#sotwk fanfiction

[sotwk]

Taken (Eomer x femReader )

Part 1 of 3

Part 2 / Part 3

Love Confession feat. Eomer Eadig

Valentine 2023 Event by @sotwk

Summary: The lone shield-maiden in Eomer's Éored has been secretly in love with him for years, but has long accepted that that he can never share those feelings. At the feast of King Elessar's coronation, she is surprised to learn that there may yet be hope.

Prompt: "It's like you never really see me. I'm standing right in front of you and you don't see me!"

Requested by and Dedicated to: @writefortherain-blog Thank you for making this request and giving me the opportunity to write for Eomer!

Word count: 2.4k

Content: Romance, angst, mutual pining, oblivious to love, jealousy, forbidden relationship, class division, shield-maiden, King Eomer, post-RotK

Rating: T (Teens and up)

Warnings: Some sensuality

To Read on AO3: Link

Taken 

Third Age 3019 May 1

Minas Tirith

PART ONE

Downing that fourth cup of wine had been a mistake. Or was it the fifth? Sixth? The ridiculous dress with its rib-crushing bodice and neckline positioned nowhere near your neck, had also been a mistake, even though the local clother had insisted to you that it was in the "proper" Gondorian fashion. The entire evening and its inconveniences had all been for a failed end. 

You finally jostled your way out of the packed feasting hall and stumbled outside to the courtyard, your compressed lungs and flushed skin rejoicing at their contact with the cool night air. One hand rose to massage your throbbing temple, and the other clawed irritatedly at the boning that caged in your unacceptably unfeminine frame. 

"Never again," you seethed under your breath, as you crossed the white-stone pavement to move even farther away from the chaos you escaped. 

It had been a painful decision to ride out to Minas Tirith with the rest of your Éored and attend the coronation of the returned King of Gondor. You despised grand affairs, knowing well enough the requirements rules of court would impose on you, unwieldy formal attire being just one of them. These were at least tolerable within Rohan, where you could find some comfort amongst familiar faces and settings. But as the lone female who rode in the company of the Third Marshal, you refused to be excluded from any undertaking by your Éored, however dangerous or unpleasant. Whether it broke your arm or shattered your heart.

"I can just go," you thought, casting a quick glance back at the great hall, alive and alight with the merry cacophony of a thousand revelers that would surely last until dawn. The two hours you already spent mingling to the best of your limited ability had to suffice, and it was doubtful your presence would even be missed. 

But the call of a deep voice stalled your retreat, loud and commanding and instantly recognizable even across a distance as it shouted your name. The soldier in you succumbed to the instinct to obey your Marshal, to honor the oath you had sworn on your knees years ago. 

The flickering flames of nearby torchlights reflected against the carved silver panels of the breastplate he donned over his lavishly embroidered tunic. Famously handsome even when caked in blood and grime, Eomer was breathtakingly resplendent bearing the regalia that befitted his station. King Eomer now, you reminded yourself, as you dipped your head in a bow. 

“My lord.”

“Is something amiss? Why did you leave?” His narrowed eyes upon you were penetrating, his tone demanding rather than concerned. Lying to someone you had spent practically every single day of your adult life with was difficult, and even more so with an addled brain, so you knew you had to mince words carefully.  

Fortunately, you had years of practice doing exactly that. 

“I underestimated the potency of their vintage, and downed one cup too many.” You scrunched up your features in a grimace that just slightly exaggerated your pain. “I thought it best to excuse myself and retire for the night.”

“Perhaps if you rested a while and ate some food…” He rested a hand lightly on your shoulder. “It is much too early and the quarters would still be empty. I know you detest fraternizing, but just sit at the table with the rest of our men.”

You released a graceless guffaw and a puff of wine-tinged breath. “Half of them are already deeper in their cups than I, and getting sloppier by the second. I finally had to remind Héothain of his manners the second time he tried to sneak a hand down the front of my dress.”

“He did what?” Eomer’s sudden growl awakened you to your own carelessness and slip of the tongue. Smooth-cheeked Héothain was the youngest and newest addition to the Éored, and remained sorely lacking in experience with women. He should not be held accountable for his awkwardness amplified by insobriety. 

“It was a silly mistake that caused no harm,” you insisted, pulling back as Eomer attempted to lead you off by the elbow. “Two sprained fingers taught him a lesson he shall not soon forget.” 

Eomer glowered at you but remained silent for a pause, as he did whenever running through courses of action in his mind. “Then you can come sit by me at the King’s table.”

Your laugh in response to that suggestion was shrill and nervous, as he looked so serious making it. “I most certainly cannot… my lord.” You stated your defiance firmly, baring a toothless pertinacity against your leader, and underneath it a silent plea that the friend in him would understand. “There is no place for me amongst such esteemed company and truly, there is nothing in the world I would enjoy less at this moment.” 

You sighed and braced one hand below your rib area, massaging a spot where the corset dug into a still-tender battle injury. 

“Please. Let me go back to my room where I can be rid of these dreadful garments.”

“No.” The immediacy and sharpness of his refusal made you blink in surprise. “Not until you explain yourself to my satisfaction.”

“Pardon, my lord?”

“Hah, there! That is what I am speaking of.” 

“I’m afraid I don’t understand--”

“When did you cease to call me by my name in private conversation? Or last bother to converse with me at all?!” You took too long to answer, and he barreled on, hazel eyes flashing with the sudden rise of agitation. “Let me enlighten you, since I recall it well. It began after Theodred’s death, accompanied by a host of other changes in your behavior towards me that you think I have not noticed!”

You scrambled to concoct a rebuttal, another feint to keep him from uncovering your secrets. Alas, your dulled mind had frozen completely in the face of the horse-lord’s fury, which had never been directed at you in such a manner.

“You are misreading things, my lord, or else imagining them. I cannot say that I--”

“You cannot even look me in the eye these days of late!” Eomer snapped. “Nor can you stand to be in any room I am in for long.” He threw out his arm in the direction of the great hall. “Even now you rebuff any attempt I make to spend time with you.”

“I…I…” You stammered, rendered helpless before his unexpected wrath, cursing yourself for the poor timing of your inebriation. How could you put up your shields when your mind was struggling to pick out your own lies from the truth?

“If you are angry with me, I would have you admit to it now. I will no longer be played for a fool.”

Indignation pooled in your gut, crawling upward until it deepened the coloring of your already flushed face. “I confess to nothing! For what cause do I have to be angry?”

“Because you loved him!” Eomer erupted. As you gaped at his outburst, he gripped a fistful of his hair, and took in one sharp breath, steeling himself. “You loved Theodred,” he finally said, in a voice gone cold and quiet. “And you place blame on me for his death.”

The fire in your belly flared at the terrible accusation. “Theodred was murdered by Saruman, and only a traitor would fault you for that vile cur’s deed.” You shook a finger at him emphatically. “I am no traitor.”

“Did you love my cousin?”

“Of course I did,” you said stoutly. The prince’s demise plagued you still, for you had been the one to spot Theodred’s body amongst the corpses that littered the fords. And after he’d been borne away to Meduseld, you never saw him alive again, and all you could do was weep in the privacy of your quarters, which you did for weeks, mourning the loss of so much more than a dear friend and mentor. 

“No one has ever shown me greater kindness than Theodred.” You held a hand over your heart as a different ache rose in you. “He believed in me at a time when no one else would, not even you." 

Eomer had fallen silent, but you saw his cloaked shoulders rise and fall, broad chest heaving in the manner so familiar to you. It was the way he looked on the battlefield, where his blood ran hottest, and he was fighting to balance out the genteel lord and savage killer that both resided within him. He was so thoroughly upset with you. 

“If I have made you feel like your cousin’s fate was in any way your fault, I am truly sorry,” you said. "But what sort of questions are these, and why are you asking them now?"

His gaze flicked back in your direction, leaden with anguish. "You should know why."

“I am telling you I do not, my lord, and I must beg you to explain why you are speaking so cryptically."

“You wish for me to explain in words something I have been trying to show you for years now?!” He gave a strangled laugh and raised his eyes and hands to the night sky. "Bema…"

“It is as though you never really see me,” he muttered, almost as though speaking to himself. “Here I am, standing right in front of you, and you do not see me!"

But you did hear his mumbled complaints, and suddenly it was all too much. Your sickening weariness, your aches both physical and emotional, your befuddlement caused by the six drinks and this man's unhinged raging as he launched yet another ludicrous accusation at you.

"Not see you?" you repeated, and something about just saying it rammed open the gate behind which you had caged up every real thing you ever wanted to say to Eomer, Son of Eomund. 

"If such a thing were possible, I would wish it upon myself immediately!" you exclaimed. "But you are all I ever see, even when I do not wish to! Even when I flee from your presence, I can never escape a face that refuses to leave my thoughts!" 

Oh Valar, no. STOP. Panicked, you bit down on your lip to imprison the words fleeing your mouth, so hard you tasted blood. But Eomer suddenly moved forward, encroaching on the space you desperately fought to maintain for your own protection, and his hazel eyes locked into yours to wrench away the last of your defenses. 

"It hurts too much, can you not understand?!" you cried, managing one step back. "To remain in the presence of the one thing you most desire but will never have, to be taunted by a dream that will never be fulfilled, to watch as it falls into the possession of another while you can do absolutely nothing!"

He spoke your name, his voice oddly hoarse, and shame finally came crashing down inside you. Your hands flew up to hide your face and suddenly he grabbed your wrists, tugging your arms away only to replace your hands with his own, warming your cheeks with his calloused palms. 

“Then see me now,” he ordered. “And know I have always understood how that feels. What great fools we have both been all along to deny ourselves our true desires.”

“Eomer, what--” The stroke of his thumb over the corner of your mouth drove the rest of the words away, and the parting of your lips and flutter of your eyes gave him the approval he sought. 

His kiss tasted more glorious than they did in a thousand daydreams combined. It did not surprise you that he was completely unlike the other men you had kissed before. Whereas lesser men were greedy and sloppy in their hunger, the caress of Eomer’s mouth was deep and languid, almost worshipful in its exploration of your lips, as though he aimed to savor every small sensation and intended to carry on doing this with you forever. 

His one arm looped around your waist to hold you covetously against him; his broad left hand traveled from your cheek to cradle the back of your neck, his long fingers burying themselves into your hair, tips grazing your scalp. It fired up a new heat in you that you had never felt before, not with such raw intensity, and a tremulous whimper escaped your throat. 

But the sound of your own pleasure was your undoing, for it triggered an alarm in your head, one that caused you to break away from Eomer’s passion. You mumbled against his lips the words you had conditioned yourself for years to think around him. 

“My lord, I cannot…”

He paused, his eyes still dazed and unfocused, caught in a state of bliss--one that you caused, you realized with a shiver. “You cannot… what?” he said thickly. Without waiting for an answer, he dipped back in eagerly to trail his mouth up your jawline, his tongue skimming the tender pulse underneath your ear. 

You gave a small cry and pushed against his chest with more force, immediately waking his attention. His arm around your waist remained stubbornly secure however, and it took you physically prying the powerful limb off for you to slip free. Either due to shock or lingering delirium, Eomer did not resist. 

“I cannot…” Your voice broke even as you clung to your resolve. “I cannot have you.”

His heavy brows furrowed. “What?” Within seconds the confusion lifted to uncover his dismay, layered with anger. “You would speak lies and nonsense again, after everything I told you?”

“It is the truth, Eomer!” You started backing away already, stepping faster and faster as he began to move and reach out for you. “You can never be anything more than a dream to someone like me. I cannot have what is already taken.”

“Taken? What--wait! No!” He started to run, but you had already turned heel and were sprinting full-speed towards the Citadel Gate. You had always been faster on your feet; there was no hope of him catching up if you refused to heed his orders. “Stop!”

His shouts of your name faded quickly, drowned out by the noise of the milling crowd you plunged into and the thunder of your own frantic heartbeat. You slowed to a walk but kept a quick pace, weaving haphazardly through the throng and on and on until you’d descended at least two levels. Only then did you duck into a side street and survey your surroundings.

Your escape succeeded. Neither Eomer nor any Rohirrim were anywhere to be found, at least for the moment.

You collapsed upon the nearest doorstep, exhaustion and aches finally overcoming you. As the chaotic whirlwind within you settled, so too did the reality of what just occurred sink in. 

Eomer desired you, perhaps even loved you as you did him. But the King of Rohan’s love was not for you, a common soldier, to take. You had known that all along, and he did too. It was unkind of him to give you such false hope. 

Raising your fingers to your swollen lips, you felt the ghost of his perfect kisses on them, and finally burst into tears over yet another memory that will grieve you until your trampled heart could bear no more.

To be continued...

Tag list: @aduialel @fizzyxcustard @laneynoir @auttumnsayshi @achromaticerebus @friendofthefellowshipsnerdblog @blueberryrock @scyllas-revenge @glassgulls @ladyweaslette @heilith @absentmindeduniverse @lathalea @guardianofrivendell @quickslvxr @asianbutnotjapanese @heranintomyknife23times @entishramblings

For more of my stories, please see My Masterlist.

If you would like to be added to my tag list, please sign up here: Tag List Sign-Up.

#sotwk fanfiction #eomer #eomer x reader #eomer fanfiction #rohan #lotr #eomer x you #valentine event 2023 #follower request

[quillofspirit]

2023 fic recs

If there's one thing to know about me, is that I love to read! and I love to share the good fics, so I figured I would put them all on one list💚

pssst! it's my first time doing anything like this, so if you have recommendations for the format, please do leave them in the comments or drop me a message! thanks xx

Key 🍬 fluff 🧯 spicy 🌡️ smut ⛈️ angst 🌪️ all

For people I have tagged, please let me know if there is anything you’d like me to add or remove — like a link to another account. It’ll be my pleasure☺️

Lord of the Rings (and related)

⛈️🧯Fuck the Forbidden pt. 1 by @entishramblings

Boromir x mermaidfem!oc Teens and Up but read the warnings carefully 9,500 words

Now I want mermaids in everything. why aren’t there mermaids in everything? The descriptions are so well done, everything is so vividly easy to visualize, oh I just loved it.

I am so hyped for pt 2!!

🍬⛈️ Healing Touch by @ass-deep-in-demons

Boromir x fem!oc Teens and Up 4,350 words

My film studies degree was very happy about the descriptions of movement in this one - it’s a little specific but hear me out. It’s much easier to see the actors playing the scene when it’s described this well! THAT ENDING, I have to say I joined Legolas, and I don’t have excuses.

I cannot wait to read the rest of the adventures of Joanna!

🍬 I Might Need to Kiss You by @fizzyxcustard

Thorin Oakenshield x fem!reader 400 words

I was squealing, this is so sweet. like the perfect little pick me up when you need a reminder, and Thorin is nothing if not a good king to his subjects 😇

🍬 Sweet Conversations by @glassgulls

Haldir x fem!reader Teens and Up 5,360 words

did I almost break my mouse when I clicked on this? noooo

Would I do it again? approximately 5 times since ☺️

Who doesn’t love sneaking around and kissing pretty elves, especially when they propose the idea so nicely… Just read it, you’re welcome

⛈️🧯Transformed by @sotwk

Thranduil’s son OC x fem!reader Teens and Up 2,400 words

There are at least two werewolves! When I tell you I read it three nights in a row, just to truly catch all the little things that made me go absolutely feral this so lovely to read. Yes, there’s gore (only a little bit) and there’s angst, but there’s also dialogue that would be made into gifs were it a movie.

Pirates of the Caribbeans

🌪️Catch the Wind by eriathiel (@esta-elavaris)

James Norrington x fem!oc Explicit 418,000 words

101 chapters of epic, pirates, and sweetness. The definition of you will suffer and you will like it. I finished this in like two days, because I couldn’t put it down, like a child on Halloween night going through their whole bag of candy.

⛈️🍬 Fallen Through Time by eriathiel (@esta-elavaris)

Catch the Wind AU Mature Ongoing; 34,000 words

12 Chapters so far, but it’s probably going to make me want to read everything about Theodora again. I am very normal about this character. 😌

Other fandoms

🌡️One of Those days by @capricornafterdark

Jason Todd x fem!reader Explicit 750 words

Sometimes you need to be taken care of, and sometimes its easier to take care of others.

🍬Patience by @velvetcloxds

Charlie Swan x fem!reader Just straight cuteness 600 words

A cute yet serious conversation with Charlie

🌡️That Takes Trust Darlin by @capricornafterdark

Jason Todd x transmasc!reader Explicit 1,950 words

It takes a lot of trust to tell a person about your desires, and even more when you spend your time catching villains.

🌪️ What Happens After You? by StrengthBeforeWeakness

Ominis Gaunt x fem!oc Mature 219,000 words

A badass Ravenclaw, sweet sweet Garreth, and dark!Sebastian. I am tempted to say it’s almost a Hogwarts Legacy AU because the lore in this fic is so incredible, it feels new again.

These are my headers and dividers, please do not use them.

#fic rec #lotr #lord of the rings #haldir #haldir x reader #lotr fanfic #Lord of the rings fanfiction #haldir fanfiction #gelir thranduilion #sotwk oc #gelir x reader #the hobbit #Thorin Oakenshield #Thorin x reader #Thorin x fem!reader #Thorin Oakenshield x Fem!Reader #potc #pirates of the caribbean #potc fanfic #pirates of the caribbean fanfiction #James Norrington #James Norrington x fem!oc #charlie swan #charlie swan x reader #charlie swan fanfiction #charlie swan fic #jason todd #red hood #red hood smut #jason todd x reader

[theautisticfroglord]

helpless

pairing - tiny Julius x reader (PLATONIC)

fic type - hurt-comfort

warnings - death (not major character), Julius in danger

notes - I have a lot of writing ambition lately!! enjoy :3

One fateful day, Julius was fighting the leader of the Eye of The Midnight Sun. Julius was the one that lost, after he saved the kingdom with his magic. Julius passed away after this fight. When you found out, you were heartbroken. Your mind was racing, your boyfriend had died in such a sudden and unexpected way.

Unbeknownst to you, an old magic item would save him. When it activated, it brought Julius’s body back with the 13 years of time he had stored in it. You were concerned, but overjoyed to see him back, though it would be a bit awkward to be romantic with him because of his appearance. You still loved him for who he is, not by his looks.

One day, the kingdom was attacked. The attack wasn't large-scale, but still serious. The castle was only lightly damaged, and the Magic Knights took care of it quickly. Though, something else happened.

“Who are you…?” Julius asks, scared of what will happen next. Julius is on the ground, his body bruised. He’s practically unable to use any magic in his small form.

“Well… You won't be alive to know that, will you?” The tall man in the dark cloak chuckles. His face is mostly covered by the robe. Julius trembles at how scared he is at the fact that he can't do anything to stop the man himself.

The man begins to get closer to Julius with his weapon. Then, he suddenly stops. The man falls to the ground, blood oozing out of his chest area. You run up to the small wizard king in a panic.

“Oh my goodness, sweetie, you're hurt! I'm so, so, sorry I couldn't make it quicker, thank goodness you're not hurt too badly,” you whisper, cradling him in your arms, petting his fluffy blond hair. You notice the noises outside have calmed down as your device starts to chime. You pick it up nervously.

“Y/N, are you alright?” your captain asks through the device.

“Y-yes, I'm fine, I believe I have stopped the leader. The Wizard King is safe,” you answer, looking down at Julius, noticing how upset he looks.

“That's good. We believe we have all the perpetrators detained. Bring the leader to us, if you can,” your captain answers before hanging up. You feel too nervous to leave Julius alone, even though it's safe.

“Come with me… I'm worried about you, we also need to heal you,” you whisper to Julius, and he nods in response as you help him up, making sure he can walk.

You use your magic to transport the leader, who is most likely close to death or even already gone. You still bring him, so they can investigate who the leader was. You hold Julius’s hand the whole way there. Once you reach the place where everyone is, they take the man away.

“Good job, Y/N, we'll take it from here. Take the wizard king to a safer place,” the knights insist. You go back to the castle, and take Julius to his room. His injuries are minor so he doesn't need to go to the infirmary. You get him into comfortable clothes.

“You've been quiet, sweetheart, are you okay?” you ask, innocently kissing his bruises.

“I'm fine, Y/N,” Julius mumbles, trying to hide his voice shaking from how upset he is. You notice, and look up at him with worry in your eyes. You sit next to him, wrapping your arms around his tiny body. Julius accepts the hug shyly, tearing up. You feel him start to cry in your arms.

“Tell me what's wrong, honey…” You whisper patiently. You slip your fingers into his soft blond hair to calm him. Once he stops crying, you wrap a blanket around him.

“I f-feel useless… I didn’t h-help anyone, I just g-got in the way… I even had to be saved because I c-couldn’t fight,” Julius murmurs, sniffling between words.

“Julius… you couldn’t help because of your body, it wasn’t your fault… you did the best you can, my little fawn…” you whisper assuringly, holding his tiny hand. He smiles softly at how protected he feels around you.

“Thank you, Y/N… I needed that,” Julius whispers. You remember how he used to cuddle you exactly like this when he was sad. You’re thankful he hasn’t changed apart from his appearance. You cup his cheeks in your hands.

“You’re so cute, so tiny… fluffy baby…” you tease, squishing his cheeks. He blushes and pouts at how you’re babying him. He’s thankful that you still love him, just in a different way than before.

“Remember that I’m an adult on the inside, Y/N,” Julius chuckles lightheartedly as you continue pinching his cheeks.

“You’re so little, though… cute little fawn,” you softly mumble to him as you hold his hands. You adore how small he is in your arms, how oversized his shirt is on him is the cutest thing to you.

“Are you comfortable, little one?” you ask, remembering how he got hurt.

“I’m ok, my body still hurts a little, though,” Julius sighs as you bury your face in his hair.

“I’m sorry to hear that, honeybun… do you want to take a nap? You need some rest,” you murmur to him. He nods in response and presses his little face in your neck. You feel him drift off to sleep in your arms.

“Sweet dreams, tiny…” you whisper softly to him, rocking him in your arms.

#black clover #anime #cute #julius novachrono #julius novachrono x reader #tiny julius #platonic #hurt/comfort #angst #fluff #fanfic #my writing #black clover fanfiction #black clover sotwk #kawaii #soft #tw death mention

[erathene]

Taunted

100 word drabble written for @fellowshipofthefics 'Luck of the Draw' March 2024 writing challenge. For this one I got 18 ("I'm not blushing. I don't blush") and 15 ("Secrets").

The combination made me think of a sibling teasing another about a secret. I recently enjoyed @sotwk's fic Transformed, which features her OC Prince Gelir Thranduilion, older brother to Legolas. I am posting this with her permission!

Warnings: None, but contains spoilers for Transformed as it is set shortly after the events of that story.

......................

"I'm not blushing. I don't blush."

Rebuttal is Gelir's only defence from the healing ward bed. Were they in the training grounds, things would be different; Legolas knows his teasing would be met with blunted steel.

"She's your girlfriend."

"No, she's not."

"Okay. She's your secret girlfriend."

Gelir does not rise to provocation, but cannot hide his malcontent. Testing the newly-developed lycanthropy cure should have been his sacrifice to make, not hers; the huntress whose friendship he had cherished since childhood, before it had blossomed like a spring wildflower into an undeniable, reciprocated love.

"She is far more than that."

#fotfics #fotfics march event #luck of the draw #writing event #fanfiction #lotr fanfic #legolas greenleaf #SotWK #Gelir #Transformed

[thranduilswifesblog]

Rules : tag 10 people you want to get to know better

Thank you for the tag @lazymeriadoc @lady-of-imladris I just finished my morning meal, and see this notification, so I'll try it 🤣👋

Relationship status : Single, since I was born

Favourite colour : dark green, dark blue, black

Song stuck in my head :

Last song I listened to : I am the the period drama girl 💅

Three favourite foods : spicy korean noodles, pizza, and turkish kebab

Last thing(s) I googled : some old fanfictions, from m.fanfiction from the early 2000s

Dream trip : england, especially edinburgh, scotland, and new zealand

@emythemess @legoriel-fan @quickslvxr @laneynoir @sotwk @elronds-pointy-ears @elrondscalaquendi @elrondthinker @oldmanwithashield @ringsofpowerfans @viggosbrokentoe

I think that's it. Byeeee 👋

#Spotify

[ass-deep-in-demons]

Fifteen questions for fifteen mutuals

Got tagged by @nihilizzzm TYSM!

Are you named after anyone? Yep, after an ancestor of mine.

Do you have kids? Nope, maybe someday.

Do you use sarcasm a lot? Fairly often, yes :)

When was the last time you cried? Yesterday (it was therapy day).

What is the first thing you notice about other people? The way they greet me. Are they shy or forward? Friendly or reserved? Those sorts of things.

Eye colour: glowing red - I am called demons not for naught ;P

What sports do you/have you played? Weightlifting, squash. I want to get into yoga and cycling.

Any special talent? Several people told me I have a talent for teaching.

Where were you born? [classified]

Scary movies or happy ending? Happy ending all the way. Or drama. Horrors are generally not my thing. They don't scare me much and the plot is usually shallow. There are a few exceptions of course.

Do you have any pets? Nope and I don't want any. I'm a very busy person, I work a lot and am out of my appartment most of the time. I travel fairly often. Any pet I would have would be very lonely, and organizing substitute care would be a nightmare. I'm also a clean freak and pets make mess. I do like the idea of having a pet bird tho. Maybe one day.

How tall are you? I'm tall for a girl.

What are your hobbies? Fanfiction, gym, RPGs, fantasy, making music, tarot, camping outdoors.

Favourite subject at school? I was a nerd I liked them all (except for PE).

Dream job? My current job is my dream job and I worked my ass off for the last 15 years to get where I am today!

No-pressure tagging: @sparetooth @varricscrossbowbianca @dorkybimbo @middleearthpixie @hippodameia @sotwk @scyllas-revenge @fenharel-enaste @thetempleofthemasaigoddess @cardboard-guitar @esta-elavaris @marsharmonicorchestra @queenmeriadoc @bl00dyfawn @janeeyreofmanderley @glorf1ndel

#tag game #ass deep in demons

[estethell]

We hardly know anything about Nori and Dori, but since you enjoy drawing them, I was wondering if you have any headcanons that flesh out their personalities, skills, or likes and dislikes? 😊

What did you ask meeeeeeee!! Thanks to heart @sotwk for asking me to talk about them and how I imagine them, I have a whole huge headcanon in my head about them that I have extensively described in my fics that I can talk about them for days, but here I will write only the essentials!!!

-Nori- Let's start with Nori, my lovely Nori ❤

In my fanfiction "An unlikely friendship, an impossible love" I imagined how dwarf society was structured in the Blue Mountains and how they lived before starting the Quest for Erebor. In this context (which I won't explain here because otherwise too long, but if anyone wants to know more my askbox is always open 👀) Nori fits like a sour note! Nori is a thief who robs fools and drunks, he is very good at what he does and is known and feared in his environment. I like to think of Nori as an unbalanced character, in the sense that he is really skilled as a thief and as a con man but really incapable in social relationships as he hasn't developed any due to his lifestyle, in fact he is very awkward in establishing a relationship even only of friendship with Bofur. In the fic I explain how Nori chose to become a thief to help his brothers find honest work in order to live and then, when he could leave and devote himself to honest work, Nori had difficulty doing it because he was too addicted to the infamous life. I imagine Nori as a person who is extremely aware of his abilities and very arrogant, but also very insecure inside about what he doesn't know and afraid of showing weaknesses to others. Also, he has a good soul and is very kind to the people he cares about, but he can experience very intense feelings such as strong jealousies or great anger. He is a sanguine person who however managed to hide everything behind a mask of cold rationality in order to survive in the harsh world of the street!!

In a beautiful project that I haven't delved into anything yet (I hope sooner or later this project will be born because it's really beautiful), modern AU, Nori is a character who uses a mask of arrogance and confidence to hide a deep suffering and fear caused by the his criminal lifestyle, bringing with him the pain of having lived a very difficult childhood.

-Dori- Instead, I have deepened the character of Dori in two different fics. In the fanfiction "An unlikely friendship, an impossible love", Dori is the older brother who constantly argues with Nori and does not trust him because he is disappointed in his choices, he suffers because he blames himself for the choices made by his brother and tries in every way to protect Ori for fear that he will fail in his role as brother major again. But the best characterization that I have given to Dori is found in the fanficition "A bad temper". Here I imagine Dori as a dwarf with an extremely difficult character, he's whiny, picky, always in a bad mood and serious, he's not really good company. But in reality, it turns out that he's so strict because he feels a deep duty to look after and protect his siblings and he's based his life on that. Because of this, pleasure does not exist for him, only duty exists! But thanks to Balin, Dori slowly begins to melt away and we discover that in reality Dori is a dwarf with very strong maternal feelings, a very delicate dwarf who is easily injured and that is why he has raised an armor around him.

In the project I mentioned above, Dori is an older brother who lived his adolescence badly in a family where in fact he was the point of reference despite his age and who tried to deal with the whole situation with violence, to then mature into a refined and educated adult who likes beautiful things and who is deeply ashamed of his past.

Thank you so much for allowing me to talk about them and how i image them because I really love them and I imagined a lot of headcanon about them!!!

#ask #the hobbit #nori #dori #headcanon #omg i love so much to talk about my fics and ideas #I really hope before or after to develop my project!!

[stormchaser819]

thanks for the tag @plantsforpresident

This looks fun!

1. last tv show or movie I watched: The third season of Stranger Things. I'm doing a rewatch of all the seasons while waiting for a new one.

2. Last song I listened to: 9 To 5 by Dolly Parton. Just a really fun song.

3. Favorite color: Turquoise

4. Currently watching: Stranger Things

5. Sweet, savory or spicy: Sweet usually

6. Relationship status: single and happy that way

7. Current obsession: Anything Tolkien or Star Trek

8. Last thing I googled: I was googling fanfiction about Thranduil.

I’m tagging @sotwk and @bunniesbearsandhobbitadventures, and whoever else wants to join. No pressure!

#ask game

[laneynoir]

Fanfiction Trope MASH-UP

Kili and Tauriel: Baby Fic + Interrupted Declaration of Love 

This sounds impossible even for me, so I think I owe you an apology. XD Let it die in your Ask Box if it's too hard. Bahaha.

@sotwk Thank you so much 😊

Me the instant I noticed your ask:✨ I N S P I R A T I O N ✨

No really, thank you for being my first ever request Nanath 🤗

Word count: 1677

Kili Durinson, Prince of Erabor, beloved by his people, and Hero to half of Middle Earth, hates babys.

...well prehaps that was a bit dramatic. Kili, at this moment, harbors no significant love for this particular baby.

Sighing heavaly he glances down at the fuzzy red ball of fluff that is Bomburs child, the pebble really isn't a bad kid, usually, and he could hardly be blamed for teething, but really did he have to do it on the first night that Kili had free?

The prince had had plans After all. Perfect plans, he'd made sure of it. Nothing was going to go wrong.

Kili feels as if he can hear the Valar laughing at him.

He raises his eyes as the graceful form of his beloved ducks back into the room, oh that we could be somewhere else, without a baby. But Kili is an optimistic sort, he hasn't given up hope compleatly.

He's mostly just perturbed that the hour and a half of sitting with Bilbo has gone to waste. They had put so much thought into the plan, every detail ironed out, he'd even gone so far as to bribe Nori into using his spy network to get flowers.

But fate never wanted to give the poor prince a break.

A sneeze brings him back to the present and Kili makes a sympathetic face at the child, pointedly ignoring that his Royal Public Relations Tunic now has baby snot smeared accros the front. 

Kili is not above taking some pleasure from imagining Balin's face when he descovers this little fact.

Smiling softy as Tauriel begins humming an elven song, he chides himself for mentally complaining so heartily; after all, Bombour could not be blamed for his cousins untimely labor.

True to the costumes set forth at the fist births, all family members over the age of five, were to be near when a new relative was brought into the world, thus when Lady Elberdeth's water broke a half month early, no time could be spared to finding another caretaker for the one-year-old.

Bilbo would have done of course, as would any of the company, but sadly they all had prior engagements. Bussinous in Dale was what detained his family Thorin as king, Bilbo as consort, and Fili as crown prince, had all been called away to a meeting who's date had been agreed upon weeks prior.

Kili had been grumpy at them a mere five seconds when he'd caught Bilbo's dismayed expression and forgiven them all imeadiatly.

Bombour's tears of gratitude when Tauriel had offered to whatch ober the baby may have been a comtender twords that as well, and really no one could be upset at the large dwarf for long regardless of any circumstance.

The child's breathing slows to a steadier rythym as he desendes into sleep, though Kili notes that his mouth is still open, his nose compleatly blocked up.

When the Pebble is laid down in his parents' bed -head elevated- Kili alowed himself to collapse into a chair in the parlour. "I find myself exhausted." He is delighted when Tauriel rewards him with a sift version of her musical laugh.

"Indeed, I shall never say aught agaist the patience of dwarves, that master Bombour and his One have done this four time before" Kili winces in agreement, he find himself sure that he could never find the willpower for it.

And Kili has alot of willpower.

The evidence of which is sitting across from himself, looking like a painting as she reads a book. After all, his uncle is not oberly fond of elves, dealing with them was a chore, allowing one to live in his kingdom? Unthinkable.

Kili and been hard put to make the elven maids case, he blames it on Thorin's then wounds, and Bilbo's minesrations that the efforts had been successful at all.

Not to say it didn't take longer than he'd wished, in the end it had taken a total of nine arguments to convince his uncle, the last of which finally pushed his alowence.

"Uncle please!-"

"No! Kili! How many times must I reinforce this? I will not have an elf living within our halls, she has no reason.".

Kili resists the urge to rip his beard out. "Tauriel has been banished, was banished because of her efforts to assist us! Is that not reason enough? Were we not exiles of our own country so long, have you already forgotten?"

Thorin runs a hand through his hair, wincing at rhe pain the movment brings. "Kili..."

"No! It is no differant! She saved my life AND Fili's if you'll remember."

"I am not saying that we do not owe this elf a great deal," the king concedes, allowing a flash of hope to pass through Kili. "But that is not the same as allowing an outsider into our home."

Biting back his anoyance in what Killi feels is a great exhibition of maturity, he responds as calmly as he can manage, "Bilbo stays." Thorin's facial expression shifts rapidly at the mention of the Hobbit and Kili bites a smirk back. "His ears are rathrer pointed, are they not?"

"That is not-"

"Hmm, yes, they are. I supose you'll be packing him off as well? Cant have outsiders in our midst" Kili is being manipulative, he knows it, but he has grown tired of arguing with his uncle and is unashamed of using the poir burglar against his -obviously love struck- uncle.

Predictably, Thorin bristles instantly bristles. "Master Baggins has not been an outsider for quite some time-"

"And why not?" Kili's reprochfull frown is evident to his uncle, who in return sighs wearily.

"Has he not done more for our people than can ever be repaid? Treated us as his own, when we- I had done nothing to deserve such treatment?"

"Uncle you prove my point for me, you've yet to give Tauriel even the slightest chance, just as you once did Bilbo! You grew to regret that choice, would you repeat it here?"

Thorin raises an eyebrow. "I doubt that my feelings for this elf will ever mirror those I harbour for Bilbo?"

Kili's nose srunches at the mental image. "Mahal, no uncle. But what you feel for Bilbo I do for Tauriel." His words are quieter neer the end, this he had not told anyone so far, though he knew Fili suspected.

Thorin's eyes widen a fraction. "You mean to say-"

Kili grabs his hair in his own hands. "YES, uncle Thorin, I feel it, Tauriel is my one." When he raises his head Thorin sees the unshed tears in his eyes, "every hour I am away from her it pains me, worse the this accursed stab wound"

There were more words spoken after that, but Thorin was convinced, and spent the next few months urging Kili to confess to the elven maid.

Sterling himself, Kili reaches the desision, if Tauriel had any though of returning his feeling surely she would not refute to acknowledge them only because of the less than glamorous surounding-

"Kili are you well?"

The youngest Durin is yanked from his thoughts he the lovely voice of the Eleth. He blinks owlishly in response, confusion evident.

That beautiful laugh escapes from her lips again. "You've been staring at me for some time Kili, my guess would be around seven and a half minuets."

Kili grins sheepishly. "Apologies," Tauriel smiles her forgivness. "Only... I wish to tell you-" a cry picks up in the next room and both of them shoot to their feet, runing to the bext room.

After the child is clean, dry, and back asleep, Kili meanders to the kitchen, pleased to find a suitable snack to share with Tauriel.

This is of course, an innocent snack, not a tool of procrastination nor an excuse to be close to the elven maid. Not at all.

By the time the last of the pie has dissapreared, Kili has once again gathered his courage and speaks; "Tauriel I wish to-"

A thump is heard, Tauriel and Kili exchange glances before racing once again to the crying child's aid.

The child who seemingly had a death wish, as he had rolled off the bed and -being a rather plump child- had gotten stuck betwixt the bed and the wall.

Twenty minutes later he is back asleep and there is once again peace- but Kili has decided not to trust it and goes to open his mouth emidiatly, but is cut off before he can begin.

"Kili I wish to speak of a metter of great importance"

The tone in the elves voice sends a jolt of panic through the young dwarf and he swallows thickly before gesturing for Tauriel to continue, dreading what her words may be.

"I wish for you to know that I harbor romantic feeling for you, and should like very much if you would allow me to court you."

Kili stares a moment, then stares some more. Then he blinks three times in rapid succession.

Tauriel twists her hands nervously in her lap before withdrawing a small box from the flods of her tunic. Opening it allows Kili to see a beautifully crafted crafted pair of beads, each made of onyx with petrified wood inlaid.

Suddenly a near-hysterical laugh echoes throughout the room, and Kili is shocked to realise it has come from himself.

Slapping a hand over his mouth he reaches into his own pocket to withdraw a box similar to Tauriel's, opening it to reveal two beads of his own. Crafted from jade, they are made into the appearance of leaves.

To his relief Tauriel catches onto the irony of the situation, and begins to laugh as well. After a moment Kili calms himself enough to ask; "May I braid your hair Armariline?"

With a smile that makes Kili's heart sore, Tauriel nods. "If you will allow me the same honour?"

Kili agrees instantly, and moves to his love- right at a cry rings throughout the space once again.

ONCE AGAIN- thank you so much Nanath! I would have no courage to post this but I'm doing it anyway! (Seriously though, I saw this ask at 2:43 am, its now 3:21. No quality here)

#oh heeby jeeby #i hooe this isnt to terable #please be forginving #my fic #writing #asks #answers #tauriel x kili #kili x tauriel #bilbo baggins x thorin oakenshield #(background) #og geez #*shrivles up and dies* #the hobbit #is ashamed of me #bagginshield #kili #kili durin #tauriel

[sotwk]

The Best Gift (Legolas x f!Reader)

Summary: Legolas wishes a "dear friend" a Joyous Begetting Day--but anonymously.

Dedication: For my dearest @quickslvxrr, who has been such a constant and patient supporter. I'm so sorry it took forever to grant such a simple fic request from you. I hope this brings you some joy during rather difficult times. <3

Word count: 1.3k

Rating: General Audience

Content: Fluff, comedy, romance, shy young Legolas, secret pining, brotherly banter, OC Son of Thranduil (Prince Gelir) 

Warnings: None

To Read on AO3: LINK

The Best Gift

Third Age 556 June 26th

The Woodland Realm

“What in Araw’s name are you doing?”

Legolas gave a muffled cry and stumbled back a couple of steps, but caught his balance before he could crash into the shrubbery outside the small kitchen window. 

“Get down!” he hissed at his brother Gelir, grabbing the older ellon’s sleeve and yanking him down to the dirt beside him.

His heart racing like frightened deer’s, Legolas listened carefully for changes in the movement within her cottage, any sign that she might have overheard his dolt of a brother’s voice and sought to investigate. Mercifully, the melody of her sweet humming continued to float uninterrupted from the open window. 

“Oh, are you the only one permitted to wish our dear friend a Joyous Begetting?” Gelir smirked and punched him on the shoulder. “If I too had a gift I wished to present to her for the occasion, would you pound me?”

“No!” Legolas blurted out quickly; too quickly. “Wait--have you brought a gift for her?”

“I have not, because I had assumed your answer to that question would be yes. And as little as I fear your wee hits, honeg, I do not particularly enjoy being on the receiving end of them.” 

Gelir shoved the younger prince aside, leapt lightly to his feet, and crept over to peer above the windowsill. Legolas held his breath, despite knowing Gelir would never be seen or heard by any elf, man, or beast if he did not wish for them to. The worrisome issue was the great pleasure his brother seemed to derive from embarrassing him at every open opportunity--something one might assume a grown elf would grow weary of after two and half centuries, but it had yet to happen. 

Thankfully, after an agonizing few seconds, Gelir dropped back down to their hiding spot. “I see you opted for the purple night lilies.” He cocked an eyebrow at Legolas. "I seem to recall Ammë setting certain conditions on the use of the rarest blooms from her garden."

"You recall correctly," said Legolas tersely. All four of his elder brothers were frustratingly knowledgeable of the details of his personal business--a result of the powerful bonds that linked them. But Gelir was easily bored, and the only one to actually stick his nose in for active meddling. "She did not set a time by which I am required to make myself known."

"And is Ammë also aware you have spent--on my guess--at least the last two hours sitting outside this unwitting maid’s window hoping that she would come to some sort of epiphany?”

Legolas thought about the smile that lit up her face so beautifully his entire chest ached, and the way it had stayed on her face the entire time he waited there, content to just observe the joy he had caused. 

“I believe she knows. Or is close to discerning it.” 

“You are right. She must realize eventually that a plant so rare and valuable could only come from a high lord or prince.” Gelir snapped his fingers. “Perhaps I should walk in there and take the credit and her fair heart to boot!”

Legolas jerked his head suddenly. “You wouldn’t!”

“You are right. I would not; that would be wrong.” Gelir leaned in closer, his expression suddenly stern. “But it is just as egregious to carry on as long as you have, making veiled overtures to this lady rather than mustering the courage to speak the truth of your feelings plainly to her face.”

“The pursuit of someone’s affections must be like hunting. When you hunt an animal, you go with the focused intent of finishing the job as quickly as possible. You do not toy with the creature to scare or confuse it and cause it needless pain.” 

Gelir clamped a hand on his younger brother’s shoulder. “I may not know what it is like to lose my heart in this manner, little brother. But I know it is unfitting that I show greater respect to animals I stalk than you do to someone you profess to love.” 

The sudden outpouring of wisdom from his wise-cracking brother rendered Legolas speechless.  But something on his face must have quelled Gelir’s baser instincts to tease and mock him. 

“Explain your struggle. Where does all your hesitation lie?”

“I…she…” His brother seemed so genuine this time in his desire to help, that the words broke through Legolas’s reluctance to expose his vulnerabilities. “What if she does not feel the same way I do? What if she will not have me?”

“She does and she will.”

“How do you know for certain?”

“Because I have two eyes and I use them,” Gelir said flatly, his patience already worn thin. “Unlike the both of you, evidently, who cannot gaze directly at each other's faces long enough to notice how nauseatingly smitten you are with one another.”

Legolas’s hands curled into tight fists. Against his better instincts, he wanted to believe it. What maiden could refuse a son of the Elvenking if he offered her his heart?

Well, she could, in all likelihood. For what was his title against true beauty and grace such as hers? Why should he be her first choice when she could have anyone in the entirety of Eryn Galen?

“Bah! Enough of this tragic nonsense.” Gelir’s hand around his arm easily tugged the dazed Legolas to his feet.  “I will not let you waste any more time squatting here like a toad. And even toads have the sense to croak and announce their intentions.”

Gelir hooked his arm around his brother’s hunched shoulders and gave him a firm shake. “Perhaps a few bottles from Ada’s cellars might rally those nerves, eh? Come. With any luck,  you can make another go of it before the day’s end.”

As they trudged around the hedges to start the trek back up to the King’s palace, Legolas wrestled with the sense of failure at his retreat. Why could he not be more like his brothers, if not like their father? Afraid of nothing, brimming with confidence to speak their mind to anybody. What was stopping him?

Nobody. Nobody but himself. 

Legolas froze in place so suddenly that Gelir nearly lost his balance. “What--?”

The younger prince turned to squarely face the pathwalk leading back to the cottage, glaring at the bright green door with the intensity of one about to leap across an impossible distance over a deadly chasm. 

“Yessss. Go on!” He distantly heard Gelir hoot as he began his determined stride up the path. 

But then he heard something else. Footsteps. A doorknob turning. 

The color drained from Legolas’s face and his legs turned to lead. He twisted about to scurry away and out of sight, but a pair of powerful hands suddenly seized the back of his tunic, lifting him so that his boot soles left the ground. 

A hard, rough toss pitched the helpless elf to the cottage just as the door swung open. He flailed his arms out to regain his balance and avoid face-planting on the stoop, but not quickly enough to avoid bumping against the maiden that had stepped out of her home. 

“H-Hello.” He gulped down the panic that rose up his chest, as the nearness of her, such as he had never experienced before, enfolded him. Her scent, her warmth, her…touch? Legolas realized that she had raised her hands and planted them firmly against his chest, likely to help break his ungraceful fall. 

“I… uh, I came to wish you… that is…I-I just wanted to say…” Valar, did Gelir’s shove knock his tongue loose from his mouth?!  

“I wished so badly for it to be you!" she suddenly blurted out, and stuck forward her chin in her willful defiance of protocol.

“R-really?” Unexpected joy and relief burst out of Legolas’s chest like a flock of sparrows exploding from a bush.

The sweetest blush rosied her cheeks, but she still had not moved her hands from the front of his tunic, he noticed. “The flowers are the most beautiful present I have ever received, but knowing that what I had hoped for is true, that they came from you… that is really the best gift.”

“I do not believe there is anyone gladder about your begetting than I,” the elf prince avowed.

And as her whole face lit up brighter than Gil-Estel, as she slid her arm through his and guided him into the cottage, Legolas felt the nudge of a distinct sound inside his head: the chuckle of an older brother whom he had just given yet another anecdote to refer to the next time he wanted to crow over being “always right”. 

Elves HC Tag List: @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @achromaticerebus @aduialel @asianbutnotjapanese @auttumnsayshi @blueberryrock @conversacomsmaug @elan-ho-detto-elan-15 @entishramblings @fizzyxcustard @freshalmondpandadonut @friendofthefellowshipsnerdblog @glassgulls @heilith @heranintomyknife23times @ladyweaslette @laneynoir @lathalea @lemonivall @LiliDurin @quickslvxrr @ratsys @scyllas-revenge @stormchaser819 @talkdifferently6 @tamryniel @tamurilofrivendell

For more SotWK Fanfiction: Fanfiction Masterlist

Other useful links:

Introduction to SotWK

SotWK HC Masterlist

Fanfiction Request Guidelines

#sotwk fanfiction #legolas greenleaf #legolas x reader #legolas thranduilion #fanfic request #legolas #gelir thranduilion #sotwk oc #mirkwood #mirkwood elves #lotr #the hobbit #lotr fanfic

[sotwk]

Taken (Eomer x Reader) - Part 2 of 3

Part 1 / Part 3

Love Confession feat. Eomer Eadig

Valentine 2023 Event by @sotwk

Summary: Eomer is determined to convince the woman he loves of his long-hidden devotion, but the obligations of his new crown and her baseborn origins shake her faith in their future together.

Prompt: "It's hard for me to describe what I feel for you… but just know that it's love nonetheless."

Requested by and Dedicated to: @laneynoir You've probably forgotten about making this Valentine ask, but I remember and write down everything you ask of me! <3 Hope you enjoy!

Word count: 3.9k

Content: Angsty romance, declarations of love, jealousy, mutual pining, class division, shield-maiden, King Eomer, post-RotK, non-canon pairing

Rating: T (Teens and up)

Warnings: Excessive angst? Verbal passion? This is clean but it will do a number on your feels.

To Read on AO3: Link

Tumblr Post for Taken, Part 1: Link

Taken 

Third Age 3019 May 2

Minas Tirith, Gondor

PART TWO

“My lord, are you certain it is safe for you to go without a proper escort?” 

Eomer cast a taut but amused smirk at Haleth, son of Hama, over the horse they had just finished tacking up together. His new squire, one of the youngest fighters to survive the Battle of Hornburg, had been appointed to the post just very recently, and so still had much to learn. 

Eomer dismissed the given counsel that a king needed someone with experience in his direct service, not a novice that required training. He had seen with his own eyes how bravely Hama’s orphaned boy had helped to defend the refugees at the Glittering Caves; in Eomer’s eyes, the child had earned the honor several times over.

“Surely you don’t mean to imply that the King of the Horse-lords is incapable of defending himself on a short ride?”

“No, sire. It is just…” Haleth’s eyes darted about nervously and he lowered his voice. “You ride with a woman. If something were to happen, would you not have to defend yourself and her as well?”

At that, Eomer chuckled. “I commend your gallant instincts lad, but I advise you not to make such an insinuation in the presence of a known shield-maiden. They do not take kindly to having their abilities questioned, and will be quick to set you right.” He patted his squire’s shoulder to show that no offense was taken. “Rest assured that the lady is more than capable of holding her own, and of shielding me from harm if need be.” 

The boy need not know that Eomer would sooner die than put her in that position. He had kept that a secret from her and the rest of his Éored for years, although perhaps a little too successfully and to his own detriment.  

Riding Firefoot into the white-stone square courtyard that connected the galleries of stables, Eomer quickly saw that she was already waiting for him, standing alert beside her own horse. Greywind, a dappled mare that bore no meager resemblance to her equine brother, tossed her head and whickered softly at Firefoot's approach. It was a warmer reception than his master received.

"Good morning, my lord," the shield-maiden acknowledged with a nod as curt as her tone. Royal protocol satisfied, she turned and swung up into the saddle of her own steed. 

Her cold shoulder was to be his comeuppance, then. So be it. Her silent rages were nothing Eomer had not seen, borne, and successfully navigated before. 

But today, this time, would be different. Everything was sure to be different after that kiss, which, after a sleepless night of pondering and self-debating, he would still swear on Bema was no mistake. Clumsy perhaps, but an action he did not regret leaping into. There was no part of Eomer that did not desire to repeat it, over and over. 

First, he must resolve the confusion his recklessness had caused. 

"Follow my lead,” he said, and spurred Firefoot on toward the exit gates. 

His command came from habits formed over years of riding together, and so did her immediate obedience. Her loyalty had always been faultless; loyalty to Rohan, loyalty to him. Whenever he called and whatever he asked for, she gave, just as she came to meet him now, regardless of what had transpired between them last night. 

This new epiphany that her devotion to him might be encouraged not just by duty, but a love to reciprocate his, still felt like too much to hope for. 

They rode side by side down the levels of Minas Tirith, and soon were past the city’s great white walls. At the slightest shift of his master’s weight, Firefoot burst into a full charge down the North-way, rejoicing at the freedom to run across open land once more, an impatience that mirrored Eomer’s own. Next to them, Greywind and rider matched their gait to keep up, and they tore their way for several miles northward into Pelennor. 

Eomer’s body sang at the rush of the wind over his skin, through his hair and his cloak that streamed over Firefoot’s haunches. Too long had he been cooped up within the city walls, tethered to the duties of his new office. It still felt unseemly for him to carry the title of King while his uncle had yet to be properly laid to rest among his forebears, but he was determined to serve in every manner his people required. 

This involved taking guidance from his newly formed council, who seemed to believe that the first order of business was to reaffirm and restrengthen Rohan's alliance with Gondor. In the weeks that followed the great feast at Cormallen, Eomer spent more time with new acquaintances, lords and ladies from the noblest families of Gondor, than with his own men. His Éored, who had been the rock at his side for nearly the whole of the past year, were granted time to rest and convalesce according to their desires, and every one eagerly embraced the offered leave.

That included her, most painfully and noticeably. Each day that passed by filled with council meetings and formal dinners but nearly nothing of her, had dragged Eomer further into despair. When she finally reappeared for the coronation, dressed the way she was…small wonder that he finally lost hold on propriety the moment he touched her. 

In seemingly no time at all, they left it all behind. The high ramparts and looming towers of the grand city turned into a white speck on the mountainside. So far out north into the fields and away from the main road, they had separated themselves from the thousands that had flocked to the city to celebrate the coronation, and retreated into the peace of the vast plains that bore some semblance to their home. 

Eomer eased Firefoot into a relaxed pace and she followed suit. Afterward they were blanketed in silence but for the clink of tack and thud of hooves on the long grass finally regrown in the end of Pelennor’s strifes. 

One sideways glance showed Eomer that she remained resolved to look anywhere but in his direction. No matter. If she refused to look at him, he would gladly stare at her, and take his fill of what he had been deprived of for weeks. 

He had forgotten what a vision she made outside of armor, so long had they lived in battle gear. The gown she wore to the coronation ball had distracted him all evening, but it painted her beauty too foreign. The plain clothes of their people suited her best. On her, the wine-red dress underneath her green Rider’s cloak outstripped any fine silk confection. Her hair, usually held back in tight braids or trapped underneath a war helm, flowed in free waves that tumbled to her waist and made his fingers ache with longing. 

To see her in this manner reminded him of what Rohirrim sacrifice had achieved: the end to a life of constant peril, and in its place, domestic bliss. Eomer knew he would be wholly content to look upon her this way forever. And by Bema, by all the Valar that might hear, he prayed that she would let him. 

Another mile or two passed in the bleak silence before the skies gave him the opening he needed. The faint drizzle that had lazily harried them gradually intensified into a downpour, and the menacing grey clouds above rumbled a fair warning. 

Eomer pointed to a copse of beeches in the distance. “That should suffice for us to wait out the worst of it,” he said, and they directed their horses into the thicket. 

After releasing Firefoot and Greywind to find cover and graze at their leisure, they took their shelter underneath the tree with the most generous canopy. As Eomer watched her gather the cascade of her soaked hair over one shoulder, she happened to raise her eyes in his direction and catch his gaze. Her face remained impassive, but she did not look away again. She knew she could no longer delay what he had requested her company for. 

“May we speak now?”

The tense lines on her brow softened. “My lord,” she said, in a tone that was almost contrite. “I am here to listen to whatever you wish to say.”

“Good,” Eomer said, and needed one more breath to steady himself. “Good...” 

"Long has there been great camaraderie between us as comrades in arms, but in time that deepened into…more meaningful affection.” When she did not flinch at that attestation, he carried on. “After last night, it is clear that we must lay bare the extent of our feelings and finally be open with each other."

Her mouth trembled. “My lord--”

“I love you,” Eomer said. “I recognize no plainer truth than that. I am no bard or scholar, and so it is hard for me to describe what I feel for you...as it would be hard for anyone to explain the glory of the sun or the vastness of the skies. But you must know that it is love, nonetheless."

She remained silent at this, and her clenched jaw told him no response was forthcoming. But he had more. 

“These past years, Rohan’s protection occupied all of my waking thoughts. There was no time to consider ambitions for myself. And what need did I have for that, when the sole object of my desires rode in my company to every battle? But after all our years together, I suppose I began to take for granted that you would always be close by, even while I drowned in fear that one sword stroke could separate us forever."

He edged a step closer to her, driven by the mere suggestion of such unspeakable loss. 

“When you grew distant after Theodred's passing, I awoke to my folly. I wished to blame your withdrawal from me on your grief, but my jealous mind whispered that my long buried suspicions were confirmed, that you had always desired his devotion over mine. I wrestled with the torment from it, until last night, when you gave me reason to hope again.” 

“But..but I did not…y-you had never…” She cut off her own stammering and squared herself determinedly before continuing. “I never found sufficient cause to believe you could care for me so, my lord.” 

“The fault is mine for not being forthright with you from the start. I will do whatever I must to remedy that now.” Suddenly they were face to face on the same side of the tree, for she had not thought to dart away from his advances this time. “I would shout it from the very spire of their great Tower if it will end your doubts.” 

He reached for her, and the edge of his hand found her chin. Contrary to his bold declaration he repeated, barely above a whisper: “I love you.” 

“No,” she murmured back. “Please. You must not say such things.” 

“Why not, when it is the truth?”

“Because it is a truth you cannot act on.”

Eomer’s hand dropped to his side as he barked a humorless laugh. “Granted I have not held the role for very long, but that seems a peculiar thing to tell a King.”

“You are the King now, and that binds you to do things according to your duty, not according to your desire.” She lowered her head. “That is the truth that matters, my lord. Love cannot always prevail over everything.”

The familiar frustration marked with dread clawed at Eomer again. “My love for you will prevail over this,” he vowed. “Moreso because it is love returned.”

Only the sound of splattering rainfall followed, and the realization that she was starting to turn away.

“You… you do love me.”

“I do not.”

The ensuing crack of thunder paled against the shock her reply struck in Eomer. She slipped away from his side once more while he fumbled through his recollections of the previous night.

Drunk as he had been on the taste of her kisses, he could not have misunderstood her impassioned outburst. You are all I ever see, even when I do not wish to!  He had dissected that precious confession over and over in his head and basked in sweeter hope that he had ever dared to feel about anything.

“I will not accept that. I do not believe it!”

In a handful of strides he overtook her as she fled to the edge of the grove, where the trees stood further apart and exposed them to the deluge. 

“What is causing you to deny me? Deny yourself, deny us?!” She attempted to step around him, but Eomer blocked her progress relentlessly. “Is it that misguided belief of yours that I am, in your words, ‘taken’?” 

Finally she succumbed and stood in place, cold and drenched and as stock-still as a soldier holding the line. But Eomer found the answer clear on her grimace. 

"Do you mistake me for some bull that has been put on the market for the highest bidder? Or believe me so feeble that I have no control over my choice of wife?!"

She stiffened at his rising rebuke and shook her head. “Not just a wife, my lord. A Queen. You must choose the right woman to offer to Rohan as our long-awaited Queen.”

“Marry me and it is done.”

Immediately her eyes widened and her face blanched, as his bluntness finally plowed through her shields.  “Oh Eomer,” she breathed, and the return of his name on her lips nearly rendered him as dazed as she was. 

He moved to embrace her, but she clutched him by the forearms, guarding her space. He felt her fingers tremble as they dug into the fabric of his tunic sleeves. He thought he might have heard a sob, but in the rain it was impossible to discern the source of the drops slipping down her cheeks. 

“I know you are wiser than that,” she told him. “You know Rohan’s political realities, regardless of your distaste for them. Your rise to your uncle’s throne has separated us by a chasm that cannot be bridged.” She sensed his intention to interrupt and spoke even louder. “I am an orphaned stray, Eomer. Theodred’s favor may have rescued me from a life of insignificance, but I am still baseborn by anyone's standards. Yet however lowly I am, I can hold my head up with pride, because I have always known my place.”

“As do I.” Eomer slid his hand up the curve of her neck. “Your place is with me.”

“Yes it is.” Her smile was joyless as she gripped his wrist to keep his obvious desires at bay. “I belong at your side, on the open fields, with a sword in my hand, ready to give my life for you at a moment's notice. You gifted me with purpose, and riding in your company has brought me such honor. Please do not ask me to play a role where I will only fail and return to an object of derision.”

Eomer frowned. “I have only ever loved you. No one else is suitable for me to take to wife.”

She lifted those beautiful eyes to stare dead-evenly at him for the first time in months. “Dol Amroth,” she whispered. “The daughter of Prince Imrahil.”

The sadness in her eyes lifted the fog of ignorance that obfuscated him. He recognized that pain as the very same one that had pierced him each time he watched her in Theodred’s company. The way they smiled at each other, their intimate touches, their freely exchanged affection that made his stomach twist with envy. But he had been wrong in his interpretation of that situation, and so was she on this one. 

“What of her?” he said brusquely, pushing aside his full realization of what she was implying. 

“One does not have to sit at the council table to see the soundness of your match.”

“There is no match!”

“Then there will be and there should be!” she insisted. “Everyone sees it, and if you tell me you do not, then you have no right to accuse me of denying what is true.”

A low growl rumbled off Eomer and suddenly he was the one to swivel away, rubbing his face and rain-matted beard while he weighed his answer.

“I do not deny that overtures have been made by advisors, both mine and King Elessar's," he said finally. "Lothiriel does seem an obvious candidate to put forward as a consort for the King of Rohan. But that appropriateness has nothing to do with me. Had Theodred survived to stand in my place, they would be pushing her to him. Have I been counseled on the benefits of an alliance with Imrahil's house? Oh yes--with the subtlety of a hammer's blow. But I barely paid heed to that, since all that mattered to me was your opinion on the subject."

"My opinion," she echoed. She planted her hands on her hips and studied her muddied boots for a long moment. "I can offer you what I know. You, Eomer King, will be the greatest ruler the Mark has ever seen. Your rule deserves every opportunity it can claim, and this offer of an alliance with Dol Amroth is one you cannot dismiss. I have heard nothing but praise and approval at the prospect, from mouths both common and noble."

"Princess Lothiriel is young, and beautiful, and beloved. Her blood is of the most distinguished and most powerful house in Gondor. She will give you exactly what you need. What Rohan needs."

She suddenly came forward to cradle Eomer's face between her hands, a touch he had only experienced in dreams until then. Except this was more akin to his worst nightmare. His inner wretchedness must have become evident in his furrowed brow and was too pitiful to ignore. "Moreover she will adore you, if she has not fallen already, for no maiden has ever lived whose heart you cannot ensnare.”

“Do not flatter me in one breath only to spurn me in the next,” Eomer muttered. “I did not ask for you to wax poetic about my future with another woman. I want your thoughts about all that matters. Us.”

“Us?”

She tried to withdraw her hands, but Eomer caught them in time, and held them firm against his chest, as if it could make her feel how consumed his heart was by her. 

“Once I might have carried hope for us,” she said softly. “Hope that I could one day be enough, because I knew you cared for Rohan above all else and admired my dedication to our people. I thought perhaps in time, that admiration might grow to love, as mine did so quickly after I met you."

“But it did, it--”

Her hands jerked inside his grip, their next attempt at escape futile. “Any hope I had for us died with Theodred,” she said tersely. “When his charge as the King's heir passed on to you. Let it rest with him.”

The roll of receding thunder brought Eomer back to a distinct memory of that dreadful day at Isen. The raw anguish on her face as she looked up at him with Theodred's head on her lap. Her frightened reluctance at releasing the prince for Eomer to take on Firefoot. 

It had rained too when Eomer came to bring her the news of his passing not a day later. Ignoring the heavy downpour, she ran out to meet him as he approached her cottage, and broke down before he could get the words out. He had to lead her back inside and wrap her in a blanket before she caught a chill. She clung tightly to him as he held her for a long while, bewildered by her sobs. It was the only time he had ever seen her weep. 

Only then did it dawn on Eomer: it was not just the loss of Theodred that she had mourned. 

“Run away with me.” 

It burst from his lips without a thought. 

“Wh-What? No!” She yanked away from him with such force he was left grasping for empty air. 

“Come with me, and let us run away together.” He rushed after her as she strode toward their horses. She already knew his mind, but he also knew hers, and there was nothing left for him to employ to sway her to his thinking. Nothing but this brazen proposal. 

“Away to where?!” she cried, without bothering to look his way. She came up to Greywind and seized her saddle pommel, but Eomer’s hand closed around hers, stilling her progress. 

“Anywhere. Far enough to take you away from all this--” Eomer swung out his free arm in a gesture as wild as the fervor in his eyes. “Away from everything that is confusing you.”

She started shaking her head vigorously and backing away. “Eomer, no. You are mad!”

“Do not tell me that!” Eomer lurched forward in pursuit, yet knew better than to grab her. She could not lose him out here where there was nowhere to hide. But he would lose her if she shut him out again by refusing to listen. 

“Do not tell me I am mad when the only madness is you believing we do not deserve a future together!” Each time he blocked her path, she pivoted in another direction, and he immediately swerved to repeat the dance. “Madness is you rejecting a man who yearns for you more than a mortal heart could possibly bear, clinging to the barefaced lie that you do not feel exactly the same.”

At that, she fell still. In the stillness Eomer realized that the rainstorm had finally dissipated, and in studying her face, he noticed the drops that continued to slip from the edges of her closed eyes, gliding to her quivering jaw. 

“You know as well as I that we belong together.” He caught one of the tears with the edge of his thumb, smoothing his finger over her soft, flushed skin. “So let us take the road west and… and just keep riding. Let me take you home. Our people here will follow soon enough, and when they arrive we can meet them as man and wife.”

“Eomer,” she sighed, before falling silent, her eyes still shut. He hoped she would take her time finding ease, so she may really consider his offer. But she responded immediately, too quickly, once again. “We cannot just abandon our obligations.”

“You insist we cannot, but we can. You can do whatever you wish. You just need to decide what that is--"

“No! No, no, no…” The word morphed into whimpers on her lips, an effort to drown him out.

“--and that is all I ask. That you shut out thoughts of all else and answer truly, from your heart." Something in Eomer’s throat tightened, as though an invisible hand had seized his neck and threatened to choke him. He swallowed and persisted with all the courage he could muster. "Will you marry me?"

“No.”

“Please.” It tasted bitter on his tongue, for Eomer son of Eomund had never begged for anything in his life, even as it took the last shreds of pride for him not to fall on his knees in his final bid. “I am asking you for the truth. Your truth alone. Do you want me?”

Her eyes fluttered open, bearing the steely determination and battle strength that had won his respect years ago, and in that moment Eomer saw that that inner fire he loved would now crush him.

“No,” she answered. “I do not.”

To be continued in Part 3...

Men Tag List: @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @achromaticerebus @aduialel @asianbutnotjapanese @auttumnsayshi @blueberryrock @elan-ho-detto-elan-15 @entishramblings @fizzyxcustard @freshalmondpandadonut @friendofthefellowshipsnerdblog @glassgulls @heilith @heranintomyknife23times @konartiste @ladyweaslette @laneynoir @lathalea @lemonivall @LiliDurin @quickslvxrr @scyllas-revenge @talkdifferently6

For more SotWK Fanfiction: Fanfiction Masterlist

Other useful links:

Introduction to SotWK

SotWK HC Masterlist

Fanfiction Request Guidelines

#sotwk fanfiction #eomer #eomer x reader #eomer fanfiction #rohan #lotr #eomer x you #valentine event 2023 #follower request

[sotwk]

Taken (Eomer x Reader) - Part 3 of 3

Part 1 / Part 2

Summary: After having his proposals and professions rejected by the woman he loves, Éomer still refuses to be dissuaded. He vows to continue fighting for a future with her--even if that means having to let go for the time being.

Word count: 6.7k

Dedicated to anyone who has ever known the pain of loving someone you could not have. <3

Content: Boromir lives (!), angsty romance, declarations of love, jealousy, mutual pining, class division, shield-maiden, Éomer King, Rohirrim OCs, post-RotK, non-canon pairing

Rating: T (Teens and up)

Warnings: Sensuality gets steamy, but nothing explicit. Mentions of old battle injuries.

To Read on AO3: Link

Taken 

PART THREE

Third Age 3019 May 6

Minas Tirith, Gondor

“If you would allow me to propose something your Grace, I--”

“Éomer.” The King of Rohan growled the ungentle correction with an irritated shake of his head. “If I have leave from your king to continue calling him Elessar, then I will not abide frivolous formalities from you…Captain. And speak freely! It is your candor that I came here for, as much as your counsel."

Boromir chuckled faintly. “Very well.” He downed the last of the wine in his goblet before picking up the jug to refill it, then reaching across the table to serve his guest as well. 

While Éomer took a hearty swig, Boromir used the extra seconds of silence to weigh his next words. The noble horse-lord had done most of the talking since his arrival at the house not an hour ago, rambling on with barely contained agitation that would have frightened or offended anyone unfamiliar with his character. But Boromir had known Théodred’s cousin since he was a child, and while he was not nearly as close to Éomer as he had been with the late Prince of Rohan, their friendship had deepened enough--especially over the past few months--to familiarize Boromir with the trigger points of his temper. 

And Boromir had never before seen him more sensitive about a topic than the matter they had at hand. 

Love certainly wields such terrible power over a man, the Captain-General of Gondor mused, before clearing his throat. 

“I will gladly fulfill your request of watching over her in your absence, making sure she is well-treated and wants for nothing,” he began. “But a soldier can quickly grow restless without sufficient martial exercise.” 

“I agree.” Éomer leaned forward to fold his arms across the table. “Has she not been here long enough for your men to grow accustomed to seeing her at the training grounds? None of them need spar against her or even alongside her if they do not wish to. She would be content to practice drills on her own. In fact, she may even prefer it.”  

“My men will tolerate her presence just fine. The valor she showed on Pelennor was well-witnessed, and stories of it have circulated around our garrison,” Boromir said. “I admit she may inevitably overhear crass remarks from some passing boor among the citizenry. A woman warrior still remains an oddity in these parts. But I am sure she did not come to her status without learning how to weather such criticisms.” 

“Yes.” Éomer stared at the empty goblet he rotated slowly between his hands. “She has had to bear with a lot of ignorant talk over the years.”

“Which is why I propose taking her as a member of my company while you are away. Just temporarily,” Boromir added quickly, noting the immediate change in the horse-lord's demeanor. “It will help her feel more at ease while here, separated from you and her countrymen, if she had a group to belong to.”

“She has already taken a strong liking to your Aerdis. Which, I must confess, took me by surprise.”

Boromir smiled at this, his fool heart ready to burst with joy at every casual mention of his betrothed. “My lady is an easy one to love,” he said simply. “And indeed, the two seem to enjoy each other's company. I am certain Aerdis would be happy to continue acquainting her with all of her treasured haunts within the city and even beyond its walls. But…” 

He rubbed his jaw slowly, ever the unconscious tell of his discomfort with the situation at hand. But it was no use dancing around the real counsel he wished to present to Éomer King. “When it comes to daily labors, a shield-maiden will likely be happier with work better suited to her talents.”

Éomer cocked an eyebrow, clearly undeceived by Boromir’s attempts at off-handedness. “What sort of work? I sense you have something specific in mind.”

“I do,” Boromir admitted. “And I shall explain it to you plainly, although I will first say that it is both a suggestion and a request for a favor.” At this point he considered offering Éomer another refill of his drink, but the deepening scowl on the man’s face made him think better of it. “As you may have heard, I have been charged by King Elessar to lead the delegation that will treat with the Southrons. Sadhar has already come forward with an offer to parley, as soon as next month.”

Éomer’s eyes widened; he caught on even faster than Boromir had expected him to. “And you wish to include her in your delegation?”

“With your approval, yes.”

“You do not have it!” Éomer exclaimed. “And how could you propose such a thing?! Have you forgotten how she was so nearly dragged off by those animals to be taken who knows where for purposes I dare not even think of?”

“Are you really asking that of the man who came to her aid?”

It was a risky move to prod at that wound, but Éomer looked properly chastised by it. “You rescued her,” he conceded. “And for that I shall eternally be in your debt. But I cannot pretend to understand why you wish to involve her in any dealings with Harad.”

“You must see why I thought of her,” Boromir insisted. “You, who can personally attest to what she is capable of.” But Éomer continued to look too distraught to think, so he laid the rest out. “I can count on the fingers of one hand every person I know who can speak a Haradric dialect with reliable accuracy. Half of them died in the war.”

Éomer rose abruptly, nearly knocking over his chair in his state. Muttering indistinctly, he turned his back to Boromir to glare out the nearest window and brood at the rain lashing against the glass panes. 

“When Théodred used to boast to me about her, I dismissed it as a mentor's pride in his fanciful protégé,” Boromir continued. “I suppose I too allowed myself to be distracted by her sex. But she really is a hidden gem in your Éored, is she not? Your cousin invested in her training with great thoughtfulness, and it has borne fruit marvelously. He really believed--”

Éomer slammed the heel of his hand on the window frame. “Théodred was not the one hopelessly in love with her for so many years! There lies the difference!” he snapped. “So when you ask for my consent to take her to meet with our enemies, consider that you are asking me to risk the life of the woman I absolutely refuse to live my own life without!”

And while Boromir reacted with silence, he stood there, breathing hard, one fist on his hip and the other hand pressed over his forehead. “Forgive me,” he mumbled. “The wine, I…and I have scarcely slept since--”

Boromir waved off the apology. “I understand your agony well. It was not long ago that I lived through the same, and just mercifully survived to a happy end. I am on your side, Éomer. I know politics and duty might make the lines difficult to discern, but I hope you can believe that.”

“I believe it.” Éomer made another weary swipe of his hand across his face. “At least I think I do. Too many things are changing too quickly, and I fear a failure to keep in step shall result in my simply being dragged along behind everyone else like an unhorsed sot.”

“Then maybe there is wisdom in her request to stay behind and out of your way. The time apart may provide you the focus you need to regain your footing.”

The tired lines on Éomer’s face tightened again. “And why must time apart involve setting her on a perilous road?”

“The mission carries little chance of peril. Peace talks, even with Harad, are nothing compared to everything she has survived to get this far. You know this.” Éomer brushed past Boromir to return to the table, but the captain’s frank reproach pursued him. “Separation from her is what you dread, not the Southrons.”

So furiously did Éomer scowl at the table surface that for a moment Boromir thought he might turn the heavy shelf over in a fit of rage. Instead he seized the wine jug, poured himself a gobletful, and drank it in two forceful gulps. 

“I had hoped you could give me counsel on how I might change her mind, and convince her to simply come home,” he finally said. “Perhaps even quell her doubts in the future she can have with me.”

Underneath the anger and frustration, Éomer’s raw misery lay bare to Boromir, and suddenly he felt a swell of compassion for the young king. Would that he could offer a swift resolution to his predicament, instead of mere commiseration for the challenges that still lay ahead. 

“However hard it is to hear, separation is the soundest advice I can give you today,” Boromir said. “Time and distance are most effective at calming the storm in one's mind, so that the heart may have its chance to be properly heard. Many have learned this from experience, myself included. I believe it shall be the same for your lady.”

Éomer's shoulders heaved in a ponderous sigh. “If only it did not feel like such a gamble.”

Boromir could not help a chuckle. “Then I regret I must tell his majesty, that you cast your first of many dice the moment you let her take your heart. But in the end, you shall be the one to decide how much you are willing to risk, and you alone decide when you are done.”

The anguish that resurged on Éomer's face was almost a relief to Boromir. The King of Rohan was wise enough to already know the graver half of the truth: that his new throne was in many ways a cage, and there was very little a good ruler could afford to risk in pursuit of his own desires. 

* * *

“Take the names of any fools who might give you trouble,” Léodor said, unhooking the reins of his horse to start leading it across the muddy yard. “I can sort them all out on our return.”

You laughed as you followed him to the edge of the farmland property, marked by the scorched ruins of what had once been a granary. “Do you really think I could wait that long without sorting such fools out myself?” 

“Anyone with the gall to harass a rider of the king’s Éored deserves a second dose of thrashing, or a third or fourth.” Your friend turned to grasp your forearm and give it a firm squeeze. “Although I sincerely hope these men of Gondor would know better, for their own sakes.”

“They are our allies, now more than ever before,” you reminded him. “And I have every confidence in their courtesy and hospitality.”

“Perhaps if you were less of a recluse and better at making friends, I would not worry so.”

Your knuckles barely grazed his sleeve as he darted away and promptly swung up to the safety of his saddle, chortling and calling, “You are only proving my point, sister!” 

“Waste not a thought or care on me, and focus them all on your family!” you retorted, and stepped back as he spurred his horse forward. “Westu Léodor hál!”

You watched him gallop off across the plains of Pelennor, back to the distant towers of the White City. Tomorrow, he and the rest of the Éored would finalize preparations for the greatly anticipated journey home. But as soon as he heard that you had been tasked with staying behind, to remain with the body of Théoden King, Léodor alone took the time to come looking for you. 

Whatever his suspicions regarding Éomer's selection of you as the one to leave in Gondor, Léodor spoke nothing of them. He was content to spend his entire visit sharing the cask of ale he brought, and talking your ears off about all the things he planned to do with his wife and son and infant daughter upon their reunion.

How far your relationship had come, you mused, as you watched the shrinking speck finally melt  into the shadows of the deepening twilight. With him and with the rest of the men in your company, when you had once sworn, in tears hidden, that they would never accept you. Now their departure would sting as though you had been orphaned for the third time. 

It is only for several weeks, you told yourself, to ease the weight of doubt that sat upon your chest. As you turned to walk back toward the cottage, a fierce wind rose and ripped off the cloak that was loosely draped over your shoulders. With a startled cry you grabbed for it, but not quickly enough to save it from landing in a large puddle.

You retrieved the soaked fabric from the mud with a sigh. A fat raindrop landed squarely on the top of your uncovered head, and was immediately followed by another and another. Spontaneous rain had been pouring on and off over Gondor since the King’s coronation, and you heard the locals welcome and praise this tumultuous weather as a blessing, a sign of war’s filth being washed away to cleanse the lands for rebirth. 

Shielding your eyes from the sudden deluge, you looked up at the roiling clouds overhead, further entranced by the sight of jagged lightning flashing over the White Mountains.  But when your gaze dropped back down to the horizon, you were alarmed to notice a horsed figure crossing the fields through the storm, approaching fast, in your direction. 

It was him. Without proof of his face or voice, or even the support of logic, you just knew. It was him. 

The very thought of that froze you, mind and body, in place. Pale and immobile and increasingly drenched, you stood like a deeply rooted tree while the rider drew closer and closer, on a horse powerful enough to sustain its determined gait over the sodden ground and lashing winds. Dumbfounded and dazed, you remained, until at last he came to a stop just several yards away. He dismounted Firefoot, his heavy boots squelching in the muck, and that sound snapped you to your senses. 

“My lord,” you rushed forward with the soiled cloak twisted uselessly between your hands. “The stables are around the back. Let me take Firefoot there while you get out of this rain.”

“I shall stable him,” Éomer said sternly, but not unkindly, to warn you against arguing. “Go and wait for me inside the house.” 

Without speaking another word or sparing a backward glance, you obeyed your king. You shut the cottage door behind you to keep out the ill weather, hung your wet cloak on a peg, and crouched by the warmth of the fireplace to dry off as best as you could. You kept your jittery hands busy feeding the flames with more wood, but your mind refused to be calmed as easily. 

What is he doing here?! The agreement had been for you to report to him the following day, to receive in full detail your last set of orders before the entire Rohan contingent departed. Éomer had granted your request to stay behind quickly enough, and with so little argument that you had hoped perhaps the issue between you was settled, at least for the time being.

If he was not prepared to completely abandon his fatuous notion of asking you to marry him, then time apart would surely set his mind back to good sense. The Éomer you knew could always be trusted to do the right thing. You clung firmly to this thought while you waited the agonizing minutes for him to return from the stables. 

As soon as he entered, you offered him the last clean towel you could find to dry himself with. He raised his eyebrows at your attempt to give him royal treatment, but graciously swiped the cloth several times over his face, neck, and hair, before tossing it over the back of a chair. 

“So this is the place.” He peeled off his riding cloak to reveal clothing underneath that was just as soaked as yours; he may as well not have bothered with the outer garment at all. “You said it belonged to Lady Aerdis’s late…uncle?”

“A relative of sorts,” you said. When you confided in your new friend your wistful desire to be housed outside the city, where you could have more quiet and solitude, she had been quick to offer the empty cottage in near Pelennor that was recently willed to her by deceased relations. “There are things I can work on to help restore it while I am here. Even my meager skills will serve a farm better than sitting on my hands in the city barracks watching everyone else in their labors. I wish to remain useful, and do my part in the rebuilding.”

“I understand. You have explained all that, and well,” Éomer said slowly. “But regretfully, I must rescind the permission I granted for you to live outside Minas Tirith. You can stay here for the remainder of this week, to rest and do as you please. But afterward, I would like for you to go back to the city and remain there until my return.”

You bit back a protest, determined, now more than ever, to reaffirm your position as his servant. “May I ask what I am to do there, then?”

“Lord Boromir petitioned me to loan you to his company, and I granted it. He shall assign your duties, and you will take your orders from him while I am gone.” 

Although it surprised you to hear this, it was a welcome prospect. Of all the men in Gondor you liked and trusted Lord Boromir the most, having known him since you were just a girl, albeit not intimately. This would provide an opportunity to improve on the connection. “Lord Boromir honors me with his request. And as always, it shall please me to do as my king commands.”

Éomer responded to your formal pledge with a weary sigh. He braced his hands on the back of the chair in front of him, and the way his knuckles whitened in the tightness of his grip, while he searched for his next words, did not escape your notice. 

“Make no mistake, this command does not align with what I desire,” he said thickly. “Leaving without you violates every instinct in my body, but if that is what must be done to make you see reason, then I shall bear it.”

“Reason?” you repeated stiffly. “What conclusion are you hoping I might come to?”

Éomer raised his eyes from the floor to meet yours across the room. “I know you believe that putting distance between us may somehow alter how I feel about you. But I in turn believe the time apart will help you accept how deeply in love you are with me.”

The heat that flooded your face burned through your mask of composure. “I am not--”

“Enough.” The sadness that bled into that single word made it a plea instead of an order. “I did not come to reopen discussions on the matter. Especially not if denials are all you have left to say to me.”

“Then pray tell, what has my lord come for?” you challenged him behind your icy courtesy. “How else may I serve you, Éomer King?”

The hurt that crossed his face came on so suddenly, looked so profound and real, it was as though you had physically struck him. He stared at you in a dead silence, and you forced yourself to hold his gaze while you held your breath, guilt sinking into your gut from the knowledge that you were the wretch who had gone too far. 

“Nothing,” he said quietly. “Clearly there is nothing more to say, other than farewell.”

He picked up his cloak, turned, and left, leaving you utterly dumbfounded, staring at the door that slammed shut behind him.

The longest seconds of your life passed before your shock and indecision were overcome by a wild hysteria that made your entire body grow cold.

You leapt for the door and wrenched it open, and stepped into the downpour in time to see him vanish around the corner of the house, heading back to the stables. 

The loss of him from your sight smashed through your bravado, and you cried out into the storm. 

“Éomer!!”

Before you could grasp your reasoning for why you did it, or what you planned to do next, he reappeared, every footstep leaving puddles as his approach backed you up into the cottage. His eyes bore down at you, his expression now guarded and inscrutable and expectant. Gusting wind drove in sprinkles of rain through the door left open and ignored. 

I am sorry. The whisper sitting on the tip of your tongue was smothered by a hostile inner voice. 

Let him go. It is your duty. It is what’s right.

But your stolid face collapsed under the weight of your anguish. A grimace squeezed out the tears that blinded your eyes, finally betraying your shameful truth. I do love you, Éomer. 

Gentle fingers settled lightly over your lips, stilling their feeble quivering. A voice even warmer and more tender than this touch eased your struggle.

“I do not need words. This is enough.”

As the hardened pads of those fingers brushed across the plane of your cheek, you closed your eyes and at once forgot all else that existed. Such was the power of his touch that for years you so vigilantly avoided, until that fateful moment of weakness after the coronation exposed your secret. That moment could never be undone, no matter how hard you tried to bury the truth now.

Éomer murmured your name, his breath warm on your temple, and then his hands stilled where they lightly cupped your face. In that pause lay a question, and the last time you answered it, you had hurt him. Foolish liar that you were.

“Yes.” The whisper passed from your lips to his as his mouth wasted no time seeking yours. You clasped your hands around the back of his neck, urging him closer as your own hunger surged. You felt the tremor that ran through his shoulders when you slipped your tongue against his. How could you have ever chosen to cause him pain, when you could have given him this instead?

He broke the kiss to let you catch your breath, but nuzzled your chin upward to gain access to your neck, so his lips could continue their quest to the hollow of your throat. You gasped at the scrape of his teeth on your collarbone, then moaned when he remedied his offense with reverent strokes of his tongue. His arms wrapped fully around your waist, pulling you greedily against him, fingers threading and tugging at your hair as he moved his worship to your shoulders.

But it was your touch, the scrabble of your hands over his hips and stomach as you held on to him for balance, that elicited a low growl. In just a few hurried steps, he backed you to the furthest corner of the cottage, until the side of the bed hit the back of your legs.

Your name was still the only thing he could utter, muffled in between the kisses he could not stop lavishing on every bit of your skin he could reach. Your hands found their way to his hips again, this time  sneaking underneath the wet fabric that clung to his torso, then brazenly gliding upward, past his belly to the taut muscles of his chest, high enough for your thumb to circle his nipple.

An ungentlemanly word suddenly rumbled from Éomer King's throat, so startled was he by the sensual touch. Within moments his shirt lay discarded on the floor, your back made contact with the mattress, and there he was, leaning over you, bare from the waist up to your hungry eyes. You gave yourself an extra second to appreciate the sight before hooking a hand over his nape to yank him back into a kiss. The fervor in his response left you writhing and whimpering and completely vulnerable in your weakness. 

A deep haze settled over you as you began to lose yourself to the pleasure of his ministrations. With every inch of you, you wanted this, and the way your body reacted to his every action, shaking in desperation for more, would surely tell him that. And yet… yet as you felt his fingers grope for the fastenings of your dress, felt his palm brush the back of your knee to your thigh, felt his hardness press against your hip… something inside of you jerked in reawakened panic.

“Éomer. W-wait.”

So soft was the protest, you were not even sure you had said the words aloud. But almost immediately, Éomer stopped and pulled back. He took one look at you, your disheveled state, and whatever expression lay on your face, and he sat up fully, turning away, dragging your heart out of your chest with him.

“Éomer, please. I am… I just…”

“No, I understand and I agree. To carry on would be unwise.”

He rubbed both hands roughly over his face, shaking away the stupor induced by his desire.

“All these years I have ordered the men to give you the respect you are due. I cannot risk your virtue or reputation now, however long I have wanted this. Wanted you.”

You moved to sit on the edge of the bed next to him. “You are my King, and it is my duty to protect you and your reputation. We must behave prudently.”

He nodded, but still looked so pained you could not help but lift your hand to try to soothe the scowl from his face. He angled his head to kiss the inside of your wrist.

“I will have you,” he muttered, his diverted gaze making it seem more a promise to himself than to you. But when he turned his eyes back on you, the wanton lust pooling in them stirred the heat in your belly. “I will wait for the right circumstances, however long it may take, but I will have you.”

He rose and walked a few steps across the room, perhaps in need of distance from you. As he stood closer to the fireplace, the light illuminated a view so rarely seen by anyone, many people in Rohan had come to believe that Éomer was simply hale and hard of body beyond the limits of mortal men. 

The numerous scars that decorated his body testified to both his fragility and his strength. Many of his wounds had been tended to by you on the battlefield, carrying terrible memories that were now also moments of pride and achievement that you shared with him. 

Éomer seemed to feel your intent gaze upon him, and he stretched out a hand to you, beckoning you to rejoin him. As soon as you were within reach, he wrapped his arms around you again, drawing you against him, sighing contently as your touch drifted over the bare skin of his chest and shoulders.

Your hand moved with intention, skimming down to his lower abdomen, probing carefully for the large scar you knew sat just below his ribcage. That injury was less than two years old. It still amazed you how it had managed to heal with little issue, under the constant strain of the many violent battles Éomer fought in since. 

So close. A chill ran through you as the memory rose unbidden: you pressing down hard to staunch the bleeding, screaming for someone to help carry the barely conscious Marshal to the nearest shelter, where you could safely attempt to clean and suture the wound. If the orc blade had sunk in only a fraction of an inch deeper, it would have been beyond anyone's power to save him. You came too close to losing him that day.

Eomer's lips brushed against the shell of your ear as he interrupted your reminiscence with a whisper. “How can you still doubt that we belong together, when already you are part of me?” 

Your fingers passed over several other scars from injuries you had tended to over the years, and came to rest over the tattoo on his upper right arm. The black dragon curled around the edge of his shoulder was identical in design and location to the mark borne by every rider in your Éored. Your possession of that dragon mark bound you to Éomer intimately, but also defined your role in his life. Sharing his bed, or even being with him just once, was not your place.

“None of these give me any right to claim you,” you said softly. “You must still marry. And it is your duty to marry well.”

He caught your elbow as you started to move your hand away, and guided it back to slide over his waist, to rest over the scar once more, willing you to hold fast to the memory it carried, and hold fast to him.

“What does it mean to marry? Is it not just the giving of one's entire self--mind and body, heart and soul--to another?”

He hooked a finger underneath your chin, urging your downcast gaze to rise and meet his.

“How am I to dispose of things that are no longer in my possession? I have long been taken, solely and utterly, by you.”

And with that gaze he set upon you, you wondered: how many glances must have he given you in secret all these years, with eyes that burned with something more than the devotion of one comrade-in-arms to another? What willful blindness had you clung to for years, for you not to have noticed it?

“I must fulfill my duties to Rohan, this is true. But not even a king can be asked to do the impossible.”

“But to wed a great king to a lowly servant--” You shook your head. “Many would argue that is the real impossibility.”

A new expression akin to anger flashed across Éomer’s face. Before you could wonder what you might have done wrong, he dropped to his knees before you, both knees, his hands wrapped tightly around yours.

“My lord!” you cried, aghast that he would debase himself, even in private. You tried to force him back up, but he would not budge.

“Never speak of yourself as lowly again,” he admonished. “King or peasant, there is nothing more lowly or humbled than a man so wretchedly in love, as I am with you.”

“Éomer…” You sank to the floor with him. “If only things were so simple. I wish it could all happen as you say, but I just do not see how. I do not know what can be done.”

“Let me hold your love for a while longer, and wait for me,” he said gently. “That is all I ask. The rest is mine to accomplish. As long as your heart is mine, and I know you have given it to me freely, I will fight for my right to keep it.”

You felt his grip around your fingers grow tense in the long seconds of silence that followed. At last, you brought his knuckles to your lips, kissing the hands you adored with such devotion.

“When you leave, you shall take my heart with you,” you whispered into his palm. “But I fear it will be a greater challenge than you believe, to keep others from wresting such an unsuitable offering from your hands.” 

“They may certainly try, if they wish to test me.” The ice in his tone unsettled you, even though that veiled threat was certainly not for you, while the warm caress on your cheek was. “Not for a moment will I appear unclear or undecided when it comes to my intentions towards you. I will never make that mistake again.”

“B-but the Council of Eorl. The lords…”

“They answer to the King,” Éomer interrupted. “Do not privileges, as well as duties, come with this crown? Trust me. Please.” He bowed to rest his forehead against yours. “While we are parted, I will prove to you that it can be done, that I will do whatever I must to marry you, and to honor and protect you thereafter.”

“Marry?” you murmured. The idea still seemed no more than a ludicrous fantasy. But then Éomer kissed you again, deeply, as though determined to memorize the taste of your lips, urging you to focus on the present moment. 

Because he was yours, even if just for that night. Even if by dawn, it could all crumble under the pressures of the world outside these walls. Éomer loved you, and held you in such high regard to want you as his wife and queen. You would swear to anyone that this knowledge alone was already a dream fulfilled. 

And yet. If you were brave enough to hope, maybe…just maybe, this would not be the last impossibility to come true for you. 

* * *

They do not know. Hundreds of Gondor’s citizens bearing streamers and flowers lined the streets of Minas Tirith that morning to join King Elessar in sending off the departing Eorlingas. But it occurred to Éomer how strange it felt that none of them had any awareness of a matter that was not only monumental for him personally, but carried significant consequences for all of Rohan.

Soon that will change, the young king vowed to himself. Soon his Council will hear the truth, and afterward all of Rohan, and then the rest of their allies. But for the moment, discretion--no matter how bitter the pretense tasted. 

No one except for Lord Boromir and his betrothed, the lovely Lady Aerdis, who both stood next to her, understood what truly lay underneath the courteous gestures exchanged between the King of Rohan and his shield-maiden. A simple bow, an exchange of a few words, and a locking of gazes that was all too brief. Had they not spent that one evening together, Éomer would have remained trapped in the false belief of her indifference towards him. The memory of her kisses would have to suffice for a while, and he could only hope he had given her enough to remember him by, as well. 

He brushed the edge of his hand over his lips just as he turned away, and forced his feet to carry him down the line of assembled well-wishers. 

A noticeable hush descended on the crowd of onlookers as Éomer came to the end of the road where, closest to the ruins of the Great Gate, the King of Gondor himself met him, flanked by none other than Imrahil, the Prince of Dol Amroth, and his only daughter.

“Lady Lothíriel.” As Éomer took the hand she courteously offered him and brushed a kiss on her fingers, he became aware of the wan smiles that surrounded them, and the unsubtle tittering of a few ladies watching. “Your presence this morning is an unexpected and most delightful gift.”

Lothíriel was astonishingly beautiful indeed, with such radiant grace and sweet smiles, that it would not have surprised Éomer if many citizens of the White City came out just to catch a glimpse of her. “I wish you, Lady Éowyn, and all your men a safe journey, your Grace,” she said. “And may you have great success in your labors, so that we can soon celebrate your speedy return.”

“You are kind, my lady. I certainly hope for the same,” replied Éomer. “We leave behind treasure beyond price here and shall be eager to return for our own.”

Two Rohan lords had already swooped in to engage Imrahil in quiet conversation, and only stepped aside when Éomer himself approached to exchange farewells. Éomer’s admiration for the Prince only grew the more he learned about him and spent time with him, but the unabashed thirst of his counselors for Dol Amroth’s friendship irritated him. Yet another issue he intended to settle in the ordering of his House’s affairs. 

Finally, Éomer came before Elessar, who embraced him tightly and honored him with a bow, from one king to another. “Worry not, my brother,” the man once called Aragorn said quietly to him. “I shall see to it that they are cared for, these ones whom you so dearly love.”

He smiled at the look of mixed wonder and apprehension on Éomer’s face, and dipped his head in another show of reassurance and of farewell.

With that, the Rohirrim set off on the North-way in a procession over a mile long, accompanied by the fanfare from the people that continued to line the road stretching across Pelennor. Countless flags in a multitude of colors and sigils from the different regions of Gondor fluttered in the air, and from every direction, enthusiastic cheering and waving followed the Riders across the fields.

At the head of the procession, behind his standard bearer and with Éowyn at his side, Éomer quickly fell into a brooding silence that did not escape his sister’s notice. 

“I truly did not think I would ever see the day when the two of you would be willingly separated,” she said lightly. When Éomer looked at her with raised eyebrows, she shrugged. “I am sure you have good reasons for choosing her to stay behind with our uncle.” 

“Many reasons,” Éomer grunted. 

Éowyn regarded him thoughtfully. “Has the time finally come when you would allow yourself to be open with me about these reasons? And the other concerns weighing on your mind and heart? It is just you and I now, Éomer,” she said softly, stretching out her hand to him.  “I may not have uncle’s experience or Théodred’s cunning, but I love you beyond words, and would do anything to see you happy. Let me help you.”

Éomer smiled at this, and reached over to take her hand and squeeze it. “Perhaps I can aspire to the happiness you have found with Lord Faramir.”

“Having my affections stolen by a High Man was not what I aspired to,” said Éowyn, trying to look annoyed but unable to hide the blush on her cheeks. “But love, it seems, is the wildest beast of all. It will not be tamed, or bridled, or even reasoned with. It goes where it wills. Éomer…” Éowyn’s sweet face turned stern. “You have suffered enough, and have been forced to carry so many burdens, not least of all our uncle’s crown, which I know you never wanted.”

“It is my honor to take the throne in Uncle and Théodred’s stead,” Éomer said firmly. “And why do you make assumptions about the things I want?”

“I know who it is you have wanted, for a long time now,” Éowyn said with a stout confidence that took Éomer aback. “You are discreet, brother. But I have watched you and looked out for you, more closely than you realize.”

Éomer shook his head. “I am still learning the many ways I have been underestimating you, Éowyn. Soon I shall believe myself unworthy of your care or help.”

“Someone has to care for you, during the frequent times you would not.” Éowyn glanced over her shoulder to make sure they were still out of hearing range of the rest of his Éored. “Especially now that you have left her behind.” 

Éomer pressed his lips in a tight line and returned his gaze to the road ahead. “I will be back,” he said. “There is much to do in Rohan before then, but with Uncle waiting in the Hallows, I can hardly afford to dawdle or delay.” 

And she is waiting. Éomer caught a glimpse of his sister’s suppressed smile that told him she had already thought the same thing. Another person with strong opinions to contend with.

Éomer spurred Firefoot forward to signal the standard bearer, who promptly blew one quick blast on his horn. As the King took off in a steady gallop, the thunder of hooves rose behind him as nearly a thousand other Rohirrim picked up their pace to match his, drowning out the excited shouts of the Gondorians that started them off at last to their journey home.

Men Tag List: @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @achromaticerebus @aduialel @asianbutnotjapanese @auttumnsayshi @blueberryrock @elan-ho-detto-elan-15 @entishramblings @fizzyxcustard @glassgulls @heilith @heranintomyknife23times @konartiste @ladyweaslette @laneynoir @lathalea @quickslvxrr @scyllas-revenge @talkdifferently6 @emmanuellececchi @ass-deep-in-demons @from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras @alwayssevvy

For more SotWK Fanfiction: Fanfiction Masterlist

Other useful links:

Introduction to SotWK

SotWK HC Masterlist

Fanfiction Request Guidelines

#sotwk fanfiction #eomer #eomer x reader #eomer fanfiction #rohan #lotr #eomer x you #eomer eadig #lotr fanfiction #lotr fanfic #sotwk fic: taken #boromir

[sotwk]

The Baker from Lórien (Haldir gen ficlet)

Summary: A visitor from Lórien brings some excitement to the kitchens of the Elvenking's palace.

Word count: 1.1k

Content: Pure fluffy randomness, mother-son relationship, toddler Legolas

Rating: General (no warnings apply)

To Read on AO3: Link

A/N: I wrote this ficlet purely on a whim; I had no plans or strategy for it going in. It could be nonsense, or I could be onto something. XD It's most likely going to stay a random SotWK AU one-shot, but who knows. I pretty much just wanted to finally write any story featuring Haldir, whom I love dearly and firmly believe was one of the most desired bachelors east of the Mountains. Special thanks to my friend @creativity-of-death who inspired the concept of a Baker Haldir long ago!

Headcanons about Haldir in the SotWK AU: Any questions you might have about the background history in this fic would be answered HERE.

The Baker from Lórien

Third Age 246 Spring

Bar Lasgalen, the Palace of the Elvenking

“Down and forward, turn, and fold over. Repeat. Remember to use the heel of your hand--this part, right here.”

The lump of dough felt pleasantly squishy in Legolas’s hands, and only with great self-restraint did the four-year-old elfling manage to resist playing with it like modeling clay, instead of following his instructor’s example. With eyes narrowed in determined concentration, he watched the steadily working hands of the elf across the table from him. After just a minute or so of observation, he began to mimic the brisk kneading motion.

“Yes, good! That is very good.” The visitor from Lórien seemed pleased, albeit surprised, by how quickly the child caught on.  

Legolas beamed at the ellon’s praise, and held the smooth ball of dough up high over his head in triumph. “Is it ready for the oven now?”

“Not quite.” The silver-haired ellon took the dough from Legolas and checked it with a few expert prods of his fingers. “It needs time to rest and rise. An hour at least, although up to three is much better, and then we can reshape it into loaves. Then it must rest again, before it can be baked.” 

“Three hours?!” Legolas exclaimed, already dismissive of whatever other steps came after. “Does bread really take that long to make every time?”

“The loaves should be fresh and hot out of the oven just in time for your Highness’s breakfast.” Legolas watched as his dough ball was placed into a large pan next to five others and covered with a dish cloth.  

“And a delicious breakfast is best preceded by a sound night’s sleep, is it not?” The voice that came from the kitchen doorway made Legolas scramble off his stool. He smiled sheepishly at his nursemaid, Ninniel, as she entered with a knowing smile and firm shake of her head for him.

The older ellon spoke up. “My apologies, Emmë. I should have realized the hour was too late.”

“It’s all right. It appears some valuable learning has been accomplished here, at least.” Ninniel took in the rather comical sight of her grown son towering next to her not-at-all-grown charge, both of them dusted in flour, and felt all her exasperation melt away. She dipped a tea towel into the washing basin and set to work wiping the sticky residue off Legolas’s fingers. 

“Will you come and get me when my loaf is finished baking, Halidr?”

“Well…” Haldir of Lórien glanced hesitantly at his mother. He was still unsure what to make of Thranduil’s sons, who all behaved without any regard or perhaps even awareness of their social rank. Legolas, in particular, had been unabashed in his fascination with Haldir ever since his arrival at Bar Lasgalen. Today was merely the first day of a month-long, overdue visit to his parents, and most of it had passed with the little prince turning up wherever Haldir happened to be, armed with a constant stream of questions. “It really is not my place to--”

“When your bread comes out of the oven, I will wake you to come and have it for  breakfast, with me and Haldir,” Ninniel interjected smoothly. “But the sooner you get to bed, the sooner you can rise refreshed for a new day, yes?”

“That sounds excellent!” Legolas threw his hands up, and wriggled his hips in a little sort of dance. “I shall be back in a few hours, Haldir! Please take care of my bread!” he called out to the bemused elf before bounding out the door. 

“Are you still finding everything all right, dearest?” Ninniel swept a light hand over her son’s broad back. In one touch she could tell Haldir was fairly relaxed, as she had hoped he would gradually become. Her eldest had always been the most serious of her children, and his nature only grew graver as the ages passed and the memories of hard years weighed on him. It had been far too long since his last visit to Eryn Galen, so rarely could he be persuaded to leave his post at the March, and Ninniel hoped the brief holiday away would be restful for his spirit. 

“Yes, everyone here at the palace has been… quite attentive.” Haldir smiled and planted a swift kiss over his mother’s hair. “The prince’s arrival sent them scurrying off, I fear, but I do not think he seemed to mind or notice.”

Ninniel shook her head. “The only thing they were running from was their own embarrassment,” she said. “I will let you return to your work, my love. Legolas and I will be back soon.”

And indeed, as soon as she exited the kitchen, she encountered the gaggle of young kitchen maids waiting in the hall, preparing to re-enter now that the royal Highness had left and gone to bed. 

“Lady Ninniel,” they curtsied to her, appearing only mildly abashed by her witness to their obvious intentions. But this was a small phenomenon Ninniel had grown accustomed to over the years, for it became clear early on that her handsome son elicited rather strong reactions from elleths, often without any encouragement. 

“My lady, if we may…” one of the girls blurted out. “We were wondering… that is, we wanted to make certain… do you know whether or not Lord Haldir…”

“He is not a lord, and he would not appreciate being addressed as one,” Ninniel corrected gently. “And as far as I know, he is not engaged, involved, or taken with anyone at present.” She gazed at the line of hopeful faces and pressed her lips to smother a chuckle. “Any of you are welcome to try and draw his interest, if that is your wish.”

But best of luck, indeed. Ninniel sighed as she departed, leaving the sounds of pitchy giggling behind her as the pack descended on her oblivious son. Whether there was any chance of a maiden in all of the Woodland Realm catching Haldir of Lórien’s eye, much less his elusive heart, she did not know. That hope had certainly not borne any fruit in over a thousand years of matchmaking attempts. But any diversion, any added source of joy outside of his work, his books, or his baking, could only be a good thing. 

Anything beyond that--dare say a betrothal, a marriage, or even a new precious grandchild--was something Ninniel was prepared to be completely surprised with. But a mother will always hope.

For more SotWK Fanfiction: Fanfiction Masterlist

Elves Tag List: @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @achromaticerebus @aduialel @asianbutnotjapanese @auttumnsayshi @blueberryrock @conversacomsmaug @elan-ho-detto-elan-15 @entishramblings @fizzyxcustard @glassgulls @heilith @heranintomyknife23times @ladyweaslette @laneynoir @lathalea @lemonivall @quickslvxrr @scyllas-revenge @stormchaser819 @talkdifferently6 @tamryniel @tamurilofrivendell

Other useful links:

Introduction to SotWK

Headcanon Masterlist

Fanfiction Request Guidelines

#sotwk fanfiction #haldir #haldir of lorien #haldir of lothlorien #the hobbit #lotr #tolkien #legolas #thranduil headcanon #greenwood the great #sotwk oc #thranduilion #mirkwood #mirkwood elves #woodland realm #lord of the rings #silvan elves

[sotwk]

1st Day of Yule: “A Partridge in a Pear Tree”

Crown Prince Thranduil & Princess Maereth

Second Age 3430 

Bar Lasgalen, Palace of the Crown Prince

In all his three and a half thousand years of existence, Thranduil was certain he had never before held anything so precious, so desperately in need of his protection, even while the tiny fist that clutched his forefinger already boasted of a strength that made his heart swell with wonder and pride. 

He tugged the swaddling clothes up higher to sufficiently cover the newborn’s head, before stepping out into the balcony and the cold winter's night. He held the babe aloft for a moment, so that the legion of stars might meet and kiss his face with their light before fading into the dawn. 

But something else, something less expected, greeted them in the morning twilight. From far off, unseen voices carried faintly across the sprawling, snow-covered palace grounds, singing in chorus a sweet hymn so old, as ancient as Eryn Galen’s trees, that even he could not understand all the words of the Nandorin blessing.

“Our people welcome you, ion nin.” Thranduil chuckled at the gurgle he received in response. Such keen curiosity shone in those wandering little eyes, that already sought to take in the wide world he had just entered!

Tonight they were given privacy and peace. Tomorrow, well-wishers will descend upon Bar Lasgalen and the great feasting will start. King Oropher had already declared and made arrangements for a kingdom-wide celebration in honor of his new grandchild. The heir to his heir, the future of his house, the scion of his line. It pleased Thranduil that his father had finally set aside his grievances concerning lineage and did not let it mar his excitement over the newborn prince. 

Yet a persistent cloud cast a shadow of unease over Thranduil's boundless joy. His knowledge of the Darkness stirring in the lands beyond their realm weighed on him, more heavily now that he carried a priceless treasure in his arms. The enemy threats they thought they could dismiss as distant and outside of their concerns, suddenly felt too close and too real to him, too unsafe to ignore and leave unquelled.

As father and son retreated back into the warmth of the royal chambers, Thranduil sensed his wife stirring behind the sheer curtains of their canopied bed, waking from her much-needed rest. 

“Can I bring you anything, Endanya? Are you hungry? Shall I send for food?” He did not doubt his wife’s great strength, but she had yet to properly eat after her long labor, and in the days leading up to the birth she would consume only the golden pears she craved, a rare fruit that grew in the valley of Imladris where she had previously lived. Elrond himself had sent baskets of it across the mountain to Eryn Galen, making time for this gesture of care even in the midst of a rising crisis. However well-intentioned, this kindness added to Thranduil's burden of obligation to their old friend.

“No, my love.” Maereth smiled and reached out with a hand that Thranduil immediately took inside his own. “I have everything I need right here.”

“I never imagined I could love anyone anywhere close to how much I love you,” Thranduil shifted his gaze from her lovely face to that of the infant that had now fallen back asleep, content in the curve of his arm. “But this one has firmly taken his place second in line.”

He knelt at his Queen's bedside to bring their son closer to her. Maereth brushed her hand lightly over the baby's head of fine hair, silver as the starlight, just like his. 

“I will do everything in my power to protect you both,” the prince said suddenly. “To the last breath in my body, I will do what I must. I will not let any danger or evil come near either of you.”

He knew she understood his meaning, and that she believed him; she always did. But she squeezed his hand and leaned over to kiss his forehead. 

“Leave those vows for the morrow, Melmenya,” she whispered. “For now, let us keep our thoughts on the gift we have been given. On Mirion.”

“Our Mirion,” Thranduil agreed, carefully returning the sleeping child to his mother's bosom. “Finally, a jewel I could agree is worth marching to war for.”

Yuletide Series MASTERLIST

Yule Event Tag List: @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @achromaticerebus @aduialel @asianbutnotjapanese @auttumnsayshi @blueberryrock @conversacomsmaug @elan-ho-detto-elan-15 @entishramblings @freshalmondpandadonut @fizzyxcustard @friendofthefellowshipsnerdblog @glassgulls @heilith @heranintomyknife23times @ladyweaslette @laneynoir @lathalea @lemonivall @LiliDurin @quickslvxrr @ratsys @spacecluster @scyllas-revenge @stormchaser819 @talkdifferently6 @tamryniel @tamurilofrivendell @acornsandoaktrees @warriormirkwood @emmanuellececchi

#yuletide in the elvenking's realm #yuletide #yuletide sotwk 2023 #sotwk fanfiction #sotwk headcanon #thranduil #elvenqueen maereth #mirion thranduilion #lotr #tolkien #the hobbit #thranduil headcanon #greenwood the great #sotwk oc #thranduilion #mirkwood #mirkwood elves #woodland realm #lord of the rings #christmas #holiday fanfic #christmas fanfic

[sotwk]

The Task of Living (Thorin x Reader one-shot)

Love Confession feat. Thorin Oakenshield 

Valentine 2023 Event by @sotwk

Summary: Two years after his triumphant reclamation of Erebor, Thorin returns to his former village in Dunland, seeking the woman he has loved since long ago.

Prompt: “You have to come back to me. Because I cannot do this without you.”

Requested by and Dedicated to: @the-fragile-heart-of-a-lady. Thank you for the request, the follow, and for letting me do a little something to help you feel better! This definitely turned out longer and more detailed than I had planned, so I hope it brings you some joy and comfort! <3

Word count: 2.4 k

Content: Romance, angst, drama, fierce dwarf-maiden, Everybody Lives AU, post-BotFA, King Thorin

Rating: T (Teens and up)

Warnings: Some sensuality

To Read on AO3: Link

Divider credit: @firefly-graphics

The Task of Living

Third Age 2943

Dunland

“Is she… is she yours?” 

You smoothed a hand over the unbraided chestnut curls of the dwarf-child on your lap and shook your head. "My sister's. You probably don’t remember her."

His coal-black eyebrows knitted together, but only for a second. "Rith," he spoke her name with a triumphant little smirk that made you itch with a desire to smack it off his face. He set down his tankard of mulled ale on the table and leaned forward, the rickety old chair creaking underneath this small movement. “And how is she?”

“She is dead,” you said flatly, enjoying the flinch that wrinkled his perfect features. “Killed in an orc raid on the village six years ago, she and her husband both.” You gave your niece a quick hug and set her down, patting her lightly on the back. “Why don’t you go and help your Grandmother with the stew?”

“She needn’t have bothered, truly.” His keen blue eyes scanned the single-room cottage that presently housed three women across three generations. Although his gaze seemed mostly curious, his interest suddenly made you feel embarrassed about the dwelling’s small size and worn-out shabbiness.

“Of course she had to,” you hissed, rising abruptly from your chair. “What else are we expected to do when a king shows up at our doorstep, with no forewarning, but to scramble to pay respects and offer up what little provisions we have?” 

Thorin rose to his feet, slowly, as though a dreadful weight burdened his stooped shoulders. Still, he towered over you, his regal demeanor undeniable despite his obvious attempts to dress in simple garb, with no raiment upon him other than the ancestral crown on his head. 

“A caravan is on its way here,” he said. “Two dozen wagons loaded with enough food and supplies for a year. Enough for this whole village and its neighbors. It should arrive in a few days. The cargoes are heavy and the roads are troublesome. I decided to ride ahead with my guard because…” He faltered, but took a breath and pressed on. “...because I could not wait to see you.”

Oh no. You backed up a step, subconsciously resisting the allure of his presence, the implication of his words. Before you could turn away, he spoke again, “Perhaps we might move this conversation outside. There is still light out; we can take a short walk.”

Perhaps it would be easier to breathe and keep a clear head outdoors with all the fresh air. As you exited the cottage, you felt Thorin’s hand cup lightly around your elbow, in a courteous gesture to help you down the steps. You jerked your arm away, irritated by the silly nicety reserved for soft, high-society ladies who likely kept his company now.

In the corner of your eye, you spotted several armored soldiers by the sheep pen, tending to their ponies. You marched on in the direction of the little brook that bordered your property, determinedly and defiantly, leaving Thorin to hasten his steps to keep up.

“If I may say so, you look well--” 

You stopped and spun around without warning. "Why are you here, Thorin?” You grimaced and corrected yourself. “Pardon me. Why are you here, your Majesty?”

“Thorin,” he said firmly, shaking his head. “You need not be so formal with me, not after so many years of friendship between us.”

Friendship. That word could not have burned you worse than a glowing hot iron straight out of the furnace. And suddenly it was thirty-five years ago, when you stood before each other in similar surroundings all the way in the shadows of the Blue Mountains, and Thorin told you with utmost conviction, that he could not accept your marriage proposal. 

And you exploded. All the grief and pain and anger that you had shored up behind a wall inside your heart flowed like fiery lava on the slopes of an awakened volcano. 

“Are you trying to hurt me?!” you cried. “Is that why you have come? Now that you have accomplished your great destiny to regain your throne, you thought it might amuse you to return to your former haunts and toy with the commoners you used to dwell amongst? Are you already so weary and bored of counting all the gold in the great Kingdom Under the Mountain?”

Thorin squared his shoulders and set his jaw against the accusations, incorrigibly stubborn as you had always known him to be. “I came to help. Both you and your kin.” He gestured at the house behind them, and the others beyond. “This land was also my home once.”

“It has not been your home for a very long time, Thorin.” You wrapped your arms across your chest, whether to shield yourself from the winter chill or from the dwarf who had shattered you irreparably, you weren’t certain. “Allow me to refresh the King’s memory since it has been so long: you abandoned it for the Blue Mountains. I was there. I left my own family and moved across Eriador to follow yours. But a humble life at the Lune would not satisfy you either, and you refused to settle and put down roots.”

At least not with me. You swiped at the corners of your eyes, furious at the tears that wouldn’t stop their descent. "You should not have come back here. We will manage well enough without Erebor's charity."

The old Thorin might have exchanged your rejection with biting words of his own; such was the pride that ran through the Durins' veins. But the face of the dwarf-lord before you softened as he continued.

"I came for you. To tell you I have not forgotten everything we shared together." The tone of his voice had changed; it cracked with desperation, pleading with you to accept his declarations. And then he uttered your name, and hearing it on his lips roused an ache inside you that was too much to bear. 

You started walking again, stomping over the thick snow, following the line of naked trees along the frozen brook. He kept up with you in determined strides, raising his voice to a near shout as his passion grew.

"I have thought of you every day since we parted. Every memory I had of you, I kept close, even though it burned me as often as it kept me warm, because I refused to surrender hope that this day would come for us."

You shook your head wildly and pressed your hands over your ears, as though these gestures would be enough to make him stop. 

“Amrâlimê, please...”

"Do. NOT. Call me that!"

You whirled around and punched him, slamming your fist into his chest, stopped by a wall of thick leather and muscle. While you considered yourself strong for your race, your strength fell short against a Durin. Thorin did not budge an inch, or even wince. Perhaps your predictable temper was the part of you least easily forgotten. So you hit him again. And again. Until you were pounding both fists repeatedly against his torso, his shoulders, his arms, anywhere you thought you could get him to feel just a small fraction of the agony he had put you through for over thirty years. Still Thorin refused to move or throw up any kind of self-defense. 

How dare he! How dare he address you as such, in the tender manner that haunted you for decades even after you left the Blue Mountains to escape the unbearable sight of him. The precious endearment he would whisper into your ear on occasions of stolen intimacy, sigh into your hair in moments of peaceful contentment, moan against your skin whenever he made love to you.

Through your rage, you sensed the guards approaching to rescue their lord, and instinct prepared you to turn around and fight back like a cornered animal. But Thorin raised his hand at them in a signal to halt, and he finally reached out to catch your flailing wrists, easily ending your assault.

"I love you. As Mahal is my witness, my heart has ever belonged to you alone." He encased your hands tightly within his and held them against his chest, tugging you to him. "And you love me still, I can see it, however wretchedly undeserving I am."

You could not even think of struggling. It was too late. He was too close now, close enough for you to feel how real he was--his piercing eyes, his strong, calloused hands, the scent of smoke and steel that clung to the very hairs of his warm skin. These were not just a fantasy conjured by delirious longing, or a dream from the nights you cried in your sleep. Thorin was here. Alive and well, and here. 

“I am truly sorry for all the pain I have caused you. Forgive me, Amrâlimê,” he murmured hoarsely, tracing the curve of your bottom lip with his thumb, sweeping down the softness of your jaw. “If I can have nothing else from you, I beg you to grant me that last kindness.”

That single moment of exposed vulnerability, of breathtaking sorrow and regret that radiated from him, reached you more than any of his expressions of passion. How much have the years changed him? The Thorin you knew could never bear to admit he was wrong about anything. Was it possible that rising to his kingship finally taught him humility? 

“You have my forgiveness.” As you spoke this pardon, the remaining flames of your anger blew out to nothingness.

And Thorin smiled, his sweet, gentle smile, rare as the most precious gem but many times as beautiful. Your own smile felt like it would break your cheeks. He pulled you into his embrace and you sobbed into his neck, wondering if it was possible to die of happiness. 

Drawing back, Thorin cradled your face between his hands, smoothing your tear-streaked cheeks, and rested his forehead on yours. “May I…?” Your breaths mingled in the soft whisper, and his eager lips already brushed yours even as he waited for permission.

"I may only ever kiss My One, whom they call Oakenshield," you said softly. "Where can I find him under the fine trappings of this great King?"

In response, Thorin gripped the heavy golden crown on his head and lifted it off. It slipped carelessly from his fingers and fell to the snow-covered ground with a dull thud. 

"Let me show you," he said, and waited no more. He kissed you with the hunger of years of longing, deeply and greedily, pausing only when you whimpered for breath you could not catch. He backed you up underneath a tree, which you leaned against to aid your weakening balance as Thorin pressed on, his mouth leaving your swollen lips only to descend your neck, worshiping every inch of skin he could access.

"Durin help me," he growled into the curve of your shoulder, exposed where he had nearly torn your sleeve off. His chest still heaved from exertion and barely restrained lust. "I must have you again." He raised his eyes to meet yours, and the look in them made you swallow hard, conscious of your own depraved desire for him. "But it should be in the proper way you deserve."

"You are the only one I would ever have," you said, combing your fingers through a section of his thick black hair, now beautifully mixed with silver stands. 

He took your hand to his lips, kissing your palm repeatedly before saying, "So would you return to Erebor with me?"

Your hesitation made him wrap both arms tightly around you, his entire body tense with the lingering fear of being separated from you again.

"You have to come back to me. Because I cannot do this without you."

"Do what?" you asked, caressing his beard to calm the anxiety you regretted causing him. "What task is it that the great hero of Erebor needs a humble peasant's help in accomplishing?"

"The task of living." Thorin cupped his hand underneath your chin and gazed at you with soft, earnest affection. "A life with you was the only treasure I ever desired, but duty forced me to deprive myself of it. But no longer. I have avenged my family and restored our honor and our house. I have led our people back home. The time has come for me to pursue my own joys and pleasures, and those exist only in you."

"But my lord. My love," you whispered, once again moved to tears by the gladness his words roused in you. "Am I still a suitable match for you now that you require a consort to rule a kingdom by your side? I am not fit for the legendary grandeur of Erebor." You gestured at your attire, from your unadorned hair, your plain brown wool dress with a patched up skirt and worn, dirt-caked boots. "Just look at me."

"Indeed. I look at you with great pleasure," Thorin said, with a smirk that immediately made you blush. "When I look at you, I see my dreams fulfilled. I cannot imagine providing Erebor with a braver, kinder, wiser, or more radiant Queen."

"If you would still have me, that is." He held out his open palm to you, revealing an item he produced from the folds of his robe. Fading sunlight bounced off the high polish of the small, silvery-grey stone. You gasped when you recognized the betrothal bead you had offered him so many years ago. He must have rescued it after you had flung it away in your heartbroken grief, and kept it safe with him all this time. 

"I fought through dragonfire and armies of orcs so I may live to see this day, so I may get a second chance to accept and wear this." Hope and fear battled in his intense stare, which bore down on you with heavy anticipation. "But now the course of my fate rests entirely upon you. Will you have me?"

He held his breath in the brief silence before you closed his fist around the bead and smiled. "I will have you for the rest of my life and whatever else lies beyond, Thorin Oakenshield." You placed a tender kiss on his knuckles. "So let us go home and see to this task of living… my King."

Tagged by request: @aduialel @fizzyxcustard @lathalea @laneynoir @auttumnsayshi @achromaticerebus @friendofthefellowshipsnerdblog @blueberryrock @scyllas-revenge @glassgulls @ladyweaslette @heilith @absentmindeduniverse; @undeniableadrenaline

For more of my stories, please see My Masterlist.

If you would like to be added to my tag list, please sign up here: Tag List Sign-Up.

#thorin #thorin fanfiction #thorin x reader #thorin x you #thorin oakenshield #the hobbit fanfiction #sotwk fanfiction #valentine event 2023 #follower request

[sotwk]

Transformed (Gelir Thranduilion x femReader )

Fanfic Request from the @fellowshipofthefics's AU-gust Mashup Event

Prompt: Gelir, son of Thranduil (SotWK OC) + Mythical creatures + “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Summary: A Mirkwood huntress is attacked by a mythical beast and begins a slow and gradual transformation into a monster herself. Prince Gelir helps her through the frightening ordeal by overseeing her care.

Requested by and Dedicated to: @laneynoir I am so thrilled (and relieved) that I was finally able to complete one of your requests! Thank you for being so patient with me, and for giving me a chance to finally write an insert starring one of my OC Thranduilions. (How self-indulgent and exciting!) Love you, darling!

Word count: 2.4k

Content: AU, werewolf lore, romance, angst, mild gore, hidden feelings, oblivious to love

Rating: T (Teens and up)

Warnings: Mild sensuality, mention of blood and mild horror/violence

To Read on AO3: Link

Transformed

Third Age 1554

Mirkwood

Legends had people believing that werewolves could shift from human to lupine form within a matter of minutes at the strike of the full moon. But legends, merely stories passed down across generations by word of mouth, often got certain details wrong. 

As was the case with you. 

The long iron chains that connected the shackles around your wrists to the wall clinked softly as you raised your loosely bound hands to your face. You brushed your fingers over the coarse hair that covered your neck, its growth making the slow, tedious crawl upward to your jawline, where a soft fuzz had developed overnight. By tomorrow, you would likely wake with your cheeks entirely covered in fur…perhaps among other worse changes. 

Heightened senses had manifested first, long before the physical changes began to show, and so the distinctly heady scents of warm rain and spring grass identified your visitor before he ever stepped through the door. But there was also the fact that hardly anyone else had dared to step foot into the same room as you, ever since your condition was identified. Despite folklore attesting that the mysterious affliction could only be transmitted by a creature’s bite, all the other elves were behaving as though merely breathing in the same air would get them infected. 

You were grateful that Gelir had never behaved very much like all the others. Still, the carefree boldness you had always admired in him now worried you.

“You really must stop coming here,” you mumbled, just barely raising your gaze towards him. He was a Prince of Eryn Galen, yes, and the leader of your company besides. But you had known each other for far too long to put on pretenses with each other. "I could lose control of myself any moment now and hurt you."

"You could try to hurt me," he countered with a smirk. "You would not succeed." He folded his arms over his chest and ran his gaze all over you, his unfailingly keen eyes assessing the physical changes that had occurred since his last visit merely a few hours ago. 

You turned away in a futile attempt to escape his stare. Gelir meant well, and was the only one whose concern for you overrode any instinct for self-preservation, the latter of which he never possessed much of, anyway. But even in your weary sadness and pit of despair you were embarrassed about being seen like this, especially by him. Your childhood friend who had always sauntered around oblivious to how annoyingly, stupidly, breathtakingly handsome he was. 

"I am serious," you said sharply, vaguely conscious of the feral rush of anger in your gut, rising into what sounded like a rumbling snarl in your throat. "I will not be responsible for inflicting this curse on the King's son."

"If hurting me is your main concern when you are the one suffering through all this…" Gelir shook his head, his face suddenly and uncharacteristically somber. "Then you are still very much like yourself and I have nothing to worry about."

You sighed and slumped back down on the edge of the bed. King Thranduil had decided you would be kept comfortable in a palace room instead of the safer and more practical choice of a dungeon cell. The cells are for prisoners, he said sternly, and would abide no more of your protests. 

A month into the ordeal and they were still tending to you like a guest, changing your bed linens like clockwork, bringing you water and fresh towels to clean yourself with, dropping off three meals a day along with stacks of books and paper and quills to help you pass the time. 

“You have not eaten all day.” Gelir gestured at the untouched dinner tray on the low table. "Nor did you yesterday. Or the day before that."

“I feel no hunger.”

“You must eat,” he said firmly. “Whatever appeals to you, tell me and I will send for it."

"What point is there? Perhaps starving myself is the best and cleanest way to end this mess."

"The point is I will not have you losing hope while the rest of us hold fast. The healers have not ceased tearing into the creature's corpse for answers. Must I remind you that both Arvellas and my mother are leading the efforts to find a cure?"

Tears sprang to the corners of your eyes. Knowing the royal family was devoting their time to helping you really was what kept you going through the moments of despair and self-pity. But it was hard not to question what made you worthy of such attention, even though the King and Queen were well-known for regarding every subject in their kingdom as family. 

The subtle shift of the firm mattress under his weight drew your thoughts to the fact that he had sat down next to you. On impulse, you shrank away to take back the distance that safely separated you from the elf-prince.

Gelir frowned, and you immediately held up both your hands to remind him of how they had gruesomely mutated over the past week. When you first noticed your fingers begin to stiffen at the joints and curl inward to your palms, until it pained you to fully stretch them, that was the first time you broke down sobbing over your condition. The ugly hair that sprouted at unsightly places all over your body to suffocate your skin had bothered you much less. But your hands-- lithe and strong and skilled with bow and knife and craft--those were your treasures. Now they were malformed and good for nothing except perhaps wanton slaughter, the only possible use for the razor-sharp claws that still continued to grow out of each fingertip. 

"I dare not have you within reach of these, your Highness,” you whispered, steeling your face against the threat of another breakdown. “Please."

Unsurprisingly, Gelir defied your plea. He reached out, and before you could resist--yet did you even attempt to?--one of his strong hands closed around your wrist, and he guided the deformed monstrosity to rest against his open palm. You flinched as the points of the claws touched the prince’s skin. 

"I am no delicate flower," Gelir said loudly. He pushed one of the sharp tips into the flesh of his palm, where it found resistance as hard as stone: a warrior’s hand inherited from his great forebears and strengthened by centuries of  training and battle. "And I can protect myself, even from you, no matter what form you take."

The mere thought of attacking him sickened you, and brought your mind back to that dark cave where you had recklessly given chase to an already dying orc. You had been so focused on revenge, on seeking payment for what the filth had done to your comrade, that you did not detect the more dangerous beast lurking in the deep tunnel until it leapt out at you.

Your struggle with the creature lasted a mere few seconds before an arrowhead burst through its eye, forcing its jaws to release your bloodied forearm. Gelir’s enraged scream echoed dreadfully through the cave as he threw the monster off you and ended it with a single swing of his longknife, nearly cleaving its midsection in half. 

Those images sent a shiver down your entire body. You pulled your hands away to wrap your arms around yourself, and stood up to pace alongside the bed. After a moment of Gelir just sitting there quietly watching you wrestle your anxiety, you stopped to face him and blurt out: 

"And when I become too much of a threat, how will you deal with it then? Will you kill me too?"

“Do you feel an urge to attack me?” Gelir rose slowly, keen green eyes searching your face. “Right now, at this moment? Are you overcome by a desire to rip my throat out?”

You stared at him, so handsome and flawless and immaculate a figure, the dream of many an elf in the kingdom. Such beauty and light was so loathed by the Darkness, that any evil festering within you would surely rise to try and destroy him.

But as you stood within arm’s reach of your friend, close enough to inflict serious damage if violent impulses demand it, all you could feel was the same thing you had felt for him since the day he first made you laugh. When you thought you would never laugh again after the raiding orcs claimed your family’s lives. 

“No,” you finally mumbled. “Not at this moment.”  

“Until then, I forbid you from even imagining me harming a hair on your body.” He caught your gaze and smiled. “Even though you certainly have more of it now than you did before.”

Laughter rang clear from your mouth, and went on so heartily and for so long that it blurred your vision and emptied your lungs. By the time you regained your composure, you noticed that Gelir had remained oddly silent the whole time, and returned to staring at you.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Because I need to.” He exhaled softly, as an archer might to reduce tension in their body before loosing an arrow. “To remind me of why I must speak up now, and delay no longer.” 

The softness with which Gelir spoke your name was so abruptly different from the more common noises of his boisterous shouting and laughter. As noticeably different as a midday summer blaze was from a dawn’s early rays. 

Suddenly you realized how badly your heart was racing, and how loud it must sound to his ears. 

"This ordeal has changed nothing in the way I view you. This… this accident…” The bitterness  of self-hate, a self-blame that you have repeatedly failed to talk him out of, cut through his words. “This threat to you, has only forced me to stare down a truth that I have ignored for too long. Before I do this, I wish to make that clear.”

Your speeding heart came to a sudden halt, as did the world around you. "Before you do what?"

The moment his hands cupped the sides of your face, his fingers threading into your hair, you were trapped. All hesitation, all fears and worries, extinguished like a wavering candle against a sudden gale as his mouth descended on yours. Valar, his lips were so soft. They moved tenderly against yours, confident in their conquest yet pleading for requital. 

And answer it you did. The wild joy and thrill and desire that had long been locked up in a cage of denial within you now broke free, and you kissed your Captain and Prince. You felt the slight tremble of his jaw and heard the faintest of moans from his throat as you deepened the kiss, tasting sweet mead from the sweep of his tongue. 

More. More. You craved more, and a fierce hunger for him exploded from your chest past your torn defenses. 

And suddenly you tasted blood.

With a wail of shock and despair, you withdrew and lurched away from Gelir, watching in horror as he touched the bleeding cut at the center of his lower lip, where you had bitten him.

“Eru what have I done?! I am so sorry, Gelir, I--”

“Stop. It’s all right…” He tried to say, but his calmness in the situation aggravated you. How could it be all right? How could you be so careless with the one you loved?! You tried to withdraw to a corner of the room, to get as far away from him as you could, but the limits of your iron shackles prevented it. 

“I swore I would not let this evil touch you and now I--” You could barely find your words, you were breathing so hard, so infuriated with yourself. 

“And I swore that I would never let anything happen to you,” Gelir cut in heatedly. “Even though it was a vow I made only to myself, I swore. Yet I failed, and this is how I choose to right that wrong.”

He called out to you repeatedly, your name like a hymn on his lips with the warm timbre of his singer’s voice, and it soothed you enough that you allowed him to come near, to take your hands in his again. "When I assured you that you would not face this alone, I meant it." 

"B-but the King… the Queen…" It broke you to think that you had failed them as well, after everything they had done for you your entire life. 

"...knew exactly what they were risking by permitting me to come here." He brushed the heel of his palm over your cheek, his thumb catching a stricken tear before it could fall. “They have known far longer than I have, longer than either of us, that my heart has been yours for years. Meleth nin…”

He placed your grotesque, beastly hand on his chest, and you marveled at the strong, steady beat of his heart underneath your misshapen fingers, which did not hurt nearly as much anymore.

“Whatever this disease or curse may be, it shall take neither of us, or both of us. But it will not take you from me.” 

On the other side of the chamber doors, out in the hall, Elvenqueen Maereth gave her lord husband’s arm a squeeze. “Let us allow them their privacy; they waited so long for this moment,” she whispered. “An hour perhaps, to sort through these revelations.”

Thranduil smiled wryly. “Nothing opens a fool’s blind heart like the terror of loss.” He reached out to wrap an arm around his own beloved. “You are overspent, Endanya. Take your rest. I will send Arvellas to deliver the news to them later.”

Knowing it was fruitless to argue, Maereth allowed her husband to lead her in the direction of their rooms. “Gelir will likely insist on us testing the cure on him first, but it will be more effectively done on her, with her symptoms being so much further along…”

“He will do as he is told,” said Thranduil flatly, giving an impatient shake of his head. “It should be enough to satisfy him that their fates are now surely tied.” He paused, revealing the smallest of cracks in his nonchalance. “Are there concerns of the process being dangerous or painful?”

“It will certainly not be easy. But she is strong,” Maereth said with a faint smile. “And they will be strong for each other.”

“But the cure will work.”

“It may take time, but I have faith it will.” The Queen laced her fingers through Thranduil’s, seeking the comfort she always found in his hands. “If we have learned nothing else these past centuries, aran nin, it is that the Darkness can never prevail against light such as this.”

SotWK Fancast: Sam Claflin (Daisy Jones and The Six) as Prince Gelir Thranduilion

Elves Tag list: @quickslvxrr @laneynoir @auttumnsayshi @achromaticerebus @tamryniel @friendofthefellowshipsnerdblog @blueberryrock @aduialel @scyllas-revenge @glassgulls @ladyweaslette @tamurilofrivendell @guardianofrivendell @asianbutnotjapanese @ratsys @conversacomsmaug @lemonivall @lathalea @heilith @absentmindeduniverse @heranintomyknife23times @entishramblings @stormchaser819 @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @freshalmondpandadonut @beekieboo @elan-ho-detto-elan-15 @talkdifferently6

For more of my stories, please see My Masterlist.

If you would like to be added to my tag list, please sign up here: Tag List Sign-Up.

#sotwk fanfiction #fanfic request #gelir thranduilion #sotwk oc #gelir x reader #thranduil #thranduil headcanon #legolas #mirkwood #mirkwood elves #lotr #the hobbit