#First Age of Arda | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

raymondshields · 10 days

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*me not walking into a trap* Tell me about Hyacinthe and Iris! :) (genuinely though!)

So the actual chance tumblr would literally murder the quality of this is 50/50, but you should be able to view it in a new tab at proper resolution?? If that's not the case I'll rebagel with them broken-up so tumblr doesn't resize it.

Left to right we've got Iris, Hyacinthe, Katsuhito, and Yumiko! Iris obviously not an OC, the other three are. All of them are shown at roughly nine or ten years of age, although not at once: Iris is about twelve years older than Katsu, and about fourteen-fifteen older than Yumiko.

Under the cut, so I may ramble a bit!

Iris is Klint's daughter, born June 17, 1889. Hyacinthe is Barok's daughter, born February 6 1890. They're not twins, but they'll let you believe they are, because they act like it. They're sisters in every way that matters, and they refer to each other as such, and referring to them as anything else gets you shot.

They didn't meet until Iris was seven and Hyacinthe was six. Iris was living with Fionn, aware that he wasn't her father but not of anything about her blood family. Until one day, she went to look in her bedroom mirror, only to see a girl that wasn't her staring back at her, trees on the other side, as though the girl was looking through a pool of water to Iris.

Hyacinthe van Zieks died July 15 1891, a year and a few months' after her birth. She suffered from Magical Energy Waning Syndrome, the same condition that would have killed her Uncle Moriarty if the van Zieks forest hadn't killed him first. She died in her sleep, peacefully, resting against Barok's chest. Klint took her spirit away, and raised her in his brother's place, refusing to change into human form but doing what he could to be there for her anyway.

Two years and one day after Hyacinthe's death, Barok's life would be shattered again by the death of the woman who he called sister himself: Angharad Gingerson, Beatrice's eldest daughter. But theirs is another story. For now, Iris is seven years old, and the girl who is her dead sister is looking back at her through her mirror.

Hyacinthe knows how to talk: she learned from Beatrice and Osian and Ariadne, the latter of which who will tolerate her but makes no effort to conceal the fact she hates Hyacinthe's guts. She can talk well enough that the two can introduce themselves, and Hyacinthe can explain that they're sisters without disclosing who their family actually is.

The truth is, Hyacinthe doesn't know who her other parent is: she is the daughter of Barok van Zieks the Chainbreaker, for all they call him now the Reaper of the Bailey. She has been raised by a great white wolf of a ghost, who swears to her that she is family, that she will not be alone. She is the sister of Iris Wilson, and she wants to be friends.

They have tea together every day that they can. They talk about their days and brush their hair, they puzzle through inventions and magical theory together. Iris is not the resurrectionist her uncle is, not yet. She can't call the animals of the forest back to life by singing to them. She can't step through the mirror and hold her sister tight.

But she's an inventor, and she'll find a way. Hyacinthe likes reading theory, likes studying, wants to be a part of the hot, fast world her sister lives in. There's no mirrors in the van Zieks estate to watch Barok from, she doesn't know how he's coping with her death. She wants to take her sister's hand and meet him, hold onto the man who must be parent to them both.

They are determined, and they know better than to tell any adult of their relationship to each other, they know better than to admit what sort of magics they're willing to study if it means neither of them ever has to be lonely ever again.

By the time Barok is accused of murdering Inspector Gregson, they've managed it. Iris can pass through the mirror, sit in the ghostly forest of the twilight with her sister and have a tea party. It takes much more work, and much more power, to bring Hyacinthe into the daylight. They manage it anyway, just in time for Barok to be arrested, just in time for a homecoming a decade in the making to be sidelined by tragedy.

Hyacinthe runs in the daylight in the form of a wolf puppy, ribbons tied to the fur by her ears, Iris running beside her. They do not want to split up, but someone needs to tell the Queen, and someone needs to stay by Barok's side.

Iris goes. Hyacinthe stays. Barok recognizes his daughter, as he would in any form she took, and does not let go of her even as he watches the two men he loves more than he knows how to deal with argue over whether or not he will join his daughter in death. At this point, he might have said he no longer cared. At this point, he can see Klint's eyes in his daughter and in Iris and in the great white, ghostly wolf that flanks Kazuma even as Barok watches him fall apart. At this point, he is no longer thinking of what mercy the world could even still grant him, but what he can save before he goes.

After the trial, Susato and Gina are held up at the Old Bailey, being interrogated for their roles in the aftermath. The boys are holding fast to each other, Ryunosuke suggesting a nice pub to get blackout drunk at so that maybe come morning they'll remember how to hold to each other. Yuujin and Fionn are handling the fallout that they can, but they won't be home until late, either.

Klint van Zieks, the great white wolf that has raised Hyacinthe in his brother's stead, who allowed through no choice of his own for someone else to raise his eldest daughter, takes the two girls home, and explains to Iris who he is, and who, thus, she must also be.

It takes the two girls six months to build a life-sized balljoint doll for Hyacinthe to haunt, so she may be as close to alive as a dead girl may get. Mary Shelley's methods are, alas, some years' away from being viable.

Decades later, they can be found in Greece as tenured professors at Saint Shion's University, one as a pioneer of necromagy and artificing, and the other a magical theoretician who studies whatever catches her fancy. They'll argue with everyone and each other, send letters to their younger siblings and occasionally be cajoled into telling the story of Ryunosuke Naruhodo and the Time He Blew Up Iris' Invention Of An Electric Toaster.

They cannot, tragically, be cajoled into playing themselves when The Adventure of Ryunosuke Naruhodo, directed by Katsuhito Naruhodo, hits theatres in late 2000. But they do show up on set a few times for pictures and autographs, despite being over a hundred years old and looking like they're in their early seventies at best.

Hyacinthe, however, can still be cajoled into doing her best impression of Barok, and can pitch a chalice accurately at thirty yards behind her without looking. Because she's Hyacinthe van Zieks and she can do that.

#asks #arda-ancalima #sagiverse #thank you so much for the ask!!!!#;O;#I have another ask about katsu in my inbox from scout from ages ago #but I need to find the picture of his gotdang adult faceclaim first

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undercat-overdog · 10 months

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Paging through a timeline today and the First Age was so very long ago even in what you might call the early Second Age. There is more time between the founding of Eregion (c SA 700) and the War of Wrath than there was in time in the entire First Age (about 600 years); Aldarion, living around the same time as the raising of Ost-in-Edhil, is six generations removed from Elros and the five generations between were all born in the Second Age: how different the lives of our own great-great-great-grandparents! And that's the earliest Second Age. By the time Eregion falls, 1700 years have passed since the Silmarils were set in their resting places; the Last Alliance happened around 3600 years after the Nirnaeth. And another three millenia in the Third Age! "Before the fall of Gondolin and Nargothrond in elder days" has very much the air of "a long time ago."

The First Age is so removed in time - and space! - from later events. Sometimes I feel this isn't appreciated enough. The Second and Third Ages have their own stories.

If anything, I think the First Age can be overrated in importance? Well, not in its own right, but in discussing later events.

#meta #i do think that for all that the creation of the silmarils and the creation of the rings are closer together in time #than either is to the destruction of the one ring #(probably. let's ignore valarin years)#the rings are part of one story and the silmarils another #when it comes to the ~story of arda or whatever #the dividing line is the war of wrath not the destruction of the trees or the akallabeth #(imo ofc!)#i admit to getting frustrated at times #galadriel giving three hairs to gimli can be seen in light of her refusing feanor but it's about *her and gimli*#there's lots to compare and contrast between the three rings and the silmarils if you want #but the three and their creation have meaning and value in their own right and you can talk about them meaningfully w/o reference to feanor #if you say 'maglor' to legolas his first association might be 'who?' or it might be 'oh yeah great songwriter love his stuff!'#(it's not all about the sons of feanor. who are secondary characters even in age one.)#(unlike feanor who's not at all secondary. but feanor's story is quite separate from that of the sons in some if not all ways)

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velvet4510 · 9 days

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(I meant Arda Healed. 🫣)

#jrr tolkien #lotr books #tolkien legendarium #tolkien elves #first age #athrabeth finrod ah andreth #aegnor x andreth #aegnor #andreth #arda unmarred #dagor dagorath #noldor #edain #house of beor #lotr poll #middle earth #lotr headcanons

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elspethdixon · 2 years

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I know Tolkien 100% intended Beleriand to be like Northern Europe (probably Scandinavia and Doggerland, what with the disappearing beneath the waves), but the American in me looks at “walked eastward across a bridge of sea ice to get there” and “Angband has multiple stratovolcanoes” and goes: “No, Tolkien fandom, you are wrong. It’s Alaska.”

There’s only two places in the northern hemisphere that have an ocean to the west + multiple volcanoes, and Iceland’s volcanoes are the wrong kind. Plus, Iceland doesn’t have dense forests and southern Alaska and British Columbia are pretty much entirely forest.

Pictured below: stratovolcano emitting smoke/fumes/ash, misty glacial valley, and enchanted forest.

(Before people @ me about sea ice, I know the Beringia land bridge was actually dry steppe and even at the Last Glacial Maximum the North Pacific never contained enough ice to be the Helcaraxë, because during the ice age the climate there was too arid, but “people got there by walking eastward across a connecting bridge that is now gone” is coincidentally real history in the Americas despite also being something Tolkien made up)

#silmarillion #beleriand #the first age was Arda’s ice age #why else would there be massive expanses of ice followed by rising sea levels and acres of drowned lands #it wouldn’t be strictly canonical but I’d love to see more Silm fic where the Noldor get to Beleriand at the tail end of the ice age #and it’s all Older or Younger Dryas flora and fauna #or just Holocene era Alaska #have some giant bears and some spruce trees #and salmon and bald eagles

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aeide-thea · 2 years

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they tried so hard to shoehorn arwen into these first two films so she wasn't just aragorn's Woman Waiting at Home for Wedding Tiem but like. she still doesn't have a character...

#so it's like. you changed the story and it's *still* not good #you're allowed to make changes in an adaptation but they have to justify themselves!#like i super understand why they swapped out glorfindel for arwen in the first film but like #you really lose that sense of vastness—a connection back to an earlier age—and for what #idk. these books truly suck at women but i'm not convinced the films improved them #(did they also make up éowyn's whole crush on aragorn thing or was that in the books? it's been so long i've forgotten /o\)#(time 2 reread the books also ig? why do a thing measuredly if you can do it absolutely gluttonously instead)#tvblogging #the matter of arda

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entishramblings · 6 months

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Watcher of Wanderers [Legolas/F!Reader]

A.N: this was intended just to be a mini one-shot to get back into writing. although, I will admit I got carried away. oops. heh.

Pairing: Legolas X F!Reader

Song Inspo: Mountain Meditation by Chantress Seba

🌬️ I highly recommend listening while reading

Summary: Legolas senses a presence following the fellowship on their journey and it seems to be particularly fond of him.

Disclaimer: all mythology related to the reader was made up for plot purposes lol. not canon.

Word count: 5.6k (once again, idk why I’m like this)

Warnings: comfort, fluff, loneliness, flirting, suggested sexual innuendos, stalking sort of (yes, again, I know. you’re just gonna have to read it I can’t explain it)

Additional Content: moodboard linked here

MASTERLIST | AO3 | WATTPAD

When you are nothing but a breeze that passes through the travelers’ bending hair. When you are nothing but a tickle that brushes upon the vagabonds’ breaking skin. When you are nothing but a whisper that hisses upon the wanders’ deaf ear. When you are nothing but alone, you too are a voyager.

That’s what (Y/N) was, wasn’t she?

She sailed through the years, watching every war and every battle. She observed every lover as she observed every enemy. She attended to them all, from their start and to their end. She perceived them hunt—first for food and drink, the simplest things, then for more. She witnessed them build—smaller creations in the beginning, then large structures that reached deep into her sky. She gazed at them as they grew, in mind and body. They began as little screaming balls of flesh, then sprouted into large beings that walked and talked. They produced more of themselves. They multiplied. Families, they had called it. She saw each one of them go by, twisting with desire as they did with age. Each was sneaking to find something—riches, power, hope, love, safety—but it didn’t really matter. She just bore witness. She bore witness to the happiness and to the dread. Yet, even when it was dark and desperate, she did nothing. She was silent—as she was meant to be.

Cursed to ride the winds for all of her immortal years.

Cursed to guide them and bend them.

Cursed to behold them.

Cursed to be them.

Alone.

A Watcher of Wanderers.

She was unescorted, unattended, and unchaperoned. She was unaccompanied as she wove through the desolate lands of Arda. Through the oceans, through the deserts, through the mountains, she bent and bellowed. But (Y/N) didn’t need anyone to accompany her, for she simply didn’t exist—at least not in the way one would think.

But after so long in solidarity, watching and observing, (Y/N) wondered what it would feel like to be more than what she was. She wondered what it was to taste and touch, to smell and see, to live and breath.

She thought how pain must feel. How did it bring red to the surface of their skin? How did it bring tears to their eyes? How did it bring screams to their throats?

Still, she wandered more.

She thought how laughter must feel. How did it bubble in their chests? How did it bring water to their faces? How did it bring glee from their mouths?

Still, she wandered more.

She thought about how love must feel. How did it soften their gazes? How did it bring drops upon their cheeks? How did it bring proclamations to their lips? How did it feel to welcome in another soul? Was it safe—not that she would know what safety felt like.

Still, she wandered more.

As each day passed and each traveler followed, she continued to question, guess, inquire.

Some of these creatures were more in tune with the natural currents of the word. It was the immortal beings, distinguished by the pointy ears that lent them an air of otherworldly grace and their lightning-quick reflexes. They were not just any immortals, but those whose lineages stretched back to ancestors who had walked among the Valar themselves. At times, (Y/N) entertained the fantasizing notion that they possessed the rare ability to hear her, though she recognized that this belief was nothing more than wishful thinking. As a watcher of wanderers, she liked these ones best.

Yet that did not mean that others did not catch her eye, for she was curious of anything unusual from the regular patterns of life. And when nine—born of various blood—walked together, her curiosity peaked.

So, she followed them.

One was a Maiar, but not like her. He shared the same celestial origin, shaped as one of the spirits meant to aid the Valar in their worldbuilding endeavors. However, his form differed greatly from hers—a form (Y/N) yearned for. She had seen him many times before, puffing his pipe. He had many names, but most knew him as Gandalf.

Two more figures accompanied him, mortal beings aging like the rolling seasons. Burling and tumbling they went, with their countless heavy weapons. One emanated kindness, his heart a wellspring of warmth. She had seen him before too. But the other, he was….troubled.

Another was one of the immortal, graceful, pointy-eared race—elves, she recalled. He was fluid and elegantant. He was observant and evaluating. He was tranquil yet vigorous. (Y/N) liked this one. She always had liked the elves.

From the mountainous regions of unyielding stone came another companion—a burly and gruff figure. His anger resonated in the sharpness of his words and the boastry of his laughter. (Y/N) could feel his temperament through the earth's vibrations. It wasn't always pleasant

Next, matched four more. They were stompers and stumblers, in a clumsy sort of way; yet, it was evident that they held no desire to ravage the earth. If anything, they seemed to harbor deep affection for it. The sad one broke her heart, the kind one warmed her soul, and the last two made her giggle….and sometimes she thought the elf could hear it.

See that was the thing.

Initially, her fascination led her to accompany them, drawn by their sheer otherness—such a strange assembly of beings walking in unison. But as she ventured alongside them, she felt connected to them. She got to know them, and one seemed to know her….sorta.

The first time she noticed such a thing was when a sound of joy escaped her being.

The two silly ones, which she found out to be named Merry and Pippin, were cracking jokes at one another and performing a game of riddles. As they did so, they ended up breaking into an argument. The most ridiculous words they called each other: mushroom murderer, squash squisher, beet beater…..

She couldn’t help but release a whisper of amusement, and when she did, the elf—Legolas—abruptly halted. His eyes brimmed with uncertainty, and he swiveled his head, as though searching for someone.

But he couldn’t….

No…

He couldn’t have heard her….could he?

Of course, occasionally, all could hear her. In moments of anger, she would unleash her fury with deafening howls and piercing screams, causing gusts to bellow and trees to tremble. Her yell created a hollow sound as it funneled through the rest of the world—echoing upon mountains, bouncing off houses, riding along hills, drifting through the farmer’s mills. It took much frustration to create such a ruckus of vibrations. However, just a faint breath of joy? There was no way the elf could hear that….right?

…..

The second time that a strange encounter occurred was when the group stopped by a deep river. Legolas had wandered a little way away from the group where the trees were denser and the light was less, and oh of course (Y/N) followed.

There, the elf stripped off his clothing, letting the moonlight bend and dip upon his muscled form. The cool night air played gently against his bare skin as he ventured into the water, welcoming the invigorating sensation. With his hands, he meticulously scrubbed away any lingering grime, running his palms across his arms and fingers through his damp hair until no trace of dirt remained.

Gently, he laid upon his back, floating at the surface of the smooth river.

(Y/N) watched as he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply and repeatedly. Meditation, she recalled the elvish creatures of the world calling it.

Eager to draw nearer, (Y/N) gracefully glided closer, brushing ever so lightly upon the surface of the ripples. She circled him, her gaze drinking in every detail of his form slightly obstructed by the water—his elegant facial features, his sleek hair, his sculpted biceps, his toned abs, the sharp v-line of his lower abdomen, and, she couldn't help but notice his rather large…

A soft giggle escaped her lips, her warm breath brushing against his cheek.

Instantly, Legolas sprang upright, his feet finding a place upon the rocks beneath the now turbulent ripples. He swiftly pivoted, calling out, “Who’s there?!”

(Y/N) was still, shock and uncertainty shrouding her.

Legolas' cerulean eyes darted anxiously from side to side, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He moved with haste, continually spinning around in search of…..something.

“You…you can hear me?” (Y/N) whispered.

He did not respond and his state did not change. There was not an ounce of any recognition across his features.

…..

The third time that Legolas was startled by the curious enigma that appeared to be haunting him was when the fellowship had set up camp for the night.

Gandalf and Legolas were on watch, their attentive gazes shifting from the crackling fire to the perimeters of their camp. Mithanduil contentedly puffed on his pipe, releasing wisps of smoke that ascended into the night sky. Legolas was methodically sharpening the tips of his arrows, preparing for the inevitable fight. The ambiance was strangely peaceful, with the imminent dangers appearing to be held at bay, at least for the moment, even in the face of the dread.

However, this serene atmosphere suffered a sudden intrusion, initiated by (Y/N)'s ever-present curiosity.

She loved watching the creatures of Arda. It was her favorite pastime over the eons. Well, her only pastime. After all, she was a watcher of wanderers. For, as her shapeless form, there was nothing more she could do with her existence.

Therefore, when the elf began to draw whetstone upon the tops of his arrows, (Y/N) wanted to observe. She crept closer to him, becoming entranced by the rhythmic and tranquil nature of his movements. Drawn into the spectacle, she leaned in further and further until, unintentionally, she brushed lightly against his form.

His hand instinctively reached for his shoulder as his wide cerulean blues initiated their frequent and fervent scanning of the dim surroundings—a routine that seemed to be occurring with increasing regularity nowadays.

Gandalf’s gray eyes drifted upon the elf curiously, his bushy brows lifting in questions.

“I swore…” Legolas began, still peering about the campsite. “I swore I felt…something.”

The wizard’s inquiring gaze only deepened, imploring the elf to add more to his rather empty statement.

Noticing Gandalf's unspoken request for more information, Legolas continued, "My apologies, Mithranduil. Lately, I've been sensing a presence. Yet, when I search for it, I'm met with nothing but emptiness and confusion."

Gandalf huffed before pressing his lips to his pipe again, his gaze drifting away in a dismissal of danger. “It is probably just (Y/N).”

“(Y/N)?” He questioned, still puzzled.

Gandalf glanced at Legolas, and with a nonchalant hum, he spoke again. “The spirit of the wind. A Maiar with a form that knows no shape.” He rolled his eyes as he gruffed out an additional mumbling sentence. “She has a particular fondness for elves.”

Legolas, still flushed with adrenaline, only stared at him. “I—I do not understand.”

The wizard’s gray gaze drifted back to the elf, who was clearly seeking answers. “(Y/N) is one of the Maiar, tasked many ages ago by Manwë to help shape Arda. She still lingers in this realm, often stirring up her usual mischief as she follows wanderers on their adventures."

Legolas frowned. “If she wanders this earth, why can I see her not?”

Gandalf drew another puff from his pipe before responding, "She was cursed to be without form, unlike myself."

“Cursed? But why?”

The wizard raised his bushy brows once more. “Her mischief irked many—especially Manwë.”

“What sorts of mischief do you speak of?”

Gandalf shrugged. “Inconsequential pranks and harmless tricks. Quite frankly, an annoyance to us all, but not dangerous.”

At that very moment, a gust of wind swept in rather forcefully, causing the wizard's beard to billow and lifting his hat into the air, sending it spiraling down to land by his feet.

Legolas's lips parted in surprise as the wind subsided, and Gandalf let out a string of curses and grumbles.

"I believe you might have offended her," Legolas remarked, amusement dancing in his eyes.

The wizard snorted, his irritation obvious, as he picked his hat up and placed it atop his head once more.

….

As the weeks continued on, Legolas took notice of (Y/N)’s subtle presence.

It seemed she was indeed traveling with them. On scorching hot days, a refreshing breeze would rise and caress them gently, offering some much-needed relief. As the autumn months settled in, that coolness transformed into a warm breath flowing through the air, comforting them. When they kindled fires, little gusts rushed forward, providing oxygen and nurturing the flames. If an item of clothing or a parcel were dropped, it would be delicately carried toward a hand ready to collect. It was as if the wind—(Y/N)—was assisting them along their quest.

It was particularly noticeable to Legolas that she often lingered in close proximity to him. Her presence seemed to envelop him frequently, becoming unmistakable and distinct.

When Legolas would be tasked to collect firewood, a gentle breeze would follow him. It would brush leaves out of the way to reveal dry wood and small sticks, perfect for kindling. The wind murmured songs among the soil, almost as if it were beckoning him to dance.

When Legolas would be hunting for food, a calm drift would search alongside him. It would twist through the brush, startling small prey to reveal them to him. The wind breathed wordless encouragement to him, as if challenging him to impress her.

When Legolas would be walking upon hard terrain, a playful gust would walk with him. It would blow his hair away from his face to reveal his features. The wind sent flirtatious laughter upon his elvish ear, chasing shivers along his nerves.

When Legolas would be changing out of mud or blood covered clothes, a devious wisk would linger behind him. It would push his tunic and undershirt upwards to reveal his muscled form then make his extra clothing scatter. The wind whispered sultry glee to him, teasing him in efforts to show more.

This mischievous presence that shrouded him seemed to flirt with him—challenge, play, and engage. Of course, Legolas recalled Gandalf's earlier assertion that the wind spirit held a particular fondness for elves, but the true depth of this fondness had only become apparent as her companionship persisted. He couldn't deny that their ongoing interaction held a certain allure, for he would be lying if he said their little game did not entertain him.

When the fellowship was in Moria, however, silence reigned. The usual gusts and breezes that had accompanied them were absent. It was as if the very air mourned with them. Yet, as soon as they exited, with grief heavy upon their soul, a quick adrenalized wind came to find them. It seemed to brush around the rocks, taking in the pain of the travelers and trying to process what it meant. Though, as the wind noticed one was no longer there, she took to sending warmth their way in hopes to soften the sorrow—shrouding Legolas for just a moment longer than the others.

When the fellowship was in Lothlorien, (Y/N) came too. Rustling up trouble among the elves with flirtatious gusts, lifting skirts and sweeping away cloaks, fostering much annoyance and embarrassment among the immortal elven folk. However, those brushes of wind often struck Legolas more than any other.

When the fellowship—or rather the three that remained—took to sprinting across Arda, the wind ran alongside them. It pushed them forward with encouragement, almost too eagerly and too persistent. It was as if she was whispering ‘hurry hurry’ in their ears—as if she possessed knowledge they did not. Though Legolas suspected neither Gimli nor Aragorn noticed the subtle guidance of the wind.

A watcher of wanderers indeed.

As the group arrived in Rohan, their hearts brimmed with renewed hope, for they had gained the knowledge of Merry and Pippin’s life and the presence of Gandalf.

Following Mithranduil's expulsion of the sorcery that had ensnared King Théoden, the weary travelers were ushered to various chambers where they could refresh themselves and find much-needed rest.

Legolas opted to bathe immediately, determined to liberate himself from the accumulated dirt and grime that had clung to his body through the arduous months of travel. He eased into the in-ground basin, the soothing warmth and enveloping steam creating a cocoon of comfort. He tended to his skin and hair with meticulous care until he finally felt rejuvenated. Elves did not like to linger in grime.

Emerging from the bath, he stepped into the adjacent bedroom, where his gaze was drawn to the open windows, allowing the cool breeze to waft in. The wind seemed to recognize him instantly, rushing forth with an almost mischievous enthusiasm. It nearly yanked his towel from his waist! It was only through his quick reflexes that he narrowly avoided a less than modest reveal.

Legolas ground his teeth. “(Y/N),” he mumbled in a chastising tone.

In response, the wind seemed to giggle, as if playfully toying with him.

He rewrapped the towel and hastened to close the windows, yearning for a night of undisturbed peace. Normally, he would tolerate (Y/N)'s whimsical outbursts, but on this night, his weary body and mind craved respite and tranquility.

Legolas changed into more comfortable attire and settled into his bed. He allowed his heavy eyelids to drift shut, for he craved sleep. But after a brief moment, they snapped open.

He watched as the curtains shifted ever so slightly, followed by the tapestry on the wall and the drapes above his bed. The blanket beside him rustled gently, and then, there was no movement in the room.

She hadn't left when he closed the windows.

She was still here.

Though he couldn't see her, he was acutely aware of her presence…right beside him.

The elf couldn't help but blush, a warm crimson hue creeping up upon his ears and cheeks. Oh, if his Ada knew he was flirting with the wind….

In an effort to divert his thoughts from such matters and avoid giving (Y/N) any indication that he was dwelling on them, the elf shifted onto his side, turning away from the playful Spirit whose home was the sky.

…..

Legolas took notice of (Y/N)’s presence among the battles at Helms Deep and the Fields of Pelennor; although it wasn't until the latter that he knew for sure she was actively fighting alongside him.

Amidst the relentless chaos, the elf wielded his two silver blades, using them with deadly precision to cut the throat of one orc and immediately behead another. He swiftly pressed on, eliminating as many of the enemy forces as he could.

The men around him were growing weary, their energy dwindling, but Legolas continued to stand firm, even though he too felt the drain on his strength.It seemed the dark forces had taken notice of the relentless devastation he was causing among their ranks, as they began to single him out. Hordes of orcs began converging on him, and Sauron's archers took aim. However, the arrows meant for him didn't find their mark. They veered off course, curving with an unexpected gust of wind, plunging directly into three orcs nearby.

Legolas whipped his head around in astonishment, but it took only a moment for him to grasp the source of this unexpected intervention: (Y/N).

As he continued to take down orc after orc, she remained by his side, using her ethereal presence to force the creatures back into one another, granting Legolas a distinct advantage and a brief moment to catch his breath. She deflected arrows aimed at him and extended her helping hand when he faced the Oliphaunt. She even lifted him up with a gentle drift when his footing faltered. (Y/N) followed Legolas throughout the battlefield, her commitment unwavering, even after the war had drawn to a close.

Exhausted and burdened by grief and relief, the mortal, battle-weary soldiers sought solace and took to rest, heal, and eat.

Legolas volunteered to wander the battlefield in search of any survivors.

He tread carefully, his feet moving softly over the blood-soaked and red-stained earth. The ground seemed to bear witness to the agony, uncertainty, and hope that had marked their strenuous journey. Legolas had never anticipated surviving the trials that had befallen him, yet here he stood, alive and persevering against all odds.

With a heavy heart and the absence of survivors to be found, Legolas, fatigued and drained, decided to make his way back to his comrades who were attending to the wounded and offering peace to those in need.

In a sudden fierce gust of wind, Legolas found himself surrounded by an unexpected swirl. Swiftly, he whirled around, his keen elven senses alert, just in time to witness an orc raising an axe menacingly above his head, poised to strike.

However, Legolas was not met with such a gruesome fate. The wind seemed to rise against the approaching beast, as though an invisible force hindered its advance. However, that force began to no longer be invisible. A strange, translucent figure began to materialize into the opaque form of a woman. She stood, her back pressed against his chest and her front pushing firmly against the would-be assailant. With her arms raised high, she held the axe at bay, preventing the deadly blow from falling upon the elf.

Legolas' lips parted in astonishment, his eyes widening as he struggled to comprehend the event unfolding before him. But everything transpired too swiftly for him to intervene. The figure solidified, to the point that he could feel her against him, and the axe came down at an unusual angle, slicing into the woman's side.

A cry escaped her throat, and she collapsed to the ground, her pain echoing through the air.

Suddenly thrust back into the harsh reality of battle, Legolas swiftly grasped the knife strapped to his belt. In one fluid motion, he drove the blade into the orc's heart. The creature gurgled for a moment, blood pooling from its mouth, before finally collapsing lifeless.

Without hesitation, Legolas fell to the unconscious woman crumpled at his feet. His heart clenched with dread as he noticed the crimson stains spreading across the delicate, iridescent fabric that cloaked his form.

"No, no, no," he murmured, his hands pressing against the wound in a frantic attempt to stop the bleeding. Panic tinged his voice as he glanced at her face, his voice rising in desperation, " (Y/N), you foolish Maiar. Why did you intervene? Why did you put yourself in harm's way?" His bloodied hand gently cupped her cheek. "Wake up. Come on, wake up!"

She remained unresponsive.

Swiftly, Legolas gathered her into his arms, keeping one hand pressed against the bleeding wound, and hurried towards the makeshift infirmary.

Pushing the doors open, he called out in a voice laced with fear, "Aragorn!"

Immediately, the urgent tone drew the attention of those nearby, even in the midst of the ongoing chaos of the healing ward. The Ranger, alerted by the distress in his friend's voice, swiftly moved past the curious onlookers, with Gimli at his side and Gandalf following not too far behind.

“A-an ax to the side. She’s bleeding heavily,” he sputtered out. “Please.”

Pointing to a makeshift bed, Aragorn commanded. ‘Get her on that cot! Quickly now.”

Gimili, entirely bewildered by the unfolding events and his friend’s frantic behavior, called out, “Laddie, who is that?!”

Legolas, gently placing her form on the cot, didn't even bother to look at his dwarf companion as he replied. “(Y/N).”

The dwarf shook his head and raised his hands in confusion. “Who the fuck is (Y/N)?!”

The elf sent Gimli a quick, almost exasperated glance. "The wind!" he snapped back, a bit too sharply.

Gimli’s eyes drifted around the room, his confusion turning into concern for his friend’s well being. “The wind?” he questioned. “Did ya happen to get knocked in the head, tree boy?”

It was Gandalf that chimed in. “(Y/N), a Maiar, the spirit of the wind. She has been with us throughout our journey.”

Aragorn shot the wizard a brief look as he swiftly cut away the mysterious, translucent fabric cloaking the woman and began tending to the deep, bleeding wound.

“With us the entire time?!” Gimli bellowed. “Then why haven't I seen her once?"

Gandalf peered over Aragorn’s shoulder. “She doesn't have a corporal form. At least, she didn’t. I’m afraid this is the first time any of us are seeing her.”

Legolas ran his bloodied hands through his hair, his fingers trembling with anxiety as he stepped back. His chest felt constricted with worry while his eyes remained fixated on the woman as Aragorn worked. “Can you do it, Aragorn? Can you save her?” he implored, his voice quivering with a mixture of desperation and hope.

The man met Legolas' gaze. His determination to save her was unwavering, even in the face of this strange reveal of a profound connection between a force he didn't know existed and his dear friend. Seeing Legolas’ pain, he responded firmly, "I will try."

Gimli, moving to stand beside the wizard, watched the scene with a mixture of concern and curiosity. He couldn't help but murmur, "I've never seen him so frazzled before." His words were filled with a deep sense of empathy for his elven friend, for this had clearly shaken Legolas to his core.

Gandalf let his gaze shift from the elf to Gimli, offering the dwarf a knowing look in response.

The watcher of wanderers had now become a wonder to the wanderers themselves.

……

Legolas sat in a chair beside (Y/N). He was quiet and still as he watched her chest rise and fall steadily. Aragorn had successfully treated her wound, preventing infection, though she remained unconscious. She rested soundlessly, her expression peaceful—despite Legolas’ bloody handprint, now brown, dried, and cracking, that lingered upon her cheek. Her features were graceful and elegant. Each curve and bend of her face accentuated her beauty. He wasn't sure what he had expected her to look like, though how she appeared made sense with her temperament. He could see her flirtatious streak, her mischievous tone, and her protective aurora. She was exactly what wind would be: strong yet gentle, fierce yet calm, emotional yet stern.

He watched over her, just as she had watched over him. So intently, that he didn't notice one behind him until a hand pressed firmly upon his shoulder.

"Legolas," Aragorn began, his expression filled with gentle concern as he inquired, "How do you know this woman?"

Legolas sighed, keeping his gaze on her. "She has been traveling with us," he explained.

The sound of wood scraping against stone told the elf that the Ranger pulled a nearby chair over to sit next to him.

“So Gandalf said. Though I do not understand,” Aragorn admitted.

Legolas shifted. “I started to notice strange occurrences—unexplained events.”

Aragorn raised a brow, “Strange occurrences?”

Legolas felt his cheeks heat as he cleared his throat. “Yes, yes, but more importantly, I noticed something helping us. Consistently.” He paused, “I asked Mithranduil about it and he told me of her.” He shook his head. “He said she was cursed to watch us—us inhabitants of Arda—and not be able to walk among us.”

“Then how is she here now before us, like this.”

Legolas glanced at his hands, a hint of nervousness in his expression. “I asked Mithranduil that too,” he admitted. “He said her sacrifice must have ended her limbo.” He then let his eyes land on his friend and he spoke once more, his tone almost fearful and definitely shy—something Aragorn had never seen from the elf. “If she doesn't survive, because of me, will Arda have wind no longer? I haven't felt a single breeze since she fell.”

Aragorn sighed. “I do not know, my friend. I do not know.” He reached forward and placed his hand upon his shoulder. “Please go clean up and rest. You are no good to her like this. I will take care of her, I promise.”

Legolas hesitated, “But what if she wakes?”

The Ranger sighed again, “If she wakes, I will send someone to—”

He was interrupted by a soft groan escaping from the lips of the Wind Spirit.

Instantly, both Legolas and Aragorn turned to look at the woman.

Her eyelids lazily blinked open, and she gradually became aware of her surroundings. A frown creased her face as she emitted another groan. Her hand moved slowly, making its way down to her bandaged side.

"What... what is this feeling?" she murmured to herself, puzzled by the sensations.

To her astonishment, Legolas responded, “Pain.”

She scrambled to sit upright in bed, the pain surging through her body but the sheer force of adrenaline propelled her actions. “You–you can hear me?” she whispered, eyes wide.

Legolas moved closer, taking a seat on the edge of the cot. In a gentle tone, he answered, "I can hear you. I can see you." He tenderly raised his hand to her cheek, resting it on the dried bloody mark already there. "And I can feel you."

A hushed gasp escaped her lips as she reached up to touch his hand. "It's... it's warm," she remarked, her voice filled with surprise. "I didn't expect it to be warm."

The elf smiled gently in response.

A mischievous smirk then graced her lips, and her gaze, rather unmistakably, wandered down his figure and briefly settled upon his pants. “Is everything this warm?” she inquired with a teasing tone.

Taken aback by her words and her brazen gaze, he cleared his throat. A noticeable flush crept across his cheeks and ears as he broke eye contact. With that, Legolas turned to face Aragorn, who stood behind him with raised eyebrows and a playful grin forming at the corner of his mouth. “My apologies, Aragorn.” He glanced back at the Wind Spirit. “(Y/N), this is—”

She interrupted him, her eyes on the other man. “I know who he is,” she said with confidence. “Aragorn, son of Arathorn the second, also called Strider or Wingfoot, Chieftain of the Dúnedain, and the Uncrowned King of Gondor.”

The expressions on both men's faces contorted, morphing to sheer astonishment—how did she know all that?

(Y/N) grinned sheepishly. "I am the wind," she confessed. "I see and hear a great deal."

…..

The Minas Tirith Castle was cloaked in the deep shroud of a late moonlit night as Legolas walked through its ancient halls. The soft flickering of torchlight painted wavering shadows on the weathered stone walls, lending an atmosphere that resonated with the weight of its history. His footsteps were silent as he moved, and his thoughts followed suit, meandering through the corridors of his mind.

However, up ahead, a figure bathed in a gentle glow caused Legolas to abruptly halt in his tracks, his thoughts instantly converging on the woman.

“(Y/N),” he called out, approaching her. “What are you doing away from the House of Healing? You shouldn't be out of bed. You should be resting!”

She let out an exasperated sigh, not appreciating his chastising tone. "I am a watcher of wanderers, Legolas. Therefore, I too am a voyager. It is not in my nature to stay still."

Legolas released a heated breath through his nose. “That may be true, but you now have a corporal form. No longer are you just a breeze.”

She rolled her eyes, shifting her feet to hide the persistent pain emanating from her side. “I may not be a breeze any longer, but I still control all the winds of Arda. I could knock you on your ass in seconds, injured or not.”

Legolas chuckled lightly. “I never would have gotten involved with the wind if I knew she was so temperamental,” he teased.

(Y/N), suppressing a grin, responded with a snarky retort. “Oh, so we are involved, are we?”

The elf sent her a look, trying to hide his expression of amusement. “I would be naive to think that all the times the wind flirted with me, it was just a ploy.”

“Maybe I enjoy a ploy from century to century, Legolas,” she replied.

He laughed lightly at her jest, then took a step closer, his demeanor shifting to one of seriousness. Gently, he pressed his hand to her bandaged side. “(Y/N),” he began softly. “Why did you do it? Why did you get in between that orc and I?”

She looked up at him, her eyes gleaming with sincerity. “You know why.”

“Say it,” he commanded.

“Because,” she began, her tone becoming shy and soft. “Because, I—I love you.”

Instantly, Legolas wrapped his arm around her back, pulling her close to him. He pressed his lips fervently against hers. As their mouths met with equal intensity, he tasted the essence of the wind. And oh, it tasted of adventure, suffering, and joy. It tasted of warm bread from the north, bitter nuts from the east, clear water from the south, and fresh fruit from the west. It tasted of eons and eons of wandering, yet still, she tasted of home. Her hands found their way into his golden locks of hair, twisting and tugging it lightly. He allowed her to siphon off his heat, for the wind was often cold and bellowing. Though, he could tell she was taking more than just his warmth—she was taking his love; and oh, he gladly gave it to her.

…..

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#vayawrites #lotr #lord of the rings #the hobbit #legolas #legolas x reader #legolas/reader #legolas fic #legolas fanfic #legolas fanfiction #LOTR fic #LOTR fanfic #legolas one shot #legolas drabble #legolas love story #LOTR writer #LOTR writing

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the-writing-goblin · 7 months

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I am once again thinking about how good the story of the second age is, and all the fun things you could do with an actually decent adaptation. Consider:

Galadriel should be exactly the same as she is in Lord of the Rings. She is older, weirder and more powerful than any elf other elf in Middle Earth. Other elves are just as unnerved by her as mortals, and dealing with her is stressful at the best of times.

Elrond should be an absolute infant. Just, complete baby face. But everyone treats him super respectfully and he has a lot of power and influence. The energy should be the same as when the super ancient and powerful vampire or faerie or whatever looks like a ten year old girl.

ALSO there should be a tall, menacing elf with visible tattoo and facial scars who just. Stands behind Elrond looking intimidating all the time. The least elf-looking elf ever. All the other elves are uncomfortable around them. Elrond should treat them like their an Aunt or Uncle. The elf is one of the few surviving hard-line Feanorians, all of whom follow Elrond. The longer you can go without explaining this, the better.

Gil-Galad is very tired, and spends a lot of time balancing one of the most famously unstable political systems in all of Arda. Galadriel and Elrond both have factions they support to strongly to be relied on to be impartial. The reason he doesn't worry much about what Celebrimbor's up to is that he's the one member of the family who is highly unlikely to attempt something batshit nuts, and his followers are mostly moderate.

Celebrimbor and Annatar/Sauron should spend the whole series playing complicated mindgames with each other.

Annatar is playing four-dimensional chess from the beginning. For him, this is an all or nothing gamble. If he can't make the rings he won't have the power to seize control on his own. He should spend a lot of time having Light Yagami-level monologues where he tries to figure out what game Celebrimbor is playing while outwardly pretending to be harmless and normal and only succeeding at this about 75% of the time.

Celebrimbor should start of thinking the stakes are considerably lower. Like... is Annatar hiding something? Yea, but he figures Annatar doesn't actually have permission from the Valar to be here or something. Not, ya know, Annatar is secretly Satan in disguise. In the first act there should be an almost comical disconnect between the amount of energy Sauron is putting in to these mind games versus Celebrimbor.

Bonus points if as Celebrimbor figures out the truth, you intersperse more and more of his family backstory. The guilt he is still carrying for a lot the things that happened in the first age. Early on bring in the fact that Finrod went into Sauron's jaws alone and it was Curufin's fault, use this as angst material. And then as he figures out who Sauron really is, drop Maedhros and Thangorodrim in like a nuclear bomb.

Because Celebrimbor has seen this play before, and he knows what Sauron does to people. It wasn't even personal then, what Sauron is going to do to him will be so much worse.

And Celebrimbor chooses to forge the three rings anyway. He doesn't give up their locations, even with everything Sauron does to him at the end. And that should be devestating.

#silmarillion #rings of power #kinda #sort of the opposite of rings of power #celebrimbor #annatar #elrond #gil galad #wild tonal shifts in this post #oh well #I think this story should have wild tonal shifts tbh #I am unwell about these elves #lotr

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gffa · 5 months

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Over the last week, I decided to go ahead with bookmarking all the fics I've recommended over the years on AO3 since I abide by tumblr poll results always (and man pour one out for all the fic that never made it to AO3 or has since been deleted, sooooo many gems lost to time!) and it was a bit more than the ~3,000 I was expecting:

Hopefully, this will be easier than browsing the hundreds of recs posts I've made, since you can filter for any of the author's tags now! These are mostly focused on Star Wars and DC fandom, but I did my time in the anime mines and occasional tours through some TV fandoms or movies. You can dig into everything unfiltered and start your own filtering, or the bigger fandoms you'll find:

MAJOR FANDOMS: Each of these should have 100+ at minimum and, in the case of Star Wars, literally almost half of them are in that fandom. Look, Star Wars fandom might be a trash fire in a lot of ways, but it is ON FIRE with some good fic. (Older bookmarks not guaranteed to match my current sentiments, especially re: the Jedi, but they did catch my fancy at that point in time!)

STAR WARS: - All Star Wars -OR- All Star Wars minus the Obi-Wan/Anakin ship - OR- Nothing BUT Obi-Wan/Anakin

BATMAN/DC: - DC can sometimes be tricky, but you can do a Batman* search and get most of them (though, sometimes Nightwing* or Young Justice* or Superman* will catch some of the others). Honestly, though, you might want to just do a search for what character or dynamic you like and have fun from there, because otherwise you're getting a face full of my Dick Grayson Is The Center Of The Universe And I'm Making That Everyone Else's Problem agenda. ;)

MARVEL/MCU: - Marvel* will probably get most of the various properties, though you may want to filter for Defenders* or Guardians of the Galaxy* if you're interested -OR- Marvel* without the Thor/Loki - These focus a lot on the Thor* fandom if you want to witness the results of like 8 years of constant voracious reading in that fandom (Minus the ship), because, seriously, I read a LOT of Odinson family fic. - Bonus, just do a search for Maximoff* to find some really good X-Men: First Class-verse because, listen, I have been ALL ABOUT the Maximoff twins since long before the movies or MCU brought them over and I will DIE ON THE HILL of "Marvel, make Magneto their bio-dad again or I'm never reading another comic of yours ever".

TOLKIEN/LORD OF THE RINGS/SILMARILLION/HOBBIT: - Tolkien* -OR- Hobbit* -OR- Lord of the Rings* searches will turn up most of my Elf-hunting, I primarily focus on the Sindar Elves, but look I can't resist my problematic Feanorian faves or that I will die on the hill that Fingolfin is the best ever. (You have NO IDEA how sad I am that so much fic on Stories of Arda or FFNET is not easily bookmarked on AO3, sob. I externally bookmarked a few of the bigger ones, but sooo many shorter faves are missing from my recs tag.)

CLAMP: - X/Tokyo Babylon legitimately bums me out because it's not a huge fandom and yet so much of what was written was pre-AO3 and lost when CLAMPesque went down or was never brought over from Livejournal, yet this fandom (well, the Seishirou/Subaru pairing) still burns brightly in my heart.

BOOKS: Chrestomanci | Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint

DRAMAS: Nirvana in Fire | The Untamed -OR- Modao Zu Shi

VIDEO GAMES: Dragon Age: Inquisition | Final Fantasy 8 | Genshin Impact | Okami

BANDS: Arashi

All right, whew, that was actually a fun project, despite how much work it was to hunt down a lot of older faves to see if they were on AO3, hopefully you'll find this useful!

#lumi.txt #fic recs #star wars fic recs #batman fic recs

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vinyatar · 6 days

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atarinya

#my ocs #the original narelinta #sent to caranthir by celegorm before the fifth battle to help lead forces of men there...#smol forest noldo #first age arda

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sotwk · 5 months

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The Regencies of the Princes of the Woodland Realm

Original Map credit to The Encyclopedia of Arda. Edits by @sotwk.

King Thranduil Establishes the Rule of Princes

Thranduil's ascension faced opposition by a handful of powerful Sinda nobles (Oropher's councilors), who schemed to usurp the throne. They sought to turn the Silvans against Thranduil by disparaging his wife, Maereth, as a daughter of Noldor kinslayers. Fortunately, the people's love for Thranduil prevailed, and they embraced Princess Maereth as their Queen. She was eventually crowned almost a century after her husband took the throne.

Some years after the birth of their fifth and last son Legolas, Thranduil passed a royal decree called the "Thain-na-Conin" or "Rule of Princes", which modified the kingdom's feudal system of governance.

This law bestowed governing power on each one of Thranduil's children, granting them lordship over key provinces in the realm. Upon reaching the age of 250, the princes assumed responsibility for the protection and welfare of the citizens dwelling within their assigned lands or "regencies", while still answering to the sovereign authority of their father and King.

This was done not to increase the royal family's power, but to protect the common folk from negligence or abuses of their ruling lords. As the population grew rapidly and hundreds of new communities sprouted all over the vast Greenwood, Thranduil wanted to ensure that all Silvans received the same amount of care and attention from the Crown, no matter how remote their location.

Political Timeline of the Woodland Realm:

SECOND AGE

SA 2054 - King Oropher moves his household out of Amon Lanc and migrates northward, setting up a new domain and capital in the western glens of Emyn Duir.

SA 2022 - Prince Thranduil commences the construction of a new palace separate from his father's, which he intends to make the home of his family. (Despite Maereth rejecting his marriage proposal.) This causes great strife between him and his father, because Thranduil declares he will not pursue anyone else but Maereth for his wife.

SA 2107 - Thranduil's palace is completed and he begins to assemble his household. The palace is named Bar Lasgalen, and is the grandest structure to ever be raised in Greenwood's history.

SA 2110 - Maereth visits Bar Lasgalen for the first time. Thranduil proposes again, but once more she turns him down.

SA 3142 - Thranduil and Oropher reconcile. Oropher finally grants his blessing for Thranduil to marry Maereth.

SA 3262 - Thranduil and Maereth are betrothed at the celebration of the Mereth Nuin Giliath in Greenwood.

SA 3265 - Thranduil weds Maereth and she comes to live at Bar Lasgalen.

SA 3430 - Crown Prince Mirion is born. After himself being persuaded by Maereth, Thranduil convinces his father to join The Last Alliance of Elves and Men.

SA 3434 - Oropher is slain at the Siege of Barad-dûr.

SA 3441 - The war ends. Thranduil’s reign as Woodland King begins, and Bar Lasgalen becomes the realm's new capital.

THIRD AGE

TA 37 - Turhir is born.

TA 88 - Maereth is crowned Queen of the Woodland Realm.

TA 89 - Arvellas is born.

TA 221 - Gelir is born.

TA 242 - Legolas is born.

TA 250 - Thranduil passes the "Rule of Princes".

TA 252 - Mirion assumes his regency over Bar Himlaeg (his late grandfather's domicile) and the communities of Emyn Duir.

TA 278 - Mirion marries Itarildë. The Crown Prince's controversial marriage to another "outsider" instead of a Silvan stirs up discontent among Thranduil's political opponents once more.

TA 287 - Turhir assumes his regency over the newly established city of Thangail.

TA 307 - Lord Councilor Silevion is exposed as the leader of a coup attempt against the royal family. He is deposed and stripped of his titles, and exiled from the Woodland Realm.

TA 339 - Arvellas assumes his regency over Cemamath, taking over Silevion's lands.

TA 471 - Gelir assumes his regency over Dant-en-Aras.

TA 492 - Legolas assumes his regency over Galadal.

The Regencies of the Thranduilions

King Oropher's departure from Amon Lanc initiated the gradual migration of the Silvan Elves from the southern parts of Greenwood to the northern half of the great forest. By the start of Thranduil's rule, more than half of the realm's population resided above the Old Forest Road. However, the southern parts of the realm experienced a period of reinvigoration in the early Third Age due to the successful regencies of Prince Gelir and Prince Legolas.

The Woodland Realm enjoyed its most prosperous years between TA 500-1000, with the Thranduilions all working to further their parents' vision for a strong, united kingdom. The five regencies of the princes are:

BAR HIMLAEG, ruled by Crown Prince Mirion. A center for healing (esp. herbal medicine), the best source of Elvish medicine east of the Misty Mountains.

THANGAIL, ruled by Prince Turhir. Main base and training facility of the realm's military forces.

CEMAMATH, ruled by Prince Arvellas. Center of trade and commerce with the Dwarves and Men in the east.

DANT-EN-ARAS, ruled by Prince Gelir. Outpost and headquarters of the realm's best hunters and scouts.

GALADAL, ruled by Prince Legolas. Home of the largest concentration of farmers, who worked the fertile plains and maintained herds in the lands east of the forest borders. (Note: the Bight shown on the map did not exist until TA 1200, after Thranduil's people already left the southern forests.)

Unfortunately, in TA 1050, the Necromancer (Sauron) captured Amon Lanc, and began to poison the southern woods, with toxins and monsters that caused deaths at an alarming rate. Despite Thranduil and his family's valiant efforts to combat the Darkness, it continued to spread northward over the course of several centuries. Finally, the Elvenking made the difficult decision to prioritize the safety of his people and abandon the lands south of the Emyn Duir. He led his people north-east and reestablished their smaller kingdom in the underground halls.

The strength and prosperity of the Woodland Realm was one of the reasons Sauron chose it as a target for his corruptive influence. He both feared and envied the power of Thranduil and his family and wanted to destroy it, if not deceive or force it into his service.

Up until their last breaths (literally, for some of them), the Princes continued to fight for the defense of their beloved homeland until Dol Guldur was finally cast down at the end of the War of the Ring.

SotWK Fancast (L-R): Sam Heughan as Turhir, Sam Claflin as Gelir, Henry Cavill as Mirion, Rupert Friend as Arvellas, Orlando Bloom as Legolas

For more Thranduil/Mirkwood headcanons: SotWK HC Masterlist

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