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elfy-elf-imagines · 2 years

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Lovely to be Rained on With You | Glorfindel

▹ Pairing: Glorfindel x Reader

▹ Genre: Fluff

▹ Words: ~2k

▹ Summary: It's kind of cute, dancing in the rain with Glorfindel.

▹ Notes: I think I got a tooth ache writing this

The sky was overcast from the moment you’d woken up.

The air was crisp, sharp, and chilling to the bone. Wind whistled through the trees, boughs twisting and bending. Dark clouds hung in the sky and threatened rain, but it never came. You wished it had. It would’ve made for a romantic scene, dancing through the rain with a partner that only you could see. Your dress would be drenched and cling to your skin, hair wet with droplets of water falling from the tips. Your cheeks would’ve been flushed from the cold, eyes glittering amongst the rain. It was all just a fantasy, however, as the rain refused to pour.

You walked across Imladris, looking up at the sky, longingly. A chill ran through the gardens, eliciting shivers across your body. You pulled the cloak you wore closer to stave away the cold, but it didn’t help much.

“Y/N,” a voice called your name. You turned and were met with bright blue eyes, Glorfindel standing a few feet behind you. He was as radiant as usual, his golden hair pulled into the simple braid he often wore during training. It was loose, allowing stray pieces of hair to frame his face. His expression was serene, as it almost always was. He walked towards you, your heart rate getting faster with every step.

“Glorfindel,” you responded, an easy grin on your lips. You hoped it would mask the nerves rippling in your stomach. Anticipation made your body nearly vibrate, eager for any interaction with Glorfindel. No matter how large or small, it would be enough to keep you swooning the entire day.

“What are you doing?” The distance that separated the two of you was gone. He felt like a furnace compared to your freezing body. It was your excuse for standing so close, even though you knew your cheeks weren’t flushed from the cold.

“Taking a stroll, I needed some air,” you said.

“In this cold weather?” Amusement gave his voice an airy lilt and the sound made your heart beat faster.

“I like the cold?” It was more of a question than an answer and you cursed your timid temperament. Glorfindel laughed, the noise more melodic than it had a right being. Butterflies erupted in your stomach and a small, shy smile pulled on your lips. You’d do anything to hear that noise again. Even if you had to make the biggest fool of yourself to keep his eyes on you.

“Then perhaps you would allow me to walk with you if only to ensure the lady does not get sick with frostbite.” He presents his arm, and you link your arm with his. The two of you begin to walk forward.

You’re petrified, intensely focusing on keeping your legs steady so you don’t stumble like an idiot. Stars filled your vision the longer you and Glorfindel walked together. He began to speak with you, his voice so quiet only you could hear the words. It was silly observations; things he noticed as you walked. It had little purpose, other than to coax small bouts of laughter from you.

A drop of water landed on your head. You looked up at the sky, the clouds had grown darker. Small droplets fell from the sky, the downpour coming down harder now. Glorfindel looked up at the sky as well, a slight frown on the edge of his mouth.

“Should we head inside?” he asked.

Your eyes moved from the sky then back to him. The shy grin on your face was larger, eyes beaming with excitement. You’d waited all day for this moment to happen. If fate was on your side, your dance partner wouldn’t be a figment of your imagination. It would be the person you dreamed about most.

“I’d like to stay, I enjoy the rain,” you said.

Glorfindel nodded, eyes locked with yours and a soft smile on his lips. “Then we’ll stay.”

The two of you continued to walk through the gardens of Imladris, unphased by the cold rain. Your shoes were full of water and everything clung to your body awkwardly. Down to the bone, you were freezing, but Glorfindel’s smile kept you warm. The rain came down harder, aggressive enough that it might be the start of a storm. It would be smart to move to the shelter of Imladris. But you didn’t want the moment to end. Without thinking about it for too long, afraid you’d chicken out last minute, you grabbed Glorfindel’s hand.

You pulled him forward to stand in the center of the garden, and he followed. Your smaller hands held his shoulders while he wrapped his arms around your waist. In near perfect sync, the two of you gently moved to the music the rain made. You began to hum, a tune you’d heard one of the minstrels sing a few nights ago. The floor was muddy, squishing under your feet. How lovely it was to be rained on with him.

He lifted his arm, coaxing you to spin and you did. Your wet hair flew around your face, sprinkling Glorfindel with water. Your eyes locked again, unabashedly staring at each other. Your eyes shone as if he was the rising sun after a long night. Time was moving too fast, it needed to slow down so you could savor this moment and memorize every detail. You weren’t sure you’d have the courage to replicate it.

The dance shifted, no longer a slow sway but a lively waltz and his hands intertwined with yours. You fumbled as Glorfindel glided across the grassy terrain, the steps ingrained in his head. The dance was unfamiliar, though you’ve seen him dance it a million times in The Hall of Fire. He laughed, light, merry, and full of life. His eyes shone like stars and his smile rivaled the sun. You wanted to call him beautiful, but it didn’t feel sufficient. No word in any language accurately described Glorfindel. You would have to settle with ethereal, even if it felt lacking.

He consumed all your thoughts. The way he made your heart race and head get dizzy. How much you loved to hear him laugh, the glossy look in his eyes when he drank too much wine. He was full of life, so happy all the time, despite the horrors he witnessed. You wanted him to know that you admired his tenacity and bravery. You loved him, not just for his beauty or charm, but his selflessness, his honor, but you did adore the little line on his forehead when he was deep in thought. He made you feel alive just by being in the same room. You wanted to tell him all of that. It was on the tip of your tongue, but you didn’t want to ruin the moment.

How silly to imagine he might ever feel the same.

The moment was coming to a close, you could feel it. Glorfindel spun you, once twice, and then a final time. He pulled back, hands unwinding themselves from yours. His eyes stayed on yours, and you thought you saw a sheen of affection in the dim light. But he turned away before you could think about it too long. His arm held out once more, you wrapped yours with it as he led you back to the building. His fingers traced shapes on your arm, the motion soothing your nerves.

For the second time, you considered telling Glorfindel everything on your mind. And for the second time, you decided not to. How lovely it was to sit on the edge of comfort and chaos as a war waged in your mind. Quicker than you’d like, the two of you were twisting through the halls of Imladris, towards your room. It was empty, not a soul encountered. Neither of you spoke, but it wasn’t awkward. It was as calm as a gentle summer wind. All too soon you reached the door to your room.

Your hands paused on the door knob and you turned to find Glorfindel already looking at you. There was hardly any space between the two of you, your noses brushing. The ability to breathe was taken from you as your eyes flickered to his lips before returning to his eyes. There was something in them you couldn’t read, but you desperately wanted to. To pull apart his brain and learn him entirely was all you wanted.

He took a step back, the moment over.

He did a sweeping bow and you returned it with a sloppy curtsey, face burning with embarrassment. Your rapid heart was beginning to steady yet the butterflies continued to erupt.

“Until we meet again my lady.” Glorfindel turned, disappearing down the hall. You watched him go, and only after his form disappeared did you open the door to your room. You stepped in and shut the door behind you. Your legs turned to liquid and you leaned against the door for stability. Slowly, you slid down the wood, a dreamy expression on your face. You were dazed, eyes seeing a million stars in the darkness of your room.

In the silence of the room, your confession slipped from your mouth.

“I think I love you.”

The confession was only heard by the walls and furniture. The words embedded themselves into your books of exhilarating romances. In the sanctity of the space you allowed yourself a small thread of hope that one day, you would be the lead in a romance such as those.

A soft sigh left your mouth just as someone knocked on your door. The sudden noise made you jump as you scrambled to get off the floor. You took a few deep breaths to collect yourself before opening it.

Glorfindel stood on the other side, his expression different, almost breathless. Reflecting in the dim light, you see one of your earrings in his hand. You reached up to both ears, feeling empty space on the left. The earring must have fallen at some point. How lucky Glorfindel had found it.

“Is it true?” he asked, voice no louder than the tap of the rain on your windows.

“What?” you asked. But a lump began to form in your throat, perhaps your confession hadn’t been as private as anticipated.

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but when I came to return your earring that had fallen I couldn’t help but hear what you said. Do you truly love me?”

It was like smoke had poured into your lungs, taking away your ability to speak. You were frozen.

“Because if so, that is most pleasing. I find myself falling in love with you more every day, My Lady.” The confession fell from his lips like honey. You stood there, starstruck, unsure that you’d heard him correctly. But the grin on his face was too sweet and his eyes were too full of adoration for him to have said anything else.

“It’s true. I do love you,” you spoke quietly, afraid you’d wake up from some hallucination. But you never did. Even as the grin on his face widened and he drew closer to you. His arms wrapped around you for a second time that night, but he pulled you closer than before. It wasn’t the embrace of a friend but of a lover. You leaned into his touch memorizing the sound of his heartbeat and the warm scent that clung to him.

He kissed you. It was sudden, but you didn’t rebuke it. This was everything you’d dreamt of since you first laid eyes on Glorfindel. You pressed your fingers into him, to confirm that he was real and so was this. He touched you like no one ever had, fingers threading through your hair. Your mind was white, any thought hazy and unfocused. The only clarity you had was the feeling of Glorfindel’s body against you and the press of his lips. Lovely to be pressed against him.

It felt like the beginning of a story you’ve read before.

----

#glorfindel imagine #glorfindel x reader #glorfindel oneshot #glorfindel #lord of the rings oneshot #lord of the rings imagine #lord of the rings #lord of the rings drabble #glorfindel drabble #lotr #tolkien #middle earth imagines #lotr oneshot #lotr imagine #lotr elves #glorfindel fluff #lotr fluff #lord of the rings fluff

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frodothefair · 6 months

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How Galadriel Became Baggins

(I did the thing anyway. A drabble/sneak peak of a late, late chapter in Flowers of Mordor. Yes, there are spoilers. But I mean, you probably already knew there was going to be a happy ending. Tags: @konartiste)

Sam hugged the little girl close to his breast, and she mewled softly.

“Why, hello there, little one,” he whispered, rocking her gently. “Shh, shh, it’s alright, uncle Sam is here.”

The baby fussed a little and quieted down, and Sam pressed a kiss to her forehead.

By now, Sam was an uncle many times over, but this little girl was going to be special, he was sure of it.

Indeed, as he held her in his arms his heart brimmed with emotion, like the first time he had held Elanor. Not only because of his feelings for Frodo – the ones he had kept to himself for the sake of the peace and harmony of all – but also because they were two of the most important people in his life, his beloved friend and his little sister, who had come together against all odds and had found their peace, joy and comfort in one another. This little girl was living proof of that – a tiny, fragile life the two of them had made. It filled Sam’s heart with happiness like nothing else, and he knew that come what may, he would cherish this child like she was his one of his own, and she would be a light in his life, and in her parents’ lives, even if all other lights went out.

“Galadriel…”

Frodo had wanted him to name her, and Sam's lips formed the word on their own accord. Like soft, radiant tendrils of silver light, the name of the great elvish lady settled on his mind, and indeed no lesser name would have been fitting, even if they had searched for a thousand years.

#lotr fanfiction #lotr fanfic #lotr fic #lord of the rings fanfiction #lord of the ring fanfic #lord of the rings fic #lotr drabble #lord of the rings drabble #lotr #lord of the things #flowers of mordor au

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undreaming-fanfiction · 16 days

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My brain refuses to sleep, so more drabbling! Probably modern-ish AU?

Steve makes a career for himself as a re-decorator (or de-decorator, as he loves to call himself). His clientele are those celebrities who rose to fame so quickly they have plenty of money, but they don't have time to make their houses feel like home. They just bought penthouses and mansions and now live in homes that are fancy, but they feel like hotels.

Steve is there to fix that.

One of his clients is the hard working rockstar Eddie Munson whose life path went from a trailer park to couch surfing to living with 4 people in a tiny apartment, then suddenly tours, hotels and boom! He has a house that looks like an IKEA prop.

He doesn't hide his distaste at the pristine condition of the place (yes, Eddie has a cleaner). "Oh god. A beige carpet?" he scoffs and he sounds so bitchy Eddie decides he likes him already.

He likes him even more when Steve puts on reading glasses. Damn.

Over coffee, they discuss what Eddie wants. Except Steve doesn't just...tell him. He doesn't give him any hints. He just keeps asking about Eddie's favorite colors, what movies he likes, does he have hobbies apart from music? Can Steve see some of the items that bring him comfort?

And Eddie's surprised. "Shouldn't you, like...be telling me what I'm supposed to want?" he asks the gorgeous man who almost wails when he sees the vase with fresh flowers ("This is the third place in a row that has this fugly thing! Is it like a status symbol? Uh, tasteless.").

And Steve just stares at him. "Uh, Mr. Munson?"

"Eddie."

Steve nods. "Eddie. Why should I have any say in what you want? If you ask me what's practical, easy to clean, what bounces off light well, that's another thing. But in matters of taste...you're the boss. You live here, I don't. (Pity, Eddie thinks) Now, let's change this place into somewhere you actually like staying, hm?"

They spend the whole afternoon talking. Eddie opens up about what he loved before the touring and expectations from his agent took that from him. He talks about the Lord of the Rings, Dungeons and Dragons, fantasy in general, and Steve listens, makes tons of notes and asks questions that make Eddie's heart bleed, such as "and who is your favorite Lord of the Rings character?" and "you mentioned elves, dwarves, orcs, wizards...so what is your favorite group?" and "which DnD class would you be then? I guess a bard? Is that too obvious?". Now, Steve doesn't know much about these things, but learns quickly and works with the info he has.

They walk through the house again, with Steve making notes and wincing at transgressions against humanity or at least against his taste in things ("Oh ew. EW. Glossy finish on a kitchen counter? What is this, a future crime scene?") and Eddie feeling equally amused and curious. Eddie orders dinner for them, it goes something like:

"I don't know what would be appropriate, any preferences?"

"Eddie, there's no time or space when pizza is not appropriate."

"What about a funeral?"

"It puts fun in a funeral."

"Touché."

They follow up on a bunch more things. Steve notices Eddie fidgeting and asks him like the mindreader he is if perhaps the place is too clean for him. "Minimalism is what everyone's trying to push," Steve says, not without sympathy, "but it's not for everyone. I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but you seem like a person who'd love a more....personal, cluttered space."

And god, Eddie feels so seen. He tells Steve about all his favorite books and trinkets that he lost during a horrible earthquake in Indiana, so when he moved to the city it was just some clothes and his two guitars. Steve makes so many notes. "I've seen quite a lot of collectibles for your beloved trilogy," he says with a hint of a smile. "Is that something you'd like in your home?" Eddie can't nod any faster.

They talk about the budget (Eddie just scoffs at that, for the first time in his life money is not an issue), Eddie's absolute no go things ("No more vases, please! PLEASE. Also maybe the one room that can stay as it is is the studio, there's no decor"), if he has issues touching any materials, if he wants to keep any areas in the house neutral for visitors (he doesn't). Then finally, he asks Eddie if he wants to be more consulted or surprised.

And Eddie, tired and surprisingly relaxed from talking to Steve, just grins and says: "Surprise me, big boy."

Steve just smirks and makes one more note. "Oh, I will, Eddie."

...

Eddie goes on yet another tour for a couple of months, which is the ideal time for Steve to start working on the house.

Steve sometimes texts Eddie random choices, such as "Rohan or Gondor or both?" or "what's the best pub in the Middle Earth?" and Eddie usually trips over his feet trying to get to his phone after concerts to see if maybe he has another message from Steve. He learns bits and pieces about the man as well - he has a younger brother, Dustin, who is into the same stuff that Eddie is. Sometimes it goes like this:

STEVE: What's the best battle in the LotR movies?

EDDIE: The Ride of the Rohirrim, duh!

STEVE: Dustin says you're wrong, it's the last stand at the gates of Mordor.

EDDIE: The disrespect to king Théoden!

And finally, the big day comes. Eddie meets with Steve at the door. From the outside, the house still looks boring, but that's what they agreed on. At least for now.

But there's one notable difference and Eddie gasps when he sees it.

"I know we said no changes on the outside," said Steve sheepishly, "but I took the liberty to make one slight change."

Where the door used to be bland and white, it is now carved with silver etchings. It replicates the Doors of Durin. Eddie loves it.

Steve smiles at him. "Speak friend and enter, right? Dustin told me. Anyways, are you ready?"

Turns out, Eddie wasn't ready. Steve took all of the shiny and sterile surfaces and turned them into something beautiful.

The kitchen is now in warmer colors, brown and green, imitating the Green Dragon inn, plaque included.

Guest rooms have been changed, each to represent a group or a nation of the Middle Earth. Eddie thinks his uncle will love the Rohirrim one.

No more vases are to be seen, but Steve got potted plants ("almost immortal, as long as your housekeeper waters them once a week or so").

Eddie howls in laughter when he sees that Steve somehow managed to disguise all his security cameras as tiny eyes of Sauron.

The bathroom is inspired by the Rivendell, with soft tones and nods to Elvish architecture.

Eddie's bedroom resembles the Shire, with round shapes and homely motifs.

But Eddie's absolute favorite is the living room.

The only things that remain there that he bought are the massive TV and his stereo system with records. The rest though...

Gone is the ugly and sharp couch that looked like a geometry exercise. The new one is large and comfortable, with a couple of armchairs to finish the cozy feel. The coffee table and TV stand are more rough looking, with decorative ironwork. And then, around the room and on the walls...

"Oh wow," whispers Eddie and Steve beams at him.

There are collectibles and figurines that young Eddie Munson would have killed for. A replica of the Narsil hangs over the TV. It's cluttered but tasteful, still easy to clean, but Eddie always has something to touch, to play with.

And then he spots the bookcase and actually sobs. "What the fuck, Steve?" he asks, but there's no anger, just awe. "How did you know?"

The bookcase is full of Eddie's most beloved books, all that he told Steve about and more, but it's not just that. These aren't just pristine new prints - Steve managed to get both those and well-loved used copies. Most of them are the same editions that Eddie had before the earthquake. He runs his trembling finger over the back of the Hobbit and it feels like home.

"That was the hardest part," says Steve and leaves Eddie to rummage through the books, the old DnD guides and used comic books. "But I assumed you're sick of new and shiny. In fact, most of the collectibles are already used as well. They have some history. As for the books, uh..." He scratches his neck, embarrassed. "I will be honest, I don't read much. Dyslexia and some issues with the eyes, although audio books are making it more possible for me now. So I had to ask Dustin for help. We looked for editions published before the earthquake. I hope we got some of them right?"

Eddie just mutters "Sorry, I'm about to do something really unprofessional now" and pulls Steve into a bear hug. And Steve reciprocates.

"Fuck, this...this is everything," says Eddie into his shoulder. "How did you do this? Are you magic. You must be magic."

Steve grins. "I take it the surprise was a success then?"

Eddie finally pulls back. He would have loved to keep embracing Steve for a bit longer, but boundaries. "A total one. Wow. I mean. It's a lot, but so good. SO GOOD. How can I repay you?"

"You already paid me, Eddie."

"You know what I mean!" Eddie points and the books and apparently also a DVD collection he now owns. "This must have been so much more work than you normally do, no? I doubt every client has you memorize the members of the Fellowship."

"Not just that, but also why Sam is the best," Steve smiles at him and fuck. Eddie might be in love. "It was more than usual, but I loved it, Eddie. That's why I like my job so much, helping people find themselves again. You don't owe me anything. Although, if you're offering..."

"I'm listening."

Steve runs his fingers through that majestic hair. "So, I didn't tell Dustin that I was decorating the house for you, but he's a huge fan of your music. Like, massive, has every album, has been following your career from the start. And feel free to tell me it's too much, you are my client after all, but...he'd love to meet you. Over a pizza, maybe? The plain ham and cheese one you like so it doesn't have too many flavors?"

And Eddie melts. Because Steve still remembers his pizza choice from months ago, even though this definitely wasn't in his notes. He decides there and then that Steven Harrington is a national treasure.

"Sure, big boy," he smiles at Steve, and hopes he didn't imagine Steve leaning into the touch. "How about you invite him over for a movie night or something? With pizza of course."

It looks like Steve could kiss him, but he doesn't. Not yet. That only happens a week later, when they bump into each other in Eddie's kitchen when they scramble to make more popcorn for Dustin.

Steve stays the next night. And maybe a few after that. Always in a different themed bedroom.

They travel for work a lot, but when they are both in Chicago, they always meet in the Green Dragon kitchen, cuddle in the bed that would be far too large for a hobbit, and in the night, Eddie wraps himself around Steve and whispers: "My preciousssss."

And Steve can't really complain, because it's his fault that his boyfriend has re-discovered his dorkiness, so why would he mind?

#steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddie #steddie drabble #stranger things drabble #steddie au #steddie fanfiction #dustin henderson #lotr steddie #ish #lord of the rings steddie #not proofread we die like Boromir MY BOY #ahem this got long #Steve the redorkifier Harrington #Eddie the reemerging dork Munson

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entishramblings · 5 months

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Watcher of Wanderers [Legolas/F!Reader]

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

Pairing: Legolas X F!Reader

Song Inspo: Mountain Meditation by Chantress Seba

🌬️ I highly recommend listening while reading

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

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

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

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

Additional Content: moodboard linked here

MASTERLIST | AO3 | WATTPAD

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

That’s what (Y/N) was, wasn’t she?

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

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

Cursed to guide them and bend them.

Cursed to behold them.

Cursed to be them.

Alone.

A Watcher of Wanderers.

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

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

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

Still, she wandered more.

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

Still, she wandered more.

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

Still, she wandered more.

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

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

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

So, she followed them.

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

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

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

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

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

See that was the thing.

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

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

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

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

But he couldn’t….

No…

He couldn’t have heard her….could he?

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

…..

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…..

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cursed? But why?”

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

“What sorts of mischief do you speak of?”

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

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

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

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

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

….

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A watcher of wanderers indeed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She hadn't left when he closed the windows.

She was still here.

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

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

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

…..

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She remained unresponsive.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

……

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aragorn raised a brow, “Strange occurrences?”

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

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

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

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

Legolas hesitated, “But what if she wakes?”

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

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

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

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

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

To her astonishment, Legolas responded, “Pain.”

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

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

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

The elf smiled gently in response.

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

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

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

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

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

…..

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Say it,” he commanded.

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

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

…..

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faeriichaii · 4 months

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Masterlist

A/N: This is my Masterlist filled with the stories I have written so far 💕 I will add other fandoms to my list soon but feel welcome to request anyone from lotr or hobbit🤭 I hope you enjoy them as much as I enjoyed writing them!! Also REQUESTS ARE OPEN <33

Fluff: ♡ Angst: ☂ Smut: ☆

The Fellowship:

How they realise their feelings: ♡

Legolas:

Softest Touch: ♡ Summary: After looking at the etheral elven prince, you have the urge to weave your fingers through his silken hair, leading to more than just simple hair braiding.

Music to my ears: ♡ Summary: A trip to the tavern results in you not just winning new fans over with your music, but also winning the heart of a certain elven prince.

Immunity: ♡ Summary: Being sick is not fun, especially when you see Legolas' panicked gaze at your condition, which seems to get worse as the days pass by.

Words like Poison: ☂♡ Summary: Your beloved prince is stressed and busy with his duties. So, when you approach him to try and lighten the mood, he lets his frustration out on you.

Braiding Together: ♡ Summary: You have always received compliments for your cute braids, so you decided to offer the hobbits to braid their hair. However, Legolas really doesn't understand, why you would do that.

Lily: ☂♡ Summary: Being a princess with a gruesome father as a king makes you only wish to run away. So you do and run directly into the arms of an ethereal prince

Blessing: ♡ Summary: The journey of the fellowship ended a long time ago and suddenly you receive the invitation of the prince to join him in Mirkwood, meeting his father. But how will Thranduil react to seeing his sons best friend being a dwarf and his betrothed being an Avari?

Sensitive: ♡☆ Summary: You knew that Legolas could endure quite a lot, but what you did not expect is his reaction to touching his pointy ears

Little Quirks: ♡ Summary: The elven prince for some reason couldn't stop staring at you, which in return made you confused and very curious, as to why his eyes were constantly following you around.

Stormy Patrol: ♡ Summary: Tauriel and you were out on patrol without Legolas. But a storm takes you by surprise, resulting in you getting lost in the dark forest.

Thorin:

A Part From Home: ♡ Summary: Tagging along for an adventure with Gandalf, you didn't expect to run into people that remind you of your lost home.

Part of Your World: ♡ Summary: Little mermaid you finds various little trinkets and things in the waters around Erebor and you can't wait to share them with your s/o.

There's just Inches in between us: ☆♡ Summary: You were the princess of another kingdom, meant to marry none other than the dwarven King Thorin from the lonely mountain. You rarely get the chance to talk to him and decide to visit him the night before the wedding, asking him to give you some attention.

Symphony of Your Life: ♡ Summary: Thorin went to visit his old friend Bilbo in the Shire once more, without expecting to be enchanted by a melodic voice that fills not just his ears but also his heart.

Kili:

Hija de la Luna Series (warnings: none so far): Prologue; Chapter I

Part of Your World: ♡ Summary: Little mermaid you finds various little trinkets and things in the waters around Erebor and you can't wait to share them with your s/o.

My Treasure: ♡ Summary: You have been travelling the sea for years on your wonderful ship with your crew, so you are a bit curious, when you find a bunch of dwarves hiding away in fish barrels.

Feathers: ♡ Summary: Joining the company on their quest, you knew to expect possible danger on the way. What you did not expect are the feelings between you and the prince.

My Sweet Valentine: ♡ Summary: You spent your morning hours with the wonderful dwarf prince Kili

Fili:

Part of Your World: ♡ Summary: Little mermaid you finds various little trinkets and things in the waters around Erebor and you can't wait to share them with your s/o.

Thranduil:

Bookworm: ☆ Summary: Legolas let the secret of a restricted area in the library slip, which makes you of course very curious. So after deciding to enter the forbidden part, you get caught by none other than the elven king himself.

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nomelwelloy · 6 months

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Legolas imagine / drabble, [Legolas x reader]

☆*:.｡.

His hair is relaxed, unadorned by circlets or braids, gently lifted by the soft evening breeze, billowing about his face. Legolas walks towards you and for a moment is caught in the moonlight- hair illuminated white silver in her rays, eyeslashes casting long shadows over the sharp curve of his cheek bones, and the fine embroidery along his silk robes shimmer to life.

At that the sight of you, he smiles, quick and bright like a firework; flare fragments sprinkling in the brilliant specks of his irises. His hand comes to rest on the small of your back, and he greets you with a kiss to your temple. “Melleth nin,” he greets in a rough airy voice. “I found you missing when I woke, and the bed had grown cold. Have you been out here long?”

“Only for a while,” you reply, your own quiet smile coming to grace your lips. “The skies are beautiful tonight.” You both gaze up, drinking in the immense expanse of the dark skies and the soft, flickering pinpricks of light.

“A blessed sight,” you hear him murmur and feel his gaze sweep over you. “It is a little regretful that i've spent most of the day sleeping,” he muses quietly, “when such moments are already rare to come by.” His other arm comes around your waist in a loose embrace. He noses the side of your head with a wistful sigh. “Is there anything you'd like to do?”

“You slept so soundly,” you reach up to brush a stray lock from his face. “You must have been exhausted.”

He chuckles, the vibrations reverberating through the close proximity of your bodies. It's pleasant, soothing almost, and you sink further into his embrace. “It is because you were next to me, that i managed to sleep at all.”

It was indeed rare to see him like that, for elves needed little to no sleep after all. “Is there something troubling you?” you ask, hoping to understand the reasons for the grey pallor under his eyes and his unusually long rest since returning from patrol yesterday. You yourself had returned earlier this week, and upon your reunion after weeks away on separate duties, the first thing you’d done together was spend the entire day in bed- sleeping.

“Only that we have been apart for longer than i can appreciate,” he tightens his hold, brushing his lips over the cold skin of your shoulder. “But like this, i wish it could be forever.” His fingers curl into your soft sides, thumbs brushing over the thin fabric of your tunic.

You turn to face him, unsatisfied with his answer. Legolas smiles, recognising the look on your face, and he tries to placate you with a kiss under your eye, your cheek, and the corner of your mouth.

“I'm all right,” he whispers against your skin, his lips ghosting over yours, “You have my word.” he kisses you gently. “But i would feel better if you indulged me a little,”

You feel his kittenish grin, and you can't help your own as you return the kiss, hands coming up to weave through his loose locks. It is always a refreshing sight to see him with his hair like this, and it made your heart flutter. There is something so vulnerable about it, like it is reserved for only your eyes to see. And albeit tired, he appears even more criminally breathtaking.

“There is nothing else I’d like do,” you confess under your breath, “for I am so very content like this, with you,” and this only causes Legolas to break out into a silly smile, capturing your lips in another heart-fluttering kiss.

☆彡

a/n: finally got this out after months-long of a brain rot, with another rotting sitting in my drafts but hope you enjoyed this one! Reblogs are greatly appreciated <3

#elves probably don’t sleep that much but let’s overlook that this one #also please excuse any typos #editing it with my eyes half closed #;; hope it was enjoyable nonetheless #legolas #legolas x reader #legolas x you #Lotr drabbles #lotr imagines #legolas imagines #lotr #lord of the rings #legolas fanfiction #legolas greenleaf #nomelwelloy

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drabblesandimagines · 1 year

Text

Unspoken

I might come back and revise this, as I'm not sure I'm completely happy with it, but hey-ho!

Inspired by my constant earache.

Wordcount: 2390

Pairings: Legolas x you

----

It had been a long, hard night – that was for certain. You hadn’t got through completely unscathed as there were bruises developing and a few cuts here and there, but at least you still had your life.

As dawn broke, it was a relief as you saw the calvary upon the hill, racing down in their thousands. And that was your mistake - allowing yourself to be distracted, before something cracked into your skull and the world went black.

Slowly, the world came back into view, albeit in flashes at first. Spurts of light in a field of darkness before it all faded away once more. As the world focused more in front of your eyes, you realized you were in one of the great halls of the keep, which now seemed to be a makeshift clinic. Cots were lined up across the floor, all filled with a wounded soldier, now including yourself.

Then it struck you what was off. There must’ve been hundreds of others in here, there must’ve been chatter, moans of pain, the scuff of boots on the concrete floor but to you there was nothing but ringing – high-pitched ringing, everything muffled behind it.

You shot up, hoping the rapid movement would make the high-pitched tone clear and things would return to normal. Unsurprisingly, it achieved nothing. A hand suddenly gripped your shoulder and you flinched – turning your head to see Legolas sat beside you, uncharacteristically crossed legged, but with a relieved smile on his face. You stared blankly at him, seeing his lips move but no words reached your ears through the barrier of ringing. Slowly, his smile dropped into a frown when you hadn’t responded. His hand squeezed your shoulder and his lips moved again.

“I…” You hesitated. Thinking it was one thing but saying it out loud… “I can’t hear you. I can’t… There’s just ringing.”

He leaned in closer to you, his lips moving frantically. You leant back and rubbed your left ear. You weren’t sure why. Your fingertips came back with tacky blood and you looked back up at the elf – you didn’t need to hear at that moment to know there was concern in his voice, the alarm in his eyes said it all. Your heart began to race – you’d be useless to everyone now in the quest they’d set out upon. You could try to adapt, of course you could, you were an exceptional fighter, but it would take time to learn. Time you or anyone else didn’t have right now...

Firm hands grasped both of your shoulders – you realized you’d been staring off into the distance as your mind raced with all the implications. The sudden touch forced you to look at him. Legolas smiled - you imagined he’d hoped it was reassuring. His lips moved again, maybe more slowly than they had previously, but you shook you head. “I can’t understand you” Were you shouting? Maybe you were shouting.

He paused, a thoughtful look on his face before he gave a slight nod. Legolas opened his arms wide and then almost seemed to hug the air, trying to encompass it all within his arms, before pointing to the right. You stared at him, confused. Was he quite well…? He smiled, before repeating his movements, two, three times, before something clicked in your mind.

“Are you trying to say it’ll be all right?”

Legolas nodded enthusiastically, delighted that you’d put together his performance. He got to his feet and then held his hands out flat in front of him, pulling them back smoothly before throwing them forward. Was he telling you to wait there? Where would you even go? You nodded, “I’ll wait…?” He beamed, before striding out of the hall at great speed.

You reluctantly laid back down on the cot and stared at the ceiling. Maybe if you closed your eyes you could pretend it was just you in this room…

You weren’t sure how much time had passed before Aragorn appeared above you, a gentle smile upon his face. He looked weary and wounded, but it was good to see the man in one piece. The ranger offered you his hand and helped you to sit up before he knelt next to you.

Aragorn opened his mouth as if to say something and then stopped, perhaps realizing it would be pointless. He then smiled again and tucked his hair behind his ear and cupped it, then he gestured to your own. Ever the gentleman, asking permission.

You nodded and turned your head, soon after you felt his fingers brush your hair away and lightly pull at your ear lobe in inspection. You stared into the hall, watching some of the women distributing water and food a couple of rows up from you, willing yourself to hear a single word through that awful ringing.

After a moment or two Aragorn moved onto your other ear. You noticed his fingers also came back with that sticky, almost dried blood but he didn’t seem alarmed by its presence. He leaned back and nodded, before squeezing your hand in reassurance.

Legolas soon returned, clutching a scrap of parchment, an ink well and a quill of all things – you couldn’t think of where he’d obtained those in the aftermath of all that had occurred last night. He laid it all down on the floor, uncorked the ink well and dipped the quill, looking expectantly at the ranger. Aragorn’s lips began to move and Legolas began to transcribe in his beautiful calligraphy. It felt like an agonizingly long wait before the elf held up the parchment for you to read.

Aragorn believes that the cause of your hearing loss is due to your eardrums being burst. Do you recall any injury?

You nodded. “I think I took a hit to the head.”

Aragorn’s lips moved once more and Legolas scribbled.

That would cause such an injury. To his knowledge, these heal after some rest and the hearing will return in the next few days.

You nodded, before Aragorn’s next words made Legolas frown ever so slightly, but the years together had made you an expert at reading his face.

Aragorn suggests we move you to more private quarters whilst you heal.

“No. I don’t want any special treatment.” You directed your words straight at the ranger. In turn, he replied directly to you.

He wouldn’t give you it, but it’s for your safety. It’ll only be for a little while until your hearing returns. I know you won’t like it, but I agree.

You gave Legolas a hard stare for that one. He quickly jotted down another word in response.

Please?

“Fine, but only until I get some hearing back.” You conceded, reluctant but you knew they’d eventually get their way, somehow or another. “And I’m not being there completely alone – I’d expect you all to join me.”

You’d settled into a small side room and you had got your wish of company – Gimli, Aragorn and Legolas all joining you. Well, Aragorn always seemed to be up half the night and Legolas varied between how much he wanted. The room was small, so there was little distance between the bed rolls but he’d set his up next to yours and seemed to settle down only to encourage you to do so. Gimli, however, had never seemed so well-rested since this whole journey had begun.

After the joy of seeing Gandalf once more, you settled into a bit of a routine. Day by day, the ringing subsided substantially but everything else still sounded like it was submerged under water. There wasn’t much to do to pass the time – you begged them to give you busy jobs that wouldn’t involve conversation and you could just put your head down and get on with them. One of the days you had accomplished little else than gather blunt blades from the battle and set about them with a whet stone. You’d insisted that this was something you could tackle on your own, but that didn’t stop Legolas appearing by your side constantly through the day. He’d also obtained more parchment and they all took turns noting things down in order to make you feel involved, which you appreciated but it made for awfully stilted conversation. Aragorn made you hot compresses – he’d tried to get you to take some herbs for the pain but you’d declined. There were far more injured men than you who needed the relief, but that didn’t stop him noting every time you winced.

You sensed some tension between Aragorn and Gandalf on the third day – the scowls on both of their faces said enough. The ringing had finally ceased altogether but sounds of the world continue to be muffled beyond comprehension despite how much you strained. You pestered Legolas and Gimli to tell you what about when you were alone in the room that evening, but the elf kept tapping on a previously written sentence.

It’s nothing for you to worry about.

“You’re not being fair, if you’ve heard something you need to tell me.” You’d pestered, “It’s upsetting enough that I can’t hear, but now that you are keeping secrets from me…”

Legolas’ brow furrowed as there was an exchange of words between the elf and the dwarf. Then he began writing – though you could note a slight reluctance.

Gandalf wants to move on to Isengard. Aragorn refuses until you can accompany us.

“No, I told him that I don’t want any special treatment.” You protested. “You should be gone already!”

This is why I was reluctant to tell you. Aragorn has made his choice and we stick by him. The Fellowship is already splintered enough.

“Where is he?” You stood up, determined to confront the ranger but the elf’s hand grasped your wrist and pulled you firmly back down – luckily the impact cushioned by the bed roll. Your reflexes were usually much better than that but your balance had been somewhat off, something Aragorn had assured would right itself as your ear drums healed.

One hand kept a tight hold of your wrist as he scribbled down on the parchment.

Please. I am not going to transcribe an argument. We will go as soon as you are well enough. Truth be told, Aragorn needs the rest as well. I’m sure it’ll only be a day or two more, if you are patient.

Patience had never been your strong suit. In fact, it had taken you years to learn it and not act on a whim, but you’d been told – and rightly so – that if you wanted to fight you had to tolerate it.

“Fine,” you grumbled, admitting defeat. You laid down and faced the wall, pettily. “Goodnight, then.”

You woke sometime later, but it was hard to tell exactly how long. There was a small slit in the stonework so you could tell it was still dark. You must’ve rolled over in your sleep as you were now facing back into the room and could see Gimli’s slumbering form in the other corner, his chest rising and falling heavily. You were sure he must be snoring. Aragorn’s bed roll was unoccupied, but that wasn’t really a surprise. Apparently he was often found late at night with his pipe, staring up into the night sky in contemplation and did not wish to be disturbed. Besides you, about a metre away, was Legolas – lying poker straight on his bed roll, his arms crossed across his chest and his eyes firmly closed. You weren’t sure how that was comfortable – you’d always slept on your side, an arm under your head as a pillow.

Trying to get comfortable again, you rolled back over to face the wall but your mind no longer seemed to be tired. Instead, dark thoughts swirled around – what if your hearing remained at this level? Aragorn couldn’t hold back forever, and you were still mad that he’d delayed their departure this far due to you. They’d have to leave you eventually, though. You would surely only be a nuisance as communication would go, and though you could still swing a sword around - you’d tried the day you’d sharpened all the blades – you hadn’t accounted for your balance. It had taken time for you to learn how to fight with two swords, but even just with one the weight felt terribly off, and when you’d lunged forward in a thrust technique, you’d nearly gone head-first into the wall.

You were determined, you knew you were – you’d always accomplished everything you’d set your mind to but it had always taken time, and that was something you were very aware was becoming limited. Tears burned at your eyes and you swallowed, before rubbing furiously at them with your hand.

Suddenly, an arm slipped around your waist and you jumped before relaxing at a familiar touch – Legolas. He pulled you over and onto his chest, squeezing your hand. Your head was flat on his chest and you’d missed the sound of his heartbeat, only to feel something different. Vibrations tickled your cheek and you thought he must be singing in a quiet, bass tone. Your heart skipped at his comfort – it was far too dark in there for him to write down reassuring notes when he heard your distress. You squeezed his hand back in a thank you, pushing the unhelpful thoughts deep down in your mind as you concentrated on the comforting pulsations…

You awoke the next morning in the same position, but aware something else was very different to what the last few days had entailed. Although slightly dulled, you could hear grunting. You sat up in shock and stared at Gimli.

“What is it?” Legolas’ soft voice came from behind you. You turned back to him and he frowned, reaching for the parchment. “Sorry…” he mumbled, forgetting himself.

“I can hear Gimli snoring!” You beamed. “It’s not as clear as a bell, but I can hear him. And I can hear you!” You were giddy.

“You can?” Legolas smiled in return, reaching for you and pulling you closer. “That is wonderful news, though I have one regret. For you see, I had rather hoped these words would be the first you’d hear…”

He leant in and whispered three words into your ear that made your face flush.

#legolas x reader #legolas x you #lotr x reader #drabbles #reader imagines #lord of the rings #no pronouns

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dynamicdiplomacy · 8 months

Text

Celebrían left for Aman well before Aragorn was ever born and long before Arwen ever made the Choice of Mortality.

Imagine Elrond, stepping off the ship from Middle Earth, delighted to see his wife again. They embrace, enough tears falling to drown their sorrow beneath their joy.

Once they have returned to the home she has built for her family, she asks him please, please tell me about my children, tell me of all the wondrous things they have done.

So he tells her about Elladan and Elrohir, their part in the War, their dedication to the Rangers, the kind elves they have grown to become.

When their conversation turns to Arwen, he speaks of little Estel, the boy they had taken into their home, the love that had grown between them, the world they had created for each other. Then he pauses and reaches into the wooden trunk he has brought from Rivendell.

There is a portrait, the paint still bright and vivid, of a dark-haired man with a kind gaze and a crown of silver. Beside him, Arwen stands with an ornate circlet resting on her brow. Both of their faces are aglow with happiness, lips curled with mirth.

Between them is a young boy with silver eyes that look so much like Elrond's and she knows the words that he is about to say.

But knowing does not make them ache any less.

She is not coming, Celebrían. She is not coming and I am sorry.

It seemed their family was always doomed to have one soul sundered from the others.

Eärendil from Elwing, Elros from Elrond, Celebrían from her children, Arwen from her family.

Crumpled into her husband's arms, she has only one question:

Is she happy?

Elrond smiles faintly and runs a gentle hand over her silver hair.

Oh my darling, they are in bliss. They remind me of you and I so long ago. In love so deep that not even Ulmo could pull them from its waters.

She sighs and presses a kiss to his neck, perhaps we could find that love between us again. It has been hidden for too long.

His soft laugh, tingled by bittersweet memories, makes her own heart soar.

Two pairs of lovers, separated by an ocean and time, each begin a new life together.

#lotr #lotr fic #fic #elrond #celebrian #lord of the rings #aragorn #arwen #my writing #elladan #elrohir #lotr drabble #tolkien

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ironmandeficiency · 1 year

Text

the company + helping their s/o with insomnia

characters included: thorin, fíli, kíli, dwalin, bofur

word count: 941

summary: how a few members of thorin’s company help their s/o with their insomnia

a/n: again, i wrote these at an ungodly hour even tho i had important things to do today

thorin 🪵

with his duties as king, thorin is quite the night owl

he tends to stay up late working on important documents, reading through correspondence, doing everything but resting

you keep him company on many of those nights, humming softly as you read novels or tend to your own royal duties across the room when sleep evades you (which is nearly always)

he’ll notice when you start to sink further in your armchair, taking that as his cue to put you to bed

“come, my queen, we must rest for the night” he whispers, sliding his arms under your back and behind your knees to carry you to bed

your indignant grumble is met with a soft chuckle, your husband reassuring you that he is joining you

once you’re tucked in, he slides himself under the blankets with you and hums lullabies until you both doze off

fíli 🗡️

despite how long fíli has known you, he will never understand how in mahal’s great mines you are so elusive after sundown

during the day, he knows exactly how to find you and never worries about where you happen to be. but under the light of the moon, you slip through his fingers and seemingly vanish with the breeze

he knows that you like to go on walks to burn off energy you didn’t use during the day; without your evening walks, you’re tossing and turning like mad

you’re almost never in the same place twice; he’s found you roaming the mines chatting with bofur, reading books by the light of the forges, and on one evening you were in the kitchens with bombur chowing down on midnight snacks

tonight he finds you in the royal library, drool escaping from your lips onto a book older than the both of you combined

he spots balin and the old advisor grins at the sight of you snoozing on the dusty tome

your golden prince gently slides the book from under your head, adjusting your body so he can carry you to bed without much jostling

kíli 🏹

you’ve known that kíli was a massive cuddler since you were children in the blue mountains

he had a penchant for being able to sleep nearly anywhere growing up, and since you both were glued to each other by the hip since pebblehood, you were his permanent best friend and cuddle buddy no matter where you were

the older you got, sleep began avoiding you like a plague unless you had kee by your side. it was such a problem that he lived with you in every way but by name, having his own side of the bed and a good chunk of his clothes in your dresser

when he went on the quest for erebor with his brother and uncle, your insomnia returned with a vengeance that rivaled the angriest dwarf

reuniting with kíli in erebor was what kept you energized once everyone heard the news, your body running on willpower and dís’s mothering

when he saw you for the first time in the newly reclaimed kingdom he was concerned. he told thorin in no uncertain terms that he’d be spending the next few days helping you find the rest you’ve been so desperately missing

if there were confessions of love and kisses and beads exchanged between the naps, no one needed to know

dwalin 🪓

the best way he knows how to help someone sleep is through physical exertion. as a seasoned warrior, he knows with absolute certainty that waving hefty weapons around for long enough will get anyone an immediate audience with the sandman

when he feels you tossing and turning in bed, he’ll coax you out to the training grounds and spar with you until your eyelids begin to droop and your stance gets sloppy

you’ll be dead on your feet as your husband scoops you into his arms, silently carrying you back to your rooms with a fond smile (the smile is for you, his signature glare is for the guards under his command daring them to say anything disparaging about you)

laying you on the bed, his callused hands remove your clothing piece by piece, massaging your muscles as he works your tunic over your head and trousers down your legs

a soft nightgown is eased over your head before he bundles you up in the blankets. he joins you and simply runs his hands along your skin soothingly

it doesn’t matter what time it is, if dwalin can help you find rest, he will do whatever he has to do

bofur ⛏️

either bofur doesn’t see how some of the other miners stare at him, or he simply doesn’t give a flying fuck

most nights while he works, you’ll be found in a smallish rolling bed nearby where he’s working. you’re not always sleeping, sometimes simply resting or reading a book while you wait for your dwarf

it was an idea bifur had when bofur lamented to his brother about your discomfort and lack of genuine rest, and it helped a lot

there are occasional breaks in his work, bofur always taking a moment to kiss you sweetly and relay some of the fresh miner’s gossip (honestly, they rival the midwives with how much they talk)

when bofur is free from his duties, he’ll rouse you from whatever state you’re in and guide you back home with a steady hand and a smile

as you walk, he’ll update you on all the juicy rumors and drama and only half-finish his stories as you both fall into bed for the night

nothing anyone can say will convince him to not show you how much you are loved and appreciated

#thorin oakenshield #thorin oakenshield x reader #fíli durin #fíli durin x reader #kíli durin #kíli durin x reader #dwalin x reader #dwalin #bofur #bofur x reader #the hobbit fanfiction #the hobbit drabble #the hobbit fanfic #the hobbit reader insert #the hobbit trilogy #lotr fanfic #lord of the rings imagine #the hobbit imagine

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halfelven · 1 year

Text

Frodo pours tea, and some tips out from under the lid, spills on the table. The cleaning rag hangs from the stove, but three feet is three miles, and he is in the dark again, everything dust. He would choke on it if he could breathe.

The eye is watching; the enemy golden—the only light in the dark, if he could reach him.

He would go to him if he could.

He reaches for the ring, but it is dead. The enemy too.

He should be glad. It is quiet. There is peace. His hand shakes. He never sleeps.

#it’s unreasonably attached to frodo hours #(all the hours)#frodo #lord of the rings #tolkien #lotr #jr2t #lotr fanfic #writing #my writing #drabbles #fragments #ptsd #sauron

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solmarillion · 5 months

Text

The Mirror of Galadriel

❝What you will see, if you leave the Mirror free to work, I cannot tell. For it shows things that were, and things that are, and things that yet may be. But which is it that he sees, even the wisest cannot always tell.❞ - Galadriel, Fellowship of the Ring

Drawn for Scribbles and Drabbles 2023. (@fall-for-tolkien)

This piece began as a little sketch I drew in class to cure my boredom, but as I rendered it digitally, it quickly became something bigger. Coloring this was challenging, especially with how complicated Galadriel's hair is, and all of the details I added to the piece. I've always wanted to draw Galadriel in Wind Waker style- I think the aesthetic fits her so well, and I'm really happy with how this piece turned out!

Be sure to read @goschatewabn's fic when the collection is revealed!

#galadriel #artanis #nerwen #fellowship of the ring #lord of the rings #nenya #lothlorien #lotr #lotr art #tolkien #tolkien fanart #j.r.r. tolkien #middle earth #wind waker #soleil's artwork #scribbles and drabbles 2023

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ravensliterature · 1 year

Text

Poisoned Arrow

A/N: I know it’s been a minute and I am sorry. I really had a blast writing this one and I hope you like it!

Part II

pairing: Thranduil x Reader

warnings: Mentions of blood, poison, fluff,

w/c: 1924 (Yeah she is a little long)

Prompt: The reader is Thranduil’s wife and a part of the company. While leaving through the barrels without her husband’s knowledge she get’s hit by the poison arrow. Thranduil is trying to save his wife before it is too late.

/-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------/

She had been shot. His queen had been hit with an arrow. Thranduil could see her falling from the sky, falling slowly through the fading blue and bright stars of last night. Her lights, died as she fell to the ground with a yelp. The arrow pierced her leg after she tried to open the gate. His heart seized tight in his chest hearing her cries as he attempted to run to her side, killing any orc in his way. However, he didn't make it in time as she jumped in a barrel following her father down the river.

---

Y/N was the daughter of Thorin but her parentage was elven. When young, Thorin found an elf girl and raised her while living in Erebor. She grew into a beautiful woman and was betrothed to Thranduil for the alliance at a young age by King Thror. However, when the dragon attacked it was all put on pause, and Thorin and his family fled to the Blue Mountains.

Thranduil would not give up on her as he fell in love with her the moment he laid eyes on her at their announced betrothal. He journeyed himself to find his distant love until seeing her again in the Blue Mountains. He never imagined he’d ever have another chance to meet his beloved again, but when he did... everything changed. Thranduil asked her to marry him again in the hopes that he wasn't alone in his feelings. Apparently, she had loved him as well and agreed but things weren't how they should be. Thorin's hatred for elves had increased and never approved of the betrothal.

The argument with Thorin and Y/N spiraled until she left with Thranduil left without saying goodbye. A year later the wedding came around and Thorin refused to see his daughter marry that elf. He insisted she lives in the Blue Mountains, a place far away where dangers were less likely to come and away from the elf-kind. Shortly, Legolas was born and grew into a handsome man. Their lives were peaceful until years later when Gandalf knocked on their door.

Gandalf told her that he was building a company in the hopes of reclaiming her childhood home. It had been decided that Y/N would join the company and take part in their quest. She wanted nothing more than to go back to Erebor, return her home, and connect with her father like she once had. So, she took her chance and left. Thranduil hated her putting herself in danger but who was he to rob herself of that connection she missed so dearly? --- "Y/N!" Thorin yelled as he ran to her daughter's side.

Y/N's barrel washed up on shore as she used her upper body to crawl herself to more land trying not to put too much pressure on her leg.

"I'm here." She breathed as she looked up at Thorin. The dwarf prince scooped her in his arms holding her close as if afraid someone was going to try something else. Worry and fear were etched over his face and he saw the pain in his daughter's.

"Oin," Thorin exclaimed, "Please look at the leg. The arrow is cut but there still may be fragments inside."

The healer kneeled down next to Y/N looking at her leg. His brow furrowed with concern before he turned back to his friend. "She should be fine but we need to get her to a town with proper equipment. I'm concerned about it getting infected. " He spoke softly. Thorin nodded, helping his daughter stand on her own two feet. She slowly began to walk until she found an arrow pointed at her head.

---

Thranduil glared the orc down as Legolas held a knife towards its neck. He wanted to know what it was doing in his kingdom and why it dared to hurt his wife. It couldn't be allowed to live but he needed to know. "In time all foul things come forth," he said as he circled the orc with a sword in his hand. Legolas continued to hold the blade to its neck, "You were tracking the company of thirteen dwarves and an elf. Why?"

Malice and distaste were in his force knowing his father's fears and what it had done to his mother. This thing was not a creature but a monster sent to destroy them. Its intentions are unknown for all to know. The orc cackled, "Not thirteen, not anymore. The elf, we stuck her with a Morgul shaft. The poisons in her blood. She'll be choking on it soon."

Legolas' grip tightened on the knife causing it to tremble. He needed the orc dead or he'd kill it. A threat against his parents' safety was enough to make him kill it himself. Thranduil's breath left him in a gasp. As anger bubbled in his chest, he felt like he was trying to find air. His son's gaze remained on the orc. It knew exactly what it was talking about, the poison that poisoned the elf.

"You like killing this orc?" Thranduil said lowly, almost too calmly, "You like death? Then let me give it to you!" he yelled as he pulled out his swords. Legolas watched as his father charged toward the orc. Before he could blink, the blade made contact with the orc's skull. Blood poured from the wound but instead of retreating it rushed forward like a tidal wave. "Legolas, come with me, we must save your mother."

---

Y/N was breathing heavily as she leaned against the wall of Bard's house. Her father forced her to stay behind because of her leg. Of course, he was concerned for his daughter but she felt robbed. She wished to help reclaim her home like the rest of the company. Her cousins, Fili and Kili opted to stay behind and help take care of her until she is ready to go to the mountain. Oin stayed behind as well as did Bofur, but he just missed the boat.

However, the pain had gotten worse and she could tell something was wrong. The leg would wasn't healing as it should and she could see the fear in Oin's eyes each time he examined it even if he didn't tell her. Y/N was worried. The arrow hadn't hit anything vital, yet it could still become infected and kill her. She chucked to herself softly. Maybe it was best she stayed at home after all.

Her breath was ragged and her head was light. Her vision swayed slightly as she tried to stay upright, leaning against the wall. She was losing consciousness but she knew that the battle was not over yet. The pain was becoming unbearable and she closed her eyes, taking in a few deep breaths. Finally, her body gave way and she collapsed. "Y/N!" the dwarves yelled as they helped her up. Y/N was writhing in pain as she felt the poison all over her body. She could feel the heat of the flames searing her flesh and she felt like it was consuming her whole body.

"Put her on the table," Bard said in a frantic tone. They set her gently on the table as she continued to convulse.

"We need something to put her head on so she doesn't hit the table!" Oin shouted. The others quickly searched for anything that could possibly stop the venomous poison. They found only herbs that had been used long ago and they were useless. The poison was spreading through her veins faster than anyone had realized and it was eating away at her life. Oin examined the wound more closely. It had turned a black color and it could be seen going through her veins. This wasn't a normal poison.

"I need kingsfoil! Where is it?" Oin exclaimed to Bard. The Fili, Kili, and Bofur looked around in confusion at the mention of a plant, but they didn't have any of it. Only Oin owned the plants. "Kingsfoil? It's a weed. We feed it to the pigs!" Bard replied in confusion. "Pigs, I got it!" was heard as Bofur zoomed out the door. Y/N struggled for air. Every breath hurt her throat as she coughed painfully. The poison in her body was beginning to eat away at her life. She was dying. That was the last thought that went through her mind before another wave of pain hit her.

Suddenly everything except for Y/N went quiet as footsteps could be heard on the roof. The roof broke and a dark figure jumped down from above, landing right next to Bard's daughter and stabbing the orc in reaction. The young girl grabbed the orc and then fled as more fell through the ceiling. Fighting ensued as they tried to defend the girls and a table-ridden Y/N.

---

Thranduil and Legolas ran through the town of Dale in the hopes of finding Y/N and the dwarves. However, they stopped in their tracks when they saw orcs running on the ceilings above the water town. They both knew immediately where they were going. Thranduil ordered Legolas to stay behind while he went to search for his mother, "Stay safe my child, leave none alive."

With that being said, Thranduil continued to run at his pace faster than before. Thranduil continued to run until he heard fighting in one of the homes. With his guard up and weapons, he approached it in the hope that his wife was still alive. Upon approaching the door, he noticed the familiar scent of blood. His heart sunk in his chest realizing she might be... He opened the door to find three orcs surrounding her, the dwarves, and the humans as they were struggling to defend themselves. One of the orcs was about to strike Y/N when Thranduil shot his bow sending the arrow right into its skull. He then took out his sword slashing any orc in sight.

Thranduil rushed to her side and caressed her cheek in the hope of seeing the life in her eyes, "My darling Y/N, open your eyes." She weakly shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks, "Nin Meleth..." "Do not speak my love." He brushed some hair away from her sweaty forehead. Bofur ran through the door tired and sweaty, with one hand on his knee and the other presenting the king's foil. Thranduil took the foil from him and began to prepare it, "She needs elvish medicine if we don't heal her leg... She doesn't have much time left." Thranduil soaked the leaves and pressed them onto her wound and began saying an elvish incantation, almost sounding more like a prayer. He looked down at her face and he saw her brows become unfurrowed and appeared to relax. Y/N looked up at him with those beautiful eyes that always filled his heart with love. He could see the pain go away and with that also the poison from her body. He bandaged the wound and held her hand. Tears escaped his eyes as she smiled up at him. His heart swelled with joy as he brought his face closer to hers and kissed her. He had wanted to kiss her forever and every moment in between. It was as though their lips touched for eternity. "Father," said a soft voice breaking the two of them apart. Their foreheads rested together and a small chuckle passed through Thranduil. "Oh, no. We've been caught by our own son."

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undreaming-fanfiction · 1 month

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Established Steddie, they have been living together for over a decade, did their best to heal their wounds from the Upside Down and learn to enjoy life again. It's not easy but they do it.

When the Lord of the Rings movies come out, it's actually Steve who suggests watching them to Eddie. He really tries engaging with Eddie's passions, but his focus is not the greatest when it comes to books. That doesn't mean he doesn't listen to Eddie ramble about them though - he knows all about hobbits, second breakfasts, the culture of smoking in the Shire...Eddie admires a lot of characters from the books, but ever since experiencing the Upside Down fuckery, he actually admits that the hobbits had a point. Good food, even better company and good tobacco? What else does one need? It also inspires Steve a few years later to prepare a full day of hobbit-inspired meals for their trilogy marathon when the extended editions come out. But this is about their first time watching the movies.

They both go to the movie theater excited. Steve is familiar with most of the characters, including Eddie's self-admitted crush on Aragorn. And Steve can see why, he can see so much good in all the members of the fellowship. After the first movie, he's wiping his eyes because Boromir deserved better. Eddie has a lot to say about what was lost in adaptation, but Steve knows Eddie loves those movies and would cut off his only remaining nipple before missing the next ones.

The Two Towers have Steve rooting for the ents and he feels strangely touched about how everyone underestimates Pippin, yet it's him who gets the ents to march. He really can't pick a favorite character. He can't wait for the third movie.

They go to the premiere of the Return of the King with Eddie. They secretly hold hands in the last row, and Steve watches the ride of the Rohirrim with bated breath. He clenches his hand in Eddie's when Theoden gets gravely injured, but then Éowyn is there and...oh.

He is staring slack-jawed at the scene. Éowyn's large, terrified eyes, the towering frame of the Witch King. Her posture was fearful, crouched, but still she faced him. And something surfaces in his head, something he's long forgotten.

He's unusually queit when they come back home, he still loves the rest of the movie, almost cries at "my friends, you bow to no one,", then definitely cries at Frodo leaving the Middle Earth. But there is still that something and Eddie can sense it. When they're falling asleep together, Eddie finally asks him. And Steve's had enough time to process what he felt.

"When Éowyn faced the Witch King...it reminded me of what it felt like. I mean, for the first time. I know it's stupid because saw so much unnatural shit, but...it's the first time that I have hard time forgetting," he admits quietly. "She reminded me of me in 1983 so much. I had no clue what I was getting myself into. I thought I'd do the right thing, but then I had a gun pointed at me, they both had blood on their hands...and then it appeared."

Eddie doesn't speak, he only holds Steve closer.

"It was so tall. I remember that petal-like mouth, those teeth, but mostly...I remember the crippling fear. I felt absolutely terrified. I couldn't move. There was even a moment when I thought of running away, but...I couldn't leave them there. Seeing someone go through something similar and being praised for being a hero...it makes me think. I used to be so ashamed for freezing in that moment. For even considering running away. But Éowyn...she was like me." There's awe in his voice and warmth, relief. "She had no idea what she was getting into. She froze. She didn't do everything perfectly and gracefully like Legolas or something, but when it mattered...she did what she had to."

He holds Eddie tighter and asks, almost shyly: "Will it offend you that I think she's my favorite character? Not Aragorn or Sam?"

Eddie just shakes his head and drops a kiss to Steve's hair. "Nah. She suits you well. And you're both amazing."

And if it becomes a silly endearment in their household, that Steve is sometimes called the Shieldmaiden of Hawkins? ("I'm not a maiden, Eddie!" "I'm not calling you a shieldboy or shieldbachelor, Steve!") Then Steve feels a hint of something that he thought he'd renounced, but now, for the first time he feels it's deserved - pride.

#steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddie #steddie drabble #lord of the rings steddie #not proofread I'm sleep deprived af

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entishramblings · 2 months

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Haunting Me

[Legolas/F!Reader]

A.N: I have been struggling to write (like usual), so I figured I would whip out a no pressure Legolas fic. ANYWAYS, I strangely loved writing this!!! Thanks for the request XOXO

Request: @goose-gremlin — “Could you maybe do a Legolas x Reader on their period?”

Pairing: Legolas X Fem!Reader

Summary: The Reader is a member of Greenwood's Guard and is struggling with menstrual/period pain. Legolas takes care of her.

Disclaimer: I don't know elvish. I use the gracious elvish dictionary. Sue me lol

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: blood, menstruation/period, pain, PMS, slight nakedness (not anything spicy you filthy fools), fluff, sweet precious elf boy

MASTERLIST | AO3 | WATTPAD

(Y/N)’s nose twitched, the pungent, musty scent of the incoming vile beasts invaded the fresh earthy tones of the Greenwood forest. Her keen ears picked up on subtle scurrying, the sound carried by the drift of the soft wind. Her jaw clenched and her fingers adjusted the grasp of her sword as she felt the aura of the trees shift—a surge of adrenaline fueling her anxiety, worsening the pain in her abdomen. Briefly locking eyes with the other elves in her sector, spread among the trees alert and ready, she knew their moment of action was imminent.

(Y/N) summoned the little energy she had through a deep inhale, praying to the Valar that these spiders wouldn't be in such a frenzied state. Because, if so, fuck that. For at the present moment in time, she really didn't have the capacity to deal with that absolute, motherfucking horseshit.

Because, truly, getting killed due to slowness from fatigue and cramps from one’s bloodmoon cycle would be rather unfortunate and deeply regrettable. However, facing expulsion from the guard and losing her reputation as one of the hand-picked defenders of the royal line because of it would be even worse.

(Y/N)’s gaze narrowed as Prince Legolas, leader of the Greenwood Guard, raised a closed fist.

Nêl (Three).

Tâd (Two).

Mîn (One).

He opened his palm, signaling the command: Kill them. Kill them all.

With a firm thud, (Y/N)'s boots landed on the soft soil as she sprung from the trees. She was quick with her blade, hunting the spiders as if they were meaningless prey. Her weapon was an extension of her form. Every movement was fluid and graceful, a testament to her mastery of combat. Despite her pain, she spun and twisted with ease, severing the arachnids' limbs effortlessly.

As she fought, she made sure to keep an eye on the Prince, knowing that if anything were to happen to Legolas under her watch, the king would surely banish her. Besides, she harbored no desire for him to meet his demise. She found him rather…admirable. Nothing more than that—of course not.

As (Y/N) advanced upon one of the vile beasts, her senses tingled with warning. Abruptly, she halted in her tracks, narrowly dodging an arrow that whizzed past her stomach. Her eyes narrowed as she wiped her head to see just who fired that arrow. A scoff escaped her lips as she locked eyes with him: Rekón.

When the battle came to an end, (Y/N) strutted towards Rekón, who was wiping the edge of his blade upon his thigh.

“What the hell was that out there?!” She snapped at him.

“What is it you speak of?”

“You nearly put an arrow in me!”

He shrugged. “Perhaps, you should have been faster, Shadowfoot.”

She scoffed at Greenwood’s nickname for her. “You're lucky I am fast. I can assume you don’t want elven blood on your hands—especially my blood.

He sheathed his blade and crossed his arms. “Don’t exaggerate, (Y/N). It’s unbecoming. Besides,” he leaned in and his voice lowered, taking on a snarky tone, “I don't care if you're handpicked by the King to be the Prince’s shadow, you're a pain in the ass.”

“Really, Otuuk Fe`Saign (warg kisser)?! I could have you and your ass in the mud faster than you could say—”

The rather tense interaction was interrupted by Legolas clearing his throat beside the pair. “What is going on over here?” he demanded.

(Y/N) huffed, not taking her eyes off the man before her. “Rekón here nearly redecorated my abdomen with a fucking arrow!”

The Prince sighed. “You know we can’t always calculate every motion on the battlefield, (Y/N). I am sure Rekón meant no harm.” He paused, turning his attention to the ellon. “Rekón, in the future, mind your arrows.”

“That’s the reprimand he gets?! Are you fu—“

Legolas looked at the elleth. “Watch your language, Shadowfoot. I expect this attitude to be gone by the time we enter my father’s halls.”

With that, Legolas walked away, calling out orders to burn the spider carcasses and move out.

As he disappeared into the mess of elves, (Y/N)’s brows pulled downward in a grumpy frown. “Princeling Ass,” she murmured to herself.

Unbeknownst to her, as she turned away, Legolas' gaze followed her, seeking out her form and lingering as she walked away.

….

The sun had not yet risen when the Prince’s sector of the Greenwood Guard arrived back in the Palace. The warriors dispersed into the armory, diligently stowing their weapons and armor in their designated places. (Y/N), however, did no such thing. Instead, with a persistent scowl etched on her face, she marched through the room and passed through the arched exit of the armory—presumably heading towards her chambers. Legolas's gaze tracked her suspiciously as she departed.

As the day progressed, the members of the Prince’s sector resumed their usual routines. Because it was their first day back from patrol, they were exempt from basic guard duties and standard positions. Instead, they utilized the early hours of the morning to bathe and rejuvenate themselves before gathering in the dining hall for breakfast. The remainder of the day was theirs to unwind and compile their patrol reports—the King sought to stay informed about all occurrences and perspectives during patrols, for a darkness seemed to be spreading among his trees.

At supper, Legolas moved among the tables in the dining hall, gathering last-minute reports from the warriors in his sector. As he did so, he scanned the long wooden benches, searching for the scowling gaze that had accompanied the last couple of days of patrol; however, there was no such gaze and no such person that it belonged to. Simply put, there was no sign of (Y/N).

She had missed all three meals and had failed to submit her patrol report.

Legolas cleared his throat before he addressed the elves from whom he was collecting papers. “Have you seen Shadowfoot? I need her report,” he inquired.

They shook their heads, more interested in their food than one missing shadow.

Legolas sighed, but refrained from pressing further. If anyone knew her whereabouts, they would have mentioned it.

Therefore, he made his way to her quarters.

When he arrived, he knocked softly on the door, but was met with silence.

"(Y/N)," he called out, his voice carrying through the wooden barrier.

Still, there was no response.

After a moment’s hesitation, Legolas reached for the door knob and twisted it slowly. The wood swung open quietly under his touch, exposing the darkness of the room beyond. Moonlight filtered in through the opened window, casting shadows that danced across the floor, the curtains billowing gently in the cold night air.

Legolas carefully stepped through the threshold and closed the door behind him. As he took in his surroundings further, surprise crossed his features. He didn't know what he had been expecting since he hadn't been in (Y/N)’s quarters, but it most certainly was not this.

The room was a complete mess. Clothing lay strewn about, along with various trinkets—small hand-carved boxes, beautiful natural rocks, and melted candles absent of flame. Several stacks of books were piled beside the bed, a few of them open and their pages still. Her weapons were scattered haphazardly, some resting on the floor, others on the table or atop the dresser. Legolas even noticed a few knives embedded into the wooden door—a sight that would surely displease Ada.

It was chaotic but calm in a sort of strange way. Typical for (Y/N), he supposed.

The Prince moved to walk further into the room, but was quickly halted against his will. His foot had gotten caught and, if it wasn't for his swift reflexes, he would have face-planted upon the stone flooring.

Legolas sucked in a sharp breath as he stabilized his form. Glancing down, he discovered the culprit—a crumpled tunic tangled around his boot, its fabric caught between the lacings.

He immediately sighed in dismay.

The blond-haired Prince reached down to untangle the stubborn garment. It proved to be a more challenging task than he had anticipated, requiring a few moments of quiet curses and annoyed grunts before he managed to free himself. Carefully, he folded the fabric and placed it upon a nearby chair.

Cautiously, he advanced to the large bed. At first, he could not spot the warrior within, given that the fluffy comforter and mountain of pillows were blocking his view. However, when he pulled back the blankets slightly, sure enough, she was buried deep within. The pillows were arranged around her like a protective nest and she was laying on her side. Her hair was splattered across the cushioned fabric and her expression was…one of pain. Her brows were pulled tight, her nose crinkled, and lips slightly parted.

At this, Legolas frowned, for he was now troubled deeply.

Diligently, the Prince reached out to brush some hair from her face, but just as his fingers made contact with her cheek, his action was interrupted.

(Y/N) suddenly sat up, a knife in hand. With wild eyes, she tried to slam it into his carotid artery.

He reacted quickly, Legolas intercepted her arm, preventing the blade from reaching its target. For a moment, they both froze in that tense position, the gravity of the situation sinking in as they processed what was happening.

(Y/N) was breathing quickly and she appeared very disheveled and confused. It seemed to take her a moment longer to grasp the situation fully.

"Jukkete (fuck)," she breathed out, trying to catch her breath before snapping at him. "Legolas, I almost killed you!"

The Prince still held her wrist. “(Y/N),” he began, “Are you alright?”

She huffed. "You know better than to sneak up on me like that, Princeling!" With a sharp twist, she pulled away from his grasp and settled back into the blankets. “What are you doing here?”

He raised his brows. “Princeling?” he questioned, a hint of amusement in his tone.

(Y/N) only grunted in response.

He sighed. “No one has seen you all day and—“ his sentence abruptly halted as he noticed a red stain upon the comforter. “(Y/N), you are bleeding!” He exclaimed. Without hesitation, he grasped at the blankets, in an attempt to detangle her form from them, as he continued his babbling of concern. “Why didn’t you tell me you were injured on patrol?!”

“Legolas,” she interrupted, her voice firm.

“Is it from Rekón’s arrow?! I thought you said he ‘nearly’ hit you?”

“Legolas,” she tried again.

He yanked the blanket further.” Because I swear to the Valar if it was from him, I will—“

“Legolas! Stop!” She snapped, her patience wearing thin. “I’m not injured.”

His jaw clenched in frustration. “(Y/N), I have been a warrior for all my life, I know the site of blood. That is blood. You cannot lie to me. I am your sector leader, your Prince—“

“Legolas! It’s my bloodmoon cycle!” she interrupted, sitting up to glare at him once more.

An awkward silence settled into the dark room.

“You are in pain,” he stated.

“I’m fine.”

His brows raised again. “Now, why don’t I believe you?”

“Because you're a princeling ass,” she retorted.

“No. Because for the last three days of patrol, your demeanor has been notably irritable, as you are now. You've been favoring your left side, your jaw has remained tightly clenched, and your skin a shade too pale. Not to mention, you've consistently had your hand on your hip, I'm assuming in an attempt to try and alleviate discomfort, and you even vomited behind a tree on two occasions. And, here you are, Shadowfoot, in bed, sleeping the day away in dirty clothes and not caring that you lay in blood.” He paused before finalizing his evidence. “You are in pain.”

“You have been spying on me?! I am supposed to be your shadow.”

“I have been keeping an eye on you,” he clarified.

“Why?!”

The muscle in his jaw twitched. “Because you are a member of my sector. You are my responsibility.”

“You are my responsibility,” she corrected.

He released hot air from his nose. “I am required to keep an eye on all of my warriors, whether they were hand-picked to guard me or not.”

(Y/N) huffed, shaking her head. “Did you know Sethna took a pretty nasty hit to her leg?”

“Don’t try to change the subject,” he gruffed.

“Legolas, did you know about it or not?”

A rather long moment of silence extended into the night before the Prince reluctantly responded in a low tone. “No.”

“Then you don't watch every warrior like you watch me.”

He inhaled slowly, trying to steer the conversation away from what (Y/N) was insinuating. “Is Sethna alright?”

“Yeah, she’s fine.”

Legolas nodded slowly, before returning to the main topic. “Why didn't you tell me you were in pain while on patrol?”

She rolled her eyes before muttering his name. “Legolas.”

“Why haven't you seen a healer?” he persisted.

She exhaled slowly, knowing Legolas wasn't going to let this go. “Because the healers document everything, and those records get attached to evaluations.”

“So?”

“So, I would be dismissed from the guard and relieved of my position!” she snapped.

He snorted lightly. “You would not be dismissed from the guard nor relieved of your position.”

“Others have gotten so for far less!”

Surprising her, his normally collected tone turned into a rough reply. “That doesn't mean that you would have!”

She frowned, her once loud voice now subdued. “What's that supposed to mean?”

He sent her a warning look, his eyes cautioning her against probing further.

Silence reigned for a third time that night before Legolas spoke softly. “Rest. I will draw you a bath.”

“Princeling, I do not need you to draw me a bath. I do not need a bath at all. Like I said, I am fine.”

He shook his head. “You are in pain. Let me help you.”

“Legolas–”

He cut her off. “(Y/N), do not try to argue with me on this. That is an order. Shadow or not, I am your superior and you will listen.”

With that, he stood and made his way into the bathing chambers, leaving the elleth alone with her thoughts.

She let out a slow, contemplative exhale before sinking back into the embrace of the bed once more. Lost in a haze of exhaustion, she must have drifted into a brief slumber, for it was only moments later that Legolas returned, his thumb brushing against her cheek. His voice, barely above a whisper, reached her ears. “(Y/N),” he urged softly. “Come. The water is hot. It will alleviate your pain.”

Groggily, she opened her eyes, confusion evident in the furrow of her brow.

“Come,” he repeated.

Gradually, she sat upwards, letting her legs dangle off the edge of the mattress. She squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her teeth, praying to the Valar for the pain to settle.

“If the pain is too much, I can carry you,” Legolas offered in a gentle tone.

She scoffed, her eyes opening to glare at him. “I can manage on my own.”

With that declaration, (Y/N) stood up and took a few cautious steps forward. But before she could proceed further, a sharp gasp escaped her lips as the agony surged through her body, causing her to double over.

A comforting warmth enveloped her lower back as Legolas placed a reassuring hand there. He remained silent, respecting her pace and refraining from pressing his earlier offer.

A small whimper escaped her lips, tears threatening to escape from her eyes.

Legolas’ hand began to move in soft circles. “It will pass, Shadowfoot. I am here,” he whispered.

Slowly, she resumed her movement, inching her way towards the bathroom. Upon reaching the basin's edge, she gripped onto the sides tightly. She squeezed her lids shut once more, focusing on her breath.

Standing only inches behind her, Legolas spoke softly. “(Y/N), please, will you let me assist you? I hate to see you suffer.”

She exhaled through her nose, seemingly debating his offer. After a moment of contemplation, she relented. “Fine,” she stated, “but if you breathe a word of this—”

“I will not say a thing. I swear it,” he assured.

She nodded, accepting his promise.

“Let's get you undressed and in the bath then.”

With caution, his nimble fingers found the hem of her tunic and began to lift it over her head. Ensuring her stability by placing one hand gently on her hip, he then carefully guided her trousers downward, assisting her as she stepped out of them. Shaking slightly, she lifted each foot into the tub, one at a time, as the Prince's firm hand remained securely on her waist. Slowly, she lowered herself into the water, his touch barely trailing up her back as she descended. Her eyes closed and a sigh of relief escaped her lips, settling into the soothing heat of the water.

Legolas cleared his throat awkwardly. “I will just be in the other room. Call out if you need me.”

She simply hummed in response.

The Prince swiftly left the bathing room, making his way to the door leading to the hallway. Peering out, he caught sight of a maid. He called out to her and motioned for her to approach.

“Yes, my lord?” she inquired politely.

“I need you to fetch a new set of bedding and obtain the following herbs: valerian, boswellia, and athelas,” he instructed.

She nodded in understanding.

“And please, keep it discreet. I have an injured warrior in here who wishes for the injury to remain quiet.”

The maid nodded once more before hurrying off to fulfill his requests.

Legolas returned to the room, feeling the cool breeze from the open window once more. With determined strides, he crossed the space and closed it firmly, halting the chill from entering any longer. He then took to light some of the candles, casting a warm glow within the room before moving to the empty fireplace. He quickly grabbed kindling and wood from the basket beside the silent hearth, setting to task. Before long, the flames crackled loudly among the stone, radiating a comforting warmth that dispelled the lingering chill.

It was then when the maid entered, a large basket brimming with fluffy fabric in her arms. Placing it beside the bed, she then retrieved a pouch from the top. Approaching the Prince, she bowed her head. “The herbs you asked for, my lord.”

“Thank you,” he replied, accepting them graciously.

The maid took to changing the sheets, making no mention of the blood. Legolas cleared a space upon the table in (Y/N)’s room. Placing a cast iron pot—one of which was kept in each room—over the now vibrant flames, he filled it with water from a pitcher. As the water began to boil, he used a small bowl to grind the fresh herbs into a paste with a pestle. Once sufficiently smashed, he ladled some of the boiling water over it and allowed the mixture of herbs to steep, filling the air with its earthy aroma.

The maid, having finished her task of making the bed and straightening up, bid an awkward farewell to the Prince before exiting the room.

Legolas sighed, taking a seat in the chair beside the table, his ears attuned to any sounds from (Y/N)'s direction—just in case.

Nearly 45 minutes passed before she emerged from the bathroom. She was clothed in soft trousers and a loose top that hung off her shoulder, her hand pressed lightly against her abdomen.

“How do you feel?” he inquired, breaking the quietness of the night.

She turned her head towards him. “You are still here?” Her gaze swept across the room, trailing off as she took in the sight of the lit candles, crackling fire, and fresh bedding.

Abandoning the chair, he approached her and gently put his hand upon her bicep. “How is the pain, (Y/N)?”

As if suddenly drawn from her thoughts, she registered that he was indeed beside her. “I, uh, it has lessened a bit.”

He nodded, guiding her to the bed. Pulling back the clean sheets, he motioned for her to get in. Surprisingly, she complied, settling into the comfort of the fresh lavender scent emanating from the blankets and pillows.

Legolas briefly left her side before returning with a cup of tea, mixed from the healing herbs. Sitting on the edge of the mattress, he lifted the cup to her lips, encouraging her to take a sip. “Drink this. It will help.”

The steam kissed her face as she took the cup from him. As she drank, the warm liquid flowed down her throat and into her stomach, providing instant comfort. When she finished, she passed the cup back to him. “How do you know how to make such a tonic?”

The Prince placed the cup upon the side table. “My father used to care for my mother during her bloodmoon cycle, before she passed from this world. She too had excruciating pain. He taught me the right herbs to mix, the benefits of heat, and—” he paused, his hand moving to her lower back, where he began to massage lightly. “—what points to press to alleviate pain.”

She exhaled slowly, letting her eyes flutter closed.

“He had said, ‘One day, you will have a wife who too suffers such pain. This you must learn for her.’ And I listened.”

(Y/N) did not open her eyes. “I am not your wife.”

Before he could stop himself, his lips betrayed his secrets. “You could be.”

At this, she opened one eye, as if she was trying to subtly evaluate what his words meant based on his body language. Sensing the sincerity upon his expression, her other eye opened too. She put her full attention on him. “What?”

His cheeks flushed, the tips of his elvish ears reddening, though the warm glow of the fire hid his embarrassment. He turned his head away. “Forgive me, (Y/N). I—I didn't mean to be so…so forward.” He hesitated, then looked back at her, seeing her flabbergasted expression. “I–I suppose there is no hiding it now. The reason I keep such close watch over you is because my heart won't let me do otherwise. I fear, well, I fear that you are not just a shadow following my path.” He exhaled softly. “(Y/N), you haunt me in the most beautiful way.”

She shifted from the pillows, drawing closer until her face was mere inches from Legolas’. “You–you care for me?” she whispered.

His hand tenderly cupped her cheek, his thumb moving in a soft motion. “More than I could ever put into words.”

“Legolas,” she whispered. “Your father did not assign me to your sector. I was supposed to be appointed to protect him. I—I requested to be assigned to you.”

The Prince’s gaze met hers. “Why, (Y/N)?”

“Because you too have been haunting me.”

Legolas wasted no time. He pressed his lips to (Y/N)’s in a gentle kiss and she responded eagerly. She tasted of herbal tea and hope, while he tasted of honey and peace. His hands gently cradled her face, while hers found their way to the back of his neck, fingers entwining in his hair. The scent of fresh lavender surrounded her, mingling with the aroma of pine that clung to him. In their embrace, their minds intertwined, both haunted by the other's presence—in the most beautiful way.

Slowly, they parted. Legolas pressed a kiss to (Y/N)'s forehead before speaking softly. "Lay down. Rest. I will watch over you."

She looked up at him. “Won't you lay with me? I am cold.”

He snorted, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips like the stem of a flower being plucked from a spring meadow. “You only want me to alleviate your pain, don't you?”

She grinned back at him. “Perhaps, Princeling. Though, I did not lie, I am cold.”

With a playful roll of his eyes, Legolas kicked off his boots and drew back the covers. He allowed his body to melt against (Y/N)’s, providing warmth as he gently began to massage away her tension.

A content sigh escaped the woman’s lips as she snuggled further into him, eagerly stealing his warmth and accepting the pain relief he offered.

“Princeling,” she murmured, “You better not breathe a word of this either.”

He chuckled lightly, “I will not say a thing, Shadowfoot. I swear it.”

…

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