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kiliandfiliatyourservice192 · 22 days

Text

I Just Want You

Word Count: 1400

Pairings: Fili x reader

Warnings: None

Description: Royal wedding plans begin to take their toll, but there's only one thing you require to make the day perfect.

Requested by anon so I don't have a way to tag you I'm sorry! But I hope you enjoy. 😇

“What do you think, nâtha? The lilies or the orchids?”

You buried your face in your hands. The pounding against your temples, something that had become a familiar sensation as of late, began to worsen as you tried to piece together any coherent sentence. There were only three words that came to mind, the same three words you’d uttered countless times over the past several weeks.

“I don’t know.”

The joy of yours and Fili’s engagement had subsided the moment you’d broken the news to your families. With FIli being the crown prince and heir, there was no way Dis and your mother would let it be a simple affair. Invitations had already been sent out to every corner of Middle Earth, and you’d been occupied from sunup to sundown every day with planning. The dress, the flowers, the food…

You were from a simple merchant family. The pomp and ceremony of royalty made no sense to you. Where you’d grown up, weddings were a simple affair. Most couples in your small village chose to elope rather than go through the bother of an elaborate ceremony. You’d have been more than happy to do the same. However, your mother and future mother in law had both been quick to dismiss the idea.

“It’s no matter, dear. We have time to decide.” Your mother pulled several small scraps of fabric, ranging from the purest snow white to the creamier shades of ivory. She laid them out against the table and gestured to each. “Which color do you think for the dress? We’ve got to begin sewing soon if it will be ready in time.”

Before you had the chance to respond, Dis laid out several different styles of gold and silver fabric beside the scraps your mother had laid down.

“And what of the trim? You’ve got to decide if you prefer gold accents or silver. But I do suppose that would have an effect on the choice of flowers…” She trailed off, lost in her own world of thought.

You could feel your pulse radiating against your temples as the migraine that had been forming worsened. This was the issue exactly. It wasn’t just selecting a dress. It was selecting a type of fabric, a trim, lace… And that had to coordinate with the flowers or else…

Or else what, exactly? Would the world cease to exist if the flowers and trim didn’t go together? Would Mahal himself descend from the sky if the food and the wine didn’t pair perfectly?

You looked from where you sat at the head of the long, carved wood table to the opposite end. Fili sat on his own, silently working through a stack of parchments Thorin had given him. He hadn’t been overly involved in the plans, as your mothers had taken over almost immediately. But you’d expressed to him how stressful the process had been, and he’d decided to come sit with you for moral support. He met your gaze and gave you a gentle smile. It sent butterflies through your stomach, as it always did. He was all you needed, truly. You could get married in the same, tattered old dress he’d met you in carrying a bouquet of wildflowers for all you cared. As long as he was there, it was all you required.

“(Y/N)?”

Your mother’s voice brought you back to the less desirable reality. She and Dis were both staring at you expectantly, the colored swatches of cloth still spread out across the table in front of you.

“Silver or gold-”

“First, she has to decide on a shade of white. Which shade do you prefer, (Y/N)?”

“Well it might help to decide on the accent first, then she can pick a white that goes with that.”

As Dis and your mother began speaking over each other you buried your face in your hands once again. The pounding against your temples became rhythmic, a steady thump that seemed to grow louder and louder as their voices overlapped. You felt as though you might go mad if the pounding and the questions didn't stop soon.

“(Y/N)-” Dis started.

“I don’t know!” You cried again, finally raising your head to look at the two of them. “I don’t know, okay? And I don’t care. Just pick a color. Whatever you both want.”

You flung yourself back in the chair, crossing your arms over your chest. It was unlike you to have such an outburst, but you were exhausted. There were too many questions, too many decisions. You’d be more than happy for them to make the choices and just tell you when and where to show up on the day of.

“And what do you want, amrâlimê?”

The three of you turned your attention to the end of the table as Fili piped up. He’d laid his parchments to the side. His eyes were not on either of your mothers, but on you. You could see the genuine concern etched in the lines that furrowed between his brows. He knew the planning had begun to take a toll, and now he was able to see the full amount of stress that you were under.

You felt tears begin to sting the corners of your eyes.

“I just want you.” You said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Your mothers exchanged shameful glances across the table, finally seeming to realize just how much they’d piled on you at once. FIli’s expression softened as he continued to look at you, his eyes never breaking away to look at anyone else in the room.

“Could you leave us for a moment?” He asked.

Dis and your mother stood silently, collecting the fabric and other wedding items they’d strewn across the table. You felt Dis place a hand apologetically on your shoulder as she followed your mother from the room.

Once they’d gone Fili’s smile widened. He extended his hand to you, gesturing for you to come join him at the end of the table. You stood and quickly walked around to where he sat. Once you were within his arm’s reach he grabbed you, pulling you down by your waist and plopping you into his lap. As soon as your legs touched his he stretched his face up to your neck, peppering light kisses up and down your collarbones. You giggled as his mustache braids tickled the exposed skin of your neck, his lips working their way up to plant kisses along your cheeks. He finally found your mouth and pressed his delicately against yours, making it the gentlest and sweetest kiss of them all.

You felt a contented sigh escape your lips as he pulled you closer to him, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist. You rested your chin on top of his head as your fingers began to slowly brush through his hair, careful as always not to disturb his perfectly placed braids. The feeling of his arms wrapped snugly around your waist had already alleviated the nervous pit in your stomach, and you wondered how it could have only been moments ago that you were stressed to the point of breaking down in tears. He was your safe place, your calm within the storm.

“We don’t have to make it into a spectacle, you know.” He murmured into the collar of your dress. “It can just be the two of us, whenever and wherever you want.”

“We can’t.” You said, wistfully. If only it were that simple.

“And who says so?”

“You’re the prince-”

“To hell with that.” He said, pulling back just enough to look up at you. “Thorin’s already given his blessing for us to skip the whole affair.”

“But our mothers-”

“To hell with them too.” His expression quickly changed from confidence to one of fear as he looked over his shoulder. “Don’t tell them I said that.”

You giggled again, pulling him closer to you as he nuzzled his face into your neck once more.

“Amrâlimê, I will go get Balin right now and have him perform the ceremony in this very room.” He continued. “I don’t need the flowers or the food or the party. I just want you, too.”

You pulled back again, just enough to look down into his eyes. He was smiling up at you, his eyes sparkling with the same joy as they had the first day you met. He was all you needed, now and forever.

“I think that sounds absolutely perfect.” You said, brushing back a few loosened strands of his golden hair. “On one condition.”

He looked at you expectantly as you continued.

“You have to tell our mothers.”

nâtha - daughter

amrâlimê - my love

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