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shirefantasies · 5 months

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Can I ask for a request?

For the fellowship men? So they get wounded and their crush have to nurse them? And she is total calm with that like "Hun your leg is bleeding you have to take off your pants so I can treat the wound" and she's total obvious and didn't get the longing looks she get oder when he ist flustered and shiver because she touch his skin. ("Sry for the cold hands")

I’ll do my best! Tried to vary up the scenarios a bit 😉 thank you so much for requesting 😌 Warnings: some blood & injury mentions, minor language, some suggestive jokes!

The Fellowship When Their Crush Cares For Their Wound

Aragorn

"Won't you please sit down?"

The tender urgency of your words finally ran a shock through Aragorn, who complied. Perhaps it truly was no good to continue pressing on at the detriment of the group.

"Very well. We rest!"

"That was not so hard, was it?" You asked him, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Now, if you please." Pantomiming removing your shirt, you nodded his way.

Aragorn's brows furrowed, blue eyes fixing you with concern, questioning, as he sat and tightened his bootstraps.

"I saw that slash you took," you breathed, "let yourself be cared for."

Inhaling, he nodded, unlacing and shrugging down his tunic. Never had you made such a request before, but giving as you were, it made sense. Such nature was what inevitably drew Aragorn to you. Your touch was soft as you reached out to caress the skin above where he had been injured. Cleaned it just as gently.

"What?" You suddenly broke the silence, tilting your head and fixing Aragorn with an innocent bat of your eyes. You truly had no idea.

He shook his head, a smile playing upon his lips to swallow the wince of pain as you began wrapping his cut flesh in bandages. "Nothing. Only gratitude at the care of your heart and the ease of your hands."

You smiled back, sending Aragorn's chest leaping somewhere far deeper than the pain could reach.

Legolas

"You're bleeding."

"It is nothing, really," the elven prince tried to brush you off, but shaking your head, you stepped in front of him.

"Keep not your pride so tight about you," you chastised, hands upon your hips and a teasing look upon your face, "the dwarf can't see you. Come. Let me at least wrap it up for you."

Legolas's expression softened at your words, and with a slight nod, he followed. Wordlessly he removed his layers when you reached a spot off to the side, dark eyes never leaving you as he revealed the entirety of the wound, a slash near his collarbone. Unthinkingly, your hands went right to the area around it.

"Oh, Legolas, it's worse than I..." You paused, feeling him shiver. "I'm sorry, are my hands cold?"

"A bit," he replied with a bit of a smile, resting both of his hands over yours.

Flushing, you shake your head. "I am supposed to be caring for you."

Legolas just smiled at you. "Can we not have both? This is the least I can do."

"True," you teased, "I suppose it benefits us both, does it not?"

"Indeed," he nodded, "but mostly yet I know no other way to show my heart's gratitude."

Boromir

"I can hardly believe you!"

"Believe what? We are safe again," Boromir replied, a hand tightly clasping your shoulder.

"You are well aware what, you hero of a man," you shot back, waving a hand up and down his form, "now go and lie down for me already!"

"Oh?" His brows shot up at your words. "Is that how you like it?"

"No matter me, you've been wounded! Being surrounded upon all sides and grazed with arrows does that to a man. I saw the one that caught your side and while I'd like to hold you up as much as you need, first we'd best patch you up."

"Oh," Boromir said again, this time a bit dumbly as he lowered to the ground with a nod. His teasing tone quickly returned, however, "Yes, indeed, whatever you say. I forget what a great healer you are."

"Well, I certainly may not be the best, but there is no reason to burden oneself with wounds already inflicted. Not to mention it mostly got your back."

The moment Boromir exposed himself, he glanced back at you, catching the trace of your eyes over his skin. Your hands soon fell upon it, working quickly to clean and wrap up the bloody graze nice and tight. What surprised him, though, was the work of your hands after this, your fingers kneading the skin around it. Pleasure and pain rolled in equal waves through him as you did so.

"My apologies, does this hurt too much? I felt you start a bit just now. My brother just told me that we heal better if we're relaxed."

"And I believe that wholeheartedly," Boromir agreed with a smile, "please continue. I must confess I have never received such fine treatment before."

Giggling at his comment and eliciting a chuckle from him in return, you continued with a smile of your own.

Gimli

“Sit still!”

“I can still fight!”

“Like hell you will,” you shot back, stopping Gimli again with a hand across his chest, “I don’t care what you think you can do, you just could have been killed! Now stay there, please. I’m worried about you.”

Spoken considerably softer, those last four words were what halted Gimli’s protest the most, a glow of warmth and hope ringing out in his chest. His lips parted a bit in surprise. “Oh. Alright, then, do what you need.” For all his bravado, it had been a nasty case, his body slammed down so hard and his now-pounding head taking the brunt of the force.

“Thank you.” Reaching your hands up, you slid his helmet off first, tucking his hair behind his ears. You could feel the way he tensed up at your actions as you pulled one hand away to fetch your cloth. "Sorry, did that sting?"

He had to get out his head- all you were doing was taking care of him. "Not at all. Please-please continue." Perhaps his words sounded desperate, but Gimli barely cared when your hands were on him like that.

Speaking of which... You took firmer hold, tilting him by the chin to get a better angle with which to dab the warm fabric over the wound.

"You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?"

Frodo

"Would you not like to do something about this?"

Frodo simply peered up into your eyes with his glistening blue stare, tilting his head inquisitively and tugging at his sleeves, which you then took a hold of.

"No, no, take this all off is what I meant."

"Take- take it all...?"

Hand crossing over your shoulders, you drew lines down in an impression of the chain Frodo wore, the impossibly heavy burden he bore burning into his skin at all times. "Surely you feel it. You must. Keep it on, I won't touch it, but please let me ease the pain."

Blinking, Frodo inhaled, nodded. "Very well. What will you do, then?"

"Just put some salve up there around where the chain is. Here, just take your shirt off a bit," you told him, fussing with his jacket but allowing Frodo himself to undo the top buttons of his shirt.

He glanced up, followed your gaze and saw it lie not upon the ring, but upon his, and visibly relaxed, a smile finally working its way to his soft lips. Nodding again, he sat back as your hand pushed the metal chain up from its place, spreading your healing concoction upon the opened skin. When your hand got lower, you could feel how rapid his heartbeat was thumping beneath skin and bone.

"Don't worry, really. All I care about is you." Did it pick up again?

"I am at ease, the first of such I've felt in some time. I cannot thank you enough," he replies with a shake of his head and a kiss to the hand you weren't using.

Sam

"Alright, Sam, open up your shirt."

"I beg your pardon?"

Shaking your head, you chuckled at his wide eyes. "I heard you got a nasty scrape, and if so, I've got just the thing for it."

Shock still swam in his green eyes, his fingers hovering over the buttons hesitantly as he glanced between them and you.

Flushing, you spoke once more, much more hastily as you held up the jar of medicine in question. "Oh! Er, well, if you'd rather someone else take a look, I can give this to Aragorn and he can-"

"No!" Sam cut you off, shaking his head. "No, no let's not trouble Strider, you're all right. Here we go."

Glancing back and forth, he sat down upon a rock and undid the top three buttons of his shirt, wiggling the fabric loose to reveal the wound you'd been told of. Your eyes wandered a bit before guiltily returning to Sam's; he smiled faintly as you dipped your fingers into the cool contents of the jar and reached back up to smear some on. Sam, surprisingly, did not flinch but he did shiver a bit.

"Oh, my apologies, I should have warmed it up a bit better first, shouldn't I?"

He sat up a bit straighter at your words. "Not at all, I can take it. Just...just startled me a bit is all. Don't worry your pretty head."

Merry

"Trousers off. Let's see it."

"Right now?" Merry loudly whispered, eyes going round.

"Yes, right now," you fussed, "or else you'll bleed out! Come on."

"Oh. Oh, the wound, yes. Bit of a close one there, wasn't it?"

You put a hand on your hip as Merry lowered into a seated position and undid his belt. "Had Boromir not been there with his shield, you could have lost your leg. What were you thinking?"

"Well, if you really must know," Merry shot back, shimmying his outer garments down to reveal a glistening red gash upon his right leg, "thought charging in might impress you."

He shuddered under the cleansing water you pressed against it, likely due to the cold. Your brow furrowed equally at the wound as it was at him, your eyes darting up to search his. "Impress me?" You replied incredulously.

"Yes," he agreed with a crooked, devious smile, "and with that first line of yours, I thought it'd worked."

Pippin

“Alright, take off your trousers.”

Pippin’s eyebrows shot up as his hands slid to his belt. “Is that what we’re doing? Well, all right then…”

Head tilted and brows furrowed in confusion, you fixed him with a look. “Of course we are, you got a huge gash above the knee. Lucky for you Aragorn harvested us a whole lot of poultice herbs the other day.” Your gaze slid between Pippin and your work of crushing the leaves as he sheepishly loosened his garments.

“Right, right, I knew that, yes. So the leaves are going to go down first, then?”

“Indeed,” you nodded, dabbing at the remaining dribble of blood before you began gently dabbing the poultice on.

Your eyes traveled back up to meet his, their deep green sheen bringing a shy smile to your face. Beneath your hand, he shuddered faintly.

“Sorry, does that sting?” You asked him, glancing again between your work and him.

Puffing out his chest a bit, Pippin shook his head. “Not at all. Not when I have the best nurse in all of Middle Earth to take care of me. Feels a bit good, in fact.”

Flushing, you gave a full smile at his words as you tied off his bandage. “Well, having the best patient helps, too.” Feeling a bit bold, you reached up and patted his cheek. “Let me know if you need anything else, alright?”

A wide grin spread across Pippin’s face. “Oh, I can think of something."

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elfy-elf-imagines · 10 months

Text

Lost in the Labyrinth of my Mind | Legolas Greenleaf

▹ Pairing: Legolas x Reader

▹ Genre: Fluff and Pining

▹ Words: ~4k

▹ Summary: The two times you realized you loved Legolas, and the one time you acted on it.

▹ Notes: I would like a reward, I've posted two times in a year 🙂🙃 But seriously, thank you for all the support and love in my last oneshot, you all had me giggling and twirling my hair with my feet kicked up.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Little has made sense lately.

Thrust into a world so unlike your own everything was disorienting. Now you were living in the world that closely mimicked the Middle Ages you’d only read about. The first year hidden in Imladris had felt like the morning after a jarringly realistic dream. Spots blurred your vision and you were half convinced nothing was even real. In fact, you still weren’t fully convinced this was anything more than a grand delusion. Your memory was spotty and the days passed in a haze, so maybe that's why you volunteered to join the Fellowship as a healer.

It was dangerous, you knew, but those fears were quelled with the notion that death would mean it all had been real afterall. Either you come home a hero or have a firm grasp on what’s reality, even if that’s in death.

Dawn broke, the sun cresting high in the sky, but it was barely seen over the mountains. They seemed to close in, threatening to crush you and your companions, the falling snow ensuring your bodies would stay on the floor. There was a burn in your legs from the steep incline as the Fellowship hiked up the mountains. Even after a night of restless respite, your body still aches. You wouldn’t falter though, even as the tips of your fingers turned blue and your skin became as cold as ice. As the only woman in the company, you refused to be the one to stop first. Stubborn pride was all that kept you moving forward.

Somewhere in between the hobbits was where you found your spot in the marching order. You were content enough to slide in and out of their conversations, at least, the parts of the conversation that could be heard over the deafening wind. But even their chirper disposition seemed to wilt under the harsh weather that seemed to get worse the higher up the Fellowship got.

Your eyes slid towards Legolas, a shining gold beacon amongst the frost. His hair was like the last rays of sunlight, the smile on his face as warming as a roaring fire. Seamlessly he weaved between the members of the Fellowship, seemingly unbothered by the snow. His footsteps were so light, he didn’t even leave a footprint in his wake. Unlike your travel companions, he seemed mostly unbothered by the pelting snow and frigid air. The cloak he wore, lighter than yours, seemed to be for show rather than practical use.

It was obnoxious how distracting he could be. If you weren’t careful, you would stare at him for hours on end, mouth hung open like an idiot. It was humiliating, the amount of times you’d made a fool of yourself while in his presence. The teasing from Elladan and Elrohir had been endless.

Yet as much as you’d hate to admit it, the flutter of your heart or the giddiness that puts a skip in your step were all sensations you reveled in. Always a hopeless romantic, even as previous partners tarnished your silver-plated optimism, you loved being in love. Except, you weren’t in love, you couldn’t be. And in the depths of night, while the stars hung high and all was quiet you told yourself a million things to convince yourself the crush on Legolas was surface level. You told yourself things like:

“It was his elven heritage; you just weren’t used to seeing elves.”

“The infatuation and curiosity would dim with time.”

“Most of your life elves were fictional, and now there was one, right before you.”

Those were a few of the lines you told yourself to placate yourself when your mind wandered too close to Legolas, though it never felt very convincing.

Legolas turned, his bright blue eyes meeting yours. They were so wide and full of wonder, it was hard to believe he was hundreds - if not a couple thousand - years old. He was so youthful and bright, not weighed down from living a million lifetimes. Nothing like his father nor the whispers that followed the King’s name in the corridors of Imladris. Legolas was soft and gentle, careful and perfectly polite to a fault. His father’s disposition may have been winter but Legolas remained the sun that melted the frigid snow.

A smile blossomed on Legolas’ face, not a single crease appearing on his pale skin. The simple gesture made your heart rate increase to an alarming rate, knots twisting and turning in your stomach. Heat and embarrassment made your cheeks turn flush and you hoped he simply thought it was from the cold.

You returned a smile, overtly aware of your own appearance and insecurities. You wanted him to think you were as pretty as the elves you’d lived among, but beauty was hard while caught in a snowstorm. Your eyes moved from Legolas, opting to stare at the back of Aragorn’s head, at least until the queasy feeling in your stomach went away. He was so beautiful, and kind, and wonderful, and--

‘Stop. Don’t do that.’ you scold yourself. It wasn’t worth the potential heartbreak to even consider Legolas like that. You were mortal and he was very much not, he would more than likely see you as a lost puppy than a romantic prospect. But despite yourself, you snuck one last glance at Legolas, foolishly hopeful his eyes were still locked on you. They weren’t; he was now in the front with Gandalf, idle and unaware of the turmoil a simple smile from him caused.

A particularly strong gust of wind hit you, knocking you straight to the ground. The winds were getting fiercer and the snow heavier, how long would this continue before Galdalf admitted defeat and you turned around?

Wet, cold snow seeped through your clothes. You tried to stand, but found it difficult in the thick layer of snow. Like a clumsy child you kicked and squirmed in an attempt to regain your dignity, but it was all for not. Then a hand appeared in your line of sight, offering your aid. You looked up, Legolas now standing before you with an outstretched hand. Without hesitation you took it, Legolas hauling you back to your feet with little to no effort.

Even as your body was upright and stable, Legolas’ hand didn’t leave yours. His hands were rough from decades of archery training, but they seemed gentle in yours. His thumb lightly traced shapes over your skin. The action seemed subconscious as Legolas continued to look at you with that bright expression he always wore.

“Careful my lady, we wouldn’t want you to blow away.” Despite how quiet they were, his words cut through the wind. There was a teasing glimmer in his eyes that seemed to translate to his words.

You breathed out a laugh, careful to not stare into his eyes too long. Your cheeks became warm again, the red flush of embarrassment making its mark on you. Legolas’ head tilted to the side; concern masked the light mischief lighting up his face.

“My lady, you must be freezing, especially after a fall into the snow. Here--”

He didn’t give you time to respond, not that you even could. You were in a trance, enraptured the smell of cedar and bergamot as well as the heat that radiated from his body that was so close to yours. Legolas reached up to the clasp of his cloak and undid it. In a smooth motion, he took the cloak off and draped it over your body.

“That should help keep you warm in the snow.”

He smiled at you, sweet and gentle. His disposition was addictive, making a small grin curl on your lips. All too soon, he stepped away from you, sparring you one last glance before approaching Aragorn. Your cheeks remained warm and bright red, the rate of your heart not settling anytime soon.

You continued to watch him animatley chat with Aragorn, unbothered by the cold even without a cloak. Subconsciously, you pulled the cloak tighter to your body, deeply inhaling his scent that lingered on the fabric.

Practically floating, you were unaware of the knowing glances the rest of the Fellowship cast your way. All the while, you were lost in thought, trying to intellectualize each butterfly Legolas’ touch created. It was all overwhelming and you almost wanted to throw up. You were shaking and nervous; bright red from head to toe. This felt different than idle crushes and romanticization of complete strangers.

Maybe you were falling in love.

---

The river languidly flowed, beams of soft light reflecting off the water and creating a thousand little rainbows. The river’s stream was gentle and almost lethargic, it seemed even the Earth was affected by the elves' lack of urgency in life. Lady Galadriel’s power had seeped into the very dirt and from it sprout and ethereal visages in the forest. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been this at peace. It must’ve been before your old life had been ripped from you.

You were alone, fingertips digging into the mud as you stared at the stream. Gandalf was dead. It was a strange thing to constantly remember. At times you would forget, searching for him in the Fellowship only to remember he’d fallen in Moria. There was a pit in your stomach you weren’t familiar with. Greif didn’t feel the way you’d thought it would’ve, not at all the way it was often dramatized in the media. Instead of bright and all encompassing, it was a subtle, slow burn that would eventually swallow you whole if left untempered.

But you didn’t know how to temper it.

So it left a dull ache within you, painless enough you’d forget it was there until it suddenly pricked you like a sewing needle.

But at least you could mourn without the threat of orcs looming over your head.

“I had hoped to find you.” His voice was carried by the gentle breeze that suddenly came through the clearing. You turned your head, only slightly, just enough to see Legolas’ lithe form standing a little ways away.

“It’s quiet,” you replied, returning your attention to the water, feeling a need to explain yourself to Legolas, even though his observation wasn’t accusatory. The ground muffled the sound of Legolas’ footsteps, only a soft thump heard with each step. He then took a seat beside you, so quiet it felt like he’d always been there. His eyes were on you, you could feel it, the way his blue eyes bore past your body and into your soul. Elves were far more perceptive than humans, and you could feel the truth to that statement in his gaze.

“I had thought so as well. I came here our first night in Lothlorien. It made me think of you, I am pleased to see I was correct in that.” He spoke the words so effortlessly, as if he hadn’t just admitted to thinking of you. Or perhaps it was nothing to him, a passing thought in his mind of one of his friends. You didn’t want to just be a friend, but perhaps that was the category you’ll remain.

You turn your head, eye to eye with Legolas. A warm flush appeared on your cheeks, something that seemed permanent when he looked at you with those eyes. The type of wonder and softness that almost made you believe he returned your affections. Yet you didn’t linger on those fantasies for too long, not wanting to potentially be let down. You’d never been very strong in your convictions, something born during childhood that you never managed to shake.

Flighty and fearful as long as danger was near and it was always near; haunting the edges of your vision, a jumpscare waiting around every corner. The worst case scenario had always been accepted as the only plausible scenario; fiction became fact and you wouldn’t accept any other truth. Perhaps Legolas was waiting for a cue from you to make a move, but you were too much of a coward to ever do it.

So in limbo you would stay, content enough with your friendship while secretly yearning for more.

“And what about a calm river could make you think of me?”

You were irrational and emotional, quick to anger and hard to forgive. If anything you were a calamitous tsunami; rough and heavy, dragging everyone in its tide. Nothing like the level headed and logical elves you’d lived around.

“You’re both a source of peace and beauty,” he responded, a small child-like grin curling on his lips. Your mouth grew dry, brows furrowed in slight disbelief.

‘He thought I was beautiful?’

The thoughts in your mind flew at a thousand miles per hour. There wasn’t one singular train of thought you could latch onto, the ability to speak taken from you. No witty comment fell from your mouth, only a wide eyed stare that suspiciously resembled a doe.

It seemed to make Legolas falter, a light dusting of pink appearing on his cheeks. He looked away, eyes locked on the river. “I apologize, that came out wrong. I simply meant that while you are attractive, you are also a great friend and I value speaking with you.” He stuttered and stumbled over his words, trailing off at the end. And his voice… it was so prim and proper, it made a few of the butterflies in your stomach turn to dust. “The same way I value the quiet of sitting in this…spot.”

His eyes darted away from your sharpened gaze, scanning the nearby treeline. His nerves seemed suffocating, he’d suddenly become so flighty. Had you made him uncomfortable? Did he see the hearts in your eyes when you looked at him? Had it made him uncomfortable?

The thoughts made you shrink within yourself. The barest hint of hope within you smothered in insecurities and doubt as dark as midnight. Perhaps he hadn’t meant the compliment in the way you wanted. They were only kind words to ease a friend's grief, yet you managed to only hear what you wanted.

‘Stupid, stupid, stupid.’

You fought against the disappointment, not allowing it to carve its place onto your face. The smile on your face was bright, but it didn't quite meet your eyes. “I’m glad we are friends.” You place your hand on his shoulder, your touch so light he nearly didn’t feel it.

You half expected him to jump away from your touch as if it burned, but he didn’t. Instead, he met your gaze once more, and the worry muddying his eyes melted away.He gave a slight nod of the head, yet didn’t speak.

Silence filled the clearing, and you were terrified he might hear your heart pounding against your chest. It became harder to breathe the longer the two of you stayed locked in the impromptu staring contest. The distance between you two was small, and you’d never been so close to him before. Oh god, was he getting closer? Was he leaning towards you?

There was a slight quiver in your lips, heart slowing to a point you were afraid it wasn’t beating anymore. Palms sweaty, they clung to the blades of grass held captive in your hands. Time stopped, nothing else mattered as you prepared for his lips to touch yours.

Except…

They never did. Legolas pulled back, eyes wide in alarm. He stood, nearly stumbling backwards in his desperation to get away from you. He got to his feet and took two steps away. On the ground you remained, ripping out grass to keep from crying as you saw what you swore was regret crossing his face.

“I should return to the Fellowship, Aragorn may require me. Until we meet again.” Legolas did an awkward half bow, scurrying away before you could so much as reply.

Left alone, you let out a heavy breath, that was shuddered with choked sobs. Were you truly that bad he had to flee from you? The wind blew stronger this time, and you rolled your eyes. A few stray tears fell and you let them, there was no one to see you cry like a baby over a man you knew you could never have.

You couldn’t deny it anymore, try as you might.

Oh no, you were falling in love.

---

The panic that tore through Helm’s Deep was contagious.

Ten thousand Uruk-hai would be marching towards you, an army that tripled what little forces the keep could muster. We needed outside help, but there wasn’t time to call for reinforcements. We’d all already be dead by the time they came.

You tried to not let the fear show, desperate to keep your body steady despite the shaking it was plagued with. Deep breaths were forced as you attempted to keep your breath shallow and uneven. But you couldn’t deny it, even as you did anything and everything to keep your mind.

You weren’t ready to die.

Not today, not like this.

It wouldn’t be swift and painless, it would be drawn out and agonizing; orcs weren’t famous for their mercy. Suffocated by a blanket of despair, you briefly considered offing yourself. There were so many twisting tunnels and a million ways for you to do it. But in the end, as you stared into the desolate eyes of the Rohirrim, you decided against it. If they could face impending doom with grace, then so could you. Yet that didn’t keep the terror from threatening to swallow you whole.

You were numb.

Stood outside, elves and men began to line up along the wall. There were screams and shouts all around, but it was nothing but white noise in your ears. Across the crowd, your eyes met Legolas’. His lips were downturned and his eyes were tired; Legolas was just as terrified as you.

You weren’t sure who moved first, but within a blink the two of you began to move towards one another. The crowd was thick but you shoved through them with the strength of someone twice your size. As you escaped the crowd and your hands found Leglolas’, you could finally breathe. It was a breath of fresh air after being forced underwater.

His eyes bore into yours, his grip tight as if to assure himself you wouldn’t leave. Battle was coming, he knew that, you knew that, but the sentiment was nice. It made your heart flutter, the numbness freezing your body lifting the longer you stayed there.

You wanted to speak, to tell him all the love confessions and speeches you’d been mentally writing and rewriting. But the ability to talk had been lost. Your mouth was dry and your throat had closed up. Instead you squeezed his hands tighter, hoping to convey everything your words couldn’t.

His lips, pressed into a thin line, relaxed into a slight frown. His eyes were searching your face, looking for the answers to his never ending questions. You weren’t sure if he found what he was looking for, too afraid to ask in case it soiled the moment.

It was in that moment, with your eyes connected and his hands tangled with yours, everything clicked into place. Every nagging insecurity and silly fear felt so miniscule and pointless. How much time had been wasted living in fear?

Moments before doom and your hit with an epiphany. Your feelings weren’t as unrequited as once believed. Reflected in Legolas' shining eyes you could see the same unsurety that came with loving someone new. The constant doubts that you were wrong, not trusting your own eyes and instincts. It was never one sided, you just wish one of you had the courage to say something before this moment.

A part of you waited for Legolas to speak, to declare everything you’d already figured out, but he never did. Rendered mute just as you were, he was silent in the midst of chaos.

So you opted to not speak either and instead pressed your lips against his. Your lips were dry and cracked, raw from biting on them constantly. Legolas’ were much the same, yet neither of you hardly cared. His grip on you tightened as he pulled your body closer. He never wanted to let you lose and you didn’t want him to.

The kiss was hardly romantic or anything like the sappy romance books that became your bible. His lips were rough and his grip was nearly bruising, but it made your heart burst all the same. There was no time for gentle kisses and longing eye contact under flutter lashes, the world was coming to an end. And you’d be damned if it ended without you telling Legolas you’d loved him.

You pulled back, wide eyes staring into his eyes. A warm rush through your body, heart beat racing against your chest. Faintly, you heard Aragorn calling for the two of you; the current scenario came rushing back as time began to move normally. Majority of the army has lined up, anxiously awaiting the official start of a long dreaded war. You looked at Legolas once more, and his eyes met yours.

“I love you.” The words fell from your lips, jumbled together as you spoke to the tempo of your heartbeat. He understood them all the same, his lips curling into a melancholic sort of grin.

“I love you.”

The moment was over, the bubble previously surrounding just the two of you bursting. The end was near.

Following the crowd, you and Legolas took your places at the wall, watching ten thousand Uruk-Hai march towards you. Yet you weren’t filled with the same icy fear and delolation. You’d been revived; dropped into icy water after a year long drought.

Under the wall and hidden by darkness, your hand found Legolas’. He squeezed it, a reassurance and a promise.

You would both make it out.

And everything would be right.

Deeply, you inhaled slowly exhaling. A single arrow bit through the darkness and landed in the chest of an Uruk-Hai. The enemy army shouted and began to charge. You lifted your blade, untangling your hands from Legolas’ as you knocked his arrow.

The two of you would be fine.

If only so you could hear him say the words you’ve dreamed about since your first meeting.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

#legolas imagine #legolas x reader #lotr imagine #lord of the rings imagine #legolas #legolas oneshot #legolas greenleaf #tolkien #lotr #middle earth imagines #lotr movies #lord of the rings oneshot #lord of the rings #legolas fluff #mirkwood elves #lotr fanfic #lotr elves

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wordbunch · 1 year

Text

how the fellowship reacts to you singing...

a/n: this was requested - how the fellowship members react to you singing for the first time. It will include the fellowship boys + Faramir, because I adore him and he needs more love. let me know how you liked it! 💗💗💗 (it will be longer than you think lol)

+ tagging my beloved @entishramblings

ARAGORN

at first he wasn’t sure whether his ears were deceiving him

but he stopped and listened carefully, eventually realizing it was you

then all his attention went into listening to you

he very much enjoyed it, but waited for you to finish your little performance before saying anything (didn’t want to interrupt you, nor make you feel awkward)

he wouldn’t be giving you elaborate compliments and praise, just something short and to the point, but you’d see in his face that he genuinely loved it

he likes to listen to you sing, but also sometimes loves to join you and sing together!!!

wants to learn all the songs you know

💫

LEGOLAS

with his excellent hearing, he picked up on you humming tunes quietly as you walked, many times

and he found even that very pleasant

but when he heard you fully singing for the first time he had heart eyes, basically

he thought you have the most angelic, soothing yet powerful voice

he would never ask you to sing anything for him and wouldn’t want to push you, but he would enjoy it so much when you do

he wants to know where you picked up all the songs that you know

his absolute favorite thing is when you quietly sing while braiding his hair!!!!!

💫

GIMLI

an absolute fanboy of yours, openly

as soon as he hears you singing, he wouldn’t only divert his attention only to that...

but he’d make sure to point it out to everyone else as well

I diagnose him with singing off-key, butttt he still wants to share some dwarf songs with you, and you appreciate it

would be the kind of person to be like “now [Y/N] will sing something for all of us” skhssdhgsh

you know it’s all with the best intentions even if you feel self-conscious about your singing

but this guy right here would hype you up so much that eventually you wouldn’t even care how your voice sounds to others

💫

BOROMIR

he compliments the heck out of you (for singing and everything else)

however he would try not to openly praise you for it to everyone everywhere bc he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable

keyword: he would try not to

he cannot sing so he appreciates your talent all the more

can’t help smilingggg whenever he hears you!

very grateful that you’re comfortable with sharing that part of yourself with him

if you ever actually sang in front of a crowd at some celebration or special occasion, this man would combust of pride

💫

FRODO

can’t help smiling as soon as he hears you, and he immediately recognizes that it’s your singing voice, even from further away

will sneakily approach you so as not to startle you

but he definitely wants to hear more

very curious about where you learned to sing and how you picked up all the songs

it’s a safe haven when you sing something to him, he will literally be in seventh heaven

loves to write and he would be beyond thrilled if you sang some poem that he wrote, but he wouldn’t actually ask you to

enjoys singing together with you

💫

SAM

is generally easily captivated by beautiful and magical things, your voice absolutely being one of them

will ask you countless times to sing again (but he will be quite shy about it every time)

gives you ideas on what you could sing about

he gives you cute little compliments but wishes he could express all that in a much more elaborate way

it brings him incredible joy to hear you singing from somewhere while he’s gardening

he swear it makes everything grow bigger and more luscious

God forbid anyone makes even a slightly negative comment about your singing, he is ready to throw hands

💫

MERRY

jaw drops to the floor when he hears your singing voice

this boy is captivated

smooth compliments that make you blush

why can I see him dancing/trying to dance to whatever you’re singing

potentially he’s not THE best singer out there but oh my does he love singing with you

especially spontaneously, out of nowhere

yes actually he would totally dance around when you sing, and he would dance around with you and spin you around until you’re so out of breath that you can’t sing anymore but instead just laugh heartily

💫

PIPPIN

generally worships the ground that you walk on, and that also implies all your talents and abilities

absolute heart eyes as soon as he hears you singing

(he already loves just listening to you talk, let alone anything else)

ADORES when you two sing together, but initially just a bit shy to suggest it, or to just spontaneously join you

will he come up with songs for you? absolutely

songs for you two to sing together? ABSOLUTELY

would never, in any way, push you to sing in front of everyone else, he actually enjoys it being like a lil thing between the two of you

💫

+ bonus FARAMIR

he heard your voice echoing in the Gondorian halls as you were carrying out some tasks

he was almost convinced it was a sound from heaven

but he followed the sound of it and found you!

you were a tiny bit embarrassed but he complimented you immediately

he finds it very relaxing when you sing to him and it’s so intimate to him

he will occasionally write poems and cautiously ask you whether you can make up some melody for them and turn them into songs

not the best singer, but loves to join you sometimes

💫

+ bonus bonus character GANDALF

“[Y/N], stop with the unnecessary noise, I am trying to think”

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narcissisticmf · 6 months

Text

say don't go | aragorn x fem!reader

description: getting ready to leave for battle leads to an unexpected conversation.

trigger warnings: angst, mentions of violence, some sexism, daughter of gandalf!reader, witch!reader, etc. read at your own risk.

word count: <1k

You squeezed through the many bodies of men that were amongst the camp. Searching for Aragorn, your tired eyes bounced from tent to tent, hoping he would appear eventually.

Across the camp, Aragorn was saddling his horse. You took the opportunity to approach him as he was seeming to be leaving somewhere in secret; without Legolas and Gimli, more evidently.. without you (you observed).

"You're leaving?" You questioned with a subtly firmness which you did not intend.

Aragorn saw you, eyes locked for a moment before parting his lips to speak, "This I must do alone, Y/N."

You nearly rolled your eyes, but fought yourself from doing so and remained still. The crickets sung, filling the silence between the both of you. He stared at you with reluctance, but continued to saddle his horse.

"So you're no longer the ranger from the North, are you?" You questioned and looked at you. "You are the King of Gondor.. protecting his people, is that right?"

"Y/N, I need you here protecting these warriors. You are more powerful than any of us all together," Aragorn explained, stepping toward you away from the stallion. "I am leaving to summon an army that will defend us, we do not have the numbers and you know that."

"That is precisely why I should be going with you, you'll die back there," You stated, blankly.

"I do not fear death," He replied.

"You have far too much pride, Aragorn," You whispered, lowly.

"You will stay here and protect these men," He ignored your insult.

"That is what I am to do? Stay here and watch you go?" You bit off, frustratedly.

"I must do this alone, Y/N," Aragorn repeated more what felt like the hundredth time that evening.

You were beyond frustrated now. It felt as though you were conversing with a stone wall. Aragorn never doubted your abilities and your magic, but now it felt like you were merely a woman being told to stand back while a man took care of other matters of business.

Unaware of your emotions, your eyes filled with tears and became red. You were angry more than anything and reached your hand up into a fist. Aragorn watched you with a furrow in his brow. His pupils large as he slowly gripped your wrist, ever so gently.

"Tell me to stay," Aragorn spoke softly to you as you looked to him with an emotionless expression, though tears continued to fall. "Say don't go," He added.

"I cannot tell you that," You replied, wanting more than anything to.

"I don't understand," Aragorn lowered your hand as it was no longer balled in a fist. "A moment ago you are angry that I go alone, now you tell me you can't say you don't wish for me to leave."

"What I want is to join you, Aragorn," You told him with pure vexation. "I never felt like just a hopeless woman with you until this very moment. I cannot tell you to stay, but I can come with you. I can make sure that you do not end up dead."

Aragorn stared at you for a moment longer before his lips curved into a soft smile, "You're almost as stubborn as Gandalf."

"I learned from the best," You whispered and a snicker left your lips shortly after. "Don't unsuspect that Legolas and Gimli won't be coming along as well," You warned with a small, thin smile.

Aragorn's lips curved into a pleasing smile in response.

a/n: i don't know how i feel about this. is it good?? idk how to feel!! needless to say, i hope you enjoyed this sweetpeas! this is my first lotr fic and i'll definitely be doing more! mwah! be safe and happy (almost) halloween! <33 — angelina.

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laneynoir · 1 year

Note

Heyyy :)

I was wondering if you could do “How long has it been since someone hugged you?” From the writing prompts, but with Y/n asking Legolas that? Cuz I thought that would be fitting ig.

I love youuu <33

I adore this idea! And of course, I've never tried to write a wedding scene before, so please don't shoot me (or do, that's your choice.)

"A month!" The cry of Gimli is met with an amused expression from the king. "Near an entire month yet you've kept us here, under no clear pretense! Only now to tell us that this elven lass is to be your bride?" Here does Gimli pause, looking to Arwen. "You are a lass? I thought Legolas was for the first week of our journy, your braids are so odd."

Laughter as soft and glowing as the stars flows from the Lady Undómiel. "Yes Lord Gimli, I seem to remember your father, Gloin, making the same mistake. Worry not though, you have not insulted me any more than you did my grandmother when you asked her favour."

"Well I for one," You break in before Gimli can start another speech on the grace of Galadriel. "Would like to be the first to offer you both congratulations. My heart sings that you should finaly be wed, I can think of no better a reward in peacetime for what you hace done for our world."

Legolas echoes your words. "Indeed, I can think of none more deserving of this union, prehaps Lord Elrond has finally decided you worthy of the sceptre of Annúminnas?" The jest is taken goodnaturedly by Aragorn, who responds with a false groan. However the comment perplexes the residant Hobbits, and it is Pippin who asks what on earth 'and you minnes' is.

A lovely smirk on her face, Arwen supplies. "When he was young, and first come to Imladrís, Aragorn was given the heirlooms of his house, save the Sceptre of Annúminnas which my father withheld until Aragorn should earn it. This supplied my brothers with a bet: for which could Aragorn earn first? Arwen or The 'shiney stick'? My father learned of this bet before, and with some vindictive pleasure enssured that Aragorn should gain both at once."

The laughter of the fellowship causes no embarrassment for the Man, he has eyes only for his beloved. "All true words, though I am afraid still that I will never truly earn your love, but I will spend the rest of my days trying."

After the others who are there offer their congradulations, Sam asks a question which has obviously been bothering him. "Begging you pardon, but who do you have making the cake? Strider hasn't introduced us to any of his family, and I was curious."

Aragorn frowns. "The... Cake? I suppose one of the cooks will provide a cake." Four gasps of horror, and one of laughter (from you) resound at the statement. "I beg your pardon, it seems we've reached a cultural differance yet again. Samwise, would you tell us of this tradition?"

Despite the faint blush on his cheeks, Sam agrees. "Cakes are very important at wedding sir! Why the very though of not having one is horrible. When a couple is joined in matrimony, the youger parent of the younger partner bakes the cake. At the wedding, the couple slices the cake which is colored on the inside, and if a bit of the blue is on the spoon, the first child will be a girl, if it's red, then the babe will be a boy."

Aragorn smiles kindly at the hobbit. "It would surly be a shame to skip such a delightful tradition, though my blood family no longer lives. If it is I would ask you to fill the task?"

Sam's face lights up in pride and delight. "It would be an honour, I promise that no pastry will ever rival the wedding cake of the first restored rulers of Gondor!"

The entire city seems to have accepted invitations for the wedding; people of all ages crowd around the the palace gardens (which, true to his word, Legolas has assisted in whiping into shape).Vines of deep greens creep down contrasting white stone arches, life on cold rock, hope in an empty place.

Aragorn stands under one such arch, dressed in royal garb that has caused at least two of his new subjects to swoon. His face shows nothing but calm content- at least on the surface. However to the eye of one who has traveled for high on a year with the man, and lived for his youth in Imladrís, you can see the stress in his eye.

Standing on the side of Aragorns honour guests, you send him what you hope is a comforting and encouraging smile. He inclines his head just the slightest amount, acknowledging you. His attention shifts rapidly however as a string of clear music flows from the hands of the twin elven minstrels.

As one, the congregation of men, elves, hobbits, a wizard, and dwarves alike turn to the opening in the garden wall that separates the high garden feom the battlements.

Framed against the ivy, the light of early dusk adds an ethereal effect to the Evenstar; Arwen. The dress she wears is simple at first glance, a simple white gown with green trimmings. The waves of fabric seem to float around her; her steps are so light they seem nonexistent, she takes Aragorn's hand after steping onto the slightly raised platform.

The ceremony is short, but breathtakingly beautiful. A satin cloth so pure it glows is wrapped around the Royal couple's hands. Eyes locked on the other, they resite there vows, words so heartfelt that very few eye stay dry, and when they seal the union with a passionate kiss that has a watery-eyed Elrond grimacing, the applause is deafening.

Your hands sting with how hard you clap, and you pause, eyes drawn to Legolas beside you. He wears his soft smile, the one that just barely turns the corners of his lips up, yet still makes your heart shudder. Still though, there seems to be an indescribable light in his eye, that hints at somthing hidden behind the facade of content grace and joy he usually keeps.

Curious, you stick close to your elven friend throughout the reception, and as the toasts pass, and the dancing has moved away from the consistent expectation of nobles asking gor a dance, you withdraw to a more secluded area of the brightly lit room. Your eyes wander over the sea of elegantly dressed people, searching as always for the light presance that holds your heart.

"Do you look for someone, Y/n?"

You jolt at the voice, turning happily to Legolas. "Indeed, my prince, though ive found him now." He smiles, but it looks almost... Strained. Sipping on the rosehip wine in your hand you look over the elf. He meets your gaze with the same calm as usual- at least on the surface.

Looking closer you notice the delicate crease in his brow, faint and noticeable as a small ripple on a clear, calm lake. His fingertips tap together, one after the other, each touching once, before he appears to catch himself, and the movement stops, leaving the hands tense.

His actions, and lack thereof, remind you of those before a battle, however legolas even usually did not exhibit such, not even before the throes of Mordor were washed upon you all.

"Legolas," you ask, hesitantly, "what bothers you?"

His eyes widen a moment, before his expression softens. "Nothing of any great importance. Only... I find the sounds and smells of such a large gathering almost suffocating." He says this as if it were a crime, and he were addmiting to such before a council. "Especially after so long of traveling, I have become unacustomed to life in court, and thus the stress which acompanys."

The knowledge that Legolas has been in discomfort for some time, as it draws near midnight, sets a feeling of dismay in your stomach. Straightening yourself resolutely, your snatch up his hand and weave yourself among the outskirts of the crowd.

Through an ornate door you pull Legolas into a small garden, and while the sound of sparse minsterals can be heard, the sound of talking fades into the background. "Better?" You ask, peering at Legolas.

He nods, but you have no time to admire the light in his bearing before he is bowed over your hand. "May I have this dance?"

The question startled you, but you quickly affirm your acceptance, allowing him to pull you closer, and the soft instrumental tune provides a leisurely beat to step with. You meet his eyes, and a mist covers them, so doing the natural thing you remove your hands from Legolas' own, you wrap him in an embrace.

When he stiffens, you make to pull back, but instead he tightens his grip in a way that you can feel the muckes beneath his tunic, his head nestles into the crook of your neck.

Running a hand along his spine in what you hope is an appropriately comforting motion, you feel the damp of his eyes drip onto your skin. "Oh Legolas," You trail off a deapseated sorrow filling your very soul at the inability to know what brings such display to the usually strong and lighthearted elf. "How long has it been since someone hugged you?”

"I- don't..."

At the words you gently pull him to the ground, a movement which is slightly hindered by his unwillingness to release you. When you reach a half sitting, half kneeling position, he draws back slightly. "I apologize, I-" you cut him off with a fingertip to the lips.

"Please do not let such words nor guilt fill you," you trace the line of his brow, and see the pink hue in his eye from tears long withheld. "I love you, and any service I may do, or condolence I can offer... All that I have is yours, please do not try to take the privilege of heloing you away."

A choked "Meleth" is all Legolas can reply to the declaration, but the intent is visable, so you pull him closer, and run the silk soft hairs of his head through your fingers.

For you meant it, anything for him is well worth doing, and you would be colder than the stone in a creek before you could even think about galting your care.

#lotr #legolas x reader #arwen x aragorn #legolas #my fic #i still cant tag things #hug time #sad boi elf

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aphroditesmoon · 1 year

Note

I saw you were looking for lotr requests, could you maybe do enemies to lovers with either Aragorn x reader or Legolas x reader? Thanks! :)

shrike

aragorn x fem!reader

summary: aragorn confronts you of your reckless ways and you wonder if his anger is coming from irritation or simply a place of worry.

warnings: ranger!reader, angst(at first?), mentions of nudity(not nsfw), hurt/comfort.

a/n: since you gave me options I decide to do aragorn, hope it's to your liking<3

°°°

Aragorn hisses through his teeth as the bitter cold finally starts to affect him after three daya of patrol.

His annoyance however, wasn't just directed at the weather. You had left 5 days ago to make sure the further away forest in south of Ithillien were clear of any orcs.

And unsurprisingly, you still had not return.

He had not even see glimpses of you nor any footsteps to follow since he started his patrol. Though some would say all that was just another sign of your capabilities as a ranger, he knew better.

When dusk had finally reach, Aragorn, with a defeated sigh decided to return to the small abandoned hut deep in the woods, marked by the dunedains as a safe house whilst it being unknown to other folks.

His stomach growled but he ignored his hinger as he started attending to his horse, cleaning it and making sure it's fed first before him.

As his fingers comb through it's mane, the birds screamed along the skies, alerting him of a presence. And by the loud sound of hooves getting nearer, his heart was relieved and at once he leaves his horse and turns towards you.

The thumping of the horse came to a half when met with Aragorn. Hands folding together againts his chest, the ranger was ready to launch into a long detailed lecture, but as the sight of you slumped on the horse, hands trembling as you hold on to the reins, he could only mutter a mouthful of elvish curse before rushing to your side and easily pulling you down into his arms.

You were not passed out, of course not. For if you were, you wouldn't be struggling againts his hold, determined to attempt a walk inside the hut.

After finally getting inside with his help, you shoved him off of you, walking in large shaky steps towards dinner table.

"No dinner?" You slurred as you fell right on the chair.

You felt Aragorn's gaze burn through your back but could barely care. "Oh, I thought you would've been in charge of that, seeing you were gone for almost a week, the least you could do was steal a chicken for me, you know."

You didn't have to turn around to know he was being sarcastic, one of his weirdly attractive scowls probably plastered on his face.

"There were orcs when I got there, now there aren't. I got the job done and that's all that matters, so I'd appreciate less yelling and more cooking." You responded casually, unaffected by his anger.

Aragorn had moved from across the door to your side in a split second, fingers holding you up by your chin to meet his eyes. "That is not all that matters you impetuous rodent." He grits out, voice low yet every word felt like a shout.

You ripped his hand of you face, hating how much of a child he's making you feel, immediately turning away from him.

"That is all that matters to me. Not you nor your opinion of how I complete my tasks." You hands were still shaking, but now of anger, not from tiredness. "I hate you." You remember to add. He says nothing, eyes unwaveringly glaring at you.

"You know-" you started, feeling defensive of yourself.

"I've fought multiple group of orcs with nothing more than a sword and a bow, and for every punch to the ground I receive, I've always managed to get back up." He lets out a short humourless laugh at your prideful statement.

"And what if one day you don't? What if one day you're slammed to the ground and couldn't find it in yourself to be revived from the cold grounds of earth?" You note on the softness of his tone, even still, as stern as ever.

"Then, I'll pray for the dirts of the earth to close itself around me and let myself remain there, where I belong." Oh how he hated to hear those words. It wasn't the first time you've said something along the lines.

You were so stubborn in everything you do, was it so hard for you let someone else make the call for once.

the silence after your last sentence was almost peaceful, too long for your liking however.

Aragorn then, ended the excruciatingly long quietness with a loud and tired sigh, embarked from the deep of his chest.

"I'll start skinning the chicken, if you could start boiling some water for it before you take a bath." He concluded.

You gave him a nod before gently getting up to do as you're asked.

Once the water was ready for him to boil the chicken, you make your way to the river not far from where you're residing. Sliding into the warm water, your eyes closes at the cleansing feeling of the water against your skin. Orc blood was so hard to be removed off, but this was a start.

You flinch as you rubbed some water againts your stomach, where a terribly bandaged wound was forgotten to be there. Strengthening yourself, you ignore the sharp pain throbbing where the water hits and finish off cleansing yourself.

You ducked your head under the water for one last time, water splashing about as you rise up from it's depth.

Basking in the light of night stars, you shake off the dripping water from your hair and body before turning around to climb off of the river.

As your eyes falls to the clean clothes instead of your dirty ones by the side of the river, it does not fail to notice the shadow of strider, walking inside the hut as soon as your head turned.

The ranger says nothing as you enter the hut a few me minutes later, but the elephant in the room remained, that is of how you're currently wearing his clothes.

He gives you plate of chicken and you muttered to him a small thank you before diving in.

As good as it was for an unseasoned chicken, the urge to make jests of his cooking has arose in your chest. You never did enjoy a quiet meal time. "Perhaps some spices next time, hm?"

He glares at you.

"This isn't your mother's house, we make do with what we have." You rolled your eyes dramatically, making sure he saw it. That was your aragorn, so serious all the time, like an old tired father of ten.

"My mother is dead so I'd have to make do if I was at her house anyways." You spoke quitely, still heard in his ears. This time it was he who rolled his eyes. childish rodent. his annoyingly aggravating rat.

Finishing the rest of the meal in a more comfortable silence, the tension on his shoulder and frowning face seeming to lessen.

You helped him with the dishes before going out to attend to your horse, feeding it and brushing it's mane before leaving it with a goodnight kiss on it's nose.

Expecting Aragorn to already be asleep, instead you're met with him awaiting you on the dining table with bandages and medicine rolled on the table. You stand by the door, staring at his preparation in suprise.

"Come on then you stubborn rabbit, that wrapping is awful, it'll fall open once you start jumping around again." He chided.

His voice broke the trance you were in as you obediently walked towards him, letting his expertise to bandage your wound properly.

You'd argue you could do it yourself, but even lone rangers need a helping hand sometimes.

#lord of the rings fanfiction #lord of the rings fic #lord of the rings #lotr x reader #aragorn x reader #aragorn #aragorn heir of isildur #the lord of the rings #lotr #lotr fanfic

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lamemaster · 11 months

Text

The Curse of the Uncursed (Thranduil x Feanorian Reader)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Epilogue |

Summary: What would your son look like? You did not get to see him when you gave birth to him. You did not get to see him before your death. Only remnants of his movements in your belly remain in your memory.

AN: thank you everyone for your kind words for the last part of this fic. I enjoyed reading every single one of them after long hours of work. That being said, sorry for the delay but here is the last part of this series. I may work on some headcanons about the plot in the future but nothing is set right now. I hope you enjoy this.

Legolas feels the lands of his birth leave him as he watches the shores of Aman greet him. His kingdom, his father, his people, and their memories are all left on the nether shores. All but his friend, Gimli, who stands beside him.

Maybe someday, in some peaceful age, he would welcome his father to these shores. A lungful of grief and a heartful of joy fill him as he finds his grandfather, King Oropher, on the shores.

He embraces his grandfather in the way of men, a way taught by Aragorn. And his grandfather, although taken aback, hugs him back with equal vigor. None of them mention Thranduil. They cannot bring themselves to.

Legolas' eyes wander, looking for someone else. Someone he has never seen, someone he does not remember yet knows. His mother. He looks for you, whose name he has not heard once from his father's lips.

Yet, he knows that you have loved him more than life. And now that he stands on the shores of the land that you live on, Legolas does not see you in the crowd of people welcoming him.

"Her kind is not welcomed on these shores," Oropher speaks, noticing Legolas' wandering eyes. "Not after what they did ages ago."

Hot, seething rage fills Legolas at the hostility he sees in his grandfather's eyes. Was this what his mother faced while bearing him? Such hatred that she had no part in. "Her son is a part of the reason that Arda remains peaceful and the Dark Lord Sauron stays defeated," for the first time, Legolas lets pride and steel of wrath seep into his voice.

"And if these shores cannot welcome my mother, who has been forgiven by the Valar, then I see no reason to be here any longer," with these words, Legolas finds his feet walking away from his grandfather, who does nothing to stop him.

He is aware of Gimli calling for him, but he continues walking as his Dwarven friend complains about emotionally constipated elves. Everything feels too unfair. Why did his mother face such hostility when she did nothing wrong? How sad must she have been with how everyone treated her? And he…he wasn't there for her.

Guilt builds in his heart, and the streets of Alqualonde blur as tears cloud his eyes. He wants to leave so badly. He wants his mother. He wants to comfort her and take away her pain. He wants to reassure her and make her smile.

Legolas bumps into a figure, and a warm voice greets him. "And here I thought I would welcome my grandnephew with smiles," a voice he does not remember. A golden-haired and silver-eyed elf smiles at Legolas.

Atandil, or "Friend of Men," King of Nargothrond, Finrod, beams at Legolas.

"Yonya, your pacing would help little. I recommend you sit and wait. That Findarto is pretty good with his words. He would definitely charm your son into coming here," Celegorm comments, perched on a chaise as he observes you pacing around the room.

His own anxiety is well-hidden behind his cocky exterior. You turn to look at your father, "Do not talk like that about Uncle," you warm him. It had taken decades of your work to mend the broken ties between the Finweans. Your father and Uncle Finrod had been one of the toughest ones to work with.

Your heart races as you imagine your son somewhere on the shores of Aman. So close, yet so far. Only your respect for the Teleri holds you back from rushing to the shores that would bear your son's ship.

Your son, who played a big part in the destruction of the rings once forged by your cousin, Celebrimbor. "I will definitely brag about my grandson to that Curufin. Let him know the actual hero of Arda," you shake your head at your father's obnoxious words. You would have to make sure that he truly does not offend your uncle or Celebrimbor, who seems to be recovering well.

What would your son look like? You did not get to see him when you gave birth to him. You did not get to see him before your death. Only remnants of his movements in your belly remain in your memory.

As Celegorm's words linger in the air, your pacing slows, and you reluctantly settle into a nearby chair. The room is filled with a mix of anticipation and unease, and your mind drifts to the memories of your son, Legolas, whom you have never met in person. It has always been a painful void in your heart, knowing that you couldn't be there for him in his formative years.

Your thoughts turn to the events that shaped his life—the battles fought, the sacrifices made, and the role he played in the destruction of the rings. Pride swells within you, mingled with a bittersweet ache. Legolas, your son, is a beacon of hope in a world plagued by darkness. The knowledge of his accomplishments fills you with immense joy, but it also deepens the yearning to be with him, to hold him in your arms.

You gaze at your father, whose tongue always seems to wander freely, his remarks occasionally straying into offensive territory. The mending of broken ties within the family has required delicate care, and you have worked tirelessly to foster understanding and forgiveness. The last thing you want is for your father's words to undo the progress made.

"Ata, please," you implore gently, your voice tinged with a mixture of weariness and determination.

Your father sighs, his expression softening, "I will welcome my grandson and offer all that we have, but never, in this eternity, will I ever welcome his father," steel of hatred fills your father's jovial voice as he talks about your husband, Thranduil. "He who made you suffer, made you cry, made you pay for wrongs you had no part in, has no place in my heart," your heart shudders as you observe the wrath in your father's eyes.

"He held no mercy for you, not even when you bore his child, not even the decency to let you meet your son," Celegorm gets up from his seat, and his eyes brim with tears as he cups your face in his hands. "He made you suffer for my crimes. He made my daughter go through the worst of fates ever. I cannot forgive that. Not even in this blessed land."

Thranduil remains one subject that your father never switches his views on. Of all the repentance and grief, your husband is a thorn in your father's heart.

You do not speak anything on the topic of your husband. You cannot bring yourself to. Guilt, remorse, and regret make it hard to do so.

As Legolas steps through the magnificent halls of Tirion, his heart beats louder than ever. He cannot bring himself to be awed by the glamour of the city or its palace. All he can do is steel his mind to keep up with his granduncle Finrod's steps.

Yearning greater than the depth of the ocean, the endurance of a mountain, or the vastness of the entire sky seems to fill his every pore.

Anticipation, fear, and joy all crowd his heart. The mother who loved him greater than life,

would she love him still? Would she be pleased to see him as he would be to her? Would she let him be a part of her grief and allow him to share his?

With all these questions plaguing his mind, Legolas finds himself rooted in the spot as he watches Finrod push open the doors that separate his mother and him. Mere wooden doors that seem to be most potent at that moment.

A curtain of long silvery hair and sparkling green eyes, like the beginnings of the spring that Mirkwood was once known for, greets Legolas. You… his mother…

He does not hear the background voices of Finrod or others. Nothing matters in that moment. Legolas feels whole for the first time in his life.

He watches as you rush towards him, your steps hurried, and when in the haste of your movement your feet falter, Legolas finds himself supporting you, catching your arms and holding you.

"Yondo," after a separation so long, Legolas cannot will himself to stop his tears at the first mention of an address from his mother. He does not stop you when, with trembling hands, you cup his face and kiss the top of his head.

Maybe not all the wrongs in the world can be undone, maybe Arda truly can never be unmarred, but it remains beautiful nevertheless. And Legolas believes it to be true at this moment.

Feanor's heart weeps. He has yearned, raged, and lamented for many, but never has a sorrow been so potent as the hurt of his grandchildren.

Since he first caught a glimpse of Celegorm's child from the solitary halls of Mandos, he cannot help but feel endeared towards you, who resemble his mother so much.

Maybe, in those long years, it was your well-being that kept Feanor looking out for the nis growing up in the lands of the Sindar.

Your grief, your joy, your love, all feel too personal to Feanor. Closer than the Silmaril or the pains of his own children. But that means that Feanor witnessed your fall. With an irony stronger than ever, your fate is similar to Miriel's.

Feanor's soul burns with the hatred of a thousand suns for the Sinda who abandoned his granddaughter, who left you alone and cold, yearning for your son. In those moments of despair, even the confines of Mandos's halls tremble at his rage.

This restlessness only grows until he meets you. You, who, even in the grief of your own death, came to console him. In those moments, Feanor's soul cannot help but mellow down at your gentle urging.

So, Feanor spends ages in the desolate halls of Mandos, looking over his family that resides in the blessed realm. And his great-grandson, who fights against the Lieutenant of Morgoth.

The lands of once Greenwood the Great now lie overrun by wild vines and overpowering fauna. A forest that was once a kingdom now speaks only of ruins. The elves who once resided there have long left for the shores of Aman.

Only one remains. A fallen king who wears no crown. A king who does not sit on a throne. Instead, he spends ages trapped in a room. No lock, no shackles bind him, but he remains seated by a window.

A window that witnesses changing seasons and the paths of the sun and moon.

The one called Thranduil awaits his redemption or any form of forgiveness. He does so now that he remains free of his role as the king to his people or a father to his son. For now, he remains Thranduil, who once wedded you and Thranduil who once loved you more than his soul.

In those moments of solitude, Thranduil allows himself to read every single one of your letters from long ago. Long ago, when you waited for him in the same room. He grieves as he reads. He allows himself to mourn for the loss of his love, you, your marriage, and his very self.

Maybe the age of elves is over, but Thranduil's repentance stretches long into the eternity of Arda.

#tolkien elves #thranduil x reader #thranduil #thranduil x wife #the silmarillion #celegorm #legolas #Legolas' mother #feanorian reader #angst #angst with a hopeful ending

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estelofrivendell · 9 months

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Hello ! Hope you're doing well

Could you please write a Legolas x Reader where the reader is playing piano (i know piano don't exist in LOTR lol so actually it could be any other instruments, I just prefer piano) during the Rohirrim party and Legolas fell even harder for them and thought it was the right time to confess his feelings (if you can also include that they've been distancing lately)

Hope it is not too much and take your time to write it!!

Legolas x Reader (The Pianist)

A/N: Hope you like this, anon! Legolas is a little tricky to write, trying to get better with him and his characterization.

The Rohirrim were a merry bunch, there was no doubt about that. Despite the heavy losses in Helm’s Deep, the return of Gandalf and Éomer lifted their spirits greatly.

The celebration began as soon as they returned to Edoras with Merry and Pippin, cheerful and energetic as always. Legolas was unsure if he was dreaming but he swore the two hobbits were not as tall as they are now the last time he saw them.

After Gimli passed out, Legolas checked the great hall to find the remaining ones not yet intoxicated. There was Aragorn, who never took in more than he wanted to, Éowyn, who did not seem to enjoy these kinds of things. And there was you, playing the piano and surrounded by jolly men singing a song about falling in love.

If the theme of the party was to celebrate the recent victory and honor the fallen, then everyone was miserably failing, because they sure are not making any mention of the dead in their song.

As soon as the song came to an end, he approached you, narrowly avoiding the tipsy men about to bump into him and passed by others who lost their balance. You looked up at him and grinned.

“Hello, Legolas,” you greeted cheerfully. “Would you care to join me?”

“I am afraid I am not very skilled at the piano,” said Legolas. “I do, however, take pride in my skill at the harp. You never told me you played the piano.”

“You never asked.”

True enough, Legolas felt he did not know you well. He started off preferring your company over the others, especially Gimli’s, but in a strange twist of fate, he would not hesitate to call Gimli his best friend now. You were what he liked to call thoughtful; always thinking of the future, hoping for the best instead of the worst. He was no cynic even if the odds point to a complete destruction of the world and someone like you and your optimism was a refresher.

Legolas thought this was the right moment to start over. “We speak little to each other lately. Perhaps at dusk you could teach me how to play the piano and get to know each other more.”

“I would love to.”

“It’s not that hard, Legolas. You’re tensing up. Everyone has to start somewhere, and if I can do it, then so can you.”

Legolas could read basic piano sheets and memorised all the keys and what notes they represented, but couldn’t hit the notes as well as he wished. One second, he’ll be playing fine but his fingers would suddenly tense and make it difficult for him to continue, abruptly ending his practice awkwardly.

“It happens to the best of us,” you insisted. “Besides, you’re lucky enough to have all your life to master the piano.”

Legolas chuckled. “That is true.”

And for the first time in what he guessed was weeks, Legolas felt light heartened, like he always was before you two grew distant from each other. He’s not sure how it happened but he was sorry those weeks were wasted with lack of interaction instead of getting closer to you.

“Are you seeing anyone?” Legolas asked.

“Not at the moment, no,” you said. “Why?”

“If you would let me, I would like to take you out for a ride at dawn. Edoras has a lot of lovely things to offer. We could talk about that and more about each other.”

You smiled. “That they do. I’d love to, Legolas. I think you're wonderful to be around.”

#lord of the rings imagine #lotr imagine #legolas x reader #legolas imagine

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sotwk · 5 months

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Greenleaf's Tree (child!Legolas & Thranduil fic)

For the THAUC Event by @fellowshipofthefics

Artwork by event partner @thatonetimetraveller

Summary: Six-year-old Legolas goes on royal progress with Thranduil for the first time and learns more about the sort of king his father truly is.

Event Prompt: "What is Legolas' favorite memory of growing up with Thranduil as his father?"

Word count: 2.8k

Content: Growing up, Family Fluff, Father-Son Bonding, Good Parent Thranduil, Thranduil's kingship, Greenwood the Great, the Golden Age of the Woodland Realm, Pre-Mirkwood/Dol Guldur, Easter Eggs for the SotWK AU

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: None

To Read on AO3: Link

Greenleaf’s Tree

Third Age 248 July 10

The Woodland Realm, Greenwood the Great

Legolas was early. Ninniel had tried to warn him; the King’s instructions had been for the prince to be dressed and ready to depart at the main courtyard an hour past sunrise. But the elfling had scarcely slept a wink the previous night (again, against his father’s instructions), and had pounced on his nursemaid to rush through the process of helping him into his brand new clothes, made especially for the occasion. Afterwards he scarfed down a few mouthfuls of his eggs and hash before sprinting through the halls across the awakening palace with a half-eaten bun in his fist.

The skies were just beginning to lighten in the burgeoning dawn when Legolas descended the grand stone stairway of the palace entrance. He was not the only early arrival! The elfling took a giant leap off the last three steps and skipped towards the tall, imposing figure of the Crown Prince of the Woodland Realm--whose back was turned to him as he conversed with one of the guards in the king’s escort.

Prince Mirion felt the polite tug on the hem of his tunic and turned his head to look down, down, at the elf-child that barely came up to his hip. “Ah, and there he is! Bright and early, just as I expected!”

“Still not early enough to beat you,” Legolas chirped, ducking the broad hand that attempted to ruffle his hair. “Good morning, Feren!” he sang out to the young soldier in his brother's company.

Feren's eyebrows rose as he lifted his head from his bow of greeting to the little prince. “His Highness knows my name?”

“Certainly, you are Celuwen's twin! She talks about you a lot and she is ever so nice to me!” Feren’s sister was indeed, in Legolas’s opinion, the nicest of the scribes in the royal library, save for Arvellas, and the only one not to stifle a look of exasperation whenever he would pop into their sacred space to ask about picture books. Celuwen was also the only one who took the time to seek out for him books that contained mostly illustrations, instead of sniffing that “his Highness must take the time to practice his reading!”.

“Well, now there are two of you going on the Progress for the first time,” Mirion said, clapping his hands on Legolas’s skinny shoulders. “You will both see there is nothing to it, and I believe you shall find it to be the most pleasant, almost relaxing, trip.”

“It is a high honor to finally be appointed, sire,” Feren said stoutly, his chest puffing with pride. “Rest assured that the King and Prince shall have my utmost protection on their travels.”

Mirion smiled. “The promotion is well-deserved, perhaps even delayed in its coming. I have no doubt you are up to the task.”

It did not take long for the courtyard to fill up with more people. First, seven other soldiers trickled in to complete the escort, and with them their mounts. Then, the rest of Legolas’s brothers arrived, along with several members of the royal court fulfilling their duty to tradition. By the time King Thranduil himself descended the steps with Queen Maereth on his arm, the entire palace staff had assembled at the periphery to see their lord off.

Legolas had said his goodbyes to his family the previous night, so that he could express his emotions in private, especially with his Ammë, in whose embrace he shed some tears. The Progress would not be his first time away from home, but would be his first prolonged time apart from her.

“Do you remember the two things I asked for, my Greenleaf?” the Queen whispered as she bent low to give her youngest one last hug.

Legolas nodded vigorously. “To always stay near the escort and to take care of Ada!” He planted a kiss on her fair cheek. “I shall do both, Ammë--I promise!”

The elfling trotted behind his father to the middle of the procession, where Alvar, the great King’s Elk, awaited between his two wary wranglers. “Up you get,” his Ada said, and hoisted him into the special dual seat upon the beast’s broad back. With a billowing swish of his hunter-green cloak, the Elvenking effortlessly leapt into the saddle and circled his arms around his son to take the reins.

The lead rider blew the heralding horn, and as the sound pierced clear through the forest air, their party headed out. Legolas turned back to wave at the gathered crowd until they vanished from his line of sight. As Bar Lasgalen’s ivy-covered walls sank behind the sentry line of ancient oaks, the reality of his adventure ahead firmly sank in, setting off a rush of tingles from head to toes. It would just be him and his Ada on the road, traveling together, for an entire month!

At only six years of age, he was much younger than any of his brothers had been when they went on their first King's Progress. Legolas knew his parents had gone over many discussions about his readiness for the Crown’s most anticipated summer tradition, ever since he started declaring at the family dinner table that he “will tour with Ada next year”. Apparently none of his brothers had been smart enough to just say that they wanted to go. Now there he was.

Legolas had not expected, however, to be sent on the journey alone with the King, without his mother or even a single brother to act as a buffer between them. Not that he thought one was necessary, but he had never enjoyed such bountiful access to his father before!

“How long until we are there, Ada?” the elfling asked, after holding in the question for what already felt like half the day.

“We are perhaps an hour away still,” Thranduil responded. “From Rowanhill. Our first stop, if you recall.”

“Yes, I remember!” Legolas drew himself up proudly, confident that he memorized, in order of scheduled visit, the names of all ten Greenwood villages listed on their itinerary. “But there is no mention of Rowanhill at all in my book, so I could not learn anything about it beforehand.”

“Book? What book?”

“It is in my pack…” The child leaned over in the saddle and pointed to the four riders to their rear, whose horses also carried the personal items they had packed for the trip. One gesture from the King, and the guard bearing the prince’s belongings rode forward to allow him to procure the wanted item.

Legolas flipped through the leather-bound tome while his father peered over his shoulder at the pages filled with colorful illuminations. “Celuwen found this for me,” he explained. “She said it names and describes almost all the towns and villages in the realm--except for Rowanhill and a few others.”

“That is because Rowanhill is younger than even your six summers, ion nin .” Thranduil smiled. “The village was raised only this past year. I shall be seeing it with eyes as fresh as yours.”

The rest of their hour in the saddle passed by much more quickly, as they went over Legolas’s discoveries from the book together. The young prince might not have realized they had reached their destination were it not for the convoy that emerged from the trees to meet them on their trail through the woods. A mixed cluster of Greenwood Elves approached the small procession, all welcoming smiles and low bows before their king.

“You honor us with your visit, Arathawar,” said the evident leader of the group, who later introduced himself as Narchon. “We are delighted by the opportunity to show you what we have built here.”

Rowanhill itself appeared to be as cheerily unobtrusive as its residents. A few dozen cottages squatted about the slopes of a patchily grassy knoll, but the people milled about the open spaces, with everyone's attention focused on the royal procession's arrival.

As Thranduil and Legolas dismounted Alvar, a crowd converged around them, while giving a wide berth to the imposing elk-steed. The abrupt intrusion into their space almost frightened Legolas, who had never seen so many people come this close to his father all at once before. But he felt his Ada’s strong hand on his shoulder, keeping him guarded and close to his side, and it eased the elfling’s discomfort.

Rapid and raucous chatter flew above his head as the Elves of Rowanhill spoke over one another to greet their king and vie for his attention. Legolas wondered at the guard’s lack of intervention, until he caught a glimpse of his father’s face and heard his booming laugh, which made clear what he thought about this behavior. It was vastly different from what Legolas was accustomed to observing at court, where only a few people had appointments and waited to be called forward for their turn to speak before the throne and council. And at the palace court, no one touched the king.

Gradually, the initial excitement subsided. The village leader Narchon took his place at the king’s right side, and a proper tour of the settlement began. As the grown-ups droned on about household counts and housing, community infrastructures and activities, and many other words Legolas frequently overheard but poorly understood, the young elf’s interest in the conversation dropped to zero. His eyes continued to roam their surroundings, searching for something else to capture his interest.

There were no other children around, he noted with disappointment. None his age or close to it. This observation might have baffled him had his mother not previously explained that some Greenwood communities had much fewer elfings, and outside their kingdom elf babes could be as rare as dragons.

Finally, Legolas’s roving eyes landed on a sudden peculiarity. Nestled within a copse of beeches, a thatched building the length of three houses stood apart from the rest of the village structures. Surrounding it, with no identifiable pattern or design, stone figures of varying shapes, sizes, and hues stood out on the grass like a bizarrely decorated garden.

“Legolas?”

The princeling blinked up at the questioning gaze of his father, surprised to once again have his notice. He had been tailing the adults blindly until the mystery building caused him to stop in his tracks, and that quickly regained their attention. Completely unabashed, he thrust out his arm full-length and pointed.

“What is over there?”

Narchon stepped forward to answer. “That is our guild hall, Your Highness. It is where we gather to work.”

Legolas pivoted to stare back and forth between the elder elf and the garden of stone curiosities. “Are you an artist?”

“A sculptor, Your Highness. If you would care to be specific.” Narchon beamed. “Sculpting is our trade here at Rowanhill.”

An entire village of sculptors? A grin lit up Legolas’s entire face. The book described village guilds of builders and smiths, of huntsmen and herdsmen, even of cask makers and candle makers. But the only sculptor he ever met had been a Noldorin lord who came all the way from Imladris to deliver a Begetting Day present for the Queen from Lady Celebrian.

“If you would like, sire, I can arrange for someone to conduct a demonstration for the Prince, and perhaps instruct him in some of our rudiments. It may be an enjoyable diversion for him while you conduct your audiences.”

Legolas froze, realizing just in that moment that he had run straight to the guild hall without seeking pardon or permission, overcome by his desire to view the collection of sculptures up close. There were warriors in heroic poses, eagles in flight, stags in full gallop, and giant insects the size of ponies, many of them painted in lifelike color! But hearing Narchon’s gentle suggestion, and the sight of the adults strolling down the rise to catch up to him, called the elfling back to the reality that he had neglected his manners.

Peering up guiltily at his father, Legolas was yet again surprised by the absence of disapproval on the King’s face. Rather, Thranduil was studying the stone creations with open interest, and when he caught his son’s eye, the edge of his mouth curled in a smile.

“That is a marvelous proposal, Narchon. Except I request a demonstration for both Legolas and I.” Thranduil nodded and wagged a finger at the sculpture in front of him, depicting a fish leaping through a curling wave. “I too would like to see how wonders such as these can be wrought.”

With great speed did they hasten to fulfill the King’s request, and in no time at all, father and son were given a workstation inside the sculptors’ hall. Thranduil removed his fine embroidered cloak to instead cover his silver tunic with an apron made from a stiff fabric that resembled a grain sack. It took Legolas several minutes to stop gaping at the strange sight, and he pondered whether this was something his brothers had never seen before, or they just somehow never bothered to share it with him.

Not one but three of the best guild members volunteered to do a demonstration for them. The royals were then given their own mounds of clay so they might attempt to replicate the completed example--a straightforward representation of a beech tree, just like the ones growing outside the hall and throughout Rowanhill.

Legolas chewed on the tip of his tongue as he thrust his fingers into the soft, cakey brown substance, pulling and pressing and rolling the clay in an effort to mould it into a trunk-like shape. After a while, and only when he was moderately satisfied with his progress, he looked over to check how his father was faring.

Legolas watched, transfixed, as his father’s large elegant hands glided over the unmistakable likeness of a small tree. Streaks of clay coated his apron and stained his arms all the way up to his elbows, and at closer scrutiny even small splatters of it dotted his taut cheeks and furrowed brow. Legolas could recall seeing only one other time his Ada might be described as looking “dirty”, and it was during a private sparring exercise with eldest brothers. Nothing at all like this situation he had never expected to witness on their public tour.

“That is very good, Your Highness.” Narchon praised, bending over the workbench to examine the child’s work in progress. “A natural high talent is evident in your labors.”

“Thank you.” Legolas beamed, trying not to look overly pleased with himself. “But how are we to get that bright green color on the leaves?”

“Once your tree is fully moulded to your liking, we will bake it in our ovens and then paint it.”

“Or,” Thranduil spoke suddenly from his side of the table. “We can try something else.” He motioned for Narchon to lean in so he could whisper something in his ear.

Legolas caught a glimpse of confusion on the sculptor’s face before he turned away to leave the room and retrieve whatever the King had asked him for. He returned promptly with a shallow pot of what looked like a mixture of common soil and mulch, dug straight up from the forest floor.

“What is that for?” Legolas asked.

“A little test for myself,” the King said, scooping up a fistful of the loose dirt. “To see if I have not forgotten what I have been taught.”

Perched on the very edge of his stool, Legolas watched with bated breath as his father moulded the soil into the slender, yet still leafless branches of his soft clay tree. A deep, melodious humming emanated from the King’s throat, before his lips moved to form words, a song from an ancient language Legolas could not discern.

As the singing continued, Thranduil slowly moved his hands away from the clay figure. Legolas’s eyes widened as he noticed the branches quiver and shift on their own volition. And then finally, slowly, verdant leaves began to sprout from the dead clay, unfurling and multiplying and growing until they transformed the naked branches into full bowers.

“Most… extraordinary , Your Grace.” Narchon croaked, amid cries of delight and amazement from the other craftsmen watching in the hall. “Yet with those leaves, we cannot place your sculpture in the fires. The clay will not properly set and will remain fragile.”

“Then it will be fragile,” Thranduil said simply. “But it will be alive. For a time, at least. And in exchange for its mortality it shall bear real green leaves, fitting for Prince Greenleaf’s tree.”

“It is wondrous , Ada!” Legolas burst out with a sharp clap of his hands and an un-princely whoop. “It can make a perfect gift for Ammë. She will love it! And won’t she be so surprised?!”

“She will most certainly love it. But as for being surprised,” Thranduil chuckled and swiped the back of his hand across his cheek, leaving yet another smear of dirt on his regal face. “Who do you think taught me this little bit of artistic enchantment?”

“Now…” He lifted another handful of dirt from the pot and held it out to his awestruck son. “If you are ready, I think I would like to pass the knowledge on.”

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#sotwk fanfiction #thauc23 #tolkien writing event #the hobbit #thranduil #lotr #tolkien #legolas #thranduil headcanon #legolas headcanon #greenwood the great #sotwk oc #thranduilion #mirkwood #mirkwood elves #woodland realm #lord of the rings

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ithilwen-lionheart · 9 months

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Home is where the heart is: Home is where you are - Legolas x Modern Day!Reader

Alternatively:

Ignorance is your new bestfriend

__________

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 (you are here)

[ Part 3. Work Text: ]

There is no downplaying the hatred (Y/N) feels whenever her classmates would make fun of the Legolas that they see in the films.

Not only was it already horribly uncouth of them to brand him -or anyone, for that matter- as effeminate because of the way they looked or acted but they also had to sling “gay” about as if it were a rock meaning to insult instead of one’s sexual orientation. (Y/N) would always find herself muttering on the defensive whenever situations as such would arise, her thoughts simmering a little too hot with indignance and her composure only ever tempered by the winsome pondering that endured alongside it: that if Legolas were gay then he would be an addition to a party of wholly respectable people who followed their hearts and in their wake instead brings love in a cynical world that is already teeming with a troubling surplus of negativity.

It’s an enchanting idea -that dash of sweetness on otherwise stale and acrid coffee- like an exquisite chiffon paired with the cup of tea she indulged in one fine spring afternoon as she perused that slash Fellowship fanfic that featured her resident elf, Aragorn, facial hair, and some razors. It felt like a lifetime ago, she wouldn’t have even entertained the thought then that said elf would just stumble upon her doorstep one stormy night. Granted it was something she may find herself writing about, but more out of the imaginings in her head rather than out of actual experience.

(Y/N) actually found promise in it -cataloging everyday life with the Woodland Prince. It would make for a good rom-com with a well-balanced lead. Legolas is as naturally romantic and otherwise capable as he is adoringly ditzy around modern technology. With the probability of property damage at an all time low now that he had discovered the magic of WikiHow and search engines, she actually finds herself chuckling at the mere thought of the plethora of reels that could be made out of the blond archer’s previous exploits- multitude of phone replacements notwithstanding.

He’s “beloved protagonist” coded that way. Mr. All Eyes On Me when he enters the room or makes his first appearance on the first panel or chapter, Darling Please Shut Up an entire season after he finally finds a healthier way to process his trauma and ends up letting loose that silly goose that’s been cooped up inside him for far too long. It would be an advantage that Legolas is already built with more empathy than the usual male lead, that he’s already more than just his looks or his poetic words and that his love prevails over what to others would usually be pride and self-preservation before some dramatic loss or divine intervention hard presses them into a much needed system restart- it would almost be too easy to love him-

It would be too easy to love him. It had been for someone as jaded as her, what more for everyone else?

And then she goes to thinking about the fangirls, the fandom, the trolls and the inevitability of negative press and immediately shuts the idea down. (Y/N) is not about to fight fanwars over at twitter, not anytime soon or in the far future if she’s got so much as a say in it. She barely held herself together today and almost went out for blood when one of her blockmates made a “mockery” of Legolas’ name and thought 'Le-gay-las' to be such a splendidly creative attempt to go about it. These are bored university students, she didn’t want to start thinking about what exponentially worse travesties kids who overindulged on questionable YouTube content are capable of.

Thankfully enough, before her overthinking could get even more cataclysmic, she finally reaches the tell-tale porch of her home. The beginning of that chapter in her book- the very stone that Legolas first stepped on before he changed her life forever. It was an image that was so charged with positive emotions it was not unlike a lighthouse to the turbulent seas of her troubled mind- something that grounded her as much as the thought of what life now breathed past her threshold.

A tenacious smile blots out the line of practiced patience that weighed on her lips, her hands a little too giddy and enthusiastic as she retrieved her keys from the pocket of her bag and unlocked the door.

Upon entering, the delectable smell of dinner wafted through the abode. It was a siren’s call to her protesting stomach and yet it was the longing in her chest that championed over the promise of what she knew to be carefully curated food. It is only by sheer good luck that the skilled chef responsible for this also happens to be the only one ever able to sweeten her most sour of moods- today being no more than an everyday foe for one already so adept at putting the worst of her at ease.

(Y/N) padded through the carpeted stairs with the urgency of a child running to their parents after a nasty row with their playground bullies. She wanted to recoil at the comparison -the notion entirely foreign and not at all founded by previous experiences of the sort and yet her chest brimmed with an all too familiar bittersweet ache at the assurance of a nurturing face and comforting words all the same; of warm arms wrapping around her all in a bid to face what demons the world chose to serve her up on an unwanted platter that particular day. She was certain that her hurried footfalls carried the weight of her emotions, that it was amplified even more when she all but flung her bedroom door wide open and off its hinges if she had a little bit more strength.

Then she sees him. In glittering hues she registers the shape of him, the familiar outline drawn with smothering saturation that glows a bit more vividly than per usual- when her eyes aren’t too watery and her ribcage hadn’t been stuffed with a little too much cotton. Legolas sat curled up on her worn bean bag, eyes focused on the horror flick playing on the telly, a bowl of popcorn balanced on his long legs crossed over each other- the paragon of a couch potato. (Y/N) never would've thought that it would be a look anyone would find attractive. Too often had it been stuck on as a warning label for a bottle of crippling indolence but the Elven Prince lounged decked out in modern day clothes and wore it like a badge worthy of admiration.

He donned a juniper pullover and dove gray sweats and as she walked mindlessly towards him, (Y/N) swore he also had her heart somewhere in his pockets. Swears that he held it a willing hostage there when he subtly presented his cheek for a kiss when she came up behind him, when the corners of his mouth tipped into a languid smile after she did, swears that he tickled it with the sound of the chuckle that bubbled in his throat and the unmistakable scent of strawberries that wafted through the air straight from his mildly damp strands of spun moonlight.

"Legolas,” (Y/N)’s attempt at a careful inquiry proved a futile venture in the face of mirth, “-did you use my shampoo?" she manages with a poor excuse at a raised brow and the galloping echoes of her still missing heart.

A coy little smile and the soft press of thin lips against her own confirmed her suspicion: that he used her shampoo and that her heart was no longer her own.

"My heart lies wherever your feet may take you, en melleth.” he begins as if he shared her thoughts, as if Christmas came early for them and they beat everyone on the entire business of exchanging gifts. He goes on and (Y/N) thinks that it was a fine comparison, “You will have to forgive me for scouring what remnants of you there are if only to keep what little life in me remains in your absence." There was a twinkle in his eyes that belie the theatrical despondence in his words, a playfulness in him that (Y/N) insists warranted the bite on the tip of his sculpted nose.

“That’s what you get for holding mine in a vice grip in your pockets.” She quips and tries not to falter at the mild discomfort on that handsome face.

Soft baby blues look up at her in perplexity. Furrowed brows and genuine confusion making a young boy out of his Elvish immortality, “I do not have anything in my pockets-” he begins and yet his hands find their way into a dutiful search, “As I thought,” he mutters once his foraging concluded and proved fruitless, “Whatever it is you had lost, en melleth. Sadly, it is not with me.” His entire mien was so veritably apologetic, the gears in his head already turning to plot for ways in which he might provide her aid- it was a trait of his that she’d been familiar with. As a sentry to The Fellowship, (Y/N) had always seen Legolas a step ahead of his companions, both in battle of blood and mind. He was only ever second to Gandalf who was a wizard, and on occasions, Aragorn when it came to matters concerning mortals and their ideals. In his pondering, his initial befuddlement had dissipated and had instead been replaced by upset and a very much undue disappointment with himself- (Y/N) didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry at the thought that it was now her incriminating jape that was completely lost at sea, that it was something so abstract that Legolas seemed a bit too obligated at finding.

She instead settled on helplessly shaking her head all the while dismissing what needless fretting the elf is currently doing, “It’s a metaphor for something else, Legolas. It’s not something that’s truly lost in a physical sense. Don’t lose your pretty little head over it.” (Y/N) gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze and hopes that the whimsical smile she tossed along with it would be enough as she took her place to sit on the floor beside the prince.

“A metaphor,” the blond elf muses, “You did mention something of the sort before now. I fear it remains to be a notion I am still yet to fully comprehend.” there was a sheepishness in his smile at what he seemed to consider was a persistent lapse on his knowledge. As much as the look made him youthful, it was something his wisdom didn’t deserve.

And with all things concerning the Elven Prince and his honor, (Y/N) finds herself donning her figurative sword and shield- ever so ready to step into the fray to fight what shadows crept and posed a threat to his tranquility, “It’s not that it’s something you’re yet to comprehend. You have poetry locked and loaded with how you speak, metaphors come as easy to you as breathing does- it’s my choosing to speak in riddles when I shouldn’t that’s the problem.” She was certain that she made no room for self-loathing in the manner by which she spoke because she knew all too well just how equally as easily Legolas would bleed concern for her.

Still, his hand finds hers all the same as he leaned down to give her his full undivided attention, “And what riddle was it that you regaled me with?” he tipped his head in askance, strands of his hair slipping over his shoulder and pinning her down with the lingering scent of her shampoo.

"I swear someday I'm just going to die of diabetes because of your version of clothes-cuddle." (Y/N) lamented off-tangentially as a means of submerging her compromising statement from before back into its watery grave. She adapted the same dramatics the blond elf used on her not too long ago for good measure and it went as seamlessly as the fluid incorporation of his presence in her life. The idea of it wrapped around (Y/N) like a favored quilt.

Legolas on the other hand, he steeped on a wariness that dwelled on her plaint- a jest that unbeknownst to (Y/N), he so gravely misunderstood. He opts to abandon his popped corn kernels and placed it on the floor in front of him in lieu of reaching out to her, “Come,”

It was (Y/N)'s turn to blink up in confusion, “What for?”

“Will you indulge me?” Pleading, (Y/N) surmises, is a look best left for cats and dogs and should by all means be rendered an actual criminal offense when wielded by Legolas on grounds of what farce it would deem one utterly willing to commit for his name.

“Will I even be able to say no when you’re looking at me with those eyes?” she finds herself saying with no small amount of tenderness, already accepting defeat for a war that was all in her head. Those eyes were worth more than a dozen losing battles fought, she thinks, worth all the white flags she could wave until her arms fell off her shoulders-

Legolas raises his vacant hand to cover his eyes and (Y/N)’s thoughts skids to a halt.

“What are you doing?”

“Giving you the option to refuse. You always have a choice, meleth nîn. If my gaze impairs your judgment like so then on my head be it.” Legolas answers simply and so so factually that irregardless of how comical he may look to some in that very moment -a hand still reaching out to her and another over his eyes- his words were astute and to (Y/N) he was what she’d want the entire world to be, “A lone tap on the palm of my outstretched hand for a refusal and two for acceptance.”

She’d take limbs off corpses if that’s what it took to continue waving those flags to surrender to him. (Y/N) decides he needn’t know that, if only to preserve what little dignity she had left to lose and to keep the elf from looking at her in terror at yet another misunderstanding of a completely harmless metaphor.

Though, she does find herself laying her cheek on the palm of that outstretched hand and holding it in both of hers and she doesn’t know if waving those undead hands still seemed like such a bad idea compared to this.

At the very least not until she witnesses the gesture startle Legolas enough that the hand over his face falls to his lap and she is greeted by an almost childish uncertainty made soft by enduring affection, “Is this a "yes "?" he queries, voice as gentle as the thumb that absent-mindedly caressed her cheekbone.

(Y/N) thinks she could settle with embarrassing herself like this, figures she could go above and beyond by nodding her head wordlessly and failing at hiding a smile that was both dumb and shy in equal measure if Legolas would give her an even dopier one for her efforts- like what he’s doing. Perhaps he can work on putting a damper to his elvish charms because even then his beauty remained, or, (Y/N) thinks she could just shove it where it matters because there are more things far worth considering then than her insecurities as a damned mortal.

Like how this painstakingly beautiful Elven Prince gently pulled her in by the waist so that she was sitting on his lap, for instance. Or how he wrapped his slender arms around her stomach and rested his head on top of hers with so much tenderness she ironically felt like she was just a breath away from shattering into a million pieces-

And then he buries his nose into her tresses and breathes in and (Y/N) swears he greedily took those pieces of her in and put them back together again with an exhale and that little shimmy he did to settle them snugly into the confines of her protesting bean bag.

No words were exchanged as they resorted to watching what cheesy horror movie it was that Legolas had on. Adept hands that once wielded bows and arrows with killer precision put hard at work massaging (Y/N)’s aching muscles, wise and quiet lips almost childish as he showered her with an unprecedented kiss here and there.

Three movies in and it became nothing short of an indulgent habitude for Legolas and more than once (Y/N) fails to reign in a giggle at the most inappropriate of times. First was during a particularly gruesome death scene from a slasher movie that Legolas looked at her in absolute horror for; second was at a nasty exorcism that had gone so horribly wrong she wouldn’t have blamed The Elven Prince if in that moment he honestly thought she had been off her rocker as he looked at her in alarm once more; and third was that literally bloody elevator scene from The Shining- though it was also then that she had caught up to something and stepped her foot down because the terror-stricken expression on Legolas’ face remained the same as it had been the first two times. She looked at him long enough that she saw the mischievous twinkle in his eyes. Looked at him long and hard with narrowed eyes until his resolution faltered and a side of his lips quirked ever so slightly heavenwards- (Y/N) was certain that if she hadn’t loved him as much as she did, she’d have sent him back to his maker along with it when the realization dawned upon her that the entire time, the entire bloody time, he had actually been playing her.

Legolas Greenleaf, son of The Elvenking Thranduil, Prince of the Woodland Realm and the stalwart sentry to The Fellowship had been messing around with her. She thought it to be too scandalous an improbability to even entertain- at the very least previously when she was a little too drunk on love and comfort and how Legolas smelled exactly like her that he could never -would never- drop so low as to pull such an elementary prank as making faces. Now that she was a little bit sober, she scours the catalog her mind subconsciously took of Legolas’ fears and inspects them with keener eyes. A part of her thinks she might be overanalyzing it, that it might just be her looking for problems where there is none, but all of that was clubbed down when she recalls that scene with the Balrog from the Mines of Moria, she places it beside the memory she had of the Elven Prince the first night he flooded the bathroom, that one time she accidentally walked in on him naked and he ripped her shower curtains in an attempt to preserve his modesty- his fear was something that took its time crawling into his eyes, something that could only ever pull so slowly and subtly at his features as he always fought so valiantly against it.

It was all those and most certainly not raised brows, glittering widened eyes, and parted lips that hosted a gasp.

A godforsaken gasp.

(Y/N) inwardly banged her head against the walls of her mind on account of her stupidity. She should have known it from the damned gasp. Legolas was never one to make such a clear-cut sound of his discomfiture. Even in the direst of situations it was his face that would tell the entire story, whatever it is that will leave his lips would be actual words strung with a purpose.

Three movies in and Legolas frolicked enough to feign three startled gasps that (Y/N) actually believed in and felt sorry for. Three movies in and (Y/N) could actually commiserate with cross girlfriends and what need they felt to throw silly little punches at their guffawing boyfriends’ arms- embarrassment at the blatant comparison to an actual labeled relationship be damned. Three movies in and (Y/N) gets to thinking that she might actually have to cut Legolas’ screen time if he’s going to start making a habit out of pantomiming goddamn teenagers from cheeky television series.

She’d call it when he actually starts showing fascination towards jerseys and convertibles. The telly would have to find a home in the dumpster then.

“Having the time of our life are we, giggles?” she deadpanned, trying her damndest to remain unamused as velvety chuckles assaulted her eardrums, strong arms winding securely around her waist as Legolas pulled her even closer to him and nuzzled against the crook of her neck as if she were a treasured plush toy at every attempt of hers to pull away. It was once again a losing battle -as with everything else that concerned him. (Y/N) didn’t need those figurative swords and shields, not when they were as good as balloons fashioned by clowns at a children’s party in the face of the elf’s almost puppy-like clinginess.

A golden retriever puppy named “Giggles”- it wasn’t a far-fetched idea. If anything, it made a little bit more sense than the words Legolas spoke next.

"For what joy you bring me,” he states solemnly, chin perched on the plane of her shoulder as he looks up at her with serene determination in his gaze as if a gallant knight declaring the decimation of a most fearsome foe for his lady’s honor, “I shall protect you from 'diabetes'.” and before (Y/N) could even process the absurdity of his statement and crack at it, Legolas goes on- almost ludicrous in his earnesty, “Let all those who attempt to so much as lay a single threatening touch on you be dead before their stroke fell." and he was kissing the top of her head as if she were something so precious that she lost all heart to explain to him that diabetes wasn’t exactly something he could shoot or stab at to be rid of. Instead, she joins this little circus and offers her condolences to it in advance because if by some odd stroke of misfortune it takes on a concrete form, she’s certain that the Prince of Greenwood -otherwise known as the retriever puppy Giggles- would certainly be nipping at its tail in no time.

His lady’s tinkling laughter pierced through the foreboding silence of the magical box before them and Legolas allowed himself a slow smile as he too, fixed his attention on the movie.What pride and joy he had for the success of his pretense at obliviousness may have rubbed the Valars the wrong way because no sooner than he relaxed, a monstrous phantom flashed into the screen and the screech that left with what part of his soul was ripped out of him from shock had been a little too genuine.

-----

[ FIN. End of Chapter 1, Part 3 ]

———-

A/N:

As promised!

Also, as per the disclaimer I had put out on my notice, you will find that this part is written as a lighthearted and speedy almost-crack fic. This is due to the entirety of Chapter 1 initially having been written as a whole instead of in segments with this bit in particular having been cut off from Part 2 due to its derailment from the course I ended up taking with its re-written ending.

Additionally, it had been quite some time since I had last worked on a written piece- even longer still since I had last worked on this particular fic- so I apologize for whatever failure in consistency there may have been in my writing.

I find that I should also let you wonderful readers know that I have read, immensely appreciated, and loved each and every one of your comments and reblogs. I cannot thank you enough for your words of encouragement and investment in this story as it had played a significant role in bolstering my previously dwindling passion with this particular craft of mine.

If time and drive permit, this part may end up with an update containing a visual of some sorts. I had been working a bit more on illustrations when I'm not writing so we shall see~

Taglist: @siriuslydestiny, @elysianluv, @daddy-long-legolas, @foxchild-v

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lady-of-imladris · 5 months

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CHAPTER 9 - SOMEWHERE IN THE HAZE

Synopsis: Preparations for the imminent battle are made, but when they arrive at Dol Guldur, complications arise.

Word count: 2.1k

Pairings: Thranduil/OC

Warnings: Violence

Additional tags: it's getting angsty over here!

Link to the chapter overview

Lmao sorry I forgot to post this yesterday but what a lucky coincidence because I can now say: HAPPY BIRTHDAY @fenharel-enaste ! You live too far away for me to give you a physical gift so I dedicate this chapter to you my lovely friend <3

It turned into something bigger Somewhere in the haze, got a sense I'd been betrayed Your finger on my hair pin triggers - The Great War (Taylor Swift)

The messengers from Imladris and Lothlorien returned fast and with news that was better than the King and Queen had dared to hope. Elrond, Celebrían, Celeborn and Galadriel were on their way. With their armies. Ana could have wept for joy that they would not need to face this threat alone. She had gone over their potential strategies again and again and again, consulting old maps of Amon Lanc, reports from scouting parties, reimmersing herself in battle strategies employed by their enemy. Thranduil was in awe. He had known for quite some time that his wife had been the mind behind some of their most successful assaults on Mordor during the Dagor Dagorlad, but seeing her in action was something entirely different.

The other four elven leaders arrived two days before the agreed-upon date of the attack for some last preparations. In Celebrían’s case, it entailed wrangling the twins, as well as Legolas, Elrond was examining the body of the elven soldier who had been turned into an orc and killed by Queen Anarríma. Celeborn, Galadriel, Ana and Thranduil busied themselves with the upcoming battle. The Lord of Lorien was beaming with pride. His daughter’s strategy was perfect. Their first evening together was celebrated with a family dinner full of laughter and joy. Legolas was beyond excited to have his cousins around and they spent the better part of the evening chasing each other around the halls.

The night before the battle looked different. Everyone was silent and withdrew to their private quarters immediately after dinner. Ana and Thranduil tucked Legolas into bed together that night, wanting to spend every last second with their son. “Nana, Ada?” the little elf asked hesitantly. “Yes, my little leaf?” The Queen sat down on the bed. “Why do you have to go?” Anarríma choked back her tears, and Thranduil sighed deeply. She felt his nails digging into her shoulders. He took over. “Ion-nin, that is a very complicated thing to explain, but we are doing this to protect our people. As King and Queen that is our duty. You will understand it one day.”

When Legolas had finally fallen asleep, Thranduil and Anarríma went to bed, lying next to each other, staring at the ceiling. Her hand found his. “Whatever happens tomorrow-” “Don’t.” Thranduil could not bear to hear it. They would outnumber the orcs. They would win. They had to. “Whatever happens tomorrow,” she tried again, “I love you.” “Please stop,” his voice was shaking. ‘Whatever happens tomorrow, I love you, my son.’ Those had been Oropher’s words the night before his death. The Elvenking was afraid. He could not bear to lose her. His Queen, his wife, the mother of his child.

Neither of them wanted to sleep, so they spent the night exchanging kisses and softly whispered words of love, chatting about entirely unimportant matters. It did not matter what they talked about, they just talked. Anarríma laid her head on her husband’s chest, letting Thranduil play with her hair and enjoying the vibrations of his chest caused by his voice as he told her of his childhood in Doriath, the first time he and Celeborn got drunk, of the day Celeborn first saw Galadriel and knew that he loved her, of Lúthien Tinúviel and her mortal lover, and many other things. In return, she told him about the few memories she had of Gondolin, of her happy childhood in Lorien, the time of the war against Sauron before they met and the battles they had never talked about before. The night passed too quickly.

They got up again before the sun had fully risen, eating a quick breakfast before getting ready for another war. Breakfast was quiet, no one knew what to say, so they just sat in uncomfortable silence. The Queen would have given anything to spend this morning with the soldiers instead. She found her mind going back to the mornings before important battles during the war against Sauron, sitting on the floor of a large tent together with her father and his soldiers, the tension so high it could have cut Mithril, until one of them, an elf who had fought in the War of Wrath made a joke. Anarríma could not recall the joke, but she would always remember the relief she felt when the tent filled with laughter. One look over at her father, who was sitting across from her told her that in his mind, he was there as well.

Fastening the straps of her bracers felt a bit like meeting an old friend and catching up, the Queen realized to her horror. She had not worn a full set of armour since the war. Thranduil was lounging comfortably on a chaise. She had promised to let him braid her hair for her and he was holding her to that promise. Ana smiled to herself as she sat down on the floor in front of him. Thranduil was horrible when it came to braiding hair. It always took him an insane amount of time and the braids often looked messy, even when he did it on her. With his own hair, the King was even more hopeless, hence he kept it loose. Anarríma winced slightly when his fingers tugged on a strand of hair a bit too harshly.

“Goheno nin,” Thranduil chuckled nervously, “and thank you. For putting up with me.” Ana reached up to put her hand on his thigh. “You are getting better at this. Give it another millennium or two.” The King grinned smugly. “Well, I think I did a pretty decent job this time.” Ana got up and walked to the mirror. Decent was an understatement. The two braids over her ears looked perfect and felt secure, as did the long fishtail braid he had created with the rest of her hair. “Thranduil!” Ana turned around and threw her arms around his neck. “How?” “I’ve been secretly practising on our son,” he admitted. Ana hid her laughter. “Thranduil, how could you? The poor child!” “Don’t worry,” he held up his hand in defence, “I bribed him with sweets and he was a very willing test subject.” Ana shook her head in disbelief. “We should finish getting dressed.”

“There’s one last thing missing,” Thranduil said, when Ana stood there, in her full armour, all her weapons secured. She looked at him expectantly as he set a box down on her vanity, taking off the lid to reveal the crown of dragon scales, gleaming in the candlelight like thousands of stars. “I killed a dragon for you, Ana. Let this serve as a reminder that whatever beast we encounter today, I will slay for you as well.” She bowed slightly, letting him put the crown on her head. Ana needn’t have bowed, Thranduil was much taller than her anyway, but at that moment, it felt right to bow to him. He might be her husband, but he was also her King.

Soldiers, servants and courtiers alike bowed and curtsied deeply as their King and Queen walked by, armed and ready for battle. Many had risen early to say their goodbyes, Celebrían among them. “I never understood how you can be comfortable in such a thing.” The Lady of Imladris gestured all over her sister’s ornate armour. Anarríma rolled her eyes. “It’s not designed for comfort, Brí, it’s supposed to protect me.” “By Eru, I hope it does,” Celebrían murmured and hugged her sister tightly.

“Shall we?” Galadriel and Celeborn emerged, armed to their teeth. Try as she might, the Lady of Imladris could not tell who of the four bore the most weapons, each of them carrying multiple blades openly. “Elrond is waiting outside already. Come back to me. All of you,” Celebrían instructed, hugging each of them for a moment longer than expected. “After all,” she continued, “my daughter will need her grandparents and aunt and uncle.” Ana could not believe it. Her sister was pregnant. Again. After a moment of shock, they congratulated her and Galadriel scolded her for dropping such big news on them when they were already running late, but Celebrían merely laughed and sent them off.

The armies advanced through the forest quietly and efficiently. It was almost muscle memory for all of them. Every single soldier who joined them had also fought in the Dagor Dagorlad. None had been keen to fight in another battle, but in the end, all of them had volunteered to keep their kingdoms safe. The journey was smooth and they effortlessly took out any orc scouting troops they came close to. Ana had predicted their general locations almost flawlessly. The armies got into position, surrounding Dol Guldur, remaining hidden in the trees. The King and Queen were no fools. They were well aware that the orcs knew of their coming. The only thing left to do was lure them out.

They looked every bit the warriors they were as they walked over the bridge. Thranduil offered Anarríma his arm as if he were escorting her to a ball. She gracefully accepted. They were halfway across the bridge when the enemy appeared before them. Three orcs, each looking more cruel than the other. “Do you have a death wish, elves?” one of them snarled. “We come to negotiate the terms of surrender,” Thranduil offered politely. The sound of laughter carried far into the forest. “Giving up your forest so easily, elfling?” Thranduil felt Ana’s grip on his arm tighten. His wife was angry. “Get out of this forest or by Eru, I swear we will destroy you.” Thranduil had never heard his wife speak like this. If he were the orc, he would run.

The orc grinned maliciously. “Do you really think we are not prepared? Do you really think we don’t know that you brought the Witch of Loríen and the Half-Elf with you? Maybe you should be the ones to run.” Thranduil shrugged. “I guess that concludes negotiations.” He raised his arm, signalling to his army. The three orcs fell to the ground, dead. The archers of Lasgalen were renowned for their skill. Their army advanced and the orcs started appearing out of nowhere. The King and Queen shared one last look before letting go of each other and drawing their swords. And then there was chaos.

Thranduil and Ana stayed together as long as possible but ended up being driven apart. Thranduil remained where the fighting was thickest, while Ana took her forces to more remote locations, watchtowers, dungeons, hidden passageways to try and drive the enemy towards them. She caught a glimpse of Thranduil when she looked out of a window, dead orcs littering the ground surrounding him. Galadriel and Celeborn had joined him. Galadriel met her daughter’s eyes for just a moment before refocusing her attention on the fighting.

Anarríma continued her raid of the ruins, rounding corner after corner at breakneck speed. She had reached the most remote part of Dol Guldur. The Queen was on her own now, she had left her soldiers behind to deal with the orcs. Something spurred her on, telling her to climb the tower. Her feet were moving of their own volition, carrying her up and up and up the winding staircase. The thought of returning to her soldiers crossed her mind, but was swiftly replaced by the compulsion to climb the stairs. As she walked by another window, she thought that she should go back outside and fight side by side with Thranduil, but when she was about to turn around and walk back down, she could not. Dread filled her entire body as she realized that there was only one way she could go. Up. She took a deep breath and walked up the last flight of stairs, sword clutched tightly and ready to strike as she entered the room at the top of the tower.

“Queen of Lasgalen,” a whisper arose around her. “At last, you have come to me.” She whipped around, trying to locate the source, but she was alone. Trap, it was a trap. She never should have come here. Ana sprinted towards the exit but was blocked by a wall of black smoke. “No escape. Not for you.” The voice was taunting her. “Show yourself, coward,” she demanded, willing her voice to be steady. “As you wish.” The black smoke took shape. It stood before there, towering over her, sword drawn, but Anarríma could feel that it did not need a blade. Whatever the being before her was, it could kill her with half a thought. It was merely toying with its prey.

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Everything Taglist: @thesolarangel @fenharel-enaste @sanfranciscocablecar @enaelyork @nevermcre

I AM SO SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG. I was sick for a while and I am still (supposed to be) working on my thesis 🙃

The good news is I have the next chapter mostly written because I felt that writing them in parallel might be a good idea for whatever reason. Thank you for putting up with me, ily <3

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obsidiancreates · 5 months

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The Second Chance Of The Third Age (Part 2)

“Right, let's get these lined up,” Bilbo says as he helps cram the chairs around the table. “Got so carried away with the food I forgot about this. Thorin, can I sit beside-”

Thorin sits and pats a chair that's already next to his, and Bilbo smiles and takes the seat. Thorin reaches over and clasps Bilbo’s hand tightly in his own, and Bilbo turns his hand over to hold it back.

“I think we should start by making sure everyone's caught up,” Bimbo says as Gandalf, last of all, settles into a chair a bit to the side. The wizard in question raises his eyebrows.

“I don't believe that to be wise, Bilbo-”

“Oh, but I do. We're not dancing around the topic, Gandalf, not when things are as serious as they are.”

“That's an understatement,” Gloin grumbles, well aware of exactly what Bilbo was thinking of. “That should go first, I think.”

“Right. Yes. Six of you… never knew.” Bilbo clears his throat, clearly withholding a few tears. “Well, to keep it short, in about seventy or so years Sauron will return.”

Thorin stiffens, and Fili and Kili gape. Oin turns to Dwalin with wide eyes, and he doesn't even need to ask if he'd heard right for Dwalin to nod. Balin presses his hands to his mouth, muffling a low, mournful sound, and Ori chokes on the ale he'd been drinking.

“What's more, I uh… may have discovered, when he did, that I ah… picked up his One Ring in the goblin tunnels. And I'd used that ring on our adventure many times, as well as to, ahem, to avoid unwanted guests and relatives, later on.” His voice is tight, and his expression much the same. An old, old guilt rests behind it all.

For a moment there’s nothing but silence and stares, horrified stares. All but those returned from early death and Gandalf knew that he'd had The Ring, of course, but hearing he used something so terrible so often and on such casual uses as avoiding company…

“It did get destroyed,” Bilbo quickly assures, looking at Gandalf. “And I did give it up. My nephew- well, technically cousin, but we'd always been more like nephew and uncle than cousins- took it to Mordor and destroyed it. You were involved in that too, of course.”

Gandalf eyes Bilbo quizzically. “You gave it up? By your own will?”

“And a push, from um, from you,” Bilbo admits. “But yes, I left it behind when I was eleventy-one and traveled to- well, I intended The Lonely Mountain, but I only got as far as Rivendell before age caught up.”

“My son helped in the quest,” Gloin chimes in, eyes shining with pride. “And got that miserable wood elf prince wrapped around his finger in the process! ‘Goblin Mutant’ indeed, ha! The right bastard couldn’t stand to be parted with my boy after they returned!”

Bilbo makes a sort of hum-whine noise. “Not quite how that went. Granted, Legolas smuggled Gimli into Valinor, but I wouldn't say he was wra-”

“Well I do. Imagine Thranduil's face! His own son, bringing a Dwarf of Erebor to their cherished lands! Ha!”

There's a cheer with the much lighter, happier news, and a quick round of drinking in honor of Gimli, Elf-Charmer.

Gandalf looks near ill.

“Wait.” Fili looks around the table. “Bilbo said six of us didn't make it.”

Balin, Oin, and Ori raise their hands- Ori somewhat hesitantly. Dori and Nori have been glued to his side the entire time, and now they both somehow manage to move even closer to him, like an overfilled sandwich crushed in a desperate grip.

“In Khazad-dûm.” Balin's voice shakes, eyes brimming with tears. “I… I lead a party to try and reclaim it. I can never beg enough for your forgiveness-”

“Don’ you dare to start, then,” Oin interrupts. “Ori and I knew what we signed up for.”

Ori has both of his arms around his older brothers, all three crying quietly. In his own last moments, as he scratched out a recounting of their doom, Ori’s last thoughts had been that he hoped his brothers would be alright without him.

“Balin.” Thorin's voice cracked. “Why?”

Balin shakes his head, drawing a shuddering breath. “I don't know. Grief, maybe. Hubris, after we reclaimed Erebor. It's hard to remember why I felt it so important after all it took from us.”

“... If-if it helps,” Bilbo says, “Gimli was able to pass through with his company. He saw the mines of mithril, the great halls- Frodo said it was a wonder, for all the perils it brought them, and… all the grief.”

Balin is quiet for a moment, and then nods. “At least one Dwarf lived to see it, I suppose. But I hope he won't pass through it again in this life.”

“As if I'd let him,” Gloin says, mostly reassuring his brother. Oin nods thankfully.

“But that’s only three, four counting me.” Fili’s eyes travel the table, but they never land on the remainders- not until Kili puts his hand on his brother’s shoulder, and then looks to their uncle as well. Fili looks between them, paling. “No.”

“It won’t happen again.” Kili grips his brother’s shoulder tightly. “We’ll stick together, no matter what.”

“And with luck, kill Azog long before The Battle. I’m sure I couldn’t convince either of you to return home even I tried-”

“Not a chance of it,” the two princes say in unison. Forgiveness is unspoken but present, clear in the loyalty still shining in their eyes- and for now, in this moment of joyous reunion and somber planning, it keeps the guilt of the king at bay.

“Now uh, onto the business of The Ring. I'll have to find it again, to destroy it, of course.” Bilbo swallows thickly at the thought, so tantalizing yet so repulsive. He hates it, and loves it, in near equal measures- but he loves Frodo far more. “Which does mean we'll have to face the goblins again at the very least.”

It seems to jar the table, going back to the topic of travesty dealt across all of Middle-Earth and not just within their own Company.

“Can't you just leave it?” Kili looks to Gandalf. “Sauron can't conquer Middle-Earth without it, can he?”

“I would doubt it…” Gandalf looks skeptically at Bilbo. “But I think our hobbit has more to share.”

“Well, he did have help.” Bilbo scowls. “Saruman. Don't trust him, Gandalf. If I ever see himself I'll-” Bilbo puffs out a breath, so teeming with rage at the thought of the wicked wizard, of being face-to-face with someone so remorseless in their evil-!

“Saruman wouldn't aid Sauron,” Gandalf whispers, quickly and with no small amount of panic. “Not without a terrible plague on his mind!”

“Plague on his-! He made armies of tens of thousands and sent them to slaughter kingdoms! He sent out goblin-orc hybrids to capture my nephew! He tried to kill you and the rest of Frodo's Fellowship in an avalanche! Plague, ha! A common cold might be enough to turn him.”

“These are not accusations you can make lightly, Bilbo Baggins!”

“Gimli told me the same!” Gloin slams his fist onto the table. “He witnessed it! Fought in Helm's Deep alongside the king of Rohan, king of Gondor, even the elf! They all said the same!”

Gandalf looks near ill. “These are grave, grave tidings. How do we know you fourteen haven't been sent back by the very power your descendants sought to destroy? Only one power in this world has been known to raise the dead.”

“I have no intentions of aiding this filth,” Thorin spits. “If Sauron sent us back for some dark purpose, he’ll barely live to regret his decision.” He turns to Bilbo. “The Ring, what had it done to you? The old tales say it had a will of it's own.”

“It did worse to Frodo. But it did… have a hold, on me. From the moment I picked it up, it held enough sway to make me hide it from you all. I won't be able to take it to Mordor alone, I-I fear it would claim me more easily than it did Frodo.”

“I would go with you.” Thorin presses his forehead to Bilbo’s. “We all would, I'm sure of it.”

Resounding agreements fill the smial. All but Gandalf, who still looks so shaken by such news that he hardly seems to be focusing on the party in front of him.

“But after Erebor,” Bilbo says firmly once it quiets down. “The Battle thinned out Sauron's armies, it'll be an easier journey. Possibly. And-and with Smaug dead, Sauron will have a major blow to his plans, because they're in league, Smaug told me so the last time around. I didn't understand it at the time but, they are.”

“And what of my part in this?” Gandalf's voice is somber. “What path must I take?”

“Let me remember- you only told me this once in Valinor, and I was very old. … I believe you went to Dol Guldur, after a meeting with the White Council in Rivendell and after taking us to Mirkwood. I think- and I hope my memory is right- you said you were saved by Lady Galadriel.”

“Who my Gimli also charmed,” Gloin couldn't help but add. “She gave him three of her hairs! He asked for one, and she gave him three! Silver-tongued like no other. We should put him on your Council, Thorin.”

“In due time, Gloin. Bilbo, The Ring-”

“Will probably get a strong hold of me again. Even knowing what it was, I-I never, truly, rid myself of it's influence, neither did Frodo. Even now, I feel empty without it. But it has to be done, Thorin. I just ask you all watch me, and make sure I don't… don't make off with it.”

“It's a promise.” Thorin whispers the words almost reverently.

“... Are you two going to be together this time, then?” Dwalin asks suddenly, with all the subtlety of his usual endeavors. Bilbo’s mouth drops open and he looks at Thorin, who-

Well, who shares none of the shock, actually. Instead he has a soft smile. Bilbo’s mouth snaps shut, though his eyes remain wide, and he gives a quick nod. Thorin gives him a much less quick, reverently lingering kiss on the forehead, and coins are tossed about the table- an old, old bet, that had never seen a true conclusion, now finally fulfilled. Gandalf rubs his forehead. “One more surprise from this party and I shall go through the entire Shire’s worth of Old Toby before our journey even begins.”

#the hobbit #fanfic #my attempts at fanfic #bagginshield #bilbo baggins #thorin's company #the company of thorin oakenshield

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whateverrr-duddee · 2 years

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𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐎𝐥𝐝-𝐅𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐁𝐨𝐲

pairing: legolas x reader

warnings: fluff! mentions of Frodo

summary: During the rest in rohan. Legolas becomes extremely clingy. And your determined to find out why!

“To Frodo and Sam” all cheersed and drank the ale. Being elves it didn’t affect you and Legolas as easily. You were currently sat with Aragorn and Eomer. “Are you excited to see Arwen?” you asked Aragorn he gave you a small smile “Yes, but i fear she made the wrong decision” he sighed. You looked up at him and grabbed his face “she made the decision that was right for her dont you ever forget that” he smiled as you spoke the reassuring words.

Suddenly, a pair of hands come on to your shoulders as the owner makes their way around the sofa to sit next to you. “Hello, nin mel” Legolas greeted you as he gave you a kiss on the forehead “Lass”Aragorn chuckled “i see you out drank gimli” Legolas softly chucked “it was indeed game over. although i did feel a slight tingle in my fingers at one point” Legolas’ soft voice carried amusement. “What’s in like your home countries?” Eomer asked whilst aragorn was explaining you felt legolas’ hands tighten on your waist drawing patterns. “ cin okaui nin mel?” you whispered because you knew his pride wouldn’t let him admit if he wasn’t.

He hummed and buried his face in your neck. You looked over to Aragorn mouthing “what’s wrong with him? he’s never this clingy?” he mouthed back “i have no idea, let me try something” Aragorn sat up and you began stroking legolas back out of instinct. “I don’t know what your going to do when we return Legolas” Aragorn sighed. Legolas merely replied with a muffled “What do you mean?” from your neck. “Well Y/N is the one of the most desirable girls in all of middle earth a lot of men and elves will want her” Legolas suddenly shot out of his little corner in your neck and faced Aragorn. “i have a plan” Legolas said with a emotionless face as per usual. “She is a very beautiful girl, The men here are tripping over their own feet after her” Eomer chipped in “And i will kill anyone who puts their hands on her” You Rolled your eyes at Legolas’ dramatic behaviour you grabbed his wrist “We are going to go to bed so Mr Gandalf the grey jr can get his beauty sleep” You mutters to Aragorn who laughed “Go night mellon”

“What’s wrong Legolas?” you asked as you go to your room in the castle. “nothing” Legolas lightly sighed walking over to you and kissing your forehead lightly. He led you over to the bed you expected him to spoon you. but the words that came out of his mouth made your heart ache for him. “can you hold me?” you knew Legolas was touch starved a lot. At the beginning of your relationship he was so cautious of touching you and was very worried when you hugged him for the first time.You didn’t say anything you just opened your arms up for him to lie on top of you. he wrapped his arms around your waist and nuzzled his head into your stomach. you played with his hair adding a few braids and twists into it before you broke the silence. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong now?” you softly spoke he propped his head up in your stomach and took a deep breathe “i fear i’m going to loose you” he said it was almost a whisper if not for your elf hearing you wouldn’t have heard it. you traced your fingertips over thr tips of his ears sending a shiver down his body “you never have to worry about that” you smiled shyly at him “and why is that?“ he asked still unconvinced “because i’m incredibly and eternally in love with you Legolas Thanduillion” he smiled and tackled you on the bed….

#legolas #legolas x reader #legolas fan fiction #legolasimagines #legolas imagine #legolas fanfic #legolas one shot #legolas oneshot #lotr #the hobbit #orlando bloom #orlando bloom x reader #legolas greenleaf #legolas thranduilion #legolas lotr #thranduil x reader

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theboarsbride · 1 year

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"A Court of Thorns and Roses" Reading Update I

Page 101 - 24%

So, some major notes so far:

-I refuse to believe SJM knows how to write poor people. I refuse to believe that Feyre's family has been poor for a decade. How tf can the sisters be so dainty and act so oblivious and bitchy about work for survival after NEARLY 10 YEARS OF ECONOMIC DESTITUTION???????Just their mentalities, how they react to being poor, how they treat their belongings, how they treat their food, how they handle their money, etc. doesn't really line up.

-I can't stand SJM's writing style. SO MANY MF EM DASHES HOLY FUCK AND THEYRE IN PLACES WHERE THEY'RE UNNECESSARY. And also she reuses the same sentence structure, and it bothers meeeeee. (ex.- i was going to the bathroom, which was white and clean and shining. Then, I went to school, a place that was dull and bland and boring.) Like jfc. I wholeheartedly believe the conspiracy that no one actually edits SJM's book because good LORD.

- Feyre is dumb and deserves death. Like the instance with the Pooka. She suddenly sees her crippled father on Tamlin's land in Prythian in the middle of the night??? Given the wary hostility and aggression and distrust she's been displaying towards everyone and everything so far in Prythian, why isn't she doing the same in this instance???? She's said herself she is wary of faerie tricks, and acknowledged that not even whole, able-bodied humans are able to survive in Prythian without the help of a faerie, so why would she think her DISABLED FATHER, who is helpless in the mortal realm, be any different??? And why would she CARE that her father has come for her??? Did she not hope that her family starves without her, so that they realize she's important to them and she holds them in such an embittered contempt?????

- I LOVE Lucien <3 I like this fox-boy, he is funny and actually treats Feyre like the murderer she is (because yes, she's a murderer, and takes PRIDE in having killed a faerie. Which Feyre has some nerve being hostile to faeries who have been nothing but courteous and gracious with her, and thinking THEY are in the wrong when she was the one that MURDERED their friend).

- why couldn't Tamlin remain more like his beast form, making this more of a BATB retelling? I literally imagine him looking like Legolas but JACKED. This is where my ire of 'BATB but the beast is just a hot guy that growls or has behavioral problems' first began. It's such a shallow version of the story and completely misses the point. And the fact that this is also a retelling of The Ballad of Tam-Lin, a Scottish folktale, and does really nothing that's an homage to the story aside from Tamlin's name, the fact he shape-shifts (albeit BARELY), and there's (poorly written) fae really irks me.

-for once I want SJM to actually describe paintings rather than describing what the painting is of. I don't believe for one minute that SJM did more research into art, style, etc. because for the life of me I couldn't tell you what Feyre's art style is, nor do I really care because her having painting as a hobby is so pointless and has no effect on her character whatsoever.

- SJM is lazy as fuck with her world building. ex.- Lucien saying capital 'h' Hell, as in Christian Hell, when humans are agnostic/atheist with a sparse number of fae-worshiping cults (and were once implied to have had a polytheistic religion) and fae worship the Cauldron and other faerie deities so like.....why not use a few extra braincells to create her own version of Hell rather than using lazy cultural shorthand that, by the logic of this book's world, doesn't work????; underutilizing fae lore so now they're either underdeveloped spectral entities or LOTR elves... BORINGGGG!! GIVE US ACTUAL FAE IN LITERATURE AGAIN!!!! (*applauds Heather Fawcett's Emily Wilde's Encyclopedia of Faeries and Krystal Sutherland's House of Hollow*)

These are my major thoughts for the first quarter of the book.... See y'all again at 50%!

#jojo reads #anti sjm #anti sarah j maas #anti acotar #anti feyre

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maeofthenoldor · 1 year

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I am god and now am giving out sexualities to lotr charachters because no one can stop me. And I have insomnia and sleep deprived.

Frodo: A gay trans man and on the ace spectrum

Samwise: Bisexual and there's a reason I nickname him transwise gamgee. (samfro is t4t)

Pippin: Just a feral nonbinary guy (They/he) and is pansexual. he falls in love easily. Probalbly had a crush on everyone they met throughout the journey. (he even had a crush on tom bombadil because he liked his little gay songs)

Merry: Token straight out of the hobbits and is in love with eowyn, which is now his sexuality.... (I mean i dont blame him)

Boromir: Definitely not straight. I mean have you seen him? gay, absolutely gay

Aragorn: Straight but has questioned his gender many times.

Gandalf: The most aro/ace icon out there. Uses all pronouns. Will trans your gender and turn homophobes, transphobes and general bigots into toads. Move out of her way or you will be crushed by her heels.

Legolas: pretty fluid when it comes to gender, mostly uses he/they pronouns however he really doesn't mind anything else. He identifies as queer.

Gimli: he's a bear bisexual and will kill anyone who purposely misgenders another. He is dating his partner Legolas and has a lot of fun with them when they hunt down bigots.

Eowyn: She is bisexual and also loved merry (except they are both too scared to make the first move)

Faramir: Gandalf helped him transition when he was a child. All he wants is to be accepted by his father. Boromir loves that he has a brother. He is also unlabled.

Denethor: Repressed bisexual.

Arwen: I cant tell if shes straight or bi, but I’m leaning towards the latter

Elrond: The best dad in the world, but otherwise he is also straight.

Bilbo: The gay traumatized fun uncle. Obviously had a dwarf husband, but sadly is widowed. Now he sings his gay little songs and everyone adores him. mood tbh

Eomer: Straight but is extremely supportive of Gimli and Legolas that he cries whenever they do something sweet to one another. It gets worse when he's drunk.

Theodred: Hes not even really in the book but I need to spread my Boromir/Theodred rare pair ship. Hes bisexual obviously.

Galadriel: Intersex, nonbinary (they/she) and has a hot trophy husband.

Celeborn: the trophy husband, a trans man and is queer.

Saruman: He is the definition of the queer-coded villain. I mean his name is saurman of all colours and he literally transforms into a gay pride flag.

Tom Bombadil & Goldberry: They deserve to be grouped as one because they are the best representation of a queer platonic couple out there. Goals.

Rosie Cotton: Bi but doe sent really know it, but if she ever met Goldberry, she might then have her awakening.

last and not least we have Sauron himself, and anyone whose read the Silmarillion know exactly what his sexuality is. so go read it.

Anyway tell me your hcs if you have any, I would love to hear them.

#lotr #the fellowship of the ring #lord of the rings #the return of the king #bagginsheild #frodo #samwise gamgee #bilbo baggins #gandalf #hobbits #headcanons #tolkien #Sauron

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eirual-32 · 2 months

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The Murmuring Sun (part I) - Legolas x Reader

Part I, Part II, Part III

A.N.: As of now, I am planning to make this a three parts series. Also, there might be some mistakes and I’m sorry for that but English isn’t my first language. Hope you enjoy!

Legolas x Elf Reader

Summary: A simple day on your own turns into one of pure bliss with your childhood friend as feelings are slowly uncovered. However, confusion also follows...

fluff, slight angst, childhood friends, hair braiding, uncovered feelings

In this story, hair braiding is associated with romantic love and courting for elves.

Warnings: none

Words: 1 850

The grass felt divine under your skin as your palms smoothly caressed your surroundings. You closed your eyes, savouring the quiet bliss of the moment. As you lay in the woods in a spot where no tree could hide the beaming sun, all that could be heard was the chirps of a distant bird and the wind quietly humming a lullaby through the leaves and branches. This melody seemed to transport you elsewhere, away from all that ever had you worried or frightened. Before you could notice, your already sealed eyelids became heavier, as did the rest of your body, and you slipped into a peaceful meditative state, one you hadn’t experienced in a while, as elves did not require much rest.

A faint sound later brought you back to consciousness. While briefly lifting your neck off the ground, you peeked at the trees and flowery bushes a few feet away before weightlessly letting your head fall back where it had been resting and you slowly felt yourself drifting away once more.

Just as you were about to reach unconsciousness, you were brought back to reality when something nudged your right shoulder. You groaned faintly while stirring your arms at your side. A smile crept its way onto your lips as you breathed in the summer air blended with the scent of the humid forest encircling you. As you then released the sweet scent you had inhaled, you opened your eyes at last. Instantly, you beamed even wider than you had been a few seconds prior as your sight fixated itself on a familiar white haired ellon looking down at you, his feet just above your head.

“Hi there.” Legolas slightly chuckled. “Today seems to be a very productive day on your part,” he said sarcastically, unable to suppress the grin now gracing his lips while his eyes traveled passed your feet.

Raising yourself on your elbows, you followed his gaze to find the braided baskets you had brought with you to gather berries growing in the nearby bushes. However, they had been long forgotten when you noticed the bright sun gleaming through trees’ foliage and tenderly brushing your skin. Indeed, you had then decided to embrace the beauty of nature by lying down and absorbing the sunlight.

You chuckled at the view of the empty baskets, realizing how carried away you had gotten. You swiftly stood up and faced your long-time friend. Your giggles ceased as you locked eyes with him. Immediately, a luminous smile, mirroring your own, illuminated his features. You lifted your right arm to grab his shoulder and he did the same to you. Happiness filled your being and you tried to ignore the way your heart fluttered at his touch as you knew this was solely a friendly way for him to greet you after having not seen each other in a small while.

It was true that since his 100th birthday, when he reached adulthood 14 years ago, it had been difficult for you two to spend time together. Indeed, Thranduil, your king and his father, had since given him more responsibilities and kept him away to teach him the ways of ruling over Mirkwood. Witnessing the friend you held so close to your heart learn and grow before your eyes filled you with pride, but sadness as well. You could feel that the duties a young prince such as him possessed weighted on him and, consequently, the joyful innocence that had danced in his eyes since you both were children had diminished. However, it had never left him, you could still perceive that light radiating from him.

His hand gave your shoulder a light squeeze before he finally released it and you let go as well.

“Well, it is nice to see you as well Legolas,” you said teasingly. “How long has it been since we were last able to have a proper conversation?”

“Way too long.” He sighed while responding.

Turning your back to him, you walked away to gather the scattered baskets as a way to hide your bubbling excitement from the very ellon who triggered it. You crouched down to pick them up and asked, “So, what has your father been occupying you with as of late?”

“The usual mainly, although father as grown agitated these past weeks. He senses a darkness growling far away. He worries this very forest will eventually fall into the shadow. It surely won’t happen for a few thousand years but still, he considers it is best we find ways to prevent it from growing any stronger than it already is. In all honesty, it is quite frightening seeing my father this concerned, he never is really.”

At his words, you rotated your head to stare at his face you subtly inspected. His expression had a hint of sombreness, one that rarely inhabited his features. You briskly turned back and stood back up, baskets in hands.

“Well, we better enjoy the quiet and delightful days like today is while peace still reigns over Middle-earth,” you said cheerfully, attempting to lighten the atmosphere that had abruptly became grave. You then started to walk away in the opposite direction from Legolas. “Are you coming?” you asked.

You couldn’t conceal a smile as you faintly heard his light feet hurry to catch up to you.

“I was about to pick some berries. Do you want to join me?”, you said turning sideways to hand him a basket, offering him a grin.

“Gladly,” he replied, smiling kindly at you.

You took the lead walking a bit further until you noticed a few bushes full of blackberries that were glistening in the sun peeking from the tree leaves higher up.

“Those should be enough to fill at least one of our baskets,” you stated. You then both made your way over to the bushes, sat down and got to work quietly. Not a word was uttered for a few minutes, merely revelling in the simplicity of the moment, until you broke the silence after having been briefly lost in your thoughts.

“I’m sorry for earlier.” Legolas looked at you curiously and, avoiding eye contact, you resumed, “For having ignored your concerns. If it seemed like I didn’t sympathize with you and what clearly weighs heavily on your mind, I want you to know that it truthfully is the complete opposite. It worries me to see you this troubled and I merely changed the subject swiftly to ease both of our minds.” You paused and completed, “I care for you deeply. You know that right?” From where you stood, sitting sideways to his left, you looked up to meet his eyes which had already been examining you. Under his gaze, a soft pink tinted your cheeks while awaiting his response. Relief flooded your body when a slight smile broke on his lips which made you beam as well.

“It’s alright Y/N. I do not wish to dwell on those thoughts either. I’d much rather spend the day with you, discussing lightly and enjoying each other’s company without a care in the world. Just like we always used to. Your mere company brings me peace and I am grateful to you for that.” He briefly paused and continued, “Still, thank you for clearing the air.”

You smiled at each other and resumed harvesting the blackberries in front of you. Legolas then proceeded to teasingly shove his shoulder against yours. It made you lift your eyes up to meet his face once more which was now bearing a smirk.

Looking straight into your eyes, he smoothly said, “And I do care about you too.”

At that moment, the butterflies came back to life in your stomach. You didn’t know how to react as your cheeks and ears were burning. In the end, you settled on gently pushing back his shoulder just like he had done to you a few seconds ago. He chuckled as you did so.

Silence washed once more over the both of you and you carried on filling your baskets. It remained this way for a couple of minutes, simply appreciating the rare occurrence of being in each other’s company. You never had to say much. Being close to one another had always been sufficient to demonstrate your mutual appreciation for the other.

Taking you by surprise, Legolas shoved a blackberry in your mouth and stood up, hands on his hips and said, “I don’t know about you, but I believe we have earned a break.”

A mischievous smile then lit up his features and he grabbed your wrists. Trying to lift you off the ground, he stated, “Come on.”

As you pulled yourself back on the ground, you both started laughing aloud. His palms still encircling your wrists, you tried to free yourself without being able to stop your laughter and uttered, “Stop! I have promised my sister I would bring back home at least two full baskets. Not even one has been filled!”

“We will come back later and I assure you, we will collect way more than enough of those blackberries. Now come!” He chuckled as he tugged on your arms once again. You tried to resist by leaning back but he had grown way stronger than you with how much King Thranduil had him trained in the last few years. Consequently, he effortlessly was able to pull you to your feet.

You squealed as he now grabbed your right hand, dragging you behind him as you both still couldn’t stifle your chuckles. You initially stumbled but quickly were well able to keep up with his pace, always having been a fast runner.

After a short sprint, Legolas slowed down in front of a pond, the one you and him used to go swim in together when you were but children. He released your hand, took off his boots and began stepping in the water.

“Are you not scared to wet your princely hair now Leg?” you shouted teasingly. He swiftly turned around, flashing you an annoyed smile.

From where you stood, you admired him for a few seconds, his back facing you again. You felt your chest tightened as you took in his beauty. In recent years, his facial features had sharpened while maintaining their innocence and natural attractiveness. Your eyes trailed over his perfect hair braided at the top that cascaded down his lean but strong form. The sun made it gleam, some strands appearing almost silver.

Soon enough, guilt replaced the lightness in your heart. Indeed, it felt unfaithful to be admiring someone you were unsure saw you in the same light you viewed him in. What if the way he cared about you was merely in a friendly manner?

Legolas then proceeded to take off a layer of clothing, throwing it a few meters next to you, which left him in his thin tunic as he immersed in the water until only his head and shoulders were poking out. This seemed to pull you out of your trans. You quickly proceeded to remove your laced sandals and followed him in the shallow pond.

A.N. : Part II coming soon :)

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