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thewulf · 1 month

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I Choose You || Legolas

Summary: Request - Hii hope you're having a good day, is it okay if I request a Legolas x reader where reader is Gandalf's granddaughter and joined the fellowship on their quest to destroy the ring? They both slowly fell in love with each other along the way and when the incident in Moria happened where Gandalf dies, Legolas comforts her.

A/N: Thank you for the amazing request! Had a blast writing this as usual :) It's a lil long, so enjoy!

Pairing: Legolas x Female Reader

Word Count: 5.5k +

TW: Talks of war/death, war, death, orcs, general LOTR triggers

You stand silently amidst the gathered council fading into the background as best you could. The murmur of many voices echoing softly through the vaulted halls of Rivendell. The air is crisp, filled with the mingling scents of ancient scrolls and the distant freshness of autumnal leaves. Elves, men, dwarves, and even a few hobbits have come to discuss the fate of Middle-earth, their faces marked by concern and resolve.

Your grandfather, Gandalf the Grey, stands at the center of it all. His presence both commanding and comforting. You’ve always admired his wisdom and strength and today, more than ever, you feel the weight of your lineage. You are his granddaughter, gifted with a touch of his magical prowess and a deep love for the mysteries of this world.

As the debate swirls around you, Elrond, the lord of Rivendell calls for silence. His gaze settles on the small golden ring laid upon the pedestal. It’s simple form belying its terrible power. The task is clear though the path is fraught with peril: the ring must be destroyed in the fires of Mount Doom. "We must form a fellowship," Elrond declares. His voice resonant and clear. "Those who will take this burden upon themselves and walk into the shadow to see this evil undone."

A hush falls over the council. Eyes turn, some in fear, others in anticipation, seeking those who might step forward. This is the moment you’ve prepared for, not just since you arrived in Rivendell but throughout your life under Gandalf’s tutelage. With a breath that steadies your resolve you step forward. The rustle of your cloak is like a whisper against the stone floor and several members of the council turn in surprise as you move into the circle of light cast by the morning sun through the high windows.

"I will go," you say, your voice firm and clear. "For the love of my grandfather and for the safety of middle earth. I will see this quest through to its end."

Murmurs of approval ripple through the room and Gandalf meets your eyes across the circle. There’s pride in his gaze and a touch of sorrow, knowing well the dangers that lie ahead. But in this moment you see also the unspoken bond between the two of you. An acknowledgment of the shared commitment to what is right, no matter the cost.

Legolas, a prince of the Woodland Realm, nods to you with respect clear in his bright eyes. Beside him, a stout figure grumbles under his breath, yet Gimli the Dwarf gives a curt nod of assent, recognizing your courage. Beside them a young hobbit named Frodo, who is to be the Ringbearer, looks on with wide, earnest eyes. It is for him, and for all who call this land home, that you pledge your strength. As the council disperses to prepare for the journey you stand beside Gandalf feeling the ancient power of Rivendell around you and the even older strength that lies within your own heart. This is just the beginning you know but you are ready. For the Fellowship, for middle earth, for Gandalf.

You will face whatever comes, together.

As the Fellowship journeys south from Rivendell the path grows increasingly treacherous, winding through craggy mountain passes and shadowed forests. The air is crisp and the first frost of winter sparkles on the leaves. Your companions walk close together. Each step a testament to the weight of the task ahead.

Aragorn leads with a steady hand, his ranger skills essential as the terrain becomes more challenging. Beside him, Boromir of Gondor often lends his strength. His booming voice echoing off the stone trying to keep spirits high among the group, especially the hobbits—Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin—who find amusement in the smallest wonders along the way. Like the frost patterns on the leaves or a particularly stubborn squirrel.

Legolas glides effortlessly beside you. His elven grace a stark contrast to Gimli who stumps along with a determined scowl, his axe ever at the ready. Despite the solemnity of your mission the elf and the dwarf have already begun what seems to be an endless competition, each trying to outdo the other in tracking skills, strength, and the telling of tall tales.

One balmy afternoon as the path narrows along the edges of a steep ravine the rivalry comes to a head between the two of them. Gimli insists he can clear a particularly large fallen tree with a single vault much to Legolas’s skepticism.

“Watch and learn, Master Elf,” Gimli grunts as he began to back up for a running start. Legolas watches with an arched eyebrow, clearly very amused by the red headed dwarf travelling beside him.

Just as Gimli begins to charge forward you step in placing a calming hand on his shoulder. “Perhaps, Gimli, it would be wiser to assist each other over the obstacle rather than compete with others. After all, the road ahead promises ample challenge for both of your strengths.” You smile warmly down at the ambitious dwarf set out to prove himself.

Gimli stops mid-stride puffing out his chest a bit as he turns to you, then to Legolas. “Hmm, perhaps you are right, lass. What say you, Legolas? Shall we make this journey a test of our cooperation rather than our competition?”

Legolas’s lips curve into a smile. His eyes sparkling with a newfound respect. “I believe our companion speaks wisely. Let us proceed together.” He offers his hand to Gimli who looks at it for a moment before shaking it heartily.

As the journey continues you find yourself often mediating and bringing lightness to tense moments. One evening as the Fellowship gathered around the campfire you recount a humorous anecdote from your days studying under your grandfather. Making sure to mimic Gandalf’s stern voice and dramatic gestures. The group erupts into laughter, the sound carrying through the trees and lifting the spirits of all including the hobbits who clap delightedly and ask for more stories.

Aragorn, sitting across from you nods appreciatively. His eyes meeting yours with a silent thank-you for the lightness you bring. Boromir chuckles, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes clearly more at ease. “You have the gift of your grandfather. Not only in magic but in spirit.” Aragorn comments, his voice warm in the chill air.

Legolas who was sitting beside you leans closer and speaks softly, “Your wisdom brings much-needed peace. And your humor is a light in dark times. It is a rare gift.”

You meet his gaze. The firelight cast dancing shadows across his features. All elves were beautiful but there was something about the Price of Mirkwood that drew you in. “We all carry our gifts, Legolas. Yours is your unerring optimism and sharp eye. Gimli’s his steadfastness and heart. Boromir’s his valor. Aragorn’s his leadership. And the hobbits’ their enduring cheer. Together we are stronger than each individual.”

As the nights grow longer and the path more daunting the bonds within the Fellowship deepen, fortified by shared challenges and your quiet efforts to understand, and support each other. In the quiet moments Legolas teaches you Elvish songs of old. And Gimli shares tales of the great Dwarven halls, their voices blending into the night creating a tapestry of friendship and hope.

As the Fellowship delves into the ancient depths of Moria the air grows thick with the mustiness of ages and the weight of stone. The walls echo with the memory of Dwarven voices, now silent. The path is lit only by the faint glow of Gandalf’s staff. Gimli moves with a mix of reverence and sorrow. His eyes reflecting a deep familial connection to the lost realm of his kin. The narrow passages twist and turn leading you deeper into the mountain’s heart. The quiet is oppressive, only broken by the occasional drip of water or the scuffle of a boot on stone. Tension mounts with each step and even the normally unflappable Legolas seems taut, his eyes scanning the shadows.

All too suddenly, the dark stillness erupts into chaos. A low growl escalates into a deafening roar as the Balrog, a creature of fire and shadow, reveals itself. The ground trembles beneath its weight and the air sears with heat. Gandalf steps forward his face set with grim determination. “Lead them on, Aragorn,” he commands. “The bridge is near. Do as I say! Swords are no more use here!” Your grandfather cries as he gives you a sharp look. Obey. You must listen to him now.

The Fellowship rushes forward driven by fear and the urgent need to escape, but you hesitate, your heart torn as Gandalf faces the monster alone. As the others cross the bridge of Khazad-dûm you watch, helpless, as Gandalf confronts the Balrog. His staff was raised, a brilliant light flaring to meet the darkness.

“You cannot pass,” Gandalf declares. His voice echoing powerfully. It sends a shutter down even your spine.

The Balrog advances and with a defiant cry Gandalf strikes the bridge with his staff. It crumbles sending the creature plummeting into the abyss. But the Balrog’s fiery whip lashes out, catching Gandalf’s leg, pulling him towards the edge. With a calm but utterly sad glance back at you, he murmurs, “Fly, you fools,” before falling into the darkness below.

Shock paralyzes you momentarily, tears blurring your vision. The others tug at you, pulling you away from the crumbling edge. As you flee Moria the loss of your beloved grandfather hits you. A deep ache that seems to echo through the empty halls. Outside, under the grey, mourning sky, the Fellowship collapses in a clearing. Each member grappling with grief. Your knees give out and you sink to the ground, overwhelmed by sorrow. Legolas is at your side in an instant, his presence a silent solace. He does not speak, but his hand finds yours, squeezing gently. A clear reminder that you are not alone.

Gimli joins you. His own eyes rimmed red. “He was the greatest of us all,” he says gruffly with his voice thick with emotion. “I am honored to have walked beside him and I vow to you, we will see this quest through. For him and for all our sakes.”

The words are a balm to your spirit even as you could not reply. Words were too hard for you now. You lean into Legolas, his strength supporting you. You mourn the loss of the only thing you knew. Legolas and Gimli by your side reminding you that even in the depths of loss, the bonds of friendship and love hold firm.

You manage to whisper a weak "Thank you," before the sorrow overwhelms you once more. Tears flood your cheeks, each one a memory, a moment shared with Gandalf that you'll never experience again. Overcome, you turn into Legolas's side, seeking the comfort that only close, physical presence can provide. Though he was not typically fond of physical touch he does not hesitate to comfort you. He wraps his arms around you, his embrace firm and unwavering. In this moment your need transcends his usual reservations, and he holds you close. A silent sentinel in your hour of vulnerability.

His hands are steady on your back, one arm around your shoulders, the other at your waist, grounding you as your grief spills forth unchecked. Legolas's heart aches for your loss and though he may not express his emotions openly his actions speak a clear language of care and adoration. As you cry into his side, Legolas rests his chin atop your head. His gaze was fixed on the distant horizon where the last light of day gives way to twilight. He feels the weight of your sorrow as if it were his own, yet he knows he must stand strong for you.

Legolas knows that the road ahead will be fraught with further trials but for now, he offers you all that he can—protection, comfort, and an unspoken promise that no matter what lies ahead, you will not face it alone. In the stillness that wraps around you and Legolas there's a respectful pause from the rest of the Fellowship. They were giving you a moment to collect yourself under the cloak of Legolas's support. Aragorn, ever attentive to the needs of his comrades, notices the depth of your grief and the comfort Legolas provides. He understands the significance of this moment, the necessity of mourning and the importance of support in such times.

Standing a short distance away Aragorn speaks quietly with the hobbits making sure everyone is ready to continue but delaying their departure ever so slightly for your sake. His leadership is subtle. His decisions shaped by a deep understanding of his people's emotional and physical stamina.

After a brief moment, Aragorn looks over, his eyes meeting Legolas’s over your bowed head. There’s a silent communication between them. A leader’s acknowledgement and a friend’s gratitude for the support given to one of their own. Aragorn’s face softens, his respect for whatever was forming between you two clear in his gentle nod.

With a deep breath, signaling both readiness and respect, Aragorn approaches. His voice is soft yet carries a necessary urgency as he speaks. His words meant to soothe but also to remind of the path ahead. “We must move on for night will not wait for us and neither will our enemies,” he spoke with his tone conveying both compassion and resolve. “Take the time you need but remember we must not linger long.”

Legolas gently helps you stand straighter his arms still offering support. As you wipe away the last of your tears, strengthened by the comfort you’ve received, you nod in understanding. Legolas gives you a reassuring look. His eyes promising continued support and then he gently releases you. He was ready to stand by your side as you all prepare to resume the journey. With a final glance at Gandalf’s last stand you and the Fellowship gather your gear and set off once more into the fading light. The memory of Gandalf a guiding light that pushes you forward through the darkness.

Emerging into the sunlight of the world again does little to lift the sorrow of the Fellowship which soon deepens with Boromir’s tragic fall at Amon Hen. His valiant defense of Merry and Pippin against the Uruk-hai, though ultimately costing him his life, marked him forever a hero in the annals of your journey. The loss of such a stalwart companion leaves a void in your heart and within the group, casting a pall over your spirits.

Driven by a fierce determination to honor Boromir’s sacrifice, you, Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli give chase across the plains of Rohan to rescue Merry and Pippin from their captors. The pursuit is grueling. Pushing each of you to your very limits. The landscape of Rohan is vast and relentless, but the tracks are clear, guiding you unerringly toward the thick fringes of Fangorn Forest. The hope of rescuing the hobbits fuels your weary bodies onward even as your hearts ache with the memory of Gandalf's fall and Boromir’s courageous end.

As you follow the trail into the shadowy depths of Fangorn a sense of ancient watchfulness grows. The forest feels alive, old beyond reckoning, and filled with secrets. It is here among the whispering trees that the unexpected happens. A figure steps out from the shadows garbed in white, his presence bright against the dark underbrush. The shock of seeing what you believe might be Saruman stops you in your tracks. But as the figure approaches the energy changes—the air around him shimmers with a familiar warmth and power. Not the cold malice of Saruman.

"Gandalf?" Legolas breathes. A note of awe mingling with disbelief.

You squint, hardly daring to believe it to be true. As he draws closer, clarity dawns, and recognition floods your senses. Overcome with emotion you shout, "Grandfather!" and sprint toward him. Your heart swelling with joy and relief.

Gandalf opens his arms wide, and you crash into his embrace. The impact strong yet comforting. "My dear child," he murmurs. His voice warm and welcoming as he wraps his arms around you. His cloak envelops you with a familiar scent of pipe-weed and the road clinging to the fabric grounding you in the reality of his return.

"Yes, it is I," Gandalf responds gently, now looking down at you with sparkling eyes, "but as Gandalf the White. I come back to you at the turn of the tide. Stronger and renewed. Just as our hope must now be."

The grief at Boromir’s death and the shock of Gandalf's return blend into a complex tapestry of emotions. The initial shock gives way to a festive air as relief and joy wash over Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli. They join in, their earlier despair replaced by laughter and words of amazement, forming a tight circle around you and Gandalf.

As Gandalf explains his battle with the Balrog and his subsequent rebirth his words filling the gaps in your understanding and rekindling hope in your hearts. His return not only signifies a miraculous second chance but also invigorates the Fellowship with renewed purpose and determination. With Gandalf's guidance now as Gandalf the White you all feel a renewed sense of purpose. The path forward is still fraught with danger but with Gandalf returned, and in memory of Boromir’s bravery, you are reminded that even in the darkest times there can be resurrection and hope. Together you prepare to resume the quest, stronger and more determined than ever.

"Your guidance has been sorely missed, Gandalf," Aragorn says. His voice steady but thick with emotion as he joins you. He captures the mood of the moment, channeling the Fellowship’s relief into focus. "What should we do? Frodo and Sam are gone to Mordor. Merry and Pippin are captives of the enemy." Gandalf releases you from the embrace but keeps one hand on your shoulder, grounding, and comforting. He surveys the small group with a decisive gaze and the air around you seems to thrum with renewed energy and urgency.

"We will split our efforts," he declares. "Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, and you," he nods at you, "will pursue the orcs who took Merry and Pippin. Every second counts and your skills will be crucial in navigating this perilous chase."

You try and protest, but he shakes his head continuing along. "Meanwhile, I shall seek aid from the Ents of Fangorn," Gandalf continues, turning to look at the dense woods behind him. "Their strength will be necessary in the wars to come. We must rally all allies for the shadow from the East grows ever bolder."

As plans are made Legolas stands close by your side, his presence a silent vow of protection and partnership. You feel his hand briefly squeeze yours. A gesture of support that sends a surge of warmth through your heart that he had done so many times before.

"You have grown much, under shadow and trial," Gandalf remarks. Looking at you with a blend of pride and affection With the reunion drawing to a close and the path forward set you all prepare to leave. Gandalf’s return has not only brought back a beloved mentor and friend but has reignited the flame of hope within your heart. Together you feel ready to face the challenges that await knowing that the bonds of friendship and duty will guide you through the darkest of times.

As you traverse the expansive lands towards Rohan the camaraderie within the group deepens, each member adjusting to the rhythms of travel and the complexities of intertwined destinies. Amidst these dynamics your relationship with Legolas finds new ground. The elven prince, always serene and composed, begins to show a more attentive and tender side in his interactions with you. His glances linger longer and his conversations, once filled with tales of ancient elven lore, now often drift towards thoughts and dreams of the future, your future.

It’s during one of the long nights while camped under the vast, starlit sky near the borders of Fangorn Forest, that Gimli noticed the growing tension between you and Legolas. He decided to give you both some space. With a knowing wink and a gruff voice Gimli volunteers for the first watch, his tone unusually gentle. "I reckon the night is best shared with stars and heartfelt words, not an old dwarf's snoring."

Grateful, you share a smile with Legolas as Gimli settles a little distance away, his back to you, affording you a semblance of privacy. Legolas turns to you with his blue eyes reflecting the starlight, and for a moment he simply looks at you as if contemplating a thought long held in silence. "I have seen many wonders in my long life," he starts, his voice soft and mesmerizing under the night sky. "But none compared to the courage and kindness I've seen in you. In these trying times you have become a light guiding me."

Your heart flutters at his words, and you feel a warmth spread through you. "And you, Legolas, have been my solace. In you I find peace amidst turmoil. A joy that even the darkest shadows cannot diminish." He smiles. His gaze intensifying with affection and something more, something unspoken yet palpable between you. Then, in a move that surprises you both for its boldness and its intimacy, Legolas shifts closer and gently pulls you into his side. It's a daring gesture for an elf, particularly one as reserved as Legolas. But it feels right as if many paths had converged to bring this moment into being.

The warmth of his body against yours, the protective embrace of his arm—these are things you never expected to find so far from home. "It seems we have found comfort in one another's presence," he says softly. "Would that we might find a way to keep this light alive… no matter what lies ahead?"

"I would like that very much," you whisper as you leaned into the strength of his embrace.

The two of you sit under the blanket of night talking softly of dreams for a peaceful future and the immediate plans for the days to come. The reality of the quest remains but for now, under the stars, you both allow yourselves the luxury of imagining a life beyond the war. Both of you bound by a newfound affection that promises to grow with each passing day.

At Helm's Deep the air is thick with the tension of impending battle. The great fortress, built into the deep folds of the mountain, stands as the last bastion of hope against the relentless march of Saruman's forces. As the sky darkens and the torches flicker against the night you stand on the ramparts beside Legolas watching the sea of enemies gathering in the distance.

Legolas turns to you, his expression clouded with concern. “You should not be here,” he says softly. His voice barely above the howl of the wind. “This battle... it is not like the ones before. I fear—”

“I know,” you interrupt, understanding his fear but meeting his gaze with a resolve that mirrors the steel of the swords of your comrades below. “I know what this battle could mean for all of us. But I must stand with you, with all of you. There is no other place for me now, Legolas.”

Seeing the determination in your eyes, Legolas's expression softens and he pulls you gently against his side. It was a bold move for him, especially in such a public setting. “Then we will face it together,” he says squeezing your hand tightly as a silent promise passes between you.

The night deepens and the enemy’s drums beat a terrifying rhythm that seems to match the racing of your heart. Legolas pulls you closer. His eyes searching yours in the dim light. “No matter what happens tonight, know this,” he whispers, his voice steady despite the chaos swelling around you. “I love you. I have loved you amidst the shadows of our journey, and I will love you beyond the reaches of time.”

Your breath catches at his words. The simplicity and depth of his confession anchoring you amidst your fears. “And I love you,” you repl. Your voice strong even though you felt so weak. “Whatever may come, whatever we face… we face it together.”

As the battle commences the air fills with the clash of steel and the cries of warriors. You fight back-to-back, Legolas’s arrows finding their marks with deadly precision while you fend off attackers with sword and spell.

Gimli joins two of you, his axe a blur as he protects your flank. “Ha! I’d like to see them try to break this line!” he bellows. His voice a rumble of thunder over the din of battle.

The hours stretch. Each moment a lifetime but you fight with a clarity borne of love and the will to protect not just middle earth but the futures you hope to share. Legolas’s presence is a constant reassurance. His quick glances amidst the fray a reminder of everything worth fighting for.

As dawn breaks the tide of battle shifts. With Gandalf’s timely arrival and the charge of the Rohirrim, a new hope is rekindled. The enemy falters and breaks. Exhausted but alive, you, Legolas, and Gimli regroup, your bodies weary but spirits lifted by the victory, however costly it may have been.

Standing amidst the ruins of the battle you all share a look of relief and unspoken understanding. The war is far from over, but the strength of your bonds, the depth of your love, and the courage of your friends give you the fortitude to press on, to fight another day. With Legolas watch the sunrise, the light washing over Helm’s Deep painting the world in hues of gold and red. A daily rebirth, a reminder that after darkness there always comes a new dawn.

After the long shadow of war finally lifts with the destruction of the One Ring the world begins to breathe again. Minas Tirith stands gleaming under the bright sun, its banners waving in a joyous breeze. The streets are filled with music and laughter as people from all corners of middle earth gather to celebrate the victory. The air is sweet with the scent of blossoming flowers brought forth by a spring that signifies not just the changing of seasons but the dawn of a new era.

You, Legolas, and Gimli stand on a balcony overlooking the jubilant city with a cup of fine wine in hand. The Fellowship has been honored by kings and lords, sung by minstrels, and cheered by crowds. But in this moment, the three of you share a quiet moment that speaks of deeper bonds forged in the fires of your shared trials.

Legolas looks out over the city, his eyes reflecting the green of the fields below. “The world is changed,” he says thoughtfully. “I feel it in the earth, I smell it in the air. The darkness that once threatened to swallow us whole is now but a shadow of the past.”

Gimli nods. His eyes twinkling under his bushy brows. “Aye, and it’s time for more pleasant journeys,” he chuckles. “I promised you both a tour of the Glittering Caves, did I not? And I intend to keep that promise. You’ll find no finer sight beneath the mountains, mark my words!”

“And I,” Legolas adds turning to you with a gentle smile, “would have you both come to Mirkwood. The forests have suffered in the darkness. But they recover, much like us. There are places of such beauty and tranquility that they deserve to be witnessed with friends.”

You sip your wine, letting the rich flavors linger on your tongue as you consider the future. “And what of you?” Gimli asks, looking at you with an expectant raise of his eyebrow.

“I think,” you say slowly, smiling at the possibilities that stretch before you, “that I would like to see more of this world that we have fought so hard to save. From the forests of Mirkwood to the caves of the mountains and perhaps even beyond. There’s so much to explore, so much to learn.”

“And so much to rebuild,” Legolas adds. “Wherever we go we carry with us the legacy of those who fought beside us. Those who fell, and those who lived to see this day. Gandalf’s wisdom, Aragorn’s courage, and even Frodo’s quiet determination—they remain with us, guiding us forward.”

Gimli raises his cup, and you and Legolas do the same. “To the future,” Gimli declares heartily.

“To peace,” Legolas adds, his voice warm.

“To friendship,” you conclude. The three of you clink your cups together, the sound crisp and clear.

As the celebration continues below you lean against the stone railing admiring the city sprawling at your feet. Around you the laughter and music rise to the starlit sky, and you feel a profound sense of contentment. The road ahead is uncharted, but you face it not as a lone wanderer but as part of a fellowship that has endured the darkest of times to see the brightest of days.

With Legolas and Gimli by your side you know that whatever adventures lie ahead, they will be filled with joy, discovery, and the unbreakable bonds of friendship. This is not the end of your story but the beginning of a new chapter, one that you will write together.

As the celebrations in Minas Tirith begin to quiet down into a gentle hum of merriment and the evening deepens, Gimli, with a knowing grin and a subtle nod towards Legolas excuses himself to “inspect the integrity of the ale supply,” leaving you two alone on the quieter side of the terrace that overlooks the city’s sprawling, illuminated gardens.

Legolas watches Gimli depart and then turns to you with a serene expression. His eyes reflecting the myriad lights of the city. He reaches into the folds of his tunic and pulls out a small, exquisitely carved wooden box. “I have something for you,” he says. His voice low and filled with a tender emotion that sends a thrill through your heart.

You watch, curious and expectant, as he opens the box to reveal a pendant. It’s a delicate piece, shaped like a leaf but crafted with such intricacy that each vein in the leaf is visible. It shimmered with a light that seems to emanate from within the silver itself.

“This is a leaf from the Mallorn trees of Lothlórien,” Legolas explains as he carefully lifts the pendant from the box. “Galadriel herself gave this to me before we departed and though I cherish it... I believe it was always meant for you.”

He steps closer. His presence so familiar and yet so heart-stirringly profound at this intimate moment. “In the elven tradition,” he continues, his eyes locked onto yours, “to give such a gift is to choose a companion. To offer a token of one’s heart and soul. I give this to you not out of obligation but from a free and willing heart. I choose you and it’s you I wish to be with through all the ages of this world.”

He pauses while holding the pendant up between you. His eyes searching yours for an answer, a confirmation of your feelings. You nod gently, overwhelmed by the emotion in his gaze and the significance of his gift.

Legolas smiles, a soft, joyous curve of his lips, and delicately clasps the pendant around your neck. His fingers brush lightly against your skin as he secures the clasp sending shivers down your spine. The metal feels warm as if charged with his affection and presence.

“I cannot promise that the road ahead will be free from hardship,” Legolas says softly while drawing you close so that your foreheads touch lightly, “but I can promise that you will never walk it alone. Where you go I will follow. And where I go I hope you will be by my side.”

“Legolas,” you whisper. Your voice thick with emotion. “There is no one else I would rather have by my side. No one else I would want to share my path with. I choose you, too, today, and always.”

Without hesitation Legolas leans in to capture your lips in a kiss. It’s gentle at first. A tender meeting that speaks of mutual respect and deep affection. But as you respond the kiss deepens, becoming a profound expression of your shared love and commitment.

The world around you—the city of Minas Tirith, the sounds of celebration—fades into a blissful quiet. In this moment wrapped in Legolas’s embrace, you realize that while the war might have brought you together it is love that will lead you into your future. Beneath the stars and above the glowing city you share a promise of a thousand sunrises to come. Each one a new day to explore and cherish the world together.

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velvet4510 · 3 months

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Tolkien is admittedly pretty good at sparing his couples from permanent separation. Look at Frodo & Sam, Beren & Lúthien, Aragorn & Arwen, the many Elf pairings, the many human pairings, etc. They each get to spend eternity together, be it in Valinor for the Elves who are eventually re-embodied, or beyond Arda wherever mortals go after death.

But then there’s Aegnor, who will spend literally the entire duration of the world’s existence loving and mourning someone he only knew for a few comparatively short decades because his own lineage was a traitor to him, his lack of mortal ancestry preventing him from ever having the choice to be with her forever.

And also there’s Bilbo, who spent 80+ years loving and mourning someone who he only actually knew for 7 months, and who he must inevitably leave behind in the Halls of Mandos when he departs the circles of the world.

#lotr #jrr tolkien #lotr books #lord of the rings #tolkien legendarium #the hobbit #the silmarillion #tolkien couples #sam x frodo #aragorn x arwen #beren x luthien #samfro #bagginshield #aegnor x andreth

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lesbiansforboromir · 7 months

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Categorically the most galling part of this universal perception that Boromir is a 'poor out-of-his-depth himbo whose completely ignorant of politics' is how it is blindingly canonically apparent that he put massive effort into being a political entity, to the point that his political opinions follow him even into the Council of Elrond.

Without the Council of Elrond, one could interpret his narrative positioning as a more 'Middle Man' and less 'high' as something forced upon him, a (narratively framed) negative aspect of his character that Faramir is critisising and lamenting as just 'part of his nature'. He is being associated with the Rohirrim and other 'lesser' men because he is also a 'lesser' man inspite of his heritage, due to his 'flawed' and 'weak-willed' personality.

Although that is still a bit of a stilted and awkward interpretation in my opinion, Eomer explicitely differentiates Boromir's treatment and manner around the Rohirrim from other men of Gondor he has known. He is 'less grim' etc etc, Eomer felt more at ease in his company, which implies to me more that Boromir interacted with the Rohirrim as equals, unlike most of this kin. Which seems more likely to be an active effort on his part.

But interpretations based off of that are entirely unnecessary, because the Council of Elrond exists! Where Boromir, when confronted with Aragorn's mistrust of the Rohirrim and Gwaihir's accusation that they pay a tribute of horses to Sauron, immediately and comfortably comes to their staunch defense. 'It is a lie that comes from the Enemy' he declares, literally pointing out propeganda that all these elves and dunadain are primed to believe given their own investment in the racial divide between them and these 'middle men'. A primer that also belongs to Boromir, whose place amongst the 'high men' is a right bestowed on him from birth, yet one he is actively discarding here in favour of defending the Rohir perspective.

And not only that! He even goes so far as to place the rohirrim's ethnic and cultural heritage as a reason for their trustworthiness, inspite of the fact that they cannot claim any relation to any so called 'blessed' lineage. They come from 'the free days of old', a statement that is similar to one of Faramir's but that, tellingly, Faramir uses as a method of infantilising the rohirrim 'they remind us of the youth of Men'.

These are all inherently and radically political statements for the heir of the Stewardship, the man next in line to be chieftain of the southern dunadain, to declare, especially when acting as emissary as he is now.

So now, all those moments when Boromir is linked directly with middle men, when his right to his 'high' heritage is questioned, when he is critisised with the same racially charged language as the rohirrim are (too warlike, "we are become Middle Men, of the Twilight, but with memory of other things" [-] "So even was my brother, Boromir") - all of that is now on purpose, on Boromir's part. He is the one distancing himself from the title of 'high' and questioning it's validity in the process, something Faramir clearly disapproved of and was a part of the breakdown in his respect for him. (Understandable, considering Faramir's equal and opposite effort to reclaim the title of 'high' for himself and his people.) Boromir is, essentially, engaging in some kind of racial-hierarchy criticism/abolishionism and activism.

That is not to say that his political opinions all entirely pass muster, he does still engage in racist rhetoric at least once, calling Gondor's eastern enemies 'the wild folk of the east'. But within the context of his own country and it's ethnic diversity, his position is maverick in comparison to pretty much everyone else.

And before anyone says it, let me head off comments like 'Boromir was just being himself, he didn't even know it was political he was just that stupid but I love him for it' No. Boromir's reputation in Gondor was complex and multifacetted but a great many people loved and supported him, clearly we see that there was a divide in political opinion between the two brother's stances on war and society. What you are essentially saying here is that Faramir is such a dull-witted statesman that he was incapable of swaying opinion his way against someone who didn't even know he was a part of the discussion, who wasnt even involved in the debates, against a high society that based their cultural identity on being descended from racially superior Numenoreans. The historical perspective is heavily weighted in Faramir's favour.

The much more likely state of affairs is that Boromir and Faramir have both been working towards their own social change and against each other, causing an opinion divide within the country. And apparently Boromir has not been losing that fight, even if he hasn't been definitively winning it either. Some people call him reckless where Faramir is measured, others say Faramir is not bold enough, Denethor himself claims Faramir is placing his desire for nobility and 'high-ness' over the safety of himself and his people. Culturally Gondor is going in for more pursuits of war-sports (wrestling perhaps) and the adulation of the soldiers that defend them, above the men of lore if Faramir is to be believed.

Society is changing around this debate and Boromir is actively, purposefully and directly involved in that debate! Hells bells, he even describes a part of how he works in the political sphere to Frodo! 'Where there are so many, all speech becomes a debate without end. But two together may perhaps find wisdom.' Boromir is!!! A politician!! On purpose!!

The neutral political position of 'Heir to the Stewardship' given to him by his birth is so ludicrously weighted towards faithful that the effort it must have taken to push the needle and associate with the middle men as such a divisive yet loved figure is MASSIVE. Boromir believed the Rohirrim and middle men of Gondor were his social equals and counted them amongst his people and that was a stance he upheld in PARLIMENT! Stop!! Acting like he's just a blockheaded soldier who cares about nothing else- he cares!! He cares a lot!! Professionally in fact!!

#text post #boromir #erran vs tolkien #tolkien meta #gondor #faramir #gondor meta

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marsprincess889 · 8 months

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Purva Ashadha and Shravana (monkey yonis)

As a famous movie couple.

Purva Ashadha is the last venus ruled nakshatra, meaning "the previous invincible one", its symbol is a winnowing basket, separating all things worthy from the unworthy. Its ruling deities are Apas, water creatures, and this nakshatra is strongly connected to waters and the seas. It's about gaining alliances to secure your victory.

Shravana is the last moon ruled nakshatra, meaning "hearing", its symbols are the ear and three footprints. Ruling deity is Vishnu- Hindu preserver god and consort of Lakshmi(associated with Purva Ashadha and Rohini). Its about connecting everything together.

Now, let me introduce you to the couple.

Aragon and Arwen

from The Lord of the Rings trilogy.

Liv Tyler (Purva Ashadha moon)

Viggo Mortensen (Shravana moon)

When the first movie begins Aragorn is a simple, lonely ranger, but always dedicated to doing what he thinks is right. He definitely has the makings of a king, he's also descended from Isildur, being the true heir to the throne. Despite his lineage, he's living like an average lowly man, an outcaste, wondering on on his own. Shravana is connected to wandering and also being one of men and that being the trait that makes the king. Shravana is "the savior" or "the preserver" of mankind, and that also obviously applies to Aragorn. Shravana being mleccha (outcast) caste also ties with him living like a lowlife and being apart from society.

Arwen, on the other hand, is busy rebelling against her father and choosing a mortal life due to her love for Aragorn. She's a noble elf maiden (Purva Ashadha is in the Brahmin caste- the highest standing caste). Purva Ashadha (like all venus nakshatras) are romantics and always choose to bravely follow their heart. Also a very interesting thing to note is that Arwen is reffered to as "the evenstar" or "the evening star", which is obviously Venus.

When she gifts Aragorn her necklace, he refuses at first, not believing himself worthy, but Arwen insists and says: "It is mine to give to whom I choose, like my heart". That pretty much sums up what this nakshatra is about.

Eventually, Aragorn does become king and Arwen does choose a mortal life, even thought it meant seeing her love age and die before her.

One of my favorite scenes in the whole trilogy is when Arwen is taking Frodo to Rivendell while they're being chased by the Nazgul. She bravely stands up to them and summons the waters to defeat them. Purva Ashadha's power is to invigorate and Arwen using the waters to secure her victory makes a lot of sense.

Purva Ashadha invigorates, Shravana connects and together they become a formidable team.

Everytime I think of Purva Ashadha and Shravana my mind immideately goes to these two. The setting, the etheral aesthetic and the otherworldliness makes me think of their yoni- Vaanar also meaning "human-like creature" or "a human-like being from other dimentions" in Sanskrit. They were said to live in forests and that's where Arwen went and lived before she passed, overcome by the grief of being separated from her love. But their story remains in the minds and hearts of people, and their love, courage, devotion and loyalty is remembered forever.

If you're Purva Ashadha or Shravana, or if you love lotr/arwen and aragorn, let me know what you think. Please, interact with me in any way. Love you, take care 🤍

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tathrin · 2 months

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Okay but the Dunedáin. They've been roaming the western wilds for years and years. And then Aragorn goes off and gets himself made king of Gondor, huzzah ring the bells sound the trumpets etc.

But.

The Dunedáin. Do they all go to Gondor with him? I feel like that's the implication of things. But like...do they all want to? And if/when they do, how does it go?

(There has to be a significantly higher number of them than the 30 we see represented by the Grey Company, too, right? Like even assuming the addition of wives-elders-and-children to those numbers, there has to be a much larger population than that if they're maintaining a population. Even with intermarrying of the other locals. Like, even with Magical Noble Lineage going on to keep things from getting wonky, they can't be interbreeding that much or else everybody would be an Heir To The Throne Of Gondor by now lmao. Those 30 have to just be a fraction of their folk. The "good riders and good warriors who could be gathered on quick notice" fraction.)

Is everybody excited to leave their lowkey wilderness-with-the-occasional-vacation-in-Rivendell existence in favor of the Fancy Shiny White City Full Of Other Humans? The Dunedáin have been living like this for hundreds and hundreds of years. It's not just a "we spent a few decades in exile, but taught our kids Our Ways to preserve them, so they'd be comfortable when they went home" situation. They've been living like this for so long that this is their way of life. This is their home. And now they're supposed to just pack-up and go to Gondor and be fine?

And how do the Gondorians react to having not just a new king, but a new king who brings along a whole bunch of scruffy Rangers for his retinue? Are they welcomed eagerly by a people who've just endured great loss of life and need hands to help them rebuild? I mean tbf probably at first, sure; but how long does that welcome endure without starting to cool when these Rangers prove to be not just Gondorians From Elsewhere Who Nonetheless Act Just Like The Rest Of Us And Know Our City And Its Ways As Well As We Do? Because they don't! They don't even know which hall is used for banquets and which for dancing! They don't know that on Aldëa we wear carnë! and so on.

(Do they all just go to Ithilien with Faramir out of sheer what-the-fuck-am-I-going-to-do-in-this-bigass-city-ness?)

Yes they're all of the Blood of Westernesse and all that, shared Numenorian heritage blah blah blah...but imagine you've been living off-the-grid in the forests of Pennsylvania, and all of a sudden you're dropped in the middle of NYC and told this is your home now, enjoy? How weird would that be? How bizarre, how overwhelming?

Maybe you like it, maybe you thrive there! Maybe you find that Gondorian Civilization is what you've been looking for all along! But what if you don't? What if you find you really hate crowds, and the politics of the city are stifling, and you didn't spend the last seventy years travelling all over Middle-earth learning everybody's ways and culture, thanks, and frankly you'd rather be back in Bree making small-talk with simple farmers and Hobbits, where everybody knows your (nick)name and you're comfortable? Even if you do like it, even if this is All Your Hopes Come True, it's still got to be enormously disruptive. And if you don't...yikes.

(Again, sure, there's Ithilien. But even though that wild-land-recovering-from-the-scars-of-the-Enemy would be more familiar ground to you than the city itself, and Faramir is a great guy and all, Ithilien still isn't your home.)

Like...you don't get to just go back, do you? (Do you?) Maybe but even if you do, even if some of them did, their way of life is still kind of broken; because most of your fellow Rangers are in Gondor now, and you aren't even allowed into the Shire, and the Enemy you've been guarding folks from all this time is gone...

And sure, it's good! This is a good result! This is the Best Case Scenario Ending, really!

But still. What about the Dunedáin?

#things i should probably not drop into my queue when i'm sleep deprived and braindead #but who wants to bet that when i finish writing this i go on habit instead of intention and hit ''queue'' instead of ''save as draft''?#because i may be exhausted and braindead but i'm not so much so that i would take that bet i KNOW i'm forgetting to draft instead of queue #know thyself and all that hmm? yeah #anyway #lotr meta #lotr #dunedain #aragorn #gondor

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eri-pl · 15 days

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But how about

(TW Feanorian things: fire, torture, drowning - under the cut)

Maglor in Numenor?

Inspired by "why was Quenya the official language there?" post

Not initially, Osse wouldn't let him probably, but Maglor came a few years later

Because that's as close to home he can go

"no, don't make your son the king, your daughter is older" "shut up, kidnap great-grandpa"

They kept him out of the official history because he's not someone to be proud of, but initially very close to the kings

What if the mysterious remark of Maglor being wed is "I won't mention it to not spoil the history of Numenor but"

Not all elf-human romances are as glorious as B&L, some are just a kinslayer and his wife trying their best

Bonus points if his lineage mixes into one of the important lines (and later, Aragorn!)

Later more and more forced into hiding / disguises

Tar-Palantir invites him to the council again but not officially as an elf of course. Illusions and disguises ftw

Ar-Pharazon doesn't notice it's an elf, because he's an idiot (wise in ways of the world but)

Tar-Miriel knows of course

And then Sauron comes

Maglor runs away into hiding because he's a coward

Isildur find him and begs for help

Major tries to help gets caught by Sauron and it's due to be burned

Sauron doesn't watch him himself because he's busy intriguing

He's too busy angsting about Maedhros (because, you know, the idea of being burned) to escape

Isildur gets him out, or maybe Anarion, let him do something cool too

Runs away into hiding 2

The fleet sets sail

Maglor is conflicted because those guys are being idiots and go too far against the Valar for even a Feanorian to be ok with it, but on the other hand, Sauron

He decides to try again, and (as brilliant idea as it is original) goes and tries to fight Sauron... With singing

Not that that would help now because the fleet is gone already

But I guess he tries anyway

Of course loses and Sauron "has some fun" as he did with his brother

Jest as Sauron is ready to burn Maglor, tsunami

Everything drowns

Maglor finally drowns, as was his fate since long ago but he failed at it before

But

He drowns in the exactly one tsunami in the history that can wash away his idiotic oath

Pun intended

And yes it's idiotic

And no not because he deserves it or smth

But look at me and tell me that Sauron deserved being let free with nothing but an ugly face

So, cut to a visibly confused (sic!) Namo

Yes I'm too sympathetic to characters (unless I'm not) fight me

#tolkien #silmarillion #tolkien legendarium #silm #sauron #maglor #numenor #the fall of Numenor #silm crack #if read this fic #fight me but it was idiotic

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thegreatzombieartisan · 6 months

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Beyond an orc attack that spurs her premature departure West, very little is known about Galadriel’s only child, Celebrian.

Because our modern culture prizes visibility — or alternatively, surveillance — “taking action” is often narrowly-defined as what happens only in the public domain. Contributions and outcomes within subtext or done in private is “passive” and therefore often overlooked or devalued.

Interdependence is a strong theme in legendarium because it breeds humility. Pride, as Tolkien defined it, swells within those who forget that everything they have, ever achieved or thought originated from Iluvatar. And through Him, that of one’s contemporaries and ancestors.

Most events in history play-out off stage and within the seemingly mundane: private conversations, letters, intercession, covert alliances, influences, and decisions that will never, and perhaps be never, be known.

Tolkien, accordingly, wrote many characters whose significance can only be deciphered by applying narrative causality. And Celebrian is one.

Here’s a non-exhaustive list of her role:

Celebrian’s departure instigates the Age of Men

By the Third Age, the world- and war-wearied Noldor in Middle Earth cling to the past. Compared to previous ages, they forsake innovation and mostly retire in sanctuaries. In essence, they become stagnate and reluctant to act.

But Celebrian’s decision to choose to heal, to choose joy is a catalytic event. In fact, it’s her primary narrative purpose because Elrond will naturally join her. As a renowned Elf lord and lady of royal lineage, their new future trajectory would tremendously influence others to heed the sea’s call. And so it comes to pass that Elven dominance in Middle Earth ends.

Celebrian helps bring Galadriel back to God (Ilúvatar)

Her daughter’s departure would prompt Galadriel to ponder her own future. When Frodo offers her the one ring, though momentarily tempted, she rejects it not only with humility but for love of Celebrian, longing for reunion.

If mightier the person, the harder the fall then a corrupted Galadriel may suffer her uncle Fëanor’s grim fate: forever sundered from those she loves.

In surrendering to love and the Divine Vision of the Music, she ends her rebellion against the Valar, and by extension, Ilúvatar.

Celebrian plays a crucial role in Aragorn's upbringing

In harmony with Elrond, her legacy is a nurturing environment in Rivendell, creating a virtuous upbringing that allows Aragorn to embody courage, selflessness, and loyalty. Additionally, a quire warrior and leadership skills, healing arts, and other valuable knowledge and wisdom of the Eldar. It is from this transformative power, he can become the King of Arnor and Gondor.

Celebrian's has a hand in Arwen's “magic” standard

Arwen secretly weaves a standard (flag) for Aragorn that enables him to command the Army of Dead and achieve victory at Pelennor Fields.

Presumably, as Galadriel is a skilled weaver, Celebrian is too and teaches her own daughter. It’s the equivalent to the tradition of a father who teaches his son swordsmanship that later saves his life and that of others.

#celebrian #lord of the rings #LotR #rings of power #lotr trop #galadriel #arwen #aragorn

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dragonsfromthemoon · 2 years

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Once again thinking about how Jon and Daenerys are meant to be, in every sense of the word.

At their core, they are both characters who desire home — a place where they belong, where they are loved and love back. A place where they can have a family and do not feel lonely anymore.

Their journeys, extensively paralleled on the books, speak of heroism. They try to make their world better. It is interesting, because making the world better requires facing directly the legacy of their forebears. Daenerys starts an anti-slavery campaign with ripples throughout the whole continent of Essos; her dragons mean hope and freedom, while the Valyrians of old used their power to build an empire based on slavery. Jon spends time among the Free Folk and learns a lot with them; he sees them as people that also deserved to be protected against the threat of the Others, while his Stark ancestors have fought the Free Folk for thousands of years and were only to happy to have they beyond the Wall.

A queen belongs to her people; you will take no pleasure in your command. They face the hardships of ruling, and in their storylines, George R. R. Martin is exploring what takes to be a good leader. He is exploring his famous question about Aragorn's tax policy: you are a ruler? Good. What do you do for your people, especially in times of need? When they meet, they will realize they are not alone; that someone finally understands the burden and how lonely and hard it is to rule. They will bond over sharing their experiences and over making plans for the future.

No one in-universe ever expected a girl and a bastard boy to have the destiny of their world upon their shoulders. Yet, here they are. Both of they are linked to propechies and visions about fighting the Others. Jon has since the first book, AGoT, known about the threat and faced it directly: his power as a talented warg, inputs, know-how and command will be essential to defeat the Others. Daenerys has three dragons with her, perhaps the biggest asset the living will have in the War for the Dawn.

In this sense, we can not only their political union makes sense, but their magical one too. They will both be heads of the dragon, the fire against the ice of the Others. They will need each other to win this fight.

For that, their meeting will be one of equals. A queen and a king. Two young, but very mature and experienced people. They have loved, fought, risen to power, been betrayed before... all kinds of things, a whole lifetime on the table, despite of their young ages. As Melisandre [Jon VI, ADwD] says: "The Lord of Light in his wisdom made us male and female, two parts of a greater whole. In our joining there is power. Power to make life. Power to make light. Power to cast shadows."

The last scions of House Targaryen meeting to work together. A kind of irony of the destiny, for in the Dance, it was argued a woman (Rhaenyra) could not rule,“bastards” “soiled” the royal lineage and should not be included in the line to inherit (Rhaenyra's sons). Yet that's all that remains of the Targaryens now: a girl and a boy with a bastard's name. And they will unite to face the threat said to have been foreseen by Aegon in a prophecy.

I dare say their bond and love already exist, even if they are yet to meet. That's why Dany dreams about a shadow lover, sees a blue flower in a wall in her bride of fire prophecy. That's why Dany hears a wolf howl after Jon dies, and feels sad and lonely. For Jon, a dragon or three might warm things up. In his first ADwD chapter, the moon is running with him, whispering to him, accompanying him. The moon kisses him.

Last but not least, Alan Taylor's words:

[Martin] just sort of mentioned in passing, 'Oh well it's all about Dany and Jon Snow,'" Taylor said. "And at the time I thought, 'Really? I thought it was about Sean Bean and Robb Stark?'"

"But [Martin] knew from the very beginning where he was driving and now we're starting to see that come to fruition," Taylor said. "We know that it's circling tighter and tighter on Dany and Jon and their partnership is starting to form, you know, 'fire and ice.'"

What GRRM mentioned to Alan Taylor still rings true for the books, for in ADWD, we can see many characters moving either Dany's or Jon's way. Their meeting will wrap up that and symbolise the beginning of their story together.

#a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #jon snow #daenerys targaryen #book jon snow #book daenerys targaryen #jon x daenerys #jon x dany #snowstorm #jonerys #i love them so much your honor #my OTP #canonjonsnow #canondany

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hannibals-favourite-meal · 2 years

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Till We Meet Again

Aragorn x plus size reader

No names, no words but a promise to keep.

Warnings: smut, pre-lotr, barmaid!reader, Aragorn is not with Arwen, minimal dialogue, unprotected sex, little bit ooc aragorn, semi-public sex, creampie, one night stand

WC: 1.6k

Minors DNI

Music rang loudly in her ears, making her head throb, but Y/N kept a smile on her face as she wove through the throngs of drunk patrons, arms ladened with half empty mugs of ale. The bottom few inches of her deep green dress had already been soaked with spilled beverages and mud from the patron’s boots.

She despised working in a pub on nights like this but the pay was good and the owner had given her a room for free along with three hot meals a day so she couldn’t complain too much. “More ale!” A voice shouted from the crowd, prompting another deafening cheer.

Slamming her wide hip into the kitchen door, it swung open and Y/N was able to escape the chaos. The sounds of celebration and overly drunk men dulled by the heavy wood but not completely blocked out, providing the dimly lit room with a calming white noise. The wooden cups slammed heavy against the bucket she dumped them in. “I swear they get more rowdy every night.” She muttered to herself.

Quickly, she set to scrubbing the mugs clean, well clean enough, it wasn’t like they would care. As she was elbow deep in soap and water, her mind wandered to the mysterious man that would enter the pub every Thursday night. He would not speak to anyone, simply sit in the furthest corner of the large room, smoking his pipe and drinking. He always wore a dark cloak over his face but once in a blue moon, Y/N would catch a glimpse of his chiseled jaw.

He had enchanted her without so much as saying a word. For hours everyday, she would dream about who he must’ve been. He was too tall to be a dwarf or a hobbit and too broad to be an elf. Yet she had seen no men like him before. She imagined he was a prince or a knight from a far off land, betrayed by his people and destined to wander the world on his own for the rest of his days.

She wondered what his voice sounded like, was it as deep and mysterious as himself? What colour were his eyes? She hoped they were brown, a deep bronze like the bark of the oldest trees in Middle Earth. Gods, what she wouldn’t give to even have his large hands graze her shoulders as he moved by her.

The last of the mugs was hung up to dry. Y/N hauled the container of soapy water, that was now a deep brown, up on her hip, and strolled out of the building’s back door. The cool night air was a reprieve against her warm skin, blowing away the stress of the night. She hummed a soft tune as she tipped the bucket out over the small patch of wild flowers she had planted by the stables a few seasons ago.

There were only a couple horses housed in the small building that night, which meant she didn’t have to double check if they were all tied up. Y/N fitted the now empty bucket in the indent in the grass where it was usually placed.

She turned but her movement was halted by a strong chest. She stumbled back, quickly losing her footing and a large, warm hand took her by the upper arm, keeping her in place. “Oh.” It was the man.

His hood was down and she was able to truly see his face. He was handsome, there was no doubt, with regal features that spoke of a powerful lineage. Dark hair was tied up out of his face, making his eyes shine brightly.

They were blue.

——————

The wood dug painfully into her hips but she could not bring herself to care. Her dress was hiked up over her backside, the soaked hem quickly wetting the middle of her back. Strong hands held her down against the table she was bent over, deep grunts in her ear. Her shoes had been knocked off her feet several minutes ago so now her bare toes dug into the mud as she struggled to take his brutal thrusts.

He had not spoken a word, only having held her gently to him, a muscular arm winding easily around her thick waist as he smiled down at her.

Suddenly, she found herself in the near empty stable, his mouth on hers, their tongues tangled together in a lustful dance. His hands were everywhere at once, guiding her plump body to where he wanted her and evidently, that was with her ass angled up so he could plunge his thick cock deep within her.

His front pressed tightly to her back, their fingers intertwined on the table, his lips against her ear, occasionally pressing kisses to the lobe. Pleasure twisted in her gut, curling and tangling like a ribbon in the wind. His thrusts became a subtle roll of the hips, delaying her orgasm even for a few seconds.

Y/N let out a pitiful whine from deep in her chest as he pulled out, leaving her empty and clenching around nothing. He chuckled softly at the sight but did not tease. Gently, he spun her around and without even a hitch in his breath, lifted her onto the table and stepped between her large thighs.

Green fabric pooled around her hips as he entered her again. Y/N’s head rolled back on her shoulders, struggling to breathe, he seemed even deeper this time. The tip of his manhood moving against something deep within her that made her vision swim and her mind go blank. It was too much and not enough all at once.

Fingers tangled in his surprisingly soft hair, loosening it from the simple braid it was in. Chapped lips descended onto her throat, biting and sucking the delicate skin, leaving huge marks that she would discover later. He easily drove her higher and higher, her quim fluttered around his length as she desperately gasped for air.

The man held her as close as he could, bringing her legs up to wrap around his thin waist, her ankles locking across his ass. Her moans were melodic, getting louder with each thrust. She was burning, the ember deep within her growing to a raging fire, consuming her being. He fuelled the flame and contained it, letting her burn brightly but not so much as to destroy herself.

She was pleading, begging for him as he hung off the edge of ecstasy, needing one more push to finally succumb. A calloused thumb easily fit against her swollen pearl, strumming it like a fine instrument, making her sing. When her orgasm finally crested, it was unlike anything she had ever felt before.

Her body trembled in his embrace, clinging to him like he was an anchor in the storm of pleasure. Her stomach was pulled tight. Rolling her hips, she rode out the waves, grinding down on his cock. His teeth sunk into her pulse point, his breath shaky.

Y/N cried out as his fingers gripped her hips tightly. His cock throbbed within her as his moans filled her ears. She cradled him to her neck, her nose against his temple, inhaling his manly scent, trying to memorise it. “Please.” She whispered. “Please.”

She shivered as he exploded within her, filling her womb with his warmth. The man’s hands slipped down to her full ass and yanked her forward, his softening cock keeping his seed inside her.

They stayed like that for a while, tangled in each other, savouring the silence of the night. With one last, deep kiss, he pulled away, leaving her feeling empty and cold. “Shhh.” He cooed and cupped her jaw in an attempt to sooth her as he pulled her dress back down and lifted her into his arms.

Exhaustion suddenly overwhelmed her. Nuzzling her nose into his neck, Y/N relaxed in his hold. It was comforting, being held like this, like she was the most precious thing in the world. With only a couple strides, he brought her into the backroom, gently laying her on the small cot in the corner.

Eyes heavy with sleep, she allowed him to wrap his cloak around her. Laying a tender kiss to her forehead as she drifted to sleep, he finally spoke. “Im will tul- back an cin nin mel.”

——————

The spring had been kind this year, bringing pleasantly warm weather and fields of newly bloomed flowers. The world was healing after being infected with darkness for so long. Y/N smiled as the warm breeze washed over her.

The windows and doors of her small isolated cabin were thrown open to allow fresh air to blow through the homestead. A small blur ran past her and into the fields of wildflowers, giggling happily in the sunshine. She knew she should warn the child not to run far but she could not bring herself to dull his bright smile.

“Leryaro! Stay close to the house!” She got an affirmative squeal in reply as he danced through the flowers that were almost as tall as himself. He was so much like his father, with his dark hair and blue eyes that seemed to read her soul every time he looked at her. It had been years since the man at the pub and yet she thought of him each time she watched her boy.

“I hope I am not too late.”

Identical blue eyes looked pleadingly at her from her doorway. He looked exactly the same, just a little more tired, a little more worn down. Y/N grinned softly. “You’re just in time.”

Translations: Im will tul- back an cin nin mel - I will come back for you my love Leryaro - free man

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whiteladyofithilien · 5 months

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White Ladies

Okay so I find it fascinating how Faramir first uses the title "white lady" to refer to Galadriel of Lorien and then later gives it to Eowyn. To me it seems to signify that he holds her in an equal esteem to the Lady of the Golden Wood. Which just wow.

And in a way Eowyn is to Galadriel what Faramir is to Aragorn. Not in a sense of lineage but as Faramir is described as less lofty but no less noble so too one could compare Eowyn to Galadriel. Less ancient and remote but no less fair or brave or worthy of admiration. Faramir sees Eowyn as both a warrior heroine worthy of being the blissful queen of a realm but also as a flesh and blood woman with hurts and sorrows and desires.

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adlerboi · 26 days

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[NEW OC] LOTR

Elyana

Ranger of the North, She uses the double blades

First name: Elyana

Name: Unknown

Place of birth: Gondor

Race: Human

She is sent to Rangers of the North to protect Aragorn but also to keep her family's lineage, who was in peril. Elyana uses the double blades, as well as the throwing of knives. She is nicknamed "Viper" for her sneaks in everywhere to keep an eye on Middle-earth.

She hides her face with a hood and a scarf over her face. Few people have seen her face. Not even Aragorn

Face Claim: Eva Green

#Lotr #lord of the rings #Oc

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arokel · 16 days

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TBITB LOTR AU (that will never happen)

because @teaforarteza said the words "lotr au" and, well. there are nine of them.

we worked out a casting and nothing else, but if anyone has additional thoughts please feel free to suggest/argue/take inspiration :>

Roger as Gandalf: man of few words (in the book), bow seat = deftly guiding the shell (group), very good techninique in both rowing and studying the arts of the sacred flame etc etc

The Nine Walkers

(obviously this is a boromir lives au because how could i possibly kill any of them)

Joe as Aragorn: very caring and concerned about the welfare of others, motivated by a deep and abiding love, complicated parentage, closely attuned to the needs and movements of the ring bearer

Bobby as Boromir: fiercely loyal, skilled commander and strategist (sometimes in a cold-blooded fashion), used to getting his way

Johnny as Legolas: rich kid/from a noble lineage, a bit high and mighty ("it was foul"), in tune with nature

Gordy as Gimli: down to earth (aka from a dairy farm), slowly becomes great pals with Legolas/Johnny, very stoic and calm in bloody situations

Jim as Merry: a worrier (especially about his best buddy Chuck) and a planner, *slightly* taller than Pippin/Chuck, often takes others under his wing

Chuck as Pippin: the comedic heart of the group, doesn't always think before he speaks, smokes a lot, often hits on the solution somehow anyway

Shorty as Sam: supportive and loyal (got your back etc), often overlooked, sweet and a little naive (as the youngest)

Don as Frodo: the linchpin of the group, carries a burden (lung issues), is following a path not his own but everyone else follows him, possesses a quiet strength

With supporting cast as follows:

Ulbrickson as Elrond: sets the nine on their quest and keeps an eye on them

Joyce as Arwen: obviously

Royal Brougham as Bilbo: writing his book and hanging out with Ulbrickson

Pocock as Galadriel: wise and knowing, provides the nine with things they need for their quest

Bolles as Celeborn: idk someone has to be

Ebright as Theoden: rival kingdom but an ally in the end

Coy as Eowyn: would like his chance to prove himself, crush on Joe(??)

Morry as Faramir: cox solidarity with Bobby/Boromir

That guy from USRowing as Denethor: tries to block their way because he feels his hands are tied

??? as Saruman: help please??

Gollum as himself

#thank you all for your time #i have no idea how to tag this #the boys in the boat

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streets-in-paradise · 2 months

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Courage

Relationships: (Platonical) Eowyn x (Fem)Gondorian!Reader / Eowyn x Aragorn (crush talking)/ Pippin x (Fem)Gondorian Reader

Warnings: Use of she/her pronoums

Summary: As a prelude to the celebrations on the victory over Saruman, the ladies of Rohan and Gondor participate in a simple encounter that seils their friendship validating each other's feelings in dark and lightfull topics concerning their hearts.

Note: For my dear friend @beautifultypewriter, inspired in her Gondor Girl concept. ( If you happen to like this one, I will keep working on releasing one more going full into the idea I brainstormed to you in dms)

Even after witnessing his demise, the voice of Saruman kept haunting her mind for a while during the trip back to Edoras. Despite being warned about it, she had certainly not behaved properly when facing the evil wizard responsible for the orc attack that caused the death of her brother followed by the kidnap of the hobbits. For once, she was the one doing exactly what Gandalf told her not to do and paid the price.

As a result of her angered search for a confrontation, she made herself another target of the prideful scolding. Saruman shifted guilt with skillful rhetoric, saying it was her who failed Boromir and let him die. The charm of his voice got her heart stricken with guilt. Although he didn’t waste much time on her, his insults were precise. He called her a wild beast that in nothing resembled the grace of a gondorian lady, a standing proof of the inexorable degradation in the lineage of Numenor that the ruling of Aragorn would not fix. In his conclusion, he didn’t forget to mention that Denethor would have rather been freed of a daughter than robbed of his eldest son.

From all those claims, he presented at least one truth.

The reminder of her father’s indifference was the last thing she needed at that precise moment. After acquiring a modest glory in the battlefield for the first time in her young life, being forced to think of Denethor was like having the victory being taken away. Her wins were twisted into flaws, making her feel once more relegated to the obscure spot he reserved for her back home.

Only the sweet voice of Pippin bringing her back from the self absorption as they were riding away from Isengard managed to counteract the perverse effect. Given the rushed nature of their reencounter, he accepted no one else to take him merely because he wanted more time with her. The excited ramblings from her beloved hobbit about the escape from the orcs, his adventures in Fangorn, and his involvement on the attack plan of the Ents were enough to ease her heart.

On his part, Merry didn’t hesitate on reclaiming his share of the honors while hearing the tales from close, but he also understood that his cousin was trying to impress his lady. In return, Gimli told them in a prideful tease about the bewilderment that a certain gondorian shieldmaiden had caused among the Rohirrim through her courageous acts fighting alongside him, Legolas and Aragorn in the front line at Helm’s Deep. His comments made Pippin’s impulse to present himself in an heroic light increase with his admiration of her.

It was simply lovely and she didn’t doubt in filling him with praise until he became a blushing mess hiding behind her. At the same time, he had accidentally reminded her of how proud Boromir would have been if he could have seen them together again after performing such great actions and that thought casted the sadness away. Time for celebrations was approaching and that brought a different, simpler reminder to her calmer mind.

Until then, the people of Theoden had only met one side of her. Precisely the one she had forbidden at home, since they knew her as the warrior maiden of the Fellowship initially playing wolf on sheep’s clothing for Wormtongue only to reveal herself moments later. Since that fight the situation allowed her to never get back in disguise. The refined lady of Gondor once seen in Rivendell never stepped Rohan, but she thought it would be fun if she would make a comeback for the party.

Let no one say ever again that she had no glimpses of the grace legends attributed to her bloodline.

Presented with all the comforts that Eowyn could share with her, the transformation became an easy and midly fun previous step. It gave them time to have a good long talk together while taking part on a lady-like activity that wouldn't raise any concerns. The niece of Theoden had her own personal interest guiding a sudden want to perform feminity, one her friend knew that she wouldn't comment with anyone else. Revisiting her wardrove in the calm of her bedroom while talking of the latest events she didn't got to witness was a good start for both. For instance, she was a witness watching for her and willing to share details that her relatives didn't bother on comment to her before.

" He died doing what he loved, ... backstabbing his master. " The gondorian joked into her telling of Wormtongue's death. " Your uncle, infinitely kind hearted as he is, was still offering him a second chance. I think that worm realized he had made a strong bet on the wrong horse, but Legolas gave him no span to show the king any regrets. An arrow to his chest, quite ironical way to die considering what he did. "

Eowyn gave her a half smile, unsure of how to feel besides from a deep relief.

" His black heart craved only power, control over me."

The girl knew exactly what she meant. Her meticulous work hidding the most controversial aspects of herself from her father's sight weren't enough to keep her fame completely clean. Rumours had spread subtly, and to many men craving control those have came out as attractive. If the only daugther of the Steward was wild as the forest, every single one of them believed themselves to be the one that could tame her.

" You are free of him." She sweetly concluded, holding her hand and abandoning her sight from the beautifull garments to focus completely on her. " And we can still hate him in secret, if you wish. I have encountered my own amount of despicable noblemen in Gondor, but none of them has yet sold to the dark power hoping to receive me as spoil of war from the looting of his own countrymen. You resisted with courage, one of the kind that many soldiers in the battlefield won't understand. I do, and admire you for it. "

It was the most heartfelt compliment Eowyn had received in a good while and it was hard to explain why a surprising happiness invaded her.

" You, my friend? After obtaining glory for both of us? "

The gondorian was eyeing the blue fabric of a cute dress she was considering to choose.

A reminder of the sea, of her mother.

" Would you believe me if I tell you that your domestic feat remains more impressive to me than all my killings at Helm's Deep?" She suddenly confessed. " Being alone in Minas Tirith with Denethor would be a nightmare on itself. To that add one of my brothers dead and the other one exiled, while also having to flee from the advances of a repulsive man seeking to submit me through resignation. Inviting me everyday to accept him as some inevitable fate, remiding me I'm alone in the world ... I don't think I would have endured it as well as you did, always keeping your royal dignity."

Eowyn had sat on the bed and, dress in hand, her friend followed.

" If you think I'm strong, please look at yourself, because your strenght inspired me that night."

" In some twisted way that escapes all forseen ends, justice was served. " Was her simple reply. " Your brother and my cousin are avenged."

The garment was carefully placed at their side as the guest rushed to hug her.

" Vengeance is not over, because you are going to look gorgeous for your crush and have fun. " She mischievously whispered. " Haven't you think about it? The hatred on Grima's eyes as he was leaving Meduseld was too focused on Aragorn, and now I think I see why ... "

The rohirrim lady looked up in shamefull surprise.

" No, you don't! " She attempted to defend herself in a playfull tone, breaking the contact. " That's not true, and I don't know how it occured to you, but ..."

" But Arwen is leaving with her kind, as far as I know, so I don't see an issue." The gondorian encouraged her. " I got to meet her in Rivendell, and I meet her father ... If I had one as wonderfull as Elrond, I would too seek to follow him. Besides, you are my best friend and Aragorn has become like a brother to me. if a mortal woman shall eventually come to cure his sadness, I would rather her be you. "

Her eyes were shinning with hope, but not only to the kind voice inspiring her yet a third kind of courage to face her growing feelings for the Ranger.

Loneliness fading, like ice slowly melting, to the certainty of knowing she had found a friend. Another presumably lonely young woman, at least in terms of companionship that could be found of other women, who had so quickly shifted such strong affection towards her.

" As my beloved friend that you are, I beg you not to feed my dreams so soon."

" Allow yourself to dream for a while, you deserve it" The foreign girl insisted. " If things don't work as we expected, we will deal with that later ... Together. "

She liked the sound of the last sentence, but kept her objections.

" How? Do you know the cure for a broken heart? "

" Let that brave heart of yours to take the risk, not only by the blade its strenght can be measured. " The gondorian concluded, then kissed her forehead. " If turns out my brother of the sword is not the one, I still have one more blood brother to introduce you to. And if you don't like that one, I'm pretty sure Merry has no hobbit lass waiting for him at the Shire. "

Her positivity and will to comfort her ended up getting a few chuckles out of her. Not exactly because of the jokes, but due to the happyness she found in her insistent support.

" I believe your love for the halflings is starting to put Gandalf's to shame."

The called out lady smiled, clearly on remembrance of her own infatuation.

" One stay in Rivendel and days of travel on our quest was all it took for Peregrin Took to win me over, and he wasn't even trying. " She began to tell. " There are some men of Gondor that think not much different from the says of Saruman about me: a wild beast, only to them I'm a fair one ... And all wildeness is up to be conquered and rulled, owned to make use of. They approach me like a mare in need of taming, thinking they will perform the miracle of my submission. Do you understand now how could I have fallen for one of hobbits that released the forest? "

She could have continued, but no more words were needed to make her understand the core of her reasoning on her feelings.

" Wouldn't you prefer the green one?" Eowyn pointed out, regarding the dress choice. " In homeage to Fangorn, and your love."

#lotr #lord of the rings #gondor girl #(platonical) eowyn x reader #pippin x reader #peregrin took x reader

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