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tamurilofrivendell · 1 year

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Where We Go From Here | Thranduil & Calithil

Characters: Thranduil & Calithil (OC daughter) Supporting/Mentioned Characters: Legolas & Caleniel (OC wife) Summary: Calithil’s beloved mother has been killed and, in the weeks that follow, her father finds a little strength through his own grief at various moments to comfort his daughter. Content: Grief. Violence/death etc. Translations: adar (father) // pîn ithil (little moon) // sellig (my daughter) // ionneg (my son) Read on AO3

Shadows danced upon the walls in the flickering candlelight. The chill in the air did nothing to truly affect her phyiscally but Calithil felt it in her bones nonetheless.

That very night, her beloved mother, Caleniel, Elvenqueen of the Woodland Realm, was slain. It was all Calithil could do to stand there in the throne room, awaiting her father’s return, and not break down into floods of ugly tears. The only thing that kept her from dropping to her knees and weeping in the most un-princess-like fashion imaginable, was her older brother Legolas, standing beside her, gripping her hand in his own.

He was standing as still as a statue, facing the entryway, but she could feel him trembling.

The word had come back about the fate of the Queen, carried through the forest ahead of the King and his soldiers. Calithil felt as if she had been thrust into a nightmare. Not even five hours ago, she was sitting in the library reading a book of poetry, only mildly worried about her parents’ return journey from Rivendell. It was such a standard thing, so commonplace and routine, that she did not even think that something quite so dreadful could ever happen. Especially not surrounded by so many of their people, their best warriors. All of the details had not yet reached the Woodland Realm and Calithil did not know whether she would prefer to be kept in the dark or not.

Maybe if she learned no more about it then she could pretend as though none of it had actually happened. She could pretend that her mother - her beautiful, strong, loving mother - was alive.

There was a sudden commotion and in strode her father, his pace fast and furious. His face was like thunder but she could see the fresh sorrow shining in his eyes. He would not show it here, not like this, she knew that... and she had to do the same. She squeezed Legolas’ hand tighter, telling herself to be strong and she felt his gentle comforting squeeze in return.

“Father.” Legolas stepped forward then, dropping her hand. Calithil clasped her hands in front of her to avoid fidgeting.

“Calithil.” Thranduil boomed, ignoring Legolas for the moment, not even looking at her. “Leave us.”

Briefly stunned, she blinked back at him. “But adar-” Calithil started, abruptly cut off by her father as he turned his gaze of steel upon her.

“Now.” His voice echoed through the room, hanging heavy in the deafening silence that followed.

Ducking her head just slightly, Calithil’s expression creased into a frown. She glanced at her brother, who blinked back rather helplessly, and then she turned and fled.

“Was that entirely necessary?” Legolas quipped, gritting his teeth as he turned from the door his sister had just retreated through, and back to his father.

Thranduil looked furious but Legolas knew that fury was not due to either of his children but was aimed at the filth that had ambushed the travelling royal cavalcade and taken the life of the King’s treasured wife.

Thranduil turned his gaze to his son, raising a brow. “What?” He asked, as if he had no idea what Legolas was talking about. It was very evident that Thranduil was using a great deal of energy to appear as calm as he was.

Legolas held back a scoff. Emotions were running understandably high and he didn’t want to make things worse for his father... but he was hurting too. His sister was hurting too. They had just lost their mother.

“She worships the ground you walk on, father.” Legolas muttered, watching his father bid his guards to come closer from down the walkway.

“You would prefer your sister be privy to details of the murder of her own mother?” Thranduil wondered, making a big show of his attention being elsewhere but his voice was taking on more malice with each passing second, his composure slipping. He had only wanted to keep it up long enough to get his daughter out of the room and now his grip on it was deteriorating.

“If I am expected to be, surely so can she.” Legolas replied, a rush of grief flooding through him as he thought about his mother being executed. He did not relish knowing the details but he knew that he must. “She is stronger than you give her credit for.”

“Would you wish me to describe to her the length and colour of the knives that plunged so deep into the flesh of your mother’s body that she was immediately beyond any and all help?” Thranduil continued as he rounded on his son, glaring down at him.

The throne room had fallen utterly silent, all eyes upon the King and the Prince. The grief even from the staff was unmistakable.

“Would you wish me to explain to her that it happened so quickly that not even I could reach her in time?” Thranduil continued, tears beginning to collect in his eyes, threatening to fully betray his anguish to everyone in the room... though none of them would think any less of him for it.

“Do you wish, my son, for me to look into the eyes of your sister and tell her that I, her own father, am responsible for her mother’s death?” He snapped finally, the tears spilling down his ivory cheeks. “That your mother was targeted and taken from us simply for being my Queen?”

Legolas said nothing, simply allowed his father to release it all. He already knew that sometimes his father’s more delicate emotions could come out veiled in frustration or anger. His mother had always told him that Thranduil’s bark was far worse than his bite and sometimes all you had to do was wait for the storm to pass all by itself. Legolas had learned the art of this quite well... letting his father feel whatever he was feeling before letting it out in his own way.

He knew that this, right here and now, was about his father’s grief... that it was about his father’s guilt.

Legolas also knew that Thranduil had sent his sister out the way he had as some means of protecting her, much like he always did, but Legolas knew that there was no shielding her from this.

His father loved him deeply, he knew that, but he had always seemed to want to keep an extra blanket of security over his youngest child. Legolas, too, wanted to protect his sister but they could not protect her from everything... especially not this.

“Do not shut her out, adar.” Was all Legolas said once his father was done. He gazed back at Thranduil, eyes full of empathy for him and of sorrow for himself. He stepped forward and placed a comforting hand upon his father’s shoulder. “Do not shut either of us out... you are not to blame and you are not alone.” Then he turned and left the room, retreating to the royal chambers to drown in his own grief.

A week later, Calithil had retreated to one of the lower levels, sitting beside a waterfall that flowed through the underground hall from somewhere above. She held her hand out, letting the water flow over her fingertips. Usually, such a simple thing would bring her a little joy, but not today.

She still felt cold. Two whole weeks without her mother had been hell on middle-earth. How was she supposed to do an eternity this way?

Legolas had gone out into the forest. She had not wanted him to leave her alone here but she knew that this was one way that helped her brother to work through things. It kept his mind distracted and busy. Calithil was not going to deprive him of anything that would take away just a little bit of distress from him.

She sat down upon the ground and sighed, closing her eyes and listening to the water. She didn’t know what to do. She felt so alone. Calithil had seen her father once since that night, at dinner, but he had not come again. She heard he had shut himself away in his chambers and answered to no one and nothing.

So she was surprised, to say the least, when she opened her eyes after sensing another presence, and found Thranduil himself standing there a short distance away. His gaze was fixed on the waterfall, the way the moonlight shone through it from a crack in the vast ceiling.

Calithil did not speak. She did not know what to say. If her father wanted to talk, he would do so. She wondered briefly if he was unhappy to find her here. Perhaps he too had been seeking privacy and peace outside the confines of his room.

She was debating whether or not to take her leave when he finally spoke, turning to look upon his daughter. “I have always enjoyed the solitude of this particular cavern.”

It wasn’t the first thing she expected him to say to her but she just nodded. His words made her wonder if she had been right and that he wished to be alone here. Calithil rose from the ground, inclined her head out of respect, and turned away in the direction of the exit.

“Calithil.” His voice was gentle, tinged with sadness and regret.

Her footsteps stilled and she turned around again, looking back at him. At the broken image of her father. Thranduil stepped towards her slowly, reaching out for her. He gently cupped her face in his hands, thumbs brushing her cheeks, looking into her eyes as if he were committing every part of her to memory. For some reason, it broke her heart.

“My little moon.” He murmured, thinking to himself that she was the very image of her mother.

The tears came then as Calithil fell forward, collapsing against her father’s chest as his arms circled her and held her close. He stood there with her for a long while, letting her cry it out in his firm embrace.

“The forest is changing.” Legolas stated, striding into the private royal dining hall and shaking his head, having just returned from his seclusion in the woods.

Thranduil’s mouth pulled into a thin line as he thought about the darkness that had been descending upon his beloved forest. “I am aware.” He said evenly.

“Changing how?” Calithil asked, looking up from the bread she had been picking at. She was not truly hungry but she had just been happy that her father had been leaving his rooms and spending time around her again.

Legolas turned to look at her and opened his mouth as if he were going to answer but he was rather abruptly cut off before he could even get a word out.

“It is nothing for you to concern yourself with.” Thranduil said, his tone leaving no room for discussion as he focused on his wine.

Calithil frowned but she said nothing. She sat for a moment longer in the tense silence that followed before she stood, pushing her chair back with enough force to show that she was frustrated, and then she turned and stalked from the room and away down the hall.

She could hear the soft arguing that sparked up between her brother and father behind her as she went. She heard Legolas saying her name and sighed heavily as she retreated to the royal chambers.

Calithil was tired of her father cutting her out of everything. He had been doing it since the night her mother died and she was growing upset with his back and forth moods and of him keeping her at arms length this way.

Nobody had even really spoken to her of what happened that night. She had had to glean what information she could from various sources around the halls, but all she truly wanted was for her father to talk to her about it.

She just wanted him to talk to her.

Another week had passed and Calithil had slept for three days in her mother’s chambers. Curled upon her mother’s large bed, feeling like a little child again, Calithil could feel those pesky tears once more but she did what she could to keep them at bay. It made her angry... that her mother had been taken from this world in such a brutal way.

Suddenly, the door opened and Calithil sat up, some distant part of her mind telling her that it was her mother, that she was home... but of course that was impossible.

Her father stood in the doorway, tall and imposing as ever, but gazing at her with a grief in his eyes so deep that she could have drowned in it.

She sniffed and lay back down again, squeezing her eyes shut. There was a silence and she half expected him to leave but the bed shifted and when she opened her eyes again, she saw her father sitting beside her, looking down at her with tears shining in his eyes.

“Forgive me, little moon.” He murmured, regret cutting through him like a knife. “I do not mean to be so cold.”

Calithil was quiet for a moment as he brushed his fingers gently through her golden hair. “It’s okay.” She said softly, blinking up at him.

Thranduil shook his head. “No, darling... it is not.” He sighed, shifting to carefully lower himself so that he could lay down beside her. Thranduil studied her face, fingers combing through the ends of her hair as they lay there in silence for a few moments. Calithil’s eyes drifted closed again, feeling like a little elfling but there was a great comfort in it.

“I miss her...” She whispered, unable to help herself, keeping her eyes shut in an attempt to ward of the tears that once more threatened to fall.

Thranduil sucked in a little shaky breath. “I know, pîn ithil, I know.” There was another slightly drawn out silence. Thranduil’s fingers continued to tangle comfortingly through his daughter’s hair. Just before she drifted off into the welcoming embrace of sleep, she heard his voice again. “So do I.”

Four weeks later, Thranduil had done his best to be less distant and more present for his daughter. His wife would not have wanted him to push them away, their beloved children. He knew this, and yet Thranduil still longed to allow himself to drift away into the embrace of complete and utter misery, allow his grief to swallow him whole, pull him down beneath the waves and never surface.

Still, he persevered.

“I can’t do it!” Calithil whined, letting the sword she was holding clatter to the ground with a heavy sigh. “It is too difficult.”

Thranduil, standing before her holding his own sword, gave her a look of disapproval. “You have barely tried, sweetheart. Pick it up and let’s go again.”

She stubbornly shook her head. “No.” He had been making her do this for five days and yet she still simply could not.

Thranduil raised a brow as he eyed his daughter. “Calithil.” His tone was low and there was a dangerous bite in it that she had heard many times before.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Why do we have to do this anyway!” She complained, staring at him. “What am I going to have to fight in these halls?! Nothing.” She finished, folding her arms in front of her as if the conversation was over.

Thranduil, however, would not concede. He blinked back at his stubborn daughter, her expression the very image of her mother when he had done or said something to affront her.

This thought only spurred him on.

“And what if you are outside of these halls?” He asked, spreading his arms in question. “What then?”

Calithil gave him a funny look, tilting her head as she looked at him. “Ada, I am never outside of these halls without you.”

“And neither was your mother, Cali!” He finally snapped, losing his temper.

Calithil froze and went silent, staring at him for a long moment. Grief and guilt both curled together in her gut as she looked at her father, his face no longer a mask of cool detachment.

She realised, then, that he wanted her to learn the skills to defend herself because he wanted to limit the ways that she could be put in a position to get hurt. Her mother had been a skilled warrior and yet she had still been taken down. What of Calithil? What if she were travelling to Lothlorien with her father’s caravan and they were set upon? Would she have more luck on her side having to sit in the centre, being defended, or would she have more luck being able to wield her own weapon?

Calithil pressed her mouth into a thin line to try and hold back the tears she felt as she was witness to her father’s deeper emotions, and then she bent down to pick the sword back up again.

She nodded. “Show me again.”

Thranduil stood quietly for a moment, watching her with pride, and then he offered her a soft smile, eyes shining as he took up a stance before her.

Legolas and Thranduil were sitting in the family room when Calithil walked in.

Thranduil looked up from his book and followed her movements across the floor. “Where have you been?”

“Sleeping.” Calithil muttered simply, receiving a frown from her father and finally drawing Legolas’ concerned attention.

“You have been doing that a lot.” Legolas said, tilting his head at her.

“And what of it?” Calithil barked back, walking over to the large chair beside the extravagant fireplace and throwing herself dramatically down upon it.

Thranduil raised an eyebrow as he watched her. She was often the very image of her mother but in this moment she struck him as very much the image of himself. A perfect blend of himself and Caleniel, the both of them were.

“The Eldar do not need to sleep as deeply as you have been, nor the same amount as mere mortals do, Calithil.” Thranduil stated calmly, turning his gaze back down to the book in his lap. “I believe it is time that you return to your meditations. Enough time has passed.” He made a point with his tone, perfectly aware of the reason his daughter had been subjecting herself to such deep sleep so very often, where her dreams and even her senses were far more shut off than was necessary.

Because of her mother’s death. She was doing her best to shut herself off as much as she possibly could.

Legolas frowned, glancing down at his hands briefly, before he looked back up at his sister. “Cali...” He murmured, keeping his gaze on her before she looked up again.

“What?” She asked after a beat.

Legolas stood and moved over to his sister, sitting on the arm of the chair. “You are sleeping your days away. You are still barely eating, do not think we have not noticed.”

She frowned up at her brother. “So what?” She snapped, drawing her father’s gaze once more.

He lifted his head with a frown. “Cali.” He warned, letting her know that her tone was unnecessary.

She sighed, looking down and clasping her hands in her lap. “Sorry...” She whispered.

Thranduil set his book aside and rose from his own chair, graceful as ever, and floated across the room towards his children. He crouched down in front of Calithil’s chair, his hands moving to close over hers.

“Beautiful daughter... look at me.” He said softly, watching her eyes lift to meet his own. There were tears shining in them.

He smiled sadly. “Your mother would not want you to neglect yourself... neither of you.” His gaze lifted to meet his son’s, who he knew was pushing himself to the point of punishing out in the forest. Legolas lowered his gaze guiltily. Thranduil gave another sad little smile and sighed, removing one of his hands from his daughters and reaching out to take one of his son’s.

They sat like that - father, son, daughter - for a while, before Thranduil found the strength to finish what he had been saying.

“She has left this world for the next and, whilst we are allowed to feel sad about that, drowning in such anguish is not acceptable.” He gave Legolas a look to shut him up when he noticed his son opening his mouth to speak. “And I know that I, too, am guilty of this, yes.” He admitted, sighing again.

“Listen to me.” Thranduil continued. “Sellig. Ionneg. We three remain. And we three must endure, we must persevere.” He looked between the two of them, his entire world wrapped up in these two beautiful beings. “And so we shall. Together.”

#thranduil x oc #thranduil fanfic #lotr x oc #the hobbit x oc #legolas x oc #lotr fanfic #thranduil oropherion #thranduil's daughter #thranduil's wife

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anarchy-n-glitter · 4 months

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ah, my favorite trope: male manipulator husband and dragon wife

(just a fun lil thing i cooked up for my fic Blood of the Dragon. this is more of a in between scenes thing and just something i thought was cute like yeah they’d totally do that.)

#lord of the rings oc #lotr oc #lotr fanfic #gríma wormtongue #gríma wormtongue x oc #oc art #my ocs #lotr x oc #my fic: blood of the dragon #oc: aelora draecyr #brad dourif #grima wormtongue

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adeliniel · 2 years

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an alphabet with Eomer would be amazing! I also love the idea of him walking in on reader changing and becoming a blushing flustered mess. and I know it's cliche but maybe a fluffy "there was only one bed" trope where reader is riding along with the rohirrim and they stop for the night only to find they're short a tent so she'll have to stay with him. truly anything for Eomer would be great, I have slightly fallen in love with him🥺 feel free to take only what inspires you out of these ideas and leave the rest. I'm sure anything you write will be wonderful. thank you!!!!!!

Dear Anon, I'm so sorry it took me so much time to write your request. Actually, I finished the story about two weeks ago, just didn't have time to publish it.

Hope you (and others as well) will anjoy it!

One bed story | Eomer

- Oh, c’mon, mister “I’m the bravest Rohirrim”, it’s just a bed!

- Yeah, it’s just the bed, – he said quietly to himself, turning around his face.

Oh no, it wasn’t “just a bed” for him, it was a full night with the woman he loves with all his heart, with the woman he desires most of all in this fucking one narrow bed.

- I’ll go get some air, - he said, so incomprehensible you could barely figure out, - so when you’d be ready, just go to sleep.

You skeptically raised an eyebrow, but he left sooner that you could say a word.

Eomer was frustrated, to put it mildly. First you ignored his command to stay in town and mind your own business. Yet he knew you so well, that when he found out you joined the raid, it didn’t surprise or anger him. He just sighed wearily.

Your curiosity and desire to know everything in the world has impressed him since the days when you were children. Eomer remembered how you always stuck your nose in the wrong place, and then you got reprimanded from Theoden. And even the punishment, which was usually the cleaning of stables, never stopped you from looking for new adventures. Needless to say, his words and requests did not make you stay at home. Like any of your most inappropriate and strange actions could not make him give up loving you.

The man rubbed his face with his palm again, as if it might help remove or hide such an inappropriate blush.

“Damn you, (…)”.

- I'm not sleeping, so no need to sneak, - you said, barely holding back a smile, watching Eomer's shadow freeze. You didn't look at him, but you felt how tense he was.

Clearing his throat, the man straightened up, but could not dare to take even a few steps to bed. Different thoughts filled his head, from how he could go to bed with a woman who didn't belong to him, to whether he could look you in the eye tomorrow if something… unexpected happens tonight.

- I'll probably stand guard today, - he said awkwardly, never daring to look at you, and he was about to turn around and leave when you dropped the blanket and jumped out of bed indignantly.

- Eomer, what’s up?! Why are you avoiding me? – you stood before him in a nightgown, and Eomer did not know where to turn his eyes. – You know, we're not kids anymore, and if you suddenly don't like me, you can tell me about it directly, instead of playing hide and seek.

- No, no, it's not like that, (…) - for the first time in the whole trip he looked at you and for a second you even lost confidence, so miserable and exhausted he seemed to you in the light of several candles in the wind.

- Then what makes you constantly look away? - you were going to get answers to all your questions today and now. - Why don't you talk to me? What...

- I love you, (…), - Eomer interrupted you, and it seemed to you that his voice broke, as if he was about to cry. - I have loved you for a long time. And I do love you very much.

- Eomer, - you whispered his name, covering your mouth with your palms and shaking your head in denying.

He smiled bitterly as he looked at the shock you were in.

- You didn't even think about it, did you? When you flirted with my soldiers or when you danced with foreign ambassadors…

His words brought you back to reality and you suddenly laughed.

- No, I had no idea it made you jealous, - you took a step in his direction, smiling sincerely. - Because usually men in love do not look at their chosen ones so sullenly and do not order them in a commanding tone "do not even dare to think about going beyond Edoras."

You copied his manner of speaking, and blush appeared on Eomer's cheeks.

- I'm incredibly worried about you, - he said, not falling into your playful tone and speaking seriously, though the atmosphere in the tent became less tense. - I'm very afraid of losing you.

You took a few more steps toward him, and now Eomer had a chance to take your palms in his.

- I know, - you said softly, looking him in the eye and gently stroking the rough skin of his palm with the thumbs of your hands. - And you know that you can not lock me in the castle and make me sit and wait until all the fun is happening outside.

- Yes, I do, - he agreed, and you could feel him gradually calming down and starting to feel comfortable around you.

- Do you have anything to say to my confession? - he asked almost in a whisper, not sure if he wanted to know your answer.

- I’ll better show you, - you grinned mischievously before kissing him passionately, while undoing his armor.

Thank you very much for reading it.

You can find more of my stories right here

#lord of the rings #lotr #lotr x you #lotr x oc #lotr x reader #lotr x y/n #eomer #eomer x you #eomer x reader #eomer x oc #eomer imagine #eomer fluff

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verk0my · 3 months

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kiss it better 2/2

#verkomy oc mira #mira thimbleberry #hobbit oc #the hobbit oc #tolkien oc #fili #fili durin #the hobbit #lotr #tolkien #oc x canon #fanart #my art #verkomy #verkomy 2024

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elfmagee · 1 year

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this started as a sketch as a joke and then i became possessed

#they're my ocs at this point #also i gave gimli freckles this time #lotr #lord of the rings #lotr gimli #legolas #legolas x gimli #gigolas #my art

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thewulf · 14 days

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Entwined Realms || Legolas

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

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

Pairing: Legolas x Female Reader

Word Count: 4.1k +

TW: Talks of war/death

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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elfy-elf-imagines · 9 months

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— In the Fields of Poppy | Thranduil *✧･ﾟ

▹ Pairing: Thranduil x Elf!Reader

▹ Genre: Fluff and Angst (mentions of death and the aftermath of war)

▹ Words: ~2k

▹ Summary: In the aftermath of the Battle of the Five Armies, you have a chance encounter with the King.

▹ Notes: This is unedited because we die as men! Also because I'm sleep deprived rn. Let me know what you thought!

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

The carnage had been terrible; the aftermath of the battle more brutal than any recount would ever fully capture.

Broken stained glass mosaics formed with blood from all sides of the battle glistened in the sun. There was a heavy fog that clung to the ground, the wails of survivors finding the corpses of their loved ones. You couldn’t focus on it, blocking out as much of the noise as possible. Later you would feel the weight of the lives lost, you were certain, but for now, there was work to be done.

You kneeled before the squirming body of a dwarven soldier, too delirious off his own pain to scorn the healing of an elvish maid. There was a cut on his leg that was bleeding profusely, his skin showing the beginning signs of infection from the poison the orcs used. He was muttering in Khuzdul, his eyes staring blankly at the sky. His eyes were locked on the sun, and if there weren’t other grievous injuries taking priority, you would’ve reminded him to not stare at the sun. But who cares for blindness if you’re already dead?

With ghost-like touches and careful concentration, you placed the healing salve on his leg, cleaning the wound as best you could beforehand. He hissed in pain from the contact, his eyes no longer looking at the sun but at you. He continued to speak in Khuzdul, this time at you, with spite and pain written on his face. You weren’t concerned, continuing to work as you numbed yourself to your surroundings.

A group of elven soldiers marched past you, carrying the body of their fallen comrade, faces stricken with grief. Your eyes darted away from the sight and returned your attention to carefully wrapping your patient’s leg with bandages.

“I don’t have anything for the pain, I’m afraid,” you said to him, briefly meeting his eyes that went back to looking at the sun. He muttered incoherently, and while he spoke Common this time, his words were lost on you.

Tying the final bandage, you then began the same work on the rest of his wounds. More wails and more dead bodies carried from the battlefield, but you blocked it all out. There was no time to be swallowed in the suffering. Once all his wounds had been tended to and your dress was drenched in the blood of another patient, you stood from the ground. A dwarven soldier rushed forward to bring his comrade to the tents where the injured were resting. Words of thanks fell from his mouth, but you had already turned away, moving towards the next person.

This time it was an elf, so young he couldn’t be more than a century old. Old enough to serve in the guard but too young to die; it made you sick to your stomach. There was a gash near his neck, the veins around it turning black. The poison had already gotten into his system; it was only a matter of time before it took him. Yet you kneeled beside him and gently placed his head in your lap as you began cleaning the wound.

Unlike the dwarf from before, his eyes met yours, a grin on his lips. It looked out of place on his face, contorted into pain. He spoke softly in elvish, reciting an old song that mothers usually sang to their children when putting them to bed. As the cold salve touched his neck, he froze up, twitching slightly at the sensation.

Silence enveloped the two of you, he no longer sang, yet his eyes stayed on you. A stray piece of hair had fallen from your messy braid, the elf reaching up and grabbing it. He held it between his fingers, mouth parted and eyes a thousand miles away.

“Naneth--” he trailed off, muttering more incoherent words. You swallowed thickly, forcing yourself to continue working as a spark of pain reactivated your cold heart. He called you mother; the poison must’ve already reached his head, making him see things that weren’t there.

Tears pricked in the corners of your eyes as you looked away to reach into your healer’s kit. He must’ve been so terrified as death came closer, seeking comfort in a mother that wasn’t even here. You didn’t have the heart to correct him. Let the boy have a small bit of comfort.

With a strip of bandage in your hand, when your eyes went back to his body, his eyes were shut, and his breathing ceased. Dead.

Your hand fell limp at your side, eyes unmoving from his face. He looked at peace, expression no longer twisted in pain. A shuttered breath escaped your mouth, the chill in the air allowing you to see it blow away. You stood with shaky legs and trembling hands, two soldiers approaching to take his body away.

You’d been a healer for as long as you could remember, training for this since you were a little elfling running wild. Time allowed you to become numb to tragedy, keeping a clear head to do what needed to be done. But the elven boy’s death managed to stab a needle right through your heart. He was so young and vibrant, his potential severed by senseless war. It left a bitter taste in your mouth, like the ashes of the bodies the humans were burning.

The mud squashed beneath your feet, eyes unseeing. You were a ghost on the battlefield, blood-stained dress blowing in the wind. How did the other healers seem so emotionless? Was the bite of death something that lessened the more you were near it? In a few years, would you have a disposition that was nearly mechanical? A part of you hoped for that release, while the other part of you was terrified by it.

You turned, eyes meeting the misty blues ones of King Thranduil. He stood a few feet away from you, a vision amongst the dead. Tall and noble, he looked every bit the king he was. Golden like the dawn, his hair was loose and messy, and his previously pristine armor was dirty with mud and blood, cuts and minor wounds marring his body. Yet he looked eerily perfect.

His stare was heavy, yet you refused to be the one to look away. A hint of a smirk appeared on the edges of his lips as his head tilted to the side. Long and sure strides brought him closer to you while you stayed locked in place. The king stood before you, towering over your smaller form. You may have been on the taller side; he made you feel as though you were a hobbit.

“What is your name?”

You lowered your head in a half-bow, a pathetic attempt to show respect, not entirely accustomed to the presence of royalty.

“Y/N, my king.”

He nodded, mouthing your name as if to commit it to memory.

“Do you live in Eryn Galen? I have never seen you.”

“I grew up in Lothlorien, where I spent most of my life before training to be a healer in Imladris. I have only recently moved to Eryn Galen.”

Thranduil raised his eyebrows and clasped his hands behind his back.

“How lucky we are to have a student of Lord Elrond among us.” You could discern if his words were patronizing or genuine, his tone not betraying his intentions.

“I did not train under Lord Elrond personally.” You felt the need to correct him, not wanting him to think you of a higher station than you were.

“But your teachers were overseen by him, were they not?”

You nodded.

“Then you were trained by Lord Elrond, even if he himself didn’t oversee your education.”

A small smile appeared on your lips, and you nodded. “I have no choice but to agree; who would I be to disagree with a king.”

A coy smile pulled on the edges of his lips as his eyes shone.

“A foolish woman is who you would be. Walk with me?” It was phrased as a question, but he didn’t wait for your answer. His long strides carried him towards camp, and you had no choice but to follow.

“Tell me, do you plan on staying in Eryn Galen long?” His voice was crisp but quiet enough that only you could hear them.

“I do. I have grown fond of the people and its forest.” You spoke genuinely and truthfully. The wood elves were reclusive and suspicious, but once you broke through those barriers, they were full of merriment and loyalty. You cherished the relationships you had already formed and were eager for more.

“Even in its sickly state,” his tone was sardonic but not enough to hide the pain in his voice. How terrible it must’ve been to see his home twisted into something so evil while powerless to stop it.

“I believe there is still hope for it to be returned to health.”

Thranduil stopped in his tracks, eyes meeting yours. You stopped as well, patiently waiting for what he may say next. His expression was unreadable, eyes searching yours for the answers to questions you didn’t know.

Wherever he was searching for, it sent shivers down your spine and made goosebumps form on your arms. The moonlight was kind to him, bathing him in a silvery light that made him look like the elves of Lothlorien who always seemed to shine. You felt your heart stutter as butterflies formed in your stomach.

It could’ve been a trick of the light, but you could’ve sworn there was a hint of affection in his bright eyes. After the death of his wife, rumors spread of his cold demeanor and harshen disposition. But now, before you, none of those adjectives seemed suited for him. As soft as the stars and as beautiful as the moon, how could he be anything but good and kind?

“I hope that you are right.” He finally broke the silence, eyes raising to the sky before he continued walking, and just as before, you matched his strides. Neither of you spoke, relishing in the silence after a terrible day full of death and terror.

Finally, the both of you stopped in front of the tent that was yours.

“It was good to meet you today, Y/N. I hope to see you again; I find your company pleasant and your conversation enjoyable.”

A red flush made your face warm, and a child-like grin appeared on your lips. As light as a feather, you would’ve floated away had the king not grabbed your hand, delicately placing a kiss on your knuckles.

When he released your hand, you lowered into a half curtsey, the movement not as fluid due to your dress that was stiff from the dried blood covering it.

“It was an honor to speak with you, my king. I wish you a good rest tonight.”

He smirked in a way that made your flush deepen.

“And if I find it difficult to find rest, will you brew me a tea to lull me to sleep.”

“Herbology happens to be my specialty.”

Thranduil gave a single, firm nod, yet his eyes never moved from yours. The affection you’d seen before was brighter, easier seen in the dim lighting. And you were certain your eyes portrayed the same attraction. Could this be the beginning of something wonderful?

“Then I shall know who to call upon in my hour of need.” He lowered into a full bow, his cloak billowing around him. You took a step back, a bout of giggle escaping your mouth. Who would’ve thought the stern king had a sense of humor?

“Farewell, my lady.”

He then swept off further into the camp, and you stayed in your spot, watching his form disappear, only moving once you could no longer see him. You turned and entered your tent, hand placed upon your flushed cheek. As you readied yourself for bed, the encounter with Thranduil replayed in your mind. And suddenly, you found yourself dancing alone, unable to push back your excitement.

And as you lay in bed and shut your eyes, you desperately hoped this would only be the beginning and not where the story would end.

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

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

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pistachiozombie · 1 year

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𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 [The Hobbit] Rivendell's most awkward fireflies 𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

I know not everyone wants to watch that mushy Bofur x Leanna animation, but this was a part of the chorus that took the loooongest to animate- so I made some HD Gifs nobody asked for hehe ur epic if you reblog

#Animation #The Hobbit #OC x Canon #Bofur #Fantasy #my animations #August #Bofur x Leanna #Leanna Baggins #LotR #Tolkien

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marsconer · 1 year

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PENELOPE GRIGIO, the girl

“well, someone get Manwë on the phone because i’m suppose to be on my way to law school by september not literally hell, mordor, same difference”

#ch: penelope grigio #oc fanfiction #modern girl in middle earth #lord of the rings #two towers #return of the king #fellowship on the ring #aragorn #legolas #froddo #sam #tolkien purists dni #fanfiction #anti hero // lord of the rings #lotr #lotr x oc

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notinusesworld · 6 months

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Galadriel as your girlfriend head cannons!

synopsis: as the title says, g!n reader, no specific race or body type. can you tell i like the elves?

warnings: having children is mentioned

requests open!

Rings of Power Galadriel:

- It was difficult to get past her stubborn nature at first, but once you got through she is extremely caring and attentive

- She doesn’t like you fighting and won’t take you with her on adventures, the trauma from losing her brother makes her not want to lose you too

- She even gave you duties in the Lindon court so it was difficult for you to leave with her for long periods of time

- However after the rings of power was made, she began to warm up to the idea of you joining her

- She isn’t big on PDA but if you like it then she doesn’t mind it, but she’s extremely loving and caring behind closed doors

- She likes to kiss your hands and resight romantic poetry

- If you’re shorter then her, she likes to pick you to tease you

- And if you’re taller the her, she likes to wrap her hands around your waist and rest her head on your body

Lord of the Rings/The Hobbits Galadriel:

- Her caring nature for you is amplified now, but she tends to encourage you to go on adventures with her foresight abilities

- If you’ve been with her since the second age, then she is extremely soft with you and you’re her most treasured person

- If you’re able to naturally reproduce with her then you only have a few children, but if you’re unable to you both take in orphaned children, elves and humans and raise them as your own, you may also do this if you are able to reproduce with her

- She is able to see your every want and desire, you know this but you’re still surprised at how well she understands you

- she likes to surprise you with gifts she knows that you’ve been thinking about, she also likes to gift you random items like ropes, shields and seeds and not explain why, but they almost always become helpful to you in the future

- You have gotten to the point in your relationship where physical affection isn’t really needed to show how much you love eachother, but she still likes to hold you as you both sleep

- While who owns the eleven rings is secret, you’re the only one she entrusts with that knowledge, not even your children know

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tamurilofrivendell · 1 year

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The First Meeting || Tamuril & Haldir

꧁ A Heart of Stone prequel ꧂

summary: as simple as the title states, this is the very first time that Haldir and Tamuril meet, when she travels to Lothlórien with Arwen

a/n: basically, I wanted to start writing out the past relationship between these two, so this will be part one. while a few chapters of HoS will have flashbacks, it won’t really be this in depth, I don’t think. also, they’re cute, so.

It was the beginning of summer when Tamuril and Arwen arrived in Lothlórien. Arwen was on one of her usual trips to stay with her grandparents, to spend time with her beloved mother’s side of the family, and Tamuril had tagged along for a little change of scenery. As much as she loved Rivendell, she was growing far too used to her routine and was steadily becoming more and more restless by the day. Elrond, seeing it, had decided that it would do her good to change things up a little, visit another realm, and Lothlórien had always sounded so pretty and Arwen always came back with such fond memories that Tamuril had not taken too much convincing.

Since her mother was killed by orcs when she was but a child and Lord Elrond had taken her under his wing, Tamuril had grown into a bright, joyful half-elven woman. She adored animals and had a keen interest in writing poetry, and in reading, often spending lots of time in the library with Elrond, who had become half father-figure, half friend to her over the years. Tamuril also loved music and she enjoying singing, her voice a thing of true beauty. Many dinners passed where Elrond would ask her to sing along with the harpists and she was always more than happy to oblige. Tamuril was always laughing and exploring the gardens. She was just happy.

The journey to Lothlórien had been longer than she had anticipated. Tamuril had not truly ever left the borders of Rivendell, leading quite a sheltered life there under Elrond’s care. Sure, she had wandered into the wilds with Elladan and Elrohir but they had still stayed rather close to the valley. Besides, there had never been much real reason for her to leave, even within the borders there was all the wildlife she could wish for and pockets of wilderness to explore. Tamuril had never needed to leave home.

Still, she was not without a sense of adventure and as much as the trip was longer and more winding than she would have imagained, the sense of wonder she felt at all these new sights outshone any exasperation or exhaustion she may have felt. The world was indeed wide and beautiful and she decided quite quickly that she was going to accompany Arwen on her trips to her grandparents realm as often as the other woman would have her.

When they finally reached the borders, they dismounted their horses and left them to linger in the grass. Tamuril was loath to leave Willow, her beloved mare, but the guards assured her that she would be quite safe and happy with the others, meandering around by the river and munching on grass.

The woods of Lothlórien were so beautiful and so quiet. Tamuril moved away from the group after one of the guards had ventured further into the forest to announce their presence (though they never needed to bother as eyes had seen them approach from miles back). She slipped behind a tree and ventured a little further into the wood.

“Tamuril!” Arwen’s voice followed her as the older she-elf came hurrying after her. “Come on, there will be plenty of time for exploration when we reach Caras Galadhon.”

“I just want to see!” Tamuril insisted, lifting her hands to the tree trunk, running her fingers across the bark. She smirked as she looked up high into the foliage and then she grabbed hold of one of the branches and began to swing herself upwards.

“Tamuril!” Arwen sighed, shaking her head. Sometimes Tamuril got ideas into her head and would simply not be swayed to give them up. Arwen crossed her arms, trying to look as stern as her father would when scolding her as a child, but she couldn’t hide her amusement as she watched the elf she had come to see as a sister.

Tamuril chuckled as she climbed higher, coming to stand on a high branch. “Míra (lovely).” She breathed, looking around at the view from up high. In the distance, she was pretty sure she saw some movement in other trees, higher up, but she was distracted suddenly.

“My Lady!” A voice from below called and Tamuril glanced down. She had expected to look upon the face of one of the Rivendell guards but instead her gaze locked with the eyes of a fair haired elven male whom she had never seen before. “I was not made aware that there would be a half-squirrel in the company arriving from Rivendell.”

Tamuril immediately started laughing and the elf below broke out into a wide smile as he looked back at her. “If you would please return your feet to the ground, we will be escorting you through the woods now.”

“Well then, good sir, please turn around while I do so.” Tamuril called back, tilting her head, an amused smile still tugging at her lips. “Or do you wish to stare up my skirts as I climb down?”

With a smirk, the elf below gave her a little raise of his eyebrows and then turned so he was facing away from her.

Tamuril chuckled again, reaching for the branches that had supported her ascent into the tree. However, climbing up turned out to be much easier than climbing down. What started well enough soon turned into a mishap as Tamuril quickly lost her footing. She cursed as she felt herself falling through air but before she had too long for the panic to truly set in, she was caught, strong arms catching her firmly by the waist and setting her safe and sound upon the grass.

Arwen had been standing off to the side watching the exchange with mild amusement but she had turned to converse with others in their party and greet the Lothlórien elves, satisfied that Tamuril was now safely reigned in. She turned back when she heard the commotion as Tamuril fell, her eyes wide as she hurried back over. “Gods, Tamuril! Are you alright?!”

Tamuril was stunned briefly, blinking back up at her saviour - the golden haired elf who had been teasing her beforehand. His reflexes had served him well enough to spin around and catch her before she could hurt herself.

“Tamuril.” He smiled, testing her name in his mouth. “Meeting you has been quite the event. I am Haldir.” He let go of her, inclining his head just slightly as he stepped back, before he turned away to address his men.

Tamuril watched him go, her face flushing just slightly before she tore her eyes away and turned, finally, back to Arwen. The other woman was standing with an amused look in her eyes as she regarded Tamuril.

“What?!” Tamuril gave her a gentle nudge, shaking her head.

“Nothing.” Arwen replied innocently, giving her a soft smile as she led Tamuril back to the group so they could begin the final journey through the trees.

The journey through the wood was relaxing and easy enough. They took one rest, where Tamuril was pretty sure that she kept feeling eyes on her. Once, she glanced up and caught Haldir’s head turning. His expression remained neutral but she could have sworn there was the faintest flush of colour to the tips of his ears. Then they were off again soon enough. Tamuril found herself enamoured with the scenery, quite unlike Rivendell, and when she first set her sights upon the heart of the realm, she could scarcely believe her eyes.

“Welcome, nitya rasillo (little squirrel)...” Haldir spoke again then, turning to glance at Tamuril with a smile as he took in her awe of the realm he so loved. “...to Caras Galadhon.”

#haldir x oc #haldir fanfic #lotr x oc #lotr fanfic #haldir fanfiction #lotr oc #lotr fanfiction

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anarchy-n-glitter · 5 months

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Blood of the Dragon

Summary: Lord Viseryon Draecyr and his dragon blooded companion Lady Aelora arrive in Rohan seeking refuge for a week. No one knows the true reason they're there, but many are suspicious of the lord's intentions. Along the way, Gríma finds a sort of kinship with Lady Aelora.

Chapter 1

A Dragon in Meduseld

It was said that the scales of dragons could be used to create life.

The dragon blooded were volatile yet loyal creatures said to be gifted with the beauty of elves and the strength and cunning of their dragon kin. Their blood red eyes were a distinctive trait of the race, as well as the talon-like nails that grew from their nail beds, blending with the tips of their fingers. They were not scaly, nor were they slimy, and they did not sprout bat-like wings from their backs. Not much was known of what exactly it was these creatures inherited from their dragon kin.

The practice of creating a dragon blood was said to have been banned amongst sorcerers and alchemists across Middle Earth, for the life it created arose from a corruption of nature’s will. Those who defied their brethren to create such a creature often held ulterior motives - they created out of their need to play God and acquire power that was never theirs to begin with. And so, those who created a dragon blood were often banished from their homes… or they were put to death.

Never did Gríma expect to see a dragon blood in his court.

Naturally, when he was informed that the alchemist Lord Viseryon Draecyr and his dragon blooded companion Lady Aelora Draecyr would arrive at Meduseld he was suspicious. Sorcerers using their dragon bloods to carry out political assassinations was not entirely unheard of, in fact, it was part of the reason the practice of creating a dragon blood was banned. They were loyal, if their creator asked them to kill for them the companion often would.

The duo had clearly traveled far, seeing as Lord Viseryon was from Gondor. They had to have been traveling for three days straight, and for the most part, they looked like it. The usually well kept lord seemed exhausted, with dark circles under his silver eyes, and his usually slicked back silver-blond hair was frizzy and hastily pulled back into a ponytail. His dragon blooded companion seemed to fare better, with the only thing out of place being her similarly colored hair, which was braided back but similarly frizzy. Small bits of her hair fell from her braid and framed her face nicely. Lady Aelora was all around much more radiant than her creator.

Gríma quickly found the legends surrounding dragon bloods to be true. Lady Aelora was quite beautiful, with fair skin and striking silver-blonde hair and solemn red eyes. He was sure he was leering at her - or at least that’s what he assumed since any time he so much as glanced at a lady in court he would be accused of leering - but he certainly knew he was staring. She stood silently beside her creator with her hands folded in front of her, and although there was a sadness behind her icy expression, he could almost detect a loathing. Whether it was directed at him (which would hardly surprise him, most women stared at him with loathing), or the king who sat beside him, or the man she arrived with he would never know. One thing was for sure, there was something that lurked beneath her solemn and serene surface. It intrigued him.

For a moment he let himself get his hopes up, and at that he had to swallow a bitter laugh. Lady Aelora would never look in his direction if he wasn’t seated next to the king. Even then, she shared a last name with the Lord Viseryon, and while relations between a creator and their creations was frowned upon and even forbidden, Gríma wouldn’t put it past the treacherous lord. After all, he defied everyone in creating her and got away with it. He knew better than to underestimate and trust a man like him.

Ironic, wasn’t it?

Still, out of curiosity he would grant the lord whatever he pleased, and perhaps he would get something in return. Or he would lose another political rival. He considered both options a win.

“I apologize, King Théoden, for the intrusion. You see, my companion and I have been traveling for days… our home was…” Lord Viseryon trailed off, hiding hurt in his voice. Lord Viseryon talks too much, Gríma concluded as he tuned him out. He already recognized what the lord was doing - dressing up his story as a means to hide his true intention and invoke pity - a play Gríma was very familiar with seeing as he often used it himself. Despite the theatrics of her creator, Gríma’s attention was stolen by Aelora, who managed to enchant the advisor without uttering a single word. He wasn’t sure what brought the duo to Edoras, but against his better judgment, he was determined to find out.

Luckily for him, King Théoden was hanging onto every word that left the lying lord’s mouth. For a moment Gríma wondered if the king knew of what truly happened to Lord Viseryon - why he hadn’t been at a gathering in Gondor for years, why no one spoke of him anymore. It was as if the lord had ceased to exist.

“We humbly ask for a place to stay in our time of need, your highness. For the roads have grown perilous - lawless - as of late.” And there it was. Of course, Gríma never would have expected the lord to be so forward and obvious with his plans, but he assumed Lord Viseryon was not the brightest lord in Middle Earth. This was certainly going to be interesting.

The tired king glanced at his advisor, finding himself unable to answer the lord without the opinion of Gríma. The mere idea of having to think on his own was exhausting, and with his illness setting upon him again it seemed nigh impossible. All he could think about was the burning in his eyes and lungs, and the way his heart beat irregularly in his chest, and the ache in his bones. When he was able to think clearly, he found himself wondering if he was even fit to rule in this state.

This was, of course, by design - unbeknownst to the king.

The raven haired man beside him paused for a moment, taking one last look at the lord and lady before leaning over to whisper in the king’s ear: “Let them stay, they have traveled long enough.” His eyes flickered to Aelora, and for a moment her intense eyes held his gaze. Oh yes, this time he certainly saw something stirring within her. Had she been watching him?

He stood, still staring down at Aelora, and gathered his cloak. There was a chill in the air, and it was getting rather late. He could see the shadows growing longer and the sunlight shone a darker golden color. There seemed to be a shift in Aelora’s demeanor; her hands dropped to her sides and she was focused squarely on Gríma, staring at him through half-lidded eyes. For a brief moment, his heart swelled with pride - who was leering now?

No, he thought to himself, she must be tired. He could feel the disappointment as Aelora dropped her gaze once more, returning to her earlier stance but this time briefly looking at her creator. He shouldn’t be surprised, his own staring probably scared her away like it did everyone else.

“And how long did you intend on staying?” He inquired, somehow still finding it hard to tear his eyes away from the dragon blood. Viseryon took a step forward, most likely knowing the king’s advisor wasn’t looking at him, and crossed his arm across his torso in a half bow. Gríma knew the narcissistic lord wanted his attention, and for a moment he wondered what would happen if he didn’t give it to him. He hoped the lack of the spotlight would drive the lord mad.

“Only as long as it takes for our carriage to be fixed. From the looks of it, we should be gone by the seventh day.” Viseryon claimed, to which Gríma nodded and looked back to King Théoden.

The king appeared to be half asleep in his throne, and he gazed upon everyone with tired eyes. His advisor silently encouraged him to speak, but he could not find the strength to do so. Each breath took too much from him, the thought of speaking was nauseating. King Théoden solemnly nodded.

“Seven days it is then.” Gríma confirmed. “I’ll have the castle staff prepare rooms for you both.” There was a sudden, almost violent shift in Viseryon’s demeanor. He wondered what it possibly could have been about.

The lord let out a small sigh and all of the sudden tension in his stance melted away. He took another step forward and bowed properly, only addressing King Théoden and looking right past the raven haired advisor.

“Thank you, your highness.” The lord’s words fell on deaf ears seeing as the king was too far gone in his pain to hear him, and Gríma’s attention was stolen by Aelora, who coyly curtsied and locked eyes with the advisor once more.

It had to be some sort of trick - a tactic to distract him and throw him off of their track. No woman would ever willingly look at him like that… he would have to keep tabs on her and see what she was up to. With the king seeming sicker than he ever had been before, he figured that would give him a few days to do as he needed. With one last glance at the duo, with one last look shared between him and the dragon blood, he turned on his heel, his cloak billowing dramatically, and helped escort the king back to his chambers.

✵✵✵✵✵

Lady Aelora seemed to be a quiet girl, preferring to stay out of everyone’s way and only really spoke when spoken to. She enjoyed sitting alone in the courtyard with her books or embroidery. The day before she found herself amongst the other ladies of the court who seemed surprised by her presence, wearily spouting their introductions before taking over the space. They would gossip amongst themselves while someone gently played the harp in the background. He noticed Aelora subtly tapping her fingers along to the tempo of the music. She seemed to be able to hold her own in conversation with those women rather well, laughing along with them with a sweet laugh that reminded him of a bell. He could tell she was raised amongst the noble men and women of Gondor - she fit right in with the other lords and ladies.

Although, he did wonder if she knew what the others said about her, how they would give her odd looks and keep her at arm’s length when around her, never truly considering her “one of them.” The other women seemed to almost prefer not speaking or looking at her. He knew exactly what that was like, although in recent years it seemed like everyone was much more open with their disdain for him. They called him “wormtongue” to his face now instead of behind his back, often using it as a title or - even worse - in place of his actual name.

The people of Edoras often acted like they would rather die than be near him, not that he minded. Over the years he’d grown accustomed to the strange looks, and the way others would cross to the other side of halls when they’d see him coming. It hardly bothered him anymore.

He could sympathize with her, though - after all, he knew exactly what she was experiencing. He was sure she was used to it as well, she was a dragon blood, and no amount of odd excuses could hide that fact from the world. She must have lived her entire life this way, never truly being able to be close with anyone other than her creator.

What a miserable life that must be, he thought, stuck with Viseryon as your only friend and companion. Really it was no wonder Aelora seemed so at peace when by herself.

Gríma also noticed that she would go about her day without interacting with Viseryon. He would have expected her creator to lurk around her, or at least the other way around, but it seemed she spent her days unbothered by what the bratty lord may be doing. She was alone, but she seemed to thrive in her loneliness. He assumed being alone was better than the other option, better than the whispers and the hurt - being treated as the ‘other.’ It was no wonder she enjoyed the silence, the peace that came with being alone. He wondered how she dealt with the empty feeling that came with being alone. Perhaps it was because she was always occupying her mind, but he would never know for sure.

She hardly seemed concerned with the state of their carriage, only going once the day before to check on the progress with Viseryon before returning to her usual mundane tasks, which was slightly concerning to her raven haired admirer. It made him wonder if she was restless at all - it made him wonder if she had other business in Edoras that she hadn’t attended to yet.

He found it hard to keep convincing himself she was up to something, and he worried for a moment that perhaps Aelora was a red herring - a pretty distraction for him to chase around and get lost in his thoughts over. He dismissed that idea almost entirely, determining that Lord Viseryon wasn’t smart enough to think of that, and from what he knew, the obnoxious lord was too busy terrorizing others to get even remotely close to the ill king.

It had been three days since she arrived in Edoras, and she had yet to do anything worth noting so far. She seemed to have a routine that she followed closely; each day he would find her near the feast hall in the morning, where she would take a single green apple and stand silently beside Viseryon while he rambled on, before excusing herself and heading to her room. From there she would retrieve whatever activities she would use to keep herself busy for the day and head to the courtyard, and there she would stay until the sun would begin to set.

Yet that day, she seemingly broke her routine. When he followed her from her room that morning and she took a completely different turn than she usually did it completely threw him off. She walked right past the courtyard and out the front doors. Clutched in her hand was a leather bound book and a quill. She made her way down the steps and towards a small clearing just behind Meduseld.

She stood out amongst the sea of green, in her black and red gown with her silver hair. She shone like a beacon, and it was hard to miss her. She waded through the tall grass to a large, bare tree that had lost all of its leaves to the chill. It was old and twisted, and its bark had turned pale in the sun. The tree must have been dead, but that didn’t stop Aelora from sitting at its base. He watched her closely from the shadow of the hall on the hill, hoping she wouldn’t notice him. For a while all he could see of her was the top of her head, with the breeze revealing more of her every so often. She wrote for hours, only stopping for a moment when a court musician stopped and chatted with her. He could have sworn she glanced his way a few times during this conversation, and for some reason it made him feel uneasy. She was polite and even laughed at a few of his jokes, before he went on his way, and she went back to her leather bound book which she wrote so furiously in. That was another sign that she had been raised like any other high born lady, she could read and write.

“I don’t bite, you know.” She called out, and for a moment he was taken aback by the sound of her voice. He hadn’t heard her speak before. She had a regal voice that somehow reminded him of the sweetest song he’d ever heard. Surely she wasn’t talking to him. Her red eyes settled on his shadowy form, and she simply stared. “I’ve seen you every so often, I wasn’t sure if you were afraid of me, but I can assure you it won’t hurt to come sit with me for a while. I understand the curiosity… or do you prefer to lurk in the shadows?” She spoke with a jovial tone but he could tell there was more to her words.

Gríma stepped out of the shadows of the hall and into the sunlight. She didn’t gasp at his harsh appearance in the light, not like the others would. She didn’t speak either, though, and he wasn’t entirely sure if that was a good or bad sign. He knew she had seen him before, but there was still a nagging insecurity deep down that she would treat him like everyone else did. He couldn’t have that happen when he needed to keep an eye on her. He inched nearer, the fallen leaves crunching beneath his boots.

“You’re a dragon blood.” He stated, still standing over her, trying to find a way to continue a conversation. She smiled wolfishly.

“How could you tell?” Aelora had a wicked playfulness to her that seemed to put Gríma at ease.

“Who’s your kin?” That question seemed to catch her off guard. She placed her quill in her book and closed it, placing it on the ground and standing. She was shorter than him by a few inches.

“Ancalagon the Black.” Impressive, he thought, very impressive. He wondered where Viseryon even managed to get one of Ancalagon’s scales.

“Really? I wonder what you inherited from him, certainly not your stature.” His tone wasn’t nearly as distinctively playful as hers, in fact, he spoke in his usual monotone. He worried for a moment that she might take his words the wrong way. The dragon blooded girl feigned being hurt, bringing a hand to her chest where he could see her blackened fingertips and nails. “Your hair is almost white…” He trailed off, bringing his hand up to touch it before stopping himself. He watched as her eyes flickered between his hand and his face.

“You seem knowledgeable, you should know my hair color is courtesy of my creator, Viseryon.” She stopped and gently grabbed his hand. Her touch was soft and took him off guard, he was so used to women - mostly one woman - recoiling from his touch. She brought his hand closer to the side of her head. “You can touch it if you’d like.” His eyes met hers and he was ashamed to say he felt something. It was a feeling he only had when he was around…

Her silver curls were softer than he’d thought they’d be, especially after seeing her that first day. His hand traced down the side of her head, gently pulling a tuft of hair forward with it, where he laid it over her shoulder. He found it hard to look her in the eye again, but he knew she was staring at him intensely.

“I know you know who I am, but you have yet to give me your name, king’s advisor.” She breathed. His eyes flickered to meet hers again before looking away. He focused on the tree.

“I am Gríma, son of Gálmód.” He finally introduced, bringing a smile to the dragon blooded woman’s face.

“It’s nice to have a name for my admirer.” She remarked, and silence fell upon them again. They both waited on baited breath, wondering what the other would do, both hoping the other would take the chance… It was Gríma who broke the silence.

“Does it get lonely?” She tilted her head at his question.”Being a dragon blooded, I mean. I see how others treat you.” She smiled, turning around to collect her book, before answering. When she faced him again, he saw something else in her eyes. She placed her hand on his chest, and in it was a piece of paper from her book. He paused for a moment, still unsure if she was comfortable with him touching her. His hand had barely ghosted hers when she pulled away, leaving the page from her book in his waiting hand instead.

“Of course not.” She began, trying her best to keep the conversation light. She brushed past him. “All I need is my creator.” There was a coldness in her voice, that loathing he saw when he first met her.

When he turned around she was gone.

✵✵✵✵✵

It was dark when Viseryon stormed down the halls of Meduseld. He often strut about the hall, acting as if he were king, much to the dismay of the staff. He always seemed to be worse at night, constantly mistreating the staff who would attempt to hand him new sheets or candles. He was an impatient, almost spoiled man, who felt the need to lash out at the world for whatever reason. He was rude, and thought highly of himself. Many attempted to avoid Lord Viseryon when they could, and those who did interact with him often wished they hadn’t.

The lord only had one thing on his mind, and it was that he couldn’t sleep. He mentally cursed the weaselly advisor for having the staff set up two separate rooms for Aelora and himself - the longer he was away from his dragon blooded companion the more he had convinced himself that Gríma had done it purposefully. Viseryon knew he needed to be rested for what was to come.

The halls were cold at night, and dark, with sparse torches lighting the way due to the straw roof. The stone steps were like icy daggers in his feet, but that would hardly stop him from getting what he wanted. As far as he knew, Aelora’s room was closest to that advisor’s. He wondered if she knew that when she spoke with him in the garden earlier that day, when she let him touch her hair. He wondered how long this had been going on - how long Gríma had been vying for his creation.

The mere thought of someone stealing something that was his made his blood boil.

He stopped at her door, taking a deep breath to try and compose himself before knocking. His knocks were gentle, unsure if Aelora was already asleep at this late hour.

“Aelora?” His voice was soft. He felt as if he was going crazy being without her. Ever since they arrived in Edoras she had been withdrawn. She hardly spoke to him when she was around him during the day, and now she sleeps by herself. In that moment he convinced himself she was cold and alone.

There was no answer.

He knocked again, this time harder.

“Aelora? Please, I need to be with you.” Again, he was met with silence. He banged his fist once against the door and shouted out. “Aelora!”

✵✵✵✵✵

His lips were heavy upon hers and his hands wandered around her body - feeling every inch as if to commit every curve to memory. Every now and then he would grip her hips and pull her closer to him, grinding his hardening cock against her, making her ache with need as she never had before. Her hands were tangled in his raven locks, tugging every now and then as a soft moan escaped her lips.

Her back was pressed against the wooden wall beside her bedroom door; only a measly few inches of oak shielded them from the watchful eye of the outside. No one would hear how she panted his name, nor would they see how his boney hand clung to her clothed pale breast. His body caged her in, pinning her in place as his shaking, slender fingers trailed to the lacing on her bodice. Slowly, almost in an unsure manner, he pulled the lace to undo the knot at the top of her dress. His hands felt frigid against her fiery skin, keeping her grounded in the moment when her head was buzzing.

She’d never done anything like this before.

The excitement of it all, the way it felt forbidden - oh it was too delicious.

When he had read the note Aelora had graciously written him during her time clearing before they spoke he was sure she was playing a joke on him. It was a relatively short note, laced with her usual sarcastic banter, but it was enough to frighten him and excite him at the same time.

To my admirer,

Meet me in my room after dark, I know your room is beside mine.

When the sun finally set and he was done with his duties for the day he rushed to his quarters, worrying for a moment what might happen. Their encounter in the garden left him thinking of her for the rest of the day, wondering why she felt so comfortable around him, wondering why she wasn’t repulsed. Her touch was burned into his skin.

Gríma’s lips left hers for a moment and she found herself desperately chasing him, wanting more, before he settled in the crook of her neck. He quickly pulled her dress’s bodice aside, exposing her breasts to the cool night air. He couldn’t help but run his hands up the length of her torso, squeezing her soft flesh as he bit down on her shoulder, eliciting a sigh from her - it was the sweetest sound he had heard by far.

He hardly knew her, and yet he felt as if he could love her.

He felt her body grow rigid at the sound of a knock at the door. His eyes met hers and he saw actual fear in them. They had nothing to fear, at least, that’s what he believed. In a moment of greed and pride, he continued to ravage her neck, pulling her close again. Let them hear, he thought to himself.

He paused at the feeling of her hands gently pushing him away.

“Gríma… Gríma, stop for just a moment.” She commanded in a hushed tone, and he obeyed, watching her with curious eyes. She didn’t attempt to cover up, and she still held him close despite pushing him away.

“Aelora?” Gríma couldn’t help but drop his head in frustration. It was Lord Viseryon, of course. Who else would dare bother Lady Aelora so late into the night?

Well, besides himself, of course.

Aelora held Gríma’s gaze for a moment, and he could tell she was trying to think of what to do. Another knock resonated through her room, this time louder. She pressed her lips into a thin line, and he could tell she dealt with him doing things like this often. Her hands began to slip from his shoulders, causing him to panic slightly.

No, no they couldn’t be done. He couldn’t just leave her like this.

Perhaps it was selfish of him to want to continue. He gently took her hands in his.

“Aelora? Please, I need to be with you.” Viseryon whined. The way he phrased that made a wave of unease come over Gríma. He hated to think of what the lord could possibly mean by that, surely it wasn’t the same as what they were just doing. He hoped it wasn’t.

Aelora’s hand slipped from his and she brought a finger to her lips, telling him to stay quiet. Viseryon hit the door this time, causing her to jump. He called out her name one last time, and Gríma saw her expression change from one of fright to that same icy expression she wore the day she arrived. He saw the loathing in her eyes. He was relieved to know it wasn’t directed at him after all.

“Not tonight, Viseryon.” She stated sweetly.

“Aelora, my dear, it’s been two nights. I haven’t been able to sleep without you.” Gríma furrowed his brow in confusion. She continued to stare at him.

“Please? I would like to spend another night alone.” She answered, practically begging to have her own personal space.

“You know you’re all I have.” Not for long, both Gríma and Aelora thought, unbeknownst to the other. “Just let me have this one night, then you can have the rest of our stay here alone, I promise.” She rolled her eyes, knowing every word from his mouth was a lie.

“Please go. I would like to sleep.” She finally said, this time much more sternly. There was a moment of silence, and he reveled in that silence. He watched how her expression changed as she returned to their moment - their moment of intimacy. He felt the urge to touch her again, bringing his hand up to her face. She leaned into his touch, closing her eyes and letting out a shaky breath. He wanted her more than ever.

He leaned close again, hoping she would reciprocate, and as she leaned in too…

Viseryon banged on the door once more, letting out a growl of frustration before storming off. They could hear him grumbling obscenities as he marched away, and she knew she was in for some sort of punishment the next day.

Gríma stared at her, unsure of what to do next. Much to his dismay, Aelora gathered her bodice, pulling the garment back over her arms and lacing it back up. She was done for the night. She looked back up at him, and for a moment he wondered if she could see the hurt in his eyes. As if to reassure him this wasn’t rejection, she leaned up and gently pressed her lips to his.

The kiss was short and sweet, but it was enough to set him at ease. When she looked at him again she had tears in her eyes.

“I want Viseryon dead.”

#lotr fanfic #lotr x reader #lotr x oc #grima wormtongue #grima wormtongue x reader #grima wormtongue x oc #asoif inspired #im sorry for this

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