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thewulf · 3 months

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Little One || Aragorn

Summary: Request -I had an Aragorn request that I wanted to send you; if it’s something you’d be interested in writing I know it’ll be perfect (but if it doesn’t strike your fancy I completely understand)!! After reading your fic with the orc attack I was thinking about how Aragorn would respond to reader being injured defending the hobbits... Read Rest Here

A/N: Thank you for the request @fluentmoviequoter !! Had so much fun writing this, hope you enjoy :) Kinda angsty but hella fluffy as always :)

Pairing: Aragorn x Female Reader

Word Count: 5.1k +

TW: orcs, talks of blood, arrows, getting shot, yelling, angsty

You and Strider had been Rangers together for the better part of fifty years now. The two of you quickly found solace in the other. The two of you just seemed to compliment the other. What he lacked you picked up for him and vice versa. It wasn’t often he could find somebody who just understood him. So, he decided to keep you close but always safe.

He did what he wanted after all. He had a high enough ranking quickly. You were assigned nearly every patrol, raid, quest whatever the hell it was he did it with you. And you learned quicker than you had ever thought even possible with his aid. He wasn’t brutal on you, but he was not easy by any stretch of the imagination. He wanted you alive, so he trained you to stay that way. He had to be a little mean. A little too much sometime. For that was the real world. You couldn’t go out in the world as freely as one once could.

So, when Gandalf proposed the deal of getting the Hobbits from Bree to Rivendell he had agreed on the condition you could come with them. He wasn’t willing to leave you in some random village town in Eriador. No, he would never do that. Gandalf had agreed without a second thought thinking it was a good idea to have two Rangers instead of one.

You had decided fairly quickly that the Nazgûl was on your list of least favorite things in middle-earth you’d had the pleasure of coming across. You could deal with spiders and orcs buts these creatures were eerily different. Ice cold and terrifying, soul sucking. But you needed to remain stoic in the face of it all to help the Hobbits. The poor things were shaking they were so terrified. You’d tried stories of tales far and wide to shake their minds of their troubles, but it seemed no use as they only looked to the two of you in terror around every twist and turn.

When you stopped for the night to camp you’d noticed that Strider had led you deep into a dense forest. You’d never been the best at tracking, so you often led it to him. You really should’ve paid better attention before as you were often so reliant on his talents.

“I am off to gather a few plants for some tea. I will be back in an hour. Y/N, I trust they shall remain safe in your care?” He asked and you nodded without so much as a second thought.

“Of course.” You smiled to him, “Off you go. I know how mean you get without your tea.” That earned a hearty round of laughs from the Hobbit’s as they laid out their bedrolls for the night. It was nice to hear such a pleasant sound instead of hearing the screeching in the distance.

“I will remember that.” He glared at you with humor in his eyes before ducking into the night.

You turned back to the Hobbit’s with a stupid smile on your face not quite realizing how much you were giving way of your likeness towards the man, “Off to bed we go.” You shooed the silly little smirks right off their faces.

They all nodded quickly falling asleep without so much as a second thought. You were mighty jealous at the way they just did that. It took you far too long to fall asleep these days. Worry kept you up more than you liked to admit.

Thank whatever was out there for that worry that wouldn’t let you sleep as you heard the distant voices and branches breaking far off in the distance. Orcs. Had to be, they were so noisy. Your heartrate spiked as you heard them before you spotted them in the dark night. How in the hell had anything found you all the way out here?

“Up! Up!” You whisper shouted before shaking each of the Hobbits awake, “Abandon the camp we must go. Run” You grabbed for your sword and spare bow and arrow before ushering the small Hobbit’s further into the forest.

They ran ahead confused and disoriented having just fallen into a deep sleep but trusting you nonetheless. You knew you had made too much noise but did not quite realize how much the smaller ones were making as they ran.

You paused for a brief moment knowing your longer strides could catch up. You took a look behind you to see how in danger you truly were. The orcs hadn’t spotted your little group quite yet except one with keen eyes. Adrenaline shot through you as you saw the orcs arrow trained right at the back of Frodo’s head as he ran forward. He’d be dead instantly if the orc shot the arrow before you could stop it.

Panic shot through you as you ran ahead beside him pushing him to the ground with more force than you’d truly meant. You’d thought you were in the clear before the searing pain of being shot by an orc arrow throbbed through your shoulder blade sending you to the ground before you could think. Frodo rolled beside you which sprung Merry, Pippin and Sam into action as they pulled the two of you behind the thick trees of the dense forest. Fortunately for you it was mid-summer, and the forest was coated in dense foliage making it that much harder to find you and the Hobbits hiding in the trees.

Frodo looked more confused than upset before he saw the arrow protruding from your body. He’d understood instantly, “You have been hit miss Y/N!” Merry’s concerned voice only rose a few octaves as he saw the large arrow sticking right outside your shoulder. It hurt worse than it looked but you tried your best to bite back the tears as they were so unseasoned to such horrors in the world.

You looked down wincing at the arrow surely coated in poison. Thankfully you were only a few days out from Rivendell. You’d be fine… Strider not so much. Shuddering at the thought of the man who would be so mad you got hurt, you turned to the small Hobbit’s sitting in fear beside you.

Ignoring the arrow sticking out from your shoulder you sat up from the fall you took, “Listen, for there is not much time before they try and find us. Frodo and Sam run. Go find Strider. He will help end this swiftly.” You nodded watching them run quickly off into the forest. You’d sent Frodo off as he needed to be as far from the attacks as possible.

Wincing you turned yourself as best as you could towards Merry and Pippin, “Now, I need you two to be brave. You must snap this arrow as close to the wound as you can. I will fight these orcs off, but I cannot do that with this sticking out.” You huffed eyeing the rather large wooden arrow searing its mark in your shoulder blade.

Merry only gave you wide eyes as Pippin shook his head answering your request, “I cannot do that.”

“Not can I!” Merry agreed.

You looked behind you a little panicked seeing the orcs moving in closer. Far too close for your comfort. Lowering your voice, you leaned closer to them, “It does not matter any longer. Time is of the essence now. You must or we all die.” You glared at the two of them letting them both know quite how serious this was.

“Aye, turn away.” Merry stood with shaking hands grabbing at the arrow earning a hiss from your mouth. Pippin took his hands in his helping him get the leverage he needed to break the thick wood.

“All right.” You turned your head away clutching your hands into the earth trying to ground yourself. You had to fight back everything that was telling you to pass out as the arrow snapped in two under the hands of the much smaller Hobbits. A quiet whimper left your mouth as you tried your hardest to stay conscious. The orcs were close. You had to do something.

“Miss Y/N” Merry sounded concerned as he saw your face pale out and the orcs move closer, “Please be okay.”

You nodded blinking back the wave of nausea taking over your usually so agile self. This did not feel like your standard orc poison. You knew what that felt like and this was not it. This was moving faster than anything you’d been hit by them with, “I am fine mister Pippin.” You breathed trying to blink back the unshed tears. Pain only reminded you that you were alive. With another small groan you stood from the ground trying your hardest to fight the searing fire in your shoulder, “Stay quiet and hidden. It is best to attack them by surprise. Strider will be back soon. Let us try and wait this out as long as possible.” You whispered grabbing your sword from its sheath at your side.

You waited in silence as the first of the few crept into your field of vision. They must have been lost. No way a pack of orcs were this dumb. Or they were on a special mission. But you could wait no longer as they were likely to hear your breath or any sort of movement for he was a mere step away from you now.

Quickly, you sliced off its head without much of a sound. The loudness of the animals in the night covered up for its lifeless body hitting the ground giving you a second to recuperate and fight back the overwhelming feeling of pain now making its way down your arm.

When you killed the second and third the attention was finally on you. You were not able to be as graceful and let out a cry of pain as you had to use your bum arm to defend yourself. Darting behind a tree you narrowly avoided another arrow coming right for your head this time. But you didn’t have time to panic as the man you had been waiting for finally made his grand entrance. Just as you suspected it was over before it really begun. You were a fine Ranger. But Strider was an expert one.

Leaning back on the tree you let out the breath you were holding in. Never had you been so close to losing someone so quickly on a quest. Never had you been so close to being eliminated. You were usually so much better than this. Strider was getting in your head, and you were losing focus. A Ranger losing focus! That was unheard of. But Strider was your exception it seemed.

“You arrogant fool!” Strider yelled right at you as he came storming over to where you were leaning on the tree. He hadn’t seen the broken arrow in your shoulder nor the way you were holding your arm upright. He didn’t notice the sweat the coated your face or the distant gaze in your eyes. He was mad and he wanted to take it out on someone. That someone happened to be you.

You let out a cry in pain as he grabbed for the arm that you were holding gingerly. Even the smallest movement made it feel like your arm was getting ripped right apart. You had forgotten how painful poison was for it had been nearly fifty years since you’d been struck. The bastards made it as fast and as painful as possible. And whatever this stuff was seemed worse than before.

He moved his hand away from your arm after hearing your strangled cry. Pushing you back up against the tree, avoiding your injury, he felt the sticky liquid coating your outer garments. Blood. Of course, he knew what it was. He had only begun to panic as he saw the deliriousness in your gaze. You were hurt and badly at that. He was not used to this.

Frodo jumped in between the two of you, pushing Strider away just slightly, “She saved my life master Strider! Please have no anger towards her.”

His heart raced as he ordered the Hobbits to light a fire nodding at Frodo that he was done lashing out at you. He knew you needed a helping hand. Not one to hurt you while you were down. Gently, he pushed you down to the ground, “Sit down, nigol.” He’d all but ordered as he helped the Hobbit’s start a small fire. He couldn’t see your wound and you weren’t so forthcoming with information. That and he wanted to see it for himself.

A small smile came to your lips remembering the old nickname he’d given you, “Nigol… you have not called me that in quite some time Strider.”

Brushing your comment aside he asked you, “What happened?” As he sat down next to you waiting for the fire to glow so he could inspect your wound.

You turned towards him holding your eyebrows close together trying your best to bite back the pain, “Orcs happened is all. Caught a poisoned arrow to the shoulder.” Letting out a strangled sigh you sat further back against the tree.

“How did you get hit?” He clarified with more patience in his voice than you were used to. Maybe you looked worse than you felt because he never, ever cut you a break. And you appreciated him for that as you were still alive and usually avoidant of such injuries.

“Ugly bastard was aiming right at Frodo’s small little Hobbit head.” You frowned realizing if you hadn’t noticed Frodo would be sure as dead. You caught Strider’s smile at your crass language for he knew he would never grow tired of your fowl tongue. He loved it about you, “Had to push him out of the way and he nicked me instead.”

“I heard that miss Y/N!” Frodo yelled back at the two of you shaking his head at you, “Elves are not the only creatures with good hearing!” You only smiled as you watched them feed the small fire with more twigs and sticks. It surprised you that Strider ordered a fire for you’d just been ambushed. Who knew what else lurked beyond the trees that kept you hidden.

You let out a strangled laugh feeling the effects of the poison inch its way through your system. You watched as Strider looked at you with concern. It wasn’t often you were the one on the receiving end to such a look. You’d been under his wing for a better part of half a century. You’d gotten really excellent at not getting hurt. It must have been jarring to see you fighting the pain back with such a force. He’d never admit how much he had grown to love you. He didn’t like to see you in pain. Not a bit.

He sighed seeing the fleshy wound, “You must not be so careless next. I have trained you better than that.” He sighed inspecting the wound closely, “I must remove the arrow.” He spoke slowly feeling his heart drop at your startled expression.

You shook your head with a vengeance for you did not like that statement “We are but a few days from Rivendell. Surely they will have healers who can do that properly.”

He bit back the frown as he looked at your arm, “You will not have a few days if I do not get this out.” It wasn’t ominous but simply the truth.

“Is it not an Orc arrow?” You looked down knowing what his answer was going to be but trying to ignore it in your head was proving to be a challenge.

He gave you a solemn nod, “Aye, but it does not appear to be orc poison.”

All you could muster was a simple, “Oh.” Not thinking that was a possibility. You’d still concluded it was a different form of Orc poison. What could they possibly be using?

“It appears to be something much darker.” His frown only deepened as he was studying your wound. He had ripped your shirt where you had been hit to examine it closer. It was turning black far too fast to be the standard orc poison they’d become accustomed to.

You shuddered knowing the pain would be intolerable. You already seemed to be teetering on the precipice between the living world and the unconscious world, “Do your worst then.” You spoke quickly turning away and grabbing at a stick on the ground. When you tuned back he was just looking at you with such a sadness you couldn’t help but to ask, “What?”

He shook his head breaking the stare he had on you, “Nothing. Bite the stick. Don’t fight me. You know the rules.”. It had been a long time since you were at the mercy of his hands. You were but a young Ranger the last time you’d been caught in such a dreadful position. Back then you had medicine to at least dull the pain. This was going to be hell you thought as you placed the soggy stick in your mouth. Something to bite into, crucial to keep you from yelling too loud.

But you didn’t need to worry about that issue too much as darkness took over only a moment after he begun to tug on the broken arrow embedded in your shoulder. Of course, you didn’t catch the concern or the panic that overtook him when he saw you collapse into unconsciousness so easily. He didn’t waste a second longer after the arrow was removed from your shoulder to pick you up and carry you in his arms telling the Hobbits that they had to get a move on for your sake. With hushed complaints the group was off to Rivendell in the dead of night.

It must’ve been the pain overtaking the adrenaline that had subsided that made you fade out of unconsciousness. As your body stirred awake the sun rose in the sky before you. Strider only cradled you closer to his chest when he felt you squirming beneath him. A rather large sigh of relief escaped him as he looked down seeing you slowly blink your eyes back into reality.

“Did you enjoy your rest then?” Strider smiled most genuinely down to you for as much as he loved teasing you it sure made him happy to see you awake once more.

You cracked your own smile at his sarcastic words, “It was nice, thank you for inquiring.” You hummed squirming once more in his embrace. When he locked his hands around you it was only then that you realized he was carrying you like so and he had no intention of letting you out of his grasp.

He chucked seeing your startled expression. It was also new to him too and he really did not want to admit just how much he had enjoyed holding you close to him. It put his normally anxious heart at ease. He had long since found you beautiful. He knew he had loved you when he first heard you speak your mind to a superior all those years ago. For nobody, not a single man, had the courage to speak the way you did. And you had the skill to back it up. That was why he panicked seeing your injured silhouette in the forest. For if you were to go down he had no idea what he would do. You were so deeply embedded in his life he could not even begin to fathom a life without you in it.

He ran faster than he ever had before when Sam and Frodo found him foraging for plants. When they came in blabbering that you had been hit by an arrow he began sprinting in autopilot. It drove him mad feeling like it took longer to get to you. He was there in no longer than a minute to kill the ten or so orcs that were hunting you, the one he loved. He was a maniac when it came to protecting you. He hadn’t meant to yell so harshly at you but he was scared. Terrified of the thought of losing you, his person.

He noticed the pink beginning to return to your face and more relief flooded his overstressed system, “You are getting some color back.” He noticed as he held you closer, “That is a good sign. The poison must not be spreading.”

You let out a long yawn feeling the effects of it all starting to come over you once more, “That is good. It does not hurt as bad either. Just aches a bit.” Your eyes drooped as you tried to fight off the sleep that was overcoming you.

“Rest. Go to sleep, nigol.” He smiled down to you with nothing but love in those striking eyes. He’d been carrying you for hours already, what was another few anyway?

“Nigol.” You hummed remembering the times he called you that all the way back when you first had met him. He refused to tell you what it meant and by the time you finally met an elf you’d forgotten the nickname altogether, “What does it mean?” You inquired hoping he would indulge you this time as you were on the verge of unconsciousness.

He laughed, throwing his head back and all. You admired the way his dark hair framed his fair face as he looked back down at you. He was truly so handsome. It wasn’t fair he was placed in front of you like this and yet, was so unattainable, “I did not tell you fifty years ago, why would I tell you now?”

“I thought I would try.” You sighed, “Does it mean something bad? You only use it when I mess up.” You asked him once you concluded the worst. He often used that nickname early on when you two had been partnered up. It’s use seemed to fade as you had gotten more competent. Yet now when you had a bum shoulder rendering you useless he used it once more.

He shook his head quickly, “It is not bad. I can promise you that.” He eased your worried face quickly with his words.

“Well, I suppose I can accept that.” You didn’t want to push feeling oddly unlike yourself in his arms. Usually combative and wanting to pick a friendly fight you felt like doing anything but that. You just wanted to enjoy yourself in his embrace as you knew this moment would likely never occur again.

He knew you better than anybody else. He noticed how shy you were suddenly acting. Was it the nickname? Were you tired? Was the poison moving faster than he could? He looked down seeing you continue to fight sleep. Usually so powerful you looked helpless in his arms. His eyes softened as he realized how much trust you had to have in him to relax into him like so. You were always on guard, always ready. Frodo was alive because of that instinct. But now you were at his will and he felt more responsible for you than he had ever before.

“It’s Sindarin.” He admitted wanting to give you something more as you had given him exactly what he wanted, you.

Feeling your eyes getting heavier you replied with tiredness in your voice, “I had concluded that Strider. You did tell me you were raised by elves, remember?” Lazily, you smiled up to him laughing as best as your body would allow you.

“It is Sindarin for little one.” He finally admitted to you, “Or mouse.” He looked down at you nervously hoping you’d have a decent reaction to it.

“Mouse? Little one? I should be offended.” You grinned not taking offense in the slightest for you found it oddly adorable he had given you such a sweet nickname.

“Do not take offense.” He spoke quickly, “I did not mean it that way.”

“Relax, Strider.” You yawned once more feeling your head rest of his chest heavily. Sleep was coming on quick, “I am just teasing you. You are so easy to mess with.”

“Sleep now, little one.” He gave you another gentle squeeze letting you know he had you. It was alright. You could trust him as always. And trust him you did as you found yourself in a quick sleep right back in his arms.

“There you are.” Strider’s voice pulled you from the sleep that had overcome you on the road. When you blinked you were stunned to be laying in front of a fireplace in a rather grandeur room. You must have made it all the way to Rivendell which meant you had been out for days at this point.

“Are we in Rivendell?” You tried to sit up before his hands pushed you back down, gently, into the plush elven bed.

“You must lie still.” He ordered before answering your question, “Yes. You have been unconscious for nearly four days. Lord Elrond was unsure if you were to make it.” His eyes were laced with something you had hardly seen on the man in your many years of knowing him, fear. He looked scared, terrified. Yet almost relieved seeing you awake.

“Four days?” You swallowed back your surprise.

He gave you a quick not, “Almost, you even have Lord Elrond worried.”

You sighed, “I did not mean to do that.”

He moved closer, sitting on your bedside. Taking his chance he brushed your stray hair away from your face, “You always do that.”

You just looked up at him, “What?”

“It is just that you always care for others before yourself. As much as I love that about you. Think about yourself for once. Care for yourself. You are far too kind.” He spilled his thoughts to you for he was too tired. Too scared at the thought of losing you he was not going to hold back his tongue anymore for he knew he loved you. He wanted you. He couldn’t see you with anyone else but him.

You blinked back surprise at his outright confession. Sure, the two of you had danced around any feelings for quite literally years. But you would have none of that, as sweet as it was, “You did not say that when I slayed half an orc army with you.” You spoke with a hint of playfulness in your tone. It was your favorite game to play with the man.

He laughed a full hearty laugh. A laugh so pure, one you’d heard so rarely from the man. He only laughed like that when he was at peace. Happy. Comfortable and relaxed. A sight that you could really get used to.

“For that is true.” His eyes searched your for any sign of pain. Any sign that something was wrong. He could not quite believe you were finally awake and chatting with him like nothing had happened. Like you hadn’t been knocked out cold for that long. When Lord Elrond had started to get nervous. Strider was not dumb. He grew up with Elves and knew their tells. When an elf grew worried he knew things were not boding well.

You felt yourself shrinking under his gaze, “What? Is there something on my face? Because that would be embarrassing. I have been asleep for three days and you let something stay on my face for that long?” You rambled not quite sure what you were doing. He was making you nervous. Strider never made you nervous. But when he gave you that earnest look you completely lost yourself to him. How fickle your brain was behaving.

He bit back a laugh sensing your nerves, “No. There is nothing marking your face. I was simply admiring you was all.”

Was he trying to kill you? Your cheeks were sure to be a bright rosy, red for his second confession was bolder than his first, “Admiring me?”

“Indeed. I would not be the man that I am had you not been by me all these years. I thought I was going to lose you. But now that you are back I get to admire you.” He spoke with that soft voice he only used ever so often. It was fascinating to get to know an entirely different side of the man you thought you knew through and through.

“I deserve no such thing.” You laughed trying to shake off the seriousness of his gaze down on you. He did not find your statement the least bit humorous.

“While I do not agree I also do not wish to argue. How do you feel?” He changed the subject even though he might have enjoyed watching you squirm. Placing a cool hand on your forehead, he did not miss the small jump you had in response to his contact. Touches he had given you so often before had changed. Things had shifted between the two of you and for the first time in a long time he was excited. He had a purpose. His purpose.

You gulped back your argument and nodded in agreement, “I feel fine, will you let me sit up now or must I stare up all afternoon?” You quipped hoping your quick mouth would let him know just how fine you really felt.

Shaking his head, he held out a hand for your to take, “You may sit up, but take it slow.”

“I was shot by an arrow Strider. I did not get my legs cut off.” You took his hand letting him pull you up to sit next to him.

He rolled his eyes yet still held admiration in them, “That mouth will get you in trouble one day.” His eyes traced your face as you too just looked at him. It didn’t feel quite real that he could have admired you just as you him. Had you been blind?

You hummed in agreement not being able to take your eyes off his, “Not if you are there to protect me.”

It was he who broke the staring game going on between the two of you as he collected his thoughts, “Indeed, little one. There is nothing truer than that statement.” Gaining some courage, he took your hands in his giving them a gentle squeeze, “Please never scare me like that again for I cannot bear it.”

“I will try my hardest, as long as you promise to do the same.” You nodded towards him feeling bashful in front of the man you’d grown to love. The man you had only hoped to love you as he did. The man you never could have imagined felt the same. Yet here you were.

Giving your hands a reassuring squeeze, he simply nodded to you, “I promise, little one. I promise with my whole heart.”

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lady-adaneth · 27 days

Text

Sleepless Nights ⋆.˚ ⭒₊ .

For those out there struggling to sleep, I present to you...

Synopsis:

An elf from Rivendell, you eagerly joined the fellowship. However, many harrowing months into your journey, you constantly find yourself struggling to sleep.

Maybe a confession and a certain blond elf can help soothe your insomnia...

Legolas x gender-neutral elf!reader

No use of y/n

Prequel to Romantic Inclinations, but can also be read as a one-shot

Want to feel truly immersed? Listen while you read Encampment | Forest Sounds

Content Warnings:

Spice scale: it’s spicy…but like it could also be spicier

Intimate physical touch + allusions to more

Word Count:

1.5k words

Translation Dictionary:

Meleth Nín = My Love

Mellon Nín = My friend

Aman = Blessed Land

⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚

On tumultuous nights in which Legolas would undertake watch, the Fellowship and seemingly the entire forest would fall into a deep, weary slumber. Despite dozing constantly during your trek across the foothills, much to Gimli's envy, when day finally welcomed the night your worries continued plaguing your mind. You had laid staring up at the stars, knowing exactly which ones would lead you home to Rivendell. Despite the stick digging into your shoulders, it wasn't the thought of a snug bed and safe fire that tempted you, but rather those that you'd left behind. Before you joined the fellowship, there had been whispers of exodus. In the moment you had been hungry for adventure, ignoring the signs, but what if you'd made a mistake? You couldn't help but picture your kin sailing to the Grey Havens, escaping the torment that kept you from a good night's rest.

"Having trouble?" a kindly voice whispered. You briskly shot up, turning towards the source.

He sat back to a tree, vigilantly carving away at a piece of wood with his dagger. Despite your weapons lying comfortably around you; daggers by your ankle and spear by your side, Legolas's bow and quiver remained strapped to his back.

"Well that can't be comfortable," you teased, imagining the feel of a bow poking into your back. Suddenly you felt better about the stick.

"I could say the same thing about your arrangement," his head pointed towards your spot on the floor, eyes transfixed on his work.

"Hm, touché," you smirked, a pleasant silence falling between you.

The woods were immensely calm; the stridulation of insects a harmonious melody drowned out by a singular frog and its stark croak. The tranquility reflected in your companions, whose soft huffs of air you could hear below the crackling of the firewood. Maybe it was your expansive hearing that kept you from a restful sleep. You suddenly couldn't help but envy your newfound friends. Your thoughts were interrupted by the carving of wood as Legolas began to struggle with a corner, sawing forcefully at the bark.

"And what, exactly, are you making at this ungodly hour?" You stared at him with the corner of your eye, feigning annoyance.

"Wouldn't you like to know," the sawing continued.

"Mhm, what an astute observation" you mocked, standing and taking your place next to him, letting your head rest against the tree's homely bark.

After only a few weeks spent together you and Legolas had become settled in each other's presence. Through all of your teasing, you found it incredibly difficult to find anything about him to dislike. This unnerved you in a way, that is, how effortlessly you felt yourself falling for the princeling.

The silence returned once more, but the sawing had halted. You turned your head, finding Legolas already staring at you. His eyes were fawn-like and the tips of his ears began turning pink. Despite his curious embarrassment at being caught, he didn't shy away.

"What's on your mind?" you can feel your cheeks blossoming as the question leaves your mouth, your effort to prevent the blush only making it worse.

"How about you tell me what's keeping you from a good-night's rest," his eyes shone with genuine concern as he returned to his work. You felt the tension loosening, your playful demeanor returning once more.

"And what do I get for revealing such a thing, Prince?" You crossed your arms as if it could shield your fluttering heart.

"Whatever you want," the string was being pulled tighter once more.

You tried to keep your composure, confused as to how he was flustering you so.

"How about...you tell me what you're carving and why?" His eyes seemed to widen nervously at your proposal, only adding to your curiosity.

"Hmph, deal," he reached out his hand, and you leisurely reached your hand out. His handshake was gentle and his palms sweaty.

"But earnestly, mellon nín, what is plaguing you?" he said softer than before, suddenly aware of the others sleeping around the fire.

A sigh escaped your chest before you even registered it. You never told anyone about your troubles, and yet somehow it felt natural with Legolas. You weren't sure how much to say.

"I just...haven't found my sleep to be restful. Not since we left-," you swallowed hard.

You glanced at him as you attempted to compose yourself, expecting him to encourage you with his words. But he sat silently, knowing present in the depth of his stare.

He silently nodded, urging you to continue speaking.

You continued.

"When we first left, I had no hesitancy. And yet, as we continue, both our struggles here and those at home...trouble me," a breath enters your lungs. "I anticipated that this journey would be difficult, yes, but not impossible. The latter grows more apparent every day," you worried as to his response, and suddenly you found the ground to be rather intriguing. You began sifting the dirt through your fingers, soothing yourself as your cheeks turned red in shame. It was unlike you, let alone any elf, to be so vulnerable with another.

Suddenly, you felt a hand on your shoulder; urging you to look up. Legolas's face came into view, eyes soft and glowing with firelight.

"I'm glad I am not the only one who feels this uncertainty," he smirked, though his eyes appeared more sorrowful than anything. You breathed a sigh of relief, shoulders relaxing all at once.

"We're not meant to lose hope at the prospect of another day not appearing before us-" He halted himself.

"-But, if it's any consolation, I'm glad my last day would be spent amongst all of these wonderful individuals," you chuckled at his words, fighting back a tear. "And if I could visit Aman with anyone...," he paused, seeming to collect his thoughts.

"...I would want it to be with you," his eyes lingered on your face, his demeanor more nervous than you had ever witnessed.

He searched your face for any sign. Disdain, perhaps? Or maybe acceptance.

Your breathing hitched as his eyes dipped down to your lips. Your arms could no longer muffle the sound of your hammering heart.

You were suddenly made aware of the hand on your shoulder, the way Legolas's hair seemed to burn more so than glow, the way his eyes sparkled with moonlight as they looked at you with the reverence of a thousand worshippers.

"Seems we have the same wish," you said quietly. Your words lingered as neither of you moved. Legolas sat motionless, not wanting to back away...or overstep.

You noticed.

Raising your hand to his cheek, you steadily moved your face closer to his. Your lips lingered over his for a second, before you moved back slightly; glimpsing into his eyes, searching for permission, before returning fluidly to his lips.

His lips encompassed your bottom lip gently, before pulling back to look at you. Your heart fluttered as he peered at you with an indescribable sense of wonder; impressing a sense of fey upon him. A smirk appeared on his face as he leaned back into your chest, his lips smashing against yours.

You could feel the string in your heart snap, all semblance of control leaving your body.

His arms wound around the back of your neck, and without a thought you moved your legs around his waist; straddling him as his back was pressed against the tree.

A small grunt escaped his lips as your hips gently made contact with his, the angles of his face sharp beneath your calloused fingertips. He gently pried your hands from his face as his lips trailed down your cheek,

then your jawline-

and then to your barely exposed neck.

You let out an audible gasp as his teeth gently bit into your skin, your hands finding their place in his hair. Legolas began shifting his hips, a pleasurable moan escaping your lips.

"SHHH," the sound emanated from the campfire.

His face leapt away from your neck, searching for the source.

Your hand covered your mouth as you fought back a roaring bout of laughter. Legolas's face was blooming as he held his breath.

Had they heard you? If Gimli had spotted the two of you neither of you would hear the end of it.

You both waited for a moment, searching for any sign of movement amongst your supposedly slumbering friends.

You couldn't believe what just happened. Next time, you resolved to find a more private location.

You let out a sigh, slumping into his chest; arms wounding around his neck as his arms found their way around your waist.

"So...who taught you that," you whispered, giggling to yourself at the thought of his lips on your neck...the claim his teeth had made on your skin.

"A certain, close source, that I shall not divulge," his hot breath lingered on your ear, his voice coarse.

"Hm, so that's how Arwen got those marks,"

"I hope you don't mind, meleth nín,"

"Not in the slightest-" you pulled back slightly, forehead resting against his.

"-I shall wear it like a badge of honor," you kissed him on the forehead.

A certain twinkle shone in Legolas's eyes as he leaned in to kiss the bite mark with enough gentleness to make you cry yet again.

"I think we may awaken the entire forest if we continue," a blush formed on your cheeks.

"Let's get some rest then," he smiled, his cheeks painted crimson at the thought.

You stood slightly, unwinding your legs from his hips. You slid to the floor, resting your head on his now outstretched legs. Without a word, he grabbed the blanket from his side, placing it around your drowsy form.

Legolas began to hum an unfamiliar tune, fingers making lazy strokes across your face. All you could hear was his steady heartbeat and voice, drowning out all else.

Your heart swelled with warmth as you fell asleep in Legolas's arms for the first time.

✩✩✩✩

If you have any criticisms or requests please send them my way! Have a restful day/evening <3

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sugairsstuff · 4 months

Note

hey… 💋 was wondering if you could write something for aragorn… you know who this is. you know what i’m asking for.

@theactofknowing yes i know who this is. here is payment. (p.s. they also write!)

(credit to @cafekitsune for the divider)

to bloom

aragorn x half-elf gn/reader

warnings: descriptions of nudity

summary: you and aragorn have known each other for years, resulting in the two of you inevitably falling in love with each other though never admitting it. though, it turns out all a love confession took was a bar of soap and you two bathing in a lake together.

Exhaustion has long since seeped into your muscles, the motion of placing one boot in front of the other becoming a rhythmic pattern you refuse to break for you know you won’t be able to pick it back up again.

Strong winds roll through the grassy fields, making a mess of your untied hair and causing your eyes to catch the billowing of a dark cloak in front of you. You raise your head slightly to gaze at the owner of the garment: reluctant heir of Gondor, unnamed leader of the little band titled the Fellowship the group of you have formed- and although commonly known as Strider, this part-elf is simply Aragorn to you.

The pair of you had been picked up by the group of hobbits you traveled with in Bree, helping them to evade the infamous Nazgûl and inevitably being brought along the daunting journey laid out for them. You had first met Aragorn years ago when he had first left Rivendell. You led a similar fate to Aragorn after you befriended him, leaving the safety of your current life for one of adventure alongside the ranger. Poets would say you were seeking meaning, you joke that you were bored.

The seed of friendship you and Aragorn had planted then was watered through the experiences you shared on your travels, the memories that wrapped themselves like vines around that bond holding you two together, and every laugh and secret you both managed out of each other in peaceful times. But then you two began to look at each softer, speak to each other quieter for the words were meant only for the two of you, touch each other in fleeting moments that may not have been accidents- and then that seed grew into a budding flower of more that you gathered up and have held deep within your chest. Though no matter how much you both watered the bond of your friendship since then, that flower has never seemed to bloom.

Aragorn finally looks over his shoulder to the rest of you, and everyone momentarily pauses as he lifts his hand to guide everyone’s attention to a forestry patch of land seated a few hundred metres south of the hill you all waited on. “We’ll take camp there for tonight. We won’t reach Lothlorien by dusk, and I haven’t seen a better place for cover yet.” he instructs. Nobody seems to disagree, not even the opinionated elf or eager dwarf who both wait at your sides. Once three of four hobbits start celebrating, enthusiastically asking who would hunt for dinner, you offer Aragorn a small smile and nod of assurance. He repeats the gesture and turns to lead the way, but not without a response to the impatient hobbits, “You all can hunt dinner for us tonight, how does that sound?” which silences them.

You hurry a pair of paces to match the long strides of Aragorn, who slows down when he notices exactly who is on his tail. “You look exhausted,” you tell him, amusement flickering in your eyes as you look to him.

“As do you,” Aragorn shoots back, his brows raised in subtle entertainment at your rather honest opening line.

You scoff lightheartedly and get to the point of your words, reaching down to the satchel at your side to unbutton the flap and reveal the contents. Aragorn leans over you to peer into the bag, finding four small bars of soap.

“From the travelling merchant we crossed earlier?” the heir asks, and you nod proudly as if this was a noble accomplishment on your end.

“I do not have confidence in myself to survive another day with the… natural aroma of our companions,” you jest, and pause, “or you.”

And to your pleasant surprise, Aragorn’s chin tilts back- outlining the sharp line of his jaw- as the man lets a genuine laugh escape his lips. “I would not say you are so innocent in the matter, either,” he says, the closed-lipped smile on his face not faltering as you send a warning glare his way.

You feel lighter as you walk alongside Aragorn the rest of the way to the tree border, smiling like a giddy child for longer than need be over the silly interaction. You and Aragorn maintain the front as the lot of you push further into the forest until Aragorn stops, glances around, and looks to you and Legolas for approval.

You turn to look over your shoulder, and when you see that the forest has become dense enough to block the border to the grasslands from your line of sight, you say, “I think we are far enough in.”

Legolas had already found perch on a fallen log, fiddling with the strings of his bow, and so you and Aragorn simply take that as a sign he agrees.

As the sun dips behind the distant hills, the shadows of the trees encompassing you all extend until the soft starlight slipping through the canopy dims them. Now, camp is set up, and the fire Aragorn once was stroking while Gimli cooked the hunted meal of the evening has been forgotten. Most of your companions have spaced out their places for the night, all but the hobbits who crowd next to their friend Frodo.

You gingerly place your things down nearby Aragorn’s, and when you offer to take first watch Aragorn’s volunteer to do the same comes not much later than yours. You both sit next to each other as you listen to the idle noises of your companions turn to quietness, and quietness to silence save for the surrounding sounds of the forest.

You catch Aragorn glance to you in your peripheral vision which tempts you to steal a glance back. When you do, you are surprised to see he has risen from the leafy floor he was sitting on and began crossing the few metres that separated the two of you. You stay sitting, craning your neck as Aragorn now stands a few feet in front of you. You tilt your head in questioning.

“There is a lake nearby, I saw it when I scouted the perimeters earlier,” his voice is low, quiet, though you see his Adam’s apple bob slightly as he swallows, “May I borrow the soap?”

Any hint of drowsiness has been stolen from your body, your heart beating rapidly as you nod to him. You do not like how the thought of the man doing the simple act of bathing makes your body blaze like a catching fire. You dig into your nearby satchel and hand him one of the square, neutral coloured bars. Aragorn turns the dry thing in his hand a few times before he turns and walks away.

You do not watch him go and rather turn back to your satchel to close the button of it, wondering why the crunching of leaves beneath Aragorn’s walking feet ceased so swiftly. Curiously, you turn to check, finding Aragorn returning your gaze.

Aragorn clears his throat. “Would you like to join me?”

You can only blink, feeling that flame return to your body as his words act like oxygen and spread its tendrils through you.

“Yes, I would,” you say, though the words come out more breathless than you had expected.

You feel Aragorn’s eyes on you as you stand, dusting off your trousers in the most awkward of ways before padding over to where he stands. He only looks down at you, the look in his eyes gentle yet unreadable before he quietly turns and begins to guide you to this lake.

“What of the others?” you ask, glancing back.

“I do not wish to bathe with Gimli,” Aragorn responds with blunt humour, looking back at you with a raised brow.

“No, I mean that we promised to watch the camp,” you correct, managing not to roll your eyes.

“The lake is not far. We will know if something happens.” he assures.

Although it may be easy for him to remain alert, you are not sure if you can trust your instincts once you are distracted with the sight of Aragorn’s bare body. Aragorn seems to see apprehension on your face, and makes a bold move of reaching back to brush his fingers against yours. Then, your fingers close around each other’s like lock and key, and Aragorn is gently pulling you until you reach a clearing.

The trees wrap around the small, oval lake like a wreath. The water is not murky, a sign that it is untouched, and instead when you peer into it you see both your reflection and the moon above.

When you turn to see what Aragorn is doing, unsure if you are welcome to begin undressing so openly, you see that the ranger has already begun to do exactly that. You heart leaps and your chest flutters so much that you think that bud in you is instead a cocoon that has just sprouted a dancing butterfly.

Aragorn already unclasped his cloak from around his neck, discarding it nearby on a rock that borders the lake’s edge. He disarms, setting his weapons on the same rock should he need them, then reaches for the hem of his tunic. The man pulls the fabric off of him slowly, revealing to you the muscles beneath that you have only been able to imagine until now. You gaze at him, following the movement of his hands until you see them stop. Your eyes flick up slightly and are met with an amused half-smirk on Aragorn’s end. That flame in you moved to burn in your cheeks as you turn your head away, seeing Aragorn slowly walk towards you in the edge of your vision.

“Do not be nervous,” he says quietly, his hand turning your jaw slowly so you meet his eyes again. You feel your heart in your ears as his attention moves lower, lower, lower, and then back. “Would you like me to help?”

You can only nod. He smiles and nods back before his hands move to the clasps of your cloak, working it undone with ease. He sets your weapons aside somewhere- too distracted to take note- before he pulls your tunic off of your raised arms. Aragorn takes a step closer, removing the rest of your undergarments before a turn of his head causes his lips to brush against the shell of your half-pointed ear, “Beautiful.” he murmurs, evoking a pleasant shiver that slips down your spine.

His hands, resting on each side of your waist, move downwards until they reach the band of your trousers. You kick off your boots in silent encouragement, and Aragorn turns his head further to look down at you properly. Then he begins to slowly drag the last few pieces of your clothing that kept you decent, and once you stepped out of them- Aragorn now kneeling before you as he set aside your aside garments- you heard both of your breaths hitch.

Aragorn rises again, your breaths heavy as you both glance in the direction of whence you came, checking that none of your sleeping friends have noticed your absences. You look back at Aragorn first and see how the moonlight betrays Aragorn as he slowly drifts his attention back to you, illuminating the red tinting of his cheeks. He takes his sweet time in simply looking at your body, and you hear him sigh softly- a gentle, sweet exhale. The amusing thought of him swooning over you like a damsel crosses your mind.

Aragorn seems to notice the light dancing in your eyes, and he takes your hand and leads you to the rocky edges of the lake. “After you,” he tells you, and you feel as his eyes never leave you as you descend into the water. You wade around, taking note that water in the area you stand reaches your middle, and watch as Aragorn strips himself of the rest of his clothing.

Shamelessly, you stare as he undos his trousers, slipping them off alongside his undergarment and blushing when he sees you looking. You offer a coy smile in return, reaching over the edge to grab the soap he left on it as he enters the water alongside you.

“You first,” you tell him, and he obeys by wading over to where you stand. As you dip the soap into the water, getting some of the substance on to your hands, you feel a little grateful that the water is just high enough to reach Aragorn’s waist. He remains where he is as you work the soap into his skin, your heart jumping each time he sighs when you press into a particularly sore muscle. His skin gleams with moonlight and sparkles with droplets of water that cling to the short strands of hair on his chest leading downwards. You wash his arms, focus on his shoulders, and when he turns around to let you do his chest your hands linger there.

“Friends do not do these things,” is what Aragorn decides to say to break the comfortable silence.

“No, they do not,” you agree, your voice wavering with uncertainty. You keep your gaze on his chest, cupping water in your hand as you rinse off the soap. You let him wash the parts of him below the surface of the water, grinning as you can’t help but steal glances. But he says nothing else, nor do you, as you quietly find a seat on a ledge in the rock. Aragorn moves to stand between your legs, leaning back so his head is nearly against your chest.

You gather soap on your hands once more, lathering the suds through his hair. You watch from above as he sighs and closes his eyes, giving in to temptation as he leans further back into you. You massage the soap into his dark oak curls, watching his eyelashes flutter against his cheek and the corners of his pink lips tug upwards ever so slightly. You tilt his head back a little more as you cup water into your free hand, pouring it along the back of his head and watch as it drags the soap off of his curls that resist straightening even when wet.

Before you have the chance to climb down from your perch on the rock, Aragorn reaches a hand to your calf. His fingers dance along the skin, as if exploring, and travel up until they reach your thigh. By then, he’s looking up at you, and you are looking down at him, and his face is so close to yours you know that you both are only trying to see who caves first.

And it is Aragorn who does. He tilts his chin only slightly, which is enough to capture your lips in his as you lean over him. Your hands move to drape around his neck as his continue their journey up your thighs. He lifts you by the waist, bringing you back down to the lake floor with him so that it is he who must bend downwards to keep kissing you. You press your chest into his, standing practically between his legs as you both run your hands over each other’s bodies. Aragorn leaves a spark everywhere his fingers brush- your waist, your legs, back, chest, neck- he is everywhere but it is still not enough.

You know now what it feels like to bloom as that bud deep within your chest comes to life as Aragorn’s hands find their final place on each side of your face. His thumbs stroke gently in a lover’s caress as he finally breaks the kiss, though he does not move far. The look he gives you as you both stand together- chests heaving and lips puffy red with adrenaline pumping through your veins- tells you that Aragorn has just discovered what that feels like too, for there has been a matching budding flower in him, as well.

“We are not friends,” Aragorn finally says. You have never heard his voice so soft, “we are more.”

#aragorn x reader #aragorn #aragorn x you #aragorn x y/n #lotr #lord of the rings #the fellowship of the ring #the fellowship x reader #the lord of the rings #tlotr

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moth-mimic · 3 months

Text

Hazy Memories

‣ pairing: Legolas x reader

‣ words: 950+

‣ content: fluff, human reader, gn!reader

──────────────────

summary: after the Fellowship settles down for the night, you find that the cold leaves you unable to fall asleep. A walk in the woods ends in a moment more touching than you could have imagined.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The terrain you— along with the rest of the Fellowship— trekked along was undeniably a difficult route to take. The temperature had plummeted significantly before the group had even reached the mountain of Caradhras, which led to the decision to make camp before nightfall would bring even deadlier weather.

Now you tossed and turned in your sleeping bag, your thoughts constantly lingering on the persistent, icy wind that was currently nipping at your skin. Most of your companions had somehow already found their way to hazy dreams: the hobbits were huddled together and sharing each other’s warmth; Aragorn, Gimli, and Boromir had each found their own place to rest; and Gandalf was off meditating somewhere, you were sure. The only one who was wide awake was Legolas, who was currently on watch due to his lack of need for sleep.

But through the fog the cold had brought upon your mind, you could still make out the memories of the past evening. Although the long stories of the mountain that Gandalf had told the group were already lost to you, the interactions you had with the blond elf were clear as a sunny day. The thought of him brought an unexplainable warmth throughout your chest before you urged it away. Your feelings for him were based purely on admiration, that was all.

You had always worried about him, which was why you had immediately offered him your cloak once the temperature had began to lower. You felt bad for him, seeing him in simple layers compared to the others. He had given you a curious look at first before a small, warm smile made its way to his face.

“I am alright, thank you.”

“But aren’t you cold?” You continued, the crease in your expression making it seem as if the mere thought of him being cold horrified you.

He shook his head softly, pressing your cloak back towards you. “Not necessarily, although I do appreciate your offer.”

And before you could protest he was already in front of the group again. You watched him gingerly step upon the snowy ground each time he moved, his grace leaving barely a trace. You sighed, the warmth of your breath drifting from your lips. Only when one of the hobbits pushed you forward did you snap out of your trance.

Tonight you were in that same trance again, your restlessness guiding you from your sleeping bag and towards the dense woodland. You weren’t sure where you were headed, if you were headed anywhere, but hopefully your movement would be enough to grant you a bit of warmth. You found your way to a relatively clear path between the trees before your eyes caught sight of a light trail of footsteps. You followed them, wishing for the elf to still be there, yet the trail stopped at a deep decline in the ground. You looked past the cliffside and to the star-speckled sky as if you were waiting for something. After a moment you eventually sighed and intended to turn back around, yet something stirred from the leaves overhead.

With one swift movement you grabbed the pocket knife on your waistband, ready to fight whatever was there— or rather, whoever. When your eyes opened again you were met with ones of sapphire-blue, paired with an amused grin framed by strands of smooth, delicate hair.

“Y/N.”

“I- Legolas!” You stammer, quickly withdrawing the weapon you had faced him with.

He looks you up and down with one swift glance, clearly not affected. “You’re awake. Why?”

“I just can’t sleep. Too cold, I guess.” You answer, not mentioning the fact that you were too busy thinking of how graceful he is. Or that you purposefully followed his footsteps here. He nods.

“Your cheeks are horribly red.” His response makes your eyes widen before you try to relax again, hoping the action was subtle enough that he didn’t notice. He continues as his gaze travels along your face, almost as if he’s analyzing each feature. As he does so, the back of his hands lift to lightly stroke your cheek. Heat blooms under his touch. “You’re not familiar with the cold, are you?”

“And I’m guessing you’re so warm with your… what, only two layers?” You scoff, taking a small step back and turning your head nervously. He looks as if he’s about to respond somehow, yet he cuts himself short. His line of sight travels down to his feet as if he’s nervous.

“Well, I suppose I haven’t been thinking about it. I am very cold, to tell the truth. Freezing, even.” As he confesses this, he glances at you from the corner of his eye as if he’s expecting something.

“I was right!” You exclaim with victory before settling down and providing your care. You join hands with him to share your warmth. “Here, take my cloak. I can do without a layer.”

“No, no, I can’t have you be even colder—“

“I insist! I’m sure you’ve been barely surviving with those mere layers.” You quickly take off your outermost layer, settling it onto his shoulders. You don’t notice the shade of soft pink on his cheeks. “There we go.”

You both stand there for a moment, Legolas looking like he’s still missing something. “I don’t think it’s enough.”

You raise your eyebrow. “Really? Well, if you want another—“

Before you can finish your sentence, the cloak envelopes your upper body, the elf using his arm to support you as he pulls you towards him. You instinctively stiffen before his voice washes over you, calm and easy like a stream. “I think this is perfect.” The tension leaves you at once, instead replaced with the warmth of his body, nurturing like rays of sun. For a moment you believe you’re back home.

Huddled within your cloak, the two of you settle down at the foot of a tree. Your hands wrap around to warm his back as his fingers run gently through your hair, lulling you to sleep. As you fade into unconsciousness, he speaks to you of the old forest at his own home: the towering trees, the soothing melodies of birds, the vibrant green of flora. Your dreams consist of a realm you have never set foot on.

When Aragorn finds the two of you next morning, he doesn’t dare tell you that elves do not get cold.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

#Spotify #legolas x reader #legolas #lotr #lord of the rings #the fellowship of the ring #legolas x you #legolas x y/n #legolas greenleaf #lotr x reader

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theglassofmiddleearth · 2 years

Text

Incorrect Quotes part 3

Legolas: Do not think I won't kill you dwarf. It would be my pleasure.

Y/N: *Quietly* I could give you pleasure.

Everyone: What?

Y/N: What?

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kindlythevoid · 8 months

Text

One of the best parts of Fellowship of the Ring is finding out about Aragorn and Bilbo’s friendship. Like I’ve seen people talk about how they collaborated on the song together, but I have yet to see people talk about this:

“[Bilbo] turned to Strider. ‘Where have you been, my friend? Why weren’t you at the feast? The Lady Arwen was there.’”

Bilbo Baggins, The Fellowship of the Ring pg. 261

Like. Bilbo was definitely one of Aragorn/Arwen’s chief shippers and no one can change my mind about that.

#Help I forgot their ship name #aragorn x arwen #but anyway Bilbo and Aragorn is an underrated friendship that needs to be brought up more #Especially since Bilbo is actually one of the closest in age to Aragorn in Rivendell #only like 40 years apart #As compared to the couple thousand years of Elladan and Elrohir #you can’t tell me those two didn’t bond over the crazy shit in the last ~hundred years they lived through #or that Bilbo didn’t use “well I’m older” at least once in conversation with him #because Bilbo’s a little shit and has to remind Aragorn that he’s the youngest guy there before the Fellowship and the Council #just imagine Bilbo watching Aragorn and Arwen skirt around each other for 17 years bc they have to wait until Aragorn’s king to get married #kiki re-re-re-reads the lord of the rings #just yelling into the void #the lord of the rings #aragorn #bilbo baggins #arwen undomiel #the fellowship of the ring #tolkien quotes #quotes

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secretagentsociety · 1 year

Text

lotr character react to you giving them flower

Lotr character react to you giving them a flower which in your land meant ily but just gandalf knows it

legolas

• oh he will accept it with open heart

• it could honestly be any flowers even some that are considered a weed as long as it is from you he'll love and cherish it nonetheless

• let's say you gave the flower to him when you're alone with him,atleast you thought you're alone with him oh but you really aren't alone with him bcuz somehow good ol gandalf is there

• and gandalf gave you the stare

• when he finds out what it actually meant oh he'll love the flower even more may even give you a flower himself

Aragorn

• he'll be confused by it but he's not so oblivious to the meaning of it,he knew it meant some sort of effection he just doesn't know the extend of it

• he'll tuck the flower in between his belt to show off,when gandalf told him about it and how your people only gave flowers to those you feel strongly about he'll feel a tad bit guilty for not taking care of the flower more

• he doesn't give you a flower but he gave you something of his culture that have the same meaning

Frodo

• will fiddle with it while he stared off and even chewed on the stem of it depending on the flower type

• will he feel guilty once he find out?oh yes he'll find another flower to give you while apologising and he'll look awkward doing so

• you'll have to tell him it's alright or else he'll be very very very upset on himself that partnered with the ring having constantly finding a way to plague his mind is not a good combination

Sam

• he'll BLUSH,lover boy over here would put the flower in a safe area inside the backpack somewhere

•when he loses the backpack in mordor he'll feel guilty abt it

• and when gandalf told him abt the meaning he'll feel even more guilty, Honestly he'll make it up by almost plucking his garden dry of flowers just to apologize

Merry

• will wear it as an ornament somewhere in his body

• may or may not show off to pippin and be like "look i got a flower, where's your flower?oh ya got none?too bad"

• oh when gandalf overheard their little banter he'll come over and be all "oh you're a lucky one merry giving people flowers meant a great deal to y/n's people"

• yes he will show it off even harder now idk how but he will somehow

Pippin

• he will be delighted to receive a flower from you and will hold it in his hands (yes he hold one flower with two hands) while staring at it lovingly

• once gandalf told him abt it i kid you not he will 100% eat it no excuses what type of flower it is he's not a coward he WILL eat the flower

• and he will feel no remorse,his reasoning? "Now your love will forever be bound to me!" He'd say with a cheery voice

• you :"so if i gave you a wooden carving you'll eat it too?" Him : "is it made of acorn wood?"

• for clarifications yes,yes he will eat it too,there is no running from this,he will NOM.

#lotr x you #lotr x reader #reader insert #Lort fanfic #pippin x reader #frodo x reader #sam x reader #legolas x reader #aragorn x reader #merry x reader #fellowship x reader

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emmyspov · 1 year

Text

Coming home (Haldir x reader)

author's note: i finished this while eating breakfast this morning - can you tell i'm sad and touch starved?? this is totally self-indulgent, i love him :( haldir brushes through reader's hair, otherwise no descriptions of looks. please reblog this if you like it and let me know if you want to be tagged in the future <3 english (still) isn’t my first language. also, please don't copy my work :)

warnings: nothing i'm aware of, just domestic fluff :)

word count: 0.9k

edit is my own :)

Haldir opened the door and stepped into the hallway. He just came home from a long and exhausting meeting with Lady Galadriel, but when he noticed the sweet smell of baked goods and spotted you asleep in your shared bed, clothed in one of his night gowns, his heart felt light again.

He knew you were waiting for him to return by the lit candle on your bedside drawer and the open book next to you and for only a second, an overwhelming amount of love knocked the air out of his lungs.

You looked absolutely ethereal. You always did, but seeing you dressed in his clothes in your shared home did something to the elf. The way you trusted him with your life and how you loved him endlessly made him emotional.

"What have you done to me, my love", he murmured and stepped closer to you. "You own my heart."

After getting ready for bed himself, the ellon carefully laid down next to you, trying not to wake you - but no luck.

"Haldir?" You turned around to your husband, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes.

"Shh. Sleep, meleth. You work so much", Haldir spoke quietly and cupped your cheek with his hand.

You leaned into the touch, closing your eyes again to really relish in the gentle contact.

"Look at yourself, marchwarden", you murmured and sighed softly. "You're gone for months and I know you don't get enough rest during your patrols. And when you come home, you take care of me. I admire your protectiveness, but you have to look after yourself, too."

Your husband's hand wandered from your cheek to the side of your head, carefully brushing through your hair before it settled on the small of your back, pulling you close to him.

"For me, looking after myself means being here, at home, with you. You bring me endless happiness, my love."

You let your head fall onto his chest as you wrapped your arms around his waist.

"Gi melin."

At your words, Haldir pulled you even closer into his side if that was even still possible and pressed a kiss to your forehead, letting his lips linger there.

"You're too good to me", you whispered, but the elf shook his head.

"You deserve everything, meleth. And one day, I'll figure out how to give it to you."

It was your turn to shake your head before you kissed his jaw. "You are everything I could ever want, ever need. Your presence alone eases my hard days and makes my good ones better. I know my heart is safe with you."

Haldir was at a loss for words. He never thought someone would come along who'd see more in him than a marchwarden and yet here you were, looking at him as if he himself had put the stars in the sky.

Still, he didn't know what to say to you. He was never good with romantic speeches and he despised it. You deserved to be wooed with words, too.

So instead, he cupped your face in his hands and leaned down to press his lips against yours.

What he didn't realise was that you weren't waiting for a big love confession. Your husband has always been someone who showed his love through actions - just like he was doing now.

"Hal", you mumbled and fisted his gown to ground yourself. How he was able to make you weak in the knees with a simple kiss was beyond your understanding - not that you cared. All sorts of physical contact with Haldir felt like coming home.

He smiled at your flushed cheeks after you parted and let his thumb brush over your jawline.

"What did you bake earlier", he asked and you needed a second to register his question.

"Oh", you answered, "Rúmil and Orophin came over earlier and asked if the four of us wanted to have a picnic together tomorrow afternoon if you're free. I thought that's a wonderful idea and then I saw that some of the wild berries in our garden are ripe, so I baked a cake with them that we can eat together then."

Haldir could feel himself getting choked up again. You, his found family, getting along with his brothers made his heart skip a beat.

"You are wonderful."

He could see the protest on your lips, but you knew better than to disagree. While he had won all the playful arguments, he was serious about you not talking yourself down.

"Thank you", you whispered instead, accepting the compliment, as you buried your face in the crook of his neck.

The elf chuckled as he felt the heat radiating from your cheeks and let his hand run up and down your lower back soothingly. "You're doing so well, meleth."

You stayed like that, your body half on top of Haldir's, his arm wrapped around you and your hand laying on his chest, right over his heart.

His heartbeat must have lulled you to sleep because the next time the marchwarden looked down at you, your eyes were closed and you were taking deep, even breaths.

Carefully, he turned around to blow out the candle before settling back into the former position, letting his fingers dance over your skin and pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

"Coming home to you will forever be the highlight of my day", he whispered before letting your breathing and the soft glow of the moon lull him into a restful slumber, too.

meleth = love

gi melin = i love you

Taglist: @shadowhuntyi

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witchthewriter · 2 years

Photo

𝐋𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ female, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ

SFW🌿

⭑ He was protective of you before, but now ... he was suffocating.

“Legolas, I can do it myself!” You said, reaching for the knife.

“But you’re with child. My child, and I cannot let you exhaust yourself-”

“I CAN CUT MY OWN CHEESE.”

⭑ Oh and he knew you were pregnant before you even had an inkling. He didn’t want to scare you, or overwhelm you, so he was protective but waited until you missed a period before he was sure. (Sorry that was a really big sentence-)

⭑ Everyone is overjoyed with the news

⭑ Aragorn goes in for a hug and Legolas steps forward. But you give him a stern look, and he backs off.

⭑ Arwen barely leaves your side. She wants to make sure that you’re looked after and comfortable at all times.

⭑ Even though Legolas is on your other side, doing the exact same

⭑ He doesn’t like going on quests/adventures for too long. And asks for a bit of time off to look after you in your late trimester

⭑ Legolas does not care ONE BIT if it’s a girl or a boy. He’s just excited to be a father!

⭑ You kinda want a girl

⭑ And so does Arwen

⭑ But you know this baby will be loved and cherished forever

⭑ Maybe you didn’t have the best upbringing, so you know exactly what not to do.

⭑ If you have morning sickness then he is always up, holding your hair back and cleaning you up

⭑ Loves leaning his head on your stomach. Because he’s desperate to have his daughter/son in his arms

⭑ You go to the physician and have your usual check-ups. Yes, Legolas is always there with you. He doesn’t miss one appointment - not ever

⭑ You were picking out names waiting for the physician a mere month before you baby was due:

“How about ... Ârben?” You mused, trailing your fingers over your swollen belly.

“To honour ... Arwen?” Legolas replied, he stood at the foot of the bed and you knew he was listening to anyone who approached.

“I guess, it’s a mix of reasons...”

⭑ When the physician came in, and examined you once again. His face changed, and both you and Legolas started to panic

⭑ “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Oh ... no, no! Nothing wrong. Just something I guess I missed...”

⭑ There was silence before he spoke again.

“You seem to be having twins.”

NSFW🔞minors dni!

⭑ Your hormones make you hornier. You’re constantly trying to seduce Legolas, even with your swollen belly.

⭑ Doesn’t want to have sex at first because he thinks it might hurt the baby

⭑ But you’re like ??? This is what everyone does, is it not?

⭑ So your sex life doesn’t cease, if anything, you have sex more often

⭑ You basically become a pillow princess though

⭑ He doesn’t want you overexerting yourself

⭑ So sex is basically all about you, because you found that orgasms help you sleep...

⭑ Is not rough though, so sorry if you like that. He doesn’t want to hurt you AT ALL.

⭑ Orgasms feel so much more intense now, because of your hormones.

⭑ And you’re a LOT louder than usual. This made Legolas a tad embarrassed at first, because he was used to being so poised and proper.

⭑ But he got over it, because helping his wife was much more important

#legolas #legolas headcanons #legolas x reader #legolas x you #legolas x y/n #lord of the rings #lord of the rings headcanon #lord of the rings headcanons #fellowship of the ring #legolas x wife #legolas x wife reader #legolas x pregnant wife

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pixie-ass · 3 months

Text

Legolas x Fem!Reader

Short story of where reader is from Rivendell, Elronds niece. Based on the Lord of the Rings and takes place the night before the journey begins. Legolas quickly grows fond of her and promises to protect her, a little bit of fluff and shy legolas.

Will probably be writing more of this/making it a mini series! I have lots of ideas for Legolas ♡

Warnings- None

•°.☆.°•

The night was bright, filled with cheerful voices and songs, warm food to fill everyone's belly and soft liquor to lift spirits. Rivendell was glowing with a new atmosphere, one of awaiting adventure and hopeful travels. Everyone was taking advantage of the joyous evening as the next day would be filled with tense air.

Legolas was enjoying the meal and the drink, the serene music sounding through his ears. Lord Elrond always enjoyed having it over meals, especially tonight since there were so many guests of all types, dwarf, man, hobbit, elf, it was a reunion for important matters. Hobbits were dancing, dwarfs were laughing and demanding more liquor, fussing about how this elvish wine wasn't strong enough, and everything was in good spirits.

Legolas found himself laughing at a certain dwarf who was making a fool of himself; the elves were rather calm, Lord Elrond was chatting with Gandalf and a she-elf on the other end of the table, this caught Legolas' eye. He had met her as Lord Elrond's niece, a young she-elf who was fair and strikingly beautiful; she glowed with all the beauty of the forest and rivers, or at least that's how Legolas could see her. She was unaware of his burning gaze, smiling and moving with such an elegance. Legolas was entranced.

She stood up from the table, bowing as she excused herself from the two men, she walked over to the table, stopping in front of Legolas and picking a few grapes from the bundle that was placed in front of him, his breath caught in his chest as she looked up giving him a small grin as she popped a grape in her mouth. He smiled back politely, standing from his seat, bowing, "Lady Y/n, pleasure to meet you." She giggled in response, "Pleasure to finally meet the famous son of Thranduil. There's no need to be so polite."

She delicately lifted his head with her hand, leaving a ghost touch that tingled on Legolas' pale skin. He smiled, fixing his composure, "The night is beautiful, is it not?" He spoke, looking past the pillars and into the night. The moon was shining brightly and high in the sky, illuminating all below it.

"Yes, indeed, though it's always beautiful." Without notice, she appeared beside Legolas, taking another sip of her drink. "Say, would you join me on a stroll? I know where all the beautiful views are." Legolas nodded, smiling as he looked down at her. He held out his arm for her to take, she intertwined hers with his, smiling as she led him out the dining area, leaving behind all the laughter and noise, strolling into the quiet whistles of the night.

•°•°•

As they walked, Y/n would talk, telling him of random things and stories she'd heard, Legolas listened, nodding in response and enjoying every view they saw. The grounds of Rivendell were notoriously beautiful, much different from the daunting forest of Mirkwood that Legolas knew by memory. They stopped in a hidden seating area in front of the river. A waterfall nearby was singing a soothing song as Y/n settled into a wooden seat, Legols sat across from her, looking across the river and seeing the many majestically built buildings in the distance.

"Rivendell is always more beautiful than I remember." He wasn't staring at the view now. He was staring at the maiden across from him. She smiled brightly as she stared up at the moon, the stars reflecting in her eyes, the moon illuminating her, making her seem like an ethereal angel. Legolas couldn't help the feeling in his heart. Since he first laid eyes on her, his thoughts had begun racing.

"Are you nervous for the journey?" She looked over, shifting her eyes to him. Legolas sighed, "Partially, though I've been on many, it's always a bit scary at first since there can be many dangers." She nodded, seeming lost in thought.

"Everything alright, My Lady?"

"Hm? Yes…I'm just thinking, isn't it a bit sad going on long journeys? You leave for so long, unaware if you'll be back or how long it'll be until you see everything you left behind."

Legolas stayed silent for a moment, "At times, but that's the hope that keeps many going. We all have our goals and things we look forward to coming back to."

"I suppose you're right. Everyone is leaving something important behind. The hobbits leave the comfort of their shire, Aragon leaves his love, Gimli leaves his kin, … and me, all I've ever known." Legolas' eyes widened, "You will be joining us, My Lady?" He wasn't sure how he felt about this. Though he knew she was strong, he was sure the journey was far too dangerous. He felt she was too fragile looking, an easy target for the disgusting things that lingered outside her home. She nodded, "Yes. Though my uncle wasn't very happy, I insisted until he accepted. I just want to see what's out there and experience it for myself, not just from the stories I've heard." She spoke with such hope, Legolas swore to himself at that moment he'd make sure not to leave her side.

"My lady… it's much more dangerous than even stories can describe, I've seen it for myself and experienced it. It's no place for you."

Her brows furrowed, and she stood her ground, "I appreciate your concern, Legolas, but I can fight and am stronger than I may seem. My uncle has taught me much. I will be fine." Determination glistened in her eyes, and Legolas only bowed his head.

"Now I think we must head back. Our journey begins tomorrow, we will want to be well rested." Once again, her sweet smile returned, and her soft touch was warm around Legolas' arm again. They strolled back to where the party was in a comfortable silence.

Legolas lost in thought and worried about how he could keep her safe, whilst Y/n was thinking of all she'd see and how she'd put her earned skills to use.

•°•°•

That night, as the feast came to an end, and all the guests had gone to their respectful quarters, Legolas approached Elrond. "Ah, Legolas, always a pleasure to see you." The elf smiled at the other, Legolas bowed in response, a worried look on his face. "What's the matter?" Elrond quickly noticed, approaching the younger elf. "I've come to make a promise to you." Elrond was more than confused. "My boy, did you have too much to drink?"

"I've come to make a promise about your niece, I vow to protect her and make sure no harm comes to her on our journey to Mordor," He got down on one knee, bowing his head and placing a hand over his heart, "You have my word that I will do everything in my power to bring her back with no harm." Elrond now understood, he'd seen how Legolas and Y/n had gotten quite close at the feast, delighted that she ws bonding over an elf close to her age, especially one that had such a high reputation and a kind soul.

Elrond laughed, patting the elf on the shoulder, "I take your word strongly, I trust your ability and that she will be safe with you as her companion. Thank you." With that, his footsteps echoed as they faded in the halls, Legolas standing up and letting out a sigh of relief.

He knew now that he would go through any extreme to keep her safe, more than for his word. He was doing it for her.

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gossip-girl-of-middleearth · 2 years

Note

HI I don’t know if your request are open so I figured I would send one anyway and then if they were closed you could just ignore it lol

BUT I had this idea and it’s been in my head for days and I don’t feel like writing it myself soooooo

Do you think you can do a one-shot or, yk, whatever you’re comfortable with, for a Legolas x Reader where the reader is kinda like Jaskier? Like they’re dramatic af, are a bard, and isn’t an elf but has somehow just been alive and in peak condition for way longer then they should’ve been? Like Legolas and Reader don’t really get along at first when they met because Reader was traveling with Thorin and Company and stuff and even after he figured out they weren’t bad he was still like “my GOD are they annoying.”

And then Gandalf seeks them out after the fellowship is formed they’re actually super useful bc they know like 10 languages, have traveled almost everywhere, and is actually very good with a sword. Gandalf brings the fellowship to a seemingly random tavern and Legolas just stops bc he recognizes them immediately and is just like “oh my god, PLEASE NOT THEM FU—“

But yk after that they like fall in love and shiz 🙄

SORRY THIS IS LIKE SO SPECIFIC OR UR NOT TAKING REQUEST it’s just I love ur writing, no other lotr blogs I’ve found are taking request, and also you seem to like Jaskier so I figured u might enjoy this a little ?? 😭😭

ANYWAYS EVEN IF YOU DON’T WRITE THIS THANKS FOR READING IT AND I LOVE UR WRITING SM ITS SO GOOD 🫶🏻🫶🏻

Sing Me A River (Legolas x Bard! Reader)

Author’s Note: HELLOOOO, FELLOW DEAR HEART! My requests technically are always open, it’s just a matter of if I ever get around to them lmao. Naturally, I get a lot of requests. Even more naturally, someone requests something and throws the word ‘Jaskier’ in there I’m writing this baby ASAP. Now, this thing grew legs of its own so you’ll probably have to request a part two in the asks so I can get that to you. I just really wanted to put something out tonight, so boom, two-parter. Maybe three. Hey, let’s just see where it goes. Now, believe me when I say I tried to find a gif that wasn’t Jaskier, but apparently if you type in ‘medieval bard lute gif’ into Google images Jaskier is the golden child of the hour. Anywhooooo hope this is what you were going for! I’ll get onto part two soon — you just gotta put it in the asks!

Warnings: Crude jokes made by reader all for the sake of the guts and glory of an epic banger of a song. Mentions adult content. (Bards will be bards).

Synopsis: Like all relevant characters of Middle-earth back in the day, you joined the Company on their Go-Fund-Me campaign to reclaim Erebor. You were a nobody bard back then but the success of your relations with kings and stories of defeating dragons made you a big hit. Speaking of hit, you and Legolas don’t get on. You made one too many hits about him that painted his royal family in a bad light. Oops. Now, Sauron is back and the Fellowship may just need your help. It’s mostly just Gandalf vouching for you, though. Oh, and fangirl Boromir ofc. They find you singing a frankly defamatory song about Legolas in a lively tavern at the height of your fame (you’re essentially One Direction circa 2012 big in Middle-earth in this fic). Tension brews as you’re ultimately asked to join a second Go-Fund-Me campaign.

The evening was late in hour but early of chores, as Gandalf and Elrond poured themselves over maps of Middle-earth. Various members of the newly-formed Fellowship hung about the open-aired room, pondering each other with curious glances.

Everyone shifted uncomfortably, wondering who’d prove to be the best travel mate for the next few months. It was as if no one knew what to do with their hands or feet, as they stood about awkwardly.

What was there to talk about, anyway? Economic investments and the rising housing crisis in the wake of the upcoming war? With so many races in the room, it was hard to navigate cultural customs, let alone figure out who was of what social standing based on clothing alone. A prince certainly had no place discussing such mutual matters with a gardener, nor a Captain of Gondor with a ranger.

No, it was best everyone waited until Gandalf and Elrond announced a travel route.

“This would steer you best from the path of both Isengard and its scouts,” Elrond concluded, pointing and dragging one finger down the tattered map.

“That’ll bring us into long-overrun townships,” Gandalf pointed out. “Middle-earth is no longer the safely presumptuous-centric land it used to be. People from all over Arda have now flocked for its resources and previously-thought safety.”

“Secrecy is best bought when surrounded by languages that cannot understand you nor you them,” Elrond countered, raising a brow and looking up at the wizard.

Gandalf raised a hand and scratched at his wiry beard. “No… But perhaps we could benefit from an additional team member for the passage? One who knows, say, ten languages across the seas and land underfoot?”

Elrond’s face quickly fell into disapproval. He moved back from the map as if standing too close to it would conjure up the bard’s presence alone, for said bard certainly dwelled somewhere within it, if the local posters unceremoniously plastered on historical podiums in Rivendell detailing the latest show were proof enough alone.

Legolas noticed this behaviour and kicked himself off the wall. He’d had run-ins with bards before – or, one, at least, and one was certainly enough. He quit twirling a knife in his hands, a gift from his father for his begetday long ago, and paid close attention.

“Ten languages would most certainly aid you, but…” the usually reserved lord made a face of cringe, “must you really bring along your friend? Do you even know where they are?”

Gandalf suddenly looked bashful. He reached into his satchel and removed a flyer. It had your pouty face on it and colourful words detailing where your next show was and the date. “I meant to visit them for one of their shows, before getting side-tracked…”

Elrond tried to not judge his friend, as he glanced up from your poster and back to Gandalf. He raised his brows and sighed, resigning himself to the idea. You had certainly grown in fame over the last few decades since your efforts in fighting the dragon fueled your reputation and songs, and certainly the fame had added to your already eccentric ego.

“Very well, if that is your will, I will support it… Just, don’t invite them back for a concert, please; my sons are still recovering from the last one, as is my winery.”

Gandalf nodded at the lord and smiled. “Nonsense, our bard is of the utmost integrity. I have nothing but faith.”

Legolas looked between the lord and wizard, quirking a brow. He tried to view the poster before it was placed back inside the satchel, but alas Gandalf unknowingly blocked his view.

But then, the prince suddenly recalled you in full detail from the fight against the dragon, and your time spent in the Mirkwood dungeons. You were clearly mortal, and that was many years ago.

Satisfied with the thought, Legolas nodded to himself in reassurance. There was no way you were still alive and kicking. With any luck, you were fast asleep in a chair somewhere, millions of leagues away.

Oh, you were in a chair alright. Except standing on top of it, one foot on the backrest and one on the seat. You certainly weren’t asleep, either, nor was your performance lulling anyone into such a slumber. There would be no lullabies here tonight, good sir.

Instead, on top of the chair, you belted out lyrics to the song you wrote about your time captured in Mirkwood with the Company, using the foot on the backrest to push the chair downwards, where you dramatically landed on the floor and kept on playing around the lively tavern with your lute.

Folks of all nationalities and origins joined in, for how could they not? You knew how to play the song in over ten different languages and were finally onto the Common Speech version. Everyone sung along as you made your way around the floor, illuminated in a thousand different arrays of golden candlelight.

You alluded to the Mirkwood Elves being absolute idiots, to put it lightly. It was only unfortunate that the Fellowship, led by Gandalf, walked in the moment you made a crude innuendo about Legolas’ hair being nearly as pasty as the spider’s webs surrounding his forested home. Something about incest, too.

It wasn’t very nice, but what could you say? You hated the pretentious white-haired family and they you. Perhaps composing a ballad with the dwarves about the elves’ wine-stained teeth in the dungeons planted the seed of distaste in the first place, but alas.

Gimli clapped his hands merrily and tapped his foot. “Oh-ho-ho! ‘Tis a CLASSIC back home! I’ve been meaning to meet the bard from my father’s tales for many years now! What an honourable night. Let us drink to it!”

Pippin nodded faster than light at Gimli and then Merry, speaking before racing off with his cousin and dwarven friend to the bar.

“Aye! We’ve heard this one, too! Even all the way out in the Shire!” Pippin looked up at Legolas, who’d just walked in with Aragorn right behind him. “Funny, I didn’t know there were other white-haired elves such as yourself and your father in Mirkwood, your highness. What are the chances of that!”

Just then, you sung of Legolas by title and name, confirming every crude lyric to be indeed about him towards the end of the song. Something mean about his father, too.

Pippin’s mouth parted and his brows shot up in surprise. He quickly shrugged it off, though – looking up at the elf casually before joining Merry and Gimli by the bar. “Oh, they are singing about you! That makes more sense!”

Legolas furrowed his own brows, looking away from the departing hobbit and across the tavern right as you came to the finale of the song, earning rapturous applause. And then, his eyes grew wide.

Gandalf looked bashful as he stood with Boromir. The captain was grinning at your performance – whistling as you took a dramatic bow as the cheers carried on. Frodo and Sam looked between each other but shared a silent nod, and afterwards, they joined the rest at the bar.

Seething, the prince snapped his gaze up at Gandalf. “THEM? Are you SERIOUS? How could you possibly not tell me?! They are the most arrogant, dim-witted, crude, annoying—”

“Now, now, Legolas,” Gandalf cut in, placing a hand on the swiftly rising elf’s shoulders. “Y/n and yourself may have an… adverse history, but that whole Mirkwood incident was put to rest years ago. If I recall, you both parted ways amicably at the end of the battle. There may have even been a smile, too, if I recall very well!”

“Overjoyed to be rid, as I remember it,” Legolas rolled his eyes, landing them in your direction. You took a sip of ale and felt a gaze, or, glare, lingering in your direction. When you locked eyes with the angry ones of the prince, you widened them for only a moment, before narrowing them and smirking mischievously.

Oh, he didn’t like that.

Hoisting your sloshing ale out to the side, you widened both arms. You were stood atop a tavern table, now pointing in the prince’s direction.

“Oh, my stars! Do my eyes deceive me?” Your naturally loud voice caught the attention of the tavern again, who all no doubt were hoping for an encore. “Ladies and gentleman, if it isn’t the star of the hour! Well, besides me, of course – but no, I should share the limelight; it’s the muse of my song, Legolas of the Woodland Realm!”

Everyone all looked in his direction. Many laughed loudly, some whistled appreciatively, and others who believed the lyrics muttered behind cupped hands to conceal their words and grins.

Aragorn shifted uncomfortably. It wasn’t good to bring this much attention to themselves, especially given the circumstances. One look from Aragorn sent up at Gandalf voiced his concern. The wizard nodded back and drew you over with a beckoning hand.

You finished off the rest of your ale and encouraged other bards to pick up the music again. Once the sound of flutes and lutes filled the air, you made your way through the crowd, placing your hand over your heart and responding earnestly to every compliment as you walked past.

"Y/n! I saw you play when I was a child!"

"My niece is a HUGE fan!"

"Do you sing at weddings?!"

And soon enough, you were in front of the trio.

“Gandalf the Grey,” you grinned up, slinging your lute across your back.

He responded warmly, throwing your bard title in as he did so. “You’ve exceeded your previous standing upon the pedestal of fame. Apparently, this song has been heard all over the land.”

At the mention of the song, you turned to Legolas. “Ahh, has it now? Judging by the star-struck expression upon your oddly fine-tuned visage, I’m guessing this is your first time?”

Legolas narrowed his eyes and kept them locked on yours. “First and last time.”

Without missing a beat, you replied, “Aw, buddy. Don’t worry. Being a two-thousand-year-old virgin isn’t that weird. Don’t count yourself out just yet.”

His face dropped. “Wha—No! That’s not at all what I—”

“I must say, dear bard,” Boromir cut in, firmly shaking your hand. “My little brother and I have seen you perform in Gondor before, and we are both great admirers of your work. Might I please trouble you for a signature made out to ‘Faramir’? I might not get this opportunity again.”

You shrugged it off coolly. “Yeah, sure! Always happy to meet a fan!”

Legolas stared in horror at the interaction for a moment. “What is happening right now..?”

Aragorn placed a hand on his shoulder and stepped in. “Y/n, I’m afraid we have not only come for review of your work tonight.”

At that, he looked up at Gandalf urgingly. The wizard sighed and nodded. “Indeed not. Might there be somewhere more private we can talk?”

Briefly looking up from the signature you were writing on a handkerchief, you nodded your head from side to side in thought and pursed your lips, speaking as you wrote. “I’ve got a room here. I’m not sure we’ll all fit, but I suppose we can figure something out."

You sent a wink Legolas’ way, whose face was still frozen somewhere between contemplation, shock, and horror.

“You should be dead,” he decided upon moments later.

Feigning alarm, you looked over your shoulder. “Why? The song really that bad? You hired the world’s worst assassin to take me out and they couldn’t even finish the job?”

Learning how to dance with your words again, Legolas replied straight to the point. “You look the same as you did all those years ago. You’re mortal. You should be dead, or very, very elderly, at the least.”

You blinked back at him. “Was there a question in there somewhere, or…?”

Noticing all the attention you were drawing, Gandalf and Aragorn decided to usher this meeting along elsewhere.

“Ah, Y/n,” Gandalf slid in, smiling tensely as he noticed Legolas’ fingers curl backwards, as if instinctively reaching for his bow. “Perhaps we should continue this upstairs? We have much to discuss, as mentioned before.”

You raked your eyes over the prince’s face for a further few seconds. He all but glared back. You dropped your eyes to his hands, noticing the way they curled the same as the wizard did. Smirking, you looked back up into the prince’s eyes – locking them there as you responded to Gandalf.

“Great idea.”

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thewulf · 14 days

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Entwined Realms || Legolas

Summary: Request: So I thought about this idea with Legolas x reader where the reader is the daughter of Galadriel and Celeborn (which makes her princess of Lothlorien and a very high elf) and she is nervous because its commonly known that Galadriel and Thranduil dont like each other (she is still his superior but you get the point) and the reader and Legolas have a dinner or some council or something together with their parents.

A/N: This was one of my favs to write. Just love everything LOTR... please keep them coming! Thank you for the request @lillisummers

Pairing: Legolas x Female Reader

Word Count: 4.1k +

TW: Talks of war/death

In the timeless realm of Lothlórien, you, the daughter of Galadriel and Celeborn, walked among the golden trees with a heavy heart filled with the weight of ancient grudges. It had been many years since you last tread upon these familiar paths, for you had spent much of your time in Rivendell, aiding in the healing of those who bore the scars of war.

As a princess of the high elves, you bore the burden of your lineage with grace. Yet the tension between your mother and Thranduil, the Elvenking of Mirkwood, weighed heavily upon you. The animosity between them was no secret, and you often found yourself caught in the midst of their disagreements. You were torn between loyalty to your mother and the desire for unity among your people after the war of the ring. Your return to Lothlórien had been sudden, called back by your father during the darkest days of the war. The news of battles raging across middle earth had filled you with dread. Yet, you knew that your place was by your family's side, lending whatever aid you could in the struggle against the darkness.

Despite the discord that lingered between your realms you held onto hope, believing in the power of unity to overcome adversity. The memories of Celebrian's capture and torture haunted you still. She drove your determination to see an end to the suffering that had plagued your people for so long.

As you walked beneath the golden canopy of the trees, you found solace in the familiar sights and sounds of Lothlórien. The gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze, the soft glow of the evening sun filtering through the branches. They spoke to you of peace and beauty, reminding you of all that was worth fighting for in this world. Your steps carried you towards a familiar spot. The quiet glade where the gravestones of those fallen in battle lay. The air was hushed. The only sound was the soft whisper of leaves and the gentle trickle of water from the nearby streams.

Stopping by the gravestones, you traced your fingers over each weathered stone, feeling the weight of loss settle upon your heart. Here, beneath the earth, lay the brave souls who had given their lives in service of a greater cause. A cause that you had fought for alongside them. Your thoughts turned to Haldir, the gallant Marchwarden who had stood by your side in the darkest of times. His laughter, his kindness, his unwavering loyalty… they were memories that you held dear, memories that would live on long after he had passed from this world. At one point you were convinced you would marry him but that was before he was taken so suddenly from you.

Closing your eyes, you allowed yourself a moment of silence. A moment to remember those who had been taken from you too soon. Their faces flashed before your eyes, friends, fighters, and loved ones alike. Each one leaving behind an indelible mark upon your soul. And yet, amidst the sorrow, there was also hope. Hope for a future where their sacrifices would not be in vain. Where the darkness would be banished for good and the light would shine so brightly once more. With a silent prayer upon your lips, you vowed to carry their memory with you always, to honor their legacy in all that you did.

As you stood amidst the gravestones, lost in memories and reflections, a soft voice broke through the silence. She was calling your name. You turned to see your mother, Galadriel, approaching with a gentle smile upon her lips. Her eyes, always so wise and knowing, held a depth of understanding that eased the ache in your heart.

"Y/n," she said, her voice like the gentle rustle of leaves in the wind, "I have been searching for you. It is good to see you home again. You look well my love."

You returned her smile, feeling a sense of warmth and comfort wash over you at the sight of her familiar face. "It is good to be home, Mother," you replied, stepping forward to embrace her.

Galadriel held you close, tight. Her arms a reassuring embrace amidst the turmoil of emotions swirling within you. "You have been missed, my dear," she said softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

As you pulled away, Galadriel's gaze softened. Her eyes filled with a mixture of pride and affection. "There is much to discuss," she said, her voice taking on a more serious tone. "But first, I have news that I believe will bring you much joy."

Curiosity piqued, you listened as Galadriel spoke of the upcoming marriage between your niece, Arwen, and Aragorn, the King of Gondor. The news filled you with a sense of anticipation, the prospect of a wedding bringing a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness that had shrouded middle earth for so long. "I would be honored to attend," you said. Your heart swelling with love for your family and excitement for the joyous occasion to come.

Galadriel smiled, her eyes sparkling with pride. "I had no doubt that you would," she said, her voice tinged with warmth. "Come, let us return to Caras Galadhon and begin preparations. There is much to do, and little time to waste." She motioned you to follow her.

With a nod of agreement, you fell into step beside your mother. It felt as though the weight of grief and loss lightened by the promise of love and celebration on the horizon. As you walked the golden light of Lothlórien illuminated your path guiding you towards a future filled with possibility.

Too quickly the day of celebration arrived. The grand halls of Minas Tirith were adorned with banners and flowers, filling the air with a sense of festivity and anticipation. You, dressed in your finest elven attire, mingled with the guests. Your heart was aflutter with excitement and nerves for your niece and the King of Gondor. Amidst the bustling crowd, your eyes scanned the faces of those gathered taking in the sight of strangers and acquaintances alike. And then your gaze met that of a mysterious elven stranger across the ornate courtyard who you did not recognize.

His eyes were a captivating shade of blue. They held a warmth and kindness that drew you in, sending a shiver down your spine. For a brief moment it felt as though the world around you had faded away leaving only you and this enigmatic stranger in a universe of your own making. But as quickly as the moment had come, it was gone. Broken by the sound of laughter and music drifting through the air you tore your gaze away. Your cheeks flushed with a mixture of curiosity and excitement, heart racing with the memory of that brief but electrifying encounter.

Though you knew not who he was, nor what fate had in store for you. You couldn't shake the feeling that this chance meeting was somehow significant. And as you allowed yourself to be swept away by the joyous festivities you couldn't help but wonder about the identity of the mysterious elven stranger who had captured your attention with a single glance.

As the celebration unfolded you found yourself standing beside Arwen, basking in the glow of her happiness as she greeted guests and well-wishers. The air was filled with laughter and music. The joyous atmosphere infectious as people celebrated the union of Arwen and Aragorn. But amidst the revelry your attention kept drifting back to the beautiful blonde elf who had caught your eye earlier. He stood amidst a group of guests, his presence commanding and his gaze holding a quiet intensity that seemed to draw you in.

Unable to contain your curiosity any longer you turned to Arwen with a hint of nervousness in your voice. "Arwen," you began, pointing subtly towards the mysterious elf, "who is that?"

Arwen followed your gaze, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she noticed your interest in the stranger. "Ah, him," she said, her tone tinged with mystery. "That is Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood."

Legolas. The name echoed in your mind. Though you knew little about him there was something about the way he carried himself, the way his eyes seemed to hold a thousand untold stories that intrigued you beyond measure. As Arwen spoke of Legolas' exploits and noble deeds you found yourself captivated by the tales of his courage and valor. And though you knew it was foolish to be so taken with a stranger, you couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more to him. Something that called to you on a level you couldn't quite understand.

With a grateful smile you thanked Arwen for indulging your curiosity. Though your mind was already consumed with thoughts of the mysterious Prince of Mirkwood. And as you turned your attention back to the festivities you couldn't help but wonder what secrets lay hidden beneath the surface of the captivating blonde elf who had captured your attention with a single glance.

As the evening wore on, the atmosphere grew more relaxed. You found yourself drawn into the lively conversations and laughter that filled the air.

As if he had known your every thought, he had come right up to you. A charming smile playing on his lips as he offered you a goblet of wine. "Care for some wine, my lady?" he asked, his voice smooth and all too inviting.

Grateful for the distraction you accepted the goblet with a smile, the cool liquid soothing the nerves that had been fluttering in your stomach. "Thank you," you replied, taking a sip and relishing the taste of the rich, fruity wine.

As you savored the wine, Legolas took a seat beside you. His eyes alight with curiosity as he extended his hand in introduction. "I am Legolas," he said, his tone warm and genuine. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

You felt a rush of excitement at the sound of his name, "And I am Y/n," you replied, your voice betraying a hint of nervousness that you quickly tried to mask.

Legolas smiled warmly at you, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes as he raised his own goblet in a silent toast. "Well then, Y/n, here's to new acquaintances and delightful conversations," he spoke.

As the evening progressed, you found yourself drawn into conversation with Legolas. His easy charm and quick wit putting you at ease. Despite your initial nervousness you soon found yourself laughing and chatting with him as if you had known each other for years. With each passing moment you felt yourself growing more and more enchanted by Legolas. His presence filling you with a sense of warmth and belonging that you hadn't felt in a long time. Not since before your sister had set sail. And as you shared stories and laughter with the captivating Prince of Mirkwood you couldn't help but wonder what adventures lay in store for you both in the days to come.

When the topic turned to your family, you couldn't help but feel a pang of apprehension, unsure of how he would react upon learning the truth. "Your parents must be proud of you," Legolas remarked, his voice sincere as he glanced around at the grandeur of Minas Tirith. "To have a daughter as kind and courageous as you."

You smiled, touched by his words. Though a part of you hesitated to reveal your true lineage. "Thank you, Legolas," you replied, your voice tinged with uncertainty. "My parents... they are indeed proud, though our family is not without its complexities."

Legolas cocked his head with curiosity shining bright in his eyes. "Complexities?" he asked, his brow furrowing slightly.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for his reaction. "My parents are Celeborn and Galadriel," you confessed, watching closely for any sign of recognition or judgment in his expression.

To your surprise, Legolas' eyes widened in genuine surprise, his gaze softening with understanding. "Galadriel," he murmured, a hint of awe in his voice. "The Lady of Light herself. And Celeborn, the Lord of Lothlórien."

You nodded, relieved by his reaction. "Yes, though our family is not without its challenges," you admitted, your voice growing quiet. "There are... tensions between my parents and certain others in Middle-earth." You knew he knew, and he knew you knew. The two of you were dancing around your parents disdain for the other.

Legolas' expression grew somber. A shadow passing over his features. "I understand," he said, his tone tinged with empathy. "My own father, Thranduil, can be... difficult at times."

You felt a surge of empathy for Legolas knowing all too well the challenges that could arise from strained familial relationships. "It seems we are not so different after all," you said. A small smile playing at your lips.

Legolas returned your smile, his eyes warm and understanding. "Indeed," he said, his voice gentle. "But perhaps together, we can find a way to bridge the divide between our families."

Touched by his sincerity you could only keep grinning at him like a fool. "I would like that, Legolas," you replied. Your heart swelled with gratitude for the bond that was beginning to form between you.

As the night wore on into the wee hours of the morning you and Legolas found yourselves drawn deeper into each other's company. The hours quickly slipping away unnoticed as you laughed and talked beneath the starlit sky. The connection between you grew stronger with each passing moment. A bond of friendship and understanding blossoming into something deeper and more profound. Unfortunately, the celebration began to wind down. You found yourselves reluctant to part ways. The prospect of saying goodbye filling you with a sense of melancholy. "Perhaps we could extend our stay in Minas Tirith," Legolas suggested, his voice tinged with a hint of worry as if you wouldn’t accept. "There is still so much more to see and do. I have not seen this city without war disparaging it."

You nodded eagerly, the idea of spending more time with Legolas filling you with a sense of joy and excitement. "I would like that very much," you replied, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "There is still so much more we have yet to see. You distracted me tonight."

And so, you and Legolas remained in Minas Tirith for longer than planned, seizing every opportunity to steal away moments alone together amidst the hustle and bustle of the city. Whether wandering the streets hand in hand or sharing quiet conversations in secluded corners. Each moment spent in Legolas' company felt like a precious treasure, a memory to be cherished for eternity.

As your extended stay in Minis Tirith came to an end the bond between you and Legolas deepened further than you could have imagined. Your hearts intertwining in a dance as old as time itself. One evening beneath the stars after your going away dinner the two of you sat together in the quiet solitude of the gardens, surrounded by the scent of blooming flowers and the gentle hum of crickets. The words you had been longing to say spilled forth from your lips.

"Legolas," you began, your voice barely above a whisper, "there is something I must confess to you." It truly was now or never for you did not know the next time you would see the elf that had captured your heart so quickly.

Legolas turned to you, his eyes filled with warmth and affection. "Yes, Y/n?" he replied, his voice soft and reassuring.

"I know this is quick,” you began, your voice soft and hesitant, "And we tend to do this slow, but I must admit... I really like you. More than a friend would."

You glanced away, cheeks flushing with embarrassment as you awaited his response. But when you dared to meet his gaze once more you found Legolas looking at you with a tender smile. His eyes filled with a warmth that mirrored your own feelings.

"Y/n," he said softly, reaching out to gently take your face in his hand, "your honesty means the world to me. I too have come to care for you deeply as well. As more than a friend would."

Your heart soared at his words. A sense of joy flooding through you at the knowledge that your feelings were reciprocated. And as you sat together in the quiet beauty of the gardens you knew that your bond with Legolas was something truly special. It was the beginning of a love story that was just beginning to unfold.

You didn’t want the night to end so you kept your wandering through the gardens. "Legolas," you began, your voice tinged with concern, "what do you think about... our families?"

Legolas glanced at you. His gaze thoughtful. "Ah, our esteemed parents," he replied with a wry smile. "Stubborn as ancient oaks and twice as difficult to move."

You couldn't help but laugh at his analogy, feeling a sense of relief at his lighthearted approach to the situation. "Yes, that's one way to put it," you agreed. A smile playing at the corners of your lips.

"But," Legolas continued, his tone turning more serious, "I believe they will come around in time. After all, love has a way of softening even the hardest of hearts."

You nodded feeling a flicker of hope kindling within you. "I hope you're right," you replied, leaning closer to him. "I just want them to see... how much we care for each other."

Legolas placed a comforting arm around your shoulders, drawing you closer to him. "They will, Y/n," he said softly, his voice filled with quiet confidence. "And until then, we'll just have to prove them wrong together."

As your time in Minas Tirith drew to a close, you couldn't shake the feeling that it was time for your parents and Legolas to meet. Despite the tension between your families, you were determined to show them that love knew no bounds, and that their differences could be set aside in the name of happiness.

On the morning that both of you were to depart you knew what you had to do. "Legolas," you began. Your voice tinged with nervousness, "I know it's unconventional, but... what if you and your father were to visit Lothlórien?"

Legolas blinked in surprise, clearly taken aback by your suggestion. "Visit Lothlórien?" he echoed, his brow furrowing in thought. "It's an... intriguing idea, Y/n, but I'm not sure how my father would feel about it."

You nodded, understanding Legolas' reservations. "I know it's a risk," you admitted, "but I believe that if he could experience the beauty and hospitality of Lothlórien for himself, he might begin to understand... and perhaps even appreciate our way of life."

Legolas considered your words for a moment before a smile spread across his face. "You may be right, Y/n," he said, his eyes alight with excitement. "Let's extend the invitation to my father and see what he says."

With a renewed sense of hope, you and Legolas set about preparing for Thranduil's visit to Lothlórien. You knew it wouldn't be easy, but you were determined to show both him and your parents that love could conquer even the deepest of divides. And so, with hearts full of anticipation and determination, you bid farewell to Minas Tirith. You knew that a new chapter of your journey was about to begin.

As Legolas and an initially reluctant Thranduil arrived in Lothlórien, the tension between them was palpable. Thranduil's expression was stoic and reserved, while Legolas wore a strained smile who was clearly uncomfortable with the situation. You greeted them warmly, hoping to ease the atmosphere, but even your efforts seemed to fall flat in the face of the lingering animosity between your parents. The initial interactions were awkward only filled with polite but strained conversation and forced smiles.

But as the evening progressed and the wine flowed freely the atmosphere began to shift. Your parents, Thranduil, and Legolas found themselves gradually relaxing in each other's company. The rigid barriers between them slowly melting away under the influence of hope after the war and shared experiences. You watched with a mixture of joy and relief as the tension dissipated, replaced by laughter and genuine conversation. Thranduil who had initially been so guarded found himself opening up. He began to share stories and jokes with Celeborn and Galadriel as if they were old friends.

And Legolas, too, seemed to come alive in the warmth of his father’s acceptance. His smile growing more genuine with each passing moment. It was as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders finally allowing him to truly be himself in their presence. He chuckled at one of Thranduil's jokes and clinked glasses with Celeborn, a genuine smile gracing his features.

In the midst of the conversation Legolas turned to you, his eyes sparkling with affection. "Meleth nin," he said softly, his voice filled with utmost warmth.

As Legolas inadvertently uttered the Elvish endearment, my love, the words hung in the air laden with the weight of unspoken emotions. Your heart skipped a beat at his slip-up, and you couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement coursing through you.

"Really?" you exclaimed. Your eyes widened with surprise and utmost delight. For a moment you almost forgot that your parents and Legolas' father were present too caught up in the rush of emotion that swept over you.

Legolas blinked, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment as he realized what he had said in front of the parents. "I... uh, I mean..." he stammered, clearly flustered by your reaction.

But before he could finish, Thranduil let out a soft chuckle. The elvenking’s eyes twinkling with amusement. "It seems our children are more than just friends," he remarked to your parents. His tone surprisingly light-hearted.

You turned to your parents with a sheepish smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "I guess we should have mentioned that sooner," you admitted feeling a surge of relief as you saw their understanding smiles.

Celeborn and Galadriel exchanged knowing glances before Celeborn spoke up. "Love has a way of revealing itself in unexpected ways," he said, his voice filled with warmth. "We are happy for you both."

Thranduil let out a small chuckle. His eyes crinkling with amusement. "Young love," he said before shaking his head in mock exasperation. "It seems like only yesterday that Legolas was just a boy chasing after butterflies in the woods."

Legolas rolled his eyes playfully at his father's comment. "I assure you, Ada, I have grown up a bit since then," he spoke. His tone teasing but affectionate.

Celeborn chuckled softly his eyes twinkling with mirth. "Indeed," he agreed, his voice warm. "But some things never change." He motioned to you with a knowing grin.

And as the tension melted away completely, replaced by laughter, and shared understanding, you couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the unwavering support of your parents. With their blessing and acceptance, you and Legolas knew that your love story was only just beginning. You were finally destined to have a beautiful and unforgettable journey filled with laughter, joy, and the sweet promise of a future together. You had waited a long time for this. A very long time.

As the night grew deeper and the fire crackled softly, you and Legolas found yourselves immersed in a comfortable silence. The two of you basking in the warmth of each other's presence. Legolas turned to you with a playful glint in his eyes, taking your hand in his. "Well, my dear, it seems the hour grows late," he remarked, his voice soft and warm.

You nodded feeling a surge of affection for the elf beside you. "Yes, it does," you replied, a smile playing at the corners of your lips.

With a gentle tug on your hand Legolas rose to his feet pulling you up with him. "Allow me to escort you to your room," he said. His voice filled with gentle sincerity.

You followed him, the touch of his hand sending a shiver of anticipation down your spine. As you reached your door, Legolas turned to you. His eyes sparkling with mischief. "Until next time, meleth nin," he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek before turning to leave.

A faint blush coated your cheeks at his actions. “Until next time, meleth nin.” You repeated. You watched him go with a smile playing at your lips as you realized that no matter what adventures lay ahead, you would face them with him. Oh, what a life.

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elrondsimp · 9 months

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Well hello I happened to wander into your ask box, and was wondering if you could write an Elrond x rreader where the reader grew up in a toxic home and has a lot of scars from it and elrond innocently asks about them and then they open up to him and it's really fluffy maybe.

if this makes you uncomfy please ignore.

P! Elrond x Gn! Reader

“Scars of home”

A/n: I wrote it platonically bc I didn’t it want it to be the “I’ll kiss your scars away” cringe. Makes me recoil I’ll be happy to make another one romantic though if you would like :>

In the tranquil halls of Rivendell, where the soft melodies of nature danced through the air, lived a human whose past was marked by the harshness of their home. The scars of their past, both seen and unseen, adorned their heart and body. However, amidst the timeless beauty of Elrond's realm, a gentle light found its way into their life.

One serene day, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Elrond found himself in the company of the Y/n. The two had developed a quiet friendship, founded on understanding and compassion. Elrond admired their strength and resilience, though he could sense the pain hidden behind their gentle eyes.

As they strolled through the peaceful gardens, Elrond couldn't help but notice the scars that adorned their skin. “My dear friend, may I inquire about the scars you adorn?”

At first, they were hesitated, their heart beating faster with the memories that resurfaced. Yet, there was something about Elrond's presence that felt safe, and with a deep breath, they decided to open up to him.

"These are the marks of a difficult past," they began, their voice soft but steady. "I grew up in a home plagued by hate—a place that should have been filled with love and care, but instead, it was a place of pain and cruelty."

Elrond listened attentively, his expression filled with empathy, and he didn't interrupt as Y/n continued to share their painful memories. They recounted the struggles they faced, the emotional wounds that ran deep, and the physical scars that bore testimony to their survival.

As they spoke, Elrond's heart swelled with compassion for them. He offered them a gentle hand, a silent gesture of support and comfort. "You have faced so much," he said softly. "Yet, you are here now, strong and resilient, despite the scars you carry."

Tears welled in the Y/n’s eyes, moved by Elrond's understanding and warmth. They found solace in his presence, the weight of their past momentarily lifted. "Thank you," they whispered, their voice quivering with emotion.

Elrond smiled gently, reassuringly. "It is an honor to be entrusted with your story," he said, "and know that you are not defined by your past. Here in Rivendell, you are surrounded by friends who care deeply for you."

And in that moment, they felt a sense of belonging, of being seen and accepted for who they were, scars and all. Elrond's compassion had kindled a spark of hope within them, reminding them that healing and love were not beyond reach.

As the stars began to dot the evening sky, Elrond and Y/n continued to stroll through the gardens, their conversation now filled with lightness and laughter. A beautiful friendship had bloomed, and in Rivendell's embrace, they found a sanctuary—a place to heal, to grow, and to embrace the love that had entered their life.

In the days that followed, Elrond continued to be a steadfast presence, offering a guiding hand and a caring heart. And as time passed, Y/n's emotional baggage began to fade, replaced by the warmth of love and the gentle touch of healing, all nurtured in the tranquil haven of Rivendell.

#lotr #the hobbit x reader #the hobbit #y/n #the fellowship of the ring #lotr x reader #elrond x you #gn reader #Elrond x reader #elrond x male reader #Platonic Elrond

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phonydiaries · 6 months

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Darling, Dearest, (Dead) - P x Reader

Warnings: MEGA-ANGST. DO NOT continue if you don’t want to see P bite the fucking dust or if you’re generally put-off by kind of graphic descriptions of death or injury. Also, once again set way early in the game because I am slow and just can’t confidently write environments and enemies that I haven’t encountered yet. If that all sounds cool to you, read on!

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The inner chambers of Venigni Works seem to you an absolute nightmare to traverse, and quite frankly a shitty way to organize a factory. You wonder if it could’ve been much easier to navigate back in its glory days, you know, before it was crawling with frenzied puppets lurking in each shadowy corner. In its current condition, you don’t much care for the constant flickering of lights or the disorienting heat of steam which blasts unceremoniously from faulty pipes as you pass them by. You’re almost annoyed at the ease with which P navigates, head held high as he ushers you down a creaking fire escape.

“If I’m being honest, I’m not entirely convinced that some puppet is worth all this…” you mutter under your breath, your grip tight around the rusty rungs of the ladder. The back of your mind anticipates a surprise attack any minute now; the factory is huge and cavernous and home to some of the most vile creatures you’ve had the displeasure of meeting. Personally, you would be thrilled to pack up and book it out of this place, dragging Mr. Venigni by the scruff of his beard but no. No, Pino is of course the more honorable and dutiful of you two, politely accepting the man’s fetch quest for his missing butler.

P looks at you over his shoulder and gestures between the two of you with one finger, his brows crinkling in accusatory question, mouth pulled into a pout. You groan, rolling your eyes.

“Obviously you would be a different story, don’t be daft. I’d sooner die than leave you in this dismal place.”

He huffs a bit at your response, shaking his head, but you know he’s grinning slightly beneath it all, pleased to know you think highly of him. Your feet meet the ground with a damp thud and you allow P to take up the lead again, starting down a winding tunnel. The sound of your steps carry here, and ripple like ghosts through the thick air. It’s dimmer here as well, and makes you a bit uneasy, though you would not admit this to P. Instead, you pipe up, hoping to distract yourself from the eerie feeling which settles uncomfortably in your stomach.

“I think when we get back home the first thing I’ll do is sleep. All day.” You say, imagining that you are not here in this sweltering labyrinth of rust, but instead wrapped in cool silk sheets at the hotel, lazy and dozing. Any excursion for stalking purposes was bound to tire you out, and you often yearned only for rest upon returning home. Being a puppet, P couldn’t fully appreciate this, but he seemed happy enough to stay with you while you slept, reading at your bedside or sometimes even curled up with you, an arm thrown lazily around your waist.

“What will you do?” You ask. Your puppet thinks for a moment, then holds both hands out in front of him, fingers splayed in playing position, thunking against the air. He presses his lips together and hums a few somber notes, his eyes lighting up at the idea.

“Of course, you and that piano. Ever the tortured artist, you are.” You tease, nudging him in the ribs. He nudges back. You both chuckle softly and allow your gazes to linger on each other, just barely, before your attentions snap swiftly back to the task at hand.

As you endeavor through the claustrophobic halls, a hollow sound of tittering stops you in your tracks. Your head turns, but you see nothing moving in the dark. You tug at P’s coat and place a finger over your lips. He heeds your warning and glances around, eyes narrowing as he peers down the hall. The tunnel is all echoes and distorted reflections. It’s quiet suddenly, too quiet, as if whatever you’d overheard was now acutely aware of your listening.

P’s hand hovers over his weapon, and you follow suit, both drawing your blades slowly. A few beats of silence pass. Then a few more. At last, P’s posture relaxes some, and he motions down one of the winding paths with a tip of his head. You nod along and move carefully, but with the echoes of your steps the tittering returns, louder, faster, reverberating ceaselessly through the cramped space. Looking over your shoulder you’re met with the chilling visage of several bisected mannequins crawling towards you, their time-worn faces turned up in mindless anger. One clammy hand reaches for your foot and you frantically crush it beneath your boot, the sick crunch of fingers ringing in your ears.

As P’s eyes dart back at you, more of the wretched creatures are already piling upon each other, their creaking limbs tangling together like spider’s legs as they stretch towards you. You lurch forward, shoving your puppet sharp in the back shouting, “Shit! Go!”

The two of you sprint down the hall, the ugly click-click-clicking of the mannequins trailing close behind. As you nearly crash head-first into a dead end, a standing enemy, fully formed and armed, makes a swing for your head. With a yelp, you smash the hilt of your sword through its head, leaving a deep crater in place of its dead eye.

P whistles quick and sharp and points in the direction of a flashing light in the distance, offering refuge from this particular chamber of darkness. He ushers you towards him, frantic and wide-eyed with concern. You waste no time making a mad dash for the exit, your feet close on his heels. Just as you’re about to escape miraculously unscathed, practically touching the end of the tunnel, something pushes you to the ground.

The thing lands on your shoulders, a mechanical hand shoving your head against the floor, its worn-down fingers snagging in your hair. You make a cheap grab for your blade, but it’s knocked out of your grasp, skittering across the floor and away through a grate. A dull and throbbing pain begins to radiate from the center of your face. You reach madly behind your head, clawing away at whatever nightmare is currently wailing on you from above. As it lifts your head, rearing back and preparing to slam your face into the floor once again, it’s ripped away from behind.

Gasping, you push yourself up onto your elbows and watch as P grabs the mannequin by its arm, bashing it brutally against the wall. It shatters to bits in front of you. You scramble out of the tunnel, still reeling to catch your breath.

As your palm presses into the ground, seeking stability, P approaches and extends his arm to you. His face is streaked with worry, but he offers you a familiar twinge of a smile, oil-specked cheeks rising just-so. You know it’s meant to be soothing, and in a way it works; you do feel safer with him around, even at the worst of times. A thick curtain of dark hair falls over his eye and you resist tucking it away behind his ear. You grab him by his outheld forearm in a less-than-elegant roman handshake and he hoists you swiftly to your feet. His face hovers around yours, inspecting it meticulously for signs of harm. He pauses for a moment, and his finger sweeps delicately across the bridge of your nose, coming away bloody.

“Dammit…” you mumble, and swipe the back of your hand across the broken skin, leaving a thin smear of blood in its wake. You grimace, unsure if it's broken, but you wouldn’t be surprised. P tips your chin upwards in both hands, tilting his gaze every which way. His brows knit in concentration, assessing just how much he should be fretting over what is -in the grand scheme of things- a miniscule injury. You capture his hands in yours and squeeze gently.

“Pino, it’s fine.” You assure him. “And could’ve been much worse. If not for you.”

At this, his eyes waver towards the ground, humble as ever as he offers a one-shoulder shrug. His modesty is infuriating. Your palm cups his cheek, turning his face back in your direction.

“I mean it.” You say, with fierce sincerity. You’re not sure he ever truly grasps the scope of his own bravery. Perhaps to him it seems only the dutiful thing to do, but you hope some bit of your appreciation, of your deep fondness for him is conveyed. He has stood between you and death more times than you can name.

Your thumb drags softly along his cheek and your head dips in to meet him. From so close, you can feel his breath just barely grazing your skin, and as your lips brush there is an awful succession of sounds one after another.

First, is the dreadful creaking of a long-worn machine, rippling along the walls in fruitless warning.

Next is a gut-wrenching crunch, and the awful scraping of metal against metal.

Last is a voice haunting and hopeless, some pained cross between a gasp and a choke, forced from Pinocchio’s lungs.

The chilling sound touches your lips, and for a moment you’re not sure if you or he are its origin. But this soon becomes achingly clear as you look down at the gruesome scene before you. A great rusted hunk of scrap, at least a foot wide, protrudes from P’s chest. The very edge of it grazes your clothes, just barely piercing your skin. You turn your gaze upwards and your heart falls. P looks back at you, through you, his eyes wide, mouth agape, the corners of his lips twitching in shock. You can’t recall ever seeing him so frightened, not even once.

The hand that’s still holding you tightens to such a degree you feel bruises begin to form along your arm as the weapon is yanked cruelly from its lodging in the puppets chest. A deafening shing reverberates around you.

P crumbles to his knees immediately; the weapon being the only thing holding him upright. A hulking enemy emerges from behind, spurting steam, it’s heaving limbs clanking together in awful dissonance. You reach instinctively for your weapon but find it missing from your previous dust-up. Thinking quickly, you pull P’s sword from his belt and land a blow to the monstrous head of your attacker. It’s not fatal, but you have not the time nor wherewithal to execute a proper hit. The thing staggers backwards long enough for you to haul P’s arm over your shoulder. You kneel beside him and lift with all the strength you can muster, grunting at the exertion. As your enemy advances, you manage enough of a standing position to move forward and you. Fucking. Run.

You don’t know how you do it. You can’t explain what numbs the burning in your legs, the throbbing pain in your head, or the sandpaper-rough raggedness in your lungs as you book it down the hall. You’re still terribly lost, and in a frenzy you duck frantically in and out of alleyways, taking your turns sharp and reckless. Frequently your clothes catch on the lip of a door or a bit of exposed machinery and your skin is quickly rubbed raw, paper-thin streaks of crimson cross-hatching your limbs.

As you move, your surroundings begin falling into a haze, your mind slowing to accommodate the wickedness of physical strain. Puppets creep out of the darkness and you raise the sword of your fading companion in defiance, hacking away with a blind fury. You’re plagued by faraway cries of anguished exhaustion and far too late realize that they hail from your own mouth. Oil spatters across your face, stains your hands and clothes, mixing so easily with the streaks of blood which run from shoulder to wrist.

As the unceasing sounds of the factory’s monstrosities die down, finally outrun, you collapse against a wall. You throw your head back as you gulp down air, and even this stings. Hair clings to your face, sticky with sweat, and you tremor under the weight of Pinocchio’s body. You look at him, struggling to stand, and imagine him a staggered princeling, a circlet of blood and silver dripping from the crown of his head. You push his hair back away from his face. He’s in a state like you’ve never seen him. The vibrant blue of his eyes is dulled, a stormy gray overtaking them as they peer bleakly at everything and nothing. His mouth comes in and out of a tight grimace, allowing only staggered breaths which sound to you more like the wheezing of a dying machine. His head lolls against your shoulder, his eyelids fluttering. At this, you swat at his cheek with your open palm.

“Hey- stay awake, now! I’m not done with you!” You snap, shaking his heavy head in your hand. He shudders with exhaustion but obeys, his weary gaze falling to you. The guilt swelling in your gut nearly kills you. It’s torture, you think, bearing witness to the condition of this poor boy, hardly conscious. You wrack your brain as your eyes dart wildly from wall to wall. There must be a way out, a path to safety, somewhere he can be tended to before it's too late. With a start you realize you recognize one of the winding paths before you. You’ve seen it before, yes, yes! You came this way at the beginning; the stargazer can’t be far away.

“I’m getting you out of here.” you mutter, in honesty more to yourself than to him. “Everything… everything is going to be just fine.”

Groaning, you heave yourself away from the wall, P tumbling unceremoniously along with you. You feel sorry for making him stand, much less run in such a fractured state, but you have no choice. You persist, and his heels drag heavier and stiffer with each step. The enormous weight of it all staggers you both, practically doubled over. You trudge through a tunnel which eventually lets out at a murky pool of corrosive water. You stumble through the shallows, readjusting your weight in a fruitless attempt to find some configuration that doesn’t feel so unbearable to the both of you.

As you do this, P’s arm slips from its place over your shoulder and he crashes into the water below, knees buckling. Panicked, you crouch in the muck, wrapping both arms tight around the puppet’s chest. You heave him out of the water, the tendons of your fingers straining as you claw at his soaked clothes. You manage to drag him onto the gravelly shore and immediately collapse beside him. Breathing hard, you cradle his head in your hands, wiping his face clean of all the grit and grime you’ve endured. He hardly responds to this, a miniscule twitch in his eye the only sign of life. Your chest tightens. You’ve come so far, gotten so close, and yet a terrible truth is beginning to dawn on you.

“Can’t you get up?” You beg, your voice wavering. “It’s not far I can-I could-” you stammer. You can what? What can you do in your condition? The puppet lying before you doesn’t budge, though you swear in his eyes there is something, a longing, a desperation to live; a fear of what awaits him should his story end here. Your eyes sting. “Fucking get up, please!”

Your throat burns as your idle cries echo across the dark pond. Beleaguered sounds leave P’s cracked lips, pained whimpers, breaths that seem to catch on the mechanical gore in his chest, strained and splintered. His face is that of a strangers, glassy silver eyes and pallid skin, the color in his lips shifted from pale pink to a frigid blue. His gaze doesn’t meet yours, eyes pointed upwards at the cavernous ceiling, seeming to stare past everything. You press your forehead to his, cold and clammy. In your mind you recite prayers, half-remembered, in panicked worship of whatever god cares to listen.

“Please. You can’t leave me alone.” Foolishly, you hope that guilt, pure obligation will keep him tethered here; perhaps strike up that deep-rooted sense of crushing responsibility. It’s a selfish appeal. You don’t care.

Suddenly, P gasps and his hand searches frantically for you, tremoring as it clambers blindly up your arm. His fingers bump against yours. Before he’s able to thread them, you feel them fall limp.

Little by little, so does the rest of him. His limbs go slack and his head rolls to the side, chin just grazing the edge of his shoulder. His eyes freeze half-lidded and cloudy, his lips part barely in echo of a final breath. He is the striking image of a fallen angel, lying pale and languid in a puddle of pitch darkness.

Time screeches to a halt. The air stands still and acrid around you, the unceasing sounds of motors and the turning of gears fade into a dull buzz. There is a dead boy in your arms.

Where you expect a piercing and unrelenting grief there is nothing. Numbness. An absence of thought or feeling or sense. In an unthinking daze your fingers fold together over his chest, trembling and cold and marred with viscera. The crater of a wound is large enough that it swallows both your hands up, and you stare into the ruins of your companions heart blankly. This feels wrong, violating, like the desecration of a fresh grave. It turns your stomach and still… you press down once, hard. Something cracks under the weight. The boy is still. You push again. Nothing. You push again.

And again.

A sickening thunk accompanies each futile chest compression, along with a shooting pain in your wrist, a hitch in your breath. You don’t let up until the palms of your hands come away sliced and bloody, your face wet with salt and oil and mud. What an awful shame; despair has made a madman of you.

It’s pure bodily exhaustion which finally forces you to cease this miserable ritual. Your head crashes, throbbing, against your departed’s cold stiff chest. Your hair falls in a matted sweep over your eyes, and you stare through the curtain at nothing. The scene is haunting and dismal in its strange beauty. Your bodies both lie limp, entangled at odd and unnatural angles.

You hold no concept of what’s to come. Returning to the stargazer alone is simply not an option. The thought of facing Sophia, much less P’s father after this makes you want to vomit. Your eyes fade back into focus. The silhouette of your puppet’s discarded sword in the water whispers to you intelligibly, bloodthirsty and cruel. Your hand, now numb to the dull pain the water inflicts, closes shaking around its hilt. Wrecked beyond recognition, you stagger to a standing position and will yourself not to look at the dead boy at your feet. You can’t bring him back. You may not make it out of here alive. You may not make it out of here at all.

But you are armed.

And you are angry.

And you will kill whatever unfortunate thing crosses your crimson path.

#cpr doesn't work on puppets #fic brought to you by the cutscene where joel is impaled in tlou #and when frodo gets stabbed in fellowship #lies of p #lop #lies of p x reader #pinocchio x reader #angst #my writing #lies of p fanfic #hurt without comfort

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