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#fellowship x reader
theelvenhaven · a day ago
Visiting Erestor in his Library
Platonic to Romantic
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- When you first visit Erestor in his library, you may be his friend, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t going to set explicit boundaries with you. 
- It’s nothing personal, thats just how Erestor is with all of his friends and you are absolutely no exception to this rule. 
- Not to mention his work is absolutely extensive and needs for those moments to be uninterrupted and not filled with being social.
- Erestor tells you what his itinerary looks like and when he is available to be social if you must visit him while he is working. 
- This doesn’t mean though that he doesn’t enjoy or look forward to you visiting him, of course he’s not going to tell you that he does, but he looks forward to them.
- If Erestor has granted you with specific times to visit him in the library during his workday, then you are far from a pest and someone who is unenjoyable- bonus points is that he hasn’t straight up slammed his office door in your face.
- Erestor plans for your visits accordingly and readies for any snacks and drinks like tea and wine or just regular water.
- Erestor is very punctual and expects for you to be on time for every visit you make to his office, when you aren’t it’s enough to make him antsy and pace while he waits.
- Even despite the friendly nature of your visits there’s still a formality to them, that never wavers no matter how long you’ve been friends.
- Also he expects too that you learn not to overstay your welcome and for you to leave in a timely manner.
- When the nature of your relationship with Erestor shifts from platonic to romantic, the stern bookworm is going to be relatively lax in a few changes in his imposed rules.
- Rather than being so stingy about times of meeting when he has in between work, he likes the more unexpected visits.
- Don’t be fooled when he starts softly grumbling about how he is still working, at that point he absolutely expects for you to take a seat and just keep him company while he continues to work. 
- Your presence in his office while he works is so soothing and he enjoys every second of it.
- He will converse a little with you while he continues on with work, asking you questions about your day or work or answering any of your questions even about work. 
- When others come to visit Erestor, like to bring him more reports and the like, they all seem surprised that you are there while he is not in the middle of a break!
- Erestor simply brushes them off and ignores any of their poking and prodding and kicks them out just as quickly as they arrived.
- Erestor still makes the same accommodations to share a meal or two with you while you visit him in his office, locking his office door to keep any interruptions at bay.
- Erestor is less likely to be as stringent about time when you leave too, content that as long as you don’t disrupt his work too terribly, you can stay.
- Though on days where you two have been in the library, hiding and making out... Erestor definitely needs some time away so he can calm down and refocus on his work day. 
- Expect though when he gets home to pick right back up from where you left off, having been left stewing the rest of the day.
* * * 
@saviorsong​ @lilmelily​ @dicksoutformtl​ @fandomhoe101​ @icarus-fell-in-spring​ @iwenttomordor​ @red-riding​ @elarinya-nailo​
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thorinsoakenshield8 · 5 days ago
Do y’all think that when Boromir is dying in the Fellowship of the Ring that they just put him in a bag of rice and hope for the best?
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A Peculiar Fellowship (Part Eleven)
Legolas x Reader (Series)
A/N: Haha jk it’s going up at 11 instead of noon! I couldn’t wait any  longer. Tada! Please let me know what you would like to see happen next, and feel free to discuss any theories you have! I would love to hear them!
<- Previous Part | Masterlist |
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        All around them, the forest creaked and groaned. The wind which whispered through the branches of the trees spoke of dark things, in a tongue that could not be understood. Darkness assailed therein, hiding the four hunters from any semblance of daylight’s touch, and the very air around them cloyed thick and heavy in their lungs.
        Gimli swiped at some dark, viscous substance splattered across the low-hanging leaves of some nearby foliage and brought it to his tongue. Dwarves always did investigate with their more tactile senses.
        Just as quickly as he tasted it, it passed his lips once more as he spat in disdain.
        “Orc blood.”
        Legolas and (Y/N) followed Aragorn over a small stream, little more than a crevice in the earth, as the ranger tracked the path of their two Hobbit friends.
        Moments later, Aragorn paused, crouching low to more closely examine the earth.
        “These are strange tracks,” he murmured. When he did not immediately offer some explanation to the others, they began to search for signs of their own, to give him some time to ponder over what he had found.
        (Y/N) surveyed the immediate area, searching for movement amongst the dark trees. She searched deep within herself, hoping to tap into those Elvish senses which Aragorn always called upon Legolas to use in scouting ahead for them.
        What slight movements could her keen ears hear? What out of place shadows might her eyes detect?
        “The air is so close in here,” Gimli remarked.
        (Y/N) did not disagree. The heaviness of the forest crept into her lungs, not so badly as that of Mirkwood, perhaps, but she could tell that Fangorn was similarly ancient, if not more so. The air of Mirkwood brought with it magic and illusion, and a lost sense of self, to those who were not naturally inclined to its power. The air of Fangorn concealed beneath it a sharp bite of… malice.
        “This forest is old,” said Legolas. “Very old… Full of memory… and anger.”
        His words ought to have unsettled (Y/N), and yet she found that they did not. All Dwarvish sensibility would say that any forest that had the capacity to remember bore ill news indeed. But perhaps some Elvishness had begun to shine through in her at last.
        At that very moment, a deep groan echoed through the woods, like the creaking of the ancient oak gates of a fortress. It rose in volume as a breeze picked up in the branches overhead.
        “The trees are speaking to each other,” Legolas said, setting an odd feeling in (Y/N)’s bones.
        “Gimli!” Aragorn whispered sharply, drawing (Y/N)’s attention to her friend at last.
        He held his ax high, as if readying to wield it.
        “Lower your ax,” Aragorn ordered.
        The moment he did, the voices of the trees calmed.
        “They have feelings, my friend,” said Legolas.
        (Y/N) found herself intrigued by the notion. She knew of course that all Elves cared for nature in some way: celebrating the stars, hunting with kindness and respect, and other such appreciations. Wood Elves, of course, cared deeply for the forests where they made their homes, but (Y/N) had never had the time to learn the intricacies of their customs, having been occupied with learning all that she ought to already have known at her age.
        “The Elves began it,” Legolas continued, “Waking up the trees, teaching them to speak…”
        “Talking trees,” Gimli scoffed. “What do trees have to talk about, hm? Except the consistency of squirrel droppings!”
        (Y/N) found her mind drawn away from the conversation by something… some presence which lingered close by. Legolas’ hand touched her arm.
        “I sense it as well,” he murmured, looking up ahead. “Aragorn, something is out there.”
        Aragorn followed Legolas as he stepped forward.
        “What do you see?”
        (Y/N) saw a flash of a white cloak in her mind, a staff of pale wood and long snowy hair.
        “The White Wizard,” she said in a soft breath.
        Aragorn looked to her with worry in his eyes.
        Legolas nodded. “The White Wizard approaches.”
        Silence hung in the heavy air.
        “Do not let him speak,” Aragorn cautioned quietly. “He will put a spell on us.”
        (Y/N)’s hand found the hilt of her sword.
        “We must be quick.”
        Following Aragorn’s lead, the other three whirled round at the same moment, turning into a burst of brilliant white light. They rushed to defend themselves, yet found their attacks rendered useless. Gimli’s axe and Legolas’ arrow shattered upon some invisible shield, and Aragorn and (Y/N)’s swords were wrenched from their grasps.
        Defenseless, they now could do nothing but await the White Wizard’s judgement.
        “You are tracking the footsteps of two young Hobbits,” came a voice from the center of the light, familiar yet strange.
        “Where are they?” Aragorn demanded.
        “They passed this way, the day before yesterday,” the voice in the light replied. “They met someone they did not expect. Does that comfort you?”
        “What have you done with them?” (Y/N) asked sharply.
        The light seemed to focus upon her more carefully than before, if possible.
        “They have come to no harm by my hand.”
        “Who are you?” Aragorn spoke again. “Show yourself!”
        The light flared, and then faded, to reveal…
        “It cannot be…” said Aragorn breathlessly.
        “Forgive me,” Legolas said, kneeling. “I mistook you for Saruman.”
        (Y/N) saw before her the face who had guided her father’s Company, the face who had brought Frodo to them and had then been lost to shadow. And yet… it was unmistakably him.
        “I did not understand what it was that I saw,” she said, also kneeling beside Legolas. “For I also believed that you were he…”
        “I am Saruman,” said the White Wizard. “Or rather, Saruman as he should have been.”
        Gimli had knelt as well, yet Aragorn remained standing, his face painted with disbelief.
        “You fell…”
        “Through fire and water,” the Wizard confirmed. “From the lowest dungeon to the highest peak, I fought with the Balrog of Morgoth. Until at last, I threw down my enemy and smote his ruin upon the mountainside. Darkness took me… and I strayed out of thought and time. Stars wheeled overhead… and every day was as long as a life age of the Earth. But it was not the end… I felt life in me again. I’ve been sent back, until my task is done.”
        “Gandalf?” the old man mused. “Yes, that was what they used to call me… Gandalf the Grey. That was my name.” He drew himself up, with more authority than before. “I am Gandalf the White. And I come back to you now, at the turn of the tide.”
        He looked upon each of them, his face radiating fondness and fatherly love.
        “Come now,” he said, “We must act quickly.”
        With that, he moved past them, hurrying back the way they had come.
        “What about Merry and Pippin?” (Y/N) asked, wasting no time in following the Wizard. “Where are they now?”
        “I sent them off with Treebeard, the Ent,” Gandalf replied, picking his way through the underbrush. “He shall see them home.”
        “You know as well as I that they shall not abide by that,” she replied. “Frodo is family to them. They will be determined to aid him.”
        Gandalf simply nodded. “Yes… As much as I wish to keep them safe, I fear the both of them still have parts to play…” Shaking his head, he continued on. “One stage of your journey is over, another begins. We must travel to Edoras with all speed.”
        “Edoras?” Gimli asked. “That is no short distance!”
        “You forget, we have horses now,” (Y/N) reminded him, “Thanks to Lord Éomer.”
        “Nevertheless,” Gimli countered, “It is a journey indeed.”
        “And we hear of trouble in Rohan,” said Aragorn as they walked. “It goes ill with the king.”
        “Some sickness of the mind,” (Y/N) added, recalling the pain in Éomer’s eyes. “Perhaps similar to what affected my father.”
        Gandalf turned piteous eyes upon her. “Yes, and it will not be easily cured…”
        “Then we have run all this way for nothing?” Gimli declared, irritation seeping into his tone. “When we have not even laid eyes on those poor Hobbits?”
        “It was more than mere chance that brought Merry and Pippin to Fangorn,” Gandalf said, turning to face him. “A great power has been sleeping here for many long years. The coming of Merry and Pippin will be like the falling of small stones that starts an avalanche in the mountains.”
        “In one thing you have not changed, dear friend,” Aragorn mused. “You still speak in riddles.”
        Gandalf chuckled. “A thing is about to happen that has not happened since the Elder Days. The Ents are going to wake up… and find that they are strong.”
        “Strong?” Gimli asked, turning a nervous gaze upon the woods. “Oh, that’s good…”
        “So stop your fretting, Master Dwarf!” Gandalf declared, before turning and marching on once more. “Merry and Pippin are quite safe. In fact, they are far safer than you are about to be!”
        (Y/N) chuckled.
        “It’s alright, Gimli, we are headed away from these woods now.”
        “Aye,” he muttered, eyeing the retreating form of the Wizard. “This new Gandalf is more grumpy than the old one…”
        The small group reached the treeline, Gimli breaking into the clear plain with a sigh of relief.
        Gandalf motioned (Y/N) close to speak with her.
        “Come, child,” he said, as he donned the old gray cloak once more.
        “Yes Gandalf? What is it you need of me?”
        He drew her closer whilst the others readied the horses once more.
        “You are growing in strength, my dear,” he said, speaking in a low tone. “The things which you perceive grow more precise, more potent by the hour. Your power is destined to follow in the footsteps of your grandmother.”
        (Y/N) drew back in surprise.
        “What?” Though she had heard him clearly, his words seemed to pass over her understanding, like water in a stream.
        “Yes indeed,” Gandalf said, “You must learn to focus your efforts, for I fear the warnings you provide may be the key victory or defeat on some occasion, soon drawing near.”
        “Even though I am not Galadriel’s kin by blood?” she asked, her voice sounding hollow to her own ears in her disbelief. She’d had senses about things, of course, on that journey so long ago, and recently too, yet she had given no thought to it.
        “Blood is of no significance in this matter,” said Gandalf. “All that matters is the strength of your own character, and the love you find your strength in, blood or not. Your father Elrond is likewise gifted, do not discount these things. But I warn you, do not let yourself become overwhelmed by these things. Take heart in the strength of those you love. Remember Galadriel, remember Elrond.” In his eyes, (Y/N) almost thought she saw a touch of mischief. “Remember those in this very Fellowship. Find your strength in bonds of brotherhood and trust. Now at the darkest hour, we all must play our parts.”
        She nodded once, steeling herself. It had not been a shocking revelation, for she had begun to suspect some time ago that she were possessed of some such Elvish magic. But to know that the fates of others might depend upon her quick mastery of such a gift did add trouble to her heart.
        Gandalf clasped her shoulder once more before turning and whistling a ringing call across the plains. Mere moments later, a horse the color of fresh-fallen show, purer white than even the gelding that Legolas rode, thundered towards them at an unbelievable pace.
        “That is one of the Mearas,” Legolas said in awe, “Unless my eyes are cheated by some spell…”
        “Shadowfax,” Gandalf said with a smile as the horse drew near. “He is the Lord of all Horses… and has been my friend through many dangers.”
        The four hunters all offered a polite bow to the Mearas.
        “Now, let us ride for Rohan… and whatever evil may await us therein.”
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primasveraas-writing · 8 days ago
Fellowship Preferences- Falling in Love
Request: How’s about falling in love preferences for Tolkien with Boromir, Faramir, Legolas, Merry, and whoever else you like (and Thorin and Thranduil if you do Hobbit too 😬)
Hi! Thank you for waiting so long!
Part 2 with miscellaneous Tolkien characters (LOTR + TH) is here
Aragon needs time before he lets you in- falling in love is a slow and careful journey, though the ranger is kind to you the whole time. It starts with a genuine friendship, then deeper trust: shared laughter and hidden smiles, his hand brushing against yours, until, without words, you know that you are utterly enamored and he is too.
It’s obvious to you the second Boromir falls in love- he wears his heart on his sleeve, and he’s confident enough to confess his feelings to you quickly. He’s honest and hopeful, but patient. Boromir would want you to be truthful, too, even if his affections aren’t reciprocated. But he’s overjoyed when they are- he’d kiss you, if you’re willing, or at least leave a peck on the back of your hand. Boromir is passionate, nearly overwhelmingly so, and he’ll sing your praises to everyone he knows- but it just goes to show how much and how deeply he loves you.
Legolas smiles when he sees you the first time- it’s barely there, and his gaze is fleeting, but the corners of his mouth tug upwards. He doesn’t say anything to you then, but it’s still a memorable first impression. And, from that moment on, you start to fall for each other, in quiet, stolen evenings looking up at the sky, reading poetry to each other, or sitting silently and just enjoying each other’s company. The depth of your bond is something that goes unspoken until Legolas kisses you for the first time- but that simple action is instantly proof of your commitment to one another.
You fall for Gimli’s heart- underneath the beard and the occasional gruffness is a kind, compassionate man who impresses you with his virtue. Gimli makes you laugh harder than anyone else can, and he causes you to see the world from a more nuanced point of view. He’d be very open about his affections for you, albeit surprisingly shy when initially confessing them. But, he’d make clear that he’s yours- together, you’re a team, so long as you have each other’s hearts.
Before you even meet Merry, you know of his ability to make others laugh. He proves his reputation true within minutes of your first encounter, but you soon find that Merry’s heart is underappreciated. He’s fiercely loyal and intelligent in an unassuming way. But it is laughter that makes you understand you want to be with him forever. He makes some witty comment and the humor that follows jolts you in realization that you cannot live without Merry- not without his heart nor the joy he brings you.
You know you’ve fallen for Pippin when you understand how much more there is to him than an immature boy with a penchant for mischief. Like Merry, he’s well known for making other’s laugh, but it its your patience and willingness to truly get to know Pippin that brings you close together. He appreciates your understanding, and this is what makes his own affections clear to him. There is more to Pippin than most others see- his loyalty, his heart, his empathy- and these traits are what you love him for.
Initially, you’re aware of Frodo as someone reserved and shy- and this remains true until he is fully comfortable around you. Still, even before that point, you are surprised by how much you value his company and input. Frodo is aware of things most other’s don’t consider, which means he perceives you like nobody else does- he sees the best in you and isn’t afraid to reassure you of your best qualities. And, once you truly know Frodo, you’re enamored by his compassion and kindness, and you realize you never want to be without him, this steady light in your life.
There are many things to love about Sam- it’s easy to fall in love with him. You feel safe and happy with him, totally content to share the world and see it through his eyes. Sam’s true heart and genuine compassion draw you to him, and you realize he feels the same way when you catch him grinning at you, eyes looking lost. The expression causes your own face to flush and you know- you’re both totally smitten.
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fairytalelover33 · 14 days ago
LOTR/ The Hobbit Incorrect Quotes #26
Eowyn: “Are you and Aragorn dating dating? Or are you just talking?”
Arwen: “If I kill you, are you dead dead? Or just not breathing?”
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fairytalelover33 · 15 days ago
LOTR/The Hobbit Incorrect Quotes #25
Kili: “If your leg gets cut off, does it hurt?”
Fili: “Obviously, yes.”
Kili: “But where do you feel the pain?”
Fili: “In your le- ..........”
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fairytalelover33 · 16 days ago
LOTR/ Hobbit Incorrect Quotes #24
Aragorn: “Where are Merry and Pippin?”
Legolas: “In Merry’s room, they said they were composing a sad song, so I left them be.”
Aragorn: “How sweet! They’re more cultured than we gave them credit for.”
Meanwhile, down the hall
Merry and Pippin singing: “ what’s the point of bein single when you break up alONE, yo chicken nuggets on the floor, and yo b**** is a hoe.”
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amessywritersmind · 22 days ago
At The End - Legolas
@lune-hime submitted:
Hi there! I’ve absolutely fallen in love with your writing and immediately had to request something! I was wondering if I could request a Legolas x elf reader where they are in an established relationship and reunite after the battle of Gondor in ROTK for Aragorn’s coronation. With fluffy interactions of them seeing each other again and partying/celebrating with the rest of the fellowship. Thank you so much love <3
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Summary: You and legolas finally reunite after the ring is destroyed.
Word Count: 822
Authors Note: I am so sorry this took me forever, but I hope you enjoy!!
It had felt like days since I’d last had sight of my friends. I had been too preoccupied with killing the orcs in front of me to pay attention to how far I’d wandered. If I looked to my right, I briefly thought I could catch a glimpse of a hobbit, and on my left, maybe the glistening white of Gandalf’s new attire, but I couldn’t be sure.
The battle had seemed to last for ages, surrounded on all sides by orcs that had just come directly from the mouth of evil itself. The only hope any of us soldiers held was a sliver, but it was there. The hope that Frodo and Sam would make it to the mountain and destroy the ring. The hope that Frodo and Sam would save us all.
I had believed in them from the very beginning. I had felt in my heart that Frodo could do it, with great sacrifice, but it was one he was willing to make. So when the tower fell, and the earth around the men of middle earth fell, taking many orcs with it, I couldn’t help the slight pain in my heart at the worry for Frodo.
Finally though, I could breath, and with this, I began searching for some familiar faces. Eventually I found Eomer and followed him back up to the white city, hoping with everything in me that I would find long, shining blonde hair and blue eyes waiting for me somewhere up there. Once we arrived in the city, we immediately went to get treated for the injuries that are always inevitably obtained when one is in war.
I spent quite a while in the medical area waiting for my injuries to heal, just itching to get up and walk around and more importantly, see my friends. Once I was finally well enough to leave, I immediately set out to find someone I knew. Eowyn just happened to be that person. She caught me up on all that had happened in the past few days regarding Aragorn and his upcoming coronation. She also informed me that Elrond and Arwen were here for said coronation, and that Arwen had brought me one of my special dresses from home.
Eowyn showed me to a room she claimed Aragorn had reserved just for me, showed me where everything to bath and dress was, and left me to my devices to get ready. I quickly washed and dried, stepping into a beautiful elvish gown in the shade of lavender. Arwen knew me well. Once I was satisfied with my hair, I made my way to where Eowyn told me to meet her.
In her place, I found the blonde haired elf that I had been looking for since the battle ended. I nearly cried at the sight of him, his smile and his bright eyes casting themselves in my direction. My legs seemed to freeze up, and then suddenly melt, make a beeline straight for his arms.
“Legolas” I all but whispered, close to tears.
“I knew you’d be alright” He said, his voice full of relief.
“I’ve been looking for you for days, I didn’t know where you were or if you were ok or not. You worried me!” I started venting, letting out all the pent up frustrations. He only laughed and pulled back to look me in the eye.
“I’m sorry Melamin (my love), I tried searching for you too, but it wasn’t until I ran into Eowyn that I found you. And I’m so glad I did. I too was worried, you know.” He admitted, gently placing a hand on my cheek, stroking it lightly with his thumb. I kissed the palm of his hand lightly.
“Everyone is ok?” I asked quietly, afraid to hear the answer. He nodded lightly.
“Everyone made it. We did it A’maelamin, Sauron is done and we’re alive, and I love you.” He exclaimed.
Instead of answering with words, I lean in to kiss him deeply. We pulled away, slightly flushed and breathless. Legolas smiled in a comforting sort of way before gesturing to the doors of the walkway we had been standing in.
“Come, Aragorn is waiting for us. Besides, he doesn’t know Arwen is here and I want to see his face when he does.” He confessed with a chuckle. I couldn’t help but laugh too. Anyways, I was excited to see the rest of the fellowship. I had missed them all dearly.
We stood off to the side, watching with awe and pride at the man Aragorn had become. A true king and righteous ruler. He came down the pathway after being crowned, saying hello to his friends along the way, until he came to us. Legolas and I stood in front of Arwen, shielding her from view as we congratulated him on everything he’s accomplished.
Later that evening, the fellowship gathered in the dining hall where a celebration was taking place. There were drink and food as far as the eye could see, and laughter and music was all that could be heard. Frodo and Sam were sat watching Merry and Pippin make a fool of themselves, as usual, a drink in each of their hands. The good in Middle Earth had won. We deserved this.
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minoritiesinpublishing · 29 days ago
“Gay, who is based in Los Angeles, will make her first call for submissions this summer and plans to open her doors to writers with and without agents. She cautioned that that could change if the volume of manuscripts becomes overwhelming, but said it was worth a try.
Grove also said Wednesday that it plans to offer a paid, one-year fellowship program that would serve as a crash course in publishing, for applicants without access to such jobs through traditional pathways.”
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Speak my Language (Fellowship x Hurt! Reader)
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Synopsis: After being ambushed by orcs, you are left alone at your isolated camp to bleed out. However, your loyal friend, a “tyger” from Far Harad, has other plans in mind—tracking down another camp nearby, comprised of nine warriors, in search of aid for you.
Pairings: a bit of Legolas x Reader. I’m a simp for him, okay?
Warnings: blood, mentions of an attack, hurt/comfort
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The attack came too fast and too swiftly. Orcs weren’t supposed to reside in this area of the forest, or so you thought. It was almost as if something were driving them to your location, like dolphins chasing down fish to the shores of oceans.
Whatever may be the case, and whoever the fish in this scenario were, you were the one left severely injured.
It started with a flickering of your tyger’s ear. Comrade, as you named him, was an exotic breed of big cat, from the furthermost southern jungles of Far Harad, where the likes of oliphaunts also roamed.
You had met the large orange, striped cat on a mission to spring all kinds of animals free on the southern shores of Middle-earth. The Haradrim were responsible for this illegal smuggling trade, though you knew someone far larger was behind it.
A mystery was unfolding in Middle-earth before your eyes. Orcs in odd locations, secret illicit activities in dark harbours, and a growing disbalance in the ecosystem.
Setting the stampeding oliphaunts loose, the wooden crates on the foggy harbour soon burst into chaos. Men ran everywhere, both trying to save themselves and their jobs.
As ropes and hooks were cast into the grey flesh of the loudly trumpeting beasts, you snuck out. However, on your escape route, a rabid, hissing animal caught your attention.
You had never seen a cat like him before, and knew instantly he was out of sorts amongst the scenery of Middle-earth. What on earth would he need stripes to blend in with? You figured he was more used to tall savannahs, if anything.
Tentatively, and knowing all could go wrong for yourself, you unlatched the lock containing your soon-to-be friend.
He leapt out and crouched lowly before you, arching his back and sizing up your neck. His teeth were large and yellow at the gums, as he flashed them viciously.
However, making the first move, you slowly showed him your empty hands, and kneeled down. A slight change in his attitude was present, as his hisses ceased and his ears unpinned themselves.
And when a Haradrim man came at you, well, all that was left were ribbons of flesh and a new partner for you.
Ever your noble protector, Comrade lifted his head from your lap, where you were running your hands through his now twitching ears.
“What is it, boy?” you cooed, tracing the black stripes on his head.
A low growl had begun to form at the back of his throat, and you stilled your hand. Though a level of trust had been formed between you both throughout the three years you walked alongside him, he was still a wild animal at the end of the day.
You took into account the twitching of his tail, and your heart stopped. You always feared Comrade might one day turn around and attack you like he did to those Haradrim. Small housecats were bad enough with mood-swings as it was.
Eyeing up his large paws, where claws the size of small shanks appeared, you grew clammy. However, a distant snapping of a branch beyond the dark trees both settled and rose your nerves.
Glancing up from Comrade, you followed his keen line of sight past your little campfire. You stared for what felt like minutes, until another branch snapping sounded the alarms.
Comrade immediately lifted himself from your lap, and stood tall. The power in his sudden movement scared you, and you found yourself jolting to your own feet.
All you had on you was a small dagger, for you liked to think of yourself as a “wise pacifist”.
You drew it in front of yourself, and scared breaths racked your chest. Comrade was pacing the dirt in front of you, eyes forever trained on the forest, tail swishing.
And then, the attack came.
A slaughter occurred between the trees and before the fire, and though you managed to assist with many kills, Comrade in the end was the clear victor.
However, one tyger against ten orcs was not entirely fair.
In the aftermath, you found yourself with your back rested against a tree—your hand clutching a dagger in your abdomen.
Orcs bodies lay strewn around, some missing heads, others with their intestines spilled on the upturned dirt. Most, however, had their jugulars torn out.
Comrade had just put to rest his last orc, and turned his panting, blood-soaked snout back to you at the sound of a small whimper. The previously feral glint in his eyes subsided, as he observed your mewling state.
Your hand clutched the pommel of the dagger, as you struggled to not look at it—favouring to keep your eyes screwed shut instead, and your chin lifted high.
He immediately thudded one paw in front of the other, as he came to stand beside you. He sniffed the dagger, and made a small sound reminiscent of chuffing to your face. He nudged his nose with your cheek, willing you to look at him.
When you did, you found amber eyes, brimming with concern, looking back at you.
“I wasn’t fast enough,” you tried with a small smile, but mewled again through the pain of speaking.
He chuffed once more, and tried to inspect the dagger. You gently pushed his head away, knowing there wasn’t much he could do.
Understanding the severity of your state, he lifted his neck and stood tall. Flickering his ears in all directions, Comrade scoped out the forest. He could hear the sounds of night for many miles—owls hooting, mice rustling, squirrels climbing and…men chatting lowly around a crackling fire.
They did not sound like orcs, and turning his nose to the air above, Comrade knew instantly they were not. Instead, the scent of men and elves lingered in the breeze, and something new he hadn’t encountered before.
Without glancing back at you, he took off running through the woods.
Watching him leave in confusion, you knitted your brows. However, the throbbing split in your stomach soon burned away again, and you were left crying alone through bared teeth.
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On the other side of the forest, just a few miles away, the Fellowship’s camp resided. The loss of Gandalf still rippled through the colleagues and friends like an unsettled lake, and not much was found beyond quiet chatter.
The topic, primarily, was of Lothlorien—the beautiful kingdom they had just reluctantly left.
Sat on a log, and grimacing as he ate rabbit meat off of a bone—quite different from the prepared salads with small chunks of chicken he had grown up with—Legolas watched the fire.
His fingers were sticky, and his nose was scrunched, as he attempted to eat said meat.
Next, Gimli’s chuckles filled the air.
The laughter silenced everyone, for it was the first time anyone had laughed since Moria.
Lifting his eyes, Legolas found Gimli laughing at him. “What is it?”
“A bit out of your comfort zone, aren’t we?” Gimli chuckled back, motioning to the prince’s fingers.
Legolas’ lips fell into a sarcastic frown. “That’s because I was actually raised with the idea of comfort to begin with.”
Gimli dismissively waved his hand. “All I’m hearing is pretty excuses.”
Legolas placed a sticky hand over his chest, and batted his lashes. “You think I’m pretty?”
A smirk grew on Gimli’s lips, as he pointed at the faint outline of grease on Legolas’ Lothlorien tunic.
Losing his own smirk, Legolas looked down at the clothing and sneered upon realizing his mistake.
Laughter rippled through the camp, and a few added on their own taunts in an effort to keep the happy atmosphere alive, even if at the prince’s expense.
However, Legolas had since tuned out. His head was over his shoulder, his pointed ears twitching, as he eyed off the forest behind. Distantly, snapping twigs and thudding paws could be heard.
“Don’t you think, Legolas?” Boromir laughed, slowly reeling the elf’s concerned attention back in to him. “Legolas? I said, don’t you—”
“Shh!” Legolas cut him off, whipping his head over his shoulder again.
Aragorn was the first to cease his relaxed nature, as he knew the cautious elf well-enough.
“Someone’s a bit of a soft—” Gimli had gone to say, before Legolas shushed him again.
Snapping his eyes to his friends, Legolas hastily whispered, “Do you not hear that?”
“We don’t have your—”
“Hush, let him speak,” Aragorn interjected, earning the obedience of the camp. “What is it, Legolas?”
“Something large and ambitious approaches from behind,” Legolas answered, scanning his eyes over his shoulder again.
Just as the elf did, the Fellowship dragged their sights along the trees. Slowly, following Legolas’ words and now actions, the entire camp rose to their feet and clutched their weapons.
The hobbits all nervously eyed one another, as the four stronger warriors stood in front. They each all watched the trees, and their hearts pounded faster, for they, too, could now hear what Legolas was explaining.
Loud thumps reached their ears, as did beastly panting. Legolas drew an arrow, and aimed it in preparation.
And then, Comrade burst into the camp.
The hobbits screamed in shock—in fact, both Gimli and Boromir shouted, too.
The tyger paced before them all, chuffing loudly in communication. Legolas, understanding all living things, heard the tyger speak.
Please! I need your help! My friend, she’s hurt—wounded by orcs!
Legolas lowered his arrow, much to the horror of the others.
“What are you doing?” Boromir screeched. “Shoot it down! It’s rabid! Look at the blood coating its mouth!”
“It is orc blood,” Legolas slowly drew out, knitting his brows in the direction of the tyger. “And he says he needs our help?”
Aragorn glanced at Legolas wide-eyed, and they shared a look—one dripping in superior knowledge.
Legolas made a show of disarming himself of his bow, and spoke back to the tyger in a way only elves could.
Take us to her.
The tyger turned around instantly, and began running into the woods. Aragorn and Legolas followed.
“Wait,” Pippin exclaimed in confusion, as everyone left him behind. “Has he always been able to speak with animals?! Did everyone else know this but me?!”
“Hurry up, Pippin!”
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Comrade had left you twenty minutes ago, and you felt an uncontrollable shiver run through your body. It was a shiver that, despite being close to the fire, was continuous.
Your teeth chattered, and your stomach coiled at the blood soaking you. It was all over the front of your tunic, and continuing to spread. You hadn’t removed the dagger as of yet—too afraid of both the consequences and the pain simultaneously.
You felt both dizzy and tired, and only wanted a nap. Just as you were beginning to close your eyes, frantic thudding in the distance could be heard.
Weakly, you turned your eyes to the trees Comrade had left through, and waited for either your friend or more orcs to appear.
However, what you were not expecting, was a blonde elf to burst through the dark with your tyger.
The tall elf skidded to a stop a few yards before you, and gasped sharply. His widened eyes raked over your paling, clammy body in alarm.
“Oh my goodness!” he cussed, before throwing his eyes over his shoulder. “Aragorn! Come quickly!”
Next, a man burst into view. Behind him, another man, dwarf and four hobbits followed. Though, for all you knew, they were children.
White dots filled your vision, and you soon felt very delirious, as if in a dream.
The elf rushed forwards, and fell to his knees beside you. He brushed your hair out of your face to observe your half-lidded eyes, where he then spoke.
“Y/n? Y/n, are you all right? Your friend, Comrade, told me of you. Can you hear me?”
All you could make out of his face were two brilliantly blue eyes. A white, angelic light encompassed him otherwise, and the blonde hair certainly didn’t help.
You garnered a sort of dazed smile, as you scanned his blinding face. “You’re an angel, aren’t you? Sent from above? Oh thank goodness—I thought I was going to go alone.”
Listening to your soft voice, the brunette man with greasy hair dropped beside the elf.
“Her strength fails and her light fades,” Aragorn commented. He scanned his eyes over your wound. “I shall use athelas to treat the bleeding, but…this may be beyond us.”
Legolas looked at Aragorn in horror, before looking down at you again. Two deaths on his hands in such a short amount of time? The immortal elf couldn’t—wouldn’t—process it.
“We are not yet too far from Lothlorien,” Legolas pointed out, studying your tired face. “We can turn around and leave her in the hands of Galadriel and her kin. They will heal her.”
“We haven’t time to double-back and risk the orcs,” Boromir pointed out.
Next, Legolas gestured at all the strewn bodies of the camp. “It appears our fault she dies in the first place. She felt safe enough to camp in these woods, and rightfully so, but we brought the orcs with us. We must help her. She’s our duty now.”
“Legolas is right,” Aragorn agreed, crushing athelas in his hands with water from his pouch. “The orcs are only in these woods because they track us. Legolas, you are the fastest here and know these trees second-best to me. You will take her back to Lothlorien and then take the journey three times faster to catch up with us.”
Legolas nodded his head in understanding, and felt your hand. It was cold, shivering and sweaty. He swallowed his nerves.
“You might want to hold her further,” Aragorn quietly pointed out to Legolas, gesturing to your hand.
The elf noticed the prepared athelas paste, and the ranger’s hand hovering over the intruding dagger’s pommel. Next, Aragorn spoke to you.
“Y/n, my name is Aragorn. I am going to help heal you, and then Legolas here will rush you back to Lothlorien. I am going to remove the dagger to decrease further injury. It will hurt for a moment. Do you understand?”
“Legolas?” you repeated in confusion, looking up at the aforementioned prince. “Oh, yes—him. He’s an angel.”
Aragorn smiled briefly, especially at the creeping blush on his friend’s pointed ears, until you looked back at him and took into account his dirty presentation. “You, on the other hand, are not an angel.”
Comrade, having been pacing the dirt on your free side, came to lay beside you, recognising what was about to happen next.
Aragorn politely curled his lips at your delirious insult, and quickly tore the dagger from your abdomen.
As if supporting a woman through birth, Legolas’ mewls were louder than your own, for the hand of yours he held clenched tightly.
Aragorn got to work quickly, and began applying the athelas to your now bleeding wound. You cried softly, as you felt the pain both grow and lessen.
Finding comfort through your dizzy haze in the thumbpad stroking your knuckles, you squeezed the same hand again, and were pleasantly surprised to find it squeezing back.
Gimli, Boromir and the hobbits watched on—nervously observing both the tyger lying beside you, and your hurt form.
“Lothlorien is a night’s run behind us. She needs a different tunic to reduce the risk of infection,” said Aragorn, using a makeshift cloth to wipe the blood away from you.
Legolas pressed his lips into a thin line, and nodded. He briefly let go of your hand, much to your vocal discomfort, and grabbed the bottom hems of his tunic. He lifted the green material over his head, and was left with nothing but a long-sleeved, white undershirt.
As Aragorn wrapped your chest with what he could find on him that’d temporarily work as a bind, Legolas patiently waited.
After your wound was tended to, Aragorn leant over to speak with you. “Your wound is dressed, Y/n. Legolas will now take care of you until Lothlorien. You are in good, capable hands. I promise.”
You mustered the strength to nod back, despite white dots still filling your vision.
Aragorn clasped Legolas’ shoulder and nodded, to which he nodded back. Then, the ranger turned and told the rest of the Fellowship to head back to camp.
Having ensured everyone was out of sight, Legolas looked down at you again.
“May I please change your tunic? I will close my eyes, but it has to be done—the blood will lead to infection if not dealt with.”
However, you stilled gazed up at him with a silly smile. Considering all he wore was now white, you believed your suspicions of him being an angel correct.
After a moment, his words finally drifted through your mind, like a lone leaf on a lazy river, and you nodded.
Legolas raised a hand to the hem of your tunic, and hooked his fingers underneath, but was halted by the sudden growling and standing of Comrade.
You dare touch her in such a state? I sought you out for help!
I am an elven prince, mellon. Trust me when I say; it is not even remotely possible in my genetic nature to do such a thing.
Well, trust me when I say; it is most definitely in my genetic nature to go for the jugular—always.
Understood, but you must let me help her. Have we not done so already? Let me complete assisting her, and then you shall follow me to Lothlorien.
The snarling lips of the tyger curled for a minute, as he stared across at the determined elf over your body—face to face.
Slowly, his growls died.
Fine. Just know, however, I am watching you every step of the way.
Well, that makes one of us.
As he promised, Legolas closed his eyes. He carefully, but swiftly lifted your blood-soaked tunic and tossed it aside.
Fumbling for a few minutes, as he did so blind, Legolas dressed you in his own green tunic. It was large on you, more like a short dress, but did the job of concealing your wounded form.
At some point, you had nearly drifted off to sleep, but a gentle cooing of Legolas brought you back.
“Hey, you must stay awake for now, all right? I am going to carry you to a lovely kingdom, and you will be taken care of. All I ask in return is that you keep me company with conversation the whole way. Can you please do that for me?”
Exhaling past your nose through your fatigue, you fluttered your hazy eyes open again.
Searching Legolas’ own, you nodded.
“Okay,” you promised.
“Good girl,” Legolas replied. He then gently scooped you into his arms like a bride, and checked in with Comrade.
Are you a fast runner?
Is that even a question?
To further his point, Comrade sprinted off into the trees, leaving Legolas jogging behind him. And, just as you promised, you spoke softly to him the whole way—mostly of his “angelic eyes”—and he delivered on his promise, of quite literally delivering you to Lothlórien.
Surprising Legolas most, however, was the new promise you made after healing by the aid of Galadriel’s hand, just a few days after your arrival. 
Upon learning of what exactly was disturbing your ecosystem in Middle-earth, you told Legolas he would not be making the journey back to his friends alone, for he had gained two new ones. 
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fairytalelover33 · a month ago
LOTR/ The Hobbit incorrect Quotes #23
Thranduil: Would I rather be feared or loved? Easy. I want people to be afraid of how much they love me.
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fairytalelover33 · a month ago
I firmly believe that while the fellowship was on the journey to Mordor, Legolas taught them all how to make an elven quality flower crown.
Aragorn’s was purple.
Boromir’s was red with a single yellow rose he found, (he’s quite proud of it)
Gimli protested for about an hour before finally agreeing to sport a simple crown of daisies.
Legolas always goes to his default pink and white crown.
Gandalf somehow found bright blue tulips and made a wreath of them around his hat.
The hobbits all created crowns of every color, flower, and leafy item imaginable, but they are quite tasteful.
And at this moment I am extremely mad that I don’t know how to do any form of art, because I would draw the heck out of the procession of flower crown wearing friends.
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The Road Less Travelled (Legolas x Reader) (Part 2)
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A/N: A continuation of my Fellowship x Pregnant! Reader story, in which you ended up choosing Legolas to help raise your unplanned child. Part 2 can be read without reading part 1 first.
Synopsis: Life with Legolas, your two daughters and your treehouse is perfect, until one night, parental instincts go on ignored, and things go deeply awry.
Warnings: I watched The Conjuring before bed tonight and was unfortunately inspired. Enjoy. Also Legolas is a cute adoptive father send tweet.
Pairings: Legolas x Reader
Word Count: 2610
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Rain fell heavily outside, though yourself and your family did not feel said rain. Buried below glorious crowns of leaves, your treehouse was situated securely.
Built into the thick trunk of an Ithilien tree by Legolas’ own bare hands, your treehouse was set with two bedrooms, and resembled an elevated cottage more than anything else. Around the length of the cosy home, a rounded balcony lay.
Leading down from said balcony was an old rope your children used to climb to and from home. One broken ankle later from your youngest twin, however, and a winding set of stairs was built into the trunk below, too — leading up to your balcony.
And indeed, “twins” was right.
Learning on the Fellowship’s journey that you were pregnant with that no-good Brander’s child was shocking enough, let alone discovering at the actual birth that said little baby’s embryo had split into two, providing you with a set of beautiful daughters.
Fortunately, they were nothing alike their biological father in spirit — possessing kind hearts and noble souls instead. Even more fortunately, they garnered your looks. Regarding their appearances, although twins, they each held distinctive differences.
Perhaps the luckiest of all, your old Fellowship colleague, now turned husband, seemed to have the most influence on both Ivorwen and Tobrien — better known simply as “Ivy” and “Toby”.
Rabbit stew, a recipe sent from your Shire friends, was made for dinner that night, as the four of you sat around a wooden table and ate merrily, enjoying the lively atmosphere the warm candles provided.
“There is still hair on the meat!” Ivy insisted, though, the grin on her 9-year-old cheeks gave away her agenda.
“There is not!” Legolas urged back, sharing her grin.
You and Toby laughed brightly, passing a plate of rolls between one another. This argument had been going on since before any of you had even sat down.
Ivy made a show of stabbing a chunk of rabbit and holding it up. “Yes, there is! See? There’s hair on it! You’re a horrible cook after all!”
Legolas made a show of squinting his eyes and leaning across the table to inspect the chunk of rabbit, before settling back into his chair and pressing on.
“That’s most likely your own hair! How many times have I encouraged you to learn my version of braiding?” Legolas pointed out, gesturing to his own locks.
Your eyes crinkled with amusement and love, as you watched the dad and daughter exchange teasing words, even if none of those words were actually “dad”, “father” or even “ada”.
“You’re impossible, Varno,” Ivy shook her head, still smiling nonetheless. “Just admit your talent lies in hunting and not in cooking.”
“I resent that accusation,” Legolas playfully warned, pointing a fork at Ivy.
“Varno” was a name both you and Legolas had decided upon. “Ada” reminded him too much of his own father, and “uncle” simply felt too misplaced.
So, instead, “Varno” was decided upon — meaning “protector” in Legolas’ own language, which is exactly what he had been for you, ever since that fateful night by the campfire you’d learnt of your predicament.
Although many of your friends and colleagues that evening offered you their hand in marriage, you had felt a maternal stirring within you. Something told you to choose the best of the best for your unborn offspring, and who better than a steadfast elf to keep you safe?
You had been watching Legolas one night, a few evenings after learning of the life growing within you, with your hand over your stomach.
Although you still didn’t quite have the full comprehension of knowledge behind this, you truly believed, till this day, that both Ivy and Toby told you to “choose that one—he’s our dad”.
Resolute in your mind, you approached Legolas and accepted his offer of marriage. He was ecstatic and gleeful, and then a little boastful to the other suitors. Cockiness befell him for a short while, until your stomach grew and a paternal kick changed him.
He matured overnight and grew from a young archer into an awaiting father, despite the girls not being his. That never slowed him, though—he was a better father to Ivy and Toby than some real dads were to their own children.
He soon married you after the war, and the rest was history.
After you had to break Legolas and Ivy’s “fight” up with a laugh and a motherly warning, the table was cleared.
“All right, dishes to the kitchen, and then teeth,” Legolas announced, quirking a brow in Ivy’s direction as she walked past.
Legolas mouthed to her that their fight wasn’t over, and Ivy made a show of raising her brows once in challenge.
“She gets that from Gimli, I know it. Don’t ask me how,” Legolas whispered to you, as you too walked by.
“Intrusive visits and loud Yules,” you joked, grinning over your shoulder at your best friend.
Grimacing, Legolas winced his teeth with a hiss. “Do not speak of such holidays, let us just enjoy the autumn while it lasts.”
“You don’t want Yule to come soon?” Toby asked, appearing from behind Legolas, and peeking her head around his torso to gaze up in his direction. “What about toys?”
“Galadriel sends the best, and nothing has topped the bow she gave me in Lothlorien eight years ago,” Legolas replied. “Have you brushed your teeth yet, aranel?” (princess)
Toby made a prolonged noise, as she beamed brightly to show off her teeth.
“No, I don’t fall for pretty girls and pretty teeth, thank you very much,” said Legolas shaking his head. “Breath test.”
He bent down and allowed her to piggyback ride him. Standing swiftly, he looked over his shoulder and at her, where she then breathed loudly with an open mouth into his face.
Legolas scrunched his nose and recoiled. “Fee-fi-fo-fum, I smell someone with stinky gums. And I’ve been to Mordor.”
Toby’s eyes grew bright with excitement. “Will you tell us another Fellowship story tonight?”
“Only if you brush your teeth,” Legolas answered, nuzzling his nose with hers.
Ivy walked past again, done with her dishes, and scoffed at Legolas. “Don’t listen to him, Toby. It’s bribery!”
Legolas gently kicked her ankle as she walked by, although, a feather could’ve done more damage—your “gentle giant”, you called him.
“Very well then, tonight I’ll tell you all about the Mouth of Sauron, and why brushing your teeth is important,” Legolas said again, turning around to watch the eldest twin head for the bathroom down the hall.
She waved him off over her shoulder, before disappearing to brush her teeth.
Toby swiftly kissed Legolas’ cheek, before dismounting from the piggyback ride and skipping after her sister.
You watched from the kitchen sink with a warm smile, and wiped a bowl with a dry rag. You observed the ardent love in Legolas’ eyes, as he watched the hall for a minute, where Toby and Ivy could be heard giggling over their dad’s cooking skills.
He finally shook his head and turned to you, wearing a content smile of his own. Catching your warm expression, he walked towards you with a sly question on his tongue.
“Nothing,” you replied, returning to the dishes. “But have I ever thanked you for marrying me and helping me to raise those two ladies?”
“Ladies is a stretching term,” said Legolas, coming up behind you with a wrapping of your torso and a burying of his cheek in your hair, as he hugged you from behind, “but no—I don’t think the few thousand times is enough. Could you perhaps tell me once more?”
You melted into his hug, laughed like bright bells, and turned around. Wrapping your own arms around him, you buried your head into his shoulder and embraced him tightly.
“Well, thank you,” you emphasised, teasing him slightly.
Rocking the hug a little, he kissed the top of your head, and responded after a moment. “Actually, it is you all the thanks is owed to—I never assumed a life like this would be possible for me, but here we are.”
“Here we are,” you agreed, squeezing the hug once more.
You both stayed like that for a moment, before he kissed the top of your head again and let go. “You can ready the girls for bed if you’d like, I’ll finish up here.”
You lifted his hand and kissed the back of it, before walking away. Your hands remained held until the distance you walked grew too much, and Legolas had to let go to stay in front of the sink.
He smiled after you, as you disappeared around the wall.
Sighing in tranquillity, as the rain grew outside, Legolas looked out the glass window to his side. All he could make out were tree trunks through the rain and moonlight, and the prince basked in the sense of home for a few seconds.
However, the placid state could only last for so long. Unsure if the girls teasing him all day on their rabbit hunt had just worn him down, or if his eyes were indeed working correctly, a sway of trees exposed a trunk in the distance, where Legolas could have sworn he saw a body scaling.
Narrowing his eyes and knitting his brows, the archer moved closer to the glass window. As his breath fogged up the glass, Legolas moved as close as he dared to the window, observing the distant trunk.
Peering harder and harder, Legolas prayed for the wind to sway the leaves again, so he could view the tree. However, before he had the chance to do so, a quick voice from behind startled him.
“C’mon, Varno!” Toby urged, waving her dad to follow. “Me and Ivy are ready for the bedtime story!”
Legolas jumped on his feet, most unlike an elf indeed, and snapped his eyes over his shoulder to his daughter. Meeting her young gaze, he calmed.
Although, with the odd anomaly on the distant trunk still on his mind, Legolas turned back to the window. The leaves swayed again, and Legolas saw the tree once more. However, this time, no beings scaled the side of it.
He swallowed his nerves and shook his head, as his daughter called him once more.
“Varno?” Her voice was slow and unsure.
Meeting her eyes again, he beamed brightly and ran forwards. Scooping her loudly laughing self into his arms, he spun around and lifted her high—all whilst heading down the hall.
Toby’s laughs and Legolas’ eagle noises alerted you first, as they flew into the bedroom. “Eagle Attack” was a game he’d played with the girls since birth, where he’d lift them high, making them “fly”, and screech obnoxiously.
It usually ended with him gently throwing them down onto a bed or couch, in an effort to tire them out before slumber. Tonight, apparently, was no different.
“Aren’t we a little too old for Eagle Attack, Varno?” Ivy taunted, already sitting cross-legged on her bed, as you brushed her hair beside her.
“I’m over two thousand-years-old, and I still find it fun,” Legolas taunted back. He collapsed onto Toby’s bed with her backwards, leaving the younger twin a laughing mess.
“I do not think that tires them out as much as you believe,” you advised, shaking your head with a smile in your husband and daughter’s direction, who asked for the ride again.
“That’s why I have stories hidden up my sleeve,” Legolas replied. He sat up on his elbows, and smirked at you.
You gave him a playful frown, before finishing Ivy’s hair. Kissing your daughter’s cheek, you began tucking her in.
Legolas readied one candle, and dimmed all the other lanterns, so sleep would find the girls swiftly. Soon, as you tended to Ivy and he to Toby, Legolas’ story began.
It was one you remembered well, and one you also didn’t want to. You appreciated how comical Legolas delivered the story, in a way accessible to children, for there was nothing child-friendly about that war.
It wasn’t long after that, that soft snores from the girls filled the room.
Bringing the woollen blanket up to each daughter’s chin, and kissing their temples, you and Legolas bid them a soft goodnight from the door.
Closing it behind yourselves, you both began the small journey down the hall back to your shared room. He wrapped one arm around your back, and led you safely to the door.
Upon entering the room, you each made your way to your own beds. You had only shared a few kisses on the lips throughout your marriage, usually in times of great emotion, like the birth of your daughters, or the wedding itself.
Yours and Legolas’ marriage was almost entirely platonic, but he loved you more than any other, and you him. Only Ivy and Toby were counted among his other greatest loves, with you sitting safe right beside them.
Although nothing physical or lustful of nature took place between you, your relationship was one of deep devotion, and you had, in your own way, each pledged yourselves entirely to one another.
It was simply the most beautiful friendship, and one neither of you forsook.
Fluffing up your pillow, you rearranged your bed, which was only a metre away from Legolas’ own. He did the same, and hummed to himself slightly over the rain outside.
“This weather is a little intense, isn’t it?” you spoke up, looking at the roof above once in gesture.
He followed your gaze and agreed from behind his concerned frown. “I was almost worried earlier that the roof would collapse, with the leaves now falling and such.”
“For its seventh autumn, it isn’t doing too bad,” you decided, now sliding into bed.
“Agreed,” Legolas smiled, commending himself and his handiwork.
As he slipped into his own sheets, Legolas thought of what he saw earlier scaling the trunk. You were just about to reach over, wish your best friend a goodnight, before turning the candle out, until Legolas’ voice stopped you.
“Actually, meleth nîn—” he called, earning a blinking back of your eyes.
Conflicted over his own words, that same paternal feeling that kicked within him eight years ago drove his instincts. Sucking on his lower lip in thought, Legolas decided to trust whatever his gut was telling him, and lifted his blankets over to the side.
He beckoned you to slide into the covers with him. It was nothing unusual for you both, for many nights you had spent sleeping in the same bed with him. It first started in those early winter days, when your teeth chattered and your bones shivered.
His body warmth provided both solace and security, until you each grew so comfortable around one another that hugging in your sleep seemed as casual as a pat on the shoulder.
You almost went to tease him about being touch-starved or something of the likes, until you saw the look behind his eyes. They were the eyes of a concerned patriarch, and you knew better than to disagree with him.
After all, you knew to trust your own maternal instincts. His were no different.
Without saying a word, you slipped out from your bed and climbed into his, relishing in the warmth of his arms. He kissed the top of your head goodnight, before turning the candle off.
Only a small percentage of the fear within his stomach subsided, but he tried hard to fight it away. Nonetheless, the rain lulled him to sleep, where he then fell into a light slumber alongside you.
That is, until the bloodcurdling screaming of the girls started.
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okay-j-hannah · a month ago
Devout Hands & Rubied Apples
The Lord of the Rings : Fic
Faramir x Reader
Word Count: 3241
Warnings: Man I’ve always loved Faramir but holy frick I think he’d be such a loyal and caring husband 😭 I love wingman Boromir too 
Request: “I’d love to request a Fic with Faramir where he and the reader (who was also apart of the fellowship) spend Aragorn’s coronation and the party that takes place after together. He’d slowly be building up the courage to confess how he feels while Boromir tries to be a good wingman. At the same time, Merry and Pippin are scheming ways to get them together. Just lots of fluff involving dancing, drinking, and cute interactions :)” @whitewolvesandwitches​
A/N:​ In light of the Ring being destroyed, the fellowship find themselves in need of a new task. One appointed by Boromir to aide his brother in winning over the heart of their healer and friend
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(Y/N) took it upon herself to assist in the infirmary as much as she could. After leaving the battlements relatively unscathed, ensuring the remnants of her fellowship were all right, she turned her attentions towards the wounded.
Upon entering the rows of stretchers enveloping the interior of Minas Tirith, she was quick to notice her companion Boromir. Strong and steady, the warrior was knelt over a makeshift cot wielding a man of similar fair hair.
“Boromir,” she muttered, resting a hand along his shoulders, “He will recover.”
The older man reached to touch her hand behind him, “I know. How could he not with you watching over him? You saved my life against the Uruk-hai, and you will save his life against my father’s poor judgement.”
(Y/N) frowned at the memory of being told the Steward had made Faramir’s condition worse even after sending him to his death at Osgiliath.
“I am flattered, but I’m sure he draws strength from your constant visits.”
“I would beg to differ,” the man she saw as a brother stated. He drew another stool closer as she took a seat to stay. “He is just as comforted by you as he is by me.”
(Y/N) moved a hand to feel the sickly brothers forehead. When she moved it towards his cheek, there was the smallest of movements as he nuzzled her palm in his sleep.
Boromir rested his elbows on his knees, covering his mouth with both his hands. His knowing eyes flickered to (Y/N)’s face, wondering if she’d have a reaction.
“What are you looking at with such a smile?”
“Oh, simply pondering your verdict.”
(Y/N) grinned back, “His fevers broken. It won’t be long before he’ll be walking about.” She let her hand linger perhaps too long on the scruff of Faramir’s cheek, for Boromir was clearing his throat and standing to leave.
“I must get back to the front. Aragorn is holding a council for his coming coronation.”
“Then get at it, Steward.”
Boromir flashed a grin, taking a light bow, “As you wish, Healer (Y/N). Keep my brother alive for me, will you?” He turned on his heel, trying to hide that smile that almost gave him away.
And watch over Faramir, (Y/N) did. Though attending to other duties with the quickly recovering survivors, she spent every sparing moment at his bedside. With him out of immediate danger, Faramir was moved to his own chambers, a soft pillow beneath his head and plenty of books for (Y/N) to choose from.
She became accustomed to a schedule of attending the infirmary then grabbing a tray of food and making way for Faramir’s room. She’d share a meal with him, trying to keep him awake longer and longer each day before he fell into another unconscious stupor.
When he did, she simply picked up the nearest book and read passages from it, sometimes saying them aloud to him. She found peace in those moments alone by his bedside. Chaos was attempting to be reined in by Aragorn, Boromir, and Eomer – the new lords of Middle Earth. And the sanctuary of Faramir’s chambers was always sought after a long day.
Though she was never far from boisterous visitors.
“Evening, (Y/N),” came the cheery voices of Merry and Pippin. “How are you?”
“Perfectly content,” she mused, placing a book marker on her current page, “What can I do for you?”
Merry put his hands behind his back, taking slow steps to Faramir’s bedside, “We were simply wondering when the last time you saw the light of day was.”
She laughed, curiosity peaked, “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“By our reckoning,” Pippin continued, at the foot of the bed, “You’ve done nothing but move between the infirmary, kitchens, and this room every day. You’ve done hardly anything else since the war.”
“We,” Merry gestured between himself and Pippin, “Are here to rescue you.”
(Y/N) sighed a smile, “I told you I am perfectly content sitting here. But thank you for showing such concern.” She had an impish tone to her words, “How are you healing, Merry?”
“Don’t you change the subject,” the hobbit retorted, “There is to be a party after Aragorn’s coronation, and you’ll have no one to see if you don’t leave this room to meet them.”
Pippin flickered his gaze between the bed and (Y/N)’s puzzled expression, but he added quickly, “There are many soldiers dying to meet the one that healed them after the field.”
She couldn’t see how Merry stamped on Pippin’s large foot. They weren’t supposed to encourage meeting other men of the field.
“You know I’ve got plenty of friends that’ll be there.” She thought of the fellowship and how joyous their reunion had been when the Ring was destroyed. “And I don’t much fancy being sought after by a handful of injured soldiers.”
“And why not?” came Faramir’s quiet voice from the bed covers, “Surely these soldiers have won the honor to seek your hand.”
“Oh, Faramir!” she said, standing to reach his forehead, “How are you feeling? You slept far longer this time.”
The young captain, though healed of his injuries, was still pale and weak from weeks stuck in a bed. “I’m all right. Your book reading keeps me well asleep.” He lingered his weary blue eyes on her expression, not wishing to do anything that would make her retract her hand from his face.
She was oblivious to how he was looking at her.
“Well, aren’t you going to answer his question?”
Merry stamped on his companions foot again.
“Oh, well…” (Y/N) seemed a bit flustered by the question, “I’ve never been one for courting, especially by strangers.” She moved her hands back into her lap and Faramir felt his brows slant in longing.
Merry and Pippin flipped their gazes between the two, peculiar smiles on their faces. Similar to the one that Boromir usually bore when he visited.
“What are you up to?” She questioned, “There is more than simply getting me out of this room.”
“You got us,” Merry resigned in mock defeat, “We need to get you out for a particular reason.”
“We need to speak to Faramir,” Pippin said in a rush, unable to conceal his excitement. A swift smack from his friend made him yell out, “Ow! What was that for?”
Merry sighed, “You have no tact, Pippin. Must be a Tookish trait.”
(Y/N) couldn’t help but laugh at her friends banter. The lovely sound made Faramir return his tired gaze to her.
“You could have just said so,” she said. “I have made promises to set up the festivities with Eowyn. Perhaps I’ll seek her out and start early.”
And once she had left, the hobbits were quick to let out the breaths they had been holding. Faramir, though still exhausted from his lack of energy, laughed at them. “I have a feeling Boromir has something to do with this.”
And speak of the man, Boromir inched his way into the room, looking around him as if to see if someone had spotted him yet. “Are we alone?”
“Completely,” Merry muttered, “(Y/N)’s off to find Eowyn.”
“Don’t worry, Faramir,” Pippin consoled his friend, “We’ve been putting in the good word for you the entire time you were ill.”
The poor man appeared entirely bewildered, shaking his head in an attempt to clear it, “Good word?”
“Listen to me, brother,” Boromir said, a kind of light in his eyes. “The opportunity is almost ripe for the taking. The coronation is in just a few days, and that will be when you strike.”
“We’ll all be there if you need us,” Merry continued, “We’ve just got to get you up and about. You still look like death.” Him and Boromir offered to help Faramir into a sitting position.
Such small a movement and it had Faramir straining, “I still don’t understand.”
“(Y/N)!” Boromir stated with such excitement, “Now is the time to confess your feelings for her.”
That woke him up real quick. “(Y/N)? Have you three been scheming behind my back?”
“Only because you were on your deathbed,” Pippin shrugged.
Faramir ran a hand over his face, taking a deep breath, “I couldn’t possibly… how would I… like (Y/N) would actually…”
“Relax, Faramir,” Boromir smirked, “I don’t believe you have anything to worry about.”
“You should have seen her,” Merry sucked in his lips in exuberance. “She paid such special attention to you out of all the survivors.”
“Which brings us to why you have to get up, Faramir,” Pippin stated, “There’s a lineup of soldiers talking of charming (Y/N) at the coronation. You have to be better by then to take them on!”
Boromir raised a hand, seeing the slight panic entering his brothers face, “There’s no need to pick a fight with every man that comes her way. Because I am sure (Y/N) will pick you regardless.”
“You’re sure?” Faramir asked, almost breathless in his growing anxiety. “How could you possibly be sure?”
“You were not awake,” Boromir had a wicked grin, “She clearly has feelings for you. She is simply not as vocal about them.”
Merry urged him on, “I don’t see (Y/N) staying in any of her other injured soldiers rooms.”
The coronation was a celebration beyond anyone’s wildest imaginings. Aragorn was crowned King Elessar amongst a flurry of pale petals and ecstatic subjects. Friends and acquaintances gathered from every stretch of the map, offering bows of good faith and trust.
(Y/N) stood diligently beside those members of the fellowship she cherished most. Boromir clapped boisterously, whistling loudly above the cheers. It made (Y/N) smile.
Amongst the chaos, Boromir leaned around to get a better look, grasping someone near him and trading places. This new person bumped right into (Y/N), stumbling and finding that it was Faramir his brother had traded places with.
He gave her a sweet, apologetic smile, as if to say, “My brother is a menace.”
She blushed back, taking a step away from brushing shoulders with him only to discover Legolas standing steadfastly beside her. She caught a questioning, slightly smug, look on his face before retreating back to being shoulder to shoulder with Faramir.
She couldn’t possibly have noticed the minute glance the elf gave to Boromir over their heads.
And the newly made King Elessar came walking among his subjects, the fair lady Arwen on his arm. He peered at her delicate, radiant face with such devotion that it made (Y/N) blush. She could feel heat radiating off Faramir’s body against her shoulder.
She sneaked a glance and caught him staring at her, even as the King and his Queen trailed past. Faramir couldn’t seem to look away and in an attempt to appear normal, started clapping along with the crowd. (Y/N) couldn’t put her finger on it, but the expression on his face reminded her of the look on Aragorn’s only moments before.
When he looked upon his queen.
The festivities that followed were as celebratory and raucous as you’d believe, especially with friends such as Boromir and Gimli around.
(Y/N) had quietly followed Faramir and Legolas into the throne room, which had been decked especially for the occasion. A large feast surrounded them, fiddlers and minstrels in the corner, and grand chandeliers of candles above.
She found that within an instant Legolas had mumbled an excuse to leave, putting her and Faramir alone and at the edge of the party. She kept her hands folded and in front of her, a shawl gracing her back and elbows. A circlet of golden leaves and rubied apples surrounded her head, an extravagance that Eowyn insisted upon.
“Healers,” she had said. “You never do anything for yourselves.” And she proceeded to dress her friend in fine white gold and cornsilk trimmings.
It was Faramir that attempted speech first, “The crown you wear, I recognize it.” He had to lean forward slightly to be heard over the feast. “It is quite beautiful.”
(Y/N) hoped the dimness of the candles hid the crimson on her cheeks, “Thank you. Eowyn took it upon herself to dress me. She says infirmary aprons are not acceptable.”
Faramir laughed, “It suits your complexion.”
She swallowed hard; there was no way her cheeks were as red as those rubied apples. In a moment of silence she straightened the circlet nervously. Faramir appeared to notice as he opened his mouth to speak.
But (Y/N) got there first, “Eowyn told me of the summer wine.” She gestured to a table across the hall, “I simply must try some.” And she vanished in a flurry.
It was incredible how quickly his companions surrounded his shoulders.
“That could have gone better,” Boromir stated grimly, clapping his brothers arm. “I approve of the compliment though.”
“How could you possibly hear us over this crowd?”
Merry pulled himself onto a table of desserts, Pippin not far behind with a fruit pie in hand. “You’ve got her all in a tither already.”
“I’m scaring her,” Faramir frowned, trying to glimpse her golden crowned head amongst the wine glasses.
“You’re flustering her, brother, there’s a difference.” Boromir stroked his scruff, observing the surroundings. “We’re going to have to evade her defenses.”
Pippin popped a blueberry, “Back to the ways of the Green Dragon.” The hobbits shared a gleeful glance, skittering off towards the minstrels.
“What are you planning?” Faramir fretted, not wishing to frighten (Y/N) further.
Boromir waved an impatient hand, apparently deep in strategic thought, “It was not my idea. Though a clever one.”
“Must you be so vague.”
The line of fiddlers shifted in their seats, a new merriment in how they held their bows. Their hobbit friends trailed from them, grasping mugs of ale and finding the tallest table they could stand upon.
A quick, rousing tune filled the air and Faramir recognized it immediately as a sort of line dance. One that included trading partners and flying feet.
“Dancing is not…”
“It is exactly how we’ll sneak you into (Y/N)’s arms.” Boromir grasped his brothers shoulders and shoved him towards the forming circle of people. Merry and Pippin were on their stage, beginning a drinking song of the Shire.
He could already see a pale faced Eowyn greeting (Y/N) and gesturing towards the center of the room.
“Excellent,” he muttered, much to Faramir’s anxiety. “Hold her swift and don’t let go.”
A billow of fabric and laughs consumed Faramir, quickly caught by a fellow Gondorian. He looked at her petite frame surprisingly but recognized her friendly face. They danced a few paces, him memorizing the moves before passing her along – this new partner an acquaintance from Rohan.
Clapping and cheering surrounded them, the hobbits hyping the crowd with bellowing lyrics and chugs of ale. Faramir felt himself loosen as he grinned and tapped toes with different partners. He recognized many friends and shared a few laughs, though an old arrow wound flared in his leg.
He spun and found himself in front of (Y/N) – she was flushed from the dancing, but a delighted twinkle was in her eyes. He continued to smile brighter, taking her hand and twirling her as the dance instructed.
A laugh came from her strawberry rouged lips and he relished the noise, less afraid to grasp her waist as they danced about the hall. When the time came for him to pass her to the next soldier, he found himself simply trading places with him.
(Y/N) peered at him with a comical gaze, “That is cheating.”
Faramir shrugged, taking the liberty to twirl her again, “I simply could not let you go.”
This time she did not mind the butterflies in her stomach, choosing to grin back at him instead of running away. They danced like that, Faramir continuing to jump places with the soldiers so she only partnered with him, until the music died away with a flourish.
Everyone clapped, (Y/N) and Faramir included, neither seeming able to remove their eyes from the other.
“Your shawl,” he pointed out. It had fallen on one side and dangled from one arm onto the floor. (Y/N) twirled to grab the end, but Faramir lightly grabbed her shoulders, stopping her, “Allow me.”
He stood behind her, draping the fallen end around her elbow, smoothly linking their arms together as he did so.
She gave him a suspicious brow, though smiled.
“Care for a drink?” And he led her towards the refreshments arm in arm.
Behind them was a rally of stunned cheers from a certain fellowship as they watched the motion.
“Was the summer wine to your liking?” Faramir continued, not wanting the momentum of his confidence to falter.
(Y/N) was still marveling at the smoothness of Faramir’s actions, allowing him the grace of keeping her arm delicately through his. “It was far too sweet. A pity.”
He charmed her, “Perhaps the elven made wine, then? I can attest to its richness – I’m sure you’ll prefer it.”
She nodded, finding herself intrigued by the bubbling drink, golden in the candlelight. It was crisp and tangy on the tongue, a look of delight on her face as she smacked her lips. Faramir watched her, releasing her arm to find a glass for himself.
“It is delicious.”
He grinned, “I’m glad.” And his gaze lingered as she enjoyed her drink. It lingered so much that (Y/N) chose to stare at the bubbles in her hand then at that look. She was correct in believing it reminded her of the King and Queen.
It was a look of devotion.
“Earlier you told me you recognized my crown,” she spoke towards her toes, “What do you recognize it from?”
He settled his wine glass on a nearby table, “It’s Gondorian made – it comes from our family stores.”
(Y/N) grimaced, “Oh, I told Eowyn not to go snooping. I didn’t realize she took it.”
“It is no trouble,” Faramir stated lightly, “It had belonged to my mother.”
(Y/N)’s eyes widened, “I didn’t realize…” she immediately went to take it off, holding the circlet with a newfound gentleness. “Forgive me.”
“There is no need to return it now.”
She skewed her brow in apology, “This is far too precious an object, I should not be wearing it.” She offered it to Faramir, “Your mother was an honorable woman.”
Faramir held the golden crown with sincerity, gazing at the worn leaves welded upon it. He smiled sweetly, turning to (Y/N) and placing the circlet once more on her head. “My mother would be glad it was worn by someone as strong as her.”
He brushed her hair away, keeping his hands on either side of her face. “There. Beautiful.”
(Y/N) opened her mouth but found herself with no words to say. This time she returned his devoted stare.
“I have found myself growing very fond of you, (Y/N),” he whispered, “It would be shameful to leave this night with your face so apologetic.”
In an instant she was clear of the emotion – it was replaced with mingling shock and another delightful light in her eyes.
“The shame would only be my own; for my own misguided affections – I thought your fondness was only in gratitude for my healing.” That’s when he began to smile, “Then perhaps for the tolerance of your brother.”
He laughed, adoration plain in his features, “Perhaps I do feel those things. But first and foremost has always been for your heart.”
“My heart has always been open to you, Faramir.”
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theelvenhaven · a month ago
Braiding Glorfindel’s Hair
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- Glorfindel has beautiful thick, long blond hair, and so when you approach him about braiding his hair, the ellon is beyond thrilled for it!
- He already loves to wear braids in his hair, and daily has some running through his hair and all intricately done and decorated. 
- With all that heavy thick hair, Glorfindel is far from tender headed, so he is happy to let you brush his hair and begin pulling and braiding however which way you want. 
- Glorfindel is the type of elf who will contently sit in the floor, with you sitting in a chair on his bed braiding his hair for hours at a time until your heart is absolutely content.
- He loves the way your fingers feel running against his scalp and the pull on his hair from you braiding his hair.
- He will let you put whatever you want in his hair too- pearls, precious gemstones, flowers or any color you or vines if that is what suites you.
- Glorfindel is utterly patient through the whole ordeal and doesn’t make a complaint, and if you ask him for his opinion, he’s happy to give you one. 
- Even if it isn’t the best braid in the world, he’s happy to tell you how much he loves it and wears it proudly throughout the day. 
- If anyone asks who did his hair, he is happy to boast how you braided his hair all morning and that it was your choice to add in the pretty details in his hair. 
- If you left it plain, he is happy to boast how much he loves a simple braid- even if he does really prefer the intricate additions. The fact that you did his braid means the world to him. 
* * * 
@saviorsong @lilmelily @dicksoutformtl @fandomhoe101 @icarus-fell-in-spring​ @iwenttomordor​ @red-riding​ @elarinya-nailo​
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fairytalelover33 · a month ago
LOTR/The Hobbit Incorrect Quotes #21
Frodo, being forced to leave his home: “I’m gonna be fine.”
Frodo being literally stabbed: “I’m gonna be just fine.”
Frodo finding out about Boromir’s death: “I’m gonna be JUST FINE.”
(Gollum pointing out some crumbs on Sam’s shirt)
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akaneryk · a month ago
Y/N: *falls into Middle-earth*
Fellowship:*stares confused *
Y/N: There is nothing I hate more than being in the center of attention, and yet here I am all eyes on me
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She’s the Man (Fellowship x Disguised as Boy! Reader)
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Requested by anon
Warnings: mentions of domestic/sexual assault, nudity, awkward public bathing. Might trigger a gender identity crisis in some of you folks, but don’t worry, join the club—we’re getting jackets made.
Synopsis: after having run away from your noble family and horrid husband, you cut your hair short and start dressing like a boy, presenting yourself as one throughout all of Middle-earth. This becomes hard, though, as you start travelling with the Fellowship, where they start to suspect something is up with their young “boy” comrade.
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Restrictions, restrictions, restrictions—that’s all you’ve ever known. You first noticed the tight chains on your soul when you were five, when your mother forbade you from playing with the local stable-hands.
You next noticed it when you were ten, being forced to wear tight corsets to shape your body before it even began blooming.
The final nail in the coffin, however, was when you turned fifteen, and were married off to a local, and quite old tradesman.
Though he dealt in silken fabrics, he was anything but smooth or soft. The night of your wedding was painful in all regards, for at fifteen you weren’t even sure if you were allowed to remove the tight corset during the act.
Five years more of total misery accompanied you, as you were forced to attend noble banquets and celebrations.
You encountered a wide range of people, from the likes of Denethor and his two sons, to the sickly Rohan King. Of course, they did not encounter you, for you were not allowed to speak unless spoken to, which was rare.
The two sons of Denethor and King Théoden’s own son, Théodred, as well as his two cousins, Eowyn and Eomer, were the only ones to initiate conversation with you.
You quickly realized they were better-spirited than their parents, but didn’t have the chance to explore more. A tight grip on your wrist from your husband silenced you, as he tore you away from the circle of new acquaintances quickly.
That night, life in your guestroom with your husband was a living hell, as he reminded you whom exactly you belonged to.
That was the night you snapped.
Bruised and sore, you wept into your sheets. Your husband had long-gone to drink more wine at the party, leaving his young wife alone in a state of mess.
It was around the third hour of crying that you studied the tapestry on the wall above your bed. With hair wettened by your tears clinging to your puffy cheeks, you ran your reddened eyes along the art.
It depicted a strong soldier atop a horse, riding into battle. A sword was drawn, and his short hair flowing in the wind behind him.
Subconsciously, you reached up to your own hair, long in length—your husband’s desire—and pulled on it.
As mounted in every room, two swords crossed each other over a shield, making a pretty decoration above the mantle.
Looking between the bruises inside your thighs, the tapestry and the sword, your jaw quickly set. Your eyes hardened, as you threw the sheets off your frame and stalked towards the mantle.
Glancing over your shoulder, you ensured no one was entering your room. With an emotional mind made up, you removed both swords from the shield.
Hastily, you used one to bar the door shut, and walked to the centre of the room with the other. With no candlelight around, you knelt on the fur rug under a square beam of moonlight, which poured in through the bedroom windows.
You looked at your reflection in the sword, and studied the state of your misery. Despising your parents, your husband and your life, you quickly put the sword to your hair.
With only a second to build the courage, you sliced all long locks from your head, springing forward a boyish look—instantly freeing yourself from your lifelong chains.
Breathing heavily in shock, you looked at the clump of hair on the floor, and picked it up. One hand ran through your now very short locks, and the other fingered the cut clump.
However, shocked breaths soon turned into joyous laughter, as your chest swelled with pride and your eyes watered.
Standing up swiftly, you ran towards the bathroom and opened the drawers. Finding a pair of scissors, you got to work and began styling your hair further.
Soon, you were left looking like a boy, by Middle-earth’s human standards. Your hair barely scraped the nape of your neck at the back, and in front, you had a fringe swooping to one side.
Grinning brightly, and now on a roll, you ran back to the mantle. Opening your husband’s drawers, you quickly discarded your nightgown and slipped his tunic on.
Shrugging the loose fit over your form, you secured it with a thick brown belt, trousers and used your own boots.
Studying yourself in the mirror, you realized this must be how you would’ve looked if born a boy, and you were surprised within yourself over liking it.
Throwing your clump of cut hair into the fire, you soon began tying sheets together. That night, you escaped down the window and fled the city atop a stolen horse, riding towards your new life.
Five years passed by, and you had been on the run ever since. Life was never easy for you, but at least now you were calling the shots.
You had taken to your new life as a boy, like a duck to water, presenting yourself as the rather quiet and distant “Arlo”.
You kept your head down and worked hard wherever you went, whether as a blacksmith’s apprentice, baker’s boy or stablehand.
Your most favourite part of the road, however, was learning to use a sword. With a book stolen from a library and five years’ worth of nights to practice, you had become quite skilled. The spite drove you forward.
You vowed no one would ever best you in combat again, pushing you harder every day. Your best friend and only companion was your horse, Paxton, and together the two of you explored Middle-earth to its very ends.
Along your travels, you had taken to competing in swordfight competitions, where you earned most of your cash. Swindling them, you presented yourself as a weak and frail boy, but in the end ultimately beat them all.
You gained a reputation quickly, and were slightly infamous for your swordsman skills, despite being so small.
It was this reputation that led you to Elrond’s secret council in Rivendell.
Your eyes had gone wide in alarm upon entering the petal-strewn area—where the council was set to be held—for Boromir, one of Denethor’s sons, was there.
You almost turned and ran, but he caught your eye quickly. You didn’t know whether or not to avoid his gaze, but that would bring about suspicion.
He instead smiled warmly at you, and thought nothing of your appearance. You nodded back tightly, and took your seat far away from him.
You ended up sitting next to an elf, for you knew their gender worked differently from yours. He himself looked a little girlish, so you believed he’d think nothing of your appearance.
He studied you with a side-glance as you sat down, and nodded curtly. You clenched your jaw and nodded back, moving your eyes forwards again.
You discreetly let out a sigh of relief, as you found the coast to be clear. No one figured you to be a girl.
Soon, Elrond joined the council. You felt your breath hitch in your throat, as you realized his puzzled eyes lingered on you a little too long.
Worried he’d rat you out, you looked away. Knitting his brows, Elrond slowly tore his eyes away from you, and began the council.
Long story-short, you had been invited to participate on a dangerous quest, all food and expenses paid for. Unable to pass up such a good opportunity for you and your horse, you reluctantly agreed, offering your sword to the hobbit sworn to carrying Sauron’s ring.
The first few nights you kept to yourself, as an awkward air befell the Fellowship—none really knowing each other nor knowing how to interact.
Very quickly, cliques formed.
The hobbits kept to each other in a pack, Gandalf joining them. Aragorn and Legolas joined forces, and Boromir, Gimli and yourself found ranks in solitude.
However, this was not to last forever.
Boromir had attempted many times to strike up conversation with you, as besides Aragorn, you were the only other “man” there.
You kept it short and courteous, but made it apparent very quickly to everyone there that you were in no position to begin friendships. This was a job to you—nothing more, nothing less.
That still did not stop anyone from trying, though. After Boromir, Gimli was next. The topic of the night around the campfire was “women”, as they all discussed their perfect partner.
The conversation divided the group in half, over those choosing to go more physical in nature a direction, and the other half preferring emotions.
Gimli laughed heartily and elbowed you in the shoulder. “Forget this lot, eh? I bet you and I are exactly alike, laddie! Thick thighs and body hair all over! Am I right?”
Laughing nervously, you rubbed at the back of your neck. “Uh…not really…”
He blinked up at you in surprise for a moment, before shrugging his shoulders and pressing on in the conversation. Legolas studied you from across the fire, and made a mental note of your words.
Later on, when you were all setting up your rugs, Legolas approached you. He crouched down by your side and began helping to unroll your pack.
You recoiled from him slightly, and stared up in alarm. He looked back down at you briefly with a tight-lipped smile, and spoke.
“I agree with you from earlier,” he said. “I believe partnership should be about romance and emotions, not physical acts. How about you, mellon nin? Have a lady waiting back at home for you?”
You sputtered up at the prince, before averting your eyes and rolling your pack out faster. “No, I…uh, that’s not really my area…”
Legolas knitted his brows for a moment in confusion, before his lips parted in sudden understanding.
“Oh. Oh! Well, um…do you have a gentleman waiting back at home for you, then?”
Snapping your eyes up at him once more, you flushed.
“No! No! I, look—I’m really kinda tired.” You made a show of yawning loudly. “And I think I just wanna get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning, though…brother?”
Legolas blinked down at you a few times, before speaking and rising to his legs. “Oh! Uh, sure…that’s no hassle. Rest well…brother?”
“Will do,” you drew out, laying down.
He threw a glance over his shoulder at you, before walking away. He caught Aragorn’s eye as he walked past, with the ranger sat there puffing away on his pipe.
They both tightened their lips, looked away and raised their brows, figuring you were just a moody boy.
The most awkward situation of all, however, came a few weeks later. Having managed to sneak away from the Fellowship, you found a nice river, of which you could bathe in.
Paxton followed suit, keeping your towel wrapped over his saddle. He snorted in worry as you began to undress, revealing your body to the running river.
“It’s fine,” you laughed, girlishly. Your voice had returned to its normal pitch, for the first time in a long time. “Just because I’m pretending to be a boy as I travel with them, doesn’t mean I have to smell like one!”
Paxton snorted, and you knew he was telling you to hurry.
“All right, all right,” you laughed again, stepping into the water. You hugged your chest as you dipped below, submerging yourself fully.
Rising again, you exhaled a sigh of relief, and began washing the grime from your hair and face.
You were only in there for so long, however, for soon boyish laughter came from up the forested incline.
“Out of the way!” Pippin called, stripping off his clothes.
“No! You move!” Merry shouted back, also stripping down.
Behind them both, was the rest of the entire Fellowship, save for Gandalf.
Your eyes grew wide in alarm, as you watched them all meet the river’s bank. They then began undressing—Aragorn, Boromir, Gimli, Legolas and the hobbits included.
Soon, they each all jumped into the water, splashing one another and laughing loudly. You found a large boulder within the river nearby, and swam behind it.
Peeking out from the side, you watched them all swim closer in a group to where you were. They began cleaning themselves, and soon just started to wade around—relishing in the cool feeling.
However, as you tried to swim away discreetly, Legolas’ elven ears caught you. He narrowed his eyes, and began swimming over to your rock.
Knowing you would be caught if you tried to flee, you pressed your back firm against the rock, lapping up against it.
Legolas was now upon you, and looked around the corner to find what was behind it. Once he saw it was only you, he beamed brightly.
Rising up out of the water, he folded his arms over the rock and leaned over, looking down at you.
You tried to not let your eyes drift or slip, as you stared back up at him. However, mistakes were made (but clearly not on his parents’ behalf).
“Hello, Arlo!” he announced merrily. “We didn’t know you were also in here.”
Upon hearing your name, the rest of the Fellowship waved you over, asking you to join them.
You chuckled nervously and began swimming backwards and away, speaking as you did so. “Oh, no…that’s quite all right! I, uh…just remembered I actually have something to do—”
“Oh, no! Don’t be like that!” Boromir chastised. He grabbed your wrist gently and reeled you back in towards him and Legolas.
Your shoulders went rigid, as you nearly brushed up against their bare bodies.
Soon, the hobbits, Gimli and Aragorn swam over to you, and you were more thankful now for the darkness of night than you had ever been.
Though, with one slither of moonlight in the right spot, you’d soon be exposed.
“Please don’t leave on our behalf, Arlo,” Aragorn encouraged, placing a hand on your wet shoulder. “It is good for team morale to bond like this. Besides, we’re all men here.”
“Some more than others!” Gimli announced. You looked up in the direction of his voice, and immediately covered your eyes.  
Gimli was stood with his hands on his hips, proudly naked atop your boulder.
“I am the king of this rock!” he announced. “Any competitors who’d like to have a go at pushing me off?”
“Please,” Legolas rolled his eyes, before he, too, swam over to the boulder and climbed atop it. “This will be the easiest fight of my life.”
Catching more than you wanted to see, you made a squeal of rejection, before forcibly pushing your way through the group and heading towards the bank.
Paxton met you quickly, and you swiftly wrapped the towel over your shoulders like a cloak, as to not make it obvious what you were covering, but doing so nonetheless.
“I’m sorry,” you said to them, “but I truly do have something else to do…literally anything else. I’ll see you all back at camp.”
They watched as you left in a hurry, and shared glances with one another. Thinking nothing of it, besides your usual mood, they shrugged and returned to what they were doing.
This continued on for quite some time, throughout the entire Fellowship journey. Though, you never again attempted to bathe with them all around.
Fortunately, your travels soon took you out of the woods, and into the cities. Many fights had passed your small group, smaller now than before, by.
The most recent of battles saw many great feats—the “Battle of the Pelennor Fields” it was called.
In this battle, you had fought formidably. However, the true victory for women that day went to Eowyn. She had removed her helmet in the middle of the fight, pronounced she was “not a man”, like you had wanted to do so many times, and slayed the Witch-king of Angmar.
You were inspired greatly, but also so furious at yourself. You were also slightly jealous over the attention she got.
“What a brave woman,” Gimli would say.
“I’ve never met a woman so bold,” Merry added on.
“Truly remarkable,” Legolas agreed.
The six of you were sat in a stone courtyard together, camping out in the aftermath of the fight. Your jaw was rigid with fury, as you listened to them praise Eowyn over something you had been doing for the past few months.
Rolling your eyes, and making a show of turning over in your sleeping bag harshly, you quickly gained the Fellowship’s attention.
“Oh, and what is your problem, laddie?” Gimli snarked.
“Upset you were outshined by a girl?” Legolas taunted as well.
“You’re not that misogynistic, are you?” Merry chortled.
Aragorn glanced between your turned back and the laughing boys, before taking his own turn at scolding you.
“Arlo, Eowyn was a great asset today, and we are guests in her company. I will not see you sulking towards her remarkable feats.”
You glared at him over your shoulder, before huffing and returning to sleeping on your side. Your arms were folded over your chest, and your body burning in jealous rage.
“Gosh, what is the matter with you?” Legolas asked next, truly fed up with your attitude. “Why are you always in a bad mood?”
“Wouldn’t have taken you for a misogynist either,” Gimli remarked, smacking his gums as he ate a chicken leg.
You stayed on your side with your back turned to them for a few moments, glaring at the wall. However, the rage in your chest soon gave way to a lump in your throat, as you soon felt your secret burst within you.
“I’m not a misogynist…” you spoke up.
“Poppycock,” Gimli called you out.
Sighing, you sat up and looked at them to your side. “I’m not a misogynist, because…I’m not even a boy.”
Silence echoed around the courtyard, as your travel companions blinked back at you.
“What?” Pippin asked, squinting his eyes. “What do you mean you’re ‘not a boy’?”
Groaning through another sigh, and rolling your head, you pressed on. “I mean I’m NOT a boy! I’m a girl, for Eru’s sake…I’ve just been…presenting myself as one, for…reasons.”
“What reason could you possibly have to lie about something like that?” Legolas asked, not entirely believing you.
Feeling the urge to cry rising within you, you inhaled a deep breath and answered. “Nothing you men would understand.”
“I’m sorry,” Merry laughed, “but I don’t believe you at all. There’s no way you’re a girl.”
Glaring at him, you knew his words to be true. Knowing how to prove you were indeed a girl, you reached into your loose tunic, and began unwrapping the bind around your chest.
Pulling it out, you threw it down in front of the now gaping group. Without a shred of chivalry, still disbelieving you to be a girl at all, they glanced between the fabric and your chest, which indeed proved your gender.
“I don’t believe it…” Pippin whispered, staring with wide eyes.
In fact, they all did. With six pairs of male eyes on your chest, you felt very vulnerable and covered yourself.
This seemed to jolt them back to their senses, as they coughed uncomfortably and looked away.
The only one still looking into your eyes, was Aragorn. “Why did you feel the need to lie, my lady?”
Being called a “lady” for the first time in five years opened up a floodgate of emotions, as you wept into your hand.
“Yep, definitely a girl,” Merry rolled his eyes. A swift punched to his arm from Legolas silenced him.
Now knowing exactly how to deal with you, Aragorn stood up and crouched before you. He placed a tentative hand on your shoulder, and encouraged the other boys to come forwards, until they were sat all around you in a comforting circle.
“What is your real name, young maiden?” Aragorn asked softly.
Still sniffling into your hand, and bearing a downcast head, you spoke up in a barely audible voice.
“Y/n…” you revealed.
“What a beautiful name, Y/n,” he smiled warmly.
Like a turn of the tides, the boys all around took you under their wing, as if you were their own little sister. Everything about you now made sense, and they felt at ease with you instantly.
And, surprisingly, you found the same about them, regarding yourself. You didn’t at all feel threatened by their presence, but instead protected.
“I’m sorry,” you wept, shaking your head. “I had no choice, they made me marry him, and I-I couldn’t stay there, and then I had to make money so I ran with the lie and—”
They shushed your incoherent crying quickly, and rubbed at both your knees, back and shoulders comfortingly.  
They gained more information about your previous life in those few seconds than they had before in the last few months. They didn’t need to know anymore, nor wanted to, from the sounds of it all.
“Please don’t kick me out of the Fellowship…” you sniffled.
“Why would we do that?” Gimli laughed. “We now have TWO remarkable women in our ranks! Eowyn AND Y/n!
“A great win for us, indeed!” Legolas agreed brightly.
A smile broke through your tears, as they shook you softly and commended your swordswoman skills excitedly.
This carried on for a few moments, before you spoke up again, now smiling around at them through almost dried tears.
“So…you don’t mind about me lying? Or being a…woman?”
They shook their heads and returned your smile. “Not at all, lassie.”
Before the conversation could progress, however, Legolas suddenly recalled something.
“WAIT!” he gasped loudly, thinking back to the river. “THAT MEANS YOU SAW ALL OUR—”
“Let’s agree to never speak of it again, okay?”
“Aye, never again…sister.”
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claraofthepen · a month ago
Hello hun! Long time no see! I was wondering if you could please write something about how the Fellowship might react to meeting a Dwobbit, a 1/2 Dwarf and 1/2 Hobbit girl. So her mother was a Hobbit and her father was a Dwarf, so she's around 4 feet tall with the bare feet and thick soles of a hobbit, and the muscles and body hair of a dwarf. And she's very polite and friendly like a Hobbit, but stubborn and good in a fight like a Dwarf. I've had this idea for ages, and I'd love to see your thoughts on it. Oh, and bonus points if she's a Blacksmith or Craftsman too! Thanks so much, really hope you're doing well!
I’m so sorry this took so long. It was at the bottom of my asks and... out of sight out of mind. Pls forgive me.
The Fellowship with a Dwobbit includes:
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He finds it a bit odd, but at the end of the day, he’s a ranger who’s seen too much and just shrugs “half-breed? cool. Wanna go hunting?”. Sometimes, he’ll get a bit annoyed at how politely stubborn they would be, like, at this point he’d rather you just yell like Gimli, because he didn’t know it was possible to refuse to clean the campsite in a million different nice ways. However, he does very much appreciate her being good in a fight, and not completely useless *cough* like Frodo *cough*. He definitely rests his arm on her head, much to her annoyance. She gives him death stares from her 4 ft height and Aragorn just laughs because he can barely see her eyes. She retaliates by elbowing his jambags. Perfect height to do so.
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Confused at first. The only half-breeds he’s ever heard about before now are half-elves. He’s also confused about the beard, and maybe tries to touch it, only for Gimli to almost murder him with his axe. “NOT THE BEARD, YOU LEMBAS-MUNCHER!”. it’s very endearing. But over time, he thinks its really cool, especially since this 4 foot tall person can lift him up and sling him over her shoulder like a potato sack.
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Feels compelled to protect her, like a little sister, because she’s so scrawny compared to other dwarves. Almost has a heart attack when she runs barefoot through a thorn bush. He’ll 100% teach her all about ‘proper’ dwarven fighting, and always has the best advice for crafting and metal-working. Will definitely bring her to erebor post-quest and have her train with some of the masters. Since he doesn’t want her to be left out of the dwarven braiding traditions, he sits down with her every few days and teaches her a bunch of different techniques and styles. He’s the best big dwarven brother ever.
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A bit frightened at first. It’s unheard of in the Shire, to have a mixture of two races. He was afraid of her beard, especially since hobbit males rarely ever get facial hair. But as time goes on, he very much appreciates having a big strong half-breed lady to help protect everyone in battle. 
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Thinks it’s magic. 
Merry and Pippin: 
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Fascinated by it. Especially how she’s taller than them, has huge muscles, and killer foot hair. Super sexy for a hobbit. They have challenges where She lifts them like weights, and she can do both of them at a time if she has the energy. They appreciate how polite she is (they are still upperclass), but enjoy her ability to drink 10 shots without passing out, smoke pipeweed with them, and put everyone in their place if need be. Merry asks for smithing lessons (even if he only ends up using them to sharpen his own decorative swords), and Pippin does too. Only thing is, she doesn’t let pippin anywhere near a forge. She may be a cool half-breed, but she’s not a stupid one.
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Doesn’t even surprise him.
“If you can fight well, you’re very welcome to join us”
Basically that’s all the conversation she has with him. Excepting the nights where everyone in the fellowship gets high to try and forget about problems, then they have insult wars. It’s pretty epic.
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lilyofthesword-writes · a month ago
Continue - Part 2
Summary: You have been ripped away from your world and tossed into one that is supposed to be pure fiction. You know the stories, how they are supposed to go. Despite your knowledge, you are unable to change the fates of the Fellowship you had grown so close to.
Pairing: Legolas x Modern!Reader
Word Count: 853
Warnings/Disclaimers: Boromir’s death. Anxiety issues.
A/N: Direct sequel of Continue. So I guess this will kind of be a series now. My thought is to hit specific scenes rather than rewriting the whole book series.
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Pulling the boats ashore, the blonde archer kept true to his word and was sticking close to you, helping you unload the small amount of extra baggage. Now that the Fellowship was away from the safety of the Golden Wood, things could go south quickly, and should the binding magic activate in a battle again, you would be defenseless. Legolas was not about to let you be hurt over something you could not control. It was certainly a weight off your shoulders that someone else knew and understood. Now if you could just get him to be a bit more subtle.
In the lineup where Galadriel was gifting each member their special items, he had made sure you were between him and Aragorn, earning looks from everyone. Merry and Pippin were especially curious, unable to tone down their excited whispers. When it came to boarding the boats, he had you in the same boat as him and Gimli. The dwarf merely chuckled at Legolas’ antics.
With the last bag settled on the ground, you turned just in time to see Frodo meander into the forest. Another pivotal moment in the story was about the play out, a light tingling in your chest to remind you about attempting to interfere. The feeling washed over your entire body, your heart stuttering, when Boromir entered the forest under the pretense of gathering wood. The confrontation that would take place between the man and hobbit was necessary, you supposed, but you still felt for the both of them. Your heart broke a fraction just thinking about their own internal turmoils and how this would push them to the brink.
A feather-light hand grazed your lower back, grounding you in reality. You hadn’t realized how long you were staring off at nothing in particular, or that you were doing it in the first place. Legolas’ blue eyes held a curious worry.
You tried to tell him you were fine, but no sound left your throat. The magic wasn’t choking you this time, just a warning to spur you away from temptation. Clearing your throat of the lump that was forming, you gave him a small smile.
The gears in his head seemed to click into place. Legolas’ gaze locked onto Aragorn across the way with such an intense seriousness that you were surprised no one else noticed. The ranger seemed to understand and slinked away into the forest as well.
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The Uruk-hai and orcs had thinned out and disappeared amongst the trees when Legolas, Gimli and you found Aragorn kneeling beside Boromir’s near lifeless body. It was still happening. Despite Legolas stepping in for you, the Steward of Gondor’s son was still trading his life for that of the hobbits who had grown so dear to him.
This hurt worse than when Gandalf fell. He would return, reuniting with you all in Fangorn Forest. Boromir would not. He would never return to Gondor. He would never see his brother or father again.
Legolas somberly watched the scene unfold at your side. Lacing his free hand with yours, he squeezed gently to break your reverie. You reciprocated his grasp and glanced up at him, his form a touch blurry. That was when you noticed the tears about to break free. Wiping them away with your sleeve, you let out of quiet huff.
From where you were standing, you had a clear view of the two men of Gondor. Boromir’s mouth was curved... up? He was smiling? That was different.
“He’s thanking Aragorn,” Legolas spoke low so only you could hear him.
Your brow furrowed as you stared at the elf.
“For preventing him from making a mistake,” he answered your silent question.
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Legolas was beside you, holding your hand again, the pad of his thumb comfortingly gliding over your knuckles. The now funeral boat was ready to be pushed offshore, Gondor’s pride adorned with his sword and armor. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he was in a peaceful slumber.
Aragorn rounded the boat and sidled next to you.“Thank you,” he started quietly.
Was that directed at you? “Pardon?”
“It’s fairly clear you know a few things. If it hadn’t been for you and Legolas, Boromir would have met with Frodo. I fear what the consequences of his actions would have been had I not been prompted to follow.” He patted you on the shoulder solemnly before returning to the other side of the boat.
So he did manage to prevent their skirmish... And Frodo... Frodo was able to deal with his own inner demons, deciding for himself to leave without being pushed over the edge through the Ring’s induced betrayal. Did he feel more at peace with his decision than he would otherwise?
Boromir’s body was sent down the river and over the waterfall. Frodo and Sam still separated from the group, heading for Mordor on their own. Merry and Pippin were still carried off by the enemy. The end result was still the same, but the sting of it all was dulled. At least there were still some events that could change.
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