#what would this thranduilion do

[sotwk]

Hi! For What Would This Thranduilion Do? what would Turhir do if someone wanted to ask him to dance with them but were really shy and kept stuttering while asking?

Turhir has been my favorite of the Thranduilion brothers! I love your seeing your writing on my feed! Thanks!

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"If someone wanted to ask him to dance with them but were really shy and kept stuttering while asking..."

What Would Turhir Thranduilion Do?

SotWK Fancast: Sam Heughan as Prince Turhir Thranduilion

Turhir is no stranger to people acting nervous around him. His entire life, he has always been the most intimidating-looking one of the Thranduilion princes, due to his great size and stern demeanor. This serves him well in his military duties, but has negatively affected his success at social events, especially next to his charismatic family members.

Someone approaching him to ask him to dance would require a lot of courage, a quality that would instantly catch his notice and earn his respect.

The stuttering would make him smile, not because he thinks it's funny, but because he finds it endearing. As a child, he too was shy, awkward, and self-conscious, so he would understand the struggle.

Turhir appears a hundred times gentler when he smiles, so hopefully that breaks the ice. If not, a courteous bow and a softly spoken, "It would be my honor," before he takes her hand and leads her to the floor, would do the trick.

Prince Turhir, who moves with a warrior's precision and grace, is a very good dancer--but in formal partner dances only, the kind where steps are pre-learned. While he doesn't spontaneously dance in events such as festivals, he enjoys balls and having quiet one-on-one time with people. Slow dances are his comfort zone; even the intimate aspects of it don't faze him.

He would take the opportunity to speak to his dance partner and get to know her better, as he would be especially intrigued by any maiden who gathered up the courage to ask him.

Royal protocol discourages the Princes from dancing with the same partner twice in one night, so as much as Turhir would wish to dance with the lady again, he is not one to flout the rules.

He would, however, discreetly ask for a chance to spend more time with her, perhaps for a private moment outside the ballroom, later in the evening. (Princely duties require he mingle with as many attendees as possible.) Or, if he decides he enjoys the special lady's company, he would not hesitate to seek her out the following day.

No maiden need be shy or scared of asking any of Thranduil's sons to dance, since they are all far too courteous to turn anyone down. There's nothing to lose and everything to gain from the experience! :)

This "What Would This Thranduilion Do" game was part of SotWK's Summer Campfire Sleepover 2024.

[asumi2020202]

Things I never felt before

Pairing: Legolas Thranduilion x reader

Summary: You are Legolas' lover, he courted you before you both left to destroy the one ring. You are a healer who is needed almost all the times and a motherly figure to the hobbits.

A/n: My Lotr/Hobbit obsession has again started after I saw my husband, Legolas, in a youtube video. Anyways, Thank you for reading!

______________ฅ⁠^⁠•⁠ﻌ⁠•⁠^⁠ฅ___________________

The Fellowship had been assembled. Tens companions in total. Aragorn, the son of Arathorn. Legolas, son of Thranduil. Gimli, son of Gloin. The four hobbits- Frodo, the ring bearer, Sam, Merry and Pippin. Gandalf the Grey. Boromir, son of the Steward of Gondor.

And..Y/n, daughter of Lord Elrond. The only female.. Lover of Legolas Thranduilion....

Her father didn't want her to join, thinking she would get hurt. But her abilities, knowledge and skill is something that the Fellowship required.

The elves of Rivendell were sailing off to the Undying lands. Yet she told her father she would not. She would stay with Legolas.

The Fellowship left Rivendell after bidding goodbye. Arwen almost did cry to see her little sister go on a dangerous quest, she felt a bit of peace as she knew her sister had someone to protect her.

And so...their journey began....

_________________________________________

The fellowship were aiming for the gap of Rohan. After a while of walking the mountains they had stopped near a pile of giant rocks, some of which even looked as if they are stacked.

You handed a plate of food to Sam to give to Frodo. The others had already eaten. After doing so you blew out the fire and sat next to Frodo and watched Merry and Pippin train while Legolas was looking out for any enemies.

"One. Two. Good!" Boromir said, sword clanging against another.

"You got good Pippin" Merry said to Pippin.

"Thanks"

"Move your feet" Aragorn said.

Frodo looked at you and smiled.

"Ah!" Pippin squealed

"Sorry!" Boromir said. The two young hobbits tackled him on the ground as the three of you watched.

"hold him!" "For the shire!"

You gently laughed as you saw the two hobbits tackle Aragorn who tried to help Boromir. Aragorn groaned as fell on the ground as well.

Pippin got up and ran to you.

"Y/n I've got a cut on my finger. It hurts." He looked at you with his adorable little Hobbit eyes which melted your heart.

"Ah.. come with me, I will put some medicine." You led the little Hobbit to where the fire once was.

You were putting a healing balm on his hand. You turned your head and saw Legolas jump from one rock to another and stand on a giant boulder.

You finished applying the medicine and smile at Pippin as he runs to Merry. You got up from the ground and stand near Legolas.

Him standing on a boulder gave him better view whilst you stood on the ground, adjusting you satchel. You were shorter than Legolas too which gives him the tall height advantage.

"What's that?" One of the members asked.

"Oh nothing it's just a wisp of clouds." Came Gimli's reply.

"It's moving fast.. against the wind.." Boromir said, getting up from the ground with Merry and Pippin.

"Crebain from Dunland!" Legolas shouted.

"Hide!" Aragorn shouted.

"Hurry. Frodo.." you said as you guided Sam and Frodo to cover.

As crebains flew away, everyone got out from their hideout.

"Spies of ... Saruman! The passage south is being watched. We must take the path of caradhras." Said Gandalf.

You looked at Legolas as he gently held your hand.

_________________________________________

The path of Caradhras was difficult. Thick snow, extreme cold, heavy snowfall. Elves do not mind cold very much but the others do. So you and Legolas walked in the front.

You, Legolas and the others got stuck in the snow when a huge chunk of snow fell from above.

You helped Sam out of the snow and then got out yourself. Sam went to Boromir's side.

"There is fell voice on the air" said Legolas.

"It's Saruman!" Shouted Gandalf.

"He's trying to bring down the mountains" Aragorn said as well.

Gandalf started to chant a spell in Imladris to try and stop. But alas it did not work.

It was decided that the fellowship would go through the Mines of Moria. It was chosen by Frodo.

_________________________________________

Gimli sat down a bit away from the door. The Door of Moria was yet to open. Gandalf had tried all the password that he could come up with but it didn't work.

You and Legolas sat on a log. The two of you braided each other's hair. You saw Gandalf sigh of defeat. Legolas got up and walked around to see any incoming danger.

You went to Gandalf and stood in front of the door before looking at Gandalf. He looked at you.

"It is riddle......" You said.

"A riddle you say?" He replied.

"Mellōn" you said as the doors opened the Hobbits running towards you at once.

The events that occurred after that...were too cruel for all of you...

_________________________________________

The hobbits were shedding tears. Gimli was trying to get back in the mine but Boromir didn't let him. You sat on a boulder, unable to accept the reality like Legolas.

"Get them up Legolas, Y/n." Aragorn spoke to you and Legolas. Legolas came up to you and placed his hand on your back. You looked up from the ground to his eyes. He could see the pain in your eyes, for he too feels it.

"Give them a moment for pity's sake!" Boromir shouted.

"By nightfall these hills will be swarming with orcs. We must make for the woods of Lothlorien." Reasoned Aragorn.

"Come, Boromir, Legolas, Gimli, Y/n get them up." Aragorn said as walked up to Sam and held him up.

You got up from the boulder and gave Legolas a nod, after which you went to the hobbits, asking if anyone got injured.

_________________________________________

You and Legolas were close to eachother. Fingers intertwined as you walked through the woods. Aragorn was leading the way.

"I have the eyes of a hawk and the ears of a fox." Said Gimli as he almost got himself pierced by an arrow of a Lothlorian guard.

"A dwarve breathes so loud, we would've shot him in the dark" Said Haldir, an old acquaintance.

_________________________________________

"Mae g'ovannen Legolas Thranduilion, Y/n Elerondiel." Said Haldir. Welcome Legolas, son of Thranduilion, Y/n, daughter of Elrond.

"Ah, Aragorn in Dunedain. Istannen le ammen." Oh, Aragorn of Dúnedain. You are known to us. Haldir spoke, turning to Aragorn.

"Haldir." Aragorn greeted him.

"So much for the legendary courtesy of elves! Speak words we can all understand!" Spoke Gimli, annoyed because he couldn't understand what was being spoken.

Haldir simply turned to Gimli and spoke.

"We have not had dealings with the dwarves since the dark days."

"And you know what this dwarves says to that? Ishkhaqwi ai durugnul!" I spit on your grave.

"That was not so courteous" Aragorn intervened.

Haldir looked at Fellowship and then to Frodo.

"You bring great evil here.... You can go no further."

_________________________________________

You sat like the rest of the Fellowship while Legolas stood. Aragorn trying to convince Haldir to let you all stay the night.

Frodo saw Legolas look at him as the others looked at him too. He felt guilty. As if they are blaming him.

Frodo got up and went to you. He came to you and sat beside you as you opened your arms. He came in and laid his head on your chest as you hummed. He looked up in the sky and then closed his eyes.

Legolas saw you two cuddled up. He felt warm at the scene. Many would feel jealous at the sight of their lover with someone else but Legolas felt love for you grow further.

You and Frodo looked like mother and son. You ran you fingers through his head and held him close like a mother would.

Legolas smiled a little seeing you both. He imagined how it would be when the two of you would have children together.

_________________________________________

Night had fallen. Most of the Fellowship had gotten fallen asleep. Aragorn was with Boromir.

You and Legolas were in your sleeping place. He had re-braided your hair and you were currently doing his.

You ran your fingers through his hair, trying to untangle any knots.

"Melēth nin, what would do after all of this is over?" You asked him.

"Ah..... The first thing I would do is to marry you. I would still need to think of what to do next." He replied.

His reply made you blush a bit. The sad atmosphere lifting up a bit.

"I would have a big family with you, nin melēth. I imagine it every time I see you with the little hobbits. You would make an excellent mother to our little elflings." He continued.

Your ears had turned pink. You laughed gently as you finished braiding his hair. He got up from the ground and went to your side.

He sat down beside you and kissed you passionately. It was slow but filled with deep love.

Elves love once. They love slow but when they do, they love hard.

After a minute, his lips seperated yours. Your lungs felt empty before you inhaled air.

He laid down and patted the place beside him. You went to his side and laid your head on his chest.

Soon after you drifted off to sleep. Soft snores made Legolas smile. The world was harsh... But you both had each other and that was enough.

He ran his hand over your head, soothing you. He drifted off to sleep after sometime. He fell asleep admiring your beauty. He had said something before doing so.

It was what he felt since he met you the first time.

"You make me feel.. Things I never felt before..."

-Lillian

[philtstone]

Eowyn, 1

1 - in lonely beds ive finally scraped together a functional first scene for my accidentally-a-psych 3 hunters detective agency au. if you guys like this mess i'll turn it into a real fic. with chapters and a plot and everything!!!!! the prompt is ... interpreted but loneliness and my girl eowyn are well acquainted

It is four o'clock on a Tuesday and Eowyn Eomundsdottir has three significant problems. 

Arrest, rapid-onset dementia, and laundry.

Each of her issues is easily explainable if considered separately. Eowyn is the first to admit that her brother Eomer’s always had a bit of a temper, and if she puts aside the necessary development of maturity and commitment to familial responsibilities that happened after their parents died, it was always a matter of time before some poor idiot pressed his buttons in just the wrong-enough way in front of another just the wrong-enough idiot to get him jailed overnight for knocking in an unwitting nose. 

Plenty of people’s uncles develop rapid-onset dementia, she is freely ready to acknowledge. 

And – if Eowyn may be so self-aware – she has certainly fallen behind on her laundry many times before. 

But no matter how short her brother’s temper, he wouldn’t be arrested for trying to embezzle family funds. Rapid-onset dementia is far less likely when there is next to nil history of it in your family tree, and even less so when the Uncle in question is a scant fifty-three and doing perfectly fine not two months ago. And, most importantly: Eowyn has fallen behind on laundry before, but never because of the above-mentioned two issues, and never such that the only thing she’s got left to wear is a thin white sundress from when she was fourteen that is too short at the knees and not at all suited for the early spring cold spell they are currently experiencing, nor the creepy wandering eyes of Uncle Theoden’s new business manager, who routinely looks like he’s been doused in oil. 

It’s fucking miserable, is what it is. Her knees have goosepimpled, she’s so cold. And to make matters worse, her cousin Theodred, whom she would usually text for help in a crisis, seems to have blocked her phone number.

That, Eowyn simply can’t believe.

It’s because of all these things that she finds herself standing at the dingy brick building by the docks, eyeing the circling seagulls warily, and clutching her backpack in one hand and her bike helmet — which has left her long blonde hair looking like a birds nest — in the other. It’s a small place, with a glass window in place of a front wall that’s got the blinds drawn on the inside. There’s no official sign, but someone has taped a small piece of cardstock to the back of the windowpane, facing out. It reads, in surprisingly elegant black Sharpie penmanship:

Telcontar, Gloinson & Thranduilion Private Investigators for Hire 

Beneath this, there is an additionally taped series of brightly coloured post-it notes, which are scrawled over with the following in various hands:

Got a phone! +1591-334-9920 (If no one answers the door, call the number! We DO NOT have a website.) That’s because Gimli thinks the government is spying on us. SO DO YOU! All inquiries welcome :-) 

Eowyn takes a moment to read through it all. Then she pauses, listening. There is the distinct sound of voices from within, muffled. So someone must be home, then – better just to open the door, rather than knock, in case no one hears her. She takes a deep, steadying breath, tugs at the too-short hem of her dress, and twists the doorknob.

Inside there is what can only be described as carefully organized chaos.

Within the small office space there is a cluttered desk housing a laptop and overlarge monitor. Boxes cover everything, as though someone has only just moved in, and a lopsided whiteboard rests against the far wall, covered in a far less elegant version than the hand that wrote the outside sign. Everything smells a little bit like camphor, and also cookies, and a very faint touch of gym socks. A man sits on a rolly chair in the corner; he is on his cellphone. Eowyn wouldn’t have even seen him if he wasn’t talking, so well does he somehow blend into the taupe walls and cluttered box decor, but as she does: he is tall (too tall for the chair), dark haired, and wearing an old grey hoodie, running shoes, and an abominably ratty pair of jeans. He’s talking on the phone in a low gentle voice that is nonetheless a touch put-upon, but nowhere near snippy or even frustrated. Eowyn (in a fit of fancy) doesn’t think a voice like that could be capable of snippiness, and then promptly feels very embarrassed by her own foolishness. At his feet, by the bottom of the whiteboard, a pile of dirty blankets rests. From within them sounds a plaintive meowing. Opera music plays from a speaker system Eowyn can’t see; a hammer (maybe?) is banging somewhere in the distant back room, the door to which hangs open on squeaky hinges; and two other voices can be heard arguing loudly from the same general direction.

Also, there is a young man, around Eowyn’s own age, standing very awkwardly with his green jumper and moppish brown hair to the immediate left of the door and looking as if he’s not sure what he’s supposed to be doing with himself. At Eowyn’s bewildered look, he offers her a pained smile and a weird little wave hullo. Eowyn waves weirdly back.

“Yeah – yeah, just a second. We’ve got a client –” The man in the rolly chair looks up at Eowyn and smiles. It is such a very nice, genuinely kind smile that Eowyn cannot help but smile back immediately and then feel her whole face go red; she’d be thoroughly soothed if she wasn’t also feeling so completely out of her depth. Bang bang bang, comes the hammer from the back room, along with a swelling of the arguing voices. “Someone will be with you in a second,” whisper-mouths the man. Then he reaches down, takes off one of his running shoes, and flings it very expertly through the open door. There is a small noise, like a crash, and the other two voices stop. He returns to his phone call.

“... what I was saying. No. No, I don’t want you to be halfway across the world. That’s not the point, the point is your dad stopped practicing ten years ago and now owns a bed and breakfast. He’s not the one who’d be navigating a corrupt healthcare system. Do you know how much lobby money lines the pockets of mega corporations? Remember the whole Nestle baby formula thing? The media definitely doesn’t …” 

“Good afternoon!” declares a second, much louder voice, minutes before its owner materializes behind the cluttered desk. He is more beard than man, wears a very formal and very 1990s plum coloured suit and one single gold earring, and comes up to about Eowyn’s shoulder. He claps his hands together. “Now, which of you was here first? No – don’t tell me, I will guess!”

But his imminent guessing is interrupted by the third voice, floating in: 

“I still can’t find it!”

Desk man deflates by a margin. Without turning his head, he calls, 

“I told you to look in the third box!” 

“I looked there. It’s not there, Gimli. I’ll try going through the books.”

“Why would a thing like that fit in a book?”

“Try the kitchen,” mouths the man on the rolly chair. A muffled woman’s voice comes through his mobile. He has one hand covering his face now, and his head tipped back to face the ceiling. “Well, yes – I do know that. You’re really telling me you don’t want to go to Paris for a year.” While Eowyn watches the meowing blanket pile moves and from within it a truly horrible looking little cat emerges. It shoots one paw out as if intending specifically to scratch its phone-occupied companion; the speed at which he moves his foot to pin the blankets hem and thwart the little paw is bordering on superhuman. Cat hisses pathetically from under its blanket prison. On the speakers, the opera singer has reached a uniquely high pitch in her stanza. “No, obviously I don’t want to do long-distance, I just think — uh huh. Yes. I’d tell anyone to go to Paris. I’d tell Gimli to go, if Gimli’s university was offering to send him to Paris.”

“He’s already tried the kitchen,” says the man at the desk – presumably Gimli. Still, he yells out, “Try the kitchen, would you?”

“I’ve already tried the kitchen!” calls the disembodied voice. “I can’t find it!”

“You can’t find it because of your terrible organizational system.”

“It is not my terrible organizational system, which you know, and besides which I have never had problems with it before.”

“No,” from the rolling chair, “Legolas is maligning my organizational skills. I know you think they’re fine, so you can tell your cousin that on Sunday …”

“Try the kitchen.”

“I’ve tried the kitchen twice.”

Bang bang bang, continues the sound from the back room. Eowyn wonders if there isn’t an ongoing construction project. The young guy on her left, with the moppish hair and jumper, gives her a look as if to say, Filing cabinet, maybe?

“As you can see, gentle lady,” explains Gimli the desk man, very politely to Eowyn, while the second voice declares somewhat redundantly that he is, in fact, going to check the kitchen, “we are a tad busy this afternoon. Someone will be with you momentarily.” He turns, presumably in the kitchen’s direction, and calls out, “if you ask my opinion on the subject again, I’ll wallop you with Aragorn’s dratted guitar!”

Eowyn looks. There indeed is a battered old guitar, perched merrily on a pile of papers behind the front desk, ready to be used for walloping.

“I could come back later,” says Eowyn. She looks over at jumper guy, who’s staring at the still-hissing pile of blankets with some concern. “Can’t really speak for him, though.”

Jumper guy looks aggrieved. “Er – no, I’d rather not come back later. Gandalf said you’d be free to help.”

“And help –” begins Gimli, while there is another crash from the back room (they all wince, though Gimli does it with serenity) “-- we shall! If you give my colleague Legolas a moment to get his head on straight –” (the disembodied voice says something very rude in response to this pointed inflection), “-- then the two of us will be at your disposal.”

“Three of us,” interjects the first, almost forgotten voice. 

Eowyn and her jumper-clad companion turn startled to look: cellphone put away, rolly chair man has stood up to his quite considerable height and is looking at them consideringly. Despite his mildness of expression Eowyn experiences the uncomfortable feeling of being looked at by someone who could in a more fantastical setting have, like, laser vision or something – how is he doing it? And she is sure he isn’t really seeing right through her but she does get the sense he is understanding a lot more than she’d like to let on. Almost defiantly she tugs at her dress and clutches her bike helmet closer to herself. Jumper guy clears his throat. Then from the back room comes – presumably – Legolas, who is fair, thin, and for reasons unexplained wearing sunglasses indoors. He is also covered in what Eowyn hopes are pillow feathers and holding, in one hand, a very large glittering silver sword, and in the other a dingy looking VHS tape. It has cartoon vegetables in cloaks on the front.

“Did anyone know we still had this?” he asks pleasantly, and it is not clear to which find he is referring, “Arwen and I used to stare at it for hours as kids.” He spots Eowyn and her jumper-clad counterpart. “Oh – hello!”

Eowyn gapes. The three of them make a fascinating picture, standing there alongside each other.

“Now then,” says the man called Gimli. “Faramir, we know of already –” he nods at the boy beside Eowyn, who looks a bit bewildered by this, “as Gandalf sent him here! But this young lady we do not. How can we help?”

Perhaps it is the blinding reflection of the hopefully-a-prop sword, but Eowyn is suddenly overtaken by an awful affliction of watery eyes, which has nothing at all to do with her general feelings of overwhelm — until now expertly repressed — she is sure. She feels at once full of despair and yet shaking with eagerness, and everything she’d been desperate to explain to a listening ear gets stuck in her throat in the face of three, admittedly sort of weird (somewhat stern, verging on intense, dipping into outright comical), thoroughly kind faces looking right at her. It suddenly occurs to her how horribly, horribly alone she’s felt for the past six weeks.  

She remains rooted to the spot and tragically mute while Faramir, from beside her, begins all at once,

“I wasn’t sure where to go. I didn’t want it getting back to dad, so Gandalf seemed like the best option — and he said you were very trustworthy, and I do trust Gandalf of course – but it's my brother, you see, he’s disappeared,” vaguely Eowyn is aware of a grim look of surprise rippling through the collective at this reveal, “and it’ll sound crazy but I had this awful dream two weeks ago …”

While Eowyn attempts to wrangle her misbehaving emotions like one would a wobbly-legged yet stubbornly misbehaving colt, an impromptu consultation begins.

“Gone missing?”

“I bet he went hiking or something and lost his phone. It’s happened before.”

“Boromir hates hiking, though. Remember when Aragorn tried to bring him camping with us?”

“No wonder Gandalf sent you here.”

“I have odd dreams too sometimes; they are usually because of indigestion. I’m sure old Boromir’s just fine.”

“No,” insists Faramir, who seems – in Eowyn’s half-attentive estimation – to be doing an admirable job at hiding his surprise at this existing knowledge of his brother. “He’s not answering my texts – it’s like he’s blocked my number, which doesn’t make any sense!”

Eowyn’s head jerks around to stare at him. 

Could it be a coincidence? That is exactly the thought she herself had, not an hour ago, about her own cousin. Is it possible that she isn’t crazy, and her awful yearning for Eomer to be here and not in overnight jail, so someone who is not Eowyn could deal with things, is not childish? She opens her mouth, but her words are stuck again. All she can do is inhale like a small bird puffing up its chest and make a very very faint squeaking noise, which she is mostly sure no one can hear.

“Legolas,” interjects rolly chair man. His sharp grey eyes, which had flitted around briefly and shrewdly throughout the hubbub, are now fixed again on Eowyn, and thoughtful. The commotion dies down. In a mild voice he says, “Maybe you could fetch a clean pair of gym shorts and a blanket to lend our new friend, so she’ll be a bit more comfortable.” 

Eowyn, swaying a bit on the spot, hadn't even realized she was tugging at her dress again. 

“Oh,” she manages.

“Aye, I’d say you’re about the same size,” agrees Gimli, to Legolas, after a beat. “Aragorn has a good eye for these things,” he adds, as if needing their prospective clients in crisis to know this.

“I’ll bring her a comb, too,” says Legolas, not at all meanly, and goes to fetch these things.

“And I’ll put on some tea,” says Aragorn, so named, and for a second time his face softens with that warm, open smile. “I’m Aragorn,” he continues. “Let’s all sit down, and you can both start from the beginning; everything will be alright.”

In the moment after this offer Eowyn locks eyes with Faramir. He is standing next to her. His jumper looks particularly sad now that she is paying attention. He isn’t looking at Aragorn or the sword or the pillow feathers Legolas left behind, but at her. Right at her. There’s a solidarity there. It would be a touching exchange, Eowyn thinks, if not for the fact that the feral cat in its blanket pile has started talking to itself in oddly pitched meows.

A large crash sounds from the back room, accompanied by the sound of a child swearing.

“Yeah, okay,” Eowyn says. 

For the rest of today, at least, she has decided that she refuses to feel alone.

[draculasfavoritewife]

Meleth Nín (My Love)

Summary: The very future of Middle Earth may hang in the balance, but a quiet night allows thoughts to stray toward questions of a more personal nature.

Pairing: Legolas Thranduilion x elf!Reader/OC

Warnings: Pining, female language used for reader.

I wrote this a couple summers ago during my brief but intense LOTR phase. "Enelya" is the Elvish name I got from a name generator as a kid so I used it here 😁. Apologies for the length, I got massively carried away. This IS supposed to be x reader, I just wrote it before I was comfortable writing in 2nd person.

(Translations of Elvish phrases at the end)

It is my turn for first watch tonight, an assignment that I do not mind even during normal times, and that I am almost bittersweetly grateful for on this night. I have much on my mind that needs settling, and somehow, I do not think that listening to the grating snores of the sons of Gloin and Denethor would give me more peace than the crisp night air. 

The surrounding woods are still, nothing moving about in the underbrush that shouldn’t be, and I allow my guard a chance at rest, turning my attention to the stars instead of the trees. Crouched where I am on a wide branch, I have a perfect window through to the deep ebony expanse of the sky, and a strange blend of homesickness and excitement blazes briefly through my chest. The stars are strange here, arranged differently than they are back in the Greenwood, yet a few familiar individuals still flicker amongst foreign constellations. 

It reminds me of the first time Legolas coaxed me into climbing his favorite tree back home so I could see the stars. I will never forget the wonder I felt as he pulled me through the last layer of obscuring leaves and the sky unfolded before me, rolling on forever. I’d seen the stars many times in Imladris, but they were different there, blessed with a sense of safety and serenity that everything beneath the watchful eyes of Elrond felt. 

With Thranduilion, high in the crown of the wood, balanced on the very threshold of the sky, with nothing anchoring me except his steady hand holding mine, it suddenly seemed I could reach out and touch the Valar themselves. I remember laughing, simply because no other reaction could express what I felt. Thranduilion laughed beside me; it was late, we were the only two still out after a hunt, and I still am not entirely sure why he took me up there. 

Whatever the reason, that instance changed many things for me. It sparked in me something older and fiercer than I knew, some desire for more than what I had there in the Greenwood, much as I loved it. Some yearning which prompted me to accompany my Prince along on this solemn venture, wherever it leads. 

I’ve tried not to admit it, but that night started changing the way I saw him as well. 

Someone approaches, passage no more than a whisper, only slightly less silent than one of my own people, and there is only one it could be. No guard is needed around one I’ve known since we were both children. 

“Estel.” 

“Mae govannen, Enelya.” He leans against my branch, supported on crossed arms. The others call him Strider, or Aragorn, but to me he will always be my Estel, the companion I spent a couple of decades with after my childhood, before my mother’s people sent for me to return to the Greenwood. Elrond looked after the both of us when our mothers died, and besides my Prince and hunting partner, Estel knows me better than any being in all of Arda. 

Silence hangs between us, draped across the strange stars, until he brushes it aside like a curtain of cobwebs. “What troubles you, Gwathel nín?” 

“Who said I was troubled, Gwador nín?” 

“Your face does, for one,” he replies, voice wry. 

“Manen?” 

“Well, you won’t look at me, Mellon nín. That’s usually a telling sign I’m right and you don’t want to admit it.” He gives no sign of letting up with his persistence. 

I sigh and glance down, taking in the familiar grizzled face and sharp gray eyes. “Mar bedithach, Estel?” 

“I’ll leave when you unburden yourself. I’m sure it’s nothing I haven’t already heard from anyone else on this journey. If you miss the Greenwood, or are having a difficult time restraining yourself from stabbing several members of this fine Fellowship, I assure you, you are not weak, nor are you alone.” White teeth flash in a crooked grin, and I can’t help returning it. 

“Those are both excellent guesses, and I admit to you that such thoughts have passed through my mind on multiple occasions. However,” I cast my gaze back up to the heavens, “I highly doubt that anyone else in this…most distinguished company is suffering from the same unrest of the soul that I am.” 

Oh Valar, don’t let my face be heating up…. 

Estel turns so his back rests against my branch, leaving his hands free to light his pipe. He does so and takes a few long draws without responding to my declaration. 

I wrinkle my nose. “You’re inviting an early death with such bad practices, Gwador nín.” 

“So Legolas has informed me several times over, but without such sisterly concern for my health.” He’s laughing at me on the inside, I can tell. “Speaking of, am I terribly far from the mark in assuming your fair Prince is the source of your ‘unrest of the soul��, Mellon nín?” 

He knows me too well. Even decades apart have done nothing to weaken the bond we shared as children, nor have I mastered any technique of hiding my thoughts that can escape his piercing gaze, it seems. 

“You don’t have to answer,” Estel murmurs. “Your silence speaks more clearly than anything you could say.” 

“I didn’t think I would fall in love with him,” I offer. 

A grunt is his disbelieving answer. “You spend every free minute together, and even the time that is required for patrolling, hunting, and so on and so forth. To be bluntly honest, I’m surprised it took you six decades. I owe my brothers some money, it would seem, if they still recall the wager we made upon your departure from Elrond’s house. Perhaps I won’t remind them.” 

I can’t decide whether to be astonished or angry. “You and the twins made a wager on me?” 

“Not on you,” Estel is quick to clarify. “On how long it would take you to develop an attraction towards Thranduilion.” 

“So you all just assumed I would, hmm?” 

“And rightly.” He sounds so insolent, as if all of a sudden he is once again the younger brother, and not the protective elder he made himself out to be as he reached maturity. “It was only a matter of time, Gwathel nín. You held out longer than I bet, of course, but Thranduilion is easy to like and perhaps even easier to love. My correspondence with you has been irregular, I will be the first to admit, but from the time I learned of your partnership on both the battlefield and hunting grounds, I thought you would find him a kindred spirit, and someone to admire.” 

I shake my head as if to protest, but what is there to protest? Estel sees truth. Far from being pampered royalty, Legolas it was who took it upon himself to teach me the ways of his father’s kingdom. He reawakened the Silvan part of my heritage that had long since been denied its native wildness in Imladris, and instilled in me that ferocious love for the Greenwood that keeps the Silvan people rooted there even now, as we have to scrape our very livelihoods out of the Dark Lord’s overhanging shadow. We get along as well as if we have walked side by side for an Age, not the paltry decades I have been in the employ of King Thranduil’s guard. The Prince chooses me for the majority of his hunts and orc raids, and we have reached an understanding so fine that words need not be exchanged for us to always know where the other is in the thick of combat. 

He is nearly as much a part of my identity as the Silvan and Noldor blood that runs mingled through my veins. 

Is it any wonder, then, that I want more? 

“Enelya.” Estel’s voice is soft as he blows smoke into the breeze. “You can talk to me, you know. I’ll die before I betray your trust.” 

“I know.” I sink to a sitting position and let one leg dangle into space, resting an arm across my other knee. “I’m not entirely sure what else to say, aside from what I’ve already said. I love him, Estel.” 

He nods thoughtfully and taps the end of his pipe against his teeth. “Your eyes betray you when we travel. Ever they seek him out, even as you watch the landscape for danger.” 

Estel almost seems about to say something else, but even minutes of waiting do not draw it out of him, so I go back to the protest I would have made. 

“He does not distract me. I am as deadly as ever.” 

“I did not accuse you of distraction. I only observed that you watch him.” His eyes flit upwards, to my face, before darting away into the darkness again. “As he does you.” 

I stare down into my sworn brother’s shadowed countenance, unsure of whether my ears are playing tricks on me. Estel wouldn’t lie about such things. Surely I heard wrong. 

“He does what?” 

A burst of smoke from between his lips could mean either amusement or irritation. With Estel, the two often travel hand in hand. “Thranduilion. His eyes follow where you go when we are on the move. Always his attention is on you, even as he stands watch over us. You mean a great deal to him, Mellon nín.” 

Trying to tamp down the surge of emotion rising inside me, I shrug, letting the wind run its cool, long fingers through my hair. “I should hope I do. We’ve been through much together, and saved each other’s lives many times.” 

Now I know he’s annoyed with me. “I meant more than that. I don’t have much with which to wager at the moment, but if I did, I might wager he feels similarly about you as you do him.” 

I stare down at Estel, but he’s looking away again. “Well. Even if that were the case….” I trail off, pulling my knees back up to my chest. “There are too many problems standing in our way.” 

“Such as…?” 

“By the Valar, you’ve become so nosy in your old age, Little Brother.” Despite my ribbing, I can tell by the set of his jaw that this ridiculous matter has become of utmost importance to him for some reason, and I know Estel too well to believe he would give up before we have talked this through. I sigh, resigning myself to discussing my nonexistent romance with him. 

“For one, he’s thousands of years older than I, Estel. I’m barely over a century old.” 

“Oh no,” he mutters dryly. “How scandalous, an age difference.” 

Realizing that he and Arwen are also thousands of years apart, I drop my forehead to my knees. “Well, maybe that wasn’t the best reason.” 

“No, it wasn’t.” Another long draw of his pipe sends a misty cloud drifting about his face. 

“His father would never approve of his son taking up with a Silvan and not a Sindar.” This is painfully true. Legolas told me of his father’s harsh objections to his interest in Tauriel quite some time ago. 

“Are you in love with Thranduil?” Estel asks in a monotone. 

I glare at him. “No! Mîbo orch, Estel.” 

He ignores my insult. “Then worry less about what Thranduil thinks and more about what Legolas thinks. He’s as loyal as one could ever be to those he chooses, and more than stubborn enough to stand up to his father.” 

There is wisdom in his words. However, the biggest reason that has kept me silent on this subject for so long still remains. 

“You know Elves only love once,” he murmurs, tone fading to gentle. “And they seldom err in their choice of soulmate.” 

“I know.” The words slip from my tongue, condensing in the cool air. “And he once thought he loved another.” 

Estel says nothing to this revelation, merely sending smoke rings floating up into the night sky. I can’t tell if he’s pondering what I’ve said, or if he truly has no rebuttal for it. 

“You never saw the way he looked at her, Estel. He talked about her many times when it was just he and I on a hunt. No one else was ever allowed to see how deeply he was hurt when she fell for the Dwarf. I can’t be sure, but I expect he’s never been the same since.” It feels freeing, to finally relate all of this to my sworn brother. I keep many secrets, probably the reason Legolas felt he could confide his heartbreak in me. Yet long has that particular burden hung heavy on my own heart, and I am relieved to bare it to the man beside me. 

His hand rests comfortingly on my back, once again the protector he thought I needed when we were young. “None of us are ever the same as we once were, Mellon nín. Much as you resemble the elleth I once knew, even you have been changed by your time in the Greenwood. Your people may not change as swiftly nor as dramatically as mine, and yet not even the eternal can live so long in Arda without being shaped. Six decades certainly influence a lot of things.” 

I nod, turning his argument over in my mind. “You say he watches for me?” 

The small smile that crosses Estel’s weather-worn face is this time not sarcastic nor teasing. “Indeed he does. Whenever the two of you are parted for a time, even if it is just that I sent you off to scout ahead, he is as tightly drawn as his own bowstring until you return. Who knows, perhaps even he hasn’t entirely recognized it yet. But something will come of it, Enelya. Of this I am sure.” 

“And if Elladan and Elrohir were along with us, am I to assume you would all place a wager on how soon?” 

He nudges me with his elbow. “There’s that sense of humor I’ve been missing. Now, I suppose I had better leave you, because as unobtrusive as he thinks he is being, someone else is waiting for you. I’ll take next watch. Losto mae, Gwathel nín.” 

“Nostad lín sui orch, Estel,” I snicker, referring both to the stench of his pipe and what I’ve been telling him since childhood. “And le hannon.” 

He waves as he returns to the light of the fire. “Carnen an gwend, Enelya.” 

I stare back at the stars above me, knowing that if who Estel implied is really waiting for me, he will approach at his own time and no amount of cajoling will bend him my way sooner. 

So I wait as well. 

No more than a sigh of the tree itself heralds his arrival beside me on the branch. 

“Do you wish to be alone with your thoughts, Mellon nín?” 

Gazing over my shoulder, I am met by Thranduilion’s piercing blue eyes as he leans against the trunk of my perch. 

“If so, I will gladly leave you to them.” There is the slightest wistful note beneath his tone; for all his politeness, he wishes to speak to me. 

Did he overhear my conversation with Estel? 

Heart starting to flutter like a sparrow’s wings, I shake my head. “Avo ‘osto, Hîr nín. Baren bar lin, as they say.” 

“What have I done to deserve such formal address, Mellon?” he asks lightly. Though he laughs, warm and cheerful, an undercurrent of hurt runs deep through the words. 

Does it hurt him, truly, to call him so? “Goheno nin, Thranduilion,” I murmur, unable to look away from that intense gaze. “My mind was not in the present moment, I fear.” 

“Ú-moe edaved, Enelya.” His reply is warm, and I cannot miss the affection that wreathes around my name as it falls from his lips. “I am only glad to learn I have not offended you.” 

“Rest assured, I would have let you know in no uncertain terms if you had,” I inform him saucily. 

His laughter at my cheek is bright now, all trace of concern gone. “This is true.” Nodding towards my view of the dark sky, he leans closer, bending so he can see what I am seeing. “Looking for old friends among the new?” 

“Indeed.” I stretch out my spine, careful not to knock him away from my shoulder. “I miss some of our constellations that you pointed out to me in the Greenwood.” 

Legolas stands upright again. “Aphado nin.” He reaches upward for a branch and swings to a higher level. 

I rise to my feet and stare up at him between the leaves. “Am man theled?” 

“To see the whole sky, of course. You’ll never gaze upon the greater picture if you do not climb higher, Mellon nín.” He holds out a hand. 

I take it, allowing him to pull me up to his level before continuing the climb. “You said those very words when you made me climb that tree the first time back home.” 

“I didn’t make you.” I can nearly hear the smirk in his voice. “You were given a choice.” 

It is my turn to laugh now. “Not when you say such poetic and inspiring things, Legolas. Although I was terrified of climbing to the crown of that tree, your way of putting it made me feel I should never be complete until I had seen the whole sky. I consider myself bewitched.” 

He shoves my shoulder as he easily passes me up. “No one is whole unless they have seen the entire sky. Estelio nin. It is truth.” 

“I do trust you. That’s why I climbed the tree with you that night, even though I was still frightened of falling. I knew you would catch me.” 

We remain in silence then until we break through the leaves, pushing through as if to the surface from underwater. I cannot count the amount of times I’ve done something similar with Thranduilion, those late nights after a hunt, but it still takes my breath away, to gaze upon the veil of stars and clouds that rolls ever on to the very edges of Arda. The sight makes the songs of my people flow through my veins, never failing to give me the gift of peace. 

I should thank him for introducing me to the sky more often. 

“I hope I never grow tired of this.” It takes me a moment to realize I’ve breathed the words aloud. 

Legolas is gazing out in the opposite direction, handsome face serene. “You will not.” 

I want to impertinently ask him how he would know, but I swallow the teasing words. He has walked these lands for nearly three millennia, and still finds such joy in it that he felt he needed to introduce me to that joy. He would know. 

“Enelya.” 

“Yes, Mellon nín?” I turn to face him. 

He drops down to sit on a branch that is old enough to serve as a seat. “Will you help me?” 

I know what he is asking for. He’s perfectly capable of doing it himself, but it has been a ritual of ours for years, and I enjoy it as much as he does. “Of course.” I make my way to his side and start to unwind his braids. 

“I’ll do the same for you,” he promises, relaxing into my touch. 

I weave my fingers through his silky hair as I release it to the mercies of the breeze, untangling any knots, minuscule as they are, and drawing out fronds of moss and bits of leaf that have found their way into his tresses. I can’t remember when we first started caring for each other’s hair at the end of the day, but it is always one of my favorite times spent with him. The few moments we have no responsibilities and can just talk about nothing, as friends are wont to. 

“What do you think the others would say, if they knew the truth?” I ask teasingly, moving to the tiny braids over his ear. 

His eyes flash to give me a sideways glance. “What do you mean?” 

I smirk. “Do you not hear them speak of you, in wondering whispers? They all ask how Thranduilion manages to stay so neat, how his hair, long and beautiful as it is, remains free of forest debris and untroubled by tangles. They have begun to speculate that it is some gift from Elbereth, that he looks fresh as the day we set off while the rest of them grow ever more unkempt. What would they say, if they knew it is simply because I re-braid your hair every night?” 

Wicked mischief flashes across his countenance for a brief instant. “They would all come running to you for your excellent services, I imagine. Do you want me to tell them, and so dispel the legends? I would prefer to keep your company in such matters to myself, but perhaps I shouldn’t be so selfish. After all,” he leans closer to whisper, “it might be worth it, to see you running your fingers through Aragorn’s oily mane.” 

I can’t stop the choking noise that comes from my throat. “I love that man, but there are some things I will never do for him, Legolas.” 

His quiet laughter floats into the night. “Nor should you have to.” 

Something pricks my fingertip and I yank my hand away from his hair. “Ai! Is this a burr, Thranduilion? Where on Arda did you find that?” 

He shrugs easily. “It could have been anywhere. Yet I assume it came from one of my solitary scouts. Had the halflings followed where I tread, surely they would have all come away full of them.” 

I try not to laugh at the thought of our four smallest companions drowning in burrs. “It is fortunate you only picked up one.” 

Once my Prince’s hair has been seen to, he turns so I can sit before him and begins the same process on mine. Much as I love the feeling of the wind running its fingers through my hair, it cannot compete with the gentle and nimble hands of Legolas. My eyes close as those hands begin their familiar path, and for some time all that I know is the warmth of his body next to mine and the soft melody of the well-loved song he hums next to my ear. 

Is it any wonder, that I have come to care for him as I do? 

“Mellon nín?” he murmurs suddenly. 

“Yes?” 

“What made you decide to accompany me on this quest? You know you could have returned to the Greenwood.” 

“That I do.” I sigh and let my eyes flutter open again. How much do I say? “But if this quest fails, it will not matter if I had returned to the Greenwood, for even Thranduil Elvenking cannot keep the shadows at bay forever if the Dark Lord triumphs.” 

He is silent for some time, and I let him remain so. I learned long ago that Legolas will not share what is on his mind except at a time of his own choosing. 

“I suppose you are right,” he finally concedes. His fingertips brush my ear, and I shiver at the contact. “It was no doubt my own desire to know you would be safer at home that clouded such truth from my mind.” His voice grows somber. “You do know, Enelya, that we may never see the Greenwood again.” 

“Of course, Mellon nín. Yet through all my time in my mother’s land I have been at your side, and the Valar themselves could not keep me from staying beside you. Even unto the Halls of Mandos, I would rather accompany you than be apart from you.” My breath catches on the last word. Have I said too much? 

His hands pause in their combing to rest upon my shoulders. “I am blessed, then, to have found such a companion as you.” 

“Le hannon, Legolas.” 

When next he speaks, there is a layer of hesitation resting over his tone that I rarely hear from him. “Do you know, I was quite angry when you first insisted on traveling with me.” 

“Oh, I remember. How could I not?” I sniff. “You didn’t speak to me the entire first day of our journey.” 

“I am not proud of my conduct,” he admits penitently. “However, I do realize, since that time has passed, that some good came of it.” 

I feel his long fingers trace my jawline, soft as a breath, turning my face slightly and prompting me to shift so I can meet his gaze. 

His eyes are deep and thoughtful, turned mithril silver by the moon as it breaks from behind a cloud. 

“Do you know, Enelya, how that one day without your company felt to me? Even the torture of seeing you walk at the perimeter of our Fellowship, yet kept from approaching you — by my own stubbornness — made my heart feel sundered from my chest. I realized that day that I could not have endured it if you had indeed returned home as I suggested. One day without your laugh, without your smile on me, was enough for a lifetime.” Legolas’s tone is raw with honesty, and a great many things seem to be making sense to me now. 

It would seem Estel may have been correct, after all, though I won’t tell him so. 

I remember how difficult that first day of the trek was, knowing all too well that Legolas was displeased with my choice. I have seen him angry, at his father, usually, and I knew all the signs too well. I can recall then how delighted and relieved I was when I awoke the following morning to the smell of my favorite fish baking over the fire; Legolas and I have had our fair share of tiffs over the long years, and that is his tried-and-true method of asking my forgiveness when he is at fault. 

We ate our morning meal sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, no one else the wiser of our wordless play of apologies and affirmations. 

Well, Estel probably was. But he doesn’t count. 

“What do you wish to say to me, Mellon nín?” I murmur, lifting my own fingers to brush against his cheek. 

He leans into my touch. “I have thought about you much during these uncertain days, even when we are not given much opportunity to talk. About how sorely I would have missed your presence, and grieved at not being able to feel you at my back whenever we face a threat. About how much I have missed times like this, when there is no one but you and I beneath the stars, sitting in the lap of the heavens.” 

“And what would you have done, without me to braid your hair? Become as scruffy as dear Estel?” I tease. 

He curls his lip in mock disgust. “Gerich faer vara, suggesting such a thing to me! I should certainly think not. I admire your Estel, Mellon nín, but I don’t believe the man has bathed once since we set out from Imladris. Yet he has had plenty of chances!” 

I laugh, leaning back against his chest and settling into my new position, comfortable from countless times of sitting like this. “Estel and his questionable hygiene aside, what were you saying?” 

His hands trail down my arms to my hands, where he weaves our fingers together. His hands are finer, more elegant than a mortal man’s, yet they are still wider than mine, surrounding my smaller ones with gentle fondness. This, too, is a much-practiced gesture between us, though there is a different flavor to it tonight. It feels more intimate, as if it means more than our mutual trust and respect this time. 

He smiles; I can hear it in his singsong words, close to my ear. “What I am trying to say, Enelya, is le annon veleth nín.” 

He gives his love to me? 

“Gerich veleth nín,” I answer simply. “It already belonged to you.” 

His lips brush my hair. “I used to wonder, when I was a much younger ellon, why I never felt the need to find a life partner when I came of age. Indeed, Ada certainly bothered me about it for several centuries, until other more pressing issues caught his attention.” 

I’ve never heard Legolas refer to Thranduil as Ada, and certainly not with the echo of a sigh beneath the endearment. It makes my heart ache strangely, to wonder what long-forgotten love once flowed freely between adar and iôn before they let their rift widen so far. 

But this moment is not to be sullied by mourning what has been lost. 

“Do you believe one can wait thousands of years to find their soulmate?” he asks. 

“I do. I know most can’t fathom such a wait, but for our people, it does not matter.” 

“Truly. I think I never pursued anyone with much seriousness because my heart knew it was waiting for yours.” Legolas turns me slightly, so our eyes can meet again. “I would make up for my blindness, Meleth nín, if you wish it.” 

I rest my forehead against his. “I wish it so, Meleth nín.” 

Then his lips are pressing into mine, and this kiss that I have awaited many years is a summer thunderstorm, warm and wild, washing away everything that came before and paving the way for love to bloom. 

Whatever our perilous path holds for us, I suddenly have all certainty that we can weather it. 

Together. 

Mae govannen = Well met

Gwathel/Gwador nín = Sworn sister/brother

Manen = How?

Mellon nín = My friend

Mar bedithach = When are you leaving?

Mîbo orch = Go kiss an orc

Losto mae = Sleep well

Nostad lín sui orch = You smell like an orc

Le hannon = Thank you

Carnen an gwend = For friendship

Avo ‘osto = Don't worry

Hîr nín = My Lord

Baren bar lin = My home is yours

Goheno nin = Forgive me

Ú-moe edaved = No need to forgive

Aphado nin = Follow me

Am man theled = Why?

Estelio nin = Trust me

Gerich faer vara = You have a fiery spirit

Le annon veleth nín = I give my love to you

Gerich veleth nín = You have my love

[tathrin]

💜 a crack ship! :)

[from these asks]

omg okay so I think I'm contractually obligated at this point to say Thranduil/Finrod for this one.

I did not mean to start shipping them; I was just being helpful! Then somehow I ended up here. Thinking about them far too much. Working on the logistics, the familial relationships, the way that Finrod Felagund would be so fucking delighted to have a dwarf in the family...the way he and Galadriel would compete over Gimli once he finally comes to Aman; the way the Valar, who loved Finrod so much that they put him on the express train to re-embodiment, would surely bend the rules to let Finrod's son bring his dwarf to the Undying Lands, wouldn't they...

The way Legolas "only 105 of you versus three of us? yeah you bet your ass I'll shoot you in the face for threatening my dwarf!" Thranduilion so very much takes after his father Finrod "threaten my mortal? okay I'll just kill your werewolf with my fucking teeth then" Felagund, doesn't he?

The way Gimli is going to lose his shit when he realizes that his adorably awkward idiot elf boyfriend is related not just to Finrod fucking Felagund, favorite elf of all dwarves, but to the Lady Galadriel her own fucking self! Legolas why didn't you tell me sooner, I am freaking out what do you mean I'm not related by marriage to Galadriel herself OH MY MAHAL—!

The way Thranduil spent so many years fighting back the very same Shadow that took his beloved Finrod from him; the way he learned to resent but never to hate Finrod's dear sister (the way they both blamed each other for Finrod's death in the dark, even though they knew the other wasn't really to blame) for how she let Melian's Girdle fall (she never could have held it...or could she?) and never lifted a finger to help Greenwood (he couldn't have borne asking and anyway she would have refused...wouldn't she?) until the very end...

The way Thranduil was always so careful to present his son as a "mere wood-elf," just another "more dangerous, less wise" scion of the Woodland Realm, with no claim to that blood-stained Noldor Crown and the devastation it carried...and how he couldn't help wondering all along if Finrod would hate him for it.

[toasterdrake]

It took me way too long to message you about this, but I wanted to say I love your art style! 🥰 you are able to capture character personalities so well in just simple sketches. And your weapon and armor designs are fantastic!

It would mean a lot to me if I could commission you to draw my Thranduilion OC Princes, especially since you seem to have some knowledge and/or interest in them. Would you accept a commission to draw a sketch up to 5 characters in one picture? If so, what would that cost?

Thank you in advance!! 🤩

oh man oh man this is the best thing ive woken up to in a hot second thank you youre so kind!!

i admire you and what you've created so much i cant even say. sotwk has been a massive factor in inspiring me to do something similar with compiling my own lotr au 🥺 (@acornsandoaktrees will be ready to get started once i finish some final preps)

i would be absolutely honoured to draw the princes any day!!! coincidentally i had been mulling over adding extra character options to my commissions info just yesterday

it depends really on what type of sketch you'd like. busts are £2 per character, so £10 for the 5 princes. half bodies are £5 per character (£25). full bodies are £7 per character (£35)

you can let me know your decision by dm and we can discuss more details there!

[thegreatzombieartisan]

Hi, you seem to be new to Tolkiens world. As a general rule Hobbits seem to be the only people in Middle-Earth that do surnames. The only Men with surnames we see are from Shire-adjacent Bree. Other Men, Elves and Dwarves go by some form of patronymic. Aragorn son of Arathorn, Gimli Gloinsson, Legolas Thranduilion... When travelling far from home such a name might be exchanged for a region of origin, like Frodo of the Shire or Eomer of Rohan. Hope that Was coherend.

Thank you for weighing-in on my post about Halbrand’s name. It’s an evidenced stance for sure.

I’m neither a scholar nor brand new to Tolkien’s work. I’m aware names matter since bloodlines hold significance in legendarium. I simply like exploring abstract ideas and possibilities.

Also I recognize that as a book adaption, TRoP is a translation of Tolkien’s work. Many storylines, like that of the Southlands, don’t exist in legendarium. Thus, names aren’t beholden to “rules” - or more accurately, inferences - such as detailed in your comment. For example, Miriel is styled as “Queen Regent.” Yet, “Tar” is the appropriate title, as the “Queen” title is nonexistent in Numenor.

Personally, I presumed “Halbrand” was a first name because it doesn’t affiliate him with a bloodline, thus lending the obscurity desired. However, “Halbrand” might also be a very common Southland surname like Williams in the US or Nguyễn in Vietnam. And therefore, a first name might also blow his cover.

In any event, “Halbrand… of the Southlands” tells the Numenroean court nothing about him. Goal achieved. To me, the smartest origin and stylization of Halbrand’s name would provide his character anonymity and a clue to his true identity.

Somewhat off topic: Galadriel is a daughter of the Golden House of Finarfin. But Lord Halbrand is son of who and of what House? He’s never tyled beyond that. It can’t be assumed he was a direct heir to the last king, whose House is also never disclosed. Bloodlines matter so much in legendarium, that others would deem Halbrand’s lack of affiliation to be unacceptable.

[brannonlasgalen]

are you interested in making another fic that's like the healing of the elvenking?

Lolol this is because of that alignment chart post isn't it?

Tbh, I have had thoughts about a sequel to THotEK; like perhaps what the Thranduilion's lives would be like in Valinor. A buncha wild woodelves rocking up to the Noldorin's private island would be fun, to say the least.

The question is whether I'd have the time and energy. THotEK took me a year of constant writing, research, etc. just for that project, nothing else. To do a sequel I'd have to either put aside my professional writing or get bit by a radioactive typewriter. So it's not a no, but it's a "not just now," I guess. 😞

[sparklecryptid]

Right now I am arguing uselessly with my OC. The Isakai'd one, not the Thranduilion one. That's Colfileg (tentative name, trying to find the best way to name him 'little golden bird' could also be Glorfileg maybe? There are a bunch of words that mean Gold in Sindarin. *grumbles* No canon word for 'purple' but there's like six sindarin words that mean gold/golden? Really Tolkien?), he's older than Legolas and has been in the Trauma and Trouble long enough he's presumed dead when isekai'd OC and Celeg get dropped in. (Also Celeg is trans bc I have yet to read a trans!Celegorm story. And bc he said so.)

Me: Okay we are NOT doing HP, that route is closed off. No vampires, and I haven't touched any Shadowrun books in years. Same for the Percy Jackson novels. As cool as a Nephil OC might be, no Supernatural. I'd have to watch it again.

OC: *nods*

Me: Naruto? That could be neat, but like, too OP once things start moving...

OC: Oh yeah, no, not Naruto.

Me: and I don't know enough about One Piece really, also I don't think I feel like the worlds are a bit too oil and water, at least for me.

Me: MDZS maybe? A modern cultivation AU so you could have read Tolkien? Also, possibility of immortality to match lovely new elves you are definitely going to end up in SOME kind of relationship with? *squints* But I don't think you're central asian, so... If it's a modern cultivation AU, there could be multicultural Cultivators? Maybe?

OC: *tugs on red hair the ONLY feature we've agreed on* I mean- there ARE central asian people with red hair. But YOU don't know anything about them culturally. And I'm probably gonna be american just bc that's what you know best, right? *pauses* I guess I don't HAVE to have red hair-

Me: No, no we both agreed that having Celeg and Thranduils son fall in love with a redhead is funny. How about Star Wars? You could be a jedi and wouldn't have to have any earth race really?

OC: A jedi could be fun! But then I wouldn't get to know anything about Tolkien.

Me: Ah, heck. I forgot. Might be worth it tho. We could cook up a Modern dnd AU maybe? Cup of Shadowrun, cup of modern cultivation, double handful of all the neat DnD character races there are now?

OC: could be neat, I'd still have to look mostly human tho or elven? I don't think an aasimar or a tiefling would do well in Arda. Also, do you want to worldbuild that much for a world I'm not gonna be in again?

Hahaha I’m afraid I’m going to be no help here because all the worlds my ocs come from have a More Backstory than is Needed. Usually I take a world like ours and adjust a Few Things to make things sad for OC dearest before yeeting them into someplace.

ALSO TRANS CELEGORM MY BELOVED. I have never seen a trans!celeg story before but I’m just !!!! About it.

Us: okay there’s a bunch of words for gold but like. Can we have a purple?

Tolkien: no.

Us: but purple is nice!

Tolkien: -dumps a bunch of words for gold and silver on us-

Us: ok :(

[viking-hel]

I posted 1,301 times in 2022

45 posts created (3%)

1,256 posts reblogged (97%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@whetstonefires

@legolas--thranduilion

@tubbylita

@riahchan

@jonsnowbrooding

I tagged 908 of my posts in 2022

Only 30% of my posts had no tags

#long post - 97 posts

#lol - 81 posts

#aemond targaryen - 34 posts

#tolkien - 32 posts

#lotr - 26 posts

#esc 2022 - 22 posts

#harald sigurdsson - 20 posts

#reblog - 20 posts

#vikings valhalla - 19 posts

#observations of hotd - 18 posts

Longest Tag: 123 characters

#i have gaps in my memory because i don’t even know if what happened happened because my half sis was good at gaslighting me

My Top Posts in 2022:

#4

For the Jonsa Halloween 2022.

Beast. Potion. Magic. 🎃

Jon couldn’t stop watching the way the fire danced with Sansa’s hair. Her glorious mane became the flames given true form, magicked into dancing as some hopeful lad of House Cerwyn tried his best.

He lazed back into his seat, a cup of ale held idly in his hands, a potion of false courage the Cerwyn lad mayhap guzzled too much of. He must have now felt it as Sansa gracefully twirled through his clumsy steps, a kind smile on her face.

Jon loved seeing her smile. She’d had so little to smile about before now. Here she was, Queen in the North, more regal and beautiful than any lady before, and he was a mere pauper worshipping at her feet.

Magic infused the air. Jon tasted it, sweet and heady, as he kept watch of Sansa as she twisted and turned with the cheerful lutes and drums. They had no worries now; no dragonqueens or lionqueens, and no rat faced bastards to chase down and hurt young women—

Jon’s fist clenched thinking of that snake. It had been so satisfying to bloody him, to hear the sound of bone striking bone. It was only Sansa’s sweet face that tempered that beast inside him, that would do anything for her.

He came back different, Jon knew. Perhaps a part of Ghost he took with him, some man left behind in the wolf. Whatever this was, it bubbled just under the surface. That beast inside that always sought to protect her - even when she believed he couldn’t - but now she was safe inside the walls of their ancient home and they had each other.

That. That was the true magic. That they were together after so long and so much, the world was right now in a way it had never been, even before they left.

Sansa picked out a mug of ale, held it up to her lips, and tipped her head to him in askance as her eyes took on a hint of mischief. Jon smiled back and gestured her forward. He’d shared her enough, the protective beast wanted his wife beside him. Carefully, Sansa wended her way to him, speaking briefly with those who wished her well as she moved. Tall and fire-touched, she was. Again, he was a worshipper merely wanting to bask in her presence.

‘Husband,’ she said, sitting beside him. ‘Are you well?’

‘Far better now you’re here, my love.’

She reached across the table and plucked up a grape. ‘Is something to your liking?’

He couldn’t keep his eyes from her slender throat as she moved. ‘There is.’ He gulped more of his courage potion, but found none left. ‘I always do when admiring my wife.’

Giggling, Sansa handed him her mug of ale, untouched. They sat back, Jon kept his hand around hers as the court made merry.

Yes, their life was some kind of magic. Jon would never question it.

67 notes - Posted October 28, 2022

#3

‘Next is Germany!’

Already? - Graham

79 notes - Posted May 14, 2022

#2

The Dance hasn’t even started yet and I can’t wait for Cregan Stark to come down and clean up the mess.

92 notes - Posted October 11, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Don’t tell me people are shocked Rhaenys killed the common people. It’s perfectly normal for Targaryens to come in on their overgrown lizards and slaughter defenceless people. Daenerys did it. Aegon and his sisters did it. Practically a pastime.

116 notes - Posted October 17, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[sotwk]

Thank you for saying all this, OP @garnetdawn! 🤩

I very much need more of this OC-loving energy in my little writer's corner. Sadly, I feel like Original Characters have fallen out of favor in fanfiction compared to how it was in ye olde times.

Much of my heart (and time, oh the time!) goes into the creation of my OCs, especially the Elvenqueen and the Thranduilion princes. I have pages and pages of notes and fic summaries and drafts on Google docs to prove it. I can't be mad; I really enjoy doing it! I even have more OCs baking in the oven now that I'm expanding to other LOTR characters!

Alas, I'm starting to think my stories get less engagement because they have OCs, and I will just have to accept that reality.

Creating, developing, and integrating Original Characters into canon is what I enjoy most about fanfic writing, and I really wish I could find more readers who will enjoy them with me.

If I had even just 10 more of @laneynoir active in my orbit, my writer's block would probably be cut by half, easily. The fact that she thought of me first when she read this post says everything. Love you @laneynoir--don't ever leave me please! 😂🥰

(Thank you also to any reader/mutual/follower who has ever showed interest or said anything kind about any of my OCs. Every little bit of support helps! Extra tag to @creativity-of-death because she's been so nice about this too.)

I fucking love OCs!! I love to see the silly little guys spawned directly from artists!! From the source of creativity and no filter of dumbass executives seeking only profit!!  I fuckin love to hear how much an OC means to someone!! How much they grew along with their creation!! I fucking love slorping up the crumbs of lore that artists put out!! I love to try to figure out what the hell their little guy is all about!! What horrors they’re being put through!! GO LITTLE GUY GO!!!!!!!!!

[sotwk]

Happy birthday!! Love the summer campfire idea, thanks for inviting me! I'll obviously have multiple asks but here's my first.

For What Would This Thranduilion Do?What would Gelir do if he found out someone he interacted with on almost a daily basis had romantic interest in him but he didn't have any romantic interest in them?

I love Gelir's personality in the fics I've read so far and would love to see him in more Situations 😆

Oooh this is the first (and so far only) request for this game--thank you so much! <3 What a great question!

"If he found out someone he interacted with on almost a daily basis had romantic interest in him but he didn't have any romantic interest in them..."

What Would Gelir Thranduilion Do?

Ahhh Gelir. By far the cockiest of the Thranduilion Princes (gets it right from his father, where else??), he does like to flirt and is fully aware of his ability to charm others off their feet.

For all his bravado and suaveness, he's rather immature when it comes to understanding deep emotions, whether his own or of others. One of Gelir's biggest character flaws is a lack of empathy, enough to cause him to be rather crass and insensitive, even unintentionally.

He thinks of flirting as fun and harmless socializing, and it could totally happen that someone is already showing obvious romantic feelings for him, and he would fail to catch on to it.

What would he do if he found out someone liked him but he didn't share those feelings? Basically, his cocky self would totally collapse in the presence of that person. He would not know how to properly handle the situation, but he would fumble trying to figure it out on his own.

Instead of being honest and straightforward, he would make matters worse by continuing to flirt and lead the person on--perhaps even imply that he feels the same way, just because he doesn't want to hurt their feelings. He can't help himself.

Only after he's already dug himself in too deep (like maybe the lady has already taken him to meet her parents or is picking out a wedding date) would Gelir finally seek advice from his betters.

In matters of the heart, the Thranduilions most often seek advice from Mirion, the only one of them actually married, and who has real game and a flawless grasp of social etiquette. Also, he's the only brother Gelir can trust would not give him a hard time (in retaliation for the teasing he inflicts on them).

Mirion would teach Gelir exactly what to say. It will still probably be a painful and awkward conversation, but at least that poor admirer would finally know the truth and hopefully be understanding. Whether the friendship can be saved or not would be entirely their choice.

This was really fun! Thank you again for giving me a chance to talk about my special blorbos! :)

This "What Would This Thranduilion Do" game is part of SotWK's Summer Campfire Sleepover 2024. (Requests accepted only on July 11-15, 2024.)

[merriadoc-brandyfuck]

“But... why?? Don’t get me wrong Kili looks amazing, but Legolas! He’s clean-shaven, tall and WHOOO!!!”

-my mom, 2021

[halfelven]

Legolas sits with hair undone. Rain falls on the window, heavy enough to disguise the world behind entirely. The diamond panes of glass look out upon a river. This river will fall to the land, will join the Bruinen, will to flow to the sea. He has never seen the sea. But Aragorn has told him how the great waves rise and fall, and crash and break on the earth. How nothing else sounds like it. How it could drive you mad, with want or love, or fear.

Aragorn isn’t afraid of the sea. He isn’t afraid of death either. He brought Legolas pieces of sea glass — a treasure. Legolas put them in a glass bowl on his windowsill.

‘Have you ever seen the sea?’ he asks Bilbo Baggins, who once lived in his house, although they never met. That was before Aragorn and the sea glass.

‘No,’ Bilbo says. ‘But I will someday. I’ve promised myself that.’

Legolas nods. The ring once lived in his house too. He didn’t feel it. He doesn’t feel it when Frodo carries it either. He hasn’t asked anyone else if they do or don’t. He thinks it might make Gandalf feel strange, but he doesn’t dare ask.

‘What else did you promise yourself?’ Legolas asks. He rests his chin on his drawn up knees. Bilbo sits quite close to the fire, and he has a green blanket over his lap. He is old. Younger than Legolas in years, but older than him in every way that matters.

‘That I would see my Frodo again,’ Bilbo says. ‘That we’d have a happy ending.’

‘How do you promise a happy ending?’ he asks. Death is strange and far away. But it always seems sad.

Bilbo looks at the fire, and Legolas looks at the window.

‘It has to be,’ Bilbo says. ‘All the best stories end that way. Or, well, my favourites do.’

‘I don’t like thinking of endings,’ Legolas says.

‘That’s because you’re an elf.’

Legolas does not disagree with Bilbo. He hugs his knees and rocks back and forth, humming. The melody is like the rain, and not like the sea. The sea he can hear in the shell Aragorn brought him.

‘I’ll see it too someday,’ he says.

Bilbo looks at him. ‘A happy ending?’

‘The sea, and no endings.’

‘Every story ends somewhere, Thranduilion.’

‘I know,’ Legolas says, but he counts death as violence. Bilbo can count death as peace. ‘I’ve heard that all water runs to the sea.’

‘Yes, but not all find it.’

The rain thins. Legolas can see the world outside again. A crow flies to a white pine. Water runs slowly down the window.

[erathene]

Finding your Feet (Part 1)

Legolas x Reader

Word count: 937 words

Warnings: Sparring and mention of death. Adult themes are implied but not explicitly described. Sassy!Legolas who is jealous 😅

Genre: Hurt/Comfort (ish)

Summary: Just after setting out from Rivendell, you are starting to find your feet in the fellowship. But one member of your group does not give you a warm welcome.

Author’s note: I suck at summaries and deciding on a the right genre and naming my fics send help This fic was inspired by the post of @entishramblings asking the Tumblrverse for a Jealous Legolas fanfic, when I saw it the idea immediately came into my head and I just had to write it! I have half an idea for a part two but it needs more work. If you enjoy this fic please like and reblog ❤️

"Dead!"

The tip of the silver sword was pointed directly at your neck, which rapidly rose and fell with every breath you took. You had once again fallen during the sparring session and been slain by your would-be enemy.

That would-be enemy was Boromir, son of Denethor, an esteemed captain of Gondor who you knew in reality would not hurt a fly. He flashed you a quick smile and offered you his hand to regain your feet. But you did not return the smile. It was at least the fourth time he had managed to defeat you, and you were getting more and more irritated with your own lack of progress.

"We can practice again tomorrow, y/n," Boromir offered, giving you a quick pat on the shoulder. "I see improvements in you. We will make a fighter out of you yet!"

"At least one of us thinks so," you huffed, unable to see past the muscle aches that were beginning to build from the exertion of sparring with the man.

Before you could take your leave, Boromir's six-foot frame blocked your path. He gently took hold of both your shoulders and looked directly into your eyes so that you could not turn away. "Take heart, y/n. We are but four days out of Rivendell. There will be many more days before we reach Mordor and your skills will be truly tested," his voice was so kind, so gentle and endearing, you almost felt childish for feeling irritated.

"Besides," Boromir continued, "we will surely pass through the White City on our journey east. I promise you this; I will introduce you to the swordmasters there, and you can be trained by Gondor's finest ere we reach our destination."

"Wow... I would like that. Very much," you stammered, almost at a loss for words.

Boromir released you and gave you a small nod, before making his way over to the campfire and leaving you standing alone in the clearing. You started to gather up your belongings, sheathing your sword and retrieving your cloak from where it lay on a rock. Maybe Boromir was right, maybe you were improving. And to be offered a chance to spar with Gondor's swordsmasters would be an honour indeed-

"Are you really naïve enough to believe he will keep that promise?" A bitter voice entered the clearing, smashing through your train of thought.

Legolas stepped out from behind a particularly wide tree trunk, his arms folded and eyebrows raised. Not for the first time that evening, you were lost for words. You hitched your bundled cloak in your arms to get a steadier grip on the finely woven material.

"What will he make you promise in return, do you think?" Legolas pressed further.

"And what is that supposed to imply," you retorted with one eyebrow raised.

"You know exactly what it implies," Legolas quipped.

You still didn't follow, but your gut instinct thought his tone had an air of jealously to it. You had not been in the company of Legolas Thranduilion for very long, and so you couldn't quite be sure of what jealously looked like on him compared with his other emotions. You knew he was a prince of the elven realm of Mirkwood, but that was the limit of your knowledge. Rather than responding to these apparently petty comments, it was probably better to walk away. A bowl of hot food and more pleasant conversations were likely waiting at the campfire just beyond.

"He will provide you with a favour and he will ask for somewhat in return," Legolas called before you had even made ten steps.

Now the penny dropped.

You turned to face the elf. Prince or not, you would not entertain his mind games. "You know, not everyone enjoys having their private conversations overheard by others," you said.

"Hardly private," Legolas almost laughed as he said it. "Voices carry."

"Tell me Legolas - if an elf falls from a tree in the forest, but no-one is there to hear him, does he make a sound?" Your sarcastic response and feeble attempt at your own mind game masked the embarrassment.

"I do not comprehend your meaning," Legolas laughed aloud again.

"It means you observed our conversation from these tree branches," you nodded upwards.

This time it was Legolas who did not respond, the directness of your accusation stunned him into silence. You hadn't been certain whether or not he had actually been observing your training session with Boromir from the treetops, but his reaction in that moment told you all you needed to know. You did not need a further confession.

After a long pause, Legolas finally responded. "I was observing your sparring technique. You do need improvement," his throwaway comment stinging your pride.

Before you could say another word, Legolas departed silently into the surrounding trees. Your stomach twisted in anger at his audacity; eavesdropping and snide comments did not appear very prince-like. And he was supposed to be royalty where he came from? Pfft.

You did not see him present at the campfire when you joined the rest of your companions for the evening meal. Nor did you see him when you bedded down on the forest floor to rest for the night. You kept your eyes open for as long as possible in the gathering darkness, watching for him; you wanted to confront him and demand to know what his problem was, even if you ended up waking half the fellowship from their slumber.

But he did not return. Sometime whilst watching the fire slowly die down from flames to embers, your eyelids surrendered to sleep.

[happenedinmiddle-earth]

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬: 𝐒𝐞𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞

s: how does all the middle-earth folk react to seeing you for the first time.

w: brief mention of an attack

a/n: idk what im doing hope you like it

Aragorn Son of Arathorn

He saw you the first time while passing by a small, not so known town. In middle-earth, alone traveling woman was already an eye-catcher, but he noticed you for different reasons. He was propped in the back of a tavern, hood covering his face and pipe hanging by his lips. He noticed how your laughter filled the room when presumably a friend of yours cracked a joke. Your smile was rather catching, it lightened up the whole room. Even warmed the lone Strider’s chest even though he wouldn’t admit to such. Your paths crossed a few times and while he remained hidden from you (or so he thought) you were always easily found.

Legolas Thranduilion

He saw you the first time when you joined the council of Elrond. Rather curious of how a woman, and a human at that, had found herself from the midst of Elves and dwarves and men. He kept his questions to himself at first though, only letting your confidence and wise words impress him further more. He was in awe at how well worded you were, how you carried yourself even when some of the councilmembers looked down at you. Your voice was stern yet soft, sort of like a mother’s when scolding her children. He was even more impressed when your fighting skills competed with his.

Thranduil Opherion

He had actually seen you countless of times as you did live in Mirkwood, but he truly first met you when the group of sellsmen that you were a part of got attacked by orcs right outside the woods. He didn’t see you in any particular light, if anything you still were just a commoner in his eyes, a commoner who had fools luck being the sole survivor of the ambush. He did offer you the goods you had lost and made sure your wounds wete tended before sending you away.

Boromir son of Denethor II

At first Boromir didn’t even want to meet you. Not in the least. As your first meeting would mean marrige after a handful of days. Boromir liked to be free, to not have a helpless woman at his feet all the time, asking for his attention. He even tried to get his father to give you to Faramir in vain. But in the end boy, how glad he was to be unsuccesful. It only took you a few hours to get on his good side, impressing him with you wit and knowledge of ruling a kingdom. You shared the same passion to protect your families. And even though the marriage was arranged, neither of you could help but slowly fall for each other.

Bard the Bowman

Lake town was so secluded and small, no one would have in their good graces just stumbled there. So Bard probably has known you pretty much your entire life, whether you were younger or same age as his late wife. If you weren’t working with the elders making fabrics and watching children, you’d be out on your own hunting for food outside of the town. Bard often warned you, given that the Master didn’t allow bringing in your own food unless it was going to him. Nonetheless, you’d assure him it was fine, hand him and his kids some of the dried meat and skipped through the town to your home.