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elfy-elf-imagines · 3 months

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Tolerate It | Thranduil

▹ Pairing: Thranduil x Human!Reader

▹ Genre: Angst

▹ Words: ~2k

▹ Summary: A political alliance makes you the new wife of the elven king Thranduil, trapping you in a gilded cage of elven craft.

▹ Notes: I couldn't get this idea out of my head.

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

The banquet hall of Eryn Galen was buzzing with high energy.

The lights were bright, the drinks flowing. Each guest was too deep in their cups as the band played jaunty tunes that kept spirits high. You sat at the end of the table, to the direct right of Thranduil, Legolas seated directly across from you to the king's left.

Everything was beautiful, similar to what you imagined heaven may look like. The celebration had been highly anticipated, the steward meticulously planning for months to ensure the night would be perfect.

Each guest had dressed to the nines, and you had been no exception. Silks that flowed like a languid river, braids woven throughout your hair, and glittering jewels that rivaled the stars in the sky. You’d felt quite pretty after your handmaidens finished, taking in your appearance with rapt attention.

Yet as the king - your husband - met with you, he barely paid you more than a glance. Not a single compliment or acknowledgment slipped from his lips, just the stiff offering of his arm and a cold demeanor you’d never been able to break through.

Not even the bitterness of the red wine you drank could ease the pain festering inside you. You glanced at Thranduil, his attention on his steward whispering something in his ear. Regal and commanding, you’d thought marriage to the elven king would be something out of a fairytale. Yet your story became twisted, and instead of a happy ending, you were trapped in a doomed marriage. It was like a wall separated you from him; you’d tirelessly beat against it with a hammer; Thranduil was on the other end, reinforcing the stone.

You glanced down at your dress, the pale green fabric, Thranduil’s favorite shade. Even still, you were desperate for his validation and approval, like a child tugging at their father’s sleeves. A stray hair fell in front of your face, and you pushed it behind your ear, hands ghosting over your rounded ears. Maybe if you’d been an elf and not a human, he might view you as an equal and not a consolation prize.

One hand below the table closed into a tight fist while you downed the rest of your wine in one gulp.

Legolas met your eye from across the table with an almost apologetic grin. You returned it with a tight smile you tried to make pleasant. Legolas knew all too well the neglect his father could inflict, so he often preferred the forests over the palace. There was an understanding that made your pain more bearable.

The handmaidens you brought from home and your stepson, who was older than your eldest living relatives, were all that kept you from falling into true despair.

Like clockwork, a servant filled your chalice, and you gladly drank. This wine was sweeter and less sharp than the red you were expecting. Once again, you looked towards Thranduil, no longer speaking with his steward but quietly watching the party play out. You reached out, delicately placing your hand over his, only for his to push it away, not bothering to pay you a glance.

The blatant rejection stung, always taking up too much space and time. Would Thranduil even notice if you’d stolen away into the night? If you pulled the dagger your marriage embedded in you, breaking free and leaving this miserable life behind. What might it be like to shed the weight of Thranduil’s cold disposition and an overly suspicious, judgmental, elvish kingdom? You’d be free and weightless for the first time in years.

Yet, just as soon as the fantasies came, they fizzled out with the weight of reality. You had no money of your own, no survival skills, and nowhere to go. If you returned home, your father would ship you back to Thranduil. The dark forests and the creatures that lurked within would kill you. There was nowhere to go. No freedom to be found.

You didn’t bother hiding the frown on your lips; no one in the room paid you much mind. They looked through you as if you were a phantom that clung to the residence of its former life. How was it possible to be in such a crowded room and yet still be so alone?

"How much longer do you believe this will go on for?"

At some point, Legolas had moved from across the table and was now seated to your left, watching the crowded room with thinly veiled discomfort.

" I hope for not much longer. I've never been amendable to crowds so large as this one."

Legolas laughed, the noise swallowed by the noise of the room. "And yet you are queen; should you not be used to such raucous parties?"

You tilted your glass towards him, a slight quirk on your lips.

"I could say the same about you, prince."

He nodded in silent agreement, quickly drinking from his glass, which you noticed was filled with water and not wine.

"I get to run off to the forest. How do you deal with all of this?" The smile on your face fell as your eyes dimmed, a reminder of your current standing.

"No one pays me mind. A blessing, I suppose." You attempted to laugh it off, but you couldn't keep the somberness from your tone. You were trapped in a gilded cage, a prisoner in your own home.

"Then I suppose I'll need to take more respites in the castle."

"You don't need--"

"I insist; what kind of friend would I be if I didn't check on your wellbeing."

So warm and inviting, it made you wonder how Legolas could be the son of Thranduil; he must take after his mother. You wondered, if only for a moment, how different your life might be if you'd been married to Legolas instead of his father. He was the more age appropriate option and if he didn't love you he'd at least respect you. But those thoughts were pointless; you'd been married to Thranduil and not Legolas.

"I think I'm technically your stepmother."

"But you feel more like a friend."

You didn't bother to argue, placing down your wine chalice to take a cool water drink. It was refreshing, soothing the burn the wine had created.

"Then I am glad we are friends."

Before he could respond, a member of his guard called his name. The elf enthusiastically waved him over, yelling something in elvish too slurred for you to understand.

Legolas shook his head, refusing the call, but you placed a single hand on his shoulder.

"Go, enjoy the night. I'll be fine over here."

He tried to discern if you were being dishonest but found nothing but sincerity. Just because you were miserable didn't mean he should be. With a single nod, Legolas left the table to join the group forming in the corner of the room.

Left in the chaos with no one to speak with, you picked up the chalice with wine. At some point during your conversation, Thranduil wandered off, talking with some of the higher-ranking nobles.

Thickly, you swallowed, hiding your face as you slowly drank from your glass.

When would this torment end?

---

The night dragged on at an impossibly slow speed. Your sorrow brought time to a near halt. By the time the crowd began to thin and Thranduil had escorted you back to your shared chambers, you’d forgotten how many glasses of wine you consumed. You managed to keep your composure and pride, not letting you show how light and lethargic the alcohol made you.

Now, you sat before your vanity, preparing for bed as did Thranduil. There were so many pins placed in your hair that you struggled to pull them out without ripping your hair. Your head throbbed, and your frustration was building; you just wanted sleep. A cold hand pushed yours away, tangling in your hair. With practiced and fluid movements, Thranduil began to take down your hair. He was quick and efficient, his hands in your hair almost soothing.

The action was oddly domestic, and it caused a pang of pain in your chest. If the gods had been fair enough to bless you with a husband who loved you, this would be a nightly occurrence, not a rare show of care.

“There’s too many pins in your hair.” Always critical; nothing would ever be good enough.

A beat of silence passed; did he even want you to speak?

“It was a special occasion; I wanted something different done to my hair.”

Clink. He placed the last pin on the table and stepped away from you.

“It was a bit gauche.”

Expression tight, you stared at your reflection, focused on your dark hair that tangled too quickly and your nearly pallid complexion. Gauche and graceless, the elves would never view you as their own.

“I thought it looked nice.”

His answer was to silently turn his back to you, moving to the other end of the room. The silence was maddening. Your attention never moved from your reflection, lips downturned as your eyes hardened. Pain turned to rage, pity becoming an all-consuming fire that threatened to turn all in your wake to ash.

“Why marry me?” Your tone was harsh, firmer than you could remember speaking.

Thranduil let out a sigh, seemingly annoyed at your mere presence. Normally, his disregard made you shrink, and maybe it was the wine, but it only made you straighten your back, meeting his eyes through his reflection in your mirror.

“To seal an alliance with your kingdom, you know this.” He was always condescending; he was so much older and wiser.

“I understand political marriages, but why marry me? You’ve managed political alliances without offering your hand in marriage; you even have a son to marry off. So why--” You slowly stood from your chair, turning to face him directly. “-marry me?”

“Would you have preferred to marry Legolas?”

“I’d prefer you answer my question. So I’ll ask once more: why marry me?” You strode towards him, eyes narrowed.

“To ensure an alliance with your family.”

“That is it? For no reason other than that.”

Thranduil looked down at you, his lips tight.

“Did you hope to hear differently?” He tilted his head, eyes ice cold and bitter. “Ours was a marriage of convenience, not love.”

You clenched your jaw, swallowing thickly. All of it for nothing, a marriage he knew would never succeed. He may have been content with a loveless life after the passing of his wife, but he knowingly dragged you into it. To turn your life into a void--

You wanted to scream, to yell obscenities at him, to spit all the vile venom his careless behavior filled you with. But it would do no good. An emotional breakdown wouldn’t mend your rift; there was no foundation of respect to rebuild. It was just endless nothingness. Standing at the precipice, you would simply fall into a never-ending pit.

“I see.”

A hint of shock made his eyes widen a fraction, expecting an outburst like the one you fantasized about. Humans weren’t known for patience, yet it wasn’t patience that kept you silent. It was dejection; you'd given up hope of anything better than what you had.

You dared not move, not even blink until Thranduil turned towards the door.

“I think I will ensure the keep is secured. Goodnight.”

Head turned, yet your eyes remained where he once stood; you remained silent. The door opened and quietly shut behind his retreating form. Only then did you exhale the breath you’d been holding.

The bed was plush under your body, and the comforter was like a cloud, yet you’d never felt more miserable. You turned your back to the side Thranduil would take when he returned to the chambers. Eyes shut, soothed by the darkness, you dreamed of something more.

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

#thranduil imagine #thranduil x reader #thranduil #the hobbit imagine #the hobbit one shot #the hobbit #lotr imagine #lotr oneshot #lotr fanfic #lord of the rings imagine #middle earth imagines #lotr #tolkien #lord of the rings #lord of the rings oneshot #mirkwood elves #lord of the rings fanfic #king thranduil

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ironmandeficiency · 10 months

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the fellowship + romance

characters included: aragorn, boromir, gimli, legolas, pippin

word count: 1177

summary: just some soft shit bc these men are all sappier than any tree in the greenwood

a/n: there’s still an overwhelming lack of gimli content that needs to be fixed and i will do my part

aragorn 🗡️

aragorn’s quiet presence is the warmest blanket on a cold night, the first bite of a meal you slaved over for hours, every comfort you’ve ever experienced

he’s never been one for overwhelming displays of his affections; instead, he shows you in simple ways that add up - giving you the more full bowls of broth, laying his blanket over you if he notices you shivering during night watch, sharpening your weapons (this one had gimli nearly brought to tears by the devotion it spoke of), anything that helps your days pass easier

he grew up around stories of elves who committed astounding feats in the name of those they loved, fighting wars and risking their lives with alarming frequency. but none of them ever talked about the everyday ways they showed love. his mother taught him what she could about those things, stories of his father’s steady presence and stalwart love for his family. a young aragorn took these lessons to heart and used them when the time was right

it was why, when he caught his heart skipping beats around you, he let his actions do the speaking for him. without fail you would thank him with a soft smile, slowly coming to realize that aragorn felt something much deeper for you than camaraderie. when you woke up early one morning to find your weapons sharper than they were the day before (not for the first time), you went straight to aragorn and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek. he nearly dropped your bowl of stew in his flustered state

having your affections secured didn’t mean he stopped his small acts of kindness, it did quite the opposite. it just made him bolder and more confident in his actions

boromir 🍻

this man is so damn tactile it’s ridiculous

if you’re the cuddly type like he is, it makes him all the more eager to always have some form of physical contact with you, no matter where you may be

unless you tell him to back off, he is always touching you one way or another. a gentle hand on the small of your back, your pinkies interlocked, an arm wrapped around your shoulder, anything to keep you close to him

his favorite time of day eventually becomes the end of it, because that’s when he can hold you close and whisper soft words of love in your ear while he holds you. he makes it his goal to give you a goodnight kiss every night you spend together

the best cuddle position in his mind is you leaning your back against his chest, one of his hands resting on your hip where his thumb rubs small circles above the bone, and his chin resting on your shoulder just right to where he can turn his head to kiss your cheek or burrow his face into your neck

gimli 🛡️

valiantly is the best way to describe how gimli approaches any situation he comes upon, including (and especially) matters of the heart

this is a dwarf who says what he means & means what he says, who does nothing that he wouldn’t be proud of the next day. because of this, you couldn’t find it in you to not believe him when he professed his love for you with such unwavering confidence you were nearly brought to tears. gimli never said anything just because his lips could move so you simply had to believe him

will do you favors big and small simply because he wants to help you however possible. you can’t remember the last time you carried your own pack or made your own bowl of soup. if you encouraged him (which you wouldn’t), this romantic fool would not let you lift another finger for as long as you both live

he grew up watching his parents with keen eyes, his adad showing him by example how a true dwarf treats their one. he embodies these lessons with every interaction with you, striving to be the one you deserve him to be. it ranges from the ferocity of his protection to opening doors for you. may mahal strike him down if he ever hurts you

he just wants to be a dwarf you’re proud to love, proud to call yours

legolas 🏹

physical affection can be difficult for him, but one thing legolas is good at doing is speaking his mind and his heart

if you thought his regular speaking pattern was overflowing with poetic descriptors, you’ve heard nothing compared to when he’s being truly romantic. no one you’d been with before had ever described you with such beautiful prose, never whispered soft poetry about your eyes to lull you to sleep

and he’s a cheeky bastard about it too! it’ll be a regular conversation between friends, nothing important, then BAM! he’s making quippy one-liners about your overwhelming skill/beauty/personality that catch you off guard and has your friends cackling at your flustered reaction to his flattery

even better, his praise will often include sindarin and on the off chance you don’t speak it, you’ll have to gauge the meaning from the silent looks shared between your dear elf and aragorn (doesn’t really work). eventually legolas tells you what some of them mean; after all, he needs to have an element of intrigue about him or his name isn’t legolas thranduillion

he carries a lot of pride for you and will brag about you to anyone who listens, his melleth being one of unparalleled skill and beauty and bright laughter that carries his soul on great wings

pippin 🥕

his already strong need to be silly and foolish grows exponentially when he finds out how happy it makes you

pip doesn’t care what it is you ask of him, he will do anything to hear your laugh. he’ll put baby carrots in his nostrils, respond to conversations exclusively in farm animal noises, he will even do his spot-on impressions of the rest of the fellowship and make them say all sorts of silly things

the best one to date is him doing an aragorn impression that consists of all the different ways he says legolas’s name

you’ve never heard such astounding colloquialisms from anyone until you met pippin - “don’t eat half the berries and say the pie shell’s too big,” “his cornbread isn’t done in the middle,” “if brains were leather, he wouldn't have enough to saddle a junebug” - and each time he says one, there’s always a not-so-subtle look to you so he can see your reaction. the ones that get the most laughs are used a little bit more, just enough to not lose their appeal but enough to hear your laughter all the more often

there is a single-minded determination to hear your snort when you laugh at something he says, and he will not rest until you do. his personal goal to do this resets each time you do actually snort, him now aiming for the next joke or prank that will bring it out again

#gimli x reader #legolas x reader #aragorn x reader #boromir x reader #pippin took x reader #lotr x reader #lord of the rings imagine #lotr imagine #lord of the rings fanfic #lotr fanfic #lord of the rings reader insert #lotr reader insert #aragorn imagine #boromir imagine #gimli imagine #pippin took imagine #legolas imagine

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frodothefair · 8 months

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Husband: I kind of want to write a short story about a person tends one of the more… rural beacons of Gondor.

Me: You should do it! Because it’s remote, you can make your protagonist as unhinged as you like.

Him: Okay. I’ll think about it.

Me: If I get 100 notes on a post on tumblr about this will you do it?

Him: …………..

…………

Ok, fine.

#lotr #lord of the rings #lotr fic #lord of the rings fanfic #lord of the rings fanfiction

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essenceofarda · 1 month

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Commission for @musing-and-music, gifted to @torchwood-99 !

‘Lady Eowyn,’ he said at last, unable to justify leaving one who was weeping, without first trying to offer some comfort. Her head jerked up, confirming what Faramir suspected. She sprung to her feet, and her hand went straight to the hilt of her sword. Faramir held his hands up, and stayed like that, until the lady’s breathing steadied. - "The Lady's Hand" by TeamGwenee/Torchwood-99 Fic Summary: After one escapade too many, Theoden and Eomer decide it's time for Eowyn to wed. (post canon au)

This was such a delight to make (and for a great fic too!) !! Thank you to Musing-and-Music for commissioning me!! Everyone go check out this fic and give it some love <3

More info about my commissions here :)

#lord of the rings #lotr #lotr fanfic #lord of the rings fanfic #tolkien fanart #lotr fanart #lord of the rings fanart #lotr au #eowyn x faramir #faramir x eowyn #eowyn of rohan #faramir/eowyn #faramir #my art #not my writing #this was SO delightful to work on :D #Thank you thank you thank you to musing-and-music for commissioning me!!

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shrubdaddy · 1 year

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elucidative | l.greenleaf

↳ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: elucidative |. /ih-loo-si-deyt/ | verb | to make lucid especially by explanation or analysis | y/n is only a little dumb

⇢ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: legolas x reader

⇢ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fluff

⇢ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: none

⇢ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.1k

a/n: Hiii - Sorry I've been MIA - work has been a bit more hectic and I've been having a hard time finding time to write! I could not stop thinking about the Bridgerton scene with Charlotte and George. Lightly inspired by @reality-warp 'Rávamë’s Bane Trilogy', quite literally one of my all-time fave fics and authors in this fandom and is a literal queen in world and character building so check out her fics if you haven't already!

“Manwë’s breath, how much higher can this wall get?”

Reaching for yet another tendril of the vines climbing up the wall, you attempt to climb higher up the stone wall.

It was a precarious situation — one in which you did not expect to be but were not entirely surprised to find yourself in.

You scaled the stone walls attempting to reach the top of the wall to escape yet another suitor. With flowing sleeves laced with snagged threads and leaves woven into your hair, you don’t quite know how long you’ve been attempting your half-scattered escape plan. At this moment, all you knew was that you’d been in this dreaded courtyard for over an hour and you would not be waiting another minute to be trapped and shackled for the next “prince” to come around.

As a ward of Lord Glorfindel, you were of course expected to adhere to the life of a lady in every way possible. You’ve studied every subject, attended every lesson from etiquette and mannerisms to reading and writing in Khuzdul, and attended each and every dreadful social event your father has encouraged.

Feeling your grip falter yet again, you stumble backward and glare at the very metaphoric yet also a very real wall in front of you.

You have always strived to be the perfect daughter in every way possible. However, in regard to love and courtship, you refuse to follow the ancient, decrepit tradition. Between the many years of dodging conversations and offers of marriage, you’ve reached way past the age of courtship, spending many years avoiding each and every suitor thrown your way.

Rather than bubbling with excitement, you felt the fear of the unknown settle in. Having so much to live for and not enough time to experience, you think of your time spent with the twins and the Rangers of the North — time spent traveling, exploring, and living.

You remember joining the twins and meeting Aragorn… meeting Legolas. He was an elven ranger you befriended through Aragorn. He was strong and sturdy, and for a moment you thought you were in love. The camp up North was a place where not many talked of their past but where they all focused on the present. It was a simple life but it was the life you were able to create for yourself.

Lost in the thoughts of the slow spiral of your sanity, you didn’t hear the footsteps coming up behind you as you reached yet again for the closest, protruding stone on the wall —

“What in the world are you doing?”

Without turning to even see who it is, you let go of one hand waving your intruding guest away.

“Please mind your own business, sir. You can escort yourself out — possibly, somewhere that is anywhere but here.”

You continue your ascent without a second thought but slipped down the wall as stone slowly tore up your hands. Stepping back, you place your hands on your hips and take a look at the growing annoyance in front of you. This stupid wall.

You hear an exasperated sigh behind you and felt someone lightly, grab your shoulder, pulling you from behind.

“Excuse me, sir. But you will unhand or you risk losing your… Legolas?”

Turning around, you were shocked by the familiar face of someone you were completely and utterly infatuated with over the past couple of years. Paralyzed and flustered, you couldn’t help but notice how clean and ethereal — you have never seen him this clean before; his muddied boots were somehow clean and the ragged pants you were so used to was exchanged for a less holey look. Somehow these fit even better. You feel your eyes gaze up but froze — you were staring too long.

“Lose my what?” he asked with a little smug grin.

“Nothing! Absolutely nothing. On the contrary, you can keep everything… It was nothing…” you rambled as you quickly turned around.

You hear him step a bit closer, coming behind you on your side to examine the wall you were so desperately climbing less than a second ago.

“What in Arda are you doing here, Y/n?” he said with his curious, blue eyes. Though a few feet away, just his presence causes your mind to go in a scramble.

“Me? What are you doing here?” you exasperated. Fiddling with your hands, you begin pacing back and forth, pretending to examine every bit of the wall, looking anywhere but him.

Look anywhere but his eyes, Y/n. That is how we’ll survive his cursed beauty.

“You are climbing a wall. If anyone should be questioned, it is you,” he bit back.

You quickly move your shoulder to release his grip and turn around.

“First of all, I live here. Second of all, please do mind your business, Legolas. I am quite a bit … oof … I’m quite a bit busy here. and I’m running out of time.”

Stepping towards the wall, you begin to attempt to climb yet again. If anything, it was to break free from his distracting grip on your body. Ignoring the growing warmth on your cheeks, you couldn’t help but notice how large and warm his hand was and how one touch made you feel like hot honey dripping down your body.

Shaking off the startling moment, you were determined to leave. And even he could not stop you.

“What in the world are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re doing something.”

“I am not”

“Yes… you quite obviously are are.”

“I am n o t.”

“Yes… you are,” he said firmly.

Relenting — you turn back around to face him. Beautiful face and all. You notice how his head is turned slightly down, his eyebrows furrowing just the slightest beginnings of a small smirk staring down at you.

“Fine,” you relented. “If you must know, I am trying to figure out the best way to climb over this disgustingly high wall and escape this dreaded meeting with this so-called ‘prince.’”

“You’re trying to what? With who? Whatever for?”

“Well, the first thing — hmph …” you grunt as you turn back around to attempt to climb for the fifth time in a row. “The first thing is that my dearest father has been parading me around to different suitors, a Lord here, a Duke there — and now, um, it’s apparently another ‘prince’.”

You take a step back because rather than focusing on climbing, you feel a sense of frustration overcome you. The situation of late has finally dug its claws into you... feeling a greater weight on your shoulder than you have originally led yourself to believe. You feel him standing behind you — the burning intensity of his stare on your back.

“No one has spoken of him… no one has spoken of this so-called Prince of Mirkwood?” You continued, “What if he has the personality of a gremlin and the looks of a troll? The Valar knows the little patience I have for men.”

“Gremlins and trolls aside — does what he looks he really matters to you? ” he asked.

“No… Of course not. It’s the not knowing and the fact that I do not know him or his heart that I do not like.

You take a step back to take a look once more at the wall in front of you. Glaring with all of your might, in hopes that your internal rage can burst a whole through these dreaded walls.

“Y/n —you must know... “ Legolas began.

Your eyes run through all the nooks and cranny’s vine-covered stone beast, ignoring Legolas’s words for only a second. There it is. A protruding stone just two feet away from the top. You found one last way you have yet to try.

“Thank the Valar! I think I found a way.”

You walk towards the wall once again, mapping out the new path of vines and protruding stones.

“I think if I can just reach this stone I can lift myself up! If you lift me just a little, I believe I can reach that vine and use these stones to climb up,” you said excitedly.”

“You want me to lift you up… so that you may… escape?”

“Yes, obviously. Did you not hear of threatening the gremlin-troll prince? Please, Legolas.”

“Your father will know that you are missing? The twins have just arrived as well?”

“Those are tomorrow’s problems, Legolas. The prince will be coming today,” you whined.

As you begin your ascent, you feel your foot slipping from the stone. Despite this, you stretched your hand above your head to grab the vine. As you reached, you feel the stone beneath your foot crumble and in a matter of seconds you find yourself falling.

“Lego—”

“Y/n,” he cuts you off. “I have no intention of helping you escape.”

Standing a little too close, you can feel the warmth emanating from his body. As you gaze up to his face, you see he’s wearing an emerald green tunic, soft and silky — something far nicer than the typical garb you always see him in.

“And why not? There is little time to —.”

Your finally glance up to look him in the eyes and —

“You’re wearing a crown,” you blankly stated.

Confused, you oh-so-slowly begin to piece the puzzle together.

“Yes, I am wearing crown,” a small grin appearing on his smugged face.

“Where in the world did you get a crown?”

“It was given to me,” he said as he looked around feigning boredom.

“By who?!” you retort.

“My father.”

“Your father? What does— is he like a king?”

“He is a king,” he said frankly.

“Which makes you a — “ you slowly piece the information together.

“A prince? Yes, a gremlin-troll prince to be exact,” he retorts with now a full grin and staring down at you.

“And you said nothing?” You frantically exclaimed.

“I figured you’d realize at some point,” he chuckled.

You stood there reflecting on all your life decisions at once. Every conversation, every hidden glance. He was a prince.

“I thought it was common knowledge and that you knew of my title,” he said quietly. “I apologize for not disclaiming it sooner.”

“So if what you’re saying is true…” you teased. “You just assume everyone thinks of you as royalty? That’s quite the assumption”

“Y/n, you know I did not mean it like that,” he groaned.

With a little giggle, you stepped away from him and asked “Should I call you, sir?”

“…Y/n, what?”

“Oh my, I’ve never bowed.” Your voice shifts into worry, “Is this grounds for beheading?”

“Y/n, no.”

“I should bow.”

“No— you should not.”

“I’ll bow.”

“Y/n — stop.”

“Please sir, I am merely a lowly peasant. Have mercy, your highness,” you exclaimed as you lower your head and drop into the deepest curtsy.

As he attempts to stop you, he reaches for your arm hoping to put an end to your jester.

As you back away and dodge, you look at him, batting your eyelashes, and cry “My liege, spare me from this punishment I only wish to live.”

Ears turning red with a desperate voice, he begs “Y/n, please.”

As you step back once more, he’s quicker this time and grabs your arm, pulling you close. your chest crushed against his, he drops one of his hands to your waist and the other to your back. You were so close you felt his breath caress your face. As you look up, you find him staring intently at you.

As you stare at each other, you couldn’t help but break into giggles over the preposterous situation. As you begin to giggle, he looks away trying to hold in his laughter, only to also laugh at the situation.

It felt nice — to feel free and silly, if only for a moment.

As both your laughter calms down, he looks back down at you asked, ”So what do you think of the gremlin-troll prince?”

“Nothing too horrid, he’s actually quite dashing,” you teased.

“Dashing, hmm?” he chuckled.

Unaware of everything around you, you were both startled to hear the courtyard doors open with footsteps following. Jumping from each other's arms, you separated a good distance away only for you to see your father and Elrond turn into the corner section you were standing in.

“Oh, good. You’ve met!”

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gloomwitchwrites · 4 months

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Burnt Bread

Éomer x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: fluff, physical & emotional hurt/comfort, family issues, established relationship, alcohol

Word Count: 2.4k

After being left to fend for yourself in your father's bakery, you end up making a massive mistake that earns his ire. Fleeing, you find comfort with the one person who you're utterly safe with.

A/N: Dedicated to @firelightinferno

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist

“I’m leaving. Watch the shop.”

You glance up from the sticky dough beneath your hands and find your father near the door. He sways on his feet slightly as he attempts to tug on his coat. “I’m leaving” is just another way of telling you that he’s off to drink, and by the look and smell of him, he’s already started for the day.

It wasn’t always like this, and it’s only become worse over the years. Following your mother’s death, your father’s reliance on mead has become a crutch, a vessel for his loneliness. It doesn’t matter that you are alive and here for him.

While you don’t entirely resent him for falling into this state, the frequency of it does worry you. Worse, it’s driving a wedge in your relationship with him. He’s becoming distant and detached. His frequent disappearances leave you alone to take care of the shop and everything that goes along with it. It’s not difficult, and you enjoy the work, but when the shop is busy, you can’t always keep an eye on things.

You’re starting to grow tired of this, and you don’t want to feel resentful of your father. You’ve always loved him, even on the days when he comes home stumbling.

“For how long?” you ask flatly, trying not to sound upset that he’s departing yet again. This is the fifth day in a row your father has left the shop in the morning to drink. You fail, a little indignation creeping into your tone.

Your father hears it because he scowls in your direction. “Don’t know,” he mutters, as he teeters toward the door.

There is no final goodbye or backward glance. The shop door slams shut, and tears begin to form in the lower lids of your eyes. Brushing them away with the back of your hand only dusts your cheeks with floor.

This constant distance is tiring.

Putting all your frustration into kneading the dough on the table, a little bit of that steam begins to cool. Once you’ve had enough, and your arms ache, you cut and shape the dough, setting it aside to rise.

The bell above the door rings as the first customer of the day steps inside. And then it begins.

This is why you miss your father in the mornings. Everyone loves seeing your face. They appreciate your kind smile and helpful attitude. Most days, your father is nursing a hangover and keeps to himself, leaving you to take care of everyone that walks in. But without him, you’ll need to do both.

The front of the shop quickly packs with people. You’re so busy taking orders and wrapping bundles of freshly baked bread, that at first you don’t smell the slight hint of char in the air. It’s only when you finish helping a customer that you catch a whiff of it.

The older woman’s nose crinkles in confusion, and while she says nothing, her reaction gives you pause. Inhaling, you consider the scents in the shop, grouping them into different categories. There’s sugar, butter, and—

Your eyes widen, and then you’re rushing to the large stone oven at the back of the shop. “Oh no. No no no no.” Grabbing the large, wood paddle off the wall, you hurriedly scoop up and toss the bread onto the nearby table.

Some are perfectly toasted but others, like the ones closest to the fire, are charcoal. You slide the paddle in and retrieve a loaf that is entirely on fire. In your surprise, the paddle and bread fall to the floor.

They both clatter loudly and you drop to your knees, using your apron to smother the burning bread. The tears fall easily, and the heat from the apron is hot and irritating, but you put it out. You’re so absorbed in trying to salvage what you can, that you don’t realize where the wide part of the paddle is.

Your hand goes out and connects with it. You jump back with a light cry, cradling your palm. The paddle is wood and not metal, which is some comfort, but your left hand is throbbing.

The bell above the door rings, and you glance up, eyes wide and frightened like a deer.

“What is this?” comes the sneering voice.

Your father is back, and you can smell the sourness from here. He half-sways, half-limps around the counter to where you’re kneeling. His pupils are wide, and he has to lean on the countertop for support. That yellow gaze roams over you, to the burnt bread on the floor, and then back to you again.

“You stupid girl,” he whispers. Then, much louder. “You stupid stupid girl!”

This is the part of him you dislike the most. When he’s deep in his cups, all kindness is gone.

“I’m so sorry, father. We were busy and I didn’t realize—”

“Do you know how much you’ve cost us? This is two dozen loaves.” He picks one up and throws it at your face. His aim is terrible and completely off. All you have to do is bend a bit and it sails right over your head.

“Father—”

“Do you do this to me on purpose?”

“Father. Please—”

“Every day I have to look upon your face and see your mother. A daily reminder that she is gone!”

“Please,” you beg softly, staring down at your hands.

“Get out!”

You bolt up and rush out the door, nearly knocking over an elderly woman about to walk inside. You run and run until you pass through the gates of Edoras, stopping only when you make it to the burial mounds of the kings. You fall to your knees and then onto your back, staring up into the sky.

It’s morning, but overcast, the clouds a stormy gray like they’re ready to cry and join you in your sorrow.

There is only one person who could give you comfort, but he is not here. He is gone, expected back today but you’re not sure when. Even if you were to wait for him, you’re in no state to greet him. Éomer should see you happy when he returns, not tear-stained.

No one holds vigil at the burial mounds. This will be your respite. This will be your chance to slow your racing heart and dry your eyes. Once you’re calm, once you’re no longer wishing to flee from this place, you’ll hold vigil at the gates until Éomer arrives. Going back to the shop to face your father is out of the question.

The grass is a soft bed beneath you. Closing your eyes, you press your hands against the earth, splaying your fingers wide, focusing on the individual blades of grass under your palms. This will be your anchor until you can find a bit of peace.

“What are you doing on the ground?”

Your eyes snap open and you turn your head to the right, meeting the amused smile of the man you love.

“Éomer,” you breathe, sitting up to grab at the front of his leather armor. It doesn’t matter that your hands sting, you pull him down onto you wanting his closeness.

His gentle laugh is perfect, and when your mouths meet, everything slips away. Éomer settles between your legs, his forearm resting by your head while his other hand reaches back to grab. He meets bare thigh, and the contact is exactly what you need.

Éomer is real and whole and with you.

The kisses that start with soft excitement quickly become deep and heated. There is a slight harsh bite to his breathing as the two of you presses closer. Your hands slide up to wrap around the back of his neck, but as they crest over the lip of his armor, the tender flesh on your palm screams out.

Hissing, you draw back, clutching at your hand.

Éomer stills and then pulls away from your lips. His head tips downward, glimpsing the burn before you can hide it from view.

“What happened?” he asks, his tone tipping toward concern.

“It’s nothing,” you murmur, as the memory of your father comes roaring back.

“It’s not nothing,” he replies firmly, his brow creasing. “Show me.”

Slowly, you unfurl your fingers, revealing your palm. Of everyone in your life, Éomer is the safest.

Éomer’s mouth forms into a deep frown as he clutches your wrist, drawing your hand closer to his face as he inspects the burn. “Did someone do this to you?”

You shake your head. “No. Just grabbed some hot bread. That’s all.”

Éomer sees right through you. “You’ve been crying.”

“It hurts.”

Éomer sighs, gently guiding your hand down to your chest. When he releases your wrist, Éomer reaches out to trace the backs of his knuckles against your cheekbone. “You can tell me if it was your father.”

When the tears start to accumulate in your eyes again, Éomer leans in and lowers his voice. “Did he hurt you?”

You shake your head. “Not with his fists.”

Éomer’s exhalation is shaky, like he’s trying to calm his own anger. “You’re coming with me.”

“Éomer—”

“You are coming with me,” he repeats. “We will talk, and I will tend to these burns.” When you open your mouth to argue, Éomer shakes his head. “Don’t be stubborn.”

He slowly sits back on his heels and helps you come to sitting. Then he’s on his feet, bringing you with him. Éomer;s horse, Firefoot, grazes nearby.

Éomer’s hands lightly brush away the blades of grass that cling to your skirts. “Would you like to walk or ride back?”

You love Firefoot dearly, but you’d rather take your time arriving to Edoras’ gates. You’re still not calm, and a slow walk with Éomer at your side might just help you find some peace.

“Could we walk?”

He nods. “If that is what you wish.”

Éomer leads Firefoot by the bridle with one hand, and with the other, he clasps yours. He does not push or dig around, but instead moves at the pace you set. Éomer knows your signals without you having to say anything. Instead of inquiring about your father or what happened, he talks about his time away. It gives you a chance to shift mindsets, to focus on him and nothing else.

When the two of you are in his private room, Éomer guides you over to the hearth. He lays out a small nest of furs and gently helps you down on them, taking care not to accidentally brush against the burn. Once you’re seated, Éomer moves to a far corner of the room to remove his weapons and a few heavy pieces of armor. Then he comes back to you, sitting beside you in front of the fire.

“Show me your hands.” Reluctantly, you present them. Éomer frowns down at them. “Tell me again your father didn’t do this to you.”

“He didn’t. I promise.”

Éomer sighs heavily and his hands wrap around your wrists. He gently guides your hands closer, inspecting the burn. It’s only on your left hand, and Éomer slowly releases the one that’s fine. “I’ll have someone fetch some ointment for this and bandages.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“It is. I’ll take care of it.”

You snort and Éomer’s mouth quirks up into a smile. “Think I’m incapable?”

“A strong warrior like you capable of such tenderness?” you tease.

His smile softens. “What about all the times I’ve been tender with you?”

Your cheeks heat with the memory. “Not in that way,” you mutter, trying to hide your embarrassment.

“Would you prefer that as well?”

“Perhaps later,” you breathe, heart quickening in your chest.

Éomer lifts your wrist to his mouth, placing a kiss on the pulse point. “I’ll return shortly.”

When Éomer acquires the correct ointment and bandages, he sets to work. He cleanses his hands, scrubbing his nails and between his fingers before he begins. Then, with purposeful slowness, Éomer lifts the injured hand and begins rubbing the ointment into the surface-level burns. They likely won’t blister but they’ll sting for a week or more.

Once the ointment is applied, he unwraps the bandages, guiding it over and around your hand to keep the ointment in place. He ties off the extra and cuts it off with a clean blade, tucking the little bit left into the wrappings. Éomer is overly cautious but it’s sweet.

He is always so gentle with you.

“You spoil me,” you murmur.

“I enjoy it,” he replies, turning your hand over to double-check his work.

A soft sadness creeps in. “One day you won’t.”

Éomer glances up. “How so?”

You shrug as if the words don’t mean anything. “You’ll marry a princess. She’ll beautiful and fair. The people will love her.”

Éomer shakes his head. “Why would I ever want such a thing when I have one right here.”

“Don’t tease.”

“I’m not.” Éomer kisses your fingers and gently guides your hand to your lap. In a move so delicate it momentarily steals your breath, Éomer cups your cheek and leans in close. “All I ever want. All I ever need. Is right here.”

Éomer stands before the back door of the shop your father owns. He’s still fuming, but not nearly as much as when he saw your hand. For some time, Éomer has wanted to give this man a piece of his mind. You are precious, and more importantly, you don’t deserve his ire.

The man is a drunk, and everyone knows it. Most show him pity because it all started with the death of his wife—your mother. But that was many years ago, and any pity Éomer felt for the man has long since evaporated.

Squaring his shoulders, Éomer pounds on the door like he’s trying to splinter the wood.

You are still in Éomer’s chambers, curled up in the pile of furs he created in front of the fire. You are sacred to him, the woman he wants above all things. One day, you will be his, and will no longer have to answer to your father.

The drunkard swings open the door. “What?” he growls before he realizes who stands before him.

His eyes widen, and he straightens up, smoothing out the rumbled apron. He fumbles over his words and Éomer holds up a single hand, silencing the man.

“I’m not interested in excuses.” Éomer takes a step into the shop, towering over the man. “If I ever see her in tears again because of you, understand that my next visit will be much less pleasant. Is that understood?”

“Perfectly.”

Éomer wants to stay more, but he draws back his rage. He nods curtly, and exits, only wanting to return to you.

taglist:

@foxxy-126 @glassgulls @km-ffluv @firelightinferno @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @protosslady @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado

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sadlvrgrrl · 6 months

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𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 (𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋 𝐕𝐄𝐑.)

a daemon targaryen love story

Every night, when the moon is full and bright, he dreams of the one he calls his light.

disclaimer: daemon is extremely ooc

𝘸𝘤: 723

・❥・

𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐋𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

Daemon Targaryen, the rogue prince of Westeros was far from pure. He was ruthless, stubborn, arrogant, and most of all, powerful. His blood was equivalent to a dragon, forged from the fiery pits of the seven hells. He was the deliverer of chaos and destruction, and no one was able to tame his savage inferno.

All until one; her.

She was the epitome of ethereal, a beauty so delicate, so pure in a way that she was too perfect for this world— too perfect for him. She was an angel forged of the purest light with hair as bright as the moon, skin as white as snow, and her eyes—

her eyes held magic.

Full of light, full of innocence, full of stars.

Starry eyes that had him hypnotized.

Starry eyes that made him stumble, but it was her smile that made him fall.

Starry eyes that had him vow to do anything in his power to keep their light kindle endlessly.

She was a blessing from the gods. A wish upon a shooting star. If he could, he would tear the whole world apart just to rebuild it brick by brick to a standard he deemed worthy of her existence. Worthy of her light— worthy of his light; Celethiel.

・❥・

Daemon follows the elen wisps through a sprawling forest, letting them guide his way with their light to their keeper. The tall trees towered over him, reaching into the heavens. Their branches weave together a dense canopy, shrouding the forest in shadow and only letting strings of moonlight spill through the gaps, filling the forest with a soft light.

As Daemon enters the clearing, his violet eyes instantly fall upon Celethiel sitting on a stone bench under a white willow tree. She was clad purely in white, and her hair was long and bright; like a moonlight river cascading down her back, casting a glow around her like a magical veil. The sight of her beauty was utterly spellbinding and mesmerizing, and Daemon was enchanted.

“Why do you linger in the shadows, my prince?” Said the enchantress. Her voice was silvery and melodious, like the sound of a fine harp.

“I only linger in the shadows not to hide from you, but to admire the beauty you emit, ñuha ōños.” said Daemon. “For you are a treasure of all treasures worth worshiping.”

A musical chuckle was the response; short and breathy. It filled Daemon with excitement, making him wanting more; more of her sweet melody of a harmonious mixture of grace and elegance.

While his eyes were fixed on her; hers was on the moon, gazing at it with a distant look of tranquility and longing. Daemon envied its fortune, for it had become the object of affections of the one he loved the most. Desiring nothing more than to be in the moon’s place so he can feel the touch of her eyes upon his own face. He walks up to Celethiel, and slowly kneels on the ground in front of her. Gently, he takes her hands in his. His warmth instantly melts the chillness of the night as their fingers interlace together.

“My love?” He said softly, his voice almost a whisper.

“The moon...it's light shines brighter than ever before,” She said. “Mother must be happy.”

“I believe it is you that shines brighter, my love.” He said, his voice filled with tenderness and love. But her eyes have yet to stray away from the moon.

Daemon sighed, feeling defeated by the hold the moon had over his light. He slowly brings her hands up to his cheeks, wanting to feel the softness of her touch. Then his lips met with her smooth and delicate skin, and it felt as if he was kissing the finest silks in all of Arda.

“Celethiel…please…please look at me,” he spoke timidly. “kostilus.”

Daemon Targaryen, a man known for his arrogance, had willingly turned his pride into sand. A man known for his steel strength is now bent by his passion. Upon his knees, he begs his beloved for her love. His whole world is consumed by the one he desires most; his light.

Then suddenly, as time seemingly to stand still, her gaze has finally met his. And for the first time that night, he saw the stars that graced the night sky.

(𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑬𝒏𝒅.)

a/n: a little story info, celethiel is a valar; daughter of manwë and varda. instead of varda being associated with the stars, she represents the moon. i really hope you guys enjoyed this, and I'm so sorry it's short. i just haven't been getting enough inspiration and motivation to develop a fixed plot. maybe one day i'll come back to add on to this story.

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socksracoon10 · 2 months

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Waiting For Nothing

Pairing: Legolas Greenleaf x F!Reader A/N: I haven't written for LOTR for a while, so I thought I'd make ya'll sad with this angsty Legolas fic. Have fun! The hearts of the warriors are often small; they've grown accustomed to fighting and death. And in each battle they fight, a layer of their heart sheds off. It falls to the ground, and rejoins the earthly soil to be reborn in another's. The scars remain, but the feelings behind the memories will slowly fade, until there is nothing more than the shell of a man who attained glory with his rotting heart a testament to the last sliver of hope that echoed in the beating of his heart.

Your heart was rather large. Having lived most of your life as the poor peasant girl with no relatives by blood, Edoras welcomed you into open arms. You were friends with almost everyone, especially with Théoden's niece, Éowyn, who quickly became your best friend - Théoden even considered you his niece as well because of how close you two were. The two of you would go riding on horses, galloping around in joy as you remained oblivious to the impending doom that would soon terrorize the entirety of Rohan in just a matter of a few days.

"I can hardly see why you roam this castle so willingly when we know your place is outside in a small hut…" Grima Wormtongue spat when you had walked past him. You glanced at him over your shoulder, your lips sharply turning into a scowl. The audacity of that vile creature to even speak in your direction. You huffed out in annoyance, biting the inside of your cheek as you chose your next words, carefully.

"Bold words coming from a creature that is more disheveled than an Orc," You snickered before haughtily marching off.

Within hours, you were kicked out of the palace and exiled from Rohan. You were back to being an orphan, right where you had started. Éowyn had looked at you with such pain in her eyes but she knew that if she were to act out against this cruel decree, she would face a similar fate and nothing could be done to save the Kingdom she so dearly loved.

Living in the outskirts was not as easy as you had initially thought it to be. In your mind, you had foolishly assured yourself that since you had been in this condition before everything would come naturally. It wasn't until the first hour passed did you sorely miss the place you once called home. With nowhere to go, you wandered around aimlessly, circling the borders of Edoras repeatedly to keep your mind occupied. By the 5th day, you swore you were dying due to starvation and thirst. You could barely move, your body lay stricken on a rock as you gasped for air. Your head tilted slightly to your right, the pain in your stomach blooming to elsewhere in your body and from afar, you noticed three horses charging towards you. You couldn't even sit up properly to examine the incoming invaders, and you weakly lifted your hand, silently begging for help.

The three horses revealed their masters on top of them, a tall dark haired man, another being that resembled a wizard and on top of the third horse was a dwarf, and in front of him the most beautiful elf you had ever seen. You had heard stories of elves before in your life, ones that were told by Éowyn, but never once did you think one would be standing right before you. If you were to die in this exact moment, you would've been very pleased that you at last saw an elf.

The man jumped off his horse and crouched down to your level, feeling your forehead before turning to the elf,

"Legolas, fetch her some of your Lembas bread, and you Gimli give her your water." The man instructed; not knowing whose name belonged to which creature, you looked between the four beings with curiosity, despite being so near to death's door. The elf crouched down besides you, allowing you to drink some water before chewing on his bread. Your hunger knew no bounds and you chewed and chewed, swallowing whole lumps of bread as you slowly began to regain some of your health. The man sighed in contentment, giving you a soft smile before standing up to walk towards the Wizard. The elf, on the other hand, stared at you with a gentle smile on his face and kept offering you food until you said no.

"What's your name?" The man asked,

"My name is (Y/N) (L/N)," You whispered, taking another sip of water. You coughed a few times, swallowing thickly before meeting his gaze.

"I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn. This is Gandalf the White, that is Gimli, son of Gloin and over to your left is Legolas of the Woodland Realms." Aragorn exclaimed, gesturing towards the elf beside you. You glanced back to face the elf, a small smile forming on your face. After acquainting yourself with the 4 beings, they heard your pitiful tale and realized that Rohan deeply needed imminent change. They allowed you to accompany them, seating yourself behind Aragorn as the horses charged forward.

Your eyes, however, remained glued onto the elf. You noticed his soft features, the way the wind seemed to swirl around him and only him, and his piercing eyes that scoured the land before him with diligence. His silence captivated you, and you did not know why.

With Grima Wormtongue out of the way, and your adoptive uncle restored to his glory, it seemed that you were finally welcome in the castle. Éowyn had rushed forward, capturing you into a warm embrace before kissing your forehead. She grinned at you, holding onto your arms ecstatically as she danced to and fro, dragging you deeper into the throne room. As she tugged at your hands, you glanced to your right to find the elf conversing with the dwarf, the both of them walking in the opposite direction with concern glazing their eyes. You wanted to listen, you wanted to be a part of them… but you did not know why. You yearned for the chance to just be alone with him, and whether it was good for Rohan or not, the chance soon came when everyone was ordered to seek shelter at Helm's Deep.

"You're rather quiet," You chirped, catching up to Legolas. The walk to Helm's Deep was excruciating and you feared that the boredom would kill you before starvation or even worse - the Uruk-hais. Legolas smirked, his lips curving ever so slightly upwards before he turned to face you,

"Forgive me. I am not one to converse so easily in such pressing times. Though, of course, must you include Gimli in our conversation, I shall pass a few jokes at his expense." He glanced over his shoulder to face Gimli atop his horse; the dwarf shook his head and grumbled,

"I'd cut yer pointy ears off if ye try to embarrass me in front of this lassie," He scoffed and you let out a laugh, before turning to Legolas,

"Come now, surely you would be able to carry a conversation without teasing the poor dwarf!"

"Perhaps, but I do not know for sure," He sighed, before resuming his silence as he watched the horizons.

Legolas knew. He could sense your attraction towards him, but he chose not to say anything about it. He hoped that it would pass, that you would not be bound at his feet, desperate for his affection. Because it would never work, and he did not have the heart to admit that he did not have any feelings for you. You were trying so hard, trying to spend more time with him. You were trying to distract yourself from the doom that lay ahead of you because everyone knew how big your heart was; all you could ever do was dream.

Éowyn and you had both tried to convince the King to let the two of you fight. There was nothing for you to lose, you both loved your Kingdom, tremendously. But as Aragorn reminded Éowyn of her duty, you turned to face Legolas whose piercing eyes never once left you. His lips formed into a thin line, and he followed Aragorn out of the room, leaving you in your thoughts.

"She's very affectionate towards you," Aragorn pointed out as they were leaving,

"I'm well aware," Legolas responded.

"What do you plan to do about it?" The man questioned.

"Nothing."

"Nothing? Legolas, perhaps-"

"Perhaps we do not speak of it." Legolas jeered, his brows furrowing at the rightful heir to Gondor. "We have more pressing matters to deal with, the lives of 100 thousand men are at steak tonight."

"Ignoring her will only heighten her love for you, she will be desperate. She will be fooled into thinking that she has a chance. If you are going to reject her, at least have the courage to tell her directly!"

"That wee lass will be devastated," Gimli chimed in, fixing his helmet, "You sure you don't feel anything?"

"I'm positive, I do not." Legolas grimaced and shoved past his two friends to grab his arrows. The incoming surge of Uruk-hais was his primary concern, but the guilt he felt as he killed one after the other tormented him. With each arrow he shot, he felt his burden increase tenfold. Aragorn and Gimli were right, but why could he not bring himself to tell you the truth? To tell you that he had no feelings for you?

Because… then he would be lying. He watched you from afar at times, watched the way you'd dance with Éomer, your arm wrapped around his as you skipped around. You'd stand beside Théoden to catch a breath, your eyes searching for Legolas and when they landed on him, he'd instantly look away - as if he wasn't staring at you. As if he wasn't infatuated with you the same way you were with him. He was lying to himself, he wanted to break free. He wanted to stand near you, to hear you constantly chittering about something; his heart ached at the sight of you fondly playing with some children. His mind roamed to thoughts that turned into dreams; dreams of you and him together. But this was wrong, all of this was wrong. He would only live a short life with you, and when you died, he would spend the rest of his life in solitude.

He'd seen it with his father. He'd seen the way his mother's death impacted him; he was not a man of many words, but his cold demeanor lingered around Legolas, a constant reminder of the similar fate he'd feel if he decided to indulge in his present feelings. He decided that he had to do something about it, even if he couldn't face it himself.

"Would you like something to eat?" You asked, toying with an apple as Legolas tended to his horse near the campsite. He glanced over his shoulder, looking at you with solemn eyes. You could've sworn a tear drop cascaded down his pale cheeks. He harshly took a deep breath in, and shook his head,

"It is alright, I do not need anything to eat." He responded, his fingers wrapped around the reins of his horse.

"Well, perhaps I could offer you something? It is not material…" You began, stepping forward with hope in your eyes. It pained him, it pained him more than anything else in the world. He could not bring himself to do this, but at the same time, it would be even worse to accept your affections.

"Lady (L/N), please." Legolas exclaimed, finally meeting your eyes, "Do not continue. I… I cannot accept your affection."

You paused in your tracks, looking at him with wide eyes.

"I do not… envision a future of us two living a happy life." He was searching for proper words, his head turning around the room as if he was physically swimming through his thoughts, "I… My heart is heavy, I have never felt this way for anyone. I do not want to be the one to burden your heart, but I am afraid that you must keep those feelings to yourself. There is nothing that I can do. Nothing we can do."

"I… You… You don't even know what I was going to say…" You reasoned, and Legolas let out a huff,

"I do not need to hear you say it, I already know. I've seen the way you look at me, the way you tend to me. I am forever in your debt for your kindness, I thank you for it. But, it cannot continue. Aragorn, Gimli, and I will be leaving tonight." Legolas murmured, tugging on the reins as he drove his horse forward and away from you. Your heart sunk at his words, unsure of what was happening.

This couldn't be happening to you. Not before you even had the chance to tell him how you felt. What if he realized how true your love was for him? What if this was the last time you ever saw him?

"I shall be waiting for you." You stated, swiftly turning on your heels to face his departing form.

"Don't, you'll be waiting for nothing," Legolas whispered, his eyes softening at your words.

"Nothing is… indeed something," You breathed, your fingers linked together as you began to fidget, nervously. "Perhaps, you'll understand. Perhaps you'll… come back."

"Perhaps, but I would not count on it." Legolas sighed, before hopping onto his horse and riding off, leaving you alone for the night.

"I see you've told her how you felt," Aragorn had asked Legolas when they were far from Rohan, "Does it feel as if your heart is lighter now, with nothing to worry about?"

Legolas paused, hearing Gimli grumble a few curses under his breath regarding the elf. He opened his mouth to speak, before closing it. The elf thought deeply, his mind was utterly blank and he hated it.

"I feel…" He began, "I feel as if I've only made it worse. Not just for her, but... for me as well." He swallowed, thickly, before glancing over his shoulder to take one last look at Rohan. The wind was still, there was not much that he could hear.

Except for the beating of a very large heart that painfully yearned for him with each fleeting second.

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hobbitwrangler · 28 days

Text

Victory in Defeat

Summary: Éowyn discovers that sparring with Faramir is even more fun than expected.

Character(s): Éowyn/Faramir

Rating: T

Word count: 3k

“Oh well,” she said brightly, “there are some who say I am the greatest warrior since Helm Hammerhand. That is bound to impress some people.” The light in Faramir’s eyes told her that she had touched on exactly the subject he had hoped to broach with her. “In that case, would the greatest warrior since Helm Hammerhand do me the honour of sparring with me?” The question took Éowyn by surprise, although she now noticed the two swords slung over his shoulder. She had been expecting him to invite her to the stables, maybe to do some work with the young colt who had caught her eye, or to discuss some alteration to the plans for their new home. But sparring … In truth, it had been a while since Éowyn last picked up Wuhhung with any intent. The first six months of her time in Ithilien had been marked by a great deal of violence as the Rangers set to cleansing the forests of the Enemy’s servants who yet lingered. And then, with the first spring since her wedding, building work had begun, and with it the difficulties of planning for Ithilien’s displaced inhabitants to return. The skills of war that her brother and cousin had taught her had been replaced by the skills that her uncle had taught her and, when she had the time, the skills that Gwaedhon had taught her, helping with the construction of their hall. For those first months, there had been no need to spar and more recently, there had been no time. “Of course,” she agreed.

AO3 link - lovely dividers by @saradika-graphics

#meant to do this for farawyn day but oh well #lotr #lotr fanfic #lord of the rings fanfic #eowyn #faramir #faramir x eowyn #my fics

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drearydaffodils · 4 months

Text

Forevermore

Boromir x GN!Reader

Tooth-rotting fluff <3

Drabble: 500+ words

Boromir melted into your arms in the instant he was upon you. A soft smile marked his war-torn face as you moved one hand to gently stroke his cheek and moved your other hand to flip through the pages of your leatherbound book. You were radiant in the dim candlelight, and he couldn’t help but let his eyes wander along your cheekbones and the scars that marred your skin—and the newfound redness that sprung upon your face in the instant his eyes flickered to your lips.

“Boromir…” Your eyes wandered from the elvish script of your book to the radiant depths of his eyes, and your hand fell from his cheek. Your voice was soft, as if you were afraid you would shatter the massive man should you ever raise your voice. Your eyes reflected such deep kindness that it made Boromir’s heart ache, and he did naught but grumble in response to his name and rest one of his hands upon your thigh. His uncharacteristic silence caused you to shift from where you sat, and you gently closed your book. His eyes trailed your movements as your hands moved to rest on his chest. He was sitting beside you, his gaze piercing into yours. “Is everything alright, my love?”

Boromir was lost in a trance as his fingers rubbed gentle circles onto your thigh, but he hurriedly snapped into reality as your melodious voice brushed past him like a soft breeze.

“I am alright, dear, but you are.. Valar, you are beautiful. I can hardly think much less speak around you.” Boromir muttered, his raspy voice causing nervous laughter to burble out of your soft lips. Your amused reaction only caused him to grow flustered. “I’m–it is serious, truly serious.”

“Incredibly, love.” You muttered as you leaned in to press a chaste kiss to his chapped lips. “I would never doubt you for a moment.

Boromir grunted in approval as he kissed you tenderly, his hands shifting to rest on your hips as yours found the roots of his hair. The feeling of his warm, calloused hands shifting beneath the fabric of your dress caused heat to rise within your body, and your breath hitched.

"Boromir." You spoke softly as the man moved to press kisses down your jawline and towards the base of your neck, gently unraveling your focus bit by bit. “I love you, honey, but I must finish my translations for the council.”

“That’s unfortunate.” Boromir said between kisses, and you ran your hands through his brown, soft hair, shaking your head softly. He only continued to kiss you wherever he could, the touch of his lips igniting warmth across your body.

“It truly is.” You murmured as you dipped down to connect your lips to his. He stared up at you as you broke the kiss, utterly entranced by your angelic features. “Perhaps.. if you let me finish my translation tonight, I will be yours.”

“I am not sure I can wait that long, my dear. Your absence will torment me.”

You laughed softly as Boromir cracked a wide smile before he regretfully stood up from his chair. He stared down at your reddening cheeks and parted lips and prayed to the souls above that he would not lose you—that he could kiss and praise you forevermore.

“I’ll see you tonight, Boromir. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

#lord of the rings fanfic #lord of the rings fanfiction #lord of the rings #lord of the rings fics #lord of the rings x you #lord of the rings x reader #lotr #lotr fic #lotr fanfic #lotr fanfiction #lotr x reader #lotr fandom #lotr x you #boromir #boromir x reader #boromir x you #drearydaffodils

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mlmxreader · 24 days

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Home Is Where You Are | Fili x gn!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ Hi can I request the prompt "It ain't home without you" with fili please? ❞

: ̗̀➛ It's your job to protect him and to keep him alive, but it isn't your job to worm your way into his heart.

: ̗̀➛ brief mentions of war and violence

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

It was a lonely and cold night, and unable to get warm enough in your spot at the edge of the camp, you settled for instead heading over to the small fire where Fili was sat; in the moonlight, his pretty blue eyes looked electric.

Alight with thousands of stars that you could not see, and aflame with the soft crackling fire as it reflected the orange and yellow hues.

You sighed as you sat beside him, shuffling forward slightly so that you could rest your head on his lap; gazing up at him as he flinched for a moment at the sudden contact.

But he soon settled, relaxing and letting his hand drift to your forehead as he felt the soft head radiating from your skin. Of all of the Company, you were closest to Fili without a single doubt.

You had been with the Company since the beginning, hired by Gandalf to protect Fili and Kili and to ensure that the two brothers survived everything that was thrown at them; but what you had never expected was that you would end up becoming rather attached to one of the brothers, and that every time you looked into his beautiful eyes, you would feel like you were finally home.

You shifted around a little, almost nuzzling into his stomach as you got comfortable against him; Fili didn’t mind, although he couldn’t help but to smile.

He knew that you had a reputation to uphold, after all, you were famous throughout Middle Earth - from the Shire through to Rohan - for being essentially fearless.

A warrior so strong, you had fought in many wars, and had been decorated by your King accordingly; those who bore white flags with red crosses were terrified of you, and would cower at the mere mention of your name.

They knew who you were; the warrior with the red dragon on their breastplate and the sword made of dragon bones. The warrior who spoke a language older than Elvish, and who would stop at nothing to defend his homeland from those who carried the white banner with the red cross upon it.

The warrior who spoke the dragon’s tongue, and who had charmed their way into Fili’s heart so easily.

Fili knew your reputation, but he also knew Thorin’s words about you, as they echoed in his head every time you were close.

“Be careful of that one, those who sell their swords sell their souls along with it.”

But you weren’t like that, Fili knew that. You accepted the job because you owed Gandalf a favour, and that was all. You didn’t sell your sword at all, you were hired to fulfil the end of a favour.

That was all, and you made it incredibly clear that you would never accept another job offer of the same or similar calibre again.

But Fili’s uncle’s words weighed heavily upon his shoulders, even if you did feel like home every time you were close to him; even if the soft warmth of your forehead felt the same as coming home to a familiar bed.

He knew, though, nothing could or would ever come of it.

You wriggled a little, humming softly to yourself for a moment. “Fili?”

He nodded, a soft thrum coming from the very back of his throat as he lazily looked down at you. “Yes?”

“Is it odd that I feel like it ain’t home without you?” You asked quietly, all but twiddling your thumbs as you stared up at him so gently, your gaze all too soft on him.

But he shook his head, daring to lick his lips as he tilted his head slightly to the side. “No… in all honesty and truth, I can’t help but to feel the same - I feel as if the softest of touches from you is the same as coming back to my own bed.”

You could only smile as you let out a quiet yawn, stretching ever so slightly. “And what about your uncle? Thorin doesn’t exactly seem all that keen on me.”

Fili shrugged as he dared to smile back, slowly shaking his head. “Allow me to handle Thorin. I can deal with him, I can convince him that you are not what he thinks you are.”

You frowned a little, swallowing thickly and hoping that he didn’t see how you were struggling to get through to it. “But how confident in that are you, exactly?”

“Very,” Fili nodded, daring to grin at you as he gently stroked your cheek. “As long as you are my home, I will be yours, and I will do everything I can to convince my uncle that we belong together.”

Struggling to sit up, you rolled your eyes when he laughed at your efforts before pulling you onto his lap; letting you straddle his waist as he rested his hands on your thighs and tilted his head to the side, humming ever so softly. Gently, he ran his hands up and down your thighs.

“Tell me that I am yours,” he whispered softly. “And I will tell you that you are mine.”

You nodded, clasping your hands behind his neck as you stared at his mouth for a moment. Your voice coming out as a mere whisper. “I am all yours, Fili.”

“And I am yours,” he murmured gently, his hands trailing up so that one rested on your middle and the other rested at the back of your neck. All too tempted to pull you in closer. “Always.”

“Always,” you repeated. “Are you sure you don’t want my help with confronting Thorin?”

Fili nodded slowly, licking his lips as his gaze dropped to your mouth. “I might need you to keep me alive.”

“That’s my job,” you laughed gently. “Isn’t it?”

He laughed along for a moment, but when you leaned in slightly, he could not help but to close the distance. His kiss was so soft and tender, and when you kissed him back, you could not deny: you were home.

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elfy-elf-imagines · 8 months

Text

To Meet Under the Stars | Thranduil

▹ Pairing: Thranduil x Elf!Reader

▹ Genre: Fluff

▹ Words: ~3k

▹ Summary: In light of the stars, Thranduil finds himself entirely enchanted by a mysterious masked woman.

▹ Notes: I love masquerade balls, that is all. Unedited because we die as men.

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

The light of starlight was something sacred to the elves.

In the times of old, before the moon and sun had been created, Varda placed the stars in the sky, illuminating the world for the elves to see. For all other races, stars were just light that guided their way at night, but they were so much more for the elves. They held the promise of life unsullied by the evil of Morgoth. A beautiful display of glistening diamonds that held the light of creation. To honor the stars was to honor Varda herself.

Under the canopy of stars, the wood elves of Eryn Galen celebrated the first night of the autumn equinox. The moon was full and high in the sky as lords, ladies, and commoners alike gathered for the party. The echo of minstrels ensured there would be no corner of the kingdom not lit with joy. Dragonflies darted across ponds, and crickets hid in the forest, chirping to the beat of the lute. There were festivities all throughout the kingdom, but the main attraction was the masquerade ball held within the palace of King Thranduil. Only guests of high esteem were invited to dance under the lush canopy in the company of the royal family.

And there you were, with summer in your hair and winter in your eyes. Dancing through the crowd, illuminated in the silver light of the moon, you were the vision of a goddess. A soft halo shone upon your silver-gold hair, pinned in an updo with stray pieces that cascaded down your back. Flowers in purple, blue, and silver hues were placed upon your head like a crown, creating the silhouette of a queen. A silver mask encrusted with enough jewels that it glittered under the light concealed the top half of your face, two holes allowing your eyes to glow in the dark. A grin born of pure ecstasy was outlined by the lipstick on your lips.

No one could recall who you were nor when you’d arrived at the celebration. It was as if you were always there, lying in wait and dancing with the ghosts of the open-roof ballroom. A laugh rivaling the minstrels' songs hung in the air where you stood and followed your every sweeping move.

From the high table, with a glass of wine precariously hanging in his hand, Thranduil watched you. He couldn’t help it. It was as if you were weaving some sort of spell, casting it upon all who watched, paralyzed by your song and enraptured by your dance. You were beautiful, quick as a whip, and light as a feather. Each step seemed calculated and purposeful, yet so loose it could only be natural.

Thranduil couldn’t recall ever meeting you, so certain he’d know your laugh even if he couldn’t see your face. His advisors tried to make idle conversation as Legolas spent his time with the other members of the guard, drinking and laughing. Thranduil couldn’t be bothered to even pretend to listen, intently focused on the way your summer blue dress flowed like water around you. It nearly felt sacrilegious to directly look at something so beautiful, like staring at the face of Varda herself.

“It is a beautiful--” his advisor beside him began to speak, talking so slowly it made Thranduil’s lips curl in slight irritation that was hidden by the goblet he held. He watched as you threw your head back in laughter, finding amusement in whatever the elf lord you were speaking with said. It took all his willpower not to roll his eyes as he drank more sweet wine.

The elf lord offered you his hand, which you gracefully accepted. Instead of dancing through the crowds alone, you twirled in the arms of another man. It made Thranduil’s stomach turn in a way it hadn’t for centuries.

You and the elf lord you danced with would flit in and out of his vision, yet the merriment never left your expression, and when the face of your dance partner would face Thranduil, he could see just how enchanted the man was by you. His grip on the goblet tightened, knuckles turning white.

The song seemed endless, drawing out the end of it for as long as possible. Part of Thranduil was tempted to bark at the minstrels to begin a new one in hopes you would once again be left alone, but he didn’t. A king needed to maintain his composure, even if everything inside was screaming not to. It seemed silly to be so taken by a woman whose face he couldn’t even see.

“Have you tried one of these cakes yet? They’re quite--”

“Galion.” Thranduil interrupted the man previously speaking, gaining the attention of his butler. The advisor that had been interrupted scowled yet said nothing else as Galion stepped closer to Thranduil.

“Yes, my king.”

Thranduil pointed at you, Galion’s eyes following his finger. “Who is that?”

His eyes narrowed as Galion leaned closer to try and get a better look at you. Yet not a glint of recognition twinkled in his eyes. Did anyone here know who you were?

“I’m afraid I am unfamiliar with who she is. Would you like me to fetch her, my king?” Galion asked, his attention returned to Thranduil, whose eyes furrowed in mild annoyance.

“That will not be necessary, Galion.” He waved his hand, and Galion returned to his previous seat. It would be easy to bring you to him, he was the king, after all, but he didn’t want your meeting with him to seem forced upon you. He already had enough of a reputation as a cold, unfeeling man; it wouldn’t do any good to give you a reason to believe them.

The song ended, and you stepped away from your partner, lowering into a curtsey that he returned with a bow. Thranduil stood, the legs of his chair scraping on the floor; he didn’t bother giving a weak excuse for his exit. If he doesn't act soon, you might slip from his fingers. Thranduil took long strides down the platform and disappeared into the sea of elves.

He pushed his way through the crowd, most too lost in the magic of the music to pay their king any mind. He could see you, dancing alone with your eyes shut. The grin on your face was wide, never wavering in the slightest. The distance separating him from you was dwindling, the anticipation making his palm sweaty. The crowd parted, and he could’ve pulled you into his arms if he wanted to.

But as he opened his mouth, you disappeared into the crowd, so preoccupied you never saw him coming. Thranduil’s eyes narrowed, his misty eyes searching the crowd for you, but you were nowhere to be seen. Had you merely been a figment of his imagination conjured by the trickster spirits rumored to hide in his forest? Perhaps you had been, but Thranduil was determined to comb through the crowd hoping to see you again.

Then, a flit of blue brightened the corner of his eye. He turned, seeing you dart from dance partner to dance partner, now on the other end of the room. A cat-like grin appeared on the edges of his mouth; he’d found you. Once more, he pushed through the crowd, not moving his eyes from you for one second, afraid you’d disappear without a trace if he did.

The crowd would pulse, and you would get closer to him before suddenly spreading out towards the treeline. Thranduil would get close enough to smell your floral perfume, but you'd dart in another direction before he could take your delicate hands in his. He wasn’t entirely sure if it was on purpose; you probably hadn’t even noticed him. Your eyes never locked with his that never strayed from you.

But the gods seemed to smile upon him that night, and as the crowd came closer, Thranduil snatched your hand. Your body twisted to face him, the grin on your face never faltering. The perfume you wore was distinctly jasmine, vanilla, and something sweeter, tantalizing enough to bring him closer to you. His hand was rough in comparison to yours, much larger too.

“May I have this dance, my lady?” His voice was velvet smooth. Thranduil stood out like a sore thumb as the only one in the crowd without a mask.

“You may, my king,” you curtsied before placing your other hand on his shoulder as his hand found its place on your waist. Wasting no time, the two of you twisted and spun through the crowd in an airy waltz. You had the grace of a swan, maintaining a poised elegance with a child-like grin. Thranduil felt himself falling deeper into whatever spell you had cast.

A witch, that’s what you had to be. There was no other explanation for the hammering of his heart or the delight your touch elicited.

One step back, one step forward, one to the side, and repeat. Another spin, extra flourish added for flavor, and the movements continued. Neither of you spoke, eye to eye, unable to look away from one another. Thranduil found himself counting the flecks in your eyes, convinced they held a thousand little stars in them.

Perhaps you hadn’t been an illusion placed to taunt him but a gift from the Valar themselves.

All too soon, the song ended, and the dance was finished. As he watched you do before, you stepped back from Thranduil and lowered into a sweeping curtsey. He wanted to ask you to stay with him, not only for the night but the rest of eternity, but he found himself tongue-tied.

“It was an honor to dance with you, my king.” Your voice was soft and warm, like the spiced tea he would drink before bed. He wanted your name, to lift the mask you wore and lay his eyes upon your face entirely. He needed to see the face of the woman that would surely haunt his every dream.

Thranduil blinked, and in the brief time, his eyes weren’t on you, you’d disappeared. He half expected for there to be stardust left where your feet had been, but the only proof you’d existed was the imprint of your heels in the grass. His eyes scanned the crowd, twisting his body and craning his head, yet you were nowhere to be seen. But this time, instead of seeing flashes of your dress or silver hair, you were nowhere to be seen. You’d disappeared entirely.

Thranduil stood in the crowd a moment longer, hoping for a glimpse of you before deciding to return to his seat at the table. Perhaps from the high crowd, he could ascertain where you were. Thranduil returned to his seat, acting as if he hadn’t suddenly rushed from the table to dance with you, ignoring the questioning glances from his advisors. His goblet of wine in hand, eyes on the crowd, Thranduil sunk into the music and lost himself in thought. All of them were plagued by you.

And there he stayed as the hours ticked by, seemingly in a trance. No one at the table bothered to strike up a conversation with Thranduil anymore; it was like trying to converse with a brick wall. So they settled in silence, occasionally remarking about the party with the other guests.

“My king,” Galion returned to his side. “The lady you danced with has stepped away to the gardens.” Galion’s tone was even as if he were merely commenting on the weather. Thranduil side-eyed him, noticing the tinge of mirth on Galion’s smile. Thranduil tilted his head to the side, then slowly nodded.

“Perhaps I should ensure our guest is enjoying the festivities.”

Thranduil stepped away from the table and followed the path toward the garden’s you just slipped into. He took long strides to reunite with you sooner. This time he was determined to get your name and to peek beneath the mask you wore.

When he finally stepped into the garden, he saw your back turned to him, fingers dipped in the fountain's water. Your posture was relaxed, hair loose and flowing, no longer pinned in the updo it once was. It flowed like liquid silver, furthering his conspiracy that you were a celestial being born of the gods. Precariously hanging in your hand was the mask you’d been wearing, thumbs rubbing against the ribbon that tied it in your hair. The minstrels were now a distant hum, the flowing water, and the chirp of crickets the only song in the gardens.

He stopped a few steps from you, trying to find the words to say. It’d been so long since he’d been made to feel like a shy elfling, nervous about approaching his first crush. A king should be dignified and confident, but he felt all of that crumble in your presence.

Your ears twitched as Thranduil shifted in his spot, head raising at the sudden intrusion. Slowly, you turned, unsure who to expect would intrude upon your solitude. But of all the people you imagined stepping into the garden, you never anticipated it would be the king. He nearly seemed awkward and unsure in his place, fingers smoothing wrinkles on his robes that weren’t there.

Immediately you lowered into a curtsey, but the king didn’t acknowledge the movement. His eyes were wide and mouth slightly agape as he stared at you. As he looked upon your face, this must’ve been how the first elf to gaze upon the stars felt. The curves and lines of your face were soft and delicate, the vision of beauty. Your eyes seemed even brighter in the dim lighting, an unsure, shy smile curling on your lips.

“My king.”

He remained silent, too wonderstruck to speak.

“If you require to be alone, I can--” You began to walk towards the exit, but as you passed Thranduil, his hand reached out and caught your arm. You turned to face him, uncertain. Thranduil’s hand trailed down your arm and intertwined with yours, a soft smile on his lips.

“Of all the people who desire my presence, yours is the one I desire most.”

You swallowed thickly, your mouth suddenly dry. You’d been close to the king only hours ago, sharing a dance with him. Yet the privacy of the gardens and the sweetness of his words, it all felt much more intimate.

“Then I shall stay.”

Thranduil’s grin widened as he guided you further into the gardens. The flowers were vibrant and lush, a true testament to the skills of the elves. A canopy of trees diffused the moon's light, reflecting off the fountain and casting a spotlight on you.

“I have a confession.” Thranduil suddenly stopped, eyes intently watching your face, noticing how your lips slightly parted and your eyes glowed with curiosity. “I have found myself quite enchanted with you, my lady. It seems foolish, not knowing your face until this moment and not having your name.”

“It’s Y/N, my king.” You interrupted, a charming smile curling your lips. The hammer of your heart matched the tempo with Thranduil’s.

“Y/N.” He muttered your name quietly, your name on his lips making your stomach curl. Of all the ways you anticipated this night's end, strolling the garden with the king was not what you could’ve predicted in your wildest dreams.

“Y/N. If I may be so bold, I would like for this to not be the last time we meet. I desire more of your company.”

Thranduil stepped closer, the heat he radiated warming your chilled skin. Gossebumnps followed where his hands touched, a shiver rushing down your spine. Subtly you pinched the back of your leg, convinced this was nothing more than a dream. Yet you didn’t wake; this moment was real.

“If I may speak freely, my king?”

Thranduil nodded his head. “Please, you may call me Thranduil. No need for such formalities.”

You tipped your head at him as the smile on your face brightened.

“If I may speak freely, Thranduil.” You corrected, with an almost mischievous lilt to your voice. “I would much desire more of your company as well. I have heard many rumors of your cold and detached demeanor. I’ve heard of how harsh you can be, yet I have seen nothing of that.”

“I’m glad the whispers of the court haven’t scared you away, my lady.”

The smile on your face curled into a teasing smirk, eyes illuminating. “You’ll find it’ll take more than malicious rumors to scare me away.”

Thranduil's finger twirled around a lock of hair that framed your face. He seemed relaxed and more at ease than you'd have imagined.

"A strong will and a fair face, Varda herself must've crafted you."

His words made your face flush red, so deep it was seen in the dim lighting of the garden.

"Pretty words you speak, my king; I'm eager to learn if your words match your heart."

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

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ironmandeficiency · 1 year

Text

the fellowship + helping their s/o with insomnia

characters included: aragorn, gimli, legolas, boromir

word count: 507

summary: how members of the fellowship help their s/o with insomnia get some sleep during the quest

a/n: y’all sleep has not been my friend lately and i’m gonna vent abt it thru fluff

aragorn🗡️

aragorn sings elvish songs of old, taught to him by elrond and his adopted family in rivendell

he sings of nature and its beauty, of lovers separated by circumstance that somehow find a way, of battles fought long before the time of isildur, all sorts of things in the soft sindarin tongue

your head will be against his chest, feeling it rumble with every word and hum, his heartbeat keeping time with the music

when your breathing finally goes steady, he presses a gentle kiss to your temple and tapers off his song into hums, gradually fading out once it’s time for him to rest

gimli🛡️

gimli knew without a doubt you were his one the moment you locked eyes for the first time. the feeling was one his amad & adad described to him when he was a wee pebble, his heartbeat mimicking the strike of a hammer against an anvil at alarming speeds

when your one notices your frequent duels with the sandman, he offers to help you find rest however possible because gimli, son of glóin would never leave his one to suffer through anything alone

this leads to his bedroll having a permanent spot next to yours, with either you playing with his fiery mane to relax or him envisioning how his beads would look in your hair while aimlessly braiding it

his sturdy hands massage your scalp and give you various braids that he unweaves before you wake the next day, the courting beads he forged years before burning holes in his pockets each time

legolas🏹

legolas is an amazing storyteller, and the firelight only adds to the ambiance

one of your favorite semi-recent stories (for an elf) of his pertains to the company of thorin oakenshield, one of whom happened to be gimli’s father — the way the dwarves rode the river inside the wine barrels had you laughing every time

he tells you anecdotes of his childhood, about all the mischief that would “find him unawares” (you knew better) as he grew up in greenwood

joy was also found in the elven prince finding stray plants to weave into crowns and garlands for you, making sure to move them aside as you nod off to keep them from being crumpled

boromir🍻

boromir is the most physically affectionate man you’ve ever encountered, and he proves this point tenfold when it’s time to rest

his warm embrace and gentle kisses are a balm to your restless mind, soothing you into a state of contentment and peace you didn’t know you could achieve

he’s a massive cuddle bug and will reach for you in his sleep if you move too far away, his strong arms curling around your waist protectively and his face buried in the crook of your neck

but before laying down for the night, he’ll invite you to do some light sparring that will inevitably end in a playful scuffle that has everyone in good spirits (pippin and merry will take your side and team up against boromir, which is always a fun sight to see)

#lord of the rings fanfic #lord of the rings #lord of the rings imagine #lotr headcanons #lotr #lotr reader insert #aragorn x reader #aragorn #gimli x reader #gimli #legolas x reader #legolas #boromir x reader #boromir #lotr fanfic

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staplegrapes · 10 months

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Mystery Guardian (Éomer Éadig x Reader)

Description: After the battle, you are wounded. You were not supposed to be here. Therefore, you would simply swipe some healing supplies and be on your way. Yet a certain newfound king would not allow it.

Word Count: 1.4k

TW: Canon-typical depictions of violence, blood and battle

A/N: Reader is written as gender neutral, but it is implied for some reason or another they were not supposed to be at the Battle of the Pelennor Fields.

✨Gender Neutral Reader✨

It was risky being here, you were well acquainted with that thought given that it ran through your head with every passing second. Though the battle had ended in an apparent victory much blood had been spilled. Scores of men flooded back towards the Houses of Healing and you found yourself contemplating going with them.

You weren't bleeding profusely or had any limbs hanging on by a thread, but you knew if you did not see your wounds tended to, you would likely end up quite ill. Seeing as you had managed to not perish in battle, you thought it may be of interest to not succumb to something much more easily avoided than a blade swinging at our face. Yet, there was the added difficulty of the fact you were not supposed to be in this battle. Your presence unveiled from your helmet would turn heads undoubtedly.

You had a simple plan. Keep your head down and armor on as you weave through the masses of injured and only take what you needed to avoid infection. Many more were in a state much worse than yours. As soon as possible, you make a hasty exit and find a safer spot.

You found it relatively easy to make it within the doors, many men were also still fully suited in their armor. The houses were large, yet the thralls of men easily overtook the resources. The hoards pushed you further into building. The stone archways seemed to get narrower the further you walked, more or less shuffled in further. After some time you noticed a free table with what appeared to be some clean bandages and a wound solution. Quickly, you snagged both and tried to make an exit, but the masses pushed you further forward. With some small shuffling, you finally made it out of the mainstream. Taking a breath to orient yourself you caught a glimpse of a pair of broad and familiar shoulders. Éomer was stooped over another, to which it shocked you to see the angelic face of Éowyn void of any life.

It was of no surprise to you she had also found the courage to fight despite the opposition to do so. While you did not know her plan, you knew you both had done so to protect your people. Still, she laid dead and your heart lurched having grown up with her and Éomer. Her bravery was overshadowed by the loss of her. As your gaze widened you noticed Aragon standing over her, while he was concerned he did not appear to mourn her. You saw a look of hope on Éomer's face.

Watching for several moments, you watched as Aragorn tended to her. You saw Éomer's shoulders relax and somehow you knew, she would be alright.

"Where did you get that?" a healer asked you, pointing to the healing supplies in your arms and in that moment you bolted down the hallway back towards the door. Maybe that had not been the most dignified way to deal with it, but your mind grew hazy and you began to rely on instinct rather than intuition. You hastily walked outside the walls and found yourself beginning to walk with no true direction in mind. The sparkle of a small stream down a steep slope caught your eye.

The small stream seemed to be the only place you would be able to tend to yourself safely. So that is what you did, carefully shuffling down the steep grassy slope towards the small glistening stream below. Your breath began to grow weaker as well as your vision did, the surge of battle wore off as the wear from battle grew. Taking a steadying breath, you bent down to the stream and began to dampen the cloth with the clean water.

It was a slow process, given your weakened state, but you made progress. Washing the injuries, keeping them clean with the solution and the water, wrapping them in the bandages and moving onto the next. It was quite awhile as you began to grow near the end of your needs but a voice startled you from your silent pursuit.

"You'd find better aid within the walls of Healing Houses, go there to tend to- oh."

You knew that voice anywhere and given the abrupt ending to his sentence supposedly he knew the back of your head anywhere.

Éomer.

How had you not heard him sneak up behind you?

"I shall be fine, your grace." you timidly turn towards him, ironically, given your fierce demeanor in battle not long ago.

"Whatever have you done? are you hurt badly?" His eyes were wild with concern as he quickly descended down the embankment. You watched him stumble just as you did, likely the most uncoordinated you had ever seen him be in all your years of knowing him.

"I trust Éowyn is alright?" you whisper, still deflecting his concern.

"Y-yes, Aragorn... she'll wake soon." He knelt alongside of you, "Are you hurt?"

"I'll be fine, I'm sorry about your uncle." You wince as you wrap your forearm tightly. He gently places his hand over yours.

"It is better for it to be loose."

You nodded silently as he rewrapped your arm.

A silence takes over the air between you two. It was comfortable in some odd way, given that you had both lived through the battle you were unsure of the outcome.

"It was you." he says in a breath.

"I do not know what you are talking about," you mutter through gritted teeth as you feel him start to clean another spot.

"You're the one who saved me when I had a blade to my neck." He keeps his eyes locked on your shoulder where he continues to clean.

"That could have been anyone." you shrug, looking away.

"If it was not you, then say so." You feel his eyes burning into the side of your head.

You remained silent. He sighs as he leans back on his knees.

"That tells me all." He states. "Why are you here?"

"Others needed to be attended to. I can manage myself."

"No, you that is not what I mean." He gently pulls your chin for you to face him. You sigh.

"You think I a coward?" you ask with a harsh tone much more intense than you had originally planned.

"What? No. In what tone did I-" You see him startled by your change in inflection.

"Then how shall I not defend my people as well as you?" You ask, dropping your tone to a softer, yet defending clarity.

"My job is to defend for you." He says softly, tilting his gaze.

"Well that does not sit well with me. I could not bear the thought of you dead on my account." You shake your head.

"It sits well with me." He says, "but I am most appreciative to breathe another breath granted by you, though I'd prefer it not be at the risk of your safety."

"We will have to agree to disagree on that matter." You turn back to him with a small smile. You understand his chivalry and nobility, yet you truly would never want to be the reason he didn't come home one day.

"Very well then, you feel well enough to walk? Let us return to the Healing Houses, Éowyn will wake soon."

"Will it not look strange for me to be present? Some may be opposed."

"And then they will have to answer to the King, for who is indebted to you with a life debt." he said as he helped you stand up and navigate up the bank.

It never occurred to you till now. Éomer is to be king.

"You may question that, I have more or less stolen the supplies from the houses that I used."

He chuckles, "I'm certain it can be remedied." He kept a solid and stabilizing hand along your arm as you walked back towards the Healing Houses.

"I can stay outside if that is better, give you time with Éowyn." but his grip only tightened.

"Stay by my side, I lost my uncle and nearly lost two of the dearest people in my life, I intend not to repeat that in anytime in my rule." he looked down to you with a protective look in his eye. Though it had been a grim day, you saw light beginning to shine from behind the clouds.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

#character x reader #reader insert #lotr #lord of the rings #lord of the rings fanfiction #fanfiction #lotr fanfic #eomer of rohan #eomer eadig #eomer x reader #eomer eadig x reader #eomer #karl urban #lord of the rings fanfic #lotr fanfiction

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essenceofarda · 1 month

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The Three Eowyns from my 1920s Middle Earth au, "A Dance at the Palantiri"!! The White Lady of Rohan, Dernhelm, and a flapper dancer!

aka the three personas of Eowyn that Faramir falls in love with simultaneously without realizing that they are all, in fact, the same person LOL

Fic Summary: It's the 1920s in Middle Earth, and Éowyn just wants to get away. Just for a week, to be able to truly be herself, not just an esteemed Princess of the Riddermark. When she escapes under the disguise of a man named Dernhelm to Osgiliath, by fate she crosses paths with Lord Faramir, an infamous playboy and partygoer, who manages to rope her into becoming a bartender at his equally, if not more, infamous club and bar, The Palantiri. The Palantiri is more than meets the eye, same as its owner, however. Éowyn quickly realizes that the club is not just for people to lose themselves, but to lose their secrets too. There's more than meets the eye of Faramir, too, she finds. Suddenly, Éowyn finds herself neck deep in a years old secret operation in the war effort, and must do so while keeping up the guise of a man.

Trying out and having fun with a different to my usual style "very stylized" style :D

Also should I update this fic?

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local-crying-boy · 1 year

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Fell In Love With You

Legolas X GN!Reader

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Pairing: Legolas x Gender Neutral!Reader

Genre: One-Shot, fluff, comfort fic, childhood friends to lovers

Warnings: poorly translated Elvish

Summary: The first time you and Legolas confessed your love for each other after you assumed he was in love with another for years.

Trope: childhood friends to lovers

Word Count: 840

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Elvish Translations:

Legolas, how ceri- cin fare? = Legolas, how do you fare?

Im am far tríw, Y/n = I am quite fine, Y/n.

Im cannot n- os- cin, ú- ir im cannot ab- hin emel = I cannot be around you, not while I cannot deny these feelings.

Mellon = Friend

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Elves only fell in love once, most knew of this. It had barely come as a shock to you when you realised you had deep feelings for your old childhood friend, Legolas. As the two of you grew up, you became inseparable, you trained together all the time and hung out more than that.

You had always caught yourself staring at his beauty ever so often, even in your younger years. Though, you had always brushed this off as simple admiration for the Prince. However, almost as soon as you realised your feelings, you also realised the way he looked at Tauriel.

It caused you great pain to stay by your side, knowing that he'd never feel the same about you, but you still stayed by his side no matter what.

You had learnt the hard way that, sometimes, love can cause only pain and misery. You continued to stay by his side, though, continued to laugh and talk as if nothing had changed, fought and protected the same as if your feelings had never surfaced.

You had told yourself long ago that, no matter what, you would stay by Legolas’s side. Whether that was in battle, to comfort him or give him advice, you would be there.

You sit with your back to a tree and your sword in your lap with a sharpening steel in your right hand, the others sitting and chatting amongst each other. You have no desire to talk to them tonight.

“Y/n.” Legolas calls you, causing you head to turn towards him.

You hum in response, “Yes?”

He stares at you for a few, long seconds, “Are you feeling well?”

No, you thought, but simply nodded, “Yes. Are you feeling well?”

He stays quiet, settling beside you. You watch as he sits beside you, his hair slightly getting in the way of his flawless face.

“Legolas, how ceri- cin fare?” You ask, worry clear in your voice when he takes too long to reply.

He meets your gaze once more a offers a small smile, “Im am far tríw, Y/n.”

You nod, your eyes wondering back to your sword that lays still in your lap, how long had you been sharpening the damned thing?

The two of you sit in an awkward, but also normal, silence. A silence that can be awkward at first, but slowly turns into a silent, comfortable company.

"You have been distancing yourself." He says, his voice lowered.

You glare at the elf, "I have not, I have been conversed with the others, I have created a strong companionship."

He shakes his head, "Not distant to our new travelling partners, you have been distant to me."

This time, when you look up, your eyes lock with his. There's a sort of sadness in his eyes, a sorts of pain in not talking to you like you used to.

You look back to the sword in your lap, guilt pulling at your heart strings. How were you meant to tell Legolas that you’ve distanced yourself because you loved him?

“Im cannot n- os- cin, ú- ir im cannot ab- hin emel.” You mutter, “It pains me, mellon.”

“Pains you? In which way?” Legolas questions, “Have I offended you in some way, Y/n? Have I wronged you to make you distant?”

You shake your head, “Quite the opposite, you have made me incredibly infatuated with you in a way that makes my heart beat for you and only you, Legolas.”

A look of shock appears on the blond’s face, he freezes. For once in his long life, he freezes. You made The Prince freeze up, you!

You shake your head once more, “And it pains me to be spend my waking mornings and my days and nights with you when I know perfectly well that you are in love with Tauriel and see me no more than a trusted companion.”

"I have never been in love with Tauriel." Legolas simply states, "It has always been you."

Stunned, you simply stare him before muttering out, "Pardon?"

“It has always been you, Y/n.” Legolas repeats, his voice a melodic sounding tone, “I have always been in love with you.”

In disbelief, your eyes does not falter from Legolas’. Though, you noticed his hand rise to your cheek.

“If I may?” He asks, though he did not need an answer as you crash your lips onto his.

A sound of shock is muffled by your lips, but he quickly gets used to the feeling and kisses you back. The moment is full of complete passion and bliss, like everything that was going wrong faded away for those few seconds.

When the two of you pulled away, it was silent, the two of you simply looked into each others' eyes. Legolas' hand remained on your cheek, brushing away the hair that was near your face.

"I have wished to do that for many centuries now, though, I never knew how to confess to you." Legolas mutters, had it not been to your elven ears, you would not have heard him.

You let out a small laugh, almost like a sigh, "You know not how much I have desired to do that, my Prince."

"Perhaps, now, you can no longer distance yourself from myself anymore." He smiled.

You nodded, "Perhaps I will."

Masterlist

#legolas #legolas greenleaf #legolas lotr #lotr #lord of the rings #lotr x reader #lord of the rings x reader #lotr fanfiction #lord of the rings fanfiction #lotr fanfic #lord of the rings fanfic #legolas x reader #legolas greenleaf x reader #legolas fanfiction #legolas geenleaf fanfiction #legolas fanfic #legolas greenleaf fanfic

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