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edges-of-night · 9 months

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Hello! I was wondering if I could request something? Fellowship x reader where the reader gets injured in a battle or something and confessed their feelings before passing out… and when they wake up they find out their feelings r returned 🤭 I love ur requests they r so very cute! Thank u!

That was such a lovely request to write, nonnie! I’m really sorry you had to wait for it so long. Also, thank you for your kind words!

･ﾟ✧ Aragorn.

Initially, Aragorn would not treat you much differently after your recovery – so much so that you start wondering if you actually confessed your feelings to him or hallucinated that whole part. But all Aragorn wants to do is find the right moment to talk to you. Once he does, he’d gently take your hands in his and tell you how much you mean to him – and that your feelings are in fact reciprocated! Confessing your love first gave him the courage to do the same. “I am not well versed in these fields. But I hope I can show you my heart just as bluntly as you did yours.”

･ﾟ✧ Boromir.

Boromir would not be around when you wake up. The others tell you he was simply shocked by your passing out and that he needed time to adjust and would be overjoyed to hear you’re fine – but you suspect it would be something else that scared him away. You’d find him pondering in a lone corner, afraid of how he’ll react to seeing you again – only to see his hardened face light up when your eyes meet his – and then he’d rush to kiss you! “I’ve been a fool for not understanding it sooner. Forgive me…!” ♡

･ﾟ✧ Frodo.

I like to think that out of the Fellowship, Frodo would be the most mature to handle your love confession. After all, he knows your injuries aren’t lethal and worries not about what happens next, since he is very clear in his own feelings. After you wake up, he greets you with a smile, takes your hand to make sure you’re fine – and lowers his voice to say, “I’ll call the others right away. But before that, I need you to remember the last thing you said to me. I feel the same.” He’d give you the cutest smile, shining all the way up to his blue eyes.

･ﾟ✧ Gandalf.

Gandalf, being the one who tried to heal you in the moment you passed out, tries ignoring your dramatic love confession and silently urges the others to forget what they overheard. That said, he is very flattered – after all, he’s been enamoured with you for a while now. Still, his romance is quiet and subdued. He’d sit next to you with a smile when you wake up. At first, you thought his behaviour was unchanged – until he ends his sentences toward you with “darling” or “my dear”. There is a playful spark in his eyes that tells you everything you need to know. (Eventually, he would also spell out ‘I love you too’ in fireworks or butterflies!)

･ﾟ✧ Gimli.

Gimli stays with you during your recovery, guarding your bed day and night, so dutifully that the others need to remind him of eating. Once you wake up, you’d meet his soft eyes, only to watch them harden when you try to speak to him: “Don’t do that again! Ever!” – “What? Talk to you…?” – “Scare me like that!” he corrects, grumbling into his beard. “What’s a lad supposed to do when his sweetheart passes out in his arms?” You smile blissfully as you understand and offer him a hug that Gimli more than eagerly returns!

･ﾟ✧ Legolas.

Legolas is entirely stumped when you pass out after that dramatic “I love you”. There is a frown on his pretty face for the next few hours, waiting for you to wake up again. When you do, you’re terribly embarrassed by the way he’s staring at you through his Elven eyes. He’d fixate you and ask, “Did you mean it? What you said to me?” You’d blush and retort that yes, of course you meant it – and that is enough to make his bright smile and joy return. “What a relief! I feared that if it had been but a fever, my reciprocation would ring false, or sound like a mockery. Please know it’s nothing but the truth!” And he’d take your hands and lean in for a quick and happy kiss!

･ﾟ✧ Merry.

At first, Merry would not believe what he heard just before you passed out. During your recovery, he retreats into dark corners to think and rationalise – people say all kinds of stupid things when they thought they were about to die, right? You couldn’t possibly be in love with him – not when there are so many other people – taller people – all around you. So, imagine his surprise when you do ask him for a private conversation after waking up, to set everything straight. Only Merry doesn’t accept your apology. “What’s there to apologise for? You said what you felt in that moment. It’s not like I didn’t like what I heard, I feel the same, after all…” And then, you both share an ‘oh!’ moment before you laugh and fall into the other’s arms!

･ﾟ✧ Pippin.

Pippin would initially be overwhelmed by your confession and subsequent passing out. However, he’s positive you’ll be fine, firmly believing that no matter how important, these matters needn’t be so dramatic. He’d treat you as casually as always after your recovery, though you can’t deny there is a spring in his steps and a smile on his face whenever you’re talking. You now know that your feelings are returned, and yet you still blush when he tells you over a shared bowl of strawberries: “I don’t think I’ve told you yet, but I love you, too! Very much so! I’ve thought of a few different pet names to call you, but I wanted to clarify that first. So, just tell me which one you like best…”

･ﾟ✧ Sam.

Sam would not leave your side, no matter how long you were passed out. Whenever someone would try and tear him away, he’d explain that he has something very important to discuss with you when you wake up. He would practice romantic speeches and poems to recite for you, really thinking the whole thing through – only to remain absolutely speechless when your eyes do meet his. After your initial greeting – “Thank goodness you’re alive!” – he’d just hold your hand and ask you to stay with him ♡

#lotr imagine #lotr headcanons #lotr x reader #aragorn x reader #boromir x reader #frodo x reader #gandalf x reader #gimli x reader #legolas x reader #merry x reader #pippin x reader #samwise x reader #* ask #* request #* hurt/comfort #* fluffy #also sidenote: i love love love that giffed moment of sam rushing to frodo's side haha <3

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mimilind · 1 year

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Sent to Middle-earth - Part 1

♡ ♡ ♡

Pairing: Legolas x Reader

Rating: T

Chapter Word Count: 2700

Parts: [ Next Part > ] [ Masterlist ]

Full story: [ AO3 ]

♡ ♡ ♡

1. Spider’s Web

The huge spider took another step towards you. You tried to back away, but there was a tree behind you, and you could get no further. Trapped.

A hairy foot crushed the basket of bilberries you had worked so hard to gather. As you stared into the monster’s multiple eyes, helplessly awaiting your death, you cursed the magician for sending you here – and not for the first time. Middle-earth was not a cozy, romantic world with exciting adventures around each corner, and where everyone was a badass fighter. It was dark and dangerous, you were still your normal, non-warrior self, and you hated being here.

“Go away,” you told the spider in your broken Sindarin, the language your new family had taught you.

It did not reply, and instead came closer. Its stench filled your nostrils, making you dizzy, and you could not look away from its black, dead eyes. In a last effort to protect yourself, you covered your face with your cloak.

It did not help. You felt a sharp sting through the stout wool and straight into your belly. As the poison spread through your veins, your body went limp.

Still awake, but unable to move or even speak, you were dragged up on the spider’s web. It swiftly spun you around, covering you head to toe in sticky silk. Instead of devouring you directly, it left you hanging there like a big burrito, perhaps wanting to wait until you were dead.

When you were alone, you felt utterly miserable. Your stay in Middle-earth had been no picnic so far, but this topped the list as your worst experience. And likely your last one, too.

Why had you ever gone into that stupid box?

But it had been a funfair, and he was not a real magician – or so you had thought – and you had played along. After entering his vanishing box, you had said where you wanted to be sent (Middle-earth, of course!), and the next thing you knew, you stood in a dark forest outside a cabin, with an elf family staring at you like you had popped into existence right before their eyes. This, you later learned, was exactly what had happened.

That was over a year ago now, and still you had no idea how it had been possible, or if you could ever return home. If you became spider-food now, would you wake up in your own world again?

There was a rustle above you. The spider returning? You tried to see, but your eyes were partly covered, and you could only perceive vague shapes.

You heard a twang, a shrill screech, and then something big and dark fell past you, hitting the ground with a soft squelch.

“Got it.” The voice was strong and melodious; an elf voice, but none you recognized.

“Well done,” said another. “Now let us destroy these eggs.”

“We continue tracking its partner, and you catch up with us when you are finished.” The third voice sounded further away.

Whoever the elves were, they had not seen you. You tried to call out, but your mouth was full of sticky web.

“Mpff! Mph!”

“Did you hear something?”

“Up there. It has caught someone.”

You felt the web tremble and heard the voices mutter and grumble as they tried to avoid getting caught in it while cutting you loose. And then you fell, crashing down, hip first. The impact would probably have been painful, but the spider poison had made you numb, and you felt nothing.

“Sorry about that. It was the only way to get you down,” said the first voice kindly, as its owner began to peel away the cocoon from around you. When your face was freed, you could see him clearly. It was a male elf – an ellon, as they were called – with an unusual golden blonde hair color. He wore a hunter’s green tunic, and a quiver of arrows strapped across his chest. Could it be…?

“I am Legolas of the woodland guard. Who are you, and why does a human walk alone in these woods?”

Legolas. The elf you had loved since the first time you saw him on screen, in the first Lord of the Rings movie, when he walked into Rivendell and curiously looked around. The movies had got his appearance slightly right, but even in his youth, Orlando Bloom had never been as handsome as this elf. You felt your heart beat faster.

The poison made you unable to move your lips and tongue, and your speech came out unintelligible. “I ah ooh…”

“Did the spider sting you?” Another elf came into view; this one had dark hair.

“How unfortunate,” said Legolas. “And your hip is swelling up. I hope the fall has not broken it.”

“So, what do we do? The rest of the company is already far ahead.”

“We have to go to the camp.” He turned back to you. “Don’t worry. We are going to treat the sting wound and clean out any remaining poison. When your speech returns, you can tell us where you live, and we will help you return there.”

You blinked your eyes and made another noise, hoping it sounded grateful. These elves had saved your life.

Legolas picked you up as if you weighed nothing, and carried you in his arms along a nearly invisible path, closely followed by his friend. You felt your face heat up, starstruck to be this close to your idol, and you were almost grateful the poison made you unable to speak – for you suspected whatever you said right now, would be incredibly stupid.

After a long walk, you came to a glade with a fireplace in its center, surrounded by a couple of tents in the same green color as the elves' clothes. Legolas carried you into one, and placed you on a blanket. He took off your cloak and folded it into a thick roll, placing it under your head as a pillow.

Then he called to his friend outside: “Can you go after the others, explaining my absence, and ask Niphredil to come back here? Meanwhile, I will do what I can, but I am no healer.”

The elf agreed, and was gone.

“I have to cut this off, to find where you were stung. The sooner I can wash off the poison, the sooner you will get your mobility back.” Legolas looked apologetic as he ruined your outer garment, but you did not mind. The elvish family who found you all those months ago had given you clothes more suitable for this world, and you were sure they would understand. They were kind people, and you hoped they were not too worried that you had not returned home yet.

In only your undershirt you felt a bit embarrassed, and it seemed Legolas was not entirely comfortable either when he found where the wound was. He folded the hem up and exposed your stomach. Looking down, you saw the ugly mark from the spider’s stinger and felt nauseous; it was round and even, and as large as a coin. A black, oily mess covered the area, mingling with your blood, which seeped out in a sluggish trickle.

“The poison holds the bleeding back, but if I leave it there it will keep leaking into you and prolong your immobility, and possibly do some lasting damage to your nerves as well. I have to get it off, and then quickly bandage the wound. It should be painless, but with the poison gone, your sensations will slowly return. I hope the healer will have come by then; she knows better what to do about the pain.”

He soaked a cloth in something herbal-smelling, and washed the area carefully. As soon as the black filth was gone, fresh, crimson blood welled out of the hole. Legolas was ready with a wad of linen and pressed it firmly against the stinger mark, winding a long bandage around your waist to keep it in place.

Next, he checked on your hip. As he gently prodded the swelling, you felt a numb ache.

“Ahh…”

“Does it hurt?” he looked worriedly at you.

“Little,” you managed to get out.

“I’m glad your speech is returning. I had better check this before your senses return entirely; it will probably be less painful if I do it now. May I?”

“Yeshh,” you slurred.

“I, uh, have to roll down your hose a bit.” He blushed.

“Yeshh,” you assured him. Of course he could not know you were from a world where showing one’s leg was not a big deal, especially not for medical reasons.

Legolas fumbled a while with your hose strings; apparently he was not used to the kind of knot you had tied them with.

Hose were interesting garments, worn by both men and women around here. They resembled a pair of very long socks, though not as elastic; reaching from the toe all the way to the crotch. Unlike pants, they were not sewn together, and tied to an underbelt to stop them from sliding down. Underneath the hose, you wore linen underwear, looking a bit like large, baggy boxer shorts – these too unisex.

Legolas had finally loosened your hose, and uncovered the leg which had hit the ground first. Your hip and upper part of the thigh had gone dark and looked twice as thick as normal. He felt along the bone, and the ache returned, a bit stronger now. You grunted.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“‘S alright.”

“It could be broken, but it’s not easy to feel.” He sighed.

As he started to roll the hose back up, you stopped him. “No. Leave… Swell. Hurt.” The pain was steadily growing worse now, a sharp throbbing with each heartbeat.

“Of course.” He covered you with a blanket instead. “How are you feeling?”

“It hurts,” you said.

“Niphredil should be back soon. She can give you something to drink. It tastes horrible, but it will take away some of the pain.”

You nodded. Your sensations had returned to your arms and hands now, and you experimentally wiggled your fingers.

“What were you doing alone in the forest?” He took on a somewhat stern tone, and you remembered the Elvenking did not take lightly to strangers roaming Mirkwood. Legolas probably helped his father guard the borders.

“I was gathering berries, but strayed too far from the others, and lost my way… I called back to them, but then the spider came.” You looked at him apologetically.

“Humans are not allowed in this land.” He frowned.

“I know, but… They took me in. A family of elves.” You described how you had been sent here by magic, but on purpose kept most of the details out. It was too hard to explain how different your world was; it was easier to make it sound like you were from another part of this world.

Legolas looked a bit skeptical, but to your relief he did not question you further.

Not long afterwards the rest of the elf company returned, and their healer took over your care. Like Legolas had predicted, she gave you a bitter draught for the pain, but it actually did help a little and also made you drowsy. Soon you were fast asleep.

♡ ♡ ♡

In the morning, the healer returned to check on you. When she removed the bandage from your stomach, she drew in a sharp, surprised breath. “It’s almost healed!”

You looked down, and your eyes popped open. She was right. The hole was nearly gone, and had scabbed nicely. It still hurt, but much less. Uncovering your thigh, you saw that the swelling was down, and it was less dark in color, but when you tried to move your leg a searing pain shot up.

“Keep it still. The hip bone is broken,” said Niphredil. “But it still surprises me how much better it looks. If you were an elf, it would have been expected, but for a human to heal this fast… I have never seen that before.”

Legolas came inside the tent, and heard the last part. He too examined your wounds, looking very puzzled. “Are you an elf?” he asked. “You don’t entirely look like one, but with a stamina like this, you must be.”

“Maybe the magical box did it?” you pondered. You actually had noticed some differences in yourself the past year. You were physically stronger and had more energy than before, and slept a lot less – you had accounted it to your wholesome lifestyle with lots of fresh air, healthy food and exercise – but what if your transport here had changed your body somehow? It was no less strange than you coming here in the first place.

Legolas seemed intrigued that someone could change from a human into an apparently immortal person, and resumed his questioning about your arrival here. This time, you told him more than before – the truth about where you came from.

“So this is why you speak with an accent. If you had been from Gondor like you said at first, you would have learned Sindarin at an early age.”

“Sorry.” The accent embarrassed you, and there were still many Sindarin words you did not know.

“Don’t be. I like your accent.” He smiled, and you felt your cheeks heat pleasantly.

Strangely, your being sent through time and space did not surprise Legolas as much as you had thought, and instead he seemed mostly curious about you and your world. But then, this was Middle-earth. Here were fire-breathing dragons and rings of power, giants who turned into stone in sunshine, talking spiders and cursed swords; here they used to have trees and lamps instead of a sun and moon, and one of the stars was a guy in a boat sailing across the sky. Magic was normal here.

All through the day and well into the night you talked, telling Legolas all he wanted to know about the future. You only hid one thing from him: that Middle-earth and all its characters were fictive – including him. That was just too weird. I mean, how do you tell someone they are the figment of a 20th century author’s imagination?

Besides, you were beginning to suspect this was not made up. Everything felt real, and looked real. What if Tolkien too had been transported to Middle-earth, and only wrote what he had seen? It was a curious thought, and you wanted to ponder over it more before you said or did anything stupid.

♡ ♡ ♡

The following day, the elves had planned to return to the palace, and to your delight Legolas asked if you wanted to come; both because he wished to question you more, and so the healer could make sure your leg healed properly. If you agreed, he would send a messenger to the elf family where you lived and explain the situation.

“I would love to see the palace,” you said.

“Good, that’s settled then. I should make it up to you for breaking your hip.”

“Don’t say that!” you objected. “You saved my life. Had you not come, I would have become spider food.” The thought made you shudder.

“I should have cut you down more carefully. One of us ought to have stood below, catching you.”

“I’m just grateful to be alive. Think no more of it,” you assured him.

Legolas lent you one of his tunics instead of the garment he had been obliged to cut when examining you, and when you had put it on, your nostrils filled with his pleasant smell.

The elves had made a pair of crutches for you, and though your hip still hurt, you found it worked fairly well to limp along with them. Legolas adjusted his pace and walked slowly beside you, telling you about the places you went past. Despite the increasing darkness, there was some beauty left in Mirkwood.

You listened, and tried not to gaze at his attractive face too much. Before, you had loved your imagined version of him from the movies and books, but here he was real – and greatly surpassing your imagination! His kindness towards you had only made you like him more.

♡ ♡ ♡

Parts: [ Next Part > ] [ Masterlist ]

Full story: [ AO3 ]

#legolas #legolas x reader #legolas x you #legolas fanfic #legolas fanfiction #lotr #lotr fanfiction #lotr fanfic #reader insert #hurt/comfort #orlando bloom #Sent to Middle-earth #modern girl in middle earth

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witchy8464 · 3 months

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Change - Legolas x GN!Reader

Summary - You age, yet Legolas does not. A life over 71 years of marriage. Short angst fic.

You met when you were young and spry, aged twenty-four. Your skin was tight and smooth over your face, your hair full of color, and your muscles strong. He found you fascinating, and you found him equally so. Your bond grew deep and powerful, tied together were your souls. It was no surprise when love followed. You were married four years after meeting.

At twenty-six, lines began to appear near the corners of your mouth and your eyes. Legolas’s skin remained flawless.

At thirty-five, your hair began to grey. Legolas’s did not. His hair remained silken, the color of a golden field of wheat.

At forty-seven, your joints began to ache. Legolas could still leap and bound with the grace of a deer.

At fifty-three, your once gorgeous hair, filled with life, was almost muted, tuned to gray. Legolas’s hair did not change.

At sixty-eight, your face was covered in folds and creases. Legolas’s skin did not change.

At seventy-four, you grew tired, your body protesting. Legolas did not change.

At eighty-two, your memory began to fade. Legolas did not change.

At ninety-one, you were bedridden. Legolas did not change.

At ninety-nine, you were sick. Legolas did not change.

At ninety-nine.

You were gone.

And Legolas?

He did not change.

When you would have been one hundred, a century, Legolas was gone.

You met when you were young and spry, aged twenty-four. You were beautiful. He loved your heart and your mind, your soul and your spirit. He loved how you loved him, and he loved loving you. Your bond grew deep and powerful, tied together were your souls. It was no surprise when love followed. You were married four years after meeting.

At twenty-six, lines began to appear near the corners of your mouth and your eyes. Legolas kissed them. How lovely to have the permanent signs of happiness etched into your skin. He was glad for them. It meant you were happy with him.

At thirty-five, your hair began to grey. Legolas was enraptured. The strands of silver glinted in the starlight, and he ran his fingers over your hair.

At forty-seven, your joints began to ache. Legolas held pride. Here you were, bearing the signs of an adventurer, of someone who did and fought and flew.

At fifty-three, your once gorgeous hair, filled with life, was almost muted, tuned to gray. Legolas saw nothing but beauty, your hair the color of the moon.

At sixty-eight, your face was covered in folds and creases. Legolas held your face in his hands, warm and soft, loving the way your face showed every way you thought, you laughed, you smiled.

At seventy-four, you grew tired, your body protesting. Legolas stayed with you. He waited and he listened and let you sleep as you needed.

At eighty-two, your memory began to fade. Legolas held you tight. Even when you did not remember him, you felt safe in his arms. So that was what he would do.

At ninety-one, you were bedridden. Legolas read to you. He placed flowers on the table, wrapped you in the softest blankets, and slept next to you through the night

At ninety-nine, you were sick. Legolas loved you.

At ninety-nine.

You were gone.

And Legolas?

He changed.

He did not laugh, and he did not smile. You were not there to hold. You were not there to wait for. You were not there to read to. His heart died that day. It died with yours. His soul pulled at your bond, wishing you would tug back a response. But you were cold and silent.

When you would have been one hundred, a century, Legolas went with you.

Word Count - 611

Inspired by this post

#gender neutral reader #gender neutral y/n #gender neutral post #angst #major character death #hurt no comfort #legolas x reader #legolas x you #reader dies #reader insert #reader #gn reader

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legolas-fan-blog · 3 months

Text

Just sharing a fic I enjoyed!

Pairing: Aragorn/Legolas

Genre: hurt/comfort

Synopsis: The fellowship is travelling through the woods and are pursued by spirits. Legolas endangers himself to help his friends.

Word count: 7,134

#legolas #aragorn x legolas #legolas x aragorn #legolas lotr #legolas greenleaf #legolas thranduilion #legolas lord of the rings #aragorn #aragorn lotr #aragorn lord of the rings #lotr #lord of the rings #tolkien #lotr fanfiction #lord of the rings fanfiction #legolas fanfiction #aragorn fanfiction #hurt/comfort #fic rec

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tathrin · 10 months

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5. …where it doesn’t hurt.

Oh what a tender choice, thank you for asking! Prompt taken from this; anyone can feel free to send other numbers in at any time.

Legolas was pacing. That was the first thing Gimli became aware of when he woke for the third time, his head finally clearing of the fuzziness of healing potions and injuries enough for him to focus properly on the world once more.

Legolas was pacing, which meant that he was worried.

The elf was almost never still, Wood-elves being apparently as prone to rustling as the leaves of their beloved trees, but it was a gentle, casual sort of motion, instinctive and subconscious. If called out on it, Legolas often evinced confusion, as if he had not even noticed the slight but unceasing motion of his lissome body.

Pacing, on the other hand...

Gimli tried to speak, and a groan emerged instead. Instantly, the elf was at his side.

"Gimli?"

The sound of that bright, cheerful voice drawn in to such a tight, tremulous trill of a word made Gimli's heart ache almost as much as his bones did right now. The sight of the elf poised on his heels beside Gimli's bed, his long fingers frozen halfway across the distance between them as though he was afraid of reaching closer; afraid of actually touching the dwarf, was even worse and the shadow of terror that flickered across his pale eyes was utterly unbearable.

Gimli forced himself up from the dregs of his drugged sleep and into enough consciousness to rasp, "I am well, Legolas."

It came out rougher than he intended, more of a hoarse croak than as actual words. He opened his mouth to try again and found the rim of a cool metal cup pressed to his lips instead.

"Drink," Legolas commanded.

It hurt, lifting his head enough to do so, even with strong elvish fingers supporting him from below, but Gimli forced himself to swallow the cold, mint-laced water. He flopped back to his pillows after a few gulps and cleared his throat. The results were pleasantly akin to a rumble of stone rather than a creak of brittle wooden timbers, so Gimli decided to brave the effort of speech again.

"I am all right, Legolas," he said.

"You are not," the elf retorted. "You are banged all to bits, and the fact that none of your bones are broken is nothing short of a miracle."

"Dwarven bones are strong," said Gimli.

Legolas snorted. "Yes, and their heads are hard—a fact with which I am both beyond irritated, and exceedingly grateful. Gimli, what were you thinking?"

"I did not expect the stone to break," Gimli murmured. Dwarven stone would not have broken beneath his feet; or if it had had no choice but to do so, then it would at least have warned him first. But the shoddy white stone with which the masons of Minas Tirith had built some of their more recent, less elegant and less impressive structures, apparently had no such concern for the beings what walked upon its pale surfaces, even when said beings walked with dwarven feet.

"No!" Legolas exclaimed. "No, I am sure you did not! Nonetheless, it did, and you took quite a tumble as a result!"

Gimli grumbled, and made to swing himself out of the bed. The world reeled around him and a hand like a splay of twigs against his chest stopped him as firmly as a block of granite.

"You are not getting out of that bed until Aragorn himself says you are well," Legolas declared, his lilting voice gone suddenly fierce. Then it cracked open like a wound as he added plaintively, "Gimli, you nearly died!"

"Poppycock," Gimli retorted, trying to hide the fact that he was panting from even that slight abortive effort. He sank back into the pillow and forced himself to breathe slowly.

"You fell almost twenty feet and landed on solid stone."

Gimli grunted. "Well, then of course I am not dead," he said. "Good stone would never break a dwarf that landed on it."

Legolas made a noise of exasperation that sounded comically similar to an angry bird scolding an interloper away from its nest.

"Hush," Gimli said. "Your point is made; I will stay in the bed and await the word of the healers." He was not sure that his body would allow him to do anything else anyway, but there was no reason to admit to that. It would only worry Legolas more if he did, and he would be surely be more mollified by Gimli's apparent surrender if he did not know that he was only acquiescing because he had no choice.

"Good," Legolas snapped, and dropped onto the floor beside the bed.

They sat there in silence for a few seconds as the aches in Gimli's bones throbbed and pounded, as though he were an anvil in Erebor's busiest forges. Either the draughts he could dimly remember being coaxed to drink by Gondor's kind were wearing off, or the pain was simply becoming more noticeable as his thoughts cleared.

He could not stop himself from groaning, although he clamped his lips tight over the sound as soon as it escaped—but too late.

"Does it hurt terribly?" Legolas asked. His voice had gone gentle again, small.

Gimli nodded, and regretted the motion with a wince. He screwed his eyes shut. "Yes," he admitted.

"Where?"

Light elvish fingers ghosted over Gimli's arm and up across his shoulder, their touch no more than the slightest breath of wind amidst slim treetops. The pain still seemed to dull a little at the touch, as though Aragorn's hands were not the only ones that held healing in their palms.

"Everywhere," Gimli moaned.

Legolas's fingers retreated at once, and Gimli could not help but sigh in regret.

"Well," he said, after a moment, "perhaps not quite everywhere."

"No?"

There was a faint rustle of movement, barely audible. Gimli could not bear to open his eyes and let the light in again, but he pictured the elf leaning closer and smiled at the imagined sight.

"My nose," Gimli said at last. "I think my nose is all right."

Legolas let out a surprised laugh, a burst of silvery mirth like the sudden ringing of clear bells.

Gimli's smile settled more firmly behind his beard. "Yes," he said. "My nose is definitely unharmed."

"And well that it is," Legolas agreed, gliding the faintest touch of his fingers across Gimli's cheeks and forehead before finally coming to rest against the side of his nose. "I would be grieved to see such handsome features mashed by such a fall."

"That's why I made sure to land on my back," Gimli teased. "To save my pretty face for you."

Legolas laughed again. The sound was watery, but stronger; the tremble was gone. "You are very kind," he said.

There was another, longer rustle of movement, and Legolas's hand fell away to be replaced by the light touch of warm lips upon the very tip of Gimli's unbroken nose.

In the darkness of his pain, Gimli smiled.

#hurt/comfort #not really a genre i write a lot of tbf but it suits them (and this prompt) so well i couldn't resist leaning in on the trope #also i have more responses to do but i think i might be feeling up for writing Actual Stuff again (thanks for the help folks!)#so i'll come back to these later #thank you to everyone who sent (and anyone who may in future send) prompts; it was extremely helpful #gimleaf #gigolas #ask meme #send a kiss meme #lotr fanfiction #my writing #my stuff #legolas #gimli #lotr

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babybat98 · 10 months

Note

Ooh how about #6 too? That seems like exactly the right level of too-cheesy-for-anyone-but-them. (Also, huzzah for the wip going well!)

Ok see, you say that but I am an angst writer at heart so this did not turn out to be some cheesy lovey-dovey kiss. Heheh oups sorry? (I am not sorry :3)

Anyways, here's my take on #6 … on a falling tear for Gimli/Legolas

Gimli wakes up to an empty bed and an ache in his soul, and goes to try to find his missing husband. He finds him in the middle of an episode of sea-longing.

TW for disassociation, sea-longing related depression, mention of non-sexual nudity(getting changed out of wet clothes into dry ones, just a few sentences). Hurt/comfort with mostly hurt.

Gimli woke up to an empty bed. Now this wasn't usually worrying on its own, since Legolas required so little sleep compared to him and couldn't be expected to listen to his snoring all night, but this was different. Firstly, it was still the middle of the night. Even if the darkness outside could be blamed on the raging thunderstorm, Gimli had a dwarf's good sense of time. It was most definitely night.

Secondly, the door to the balcony was open. He could both hear the rain outside and feel the draft from the wind, even bundled up as he was in blankets and furs.

And thirdly, most importantly, he could feel a painful tug in his bones, akin to something calling out through the very foundation of his being. Something gnawing on the soul bond between him and his beloved. Legolas needed him.

And his husband's side of the bed was empty.

Gimli swept the furs aside and got himself off the bed, still a bit bleary from sleep. Winters in Ithilien were nowhere near as cold as in Erebor or Ered Luin, and yet he found himself increasingly grateful for his thick socks as another biting wind swept through the bedroom. He grabbed one of the wool blankets from the bed and set about trying to find his elf. And step one would be to close that bloody balcony door. He was certain it had been closed when they went to sleep, who would have opened it? He moved away from the bed, to where he had a full view of said balcony. For a moment the darkness was so complete even he had trouble making anything out. The fire had burned down to nothing during their rest so that was no help. Then lightning struck, and he could see the trees thrashing in the storm, the curtains threatening to rip from their hangings. And he could see the silhouette of Legolas, standing outside in the rain.

The blanket slipped out of his hands, though he barely took notice. He rushed outside and was drenched within seconds. It was akin to jumping head first into a freezing river, and Gimli gasped as the drops hit his skin near hard enough to bruise. He could probably have jumped in a bath and been dryer for it! Legolas meanwhile seemed to pay no attention to the violent weather. His thin nightshirt was glued to his body like a second skin, his hair whipping about like angry golden snakes. And yet he simply stood, swaying in the wind like his beloved trees. Then Gimli made it to his side. Those warm brown eyes that he loved so much were dull and lifeless, his lips slightly parted, a thousand yard stare at the horizon that Gimli knew all too well. Their balcony faced to the south west.

Gimli took Legolas’s hand. The elf didn’t react at all, not even when Gimli began gently leading him back inside and closed the door. He walked them both over to the fireplace, and managed to get Legolas to sit down on the rug in front of it. Then he fetched the heavy blanket off the floor and wrapped it around Legolas’s shivering frame. He looked so small there on the floor, and Gimli had to swallow down his unease at how wrong that felt. His Legolas was anything but small! He swallowed again and pulled the blanket tighter. When he was certain his beloved wouldn’t wander off anew he set about relighting the fire. It didn’t take long to get the first few logs started, and he went to fetch them towels and dry clothes while the flames took proper hold. Back with a substantial pile of assorted cloth that he dumped next to Legolas, he went back to add more wood. It wasn't long until he had a good size fire going. He could feel his beard drying in the heat already.

"... Gimli?"

He almost missed it, so faint was the whisper behind him. He probably would have missed it, if their bond didn't cry out for him hard enough to make up for it. He spun around, and oh.

Sometimes when Legolas came back from his sea-longing episodes, it was quick. He snapped back to himself as if he had merely been lost in thought, and apart from a bit of melancholy was usually himself again within the hour.

But sometimes, coming back was slow. He had tried to explain it to Gimli once. How he felt like an ant stuck in tree sap, desperately trying to crawl back out from the sticky mess his mind turned into, only for all his struggle to be in vain. How he felt akin to a cup with a hole in the bottom, so no matter how much he rested or what he did his energy would not refill, leaving him drained in not only body but mind and soul as well. How his thoughts seemed to no longer be his own, worse even than the occasional whispers of the Ring had been, and all he could hear was the cries of gulls ringing in his ears until he could feel himself go mad! When he came back slowly, it easily took weeks, sometimes months before he was fully himself again.

Gimli could already tell that this would be a slow one. There was a glint of awareness back in Legolas's eyes, but it was accompanied by a good bit of confusion. He was staring at Gimli, at the fire, at his hands, like he wasn't sure how he had gotten there. In all fairness he probably wasn't.

"Why am I wet?"

Gimli left the fire and kneeled in front of Legolas. He gently took one of the elfs' cold hands in his and ran his thumb over the knuckles. He kept his voice as soft as his touch. "Because you went outside in the rain."

"I did?"

"Mm."

Gimli picked up one of the towels and set about drying off Legolas's hair, catching the droplets falling from long shivering ears with the cloth. Legolas kept looking at him, brows furrowed.

"Why am I wearing a blanket?"

"Because you are shaking, kidhuzurâl."

Legolas looked down at his hands, seeming surprised. Like he hadn't noticed how bad he was shaking until now.

"Oh."

He fell quiet again after that, simply letting Gimli do as he pleased. He didn’t react to Gimli removing the blanket and striping him out of the soaked nightshirt. He only stared into the fire with that same faraway look when Gimli patted him dry and slipped the new shirt over his head. Gimli gently pushed those still damp golden strands back from Legolas’s face and wrapped him in a new, dry blanket before tending to himself with a lot more efficiency than tenderness. Out of the wet clothes, then lay everything out to dry by the fire. Towel himself off as much as possible, then slip into new pants. He was just shoving his head though the neckhole of a dry shirt when Legolas stirred again. A gasping, shaking breath that rattled the elf's whole body. He finally looked up at Gimli, eyes wide and wet with unshed tears, making them glisten obsidian dark in the fire light.

“I don’t want to leave.”

Gimli just managed to kneel in front of his husband when the first tears fell like liquid starlight down his cheeks, strangely calm compared to the frantic words tumbling from his lips.

“I do not want to sail, I don’t want to leave you. I don’t want to go.”

Gimli cupped Legolas’s face between his hands. He pressed gentle kisses to those mithril tears, first one cheek, and then the other. Then he guided Legolas’s head down so he could press their foreheads together, running his hands soothingly over those golden locks. “Uzfakuh, my greatest treasure, it will be okay. I am here with you, and will be for many years yet. It will-”

“Middle-earth is my home!”

Gimli jumped, startled by the shout. Legolas was breathing hard now, his teeth bared, eyes alight with rage. And still those tears never ceased.

“This is my home, Mirkwood is my home! Not Valinor, not some promised land of the Gods. My family has no ties there. It is not my home!”

He grabbed onto Gimli's shirt, clinging to it desperately enough that Gimli could feel threads pop under those deceptively spindly fingers.

“This is my home, you are my home! I do not want to leave! I don’t-!”

The words were cut off by a choking sob, and Legolas’s entire being crumbled. He collapsed forwards, and Gimli did his best to fold those long limbs into his lap. It really shouldn’t have worked, but it did, somehow it always did for them. He wrapped his arms around Legolas, holding as tight as he could while the elf cried into his neck. He held on as Legolas gasped for breath that wouldn’t come between sobs that rattled his entire body. Legolas still tried to speak, still tried to force out words between his weeping, but his body would not obey him. All he could do was cling to Gimli harder as their limited time mercilessly moved on around them.

Outside the thunder storm still raged, barely drowning out the sound of Legolas’s scream.

#gigolas #legolas x gimli #fanfic #hurt/comfort #angst #lotr #my writing #I will probably gather these at ao3 at some point

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fckmini · 1 year

Note

Sorry for the delay, I got visitors over :D

So, maybe you could write a beautiful friendship piece about Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli.

Specifically how they might have felt lonely at times amongst their own people and how comforting their friendship is to them?

Lots of love

Together - Aragorn x Legolas x Gimli - platonic hurt/comfort

I’m sorry this took so long, I hope you enjoy it @i-did-not-mean-to :)

Please send any more requests that you have!!

Aragorn x Legolas x Gimli friendship hurt/comfort :)

- pls keep your eye out for my other works! ;)

tw! mentions of death/ loss/ grief - before they found merry and pippin

my masterlist is here - please check out some of my other work if you can!

As always please give me some feedback and please send requests <3

mutuals and ppl I think might be interested: @in-darker-dreams @tolkien-fantasy @the-messy-nessie @blairsanne @aceofatook @lilunoakes @shrimpsthings @the-nerd-procrastinator @khazdith @glorfindelridesagain @therealsomajesticdonki @catnip-and-caprice @blairsanne @leafycasper @ur-gucchi-im-crocs @thelifelemonsgaveyou @emptyspace008 @iactuallyshipeveryone @zemosboy @theelfmaiden @i-did-not-mean-to @gossip-guy-of-middle-earth @catnip-and-caprice

—————————————————————————

Only a splatter of stars provided a waning shimmer of light as inky darkness bled onto the canvas of the sky. The trio were huddled beneath this, their aching bodies encased in dewy grass. Their shoulders hunched beneath the heavy weight of their anguish. They basked in the alluring, crackling blaze of the fire, attempting to thaw the bitter cold that gnawed at them. Fond memories had begun to rot like festering wounds, tinged yellow with the sickening feeling of grief that plagued all three of them. A sinister silence and newfound emptiness haunted them, confronting them with all they had lost. Legolas, entranced by his own thoughts, leant into the tender caress of starlight.

"What troubles you, mellon nin?" Aragorn inquired softly, his gaze drawn to Legolas’ glossy eyes in the flickering light of the fire. A rare twist of fate had brought the three together for a purpose greater than themselves.

"I am afraid," the elf stated solemnly. The nauseating terror that writhed within Legolas was unlike anything he had experienced. They all felt it. It clawed at their hearts and crawled under their skin. It seeped into every waking moment.

"Aye, so am I." Gimli added gruffly. In solidarity, he gripped his friend's shoulder tightly. As the fire hissed, the three exchanged a silent grimace until Aragorn cleared his throat.

"We mustn't lose hope."

Hope, it lingered like a slivery petal of breath wilting in the frosty air. It seemed perverse, even laughable, in the face of such loss. They huddled closer, their backs towards the oppressive darkness. In quiet intimacy, Legolas bowed his head and softly broke the silence.

"My mother," he started, his voice wavering slightly, before looking up again at the opulent stars and meeting their heavenly gaze.

"She passed away when I was an elfling. My father never recovered, it severed his soul." He paused once more, weighing the words carefully and mulling them over on his tongue like sour sweets.

"I have never had anyone before as a prince, any true friends, I mean. I was always alone, and now I have never had more to lose." The tender confession hovered. Despite the young elfling’s blush being obscured by the rosy firelight, the truth was as naked as the flames before them and as apparent as the sting of the bitter wind on their cheeks: none of them were alone anymore.

Aragorn began softly, his voice roughened by emotion. "Mellon nin," he started.

"As a ranger, and as the... heir, I too have never had such dear friends. I have suffered many lonely nights and witnessed much loss. I thought I would've gotten used to this and would be ready to have such dear friends." The man gripped both of his companions by the arm, trying to meet their eyes, before closing his and whispering:

"I do not think I could lose either of you. I won’t."

"Aye," Gimli agreed thoughtfully, as he rubbed his coarse hands over his face, running his fingers through his auburn beard. The dwarf was well acquainted with the consuming pain of loneliness, being too young to join his father’s quest for Erebor and the only dwarf they’d met. Home survived only in his dreams, in the thunderous music, lavish feasts, and booming laughter that made his heart ache and his eyes glisten. Now, these two were all he had, his closest friends, his family.

"We shall remain together." He promised his companions vehemently, the impossible oath warming his heart. Under the tender ripples of moonlight and until the fresh, golden tide of dawn, they basked in the soft embrace of the fire, desperate to rekindle the hope that they had once found in the gleaming eyes and wide smiles of the hobbits, in Boromir’s careful hands, in Gandalf’s chuckle. There they sat, together, until their hopes were renewed in the rays of the morning sun and they dared to live and love again.

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legolasghosty · 11 months

Text

Kiss the Pain Away

Rating - T for some referenced trauma things Pairing - Willie/Alex (Julie and the Phantoms) Word Count - 2,306 Notes - Hurt/comfort, read the description for trigger warnings! "I want to kiss you." Alex looks up from the bowl of brownie batter he'd been whisking, startled by his partner's statement. "Sorry, what?" he stammers. "I want to kiss you," Willie repeats firmly. "Like… for real. On the mouth." Alex resists the urge to glance down at Willie's lips and tries to think. This is new. Willie's aversion for mouth-to-mouth contact has been a known boundary in their relationship for over two years. Sure, Alex didn't know why at first, but he's always respected it and focused on ways for them to be physically intimate without crossing anyone's lines. But now, out of the blue, Willie wants to kiss him?

Read on ao3!

#legolas tag #julie and the phantoms #jatp fanfic #willex #jatp #alex mercer #willie jatp #hurt/comfort #me writing or posting willex things after I should be asleep?#more likely than you'd think #might regret this later #but hey #at least maybe it will make someone happy?#tis finals season and I wish to not exist #pay me no mind for the next couple of weeks

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esculentevil · 1 year

Text

Evil’s Greenwood Headcanons (#1): Strength of a Heartbeat

Upon their reunion—despite the late hour, the glowing moon above them and the way its rays actually pierce the forest stretched beneath it, enough to almost outshine the Elda under their boughs—the first thing Legolas does when he sees his father patiently awaiting him is hug him tightly, hold him against his person like he's afraid he'll leave or be taken from him entirely, and smile happily while sighing contentedly; and, when delicately destructive fingers caress his back in silent awe, Legolas finally explains: "I have heard the Song of the Sea, Ada, and I can now safely say: It has nothing on your heartbeat."

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wild-lavender-rose · 4 months

Note

Prompt ‘Person A wakes up from a nightmare, their movement waking Person B who comforts them’ with Legolas? :0

The long awaited Legolas drabble! Thank you for requesting this, anon :)

You jerked awake, covered in sweat and tears, gasping for breath. The Balrog in your nightmares disappeared, replaced by the ceiling of your bedchambers. It was dark and still, the only sound your ragged breathing and the occasional crackle of the dying fire in the fireplace.

You looked over at Legolas, worried that you had woken him. He was lying on his side facing you, eyes closed, breath even. Blinking away the last of your tears, you turned away from him and tried to slow your breathing.

The sound of muttered elvish made you tense. "Mel nin," Legolas's words were slurred from sleep as he reached for you. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." You rubbed at your eyes. "Go back to sleep."

"You're trembling." Legolas's arm wrapped around your waist, bringing you close. "Another nightmare?"

"It's nothing." You tried to resist, not wanting to disturb him, but soon surrendered as Legolas began placing kisses on your neck and shoulder.

"You're safe, mel nin. I'm here." Legolas shifted closer, his form consuming yours.

You gave a shuddery sigh, growing calm as he held you close and kissed the wet trails on your face. After a moment Legolas began humming softly, a song about starlight and lost lovers and hope in the darkness. Your breaths slowed and deepened, slipping once more back into sleep. Legolas watched over you, keeping you safe should another Balrog dare to enter your dreams again.

Fanfic Masterlist

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#legolas #legolas x reader #legolas x you #legolas greenleaf #legolas fanfiction #legolas x y/n #lotr legolas greenleaf #legolas green leaf #lotr legolas #lotr #legolas hurt comfort

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xnowheregirlx · 2 years

Text

Gimli suddenly felt a surge of anger fill him.

"Elves are blessed with immortality! What makes it so complicated?”

“Ah, but are they?” said Aragorn. “You say they are blessed, but is it a blessing to have to fight through countless of wars, seeing your homeland change and get destroyed? To make your kingdom great again only for it to be burned down countless of times. Is it indeed a blessing to make friendships and alliances with mortal beings, and then have to watch them grow old and die, while you must live on?”

Just posted the second chapter to my fic! Please check it out(:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/39519939/chapters/99150285#workskin

#lotr fanfic #lotr #gigolas #legolas x gimli #legolas #aragorn #hurt/comfort #angst #tolkien

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feelingpoorly · 1 year

Text

For You- Part 2

If you've not checked out part 1 yet, you can find it below! (Who knows if I've linked it correctly or not, I hope so lol)

But anyway, Part 2 is finally here! Hope you enjoy :)

---

Evening was drawing in on them, yet their progress was painfully slow. She was struggling to keep him upright now; he barely seemed able to hold his head up let alone walk. They’d been walking in silence only occasionally broken by his pained groans, until he suddenly stopped moving altogether.

“‘Las?” She prompted gently, concern filling her eyes as she took in his face as he blanched chalk white. She could feel him trembling under her touch, and it was obvious he felt awful.

“Taur- I don’t… feel well…” he managed thickly, bringing a shaking hand up to cover his mouth. Suddenly he pulled away from her and stumbled towards the nearest tree, barely catching himself on it.

Everything was spinning. He wasn’t sure whether he was frozen to the bone or boiling from the inside out. Something was very wrong with him but he felt so ill that it was all he could focus on.

She rushed after him but before she could even reach him, he collapsed to the ground and was violently sick, his stomach cramping so painfully that it caused him to groan out loud. He was sprawled across the floor, just barely holding himself up on shaking arms as he continued to be miserably sick, his stomach lurching as he retched and heaved, every movement tearing fresh agony through his injured side as the muscles in his abdomen spasmed and tensed involuntarily, making him want to cry out in pain.

Tauriel gasped, quickly falling to her knees beside him as she tended gently to him, holding him upright when his own arms couldn’t support him. It didn’t take long before he had thrown up everything he had eaten that day, but the sickness was relentless.

She rubbed his back; he was throwing up bile now, shaking like a leaf. Eventually, only when there was truly nothing left inside him, he fell back into her, his body worryingly hot in her arms. His insides were still churning and he felt horrifically nauseous but apparently his body had purged all it could, the dry heaves ripping his body to shreds and tearing at his throat. On instinct she felt his forehead and her heart fell as she realised whilst he had been ice cold earlier, he was now running a temperature.

This was so much worse than she had realised. It had been bad enough to begin with but now it was obvious that something was very, very wrong.

“I’m… so sorry…” his voice was low and thick with nausea, as he fought desperately to maintain control over his stomach and not start heaving again. He felt mortified that she should have to see this, yet at the same time as his body endeavoured to rid him of everything he’d ever eaten, he felt far too exhausted and sick to dwell on it too much.

“You have nothing to apologise for!” She reassured him, laying him down as he weakly complied, too spent to protest. Legolas had hoped the humiliation was over, but his features creased in discomfort and he moaned as his stomach rolled again. Tauriel gently wiped his face of what he had thrown up. He felt so miserable that he didn’t even resist.

“Something is wrong.” She worried, taking his wrist in her hand to find his pulse racing and far, far too fast. She bit her lip and tried to stay calm for his sake. “I need to look at your wound.” Legolas barely made a noise in reply, too concerned with the nausea that still refused to release its hold on him.

She had a horrible feeling what could be causing this sudden sickness, and as she pulled away his shirt, her worst fears were confirmed.

“Poison…”

Thin black tendrils spread across his fair skin, branching out from where the arrow still resided.

“This cannot go on. We need to get this arrow out of you, now.”

“It is not possible…” he replied quietly, his voice so hoarse and painful sounding she barely understood him. He swallowed thickly and winced.

“We have no choice… I-“

“No, Tauriel. It’s barbed.” He closed his eyes in defeat. He felt absolutely awful and he knew it was only going to continue getting worse until they got the wretched thing out of him.

“Barbed? How do you know?” She was glad she hadn’t acted on instinct and yanked it out of him as soon as they realised it was poisoned.

“I recognise these arrows, I’ve seen them before…” he was feeling worse again, his breathing hitching nauseously “-can’t remove them… barbed…”

He reached into his cloak and shakily handed her the other end of the shaft she had snapped off. She inspected it, a wave of dread crashing over her as she realised he was right. She hadn’t realised he’d kept it, but it was a good job he had. Judging by the way it had bled earlier, she could’ve killed him in a matter of minutes if she’d tried to yank out a barbed arrow.

“Ai valar…” Tauriel blanched herself. This couldn’t be happening. They were still so far from help. She looked around frantically- they were rapidly losing the light, and it was becoming increasingly apparent that getting him back to the palace tonight was impossible with him in this condition. But the alternative was almost just as unthinkable. If she could just get him through the night… Tauriel knew if they hadn’t returned by morning, someone would notice they were missing and realise they were in trouble, and a rescue party would be sent out.

However…the dark forests of Mirkwood were a dangerous place. Not only would she have to get them through the night, she also had to somehow keep her very sick companion alive.

Beside her, Legolas weakly rolled to his side and was sick again, and whilst she rubbed his back as he heaved, her mind was made up.

He wasn’t well enough to be going anywhere. A rescue party was their only hope.

“Do you think you can stand?” She asked him, her voice thick with worry. It was a stupid question. Even as she spoke, Tauriel was still holding the blonde elf’s hair back, but Legolas’ exhausted body could barely muster the strength to retch anymore.

An uneasy groan was the only reply he could manage; his throat felt like it had been scrubbed raw with the bark of oak and his stomach was aching fiercely, although whether it was just from the exertion or instead the poison, he couldn’t tell. The incessant heaving had only succeeded in massively aggravating the wound, and slowly and painfully he curled into a tight ball of misery. Another cramp laced through him and he swallowed down another treacherous lurch of his stomach, groaning slightly.

“Goheno nin...” Forgive me… She apologised gently when he was evidently unable to respond, her delicate fingers deftly braiding more of his loose hair back into a thicker fishtail absentmindedly, her heart sinking as she realised why she was doing so. The sickness, and indeed everything else, was only going to get worse. She was anxious to move him somewhere safer and more sheltered as soon as possible, but he had also just been very very sick and he didn’t look like he was even up to moving, let alone standing.

“Just- give me a- a minute…” he whispered, letting out a tense breath and clearing his throat roughly. He closed his eyes and tried to compose himself, hating how weak he felt, how little control he had of his body. After a few long moments, he opened his heavy eyes to see her kneeling next to him, watching him with a heartbreaking look of concern.

Maybe it was because he felt so lightheaded and out of it; his senses so preoccupied with the pain and sickness, or maybe it was the fact that for the first time in his long life, he realised he knew what it felt to fear death, but in that moment, he reached out his hand and grasped hers weakly in his own.

Tauriel took his limp, blood stained hand in both of her own. She blew her warm breath into her cupped hands to try and warm his ice cold fingers.

A fresh pang of sadness and guilt ran through her. It was because of her that he was in this awful state. They had been inseparable since they were elflings, yet all of that had long since changed, and up until tonight she wasn’t entirely sure you could even call them friends anymore. More: “reluctant acquaintances”. Neither of them ever made reference to how close they used to be, they treated each other with the cold indifference that you might any stranger that you were forced to spend time with.

Yet, he’d literally taken an arrow for her, seemingly without a moment's hesitation.

Why?

Legolas was trembling dreadfully. Without thinking Tauriel took a blanket out of her pack and started to wrap him in it. However, when she touched his bare skin, she thought better of it. Frowning, she abandoned the blanket, and rested the back of her hand on his forehead for a moment.

“You’re burning…” She said quietly, turning her hand to check his temperature once more.

He looked up at her in confusion.

“But… it’s so cold...” For the first time in their long lives, she saw fear in his eyes and she hated it.

“We need to get you somewhere safe, we can’t stay out here. If we do not return by sunrise, they will send for help.” Tauriel mused as she hastily busied herself, collecting up their things. She was grateful for the distraction of something to do, and also for the way her red hair hung like a curtain over her face as she felt a solitary tear rolled down her cheek.

She was trying to reassure both of them, but he looked so awful that she was worried he didn’t have until morning.

Unbeknownst to Silvan elf, Legolas’ eyes followed Tauriel as she fumbled with her pack, trying to distract himself from how bad he was feeling inside. She had almost pointedly turned her back on him, but he could guess why. She looked so sad that Legolas’ heart hurt. He had caused all of this. He’d been so stupid to have allowed himself to be injured and put all of this worry and responsibility on her. He should’ve taken out that orc before it even had a chance to shoot at her. He should’ve noticed it sooner, intercepted it with his own arrow, he should have…

She was alive. That was all that mattered. As long as she was alive, it would have been worth it.

His vision blurred and he blinked hard, shaking his head slightly trying to bring everything back into focus. His brow furrowed in frustration and discomfort as he massaged his temples. It was making his head ache.

He closed his eyes as everything started swimming in the most disorientating way- his head was pounding horribly now and every part of him ached dreadfully.

“Ready?” He heard Tauriel ask him, but couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes. He took several deep, shaky breaths and tried to muster what little strength he had left.

He’d been hit a few inches above his left hip, and due to the location of the arrow, the poison had affected his stomach the worst. The sickness was awful and it had hit him so intensely. He knew there would be more symptoms from the poison to come as it spread through his body, but right now the debilitating nausea was all he could focus on. It had come on so suddenly and severely that it had left him drained and weak and shaking all over, but the worst part was that he knew it was far, far from over.

In truth, he really didn’t think standing would be a good idea. He knew he had to try, but as predicted, it was indeed not a good idea. Legolas shut his eyes as his hand darted to his mouth, praying to the Valar that he would not be sick again.

“Ai Legolas…” Tauriel was immediately at his side, rubbing soothing circles on his back as he fought to keep his stomach down.

“There’s a rangers hut… it’s not far.” His voice was tight and strained with nausea. He knew there was no way he’d be able to stand and walk feeling like this. His limbs felt like lead and the prickly lightheadedness was doing little to help how sick he felt.

Tauriel slowly and carefully helped him struggle up until he was laying back against her, panting heavily. She saw the blood drain from his face as he lost what little colour he had left and went a worrying shade of white, his body fervently resisting being upright.

“Easy…” she soothed, wrapping her arm around him more firmly in a bid to try and keep him upright. She held him tightly as he swayed dangerously to one side, stifling a moan behind clenched teeth. The ground beneath him was pitching and swaying, and Tauriel just about managed to catch him as he nearly slumped sideways again, clearly disorientated and extremely dizzy.

“‘Ri…” his voice was slurred and tinged with urgency. Feeling worse than he ever remembered, he was unable to hold back a deep groan, unsure whether he was about to throw up, pass out, or both.

Legolas went limp in her arms and Tauriel yelped in shock, her heart lurching in her chest as she cradled him gently, a tear running down her cheek as she felt his frail body burning up under her touch.

She knew the hut he spoke of. It was not too far from where they were now.

She shifted carefully, keeping his unconscious and worryingly feverish form held close against her chest with one arm, and awkwardly slung both their packs and his bow onto her back with the other.

She lifted him into her arms and ran.

#emeto #sickfic #hurt legolas #lotr sickfic #legolas sickfic #whump #hurt comfort #emetophilia #injured legolas #for you #sick leggy #my writing

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mimilind · 1 year

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Sent to Middle-earth - Part 2

♡ ♡ ♡

Pairing: Legolas x Reader

Rating: T

Chapter Word Count: 2800

Parts: [ < Previous Part ] [ Next Part > ] [ Masterlist ]

Full story: [ AO3 ]

♡ ♡ ♡

2. The Elvenking’s Palace

As you already knew, King Thranduil’s palace was delved underground, but it was a lot larger than you had thought. You went over a bridge and through tall, ornate gates, coming into a vast hall. Smooth pillars held up the ceiling far above, and the floor consisted of pinkish stone tiles. The air smelled fresh; not at all cellar-like as one might think.

A grand staircase took you down deeper into the hill, and in all directions extended corridors with many doors. The central corridor was wide and almost resembled a street. Wax candles in niches along the wall spread a cozy light.

The corridor ended in front of another set of double doors, which were finer than those that had taken you into the hill. They looked to be made of copper, perhaps even gold – in this light it was hard to tell – and were decorated with a pattern of ivy leaves. Two guards bowed for Legolas and politely opened the doors.

You realized he had taken you directly to the throne room, and felt both honored and nervous. The Elvenking seemed like a scary elf!

The spacious hall inside was full of elvish courtiers, speaking to one another in subdued voices. In the center of the room, a high throne with a pair of enormous antlers drew your attention, and even more so the elf seated there. He looked majestic and proud – and exceedingly handsome, with silver blonde hair reaching well below his shoulders and a crown of autumn leaves and berries on his head. His ageless face had a somewhat bored expression, but when Legolas and you entered, his dark eyebrows shot up in surprise.

You hobbled forward on your crude crutches, feeling very conscious about your simple garb and messy hair, still with some remaining tendrils of spider silk attached. When you stopped below the throne, you bowed awkwardly, the best you could do with your damaged hip.

“Greetings, my lord.” Legolas bowed a lot more eloquently. It surprised you that he would speak and act so formally in front of his own father, but perhaps this was the norm for royalty.

“Legolas.” The king acknowledged him with a nod. “Your mission was successful?”

“It was. We destroyed three nearby nests, and killed all spiders in the area. However, the southern outskirts are a lost case – they are too infested by now.”

The king sighed. “I fear you are right.”

“Anything new happened in my absence? How is the prisoner?”

He frowned. “Still complaining and wailing incessantly, to the extent where his guards had to take him outside. At least up in a tree they only have to listen to him at a distance. How typical of that meddlesome wizard to place him in our care.”

The Elvenking still had not even looked at you, and you were beginning to feel like the third wheel.

“My company and I can relieve them,” said Legolas. “If you have time later, may I have a private word?”

“I have time now.”

Thranduil rose. You had to stretch your neck to look at his face, and not only because of the height of the throne – he was absurdly tall. Gracefully descending the stairs, he left through a smaller door on the other side of the throne with Legolas and you in tow. You noticed the king wore a silver coat sparkling with a scatter of tiny diamonds, and an assortment of expensive looking rings gleamed on his long fingers in the candlelight. His appearance very much contrasted with his son’s unadorned tunic and hose in forest green colors.

The king led you to what you assumed were his private quarters, an elegant apartment which reminded you of an old-fashioned living room. The furniture was stylish, and on the wall hung tapestries and oil paintings with various forest-related motives; flowers and trees, mostly.

When the door closed behind him, part of the stateliness left the king’s wide shoulders. After removing his crown and coat, he poured himself a goblet of ruby wine from a decanter on a side table and sunk down in a comfortable looking chair. Legolas and you remained standing.

“What is this then,” Thranduil asked, indicating you with a glance.

“Someone I saved from a spider.” Legolas told him your name, and explained how you had fallen down from the web and broken your hip. He asked his father to allow you to stay here until you were fully healed. “Since it was my fault, I feel responsible.” For some reason, he did not mention that you had come from the future. Perhaps he too found that unnecessarily complicated.

Thranduil shook his head tiredly. “You never change, do you? First it was that sick hare, and then the abandoned elk calf, and now a human with a broken leg. What will it be next, Legolas? A dwarf?” He sipped his wine.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t associate with dwarves.”

You kept your mouth shut about a certain Gimli, son of Glóin, whom Legolas apparently had still not met. What time were you in? Before or after The Hobbit?

“That’s a relief, at least.” The king’s gaze moved to you for the first time, and you wondered what he thought of what he saw. “Alright then,” he said at last. “You can stay. But only until your leg is better.”

After that, Legolas and you rather hurriedly left. “As you can probably tell, my father and I are very different. We don’t get along very well,” he explained.

You agreed; apart from an attractive physical appearance, they did not have much in common.

Legolas took you to a guest room, after showing you the way to the healer’s quarters where you would go each morning to be examined. Your room was small but cozy, with a comfortable looking bed, and a wooden tub behind a panel.

“I assume you want a bath? I shall summon the maids.”

“Yes please. Thank you.” You greatly looked forward to finally getting rid of the remaining web.

Bathing in a time where plumbing was not invented involved much work. A score of elf maids carried steaming hot buckets into your room until your tub was full, and afterwards they emptied it in the same time-consuming way.

One of the maids took your undershirt to be washed and mended where the spider stinger had pierced it. When she tried to take the tunic, you stopped her. “Not that. It’s clean.” You did not want Legolas’ scent to be washed off from the garment.

After you had bathed, and brushed your hair and put on clean clothes (Legolas tunic again, of course), you felt a lot better. Your stomach wound was almost completely gone, and your hip felt stronger too.

There was a silver mirror in your room, and for the first time since you came to Middle-earth, you could see yourself in detail. The family you had stayed with the past year had been simple folk; the parents hunters, and their adult daughter a weaver. They had had a copper mirror, which only had shown you in a vague, discolored form.

Scrutinizing your appearance now, you discovered slight changes from your old self – nothing extraordinary, it was still the familiar you – but everywhere you looked, you found minor improvements. Small flaws which had annoyed you had been corrected.

Chuckling, you proudly turned this way and that before the mirror. Perhaps coming here had not been so bad after all!

A knock took you out of your self-admiration, and you hobbled over to open. It was Legolas, inviting you out. He had still not tired of hearing about the future, and since his company would do some prison guard duty outside the palace, he thought your presence would make the tedious job more bearable.

Glad he enjoyed your company, you followed him and the other guards into the forest.

A group of elves sat under a large, solitary beech tree, clad in the same forest green garb as the newcomers. Upon your arrival, they happily gave up their seats, stretching their legs and arms as after a long vigil.

“Where is he?” Legolas asked, peering through the greenery.

“Somewhere far up. We are tired of chasing after him, so we just let him stay there.” The elf shrugged. “We will be leaving now then. See you tomorrow.”

You stretched your neck, but could not see the prisoner either; he had climbed into the uppermost branches and the foliage covered him well, but his voice drifted down to you. He was grumbling and mumbling to himself, and every once in a while letting out a series of nasty coughs. It made you think of an old man with asthma, and you wondered what he had done to make the elves imprison him.

Legolas and his company had brought cold supper and a wine skin. Resting your backs against the smooth trunk, you passed the food and drink between you, while talking amiably about nothing in particular.

From the movies, you had thought elves arrogant and disdainful towards other races, but this was not true of these people. They were fun and cheerful, and included you in their conversation like you had known each other for a long time.

Thus the evening passed very pleasantly, and you remained there well into the night. It was early in the autumn and mild, even after the stars came out, and the wine had made you not a little tipsy. The elves seemed affected as well, and their light laughter filled the air.

Two of the guards began to sing, and you decided to move closer to Legolas while they weren’t watching. Just a bit. And perhaps try some innocent flirting? Yes. Great idea. It could be no harm in that – drunk people were often flirty, so it was a good excuse if he would prove not interested.

“Do those mean anything?” you asked, reaching out to lightly touch the thin braids which held his hair back from his temples. “You all have a similar style.”

“It’s to show our Silvan ancestry. I am Silvan on my mother’s side, and Sinda on my father’s.”

“Interesting. The people I live with plait their hair in another pattern – that must mean they are Sindarin then.” You had not removed your hand, and he seemed not to mind that your fingers felt his soft strands. You wanted to continue to his face, but that was probably too much, and too soon. Reluctantly you let your hand drop into your lap.

“Probably,” he agreed, meeting your gaze. His eyes were large and blue, shaded by long, dark lashes, and you felt drawn into them, mesmerized – like a hare before car lights. You wanted him to run over you. Crash into you.

“Can you make one on me?” you murmured. Your hair was longer than it had been. Since coming here, you had not cut it, because in Mirkwood nobody did.

“You are not Silvan.” His lip turned up slightly. You loved his smile.

“Make a human pattern then,” you suggested.

He glanced at his companions, as if making sure they were still busy singing, and edged closer to you. “Turn around.”

You happily obeyed. When you felt his fingers on your temples, a pleasant shiver ran down your spine. He worked fast with the braids, but when he had finished, his fingertips lingered. He traced the round shape of your ear. “Curious,” he mumbled. He was so close behind you that his breath tickled against your cheek.

“What’s curious?” Your heart pounded in your chest. You wanted him to keep touching you. Everywhere.

“You heal like an elf… but have round ears.” His finger had reached your sensitive earlobe, creating a tingling sensation which spread throughout your body. “I like round ears,” he added, barely audibly. “Exotic.”

You turned around, and found his face very close to yours. His cheeks were flushed, which was easy to spot on such pale skin as his. You did not think it was because of the alcohol.

Tentatively you touched the pointy tip of his ear. “Hm. I’m quite the opposite…” you murmured.

Nobody could say where you would have gone from there, had you not been interrupted just then by the cracking of a branch in the nearby underbrush. Swiftly Legolas turned towards the sound, and around you, the other guards stood to attention. Something was approaching.

With a loud growl, a gang of dirty, rough creatures broke through the thicket, with their curved swords raised and sharp fangs bared. Orcs!

The guards and Legolas did not waste any time, and the wine they had consumed apparently had no effect on their archery skill. The charging orcs were met with a score of arrows, instantly felling the first line. Unfortunately new ones came after them, quickly taking their fallen comrades’ places. There were too many, and it did not take long until some were too close for bows. The elves then drew long daggers, and switched to close combat.

The metallic clash of weapons rang in the air, mingling with the angry growls and shouts from the orcs. You had been so shocked by their coming that you had remained frozen where you sat, but now you tried to crawl out of the way on all fours.

An orc caught your boot, and you desperately kicked up with your other foot, ignoring the piercing ache in your hip. His lip broke in a flood of blood and he backed away. Then Legolas jumped between you, and embedded his white dagger deep into the orcs chest. The creature sunk down in a heap, blood oozing out in a pool beneath him.

As quickly as the melee had begun, it was over. The last of the orcs fell, and the night became calm and still again, with only the occasional owl hooting nearby.

“Well done, comrades,” said one of the guards, wiping his dagger clean on the soft grass.

“Anyone hurt?” asked Legolas.

Nobody was, except for lesser nicks and cuts, and all the orcs were dead. Their corpses lay scattered in the grass, filling the area with their hideous stench.

You covered your mouth, desperately trying to hold down your supper.

“How are you?” Legolas gave you a worried look.

“A bit queasy. And I may have kicked a little too hard with my bad leg.” You gingerly prodded your hip. A spear of pain shot up and you whimpered. “Yes. I probably did…”

Legolas said a word you had not heard before.

“Was that a curse? And if so, can you teach it to me? Right now I feel like swearing.”

He obediently said it again, and you repeated after him. “It does feel better now. Teach me more of those, will you?”

One of the guards jumped down from the beach. “The prisoner’s gone.”.

Legolas said the ugly word again. “It must have been planned. The orc attack and his escape… too convenient.”

“It seems so, aye,” the guard agreed.

“You and the others try tracking him down. I have to tell my father.” He winced slightly when he said the last part, clearly not looking forward to that.

The guard bowed, and soon all of them were gone on silent feet.

It felt strange that only a moment ago the guards had been singing and drinking wine, enjoying the night, and you had flirted with Legolas. How unfortunate the prisoner would choose this night for his escape!

Another thought struck you, and you suddenly felt incredibly stupid. “It was Sméagol.”

“The prisoner? Aye.”

“I should have known this,” you mused. “The guards won’t catch him. Instead your father will send you to Imladris where you tell it in Elrond’s council, and from there you leave with the Fellowship…”

You felt Legolas' surprised gaze at you, and realized you had said that loud.

“You knew?” Then his eyes widened. “It’s written. Of course. You’re from the future, this is your history. Am I right?”

You nodded. It was a simpler explanation than trying to explain about Tolkien and his books. “I didn’t know I was in this time, or I would have told you sooner.”

“And my father will send me to Imladris? It sounds unlike him, though. He does not particularly like Elrond.”

“Yet, he will.”

“Let us test this.” He took your hand. “Come with me.”

“Wait. My crutches.” You picked them up from where you had dropped them in the excitement, and could not hold back a low moan when you bent your leg.

“Oh, your hip. Sorry. I forgot…” He looked worried. “Let me check it.”

You rolled down your hose and exposed the area. It was swelling again, but less than before.

“Damn orc.” He frowned, gently touching your sore skin. His concern was heart-warming, and you felt a glow in your chest at his tender expression.

“It will get better. I heal quickly nowadays,” you assured him, pulling your hose back up. “Let’s go to your father now.”

His face fell. “Aye. He will not be happy.”

♡ ♡ ♡

Parts: [ < Previous Part ] [ Next Part > ] [ Masterlist ]

Full story: [ AO3 ]

#legolas #legolas x reader #legolas x you #legolas fanfic #legolas fanfiction #lotr #lotr fanfiction #modern girl in middle earth #hurt/comfort #flirting #Sent to Middle-earth #thranduil #lee pace #orlando bloom

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