagginshield-tober (A uncomplete series) Summary: A series of fics spanning from LakeTown until Bilbo's death. Bilbo stayed in Erebor, this is his and Thorin's life. Afterlife Fics: I will join you Summary: MCD!! Bilbo sits with a dying Thorin, knowing he will join him. Dead or not, this will not be the last time he seee his beloved. A Little Drop of Rain Summary: Thorin holds his dying one in his arms. All he can do is hope he will see him again after his life is over. It was a long life and all Thorin wants is to be reunited with his hobbit. Defying Death (or at least the ones in charge) Summary: Bilbo has finally died, and now Lord Mandos wants to shove him away to Lady Yavanna's Green Gardens. Well that wont do. After all, Thorin wont be in Yavanna's gardens and Bilbo wont stay where Thorin isnt.

He's a burglar, and if he can smuggle his dwarves out from under Thranduil's nose, he can smuggle himself into Mahal's Halls under the Valar's noses, right?

Reshirement: Changeling Child (Mpreg) Summary: Thanks to his Stone headed nephews, Bilbo now has a new quest. One that needs cleverness and diplomacy. Not the reckless battle tactics of dwarrow. This is the most important quest Bilbo will ever go on, even more imprtant then facing a dragon. For the most important being in his life. Animal Au's: A Pasture Too Small for A Bovine’s World so Large Summary: Bilbo is an odd Highland Bull, so odd that he has had enough and takes Primula, Drogo and baby Frodo to find a new place. A new home.

Thorin and his family are an odd little herd of Bison. An odd herd with room for a few other strange bovines. Wait for me in the Aurora Bearalis Summary: Bilbo is a red panda, he had had a good life. He had managed to make it to 64 seasons (16 years) when most red pandas were lucky to make 40 seasons (10 years).

Thorin doesnt want to say goodbye to his little Orso but he has too, hopefully they can find one another in another life. Ive found Frodo ....and he found you? Summary: Canine distemper has stolen all of the Bagginses away apart from Bilbo and little Frodo. No he has to find his kit, who has wandered off, again, and keep them safe from "The Sick". If only he wasn't alone doing it.

Bittersweet/hopeful ending: The Last Meeting (Until Arda is Remade) Summary: Bilbo is a sad, lonely hobbit in Rivendell. What is left of The Company, his friends, his Family find him there. There are less then there should be.

This is Bilbo's last meeting with the few remaining dwarves he adores. Until they meet again, when the world is remade, hopefully. Sad Ending: The Demented King Under the Mountain Summary: TW MCD, Murder, Thorin did not beat the dragon sickness. Thorin did not defeat the Dragon-sickness and in his rage destroyed the gift he was given to cherish. “How rare and beautiful it truly is that you existed, and that you existed with me, for me" Summary: It is time for Bilbo to leave The Shire, he is going to make his way to Erebor, hopefully.

Before that, he makes his way to his oak tree, the last living thing he has that reminds him of Thorin, it is time to say goodbye. One more hour with you Summary: Bilbo doesnt want it to end, he just wants one more day, one more hour, one more minute with his beloved. He will deny the truth in front of him to get it if he has too. You Never Cared, Why Start Now? Summary: It started with the fires burning through Erebor. It will end with the fires burning through Bag End. The Last Durin Princess returns home (Gen fic, Dis-centric) Summary: The Last Durin Princess returns home, but home is a tomb. A place with ghosts. With her dead borther and her dead sons.

When home is no longer home, all it is is a place of pain and heart break. What is the last of her line supposed to do? How is she supposed to go on? You were to late Summary: Bilbo is watching the eagles fly overhead in victory. With Thorin's cooling hand in his, Bilbo isnt sure what their is to feel victorious over.

Quest Fics: Dwarrow hugs in the dark Summary: The Fell Winter wasnt just a time whe hobbits starved, it ws much worse then that. An entire generation of hobbits traumatised.

For one Bilbo Baggins, on a quest with a troop of rude dwarves, the memories become nightmares whilst on the road. Maybe waht he needs is dwarrow hugs off a dwarrow king? A heart of stone and Fire in his soul Summary: Thorin is but a ghost of a king, desperate and making stupid choices. Bilbo is a hobbit out of The Shire, trying to find his place. But he needs to keep his daft dwarven king alive to succeed. The trials and tribulations of a married hobbit (a bowman's persepctive) Summary: Bard see's a small hobbit amongst a crowd of dwarves clamouring to get on his barge. From that first glimpse he makes a friend, suprised by who his new friend has married. Follow the events from Lake Town until after from Bard's pov. Far over the Misty Mountains:A hobbit with a heart Summary: Bilbo's home is suddenly invaded by a troop of dwarves. He would be bad, should be mad, but that song ....

Modern Au's: "Bring Your Older Gays To Play" at Club Erebor Summary: Frodo had convinced Bilbo to go the event night at his favourite queer club. All Bilbo wanted to do was go home, back to his books and cup of tea. Well, that was until Mr tall, dark and sexy was pushed into him. The reason is you, the reason is him, the reason is me (Dwalin/Nori, background Bilbo/Thorin) Summary: Nori hates himself for the 4 and a half years he spent in prison. For destroying everythig good in his ife. For losing everything he had to live for.

Hes out now and hopefully he can fix his realationships and see his son again. ABC's of Avoiding Bullying and Crying (Gen fic, The Companny are all young children) Summary: Thorin is a big grown up 7 year old dwarf. Frerin is a little 5 year old dwarf who is usally bugging Thorin and his friends to play. So why didn't he bother them on this day, and who was he with? It's a good job I love you! Summary: Bilbo sees that Thorin has once again forgotten to take the rubbish out, bloody husbands, he thinks exasperated.

LOTR Fics: Akmâthu Bask:Song of the Bath (Gen Fellowship fic) Summary: During a bath by the river, Gimli starts singing Bilbo's bath song. Confusing the hobbits. It turns out that isnt the only song of The Hero of Erebor's that they sing in the Lonely Mountain. Between the forest and the sea, I leave my heart with thee - (Gen fic, Elrond-centric) Summary: Elrond is set to sail to Valinor to reunite with his wife when he has a vision. How can he leave when his he sees his precious daughter dying alone, her grief clear through time and space? Two Lives Will Be Spared This Day (Boromir/Theodred) Summary: Boromir looks into Galadriel's mirror and he doesnt like what he sees. Maybe if he makes a different choice he cna save himslef, and the love of his life.

[red-dead-sakharine]

Lord of the Rings & Dragon's Dogma Masterlist

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Lord of the Rings

Thranduil charging across the battlefield (gif) Thranduil, King of Smirkwood meme (gif) Thranduil's Sindarin translation Thranduil's signature head turns (gif) Thranduil, King of Smirkwood - video edit 🎥 Thranduil, sexy bitch 🎥 Thranduil's Last Goodbye 🎥

Elves reacting to thrown food

Serendipitous ways - Part 1 📝(Celebrimbor x Reader) Serendipitous ways - Part 2 📝 Serendipitous ways - Part ? 📝

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Dragon's Dogma 2

I made a DD2 sub blog now, since this was getting a lot, lol. So if you wanna check that out 👉 @dd-wyd

The DD2 Masterlist has moved there, too.

[imakemywings]

Fandom: The Silmarillion

Relationship: Maglor/Thranduil, Maedhros/Maglor

Summary: All is not as it seems when Thranduil enters the ancestral Feanorian estate, but he fails to fully comprehend the scale and nature of the risk. If he’s very lucky, one day he might even get to leave.

Response to this kink meme prompt.

AO3 | Pillowfort | SWG

Photo credit to Zach Lezniewicz on Unsplash.

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II. Chapter I

Maedhros had gone back ahead of them. He had not stayed for Oropher’s funeral nor for Maglor’s wedding, but he had kissed Maglor goodbye in their hotel room and promised to have everything ready when Maglor got home. Maglor had disposed of Maedhros’ bloody clothes and held Thranduil’s hand through the funeral service, watching tears slide unendingly down that stoic face.

            Now Maedhros emerged into the ghostly light of the foyer as Maglor explained to Thranduil about the decay of the house and why it had gone so long unfixed. He wore his auburn hair in a braid, wound into a tight bun on the back of his head, and a high-collared shirt with the wrist tightly buttoned around his metal prosthetic hand. As he had no taste anymore for shopping, he had gone on with the same outdated clothes that had been in the house when they returned to it, many of which had belonged to Father or Grandfather. At his forehead glinted a phenomenal jewel, bound on a golden chain and surrounded by several smaller, less impressive companions.

Bits of insulation and flakes of unknown origin drifted down through the hole in the roof, which had expanded over the years, and allowed for considerable weather damage to everything in its path. The wooden lions which had once so pridefully guarded the base of the stairs were mossy in some places, and the former red of the painted wood columns surrounding the foyer was more a muddy orange.

            “Unfortunately the damage from the intruders was never fully repaired,” Maglor was saying. “We lacked the time, Father being keen to be off to war, and when Maedhros and I returned here at last, we lacked the resources…But I have great hopes for my latest musical project,” said Maglor with some true brightness. “It shall be a grand spectacle, as soon as I can secure some financial backing for it.”

            “The rot has spread quite far,” Maedhros remarked as he approached them. A great ring of keys jangled at his waist, and just above it, an ornately decorated dagger hilt in its own belt. “Some rooms we have had to seal off entirely. Too unstable.” Thranduil was a tall Elf among his people, but even he had to look up to meet Maedhros’ cold gray gaze, which lingered on him only a moment before Maedhros turned to Maglor and pulled him into a one-armed hug, his good hand firmly on the back of Maglor’s neck. This position they held for an extended moment before Maglor wriggled free, slightly flushed, and smoothed the front of his shirt. He did not see how Maedhros held Thranduil’s gaze throughout their embrace.

            Thranduil looked from the ring of keys over to Maglor.

            “It occurs to me I have not a housekey,” he said.

            “Ah, well…”

            “You don’t need one,” Maedhros interrupted. “As I’ve just said, some rooms of the house are dangerous, and you won’t yet know which ones. If you need to be let in somewhere, I can let you in.”

            The subsequent silence was not wholly copacetic, and Maglor cleared his throat. Maedhros managed a rictus smile at his new brother-in-law.

            “Welcome to your new home,” he said perfunctorily. “How pleasant it will be to have someone else with us here. Maglor, may I see you in the kitchen? There is something which wants your attention.”

            “Yes, of course. Nodien will show you up to our room,” he said, flashing a smile at Thranduil as their one remaining staff member, an overworked caretaker, hauled Thranduil’s trunk over the worn front steps. “I’ll be just a moment.”

***

            Maedhros was drumming his fingers on the counter as the kettle warmed over the fire. Maglor’s hands danced over the back of a chair, but he did not draw it and sit. His nose twitched slightly; the house always smelled a bit mustier after returning from abroad.

            “Is something wrong?” he asked at last.

            “You went ahead with it,” said Maedhros.

            “…as I thought we had agreed upon.”

            “I maintain my earlier assessment. But it doesn’t matter now.” He took down a tin of tea from one of the cupboards.

            “He is young,” Maglor admitted. “But still an adult. And the situation was…workable.”

            “Only one person in all the world looking out for him,” Maedhros agreed. “And one with a sizeable checkbook, too. Have you gotten the paperwork?”

            “Thranduil is still talking with the bank. He should have them send it soon,” said Maglor. “It ought to arrive in a in a month or two after that, post depending. Oropher did quite well for himself.”

            “The man was practically a self-made king,” said Maedhros. “Not that you’d know it from looking at him.” Maedhros measured tea into the pot on the tray, and added a small spoon of powder to the cup with the dove-trees on it. “Well. Nowadays you wouldn’t know anything from looking at him.” Maglor winced slightly, but Maedhros’ back was to him and he didn’t see.

            “Now, if you keep being so gloomy,” said Maglor with forced and weary playfulness, “I will think you aren’t at all glad to see me.” Maedhros looked over at him.

            “Welcome back,” he said. “If you want a red bean cake, they’re in the basket there.” Delighted, Maglor opened it, only to find them stale and one on the edge molding. He replaced the basket lid without touching them.

            “Did you really have to kill him as you did, by the way?” he asked with a sigh. “Thranduil’s been in a state about the whole thing. Surely you could’ve just cut his throat.”

            Maedhros shrugged. “I did the job. Why does it matter how?”

            “It was just rather…messy.”

            “And I do know how you detest a mess, brother dear. I’ve cleaned it up, haven’t I?”

            “You didn’t have to go to the funeral,” Maglor muttered. “Or take the boat back with him.” Maglor could not say being so exposed to another’s grief in such tight quarters was a comfortable experience, especially when the person in question reasonably expected his new and allegedly besotted husband to comfort him about it. And Thranduil possessed such a lovely visage, it was terribly dreary to see him look so depressed. Maglor had hoped he’d at least have a nice face to look at for the next few weeks.

He was on the verge of suggesting Maedhros had purposefully given Oropher such a violent and ugly death out of spite for Maglor insisting on Thranduil instead of giving way to Maedhros’ suggestion they look for someone else, but he knew no good would come of that, so he swallowed it down. Maedhros always threw a tantrum when he didn’t get his way, and he never responded well to having it called out.

            When Maedhros had fixed the tea, they went upstairs to find Thranduil examining his new bedroom. He seemed paler than usual, even, or perhaps Maglor’s eyes were still adjusting to the light of the house.

            “Tea,” Maedhros announced, setting it on the dresser. He took the cup with the dove-tree design and thrust it out at Thranduil, who seemed to hesitate before taking it.

            “Thank you.”

            “Isn’t this lovely!” Maglor chirped, never able to let an awkward silence go without making it worse. “Feel free to make whatever use you wish of the space…” It wasn’t as if Maglor spent time in this room. “It’s your room too, now!”

            “You never mentioned that you have a cat,” Thranduil said in his usual low, soft tone. Truthfully, it was one of the things Maglor had liked about him from the start. He was not a singer—not like Maglor—but he had a very pleasant speaking voice. It seemed calming, somehow.

            “We don’t,” said Maedhros, casting a pointed and displeased look at Maglor, who glanced away.

            “Did you see one?” Maglor asked while looking studiously at the wallpaper and not at Maedhros.

            “Out the window just now,” said Thranduil. “It’s not yours?”

            “Must be a stray,” said Maedhros.

            “Can we keep it?”

            Maedhros and Thranduil were both looking at Maglor, who took a too-large sip of tea which hurt his throat on the way down.

            “Ah, why not?” he said, smiling first at Thranduil and then slightly more placatingly at Maedhros. “One little cat wouldn’t be amiss.”

            “Drink your tea,” said Maedhros sharply to Thranduil, who stiffened. Maedhros softened his tone to add: “It will help with the ills of travel, and with the chill.”

            As Thranduil obediently raised the delicate white cup to drink, Maglor recalled walking through Thranduil’s solarium as he pointed out this and that to him, quietly extoling in his reserved way each and every specimen under his care. Maglor could not say he’d ever considered plants besides passingly finding this or that flower (usually embroidered on a coat or painted on a bit of porcelain) nice to look at, but Thranduil knew things about mosses and root systems and he seemed to find each as beautiful as a blooming rose.

            He’s too young, Maedhros had said back in Beleriand. But Maglor had insisted this was the right target. The notion of his age was absurd anyway—Maedhros had never cared about such things before, and Maglor tended to doubt he did now. Thranduil was an adult capable of receiving and controlling his father’s fortune, and that was what really mattered.

            Maedhros waited until Thranduil had drained the cup before he would take the tray and leave the room.

***

            Predictably, the travel and the grief and the tea made Thranduil weary, and he went to bed early, leaving Maglor free to scarper off to the room which had once belonged to Grandfather. He woke alone as he often did—Maedhros almost always rose before him—but the bed was still warm, which meant it couldn’t be too late. Sure enough, when Maglor threw himself restlessly out of bed to check the clock, it wasn’t yet 9 AM. But he couldn’t imagine trying to lay down again; he felt he must have eaten something the day before which disagreed with him, for there was an unpleasant twinging in his belly.

            He went down to the kitchen for a morning cup of tea and to reheat something for breakfast, and while he was eating he was joined by his new husband.

            “I must have slept very deeply,” Thranduil remarked as he drew up a chair. “I did not hear you come in last night, nor leave this morning.”

            Maglor smiled sweetly.

            “You were tired. I’m glad you got some rest. Do you want some fried rice? I’ll heat up some more for you.” He got up and went first for the tea kettle before hesitating and dumping some more of the rice into a pan to heat. Maedhros would make the tea later; it wouldn’t do for them to both dose him by accident.

            “Was the bed comfortable enough?” Maglor asked, because he couldn’t think of a less asinine conversation topic.

            “It was well,” said Thranduil. “Warmer with the cat.”

            “Oh, did she join you?”

            “You saw her not?”

            “No,” Maglor said. “She must have gone by the time I came in, and returned after I went to sleep.” This made no sense even to Maglor when he thought about it for just a second, but he hoped Thranduil didn’t bother with thinking about the things Maglor said.

            He set a plate of warmed rice in front of Thranduil.

            “Here you go.” Thranduil caught his hand as he drew it back, and rubbed Maglor’s fingers between his, and looked up at him with something almost...as if he were asking for something. Maglor trembled lightly, and gave Thranduil’s fingers a squeeze before drawing his own back. “I’m afraid there’s not much variance in food here…it’s troublesome to get anything shipped to the house, you see.” He took his seat again.

            “We shall manage it,” Thranduil said with a shrug. “I thought I might look at some of the house today.”

            “You want a tour?” Maglor smiled.

            “I have not professional training, but I have practiced carpentry as a hobby,” Thranduil said. “I might be able to fix some of the problems around the house.” Maglor’s face went blank. He was realizing how poorly he handled his spouse going off-script by this point in his life.

            “Fix the house?” he said.

            “Yes. Nothing structural, of course, it would only be superficial…but it might make you more comfortable.” Maglor still sat dumb. “It is as you said before,” said Thranduil, his voice dropping to a still softer, gentler register. “We are to help each other now, as a wedded couple. This I can do for you.”

            “Yes…yes, of course,” said Maglor stumblingly. “Of course, take a look if it pleases you. I’m sure you will find no shortage of projects!” He let out a little laugh.

            There they sat until Maedhros came in and saw them at the table. His fingers brushed lightly against the back of Maglor’s shoulders, just enough pressure to remind Maglor he was there, as he passed by to put the kettle on for tea.

***

            Over the following days, Thranduil continued to bed early under the influence of his circumstances. Maglor could not say what he occupied his days with, besides playing with the cat and poking around what rooms of the house Maedhros hadn’t locked. Maglor spent his own days primarily concerned with his compositions, with which he had grown increasingly dissatisfied of late, and with Maedhros. However, he felt some responsibility for keeping an eye on Thranduil (and Maedhros continually reminded him that his spouses tended to get into trouble only when they were left alone too long), so he tried to check in a few times a day.

            However, he tried not to be caught in “their” bedroom in the evenings, lest Thranduil impose on him to stay. But he had gone in to make sure they had cleared the tea tray out from Thranduil’s last cup, and his no doubt confused husband was sitting up in bed with a notebook when Maglor came in, clearly dressed for bed.

            “Ah, I wondered if I had left my book in here.” Maglor couldn’t even really pretend he put effort into that lie, but as Thranduil was not expecting to be lied to, he didn’t quibble with it.

            “I have seen it not,” said Thranduil.

            “I suppose I shall have to look elsewhere,” said Maglor cheerily, heading for the door.

            “You might borrow one of mine, if it pleases you,” Thranduil offered. “Though I did not bring many with me.” They were heavy, which made for expensive travel costs, and they had departed Beleriand with very little time for preparations.

            “Oh, how kind. I think I’ll look for mine, though.”

            “You may read in here, if you wish,” Thranduil added. “It shan’t bother me to keep the light on a while longer.”

            “Oh, how generous. I wouldn’t want to keep you up. I know you must still be adjusting to the time change, and I still have to brush my hair and teeth and…” Maglor was reaching around for some other task that might be disruptive and believably part of a nighttime routine.

            “I could do that for you,” Thranduil offered. “Your hair.”

            “Oh.” Maglor blinked at him, and it was suddenly very hard to escape noticing that Thranduil was all but begging for his company. Maglor had seen so many people come into this house turned around and alone and bewildered and leave it not long after that it had grown disturbingly easy to simply disengage from their distress the same way one might tune out the irritating buzz of an insistent fly. “Well. Why not? What a lovely offer.”

            Thranduil set aside the notebook and sat up as Maglor brough the brush and comb over. Maglor took a seat with his back facing Thranduil, taking in a quiet breath as he felt Thranduil’s hands let down his hair. Such gestures had long carried a particular intimacy among the Noldor. Maglor wondered if Thranduil knew that.

            Thranduil’s hands were steady but gentle, carefully picking apart Maglor’s braids of the day before taking the brush to his long dark locks.

            “Do you use oil on this?” Thranduil murmured. “It smells quite nice.”

            “Do you like it?” Maglor smiled. “It’s one of my little indulgences.” This one Maedhros permitted, for he also liked the smell of Maglor’s freshly-oiled hair. Thranduil worked the brush and comb through Maglor’s hair, patiently teasing out any knots.

            “It has been some time since you sang,” he commented.

            “Has it? I suppose we’ve been busy, with the marriage and the move!”

            Thranduil brushed on in silence and then, in his ponderous way, said: “I should like to hear it again, when you have the time. If it pleases you.”

            “Of course!” Maglor could not help but preen at such a request. “I should be happy to. Always pleased with an audience!”

            When Thranduil had finished brushing Maglor’s hair into a fall of glossy waves, he bound it up in a loose braid for bed.

            “How sweet you are,” Maglor said with a smile, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “I knew I had found a good choice for my husband. Now, I must find my book!”

            And he made to Thranduil alone in the dark room once more, but paused at the door.

            “It’s rather cold in here, isn’t it?” he said. Thranduil shrugged.

“It is rather.”

“Do you want a larger fire? Let me.” Maglor went over to the hearth to add another log to the fire, but the cache was empty. “Hm. You need more wood. I’ll mention it to Nodien. And where’s your cat? Oughtn’t she be with you?” Thranduil shrugged again.

            “She comes as it pleases her,” he said. “Usually later in the night.”

            “I’ll leave a candle out for her then,” Maglor joked with a wink. “Sleep tight!”

            Satisfied he had done his duty, he took his leave, but found himself still thinking about the temperature of the room.

***

            Predictably, and yet somehow catching Maglor by surprise, Maedhros noticed the length of time it had taken him to go and check on their guest.

            “Here I had begun to think you had tripped on the stairs and broken your neck,” Maedhros remarked from the bed, where he was reading, wire-rim spectacles poised on the end of his nose. He wore them more and more often for reading these days.

            “Thranduil was in the mood to talk,” said Maglor, which was…possibly accurate. It was just that Thranduil’s “mood to talk” looked somewhat like Maglor’s “catatonia.” He had once in Greenwood tried to convince Maedhros that Thranduil’s disinclination for chatter also made him a good choice. Perhaps that was still true.

            “Hm, a few days at home married and you not in the bed once? I’m sure he wanted to talk.” There was a certain derisive note in Maedhros’ voice which made Maglor feel suddenly quite tired.

            “It was nothing,” he sighed, turning to the vanity to apply cream to his face and neck. “He is still processing his change in circumstances. This is not what he expected.” But that was always true.

            “So let him process it,” Maedhros said, looking back down at his book. “He doesn’t need you for that.”

            “I was gone not thirty minutes,” Maglor said, unable to keep the cranky note from his voice.

            “I know what you’re doing,” Maedhros replied, lowering the book to look directly at Maglor.

            “And what’s that?”

            “Do you really believe he would like you if he knew who you really were?”

            Maglor gripped the edge of the vanity. This conversation was not unfamiliar, but he hated it each time they had it.

            “Fortunately, I am not worried if he—”

            “If you weren’t concerned that he likes you, why spend money we most certainly do not have on that ridiculous plant encyclopedia you gave him?”

            “I was wooing him, if you recall,” Maglor said defensively, spinning around to face Maedhros. “Not that you would know anything about it. I always have to do the work with them. Do you know how hard it is? You have no respect for…I have to prostitute myself just to get our hands on some funding.”

            “Don’t make it sound like you’re performing more than you are. Besides, you enjoy the chase and the attention,” Maedhros snorted. “And it’s you or no one. You know that.” Sending Maedhros out to woo could only result in catastrophe. And possibly felony charges.

            “And it was a fungal encyclopedia,” Maglor muttered under his breath as he turned his attention to applying a different cream to his hands.

            “I’m sure the fungal encyclopedia will keep his affection after he finds out what you did to Elwing.”

            Maglor went rigid, and grasped that he had underestimated how off-put Maedhros was. This was a jab he only dredged up when he wanted to cripple Maglor’s ability to argue.

            “I…did…nothing,” he said haltingly, the rubbing of his hands becoming a compulsion.

            “Mm. Of course. I’m sure he would see it that way.”

            “Stop it.” Maglor was digging his nails into his hands, clawing at the slippery flesh.

Maedhros relented.

“This is what I mean when I say he cannot understand you,” said Maedhros. “He won’t. Not as I do.” He put the book on the bedside table and reached out to Maglor, who crawled over his own side of the bed to sit astride his brother’s lap. “It will be over soon,” Maedhros soothed him, smoothing Maglor’s hair behind his ears, though there was nothing left loose after Thranduil’s careful braiding. “Oropher’s should be the last of the money we need to finance your project. And when that’s done, there will be no more marriages.”

“No more marriage,” Maglor echoed in a whisper.

“No more people in the house.”

“No more people.”

“It will be just us.” Maedhros’ arms went around Maglor, pulling him into an embrace so that Maglor’s chin was pushed up awkwardly against Maedhros’ shoulder.

“Forever,” Maglor murmured.

“Forever,” Maedhros agreed, and the word seemed to echo into the emptiness of the house.

[the-harvest-child]

Exceptions (Thorin x reader)

This is my first post on Tumblr and I'm a huge fan of romance so of course, I wanted to start off strong with a Thorin post, since I know for a fact he's someone who is hard to truly fall in love with.

This takes place after the last hobbit movie, with the exception that everyone lives in the end (I don't know what happened after the battle of the five armies so I just made up whatever lmfao)

Notes: Slow burn, Thorinxfem!reader, Alternate Universe (nobody dies), takes place after Battle of the five armies, eventual romance, eventual smut, fwb, Lord of the Rings, PLOT HECK YEAH, storyline

Let's get into it!

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4,400+ words - 11/30/22

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Thorin.

Son of Thrain, Son of Thror.

King under the Mountain.

Dáin II Ironfoot.

Son of Náin, Son of Grór, youngest Son of Dáin I of Durin's folk.

The person who trusted you most to heal his people in times of need, and to keep back pesky beasts, and to tidy up after his battles, both politically and emotionally.

You were trusted among your friends- as Dáins' right hand woman, as Bards' helpful acquaintance, and as Legolases ally. As a runaway half-elf, you did not make good impressions on your kind being around dwarves, and yet it didn't make a good impression on those dwarves being around an peredhil.

Yet Dáin took you in when you had been mindlessly traveling the lands with a lost sense of purpose.

Bard first had sent you off with a tentative goodbye. He didn't want to keep you confined to being his second in command when he saw how wistfully you looked out across the landscape, how much you looked as if you'd run away. Almost as if to ignore the possibility, about being left behind without a further notice, he bid you away, leaving in your memorys a heartwarming and genuine goodbye, and you knew in that moment he knew about your desires.

You left Dale with a purpose, but you were nothing when Dáin found you.

Through numerous attempts, you finally agreed to follow Dáin to the Iron Hills. Willingly. Dáin was well acquainted with Thorin, you learned, who was partially acquainted with Bard, who was your friend and once leader. Dáin was quick to figure out that you were not romantic partners, simply from how you spoke of Bard. He had poked and teased fun, simply out of mischief, and growing jealousy. He wanted that same bond with you, to be on that level of trust. But a runaway peredhil and a dwarven Lord being friends? His people didn't look kindly upon you. Despite you dedicating your time to the dwarves of the Iron Hills, they still saw you as a threat, quite like Thranduil.

It took about a year of this treatment for it to finally get to you, and even Dáin could tell. For such a calm, joking, and collected person, he'd sensed an underlying pressure laying heavily on your shoulders. As much as he treasured your company, he preferred you happy and healthy, not in this wretched state of mind. But you yourself, felt worthy healing and protecting his people, yet they held distaste for you. His solution?

Send you to Erebor. Visit Bard, see how Dale is doing. Then visit his cousin, Thorin Oakenshield. And then, offer your loyalty to him.

Did you agree with the idea? Not really. But Dáin had a way of convincing you to hope for the best, despite your pessimistic personality. Of course saying goodbye was painful, mostly on Dáins part. You saw him shed tears for the first time the entire year when you saddled your horse and took off towards Dale. It made your nostalgia worsen. Dáin had never been a romantic interest, but as your friend, he would be greatly missed. You tried to remind yourself you'd see him again, but time as an elf, even just as a half-elf, seemed to pass so slow and yet so fast all the same.

Your travels to Erebor would not be fruitless, you knew this. At first you had been worried about Thorin straight up sending you back to the Iron Hills, or if he was in a good mood, off to live in Dale (you hadn't the best impression of the dwarf leader; you did your best not to make assumptions, though), but Dáin reassured you the dwarven king was reasonable (most of the time), and he even sent a letter of recommendation (more like commanding his cousin to take you in) to Thorin through one of his subordinates.

As you made your way up to Dale, you were hoping that that very letter reached the King under the Mountain.

~•°•~

The usual cheer of the Dale you once knew had quieted into peaceful chatter, until you arrived on horse back, wielding the brand of the Iron hill dwarves on your sleeve. The people recognized you, but newcomers were highly confused what a peredhil pretending to be a dwarf was doing in, well, human lands.

The stone walls greeted you eagerly as you trotted into town, the townsfolk either cheerfully welcoming you or giving you slightly strange and judgemental like. Arching cobblestone and brick weaved it's way from building to building, and Amoros huffed, his hoofs beating against the ground in excitement. He seemed to recognize this place. He'd been a loyal horse ever since the battle of the five armies, and even though he loved mindlessly running along the hills of your old home, this home was even more important to the both of you. Achingly sweet nostalgia washed over you as you made your way through the small city, stalls bustling with activity and children running about. A clear blue sky ruled above it all, with a gentle breeze blowing the slightly reddening leaves that clung desperately to the limbs of their trees branches. Oh how you had missed Dale and it's small wonders. The people were hardworking and strong, their wills ironed after dealing with the deaths of quite many of their people just over a year or so ago. Your hands tightened around the rope guiding Amoros just thinking about their suffering. You admired them for their perseverance, and your loyalty had long been split between the people of Dale and the dwarves of the Iron Hills. Perhaps you had made a mistake befriending either group.

But it was a mistake you would gladly make again if you were given the choice.

You didn't bother interacting with those around you. As you made your way to your once headquarters, you felt an overlying sense of dread. The air felt somewhat heavy the closer you got to the heart of the town, but from what you could, it was necessary tension, not angered tension. Even from outside you could sense an aura of thick, pressing rigidness.

You had considered letting Amoros wander freely, but due to your growing concern of the aura hanging over the home of Bard, you tied the horses reigns to a nearby post before letting yourself into Bards very official-looking abode.

Walls of oak and brink greeted you, neatly framed photos and sourveiners scattering the walls. Wooly rugs tempted you to enjoy their fluff, but you ignored the temptation and continued your way deeper into the house. The near smell of quality craft booze and fine meat mingled with some sort of earthy scent in the house as you looked about for Bards children, yet didn't spot them. Perhaps they were at school. They should be, it's the middle of the day, you thought to yourself. There were however many servants dashing about, looking anxious and worried, which caught you by surprise. The people you had known would be talking and interacting with eachother and those who walked in. They were usually friendly, not rushed. Knights would stop people and question them, yet the halls were barren of their protectors. You saw a few familiar faces glance your way, offering a strong nod or wave of recognition, but otherwise, no one stopped you when you walked up the stairs.

It was when you reached the top of the stairs that you finally spotted the knights. They seemed stricter than ever, protecting the upper halls and lining the walls around what you remembered as Bards meeting room for official business. Which meant something was going on.

A few of them tried to stop you on your way down the hall.

"Sorry, ma'am. No one is allowed-"

"I am former second in command of Bard the Dragonslayer. You dare block my path?"

Your voice was strict and beyond it's joking tone. You knew the knights were simply doing their duties, but you also knew they recognized you, so you had every right to continue your way. And you did, since they readily lifted their swords away from the path and let you through. Other knights observed, giving you the respectful nods you deserved. A small sense of satisfaction would have struck deep within you if you weren't anxious about what environment you might've been stepping into.

You reached the doors of the meeting room, hearing normal murmurs and chattering from within. As normal as irritated murmuring was. The knights glanced at you, a look of warning in their eyes. They could possibly get in trouble if you didn't properly behave in that meeting room; suspecting that Bard was meeting with another ruler, the potential of him being judged by your adrupt apperance was high, especially when they had had security for a reason.

You sighed, waiting outside for a few minutes. The anticipation was eating you up inside, and when the meeting still hadn't come to a close, you left behind reasoning and entered the room of your own violation.

The murmurs came to a started halt as heads looked up from their dreary stances. Your gaze briefly swept over them until it met Bards, who had a brief smile of shock on his face before nodding you over, realizing he was supposed to be upset for you interrupting what look to be a very serious matter. He was leaning over the table, like all where, pushing little tabs across a concerningly dull map. You bowed to the group, seeing as they looked at you with curious eyes.

"Pardon my intrusion, gentlemen," You lifted your head as you walked over to stand next to Bard. Many offered you nods of acknowledgment, a few tentative smiles reaching your own. You were quick to envelope yourself in their discussion and picked up details as they talked. Some sort of trade had gone wrong through Mirkwood, and from what you knew, Bard and Thorin (whom you hadn't matched a face to) were grouping together to figure out why trade had been messed up on its way to Thranduils kingdoms. You looked mindlessly around the table as they spoke, trying to match names to faces. Dáin had explained all their features for each dwarf, but guessing all of them wasn't so easy.

There was Fili and Kili, the dwarf brothers, one blond, one black-headed. They both looked like charmers, and judging by the ring on who you assumed was Kili, one definitely had charming ways. Then there was Bofur, Bombur, and Bifur, a strange trio but entertaining folk according to Dáin. Their playful manner seemed to seep through the cracks of the serious conversation, and nobody stopped them. You appreciated the lightness of their mannerisms, since the room had been tense and their commentary helped release it. Dori, Nori, Ori, Glóin and Oin were ones you struggled a little more to place faces to. You wondered if they were at all related because of how tragically dull their names were. They didn't seem any different to the other dwarves- loyal, hunky, and bearing beards. A cleanshaven dwarf you were yet to see. And then there was Dwalin and Balin. Dwalin you had already admired from the moment you entered the room. He was armed, alert, and conscious. Probably the most violent and strict of the group, you felt yourself drawn to him in the way he acted like an older brother. As for Balin, you sensed some sort of grandfatherly whims about him, and as they talked you were reminded of his wisdom Dáin had more than readily informed you about. If Thorin had fallen through, Balin would've made a fine leader.

Ah, Thorin. Of course the last for you to lay your gaze on, and when you did, your eyes narrowed on instinct.

The dwarven king obviously held control over the conversation, and over his loyal friends. He was a logical and reasonable man, yet an air of mystery hung over his head, which looked burdened by a thousand responsibilities. According to Dáin, his cousin had worked hard to rebuild Erebor and restore it's glory, which was a long process, you were aware. His face looked worn from war, his body covered in the furs and armor and traditional clothing of a dwarf.

So that's what that rich earthy, stony scent was. Despite standing next to Bard, who smelled of expensive beer and jerky, you could smell the Erebor scent wafting off of the group of Dwarfs.

Thorin spared you a look, at which you tipped your head in a respectful manner, lowering your eyes. His gaze had pierced you for a moment, like when lightning strikes the ground. Goosebumps crawled on your arms. When you glanced back up he had briefly nodded his head in your direction before returning to the conversation. It was good to know that he didn't have the same sense of ego that many wealthy people did. Despite never having met you, he recognized you as an improtsnt figure, which meant he was observant not only in battle but in politics.

You were glad to have required the ability to make assumptions from small gestures.

You hadn't been paying attention to the conversation, more observing how stressed a majority of the group looked. Dwalin and Balin looked equally as focused as Thorin, with Fili and Kili following close behind. But you could feel the tiredness behind everyone's words.

"We haven't any evidence of an obstruction, unless that fool of a king has decided interacting with Dale was a bad idea-"

"Thranduil isn't that mindless of his people. At the very least he would've discussed it with us. Something must be going on within the kingdom." Balin cut into Dwalins sentence, his finger tracing the map. They seemed to have discussed this before.

"Surely we would've heard of it by now," Bard chimed in, reminding the group of his status as King of Dale.

He had made a good point, and even this conversation was tiring you out just from listening. Kili looked exceptionally worried, almost as much as Thorin was hiding in his eyes. Balin was stroking his beard in thought and the rhyming quadruplets were looking at eachother and the map nervously. An unsettled and distressed silence had quickly fallen over the meeting, and you sighed inwardly, straightening your back.

"I think it's appropriate to bring this meeting to a close," You said, your voice taking control of the room. Bard glanced at you in thanks, while the rest looked to Thorin as if asking permission to be allowed to leave. "Perhaps you can stay for dinner. Drink will be provided." Another appreciated glance from Bard. Thorin looked up in thought, and you would've thought him foolish if he decided to turn down such an offer. Thankfully, due to the murmurs of Balin, he didn't, just nodded and mumbled a very well.

"Why're you back?" Bard didn't hesitate to question you as soon as the dwarves had started gathering their things to migrate to the dining room.

"Not even a hello?"

"You crashed my meeting."

Despite his retaliation, he gave you a very tight hug, and you sighed in relief, feeling the stress of your adventures fade away for the time being. He pulled away, leading you out of the room and into the hallway. The knights stood guard loyally at the doors, shutting them tightly behind the two of you.

"You have been missed."

"I'm sorry I ever left. Let us talk over dinner," You said with a sobered smile. You had missed this place greatly, and you had many things to tell Bard.

"Why are you back anyways?"

His question hung in the air for a few moments. Contemplation stung your tongue, freezing it in your mouth for a few moments. Would you actually have time tonight to tell him? About everything?

"Dáin sent me to be employed by Thorin." You lowered your voice, casting as glance over at the group of dwarves. You decided the most important info must be spoke first, and to your dismay you saw Bard visibly tense when you made your way down the stairs, following the tired rowdiness of the dwarves. Words quickly fell out of your mouth as an attempt to distress him. "I do not have time to discuss my reasons. What we should be doing is celebrating my return." You put on a brighter smile, and Bard risked one of his own.

"Very well, daughter of Tiyle. I am glad you are back, at least for now." The tension lifted. For now.

The two of you entered the dining room, settling yourself at the dining table. You sat next to Bard, immediately regretting your decision as Dwalin sat beside you. Thorin seemed to attract Dwalin and Balin wherever he went, and as the dwarven leader sat before you, Balin sat next to him, across from Dwalin who was, let me remind you, next to you.

Servants filtered into the dining hall, providing food and drink. You were hungry but your anxiety of keeping a good image pressed on your neck like hot iron. This dinner could be make or break, depending on how drunk these dwarves would get. Chances were Bard would house them, since surely they could not traverse back to their home in drunken states.

Without another word the dwarves merrily dug into the meat and potatoes, the greenbeans and peas and corn, while you sat aside with bile boiling in your stomach. Bard gave you a glance of concern, which you briefly returned with one of reassurance. You could always eat in the morning, when you felt less sick to your stomach. Social interaction had never been your best strong suit, and yet you were so good at pretending your confidence was beyond you. At least, most of the time. During dinner, you kept to yourself, simply gazing over the table as the people drank their worries away, all save for Thorin, Balin and Bard. They seemed to be in their own conversations, while the others were starting to cheer up. All seemed to be able to handle their alcohol, but you could tell by the eagerness in the refills of the dancing dwarves that they wished to forget the stress for at least tonight.

You idly munched on a bread roll as the dwarves started to lose themselves, who of which you looked upon in amusement while keeping your composure.

"Peredhil," A gruff and strict voice called your ethnicity, which mads a slightly distasteful look surface onto your face. Regret filtered into your emotions as you realized it was Thorin who had beckoned your attention. You couldn't blame him for calling you by your race, as you hadn't properly introduced yourself at the meeting. Thorins eyes looked over you as if you were an experiment, but the harsh look in his gaze made his examiantions more demeaning than you figured he'd meant it to. "What is your name?" You could feel Dwalins eyes on you beside you, and you kept your gaze steady on Thorins as you said,

"I am Y/N, daughter of Tiyle." Bard was keeping a steady look over this slightly tensed conversation was you spoke, almost glaring at Thorin.

"So you are the one Dáin recommended." The kings rougher voice would've been attractive had you not been slightly intimidated by it.

"That I am." You decidedly returned his energy. If you were to get on good terms with this King, you had to match his wits and reasoning.

"What skills have you that my dwarves don't?" Eyes of steel settled on yours, and your instinctual reaction was to return the judgemental gaze.

"I'm quite faster than the lot of you, with hearing exceeding the average humans. Skilled with staffs and long bows, and I have experience in the field of politics, which some of your dwarves seem to lack in," Your tone almost turned demeaning without you meaning it to, due to how Thorin was talking to you. You were very aware that your half elf features probably put him off, as the dwarves and elves were never made to get along, but even a King didn't have a right to treat a seasoned warrior such as yourself as if you didn't deserve a position with his people. Then again, their loyalty was fiery and passionate, and as Dáin had told you, it would take a while to gain the trust of Thorin Oakenshield. "I think you need me. Healing is my expertise. My ability to heal wounds within minutes and my personality can brighten those with a depressing predicament."

Bard chimed in, adding to your case. "Y/N has experience with leadership. She was in charge of the social job network within Dale when we rebuilt our town, and she has proved a reliable peredhil-"

The sudden coldness of a blade was felt against your neck in the middle of Bards sentence, who immediately shut up. Everyone at the table knew it was a test, and you retained your calmness.

Thorin studied you with analyzing eyes as Dwalin held his dagger strictly up against your throat. Your emotions had been dulled over your journey, but in one swift move, cunning surfaced up into your words.

"Such a test is pitying," You looked Thorin straight in the eyes, a plan forming in your head. You saw his eyes narrow, but he remained silent. A few of the dwarves looked over, falling quiet and focusing on the exchange between you, Thorin, and Dwalin. "You must've been betrayed by many, weren't you? So much so you must test everyone you come across. I saw the way you studied me during that meeting, scanning for insecurities and weaknesses. What did you find, Thorin Oakenshield? Sorrows you could comprehend, weaknesses you could take advantage of?" You delivered blow after soft blow, piling each accusations on top of one another. You didn't lessen it until you saw how Thorin was starting to clench his jaw. "You look at me as if my words are foolish. But do you expect me to sit here and let your subordinate slice my throat while you've had the freedom to mindlessly slander my name?"

The table fell into a dead silence, the dwarves staring at you like you were an enigma. Thorin himself seemwd to be enlightened of your abilities, but his own honor stopped him from praising your tactics. You casted a cold glance at Dwalin, whose hand was shaking in effort not to swipe it across your neck. You could tell his leaders hidden anger was projected in him, which he gladly wore. But you weren't afraid to look down on him.

"I'm aware you are quite willing to harm me, but if you wish to kept your leader on good terms with Bard, I suggest you return your dagger to it's sheath."

A glance was shared between Dwalin and Thorin, a silent treaty. The steel was removed from your neck, and you took a shaky breath through your nose as the dwarves looked on in shock. The king under the Mountain didn't spare you any glances, ignoring your eyes as they pierced into his skull. A wave of relief washed over as the wiser dwarf spoke up.

"... She's quite like Bilbo." Balin's sentence held a tone more of humor. You recognized the name as a hobbit who had helped Thorin and his dwarves on their journeys. Based on the nods and reactions of the dwarves around you, he must've been a cunning little thing.

"Yeah she is! Bilbo always got us out of dangerous situations through talking or another form of, uhh, emotional manipulation!" Oin said, eager to lessen the tense atmosphere. People started to relax, including yourself. The slight trepidation still crawled up your spine as Thorin gave you a stony look of calculation, but the dwarves began to laugh and chatter again.

"Good work, Tiyle!" The Dwarves merrily patted you on the back, Fili giving you a friendly grin and Bombur offering you some fine mead. You indulged in them, smiling and joining their conversations. Maybe you would be able to forget how Thorin looked ready to murder you on the spot through the will of his subordinate.

Bard looked on in fondness before he gave a glare to Dwalin, who in turn looked at Thorin to avoid the gaze the enraged King of Dale. His piercing gaze shifted from the loyal warrior to the steadfast king under the Mountain, who met his gaze against his will. Even Bard was scary sometimes.

"If you let such a thing happen again to my second in command I will see to it personally that Dale is no longer connected to Erebor." The icy edge in Bards voice was enough to make Thorin scowl, but regardless, he nodded. An apology lied in his eyes which Bard readily accepted, because despite their arguments, they were still friends, politically or otherwise.

The two kings reconciled silently before Thorin spoke up, making an observation to cut through the quiet corner.

"She's a keen one." The dwarf glanced your way, watching you wildly chattering with his friends, drinking and dining as if you all had been friends for lifetimes.

"She is. . . She would make a loyal friend and a fine wife," Bard cast a teasing glance as Thorin, who gave him a shuddering look. You wouldn't think that just moments ago Bard was threatening to cut ties with Erebor all because of the treatment given to you. Thorin looked about ready to cut something ad Balin chuckled, patting his friend on the back.

"I think she'd be a fine match, Thorin!" The wiser dwarf commented. Oakenshield couldn't bear to glare at his friend, so he instead gazed upon you. He did admit, your strange behaviour and manner was something he found himself wanting to figure out what you had gone through to act the way you did. Not many had the ability to talk so calmly under pressure, much less irritate the enemy and manipulate the scenario the way you had.

Thorin gulped down a pint of mead.

"Fili would fit her just fine," The king murmured lowly. Dwalin and Balin looked over at you, seeing how well you got along with the others. Fili was quite obviously taken by her, and she didn't seem to mind.

"Fili does seem fond of her... Perhaps he'll take after his brother." Bard knew well of the brothers, especially of how Kili had caught the attention of a certain Silvan lady from Mirkwood.

"Be quite funny if Fili fell for a half-elf," Dwalin snorted, unasmued by the thought despite saying it would be funny. Thorin stayed silent, and he looked over at you in distasteful thought.

"Fili can like who he wants, leave him be." Dwalin glanced away obediently at his kings words. Thorin looked upon the flirtatious advancements the blond brother of Kili made. The king didn't think anything of it, simply looking on at the sweet interactions. A smile was heavy on your face as you laughed with his friends, teasing Fili and obliging him in a dance. As Thorin observed the scene, he couldn't tell if you were reciprocating Filis advancements, if you were even interested-

She would make a loyal friend and a fine wife.

Another pint of mead went angrily down Thorins throat.

He wouldn't think anymore on this matter. Or try not to. After dinner it would be expected of him to bring you back with the group to Erebor, to the sleeping quarters of the dwarves.

Dwalin had engaged in the festivities, but the looks Thorin gave you did not go unnoticed. Balin and Bard shared a glance of amusement and secrecy. Bard would never force you to get with his friend, and he even detested the idea. Perhaps he had wished to poke fun as Thorin. But Balin, oh, Balin would readily marry you two. And if it took some work, so be it. Thorin, as Balin knew, needed someone to be there for him emotionally, someone he could open up to. You obviously had a way of picking up on silent ques, which intimidated those who catched that talent of yours. Such as Fili, Glóin Balin, Dwalin, and of course, Thorin. Just because some of the dwarves were idiots didn't mean all of them were.

A sigh left the dwarf leaders mouth as he mindlessly kept an eyes on the windows and doors, his natural instinct to be on guard surfacing as he witness his friends getting drunk as all hell. Cheers echoed out of the dining hall, a late night ahead for both those drinking and those watching on in disdain. . .

Hope y'all enjoyed <333 part 2 will be out at some point :DD

[itsonlydana]

"passenger princess" | chapter one

the hobbit | a modern!AU by itsonlydana

❱ pairing: Thranduil x fem!reader

❱ wordcount: 2,9k

❱ summary: the chaotic mess of playing monopoly drunk with your best friends

❱ warnings: alcohol

❱ an: the first chapter.. excited for you to read this! This has been heavily edited from my ao3 post soo have fun <3

general m.list + series m.list

🌿 reposts and comments are appreciated, they motivate me a lot - especially with longer projects <3

CHAPTER ONE: MONOPOLY

"Oh, would you look at that; you landed on my street. Again."

"What? No fucking way."

"Legolas"

"Gimli"

"Blondie, if I don't see my money in ten seconds I'm cutting your hair while you have your beauty sleep."

"No, you wouldn't dare!"

Across from Legolas, Gimli just flashed him a toothy grin, so wide and full of mischief, before leaning over the multitude of cards in front of him with a challenging tip of his head.

"Try me."

"Fine." Legolas drummed his fingers on the table, breaking the staring contest and waving it off like it had never bothered him. "Don't drag it out any further, Gimli, tell me what I owe you, and let me go my way."

For a moment Gimli pretended he had to look for them, but everyone at the table had noticed how his fingers had twitched for the green card as soon as Legolas had rolled the dice.

"You ended up on Oxford Street, which normally would've only cost you $26, but since I have not one, not two, but three houses, you now owe me a wonderful 900!"

And as in previous rounds, Legolas now quite unemotionally pulled two orange paper bills from his carefully sorted, rather tall, stack and received an already slightly worn 100 in exchange, which he accepted with a bitter grumble.

This exchange had happened so many times this evening that you now only rolled your eyes with a smile at the banter, sipping on your bottle of beer to avoid being drawn into the discussion in the first place.

The rivalry between Legolas and Gimli, playful in its purest form and with not an ounce of real bad blood, had become a permanent part of your life after you befriended the two of them.

Although it had slightly thrown you off at first how they went from harmless conversation to competition in seconds, you couldn't imagine your life without it.

In such a fast-paced modern world as this, you sometimes found it hard to hold on to friendships and avoid losing your grip in the swift whirl of time; in the case of many friendships that were strong at the time, you couldn't even remember if there had been a real goodbye, or if they had simply... disappeared - left behind or run ahead, who knew?

With Legolas and Gimli, however, it was different.

You met both of them on the first day of college, had run into both of them, literally, when you tried to get to your first class on time.

A class with a professor you'd only heard bad things about Visitor's Day. The hushed whispers of scared students, their eyes telling you more than what they actually dared to say on campus.

You were close to being punctual, wouldn't it have been for Legolas and Gimli. The duo stood in front of the closed lecture door, simply staring through the tiny window and looking like they would rather perish than actually open it.

Their looks of fear mirrored yours and it was clear that all three of you had heard the stories of students getting their heads ripped of by Professor Sauron. That man had strong feelings about tardiness– and it was only your first day.

You of course rushed to apologize, babbling that you hadn't seen Gimli, and no, it wasn't because of his size but rather due to your lack of attention, and please could they stay on your side when you go into the hell of public humiliation?

By some wonder the Professor had his back turned to the auditorium to fill the blackboard with the required reading list, as you snuck along the stairs and miraculously dropped into the last three empty seats without getting caught.

And when you had breathed a sigh of relief, the brunette who sat on your right passed you the attendance list he had kept with him a little while longer, as if he had suspected that someone else would be late.

That's how you met Aragorn. The ruggedly handsome brunette added to your trio and was conveniently organized enough to lend you and Gimli a pen for the first week.

From day one, you formed an inseparable unit, whether on campus, in the numerous bars you frequented, or in the parks where you often spent your free time - rarely were any of you seen without the others and you would never hear the others utter one single bad word about the other.

You practically did everything together, from classes, many of which you shared – often to the annoyance of professors and fellow students due to the vibrant and occasionally noisy atmosphere you created– to lunches lounging under the campus's shady trees, with Aragorn reading poems from his literature class, and you occupied with braiding Gimli's long-grown beard while Legolas dozed in the longing stares of bypassers, gossiping and flirting.

On weekdays before exams, you either barricaded yourselves in your tiny dorm room, for it was the closest to the library, quizzing each other up and down the subjects, writing flashcards, most of which you wrote, to give to Legolas and Gimli afterward, and after exams, you forced your way into bar after bar, leaving your marks in benches and stools, squeezing into cramped photo booths in brightly lit clubs.

The first trimester passed swiftly, much like the initial semesters of the second, which you were presently struggling to handle.

It was the college life that everyone probably dreamed of, that every movie romanticized, and even you sometimes couldn't believe how perfect everything was.

Certainly, not every exam resulted in a perfect score and not every day was adorned with rose-colored glasses of happiness perched on your nose.

Yet, be it a poorly performed test, a date lacking sparks, or a random low point, your boys stood steadfastly by your side, offering unwavering support.

Today was no different.

The day had started with you waking to the sun and not your alarm clock and getting your ass handed by Professor Sauron.

It continued with some pretty demotivating feedback on an essay you'd worked many late nights by your Herbology Professor Baggins.

He did offer you a pat on the back that probably meant to cheer you up but felt condescending considering the amount of red ink staining the essay you'd crumbled in sweaty hands.

Adding that to Professor Sauron's embarrassment of you in front of the entire class sank your already low spirits to the basement.

Not even Aragorn's consoling hand, which remained steadfastly by your side throughout the day, guiding you from one class to the next, mumbling soft words and trying to cheer you up with soft kisses to your forehead, could lift you out of this emotional abyss.

How you survived that day was a mystery but after eight hours of you pouring out bad energy like radioactive waves, Legolas must've had enough of your moping and the grim expressions you fired at anyone who shouldered you in the hallway.

With a determined, "We're going to my place," the blonde had put his pep talk plan consisting of a trip to the liquor section of the supermarket and an order from the delivery guy into action.

It was this very plan that had gotten you into your current situation.

Slightly drunk at the kitchen table of the House of Oropherion.

A Monopoly board in front of your nose, around it several empty beer bottles. Pizza boxes scattered on the countertops and bags of all sorts of sweet stuff that Legolas had sweepingly pushed from the shelves into the shopping cart, blowing pink bubble gum bubbles.

The guy seriously had a snack-problem and a spending habit that surely made for a good intervention.

Within a few hours, you had turned the otherwise pristine and tidy kitchen into a battlefield that looked a lot like the one in your dorm.

Whereas the one in the dorm was used by twenty young women and many of their partners, and this one just by four.

Just as in the dorm, loud laughter echoed through the entire house, accompanied by your shared playlist.

Legolas had set it playing on the expensive stereo while preparing his snack bowl.

It was a chaotic mix, Legolas pop music, Gimlis folk metal and Aragorns indie rock while you sprinkled in a few classical songs or added whatever else was missing.

Quietly, you hummed along to the hottest chart song of this summer.

Your spirits had risen by now, thanks to your best friends, even if it did look like they were about to go for each other's throats over a denied exchange of a road.

"My Lady," Aragorn interrupted the rising argument between Legolas and Gimli and held out his hand with the dice to you, "Please stop this madness and continue the round so we can finish this eventually.. hopefully today"

Grinning, you accepted the dice, "I will do my best, my lord," while Gimli muttered into his beard, "Not my fault Barbie isn't giving me what's rightfully mine."

As expected, the idiots fell silent as soon as you gave the dice a quick shake in your closed hands and then tossed them across the table with a clatter.

Of course, in the face of eventual earnings, everyone immediately calculated where you would end up and who might rip off what little money was left in front of you.

Two threes.

And everyone groaned in annoyance.

Only you grinned as you dragged your silver dog figure across the Park Lane and Mayfair field decorated with a few of Legolas hotels, right over GO and landed on your own field.

Another round where you survived on the 200 notes from pulling over GO, anxious not to land on one of the hotel fields from the others.

Because, unlike the others, greedy little hoarders who acquired your properties, swindling you with meager donations, you possessed only the two modest brown streets, yielding little profit.

With each move of yours, the others hoped you would finally end up on one of their plots and finally be eliminated, but as if fate would have it, you seemed to be avoiding it just fine.

"And she lives another round," Aragorn raised his beer bottle in your direction and winked "Any bets on how many more you'll survive?"

You snorted as you shook the dice in your hand again. "You're not getting rid of me that fast."

The dice clattered across the board, two ones and loud rumbling from the boys, you moved to the community chest square laughing.

Reaching across the board, you grabbed the top card of the cards and dramatically pulled it up to your chest.

To your left, Legolas drummed his fingers impatiently on the table, and even though Aragorn has so far stayed away from the competition between Legolas and Gimli, he too now nodded his chin questioningly at the card.

At an almost agonizingly slow pace, you turned it over, keeping eye contact with your boys for a while, though, before looking down, skimming the printed text, and laughing out loud.

"What does it say?" Legolas inquired, trying to lean toward you, dark eyebrows raised questioningly.

"Geez, tell me it's a bad card."

"You can decide that for yourself, Gimli," chuckling, you held out your card in such a way that the three of them almost bumped heads, so fast were they bending to the center.

"You've got to be kidding me," Aragorn slumped back in his chair with a moan, and Gimli slammed his hands flat on his thighs, cursing a string of words that in their pure filthy form would make anyone else blush.

You were only spurred on by them, and laughter burst out of you, loud and full of glee.

"I'd like a hundred from each of you right now, it's my birthday after all," you smirked, holding out your hand.

Aragorn was the first to put a bill on it, and even Gimli, though he stressed that he would get it back before you ran out of laughter, handed over something from his well-guarded account.

"Laaas, what am I waiting for? A birthday song?" you asked.

Legolas raised a perfect eyebrow and slid you a bill looking so bored that you almost bought it, "You can wait a long time for a song."

"For the chance to hear your voice dedicate a song to me, I'd wait a thousand years," you sang, winking with a sugary smile on your lips.

"Or I'd just watch the recordings from last night's karaoke, I'd even get a love song from you as a gift," dramatically you grabbed your chest with both hands and threw your head back

"And wouldn't that be oh so romantic?"

"Please," he scoffed, "If I'd really tried you'd be on your knees in seconds. Babe, I have charm."

For a moment you manage to pulled yourself together, looking into Legolas' eyes, holding his challenging gaze from which you didn't know to interpret if he truly believed his statements himself.

Then you heard Gimli's dirty laugh.

The redhead hands hit the table so hard that several of the hotels flew in all directions, and with them your composure.

With a rather unfeminine snort, you threw yourself backward in your chair, your head craned back and your arms folded in front of your stomach; there was no saving you from the laughter that bubbled out of you like hot water on a stove.

"Your charm?" you gasped, trying to blink away the tears in your eyes.

Unsuccessfully, because when you saw Legolas stand up indignantly and toss his blond hair over his shoulder, the tears flew unstoppably down your cheeks.

Sure, you were aware of what a charming man Legolas could be; you were teasing, not blind.

It took nothing to perceive him for what he was, and that was a flawless beauty. That angelic face, long blond-gold hair flowing over his shoulder, and eyes ever so gentle, marked him a natural beauty and unfortunately, you couldn't deny that what came out of his mouth most of the time made most men and women's hearts swell.

You were friends with him, though, and the idea of being even remotely touched by his charm made you laugh beyond control.

And you heard all the bullshit the guy yapped about when there was no one around he wanted to impress.

"What?" Legolas asked, and in his voice, a challenge that, voiced by the beer, didn't bode well, "I don't want to sound too arrogant" –snickering from the three of you– "go fuck yourselves, I'm charming! I'm sure, oh I bet, that you would fall for it!"

And before you would have objected much, he took a big swig from his bottle and slid down from his chair.

Right in front of you.

Onto his knees.

It was the look of firm conviction in his eyes, the way he reached for your hand and gently held it like it was made of cracked glass against his chest, that made your laughter turn into a silly giggle.

Legolas, even though he was swaying a bit and his words were no longer flowing too loosely from his tongue, was a sight you wouldn't any time soon. "My darling friend, whose attention I do not deserve–"

"Now that's what I call true words," grunted Gimli, who had also leaned back in the meantime and received a punishing look from Legolas before the blond turned back to you.

"–whose attention I don't deserve and that yet has me blossoming, like the first flowers reaching out to the sun, for you are the light in my life. Everything that connects us tugs at my heart, it cries out for more and I'm afraid I can no longer remain silent about my feelings"

Ironically, at that very moment, he paused, seemed lost in thought and stroked the back of your hand with his thumb.

Not that it helped him really.

But you waited patiently nonetheless, letting Legolas continue to play the role of the poet.

He looked back at you from the far distance in which his gaze had become playfully entangled, and you saw the twitch of his lips, the sign of a cheeky grin he tried to keep down.

It didn't matter what words made him fight the grin, though, Legolas didn't get to say them.

Thanks to the music, which had faded into the background but still sounded through the sound system, as well as your group's silly fooling around and never-ending laughter, you hadn't heard the front door unlock, or the footsteps in the hallway.

It wasn't until an amused-sounding "Oh, am I interrupting?" rang out in a very familiar voice behind you that you became aware of the new presence in the room.

Immediately, the hairs on the back of your neck stood up, the deep voice rolling over your entire body like sweet honey.

You heard Aragorn laugh, a murmured, "You've lost your girl, Las," and the blonde in front of you groaned as he struggled to his feet.

"Great, wow, I was literally so close to getting her around. Thank you so much, Ada," Legolas scoffed.

You followed his gaze, eyes falling onto the man casually leaning against the kitchen counter.

And your heart jumped inside your chest.

taglist: @mushroomemeralds @mssuguru @solartoge

[madwomansapologist]

Autumn Thunderstorm | Chapter 4 - Letters, letters, letters

Navigation | Series Masterlist | AO3

series synopsis: Thranduil thought the recent attack of spiders on a periphery village was the only thing deserving of his attencion. If he could've imagined what he would found there, who he would found there, the Elvenking would wait a millenia in front of that river so he could see her sooner. Or: how Gandalf managed to keep a secret for 14 months.

forth chapter synopsis: Letters are vessels capable of conveying so much. From the concern with survival, to the regret of having left. Letters speak of the most varied emotions, contain the most intrinsic truths, and are always written with someone in mind. It's a problem when that letter is read by the wrong person. But what can happens when it's read by right one? [3K]

warnings: female!reader. lotr kinda of violence. pre-Smaug. trauma.

glossary: Lossëistar: Ice Mage┆Maenwë: Clever girl┆Dôl gîn lost: Empty head┆Pedig edhellen?: Do you speak Elvish?┆Na lû e-govaned vîn: Until the time of our meeting

It was not his intention. Truly.

Saruman wandered through the halls of Rivendell, the last homely house east of the sea, with a simple purpose in mind: to find Gandalf. Within two weeks, it was about time Saruman travelled back to Isengard. It was time to say goodbye. And to advice a friend.

Gandalf was always found of travelling, but for Saruman’s sake he must stay there.

Saruman knows about the power he wields over others. His reputation works as a shield from doubts and apprehensions. Saruman the White. If he says the sky is green people will explore all options before cogitating he might be lying. 

His reputation precedes him, and that is why Saruman knows that Gandalf will hear him. Because that is what Gandalf always does.

At Gandalf’s chamber, Saruman waited. And waited.

Radagast is the protector of Nature, but Saruman can recognize the singing of doves just as well. And when he found the pearly feathered bird pecking at the closed window, it took Saruman a glance to see the letter attached to it.

No one could accuse that little dove of not doing her best. Even Saruman could sense its tiredness. While untying the paper from its back, Saruman caressed their delicate wings. It was not sealed. How could he not read a letter that was not even sealed?

Reading the too familiar calligraphy, those words answered his prayers. A warg bit you. Saruman ignored completely what Aerin wrote about the Elvenking or the dam stumbling. A warg bit you. And you were unconscious. Unresponsive. 

A placid smile took over Saruman’s frigid face.

A miracle. You finally will die. And as soon as it happens, as soon as Gandalf discovers that it happened, their problems will end. No more lies for them to worry about. Radagast will stop searching for new ways to cure you. Their past mistakes will not matter anymore. Everything will be normal again.

And Saruman will have great news to report to Sauron.

He knew better than to count with a possible victory. You will die, but if Gandalf discovers what happened he may find a way to save you. Sentimentalist as always, Radagast would come back to meddle in the problems. And that simply cannot be.

It was not his intention to intercept the letter, but it was to burn it to ashes. Did Saruman’s intentions ever mattered before?

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In haste to avail the end the sunset, you closed the stable doors and locked them with chains. They were heavy, but not that much. You entered the inn through the back doors and went up to your room, grabbed the basked by your bed and hurried to your hideout.

Without giving anyone the time to question what you are doing, you made your way to the forest. Perhaps it is insensitive of you, but you do not want to be disturbed.

You followed a familiar path to the clearing, a part of the forest where the trees thin. It was like the vegetation was mowed down by a divine force. As if someone from above decided to gift you the perfect hiding place.

It was the perfect place to read, alone with old myths and new words. The perfect place to forget about your misery and enjoy something for a while.

But when you sat amongs the roots of an orange tree and grabbed your book, your heart collapsed. The cover tore. Not much, only on the edge, but that made you realize it will last forever. One day it will tore, tarnish, dampen. One day the ink will fade, the words will blurry, the drawings will become thin.

And you will be left alone. Again.

“Dôl gîn lost,” you murmured to yourself. Empty head. “Why cannot you just learn?”

You should have know better. You should have know he would not stay. Thranduil is a king. He lived more than you could ever understand, saw places in this world that you cannot even imagine, know people way more interesting then a girl without memories.

Of course he would go home. Would forget to say goobye. Would not care enough to say goobye.

Why cannot you just hate him? It would be so much easier if you did. If you just despised him. At least you would be able to feel something completely. But what can you do with those complicated feelings? With all the happiness you felt with him, with that rage from being alone again, with that grief? Because it is grief. What hurts more is not that he left, you understand that. You really do. What hurts more is that he will never come back.

You finally had a friend. Not someone you had any sort of debt to pay, that saw you when you could not understand the most basic of things. One that simply appeared on a random night, and that now is gone. What should you do with those feelings? Where do you put them?

“Lossëistar?” It startled you, but you recognized the voice. “So I am not the only one that knows this place.”

He wore his golden armor, his limp wrist resting against the hilt of his sword. People say he is a good warrior, you never saw him fighting. The only thing you saw was his wit. You admire people that know what to say.

“Gildor,” you waved to him. Your smile was wider than usual, to disguise your watercolor eyes. “I thought you went back.”

“Not yet,” said Gildor. “I thought you would never walk into a forest again. Not after everything that happened.”

“If you get hurt on your house, would you never comeback to it?” You arched your eyebrows. “It was not a forest that bit me, it was a warg.”

Gildor approached, walking towards you. With a warm smile, he nodded in agreement. “You are right. It is still a brave choice, if you permit me.” 

You never noticed it before, but there is something yellow about him. Something warm. It is nice to have him around. Someone that for a second can make you forget about the all those contradictory feelings.

“I do,” your tone was arrogant, but not your face. Gildor laughed. “And may I ask why you are here? If you permit me.”

Gildor opened his mouth to answer you, but his eyes fell to the book between your hands. “Do you speak elvish?”

“Pedig edhellen?” you murmured to yourself. Do you speak elvish? The words just echoed in your mind. “I am learning.”

“Alone?”

“Now, yes. Alone,” you licked your lips. “The Elvenking taught me a little bit.”

Gildor became stiff, almost vigilant. “He is so noble,” he told you. “It may seen naive, but I always thought that those great masters hated each other.”

“Do you mean Elrond hates Thranduil?”

“Mirkwood is know as a dark, tenebrous place. And Rivendell is… Look around. It is a paradise. I was naive to imagine that they would envy and hate one another. The Elvenking would not protect this realm if they did.”

You blinked. “What are you talking about?”

“Rivendell is under attack. Spider nests, orcs regrouping, even wargs,” Gildor looked away from you. “Before you woke up, Thranduil promised Varla he would annihilate every single one of those insects. That is why he left suddenly.”

If Gildor screamed at you, if he worshiped a forgotten god, if he talked with a bewitched shadow: you would not notice it.

Thranduil promised that? He put himself in danger, his army in danger, to help people that are not under his rule. He did something so brave, so dangerous, and why? Why did he promised that?

Oh.

It was before you had woke up. For you, it felt like a heavy sleep. Luthien said no one knew if you would wake up. No one knew if you would survive. Aerin said she knew, but she hugged you tightly.

That was the reason? Did he promised that almost as a deal with Varla? Did Thranduil feared that you would not wake up and decided that perhaps something great as defending a kingdom, something kind as protecting people that he did not need to, would make the gods look out for you? Did he cared that much?

Sinking deeper and deeper into your mind, rocked by your thoughts as if they were music, you were unaware to how could you felt. Thinking about Thranduil, regretting entered that damned meadow, a thick layer of ice joined your body to the roots. Talking to Gildor, the mist escaping your mouth was ignored completely.

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“If there is no moving on...”

A scarlet glow shone through the murky night. Sparks leaps into the air, a dark cloud spread for miles, and the world shrunk into itself. No seas, skies or mountains. No animals, civilizations. The only thing that mattered in the whole world was that forest. And it was on fire.

Motionless on the grass, Thranduil could only watch it. He was nothing but a witness. Someone useless, frozen in space and time. Frozen in a distant, blurry memory. Trapped in a old nightmare.

It is a recurring one. Every night the same dream. Again, and again, and again. A forest fire, a useless witness, chronic pain climbing up his face. And then Thranduil wakes up. A recurring nightmare, a repetitive torture, that always left him with a itched face and moist eyes.

The clock is ticking just as it always have done, but at night seconds turn into millenniums. Thranduil’s futures fades, his past come back to haunt him. Possibilities decreasing, regrets mounting, time stretching. Surrounded by fire, Thranduil relives once again his worst memory.

Thranduil could not get near the fire. Even if it was possible to extinguish it, he would not. He would never. Because he can feel the warmth. The stench of old wood. And if he walks towards the fire, if he feels it against his skin, then it would mean that it is happening again.

And Thranduil would rather die.

Because when that happened, at the time this memory was his present, a part of him died in order for him to survive. He will not lose more.

The never saw before. The fire suddenly vanished.

Mist enveloped him. For a second Thranduil thought it was raining. When he looked down, he saw snowflakes melting against his skin. Like at the beginning of the season, when the first snow falls.

And when Thranduil looked at the forest again, the scarlet glow was replaced by a denim brightness. Sparks flying turned into falling snow. He could see the sky, the stars, the mountains so far away. You.

Every leaf that brushed against your hand, every stone that got in your way, every tiny breath you take: everything froze. Ice was spread along with your steps. And for the first time in a long time, he heard the end of the sentence that haunted him for eons. You whispered softly: “…then why are you running away?”

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Thranduil woke up boiling under the sheets. He clutched his chest in a vain attempt of calming his heart. It was only when his feet touched the cold ground that he remembered everything.

Thranduil remembered he is in the main tent of the camp set up to chase spider nests. He remembered it has been days since he tracked those insects and started to fulfill the promise of annihilating them one by one. Thranduil remembered the fire. And the ice.

The things Thranduil had denied to himself since the day he started this campaign came back to haunt his mind.

The white fabric, thick enough to protect him from the cold, covered the dark sky that surrounded his little army. And protect by it, with his privacy guaranteed, Thranduil ran to his table. And this time he did not convinced himself that it was the wrong choice, he just grabbed the letter-paper.

It has been days since Thranduil first wished to write to you. He already knew what to write. Every morning Thranduil imagined all the things he would say to you. Every hunt Thranduil imagined how you would answer him. Every night Thranduil feared how you would react.

But he never wrote.

He told himself it was a mistake. How could he write to you after that bitter farewell? You must regret ever meeting him. And Thranduil don’t blame you. He would do the same damn thing if a friend traveled without caring to say goodbye.

As it turns out, Thranduil is too old to be so easily deceived. Deep down he knew that was not the reason for him to not write for you. You may regret him. That is what he would do. And exactly because of that, Thranduil knows that this is not the reality. You are kinder than he would ever be.

You do not hold any grudge against Aerin. Thranduil heard her not calling you by your name, not letting you rest, telling you to go to the place that almost killed. And you do not hate her. Worse: you do not hate him. Thranduil spend every single hour of your unconscious hating himself. He could not protect you. He could not save you. You trusted him, you took his hand into yours. He killed that warg. Did it changed anything? Did that make his bite disappear, your blood stop spreading in the meadow, the sparkle come back to your eyes? And you thanked him when he gave you water.

So, no. Thranduil did not wrote for you, but not because he he knew you hated him. Not because of your reaction. Your despise. Your indifference. Thranduil did not wrote for you, and because he was afraid.

If he writes, it means that he was wrong. It means that he is the one regretting how things ended. He did not wished for a melancholic last memory and that only made it worse. That made Thranduil look heartless. And he does not want you to think about him like that.

Thranduil never wrote for you. Until now.

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Lady,

I hope your days have been peaceful thus far. How is your recovery going? Luthien is a talented healer, I assure you she only does the best for your health. If something is ever needed, no matter what it is, I certainly can provide it for you. I sincerely wish you an uncomplicated improvement.

I am glad I left. At south of Rivendell, following the tracks of those worms that returned to haunt this land, my army and I do good to many. I cannot help but to wonder how many would have suffered, but did not because of our campaign. To leave was the right decision, a noble way to reciprocate how well my people were treated at Rivendell. Still, my mind comes back to our farewell.

It was selfish of me to not gave you an appropriate farewell. I did not wish for a last memory. For a last moment. I wanted our last memory to be one of our lessons. A last memory filled with joy. An selfish act, was it not?

My farewell — or the lack of it — was not meant to hurt you. I really did not aimed at your heart. But I guess this is not enough. Great intentions mostly are not enough.

I hope you are well. I hope you are recovering without any inconveniences. And I hope you do not regret ever meeting me.

Na lû e-govaned vîn,

Thranduil Oropherion.

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It took you three hours of research to translate it. Soon you understood that your book was not enough. In the middle of the night, you ran to the library and dove between dictionaries.

You could have asked someone to translate it for you, but that letter was yours. Only yours. You felt jealous thinking about someone seeing his handwriting. About someone touching the scented paper. Someone reading his words. That letter was meant for your eyes. Only for them.

Na lû e-govaned vîn. To the time of our meeting.

[Fifth Chapter]

GENERAL TAGLIST: @suakemi @notanalienindisguiseblink

AUTUMN THUNDERSTORM: @ferns-fics @notanalienindisguiseblink @rayrlupin @elvyshiarieko @graniairish

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

[curiouselleth]

I'm very behind on my dash right now so if you've answered these already, please just ignore me! but:

🔥 barbecue: who is the worst antagonist?

💿 leitmotifs and orchestras: which of the films songs (Howard Shore or singer) is your favourite?

Hi, thanks for the ask @tathrin! (I haven’t got these ones yet)

🔥 barbecue: who is the worst antagonist?

Oh that’s a good one, hmmm, honestly I kinda want to say Thranduil in the hobbit movies, because he’s not like That, and they made him much more of an antagonist than he should’ve been, even if you think him capturing the dwarves was unjust. Like yeah, he wasn’t a direct ally to the dwarves but he wasn’t a villain or anything. I tend to see him as a king who cares so deeply about his people, and just wants to protect them, he wouldn’t start a war over some jewels after loosing his childhood home over a conflict over jewels in the second kinslaying. (Sorry I have a lot of thoughts about Thranduil I love his character)

💿 leitmotifs and orchestras: which of the films songs (Howard Shore or singer) is your favourite?

Concerning Hobbits or Into the West. I love the lightness, the calm and happiness of Concerning Hobbits, really all of the songs in the shire, they have such a peace to them.

I love Into the West too because it’s so bittersweet, it’s so beautiful, all of it, the music, the lyrics, the imagery of the lyrics, all of it. It always makes me tear up at the end of Return of the King. It feels like a final goodbye to the elves. (I really like the Last Goodbye for similar reasons, and that one usually makes me tear up or cry a little at the end of botfa too)

Thanks for the ask, I really enjoyed these ones!!! 💖