#thranduil fanfic

[gloomwitchwrites]

Winter Gem

Thranduil x Female Elf Reader

Content & Warnings: soft!Thranduil, widowed!Thranduil, fluff, peril & rescue, mild hurt/comfort

Word Count: 1.8k

Seeking something precious for Thranduil, you're caught in a storm. When you don't return, he goes searching for you.

A/N: For @firelightinferno

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // winter 2023 masterlist

“The first snows have arrived.”

“It has come early.”

Thranduil inclines his head in acknowledgement. “Indeed.”

You stand beside Thranduil outside the main gates. Five guards stand nearby but there is no danger. A steady snowfall drifts down from the sky. The snowflakes are slightly gray in appearance, almost like ash on the wind. You frown down at a few of the flakes that land on your leather vambrace.

“You look ready for your hunt,” observes Thranduil, gesturing toward your attire with the tip of his head.

“Yes,” reply softly. “I plan on heading out for a bit.”

His eyebrows rise toward his hairline. “In this weather?”

You glance up from the vambrace and meet his blue eyes. Thranduil’s gaze is startling and sharp. Piercing. Intense. It cuts right down to your heart. His gaze always holds you hostage, wrapping you up in his essence. Most might find Thranduil intimidating, but you know better.

“Is my king telling me I cannot?” You’re teasing him, and Thranduil knows this. His smile is one of soft amusement.

“As long as you return to me. You are free to do as you wish.” Even though Thranduil’s tone is gentle, you understand the deeper meaning.

Thranduil lost his wife many years ago. Other than his son, Legolas, you are his comfort. He wants you to be free, to enjoy the pleasures of life, but he also wants you to be safe, to return to him at the end of every leaving.

Thranduil glances over his shoulder. The guards on duty discreetly glance away, staring off into the distance as if they’ve suddenly found something of great interest. Thranduil leans in and shifts his body to block their view of you. He is close enough that it might appear that the two of you are kissing, but he does not meet your lips.

In the end, Thranduil is private about affection. He does not like to share your tender moments together in front of others.

“Enjoy your hunt. I eagerly await your return.”

You give him a half-hearted, sarcastic bow that immediately puts a wide smile on his face. Thranduil watches you until you disappear into the trees. Perhaps he lingers longer than that, wondering if you will turn around and come back to him.

It is true. You are on a hunt, but not for what he or anyone else is likely expecting.

Over a week ago, Thranduil went out in the woods with some of the guards on patrol. It’s the first time he’s been out beyond the walls in some time. Many patrols that ventured into the northern regions reported back on a strangeness in the air, and the scent of evil. Thranduil decided to investigate.

While tracking, he lost something precious.

Around his neck on a chain, Thranduil kept a silver ring. Within the ring is a precious gem, a blue stone so pale it almost appears white like a burning star. The chain that held it snapped while he and the guards chased a group of spiders that had made their way south.

He remembered it snagging, and while he did not show any distress upon telling you of its disappearance, you also know how much that ring and jewel means to him. It was a gift from his wife when they were newly married. She had a matching one, but upon her death, Thranduil moved it from his finger to around his neck.

This hunt—your hunt—is about that ring. You have a fairly good idea about where it might have fallen, and there is no reason for it to have moved since then. Few enter these woods unless they follow the road, and that is on rare occasions.

Tracking is your specialty, and your time is not limited due to the falling snow. But you’ve tracked in worse weather. The snow is unfortunate, but you can still search as long as it remains at its current pace. The tree cover will keep much of the snow in the higher canopy. There will be time yet before the snow completely covers the ground and you lose the trail.

Heading north, you retrace the path the patrol took. Yes, a week has passed, and nature reclaims much, but not everything is hidden so quickly. There are small disturbances that indicate the path ahead.

As you begin to draw nearer to the area Thranduil mentioned, the snow starts to pick up. It becomes thicker, not staying above in the canopy but instead making its way to the ground. It’s not ideal, but you can manage.

Thranduil mentioned two tree trunks growing together and then breaking apart. When you happen upon it, the snow comes down in thicker sheets. On the ground, it’s sticking. Collecting. Time is running out. Elves have good eyes, and you focus in on the ground, gnarled roots, and underbrush.

Near the base of the tangled tree, you notice a slight sparkle. Approaching it, you go down on one knee, brushing away some of the snow.

“Found you.”

The ring is there, resting in the roots. It appears undamaged, and that is a relief. Picking it up, you tuck it into an inside pocket, protecting it from the elements.

The snow crunches under your boots, and the wind howls. For the first time, you shiver. Cold is not and has never been an issue. Elves can withstand a great many things, including winter weather.

Frowning, you turn into the chilly wind. There is a disturbance. Something dark and foul. It sets the edges of your nerves tingling. A simmering suspicion bubbles up from somewhere within you, question whether this snow is natural or not.

Turning on your heel, you head back the way you came. But the snow is heavy, and your fresh tracks are starting to slip away, returning to the snow. As you walk, the snowfall becomes a storm. The wind whips up, swirling the snow around until you cannot see more than a few feet in front of your face.

Your instincts were right. This storm is not natural. It is too early for it, and storms like these are rare in the Woodland Realm.

The toe of your boot catches in a downed tree branch and you slam face first into the snow. It’s freezing. Temperature isn’t usually a deterrent for the elves, but this is beyond cold. It’s as if you’ve been swallowed whole by a massive glacier.

You walk and walk, and you have no idea if you’ve gained any ground. There are no visible signs, and you’re not sure how far you’ve gone, or if you’re simply walking in circles. The snow is deepening or perhaps you’re imagining it. Everything seems darker, like the world is closing in.

You’re not dressed for this sort of weather.

And you’re tired. So tired. Your knees and thighs burn, and sitting down for some rest doesn’t seem so bad. It’s fine. You can take refugee within the deep roots of a tree. You can stay warm there until the snow dissipates. Then, you can return. Thranduil will understand.

As if opening for you, the roots of a nearby tree expand, showing safety from the storm. You slink into it, curling up into a ball.

You drift in the howling wind. There is a haze that sits on your eyelashes. Whether you dream or not is irrelevant. Numbness oozes into your limbs, and that only forces you to curl up tighter, wanting to pull away from the cold.

A hand touches the side of your head. It is warm. Gentle. The fingers slide up to brush your hair out of your face. You hear your name but it is a whisper. Distant. So far away it doesn’t seem real.

There are arms around you. Lifting. Steady. And when you inhale, the scent is familiar. You know who it is instantly.

“Thranduil,” you murmur, and the answer is a gentle squeeze of your hand.

“I found you, my star.”

There are only short moments of consciousness. There is snow. Cold. The antlers of an elk. The gates of home, and then warmth. So much warmth that the numbness begins to recede.

You are brought back to the living world near a roaring fire. Beneath you is a makeshift bed comprised of pillows and soft blankets. You shift, and feel bare skin against bare skin. Slowly, you push yourself to sitting.

Your leather gear is gone, replaced with a soft robe that traps in the heat.

“You’re awake.” Thranduil’s voice is a gentle, comforting hug.

Turning toward his voice, you watch as he glides across the floor. Thranduil wears silver robes of starlight. In his hands in a small tray. On it is a steaming cup of tea and an assortment of food. Bending at the knees, Thranduil settles in beside you, placing the tray down on the blankets.

“You came looking for me,” you say, and your voice nearly cracks with emotion.

“Did you think I would not?” he asks, arranging the food around on the tray.

You know, deep in your heart, that Thranduil would come, but you also believed in your abilities as a tracker. “When did you start to worry?”

Thranduil lifts the cup off the tray and presents it to you. “When the storm picked up. Something about it felt unnatural.” You take it, and bring the warm beverage to your lips. “I gathered some guards and we set out. It is good that we found you in time.” He pauses. “I’m not sure my heart could take any more loss.”

The heat of the tea spreads throughout your body, the chill slipping away quickly. “I do believe you are correct. That storm was not natural.”

Thranduil nods. “There is a growing darkness to the north. The scouts on patrol have spoken of it often but have been unable to get close enough for more details.”

“Perhaps I strayed too close,” you murmur.

“Perhaps,” replies Thranduil, reaching out to take your hand. He lifts it, and brings it into his lap. Using both hands, he rotates your wrist until your palm faces the ceiling. Then, he guides your open palm to his lips, placing a soft kiss in the middle of it.

Instant warmth shoots out from that spot, running down your arm and piercing your heart like an arrow. Slowly, he curls your fingers in, creating a loose fist, and then brushes his lips against your knuckles before pulling away.

He does not release your hand. “I know why you left.”

“Thranduil—”

“You did not need to explain. I understand why.” Thranduil reaches out and cups your cheek, turning your face toward him. “I am thankful that you found it, but you are also precious to me, and losing you is a far greater loss.”

You turn into his touch. “That ring is important to you.”

“Many things are important to me. But the ring is just that. A thing. You are breathing. You are here. I would like to keep it that way.”

Your eyes drift close and you revel in the warmth of his touch. “Are you mad?”

“Never.”

“Will you hold me?”

“For as long as you like.”

taglist:

@foxxy-126 @glassgulls @km-ffluv @sweetbutpsychobutsweet @singleteapot @firelightinferno @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @protosslady @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado @ninman82 @therealbloom

#thranduil #thranduil x reader #thranduil fanfiction #thranduil x you #thranduil imagine #thranduil fluff #thranduil fanfic #thranduil fic #thranduil x female reader #thranduil x f!reader #thranduil x fem!reader #the hobbit fanfic #the hobbit fanfiction #the hobbit fic #the hobbit imagine #the hobbit thranduil #lotr fluff #lotr fic #lotr fanfic #lotr fanfiction #lord of the rings fic #lord of the rings fanfic #lord of the rings fanfiction #the hobbit movies

[tamurilofrivendell]

Arranged | Thranduil x Reader

Read on AO3

Pairing: Thranduil x Female Reader

Summary: The Mirkwood courts having successfully pushed Thranduil into accepting a new queen through an arranged marriage. However, he cannot seem to help comparing them to his former wife. When tensions run high and reader calls the whole thing off, Thranduil realises the error of his ways.

Content etc: Thranduil being a little bit of an ass I guess. Angst. Fluff.

Prompt: number 32 & 39 on this list

requested by anonymous (I’m sorry this took literally forever and I’m sorry if it isn’t exactly what you wanted!)

word count: 4.6k

tags: @firelightinferno​​, @achromaticerebus​​, @coopsgirl​​, @birbixo0912​​, @desert-fern​​, @ancient-rime​​, @lady-of-imladris​​​, @weepingdreammarvel​​​, @asianbutnotjapanese​​​, @deadlymistletoe​​​

“This is wrong.” Thranduil’s voice snapped you out of your tangled thoughts and you lifted your head with a confused frown, looking back at him.

"What is?" You asked, not even having had any clue as to what it was that he was working on over there on the sprawling couch of his large private library.

Thranduil looked up and met your gaze. "The guards you have picked." He gestured to the paper in his hands as if it should be obvious. "They are not of a high enough level to guard the Queen." 

“Oh.” You gave him a quizzical look, tilting your head. You weren’t entirely sure about levels and the like. Nobody had said anything yesterday. Nobody had even really told you much at all, in all honesty, you had been sort of left to fend for yourself. “I... didn’t know anything about that. I just had to watch them fight and pick, you said. They appeared good enough for me. I think they would do just fine.”

The Elvenking blinked at you for a moment, his thoughts more critical than he would have liked. If you had not been sure, why had you not asked? Deep down, he knew that you could not possibly have known to ask because he had not told you that you could, or should. He’d told you to pick your own guards and then left you in the training grounds to attend a council meeting. However, Thranduil had simply assumed you would have asked for help or clarification if you had needed it. And clearly you had if this list was anything to go by. As it was, you had not wanted to cause a fuss, or look foolish, or add more work to the king’s heavy load. The soldiers showing off their skills had seemed capable enough and that had been all you’d thought you needed to look for. Besides, how would you know anything about their levels? You still did not yet know everybody here.

Thranduil’s silence was uncomfortable but then he simply tsk'd and lowered his gaze again. He shrugged, almost to himself, but he did not sign off on the document. He simply scored something out before setting it to one side to go back to later. He would pick, he decided. If he let you choose low levelled guards, how would they protect you?

She would have chosen better, he thought, though it was there and gone again so quickly that he did not notice he’d thought it at all.

You eyed him for another long moment before you moved to leave the library, heading away down the corridor. He had been in a fairly strange mood all day and you supposed you should leave him to it. Not bad, exactly, just... distracted, perhaps.

Most likely he was still struggling a little with this entire situation and you couldn't really blame him for that because it was still so very strange for you too. To have wound up in an arranged marriage with the King of Mirkwood. You yourself were from Lothlórien, daughter of an important elf in the Lord and Lady's court.

While unexpected, you could see the positives in such an arrangement and, truthfully, you liked Thranduil. He had been kind to you, at least when you first met and agreed to this. However, now that you had actually moved here, it seemed a little like he had been taking offence to every single decision you made. He’d give you things to do and then seem unsatisfied with the way you had done them. It was frustrating but you could only assume he was stressed and that he would soon relax.

You went to sleep that night hopeful that tomorrow he would be in a better mood.

You found him in his study the following afternoon and felt relief when he looked up and smiled at you. "I hope you slept well. Are you prepared for the feast tonight?" He asked, holding his hand out to bid you closer.

"Mostly. I just have to decide what to wear." You told him, moving into the room and seating yourself beside him. “It is still between two dresses.”

He sat there looking at you with an expression that you couldn’t quite decipher and it was almost as if he was studying something in your very soul. “Oh? You are not... set by now?” It seemed far too late to not have the entire outfit prepared.

You shrugged, always having been a bit more carefree and lazy in your decision making. You were a bit of a procrastinator and did not altogether mind if you left things to the last minute. Sometimes this was simply because you just... forgot. A far cry from the King beside you, of course. Also unbeknownst to you, a far cry from the Queen who had come before.

Thranduil raised an eyebrow but said nothing more. His displeasure, however, radiated from him in waves in the silence that followed as he looked back down at the paperwork on the desk before him.

"Thranduil?"

"What?" He did not look up.

“Something troubles you.”

He responded with a non-committal grunt and you frowned at him, watching as he pretended to read whatever was on the desk but you could tell his mind was now elsewhere. You sighed and stood to leave the room. 

As you turned, Thranduil’s hand suddenly reached out and grasped your own. You turned to find him looking at you, a soft smile on his lips once more. “You will look beautiful whatever you wear.”

Returning his smile, you ducked your head to hide the blush you could feel about to spread over your cheeks, and quickly took your leave.

Thranduil watched you go and then leaned back in his chair with a heavy sigh. He liked you, he always had, but you were not quite what he had expected when he had finally relented to the pushing of his court to take a new Queen.

He had obviously agreed you would be a good choice. Your station in Lothlórien, your family tree, put you in a very good position to knowing how things worked... yet not entirely, it seemed. Something was a little... off now that you were actually here in Mirkwood with him.

Oh, you were beautiful, there was no doubt about that. You made him laugh. He enjoyed your company. There was simply something niggling at him in the back of his mind, something he couldn’t quite figure out.

The feast came quickly, too quickly for you as the time just flew past. You had gotten caught up doing something completely unrelated and frowned when a maid rushed in to find you. Her relief was palpable but you didn’t understand it until you realised the time and she had ushered you back to your room to get ready.

Thranduil was irritated. There had been a delay - nobody had been able to find you - and you were not ready for the feast. You were not here, and it took so long that he had to walk into the room alone and act as though nothing were amiss. He had promptly sat down and thrown back a rather large gulp of strong wine, irritated by the hold up.

When you entered the room - finally - you were a vision. He took in your hair, the ornamentation in it and around your neck, and the royal blue dress with pleased eyes that did much to allay his frustration.

Then, you went and tripped over the hem of the damned thing because you had not bothered to see that it had been properly fitted.

Luckily, you were close enough to the table at this point for him to grab you by the arm and keep you upright, but his irritation only grew at the scene that your little stumble had caused. The attention you caught was not the type he wished for, nor were the titters of laughter around the room.

She would never have left the fit of the dress to chance, nor would she have embarrassed him as such.

This time, Thranduil did catch the thought, but he quickly dismissed it as a simple stray musing that did not mean anything.

“Are you alright?” He asked, a little tersely, as he refilled his glass of wine.

You nodded, hardly noticing his tone yet as you willed the embarrassed flush in your cheeks to go away. You felt like the entire room had seen that and you cursed yourself for not even thinking that the dress might need proper attention. It just had not occurred to you.

“Yes. Thank you.”

He grunted and you finally looked up at him and noticed the frustration he was trying to bury shining in his eyes. You frowned, feeling even worse. He could not be... angry at you? Could he?

After picking at the food on your plate and watching one dance (you dare not join in with your dress!), you rose and made your way from the table out of the room without a word. You were not in the mood now. Reaching up, you tore the circlet from your head as you walked down the hallway as quickly as you could.

“Where are you going?” Thranduil’s voice came from the door you had just exited and you realised that he had followed you out.

Turning, you eyed him cautiously for a moment, trying to ascertain his mood, but once more he was quite the mask. “I am tired, Thranduil. I am going to bed.”

He nodded, moving closer. His gaze dropped to the circlet in your hands. “You could not have waited until you were behind a closed door?”

“What does it matter?” You asked, shrugging at him.

Thranduil didn’t respond but his brow creased just the slightest bit. Did it matter? He began to walk down the hallway and you turned to walk with him since it seemed that he was heading in the same direction you were anyway. 

“Are you upset?” You ventured after a while, watching him come to a halt as your question reached his ears.

Thranduil blinked. Was he upset? He supposed that he was feeling frustrated. Annoyed. Angry, perhaps. Why? He turned his head to look at you, a soft frown of confusion on his face as he shrugged. “I suppose I am. A little.”

“What’s the matter?”

He didn’t answer right away because, truthfully, Thranduil could not fully put into words what his problem was. What had gotten him so riled up over something that, logically, he told himself did not truly matter. Thranduil shook his head. “I am not rightly sure.” He offered his arm then. “Come, I will escort you to your room.”

But you would not be shut down quite so easily, and you shook your head. “You must know what is wrong.” You insisted. “How can I help you if you do not tell me?”

Thranduil frowned at you, his frustration growing once more. “I do not need your help.” He stated firmly, moving his arm closer so you would take it, but you still did not take it.

“Well, you need something. You-”

“Stop. Please.” He snapped lightly, dropping his arm since it had become clear that you were not going to take it. He turned around and took a step away, not wishing to engage in this right now.

“Thranduil!” Was he truly going to just turn away and leave? In the middle of a conversation? You could not quite believe it. “Just tell me what is wrong! Tell me!”

“She would not behave thus!” He thundered as he spun back to face you, and then immediately fell silent. Horror seemed to fill him as he realised what he had just said.

You frowned softly back at him, shaking your head. “Who-” Your mouth snapped shut as you stared back at him, suddenly understanding with a sick sort of certainty.

She. Her. His deceased wife.

She would not behave in this manner. She would not behave how you were behaving. She would do things ‘the right’ way. She would do better.

You could not hide the hurt that bled across your face as the two of you stared back at each other in the long, deathly silence that followed. Thranduil seemed to be frozen, utterly stricken, but you did not see it past your own dismay. Then, you were gone. Turning and fleeing from him, away down the corridor towards your own rooms.

Thranduil did not see you for two days. 

He tried to seek you out that same night but he had not been able to find you and, so, retired to his chamber to wait until you were ready to talk. However, it seemed that you were not willing to talk at all as, two days later, he received word that you had been seen sneaking into the stables with a bag full of your things.

Had it not been for you carrying your own belongings, Thranduil might have dismissed it and told them to simply follow you from a safe distance to keep you safe. As it was, he was immediately up from his chair and out of the door before the guard who reported to him could blink.

He rushed to the stables, finding you still trying to attach a bag to your horse, clearly frustrated that you could not get it secure. The animal, too, seemed unamused with your attention - blowing air through its nostrils and scuffing its feet.

“Going somewhere?” He asked quietly from the doorway, causing you to jump because you had not even heard him arrive, too focused on your irritation.

You stared at him for a second and found that looking at him hurt. You did not respond, you just turned your attention back to the horse and continued fiddling with the bag but nothing would attach the damn thing to the animal so you eventually huffed in exasperation and let it drop to the floor of the stall.

A silence followed.

You could feel Thranduil’s eyes on you but you did not look up at him.

“I never meant to hurt you” Thranduil said softly after another moment and you could hear the regret in his voice but you still didn’t look up at him.

Instead, you shrugged. “But you did.”

“Yes.” He agreed quietly, sighing. “I did.”

Of course, you did not resent him thinking of his wife. How could you ever? She had been a good Queen and an even better wife from all that you had heard of her. You had never met her, not even on a trip she’d taken with the King long ago to Lothlórien. But you had heard a lot about her and she sounded amazing. She was the love of his life, the mother of his only son, and you truly had never expected to replace her but to have him compare you in such a way... it had hurt, you could not deny that.

You were so different, you understood that, but... you were two completely different people and it did not feel fair for Thranduil to hold you to this standard that you had not even realised you had to meet. Yes, you were to be a queen and yes, you had a lot still to learn especially about Mirkwood and its own politics... but you were trying. You really were! All you needed was his help, not criticism. How could he not see that?

“Please just talk to me.” He said, his voice full of obvious unhappiness. His eyes dropped to the bag on the ground. “Where are you going?”

You held in a sharp comeback about why you should be expected to talk to him when he did not wish to do the same two nights ago. At his question, your gaze turned to the bag and you sighed, shaking your head. You bent down to pick it back up and began once more attempting to fasten it securely to the horse. “Home.” You said.

Thranduil blinked. “This is home.”

You frowned and your head snapped up to look at him. “This is your home... and clearly I am not welcome in it.” You hated how your voice shook just a little. You wanted to sound brave and firm, not like a hurt little girl. “I am returning to Lothlórien. You can call off all the arrangements.”

Thranduil stared at you then, watching while you struggled with the bag, as the reality hit him. You were going home, you were... calling off the wedding?

His arm shot out and he took hold of the bag, wrenching it gently but firmly from your grip. You gave a sigh and lifted your eyes to his face. Gods, why did he have to be so handsome? You shook your head at him, throwing your hands up in a defeated manner.

“Do not leave.” He said, his voice quieter than he would have liked. He was certain it shook a little... but you did not notice.

“Why?” Was all you could ask, scoffing a little as you shook your head again. “Why should I stay here, Thranduil? I did not come here because I have no other options, I came here because I... I like you and I trust you and...” You trailed off, lowering your gaze for a moment, one of your shoes (which were absolutely not suitable for riding a horse in the first place) kicking at the straw covered ground. “I will not... settle for a life where I am never good enough, where I am always second best. A life in the shadow of a memory. A beautiful memory, do not misunderstand, and one I would never want you to forget... but I am not her, Thranduil! I am not her and I never will be and I am sorry but... I cannot stay here, not like this.”

Another silence filled the stable. 

You looked away, at the horse, running your fingers through its mane. The animal was no longer in a mood now that you had stopped messing with the bag. You watched as it lazily chewed on some hay. Thranduil still had your bag in his hands, his fingers anxiously fiddling with the strap, his eyes on his hands. He felt ashamed and for a long moment he could not speak.

“You were never second place to me.” He whispered eventually, his eyes filling up with tears as he realised just what he had done. What he had made you feel. What he had made you think. “Never. You are not. I...” He faltered, grasping for the right words but he could not find them. “I know... what I said, what I have done, it was wrong. I cannot excuse myself, I do not even know why I...” He paused, frowning. 

You didn’t look up, though you could see him in your peripheral vision. He seemed to be struggling. He was not always good with words when it was not about politics or battle.

“I did not realise I was doing it at first,” he continued after gathering his thoughts once more. “There is no excuse and I do not say this to make one. I simply... she is the only queen to have ever graced my rule. I was thrust onto the throne so quickly... and I was grieving and she had to... truthfully, she had no choice but to take control of many things until I was more... present.” More in the moment after watching his father die, after that dreadful day, after suddenly becoming a king. “My mother died long before I even began to pay real, proper attention to anything... royal. I... my wife was the only queen I have ever known here, I remember how she did everything, I grew used to it. I forgot that you... do not know and I did not help you properly when I know that I should have. So I compared you to her and it was not fair of me. You did nothing wrong. I am sorry. So, so sorry.” He did not really expect forgiveness, he did not feel that he deserved it, he did not feel that he should receive it. To have hurt you... it pained him. “I love you.”

You turned your head from the horse to Thranduil’s face, the shock evident as you stared back at him for a few very long minutes. Had you heard that correctly? Did he... did he say...? 

Over this time, you had developed your own feelings towards the king. He was not perfect, though to outsiders he may look it, but that was probably part of why you’d fallen for him in the first place. You had not been able to help yourself. 

In the beginning, after he had approached you and your father with the idea from his council of an arranged marriage, it was not something either of you had rushed into. He had spent some time getting to know you better, for he did not wish to wed somebody he did not at least get along with. He’d been clear on that with his councillors and advisors. He’d written you letters after he returned to Mirkwood, he arranged visits for you to come and spend time with him. He showed up in Lórien once with no other reason than to offer you a bouquet of wildflowers he had picked himself, then he took you on a walk through the forest and the two of you just... talked. After all of that, it had been so easy. To say yes. To agree. Though you had known, you had known, that he would never love you. He cared for you enough, you knew that, but as a friend. He would never love you as he loved her. At least that’s what you had presumed.

“You...?” Was all you could say, still staring at him in absolute shock.

Thranduil nodded, the tears in his eyes that he’d managed to keep at bay finally beginning to spill down his cheeks as he blinked. He glanced down, embarrassed, lifting his thumb to his face and swiping away a tear. “Yes.” He whispered. “I... I should have said it before, I should have... shown it better. I am so sorry... but please.” He lifted his head again, his eyes wide as he looked at you quite desperately. “Stay. Please... do not leave me.”

You were staring at him, frozen for what felt like a long time, and Thranduil began to lose hope. You would leave and he would never see you again all because of his own stupidity. He knew you did not love him that way, that you had agreed to this as his friend, but he needed you to stay here, he could not bear to lose you.

When your voice finally came, it was but a whisper, and there were now tears in your own eyes to match Thranduil’s. “...I love you too.”

Now it was Thranduil’s turn to stare at you. He looked like he could not comprehend what had just come out of your mouth. He looked like he did not dare believe it. You stepped towards him, your hand dropping from the horse as you reached for the bag in his hands. He let you take it and you swung it up onto your shoulder out of the way, taking one of his hands in yours. You were still hurt but you could not believe this had happened... and maybe this was just something you both had needed to go through, to be able to get past it. Something his mind had needed to work through.

“I love you.” You said again, a little louder. You felt his hand squeeze yours and you lifted your free one to his face, wiping away his tears. He looked like he dared not even hope that what you had just said was true. 

“You do?” He asked then, his eyes softening as he gazed down at you while you wiped his tears away. His heart was threatening to burst out of his chest as he looked back at you. He was not fully sure he had even entirely admitted to himself that he loved you until right now. He’d felt it, he’d been aware of how fond he was growing of you despite those other thoughts, but he hadn’t fully come to terms with his feelings - he had not felt such love in a thousand years.

You nodded, your anger fading away, leaving both your hurt and your love behind. “Yes... I do.” You confirmed, sighing as you took his other hand. You heard his breath catch in his throat and you gave him a sad little smile. “I’m sor-”

“Don’t.” Thranduil said immediately, shaking his head firmly as he cut you off. “Do not. You have nothing to apologise for, you did absolutely nothing wrong. I am the one who was in the wrong. You will make a good queen. I should have told you this... I should not have gotten upset over such trivial things. Dresses...” He scoffed at himself. “None of that matters.” He said, glancing down shamefully. “I do not want you to think that I... that I do not appreciate you for who you are or that I wish you to be somebody else... because I do not.” He shook his head. “I love who you are, I love everything about you. I am so sorry.”

You could practically feel your heart soaring to the heavens. You simply could not believe that Thranduil felt this way about you and, despite your hurt over his words, you were quite overjoyed. You finally smiled and Thranduil took a steadying breath before he moved. He leaned towards you, slowly so you could turn or pull away if you did not wish it, but you stayed perfectly still and waited for him to kiss you.

When he finally did, it was like electricity. It was like something you had been missing your whole life suddenly clicked into place and you removed your hands from his to loop your arms around his neck and pull him closer. His own tentatively moved to hold you gently by the waist. When he broke the kiss and you opened your eyes again, you could tell by his expression that he truly felt the same, that he was floored by all of this, and you could see how deeply he regretted hurting you, making you feel inferior, second best.

“You will stay?” He asked then, still sounding a little uncertain, despite the fact you had kissed him and admitted you felt the same way. He was worried he might have ruined everything before he even got the chance.

You gazed up at him and you nodded. “Yes... I will stay. Of course I will.” 

There was still a sadness in your eyes that broke Thranduil’s heart to know that he was the one who put it there and he vowed to do everything in his power to make up for what he had done.

“I will never make you feel that way again.” Thranduil told you, his voice extremely firm, his gaze sharp but loving. He lifted a hand to your face, cupping your cheek. “I promise.”

You smiled and he kissed you once more before he took your hand, leading you from the stables and back into the palace, back to the future with you that he was more grateful than he could ever express to have not forever ruined.

#thranduil x reader #thranduil x you #thranduil fanfic #lotr x reader #hobbit x reader #thranduil fanfiction

[faeriichaii]

Heyyy, I hope you are doing alright!

I wanted to request a kinda mean but later soft Thranduil x Shy Fem!Reader smut ♡ in which the Reader loves to read and sneaks into a forbidden part of the library and gets caught by Thranduil ;) ♡

Bookworm ~ Thranduil x Fem!Shy!Elf!Reader

A/N: Omg never did I ever expect to see a Thranduil request (even more shocking that it is a smut request🤭) But sure, I can do that for you <33 (Ngl I was very scared about writing this cause Thranduil is like such a hard character for me to write but I obv still appreciate it when I get him requested <33)

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Warnings: Smut (MDNI), unprotected sex, bj ࿐ྂ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Words: 3k ࿐ྂ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Request: Yes <33 ࿐ྂ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Hiril vuin ~ My Lady ࿐ྂ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Meleth Nin ~ My Love ࿐ྂ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Agórel vae ~ You did well ࿐ྂ

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

Enjoying the serene chirping of the birds, you turned the page of your book. You sat under a tree in the beautiful garden of Mirkwood. The book in your hand only had a few pages left and you just had to know how the story of the princess goes. Does she get her happy end or does the prince of hearts decide to take her down? You don’t know yet, however you are very keen to find it out. A soft gasp left your lips, as your book was taken out of your hands. “Isn’t this one of the books in the restricted area?” Legolas asked, as he turned the book around to quickly skim over the summary. His finger was still placed between the pages, in order to not make you lose the spot you have last read. He once did it by accident and he still hasn’t really recovered from the hell that you let loose upon him.

“Restricted area? I never saw a restricted area.” You said, as you stood up from your place on the ground and snatched the book out of Legolas’ grasp. “I probably shouldn’t have mentioned it.” The prince began to walk away from you, however you couldn’t just let him go after he dropped this very important secret. “Wait Legolas! You can’t just walk away now. Where is this restricted area?” A sigh left his lips as you stood beside him and looked up at him with your big eyes. “My father would kill you if he spots you in there (Y/N). It really isn’t even worth it. The only person who walks in there is him and I sometimes join him, and let me tell you, the books are mostly on history about middle earth and nothing special.” He tried to reason with you, but you were insisting on finding this so-called restricted section.

“Legolas, we have been friends for more than just centuries, you do know me and you certainly know that I know the layout of the library better than anybody else. So how come I have never seen the restricted area?” Legolas stopped walking, which made you also stop in your tracks. “There is a mechanism to it. You have to pull a lever in order to open the restricted area and enter it. But (Y/N)…” He turned towards you and grabbed your shoulders tightly. “You really can’t enter. If my father finds out, that you have been in the restricted area, then he will certainly send you far away or set an even worse punishment upon you.” His worried eyes locked onto your own. You gave him a reassuring smile, before shaking his hands off from your shoulders. “Don’t worry, I will not go in there. I promise.” What the prince didn’t saw, were your crossed fingers, that were hidden away in the pages of the book you now desperately wanted to return to the library.

After you said your goodbyes to Legolas, you decided to take a detour to the library. Just to put away the book you still held onto tightly. No other reason. Opening the big wooden doors, you walked towards the designated shelf and put away the book. Turning around, you scanned the whole room for any kind of lever. You walked towards the few golden candle holders, that were attached to the wall. Letting your fingers graze over the cold metal, you carefully tried to pull it, however it didn’t budge. A sigh left your lips as you continued to stroll around the library. You have been walking around for quite some time, until you noticed a little shelf that is tucked into the corner of the room. Examining it, you decided to try and search through the books, if they possibly could be the lever, you have been searching for.

Your eyes focused on a dark green book. The golden edges almost seemed to glow, as you let your fingers trail over the intricate design. Gently pulling on the book out of the shelf, you heard a click. The shelf started to move to your right, opening a small staircase to you. A smile spread across your lips, as you decide to walk down the few steps. Your eyes widened at the few shelves, that lined the stone walls of the small room. Each of the shelves were filled with various books and scrolls, some even in a language you can’t read. ‘How to Brew the Perfect Concoction’ or ‘Middle Earth: Past, Present and Future’ were only a few of the titles you have read on the spines. You took out a dark blue book, dusted it off and read the title. ‘The Golden Egg: A Guide for Dragons’. You didn’t even know that there was a book, explaining how to care for dragons. Putting it back on the shelf, you continued to stroll around the room. Time flew by quickly, as you read various pages of different books, and scrolls, until you found one you really wanted to take back upstairs. Tucking it in your small bag, you walk back up the stairs, pulled the lever that was attached to the wall and walked out. It only took you a few steps until you realized that the king himself was browsing through a shelf that was a little too close to the opening of the restricted area. His eyebrow raised, as he spotted you walk out of the direction of the small shelf. A blush dusted your cheeks, as you quickly did a curtsy and muttered a ‘My King’ in greeting. He mustered you from head to toe, until he noticed the small book that was peeking out from your bag.

You were ready to quickly exit the library, until Thranduil began to talk. “You did not perhaps take a book from a shelf you are not supposed to touch?” He asked, almost daring you to lie to him. The blush on your cheeks intensified, as you looked up at him. “I don’t think I understand, my king. I just took this book from a shelf that I have inspected earlier.” His eyes moved from your own, towards your bag again. “Well, I do hope so. If you would ever enter places, you are not meant to be in, than you will leave me with no choice but to set a punishment upon you.” He spoke, authority dripping with each word. A shudder spread through your body, as your mind registered his words. “Of course, my king. I would never do such a thing.” You smiled softly at him, before politely curtsying and leaving him be in the library. After walking through the big wooden doors, you let out a deep breath you didn’t even knew you were holding. Hopefully the book will be worth the trouble.

A few days passed and you devoured each and every single word, that was written on the pages. Hence you were once again standing in the middle of the restricted area, searching for another book to pass your time. You were at the furthest corner of the room, intensely reading a scroll, that you have found, until you heard the sound of the shelf moving. How come the shelf is moving? Your eyes widened, as the sound of footsteps walking down the stairs echoed throughout the room. Quickly shoving the scroll back into the shelf, you hid behind the burgundy armchair, that was tucked in a neat corner of the room. Holding your breath, you watched as Legolas entered the room together with his father.

“Why are we down here father?” The prince asked, as he let his fingertips glide over some of the dusty books. “We need to search for a scroll. It should be wrapped with a red ribbon around it.” A shudder went down your spine, as you spotted the red ribbon you have removed earlier from the scroll on the ground. In the exact same moment, Legolas picked it up from the floor and wrapped it around the scroll you carelessly shoved into the shelf. “I think I have found it.” He said and presented the item to his father. The king raised an eyebrow at the unravelled scroll. “Did you start reading it already?” “No, not yet.” Legolas answered, wrapping the ribbon around the paper and walking towards the stairs, in order to leave the room. He tilted his head, as he noticed that his father didn’t follow him. “Do you need something else?” “Yes, but you can already start reading the scroll if you want.” Thranduil said, his eyes still carefully scanning the room. Your head was ducked, in order to not get spotted by his hawk-like gaze.

The fading footsteps of Legolas leaving the room made you feel a little bit more relieved. However, you still felt Thranduils looming presence in the small space. “There is no need to continue hiding Hiril vuin.” His voice still seemed a little too far away for him to have spotted you. “You think I didn’t know you took the book from this very room?” Steps slowly started to approach your hiding location, making you duck even further behind the armchair. “I was the one who sorted through the books and scrolls and decided if they would be fit for this restricted area of the library. You weren’t even supposed to know of its existence. So how exactly did you find this room?” His feet stopped in front of the burgundy armchair. “And how dare you lie to me and still hide away like a little mouse.” A shameful blush dusted your cheeks, as you slowly stood up from your position on the floor. “My king, I can explain-“ He waved his hand, signalling you to stop talking. His eyes were filled with rage, as he deeply looked into your own ones. “You lied and now expect me to listen to your pathetic excuse?” You swallowed thickly, looking down at your feet. “You leave me with no other choice but to banish you.” “Banish me?” Your head whipped up, eyes wide and lips parted. Your heart beat faster and faster, as the punishment of your actions settled into your brain.

“Please my king, don’t banish me! I will do any other punishment that you are willing to put me through, but I am begging you, don’t banish me from Mirkwood.” Hands clasped in front of you, you fell down on your knees in front of him. Tears were lining your vision as slight panic settled into your body. You can’t get banished. You have family and friends in Mirkwood and where else are you supposed to go? The king raised an eyebrow, as you kneeled in front of him, pleading him for mercy. “You are willing to do anything?” You quickly nodded at his question. Hope filled your mind and soul as you stood up from the ground. Thranduil took a step closer to you. His right hand wiped a tear away, that escaped your eyes. Heat spread through your body at the realization of your close proximity.

“Show me how much you want my forgiveness.” He whispered, his fingers holding onto your chin. A shaky breath left your lips, as you let your eyes trail down to his own. The magnetic pull towards him was almost unbearable. The urge to just put your lips over his own and entangling your hands in his hair driving you crazy. You looked back up into his eyes, that were glistening over with unspoken want. Grasping his shirt, you quickly pulled him down, encasing his lips with your own. His hands held onto your waist, pulling you closer. You let your hands slowly trail from his chest to his neck, as you opened your mouth, letting your tongue entangle with his in a passionate kiss.

Thranduil separated from you. Your cheeks were bright red, as you took a few breaths to relax from the heated kiss. “Can’t you take more than a mere kiss Hiril vuin?” His head tilted to the side, as mockery dripped from every word he muttered. A huff left your lips. “I can take more than you think.” And with that you pulled him down once more, kissing him even more feverously than before. His grasp on you tightened, as he approached the armchair. Parting from you, he sat down on the plush furniture. His legs were slightly spread, as his arms leaned on the armrests. Your eyes trailed his form, until they stopped at the slight tent, that seemed to grow in his pants.

“Let’s see how well you listen to my orders now. Take off your clothes.” Your hands went to your shoulders. Fingers grazing over the fabric, you took your time pulling the sleeves off of your body. Your dress gently slid down your body, as it pooled on the ground. Eyes still focused on the king who sat in the armchair, you hooked your fingers into your panties. Pulling them down, you stepped out of the pile of clothes and began to approach Thranduil.   

His eyes trailed over your body, leaving a hot trail as they go. Your walls clenched around nothing, as you inspected him. “What do you wish me to do next my king?” A chuckle left his lips. His fingers motioning you over. “I want you to prove your statement. You said you can take more than I think, so I want to see how much you can really take.” Thranduil unbuttoned his pants, lifted his hips from the chair and discarded the garment on the ground. His cock was long and thick. A soft gasp left your lips. You moved down on your knees in front of him, your mouth mere inches away from his tip. “My king, will you allow me to take a taste?” Innocence laced your voice, as you looked at him through your lashes. He nodded at your suggestion.

At the approval, you wrapped your hand around his base. Your mouth encased his red tip, gently sucking on it. A shuddered breath came from Thranduil, as he held onto the back of your head with one hand, making you moan softly at his touch. You took more of him into your mouth, gagging slightly at the process. Your tongue stroked the vein of his cock as you slowly started to bop your head up and down, hand covering the part of him that didn’t fit into your mouth. Groans could be heard from the elven king, as his piercing eyes stared at how well you took him with your mouth. Your walls clenched around nothing and you could feel your wetness almost drip onto the floor. Craving to be touched, you let your free hand wander to your clit. “Don’t you dare touch yourself.” Retreating your hand from yourself, you let out a sad whine. Thranduils hand pulled on your hair gently. You let his cock go with a ‘plop’ and tilted your head to the side, awaiting your new order. “Sit down.” He said, patting his thighs.

Standing up from the ground, you placed your legs on each side of his. Cold air hit your dripping core, making you gasp. Thranduils hands grasped your hips tightly as the tip of his cock grazed your swollen clit. A whine escaped your lips at the intimate touch. “I want you to ride me. Work for it and earn your orgasm.” His lips brushed against your ear. You took his cock into your hands and aligned it with your entrance. Slowly you sank down, the feeling of the stretch making you part your lips in a silent cry. A groan from Thranduils lips bounced off the walls. You tightly held onto his shoulders, as you let yourself settle down and embrace his sheer size inside you completely. He was longer and thicker than you expected. After a few seconds of letting your pussy adjust to his size, you started to slowly move up and down. The elven kings hand trailed up your body, to grasp your boobs and twirl your nipples between his fingers.

Moaning at the feeling of his cock hitting your cervix and completely filling you up, you connected your lips to his. The wet squelching sound of your pussy filled the small restricted area of the library. A familiar warmth spread through your lower region. Thranduil detached himself from your lips and leaned towards your ear. “Are you really already close? Is my cock so satisfying to you?” He gently bit into your elven ear, making you gasp out loudly. Your walls squeezed him tightly, welcoming him even deeper into your core. The king let his hand travel down your body, his fingertips gently leaving a trail. He drew circles on your swollen clit, making you arch your back.

The knot tightened, as your walls clenched on his dick. “Don’t cum yet. You have to wait. After all, it is still a punishment.” A whine left your lips at his words, only wishing to let the orgasm wash over you. “Please.” You begged him, as he even start to move his hips upwards, matching your rhythm. “What do you want Hiril vuin? Use your words.” “Please Thranduil, let me cum.” The sound of his name leaving your lips makes his dick twitch inside you. His hand grabbed your chin and pulled you in for another quick kiss. The heat that travels through your body is unbearable, as you try to hold back your orgasm. “You can cum Meleth Nin.” And with that, the knot unravelled and you came, squeezing his dick inside you. His big hands moved towards your hips, shoving you up and down on his dick at a relentless pace. Whining at the overstimulation, you buried your head in his neck. After a few more thrusts, you felt his cock twitch, as he filled you up with his seed.

He continued to move inside you for a few more times, before pulling out. His cum mixed with your own slowly started to trickle out of your core. “Agórel vae Meleth Nin.” Thranduil held your warm face in his hand, thumb drawing circles onto your cheek. He gave you a gentle kiss on the lips. “Do you still wish to banish me my king?” You asked him, arms wrapped around his neck. “I think you proved that you definitely deserve my forgiveness Hiril vuin.”

#thranduil x reader #thranduil imagine #the hobbit x reader #the hobbit imagine #thranduil x you #thranduil fanfic #lotr x reader #hobbit x reader #thranduil fanfiction #requests #lord #lord of the rings x reader #lord of the rings imagine #lord of the rings imagines #hobbit imagines #the hobbit trilogy #the hobbit #the hobbit fanfiction #lord of the rings #x reader #x female reader #x y/n #smut #thranduil smut #thranduil x fem!reader #thranduil x fem!reader smut #the hobbit smut

[madwomansapologist]

peach + thranduil

peach — at what point did they understood that their lover was the one?

⤷ with: thranduil

You see, love for elves is such a serious matter. Attraction, lust, desire: those are shallow things. Shallow, ephemeral, mutable things. When and elve love, it's forever. Not even death can shattered this bond.

Thranduil went throught a lot. He saw Mordor, a part of him was buried there and will never grow back again. Thranduil veiled his father, and took care of his responsibilities. Thranduil led his people against Sauron's attempts to regain power. Meanwhile his realm was attacked and explored, he saw other leaders daring to say that Sauron was dead.

Thranduil became stronger, mostly because he didn't had another choice. Thranduil became wiser, because his people needed a good king. Thranduil became wary, because no one would help his realm but himself. But Thranduil didn't became heartless. Not at all.

At first, Thranduil sees you in paralel to him. You are stronger, but in a way different from his. Wiser, but different than him. And less wary. Less careful. Thranduil lived long enough to understand himself. He fell in love. And knowing that, he wouldn't act on this love.

Thranduil wouldn't court you. Would try to not think about you. To get away from you. Thranduil needs to understand if his feeling is truly. If it's something that will last. Mostly, if it's something he can control or that will control him. Thranduil isn't heartless, but his wary make it look like he is.

But what make his heart skip a beat is your honesty. The second you speak whatever is on your mind, act respecting your heart's desires, make sure to honest to yourself: Thranduil is whipped. To able to see who you really are, not affraid that you're hidden something, made him undertood something.

His grief and wary is tremendous, but his love for you is bigger than his fear. Thranduil have been alone for such a long time. It feels nice to be alone with you.

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

#madwomansapologist #mwa birthday #ice cream prompts #writing prompts #fic prompt #writing prompt #thranduil fic #thranduil fanfic #thranduil oropherion #thranduil of mirkwood #thranduil fanfiction #thranduil #thranduil x you #thranduil x reader #thranduil x y/n #thranduil imagine #thranduil headcanon #the hobbit #the hobbit x y/n #the hobbit x you #the hobbit x reader #lord of the rings imagine #lord of the rings fic #lord of the rings #lord of the rings x you #lord of the rings x reader

[mirkwoodshewolf]

Princess of Starlight; Thranduil x elfling child reader

*Author's note*

Well guys this took me awhile to get around to making and a couple of weeks to write it all down but this weekend I finally had some time to fully sit and write it out and now it's ready! So @soralinklokidottirofmirkwood I appreciate your patience with me and I now present to you your request. Hope you enjoy it as well as any reader who catches this little gem.

Warnings: parental death, spiders (yeah those arachnophobes out there like me, BEWARE OF SPIDERS!!) mentions of infertility and stillborn children, some angst and fluff.

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things

@waddles03

@psychosupernatural

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels

@queen-paladin

@gay-and-ready-to-cry

____________________________________________________________

I managed to duck down into the root of a tree and quickly buried myself with some old leaves and twigs and stayed as quiet as I could until I heard the sound of their clicking and hissing.  I then watched as their shadows went past the tree I was hiding under, hoping and praying to the Valar that they wouldn’t see me.

After what felt like forever, the last of them finally walked passed my tree so I slowly peeked out clenching my father’s crystal necklace he had given me before he and mother told me to run and hide.  There was nothing but silence in the woods, no birds, no wind, not even the sound of running water.

Very carefully I decided to venture out of my tree in hopes of finding another place to hide, or maybe get out of the woods all together.  Suddenly out of nowhere I was pinned down by three long, hairy legs and heard a hiss-like roar behind my back.  I tried to fight but I felt myself being wound up in the sticky web of the spider that had me pinned.

Then as quickly as I felt it starting to wrap my up, it stopped.  I heard the whizzing sound of arrows being shot, blades being unsheathed, and the terrible sounds of the spider that had me pinned along with more spiders from above the trees.  Soon there was silence once again and I heard someone say in my language.

“How many are left?”

“I counted five more escaping during the skirmish my lord Legolas.” Said a female voice.

“Kill them all. None must be left alive. By order of the King.” The male voice said again.  The female then proclaimed an Elvish command and I heard some running away from the area.

“My lord Legolas, what about the victim?” oh no.  I tried to wriggle myself out of the web but it was so thick and sticky, I couldn’t even move my arms up that had been pinned to my side.  So like a warm, I tried to inch myself to a hiding spot (even though I could barely see through the silked webs) but I was soon stopped by another foot.

This was it, this is where I would meet my end. Not by spiders but by my own kin.  I felt as the webs were being cut away and I was now staring into the sharp, blue eyes of an elf in what almost looked like dragon-like armor.

“Stand down, she’s only an elfling.” He ordered to the few dozen guards that remained at his side.  Unlike the others who had either dark or red hair, this elf before me had blonde hair, just like my mother did.  I jumped out of my web trap and pressed myself against one of the trees and the elf told me, “It’s alright. No one will hurt you.”

Even though he looked intimidating, there was a comforting aura around him that I was sensing from him thanks to father’s necklace.

“Do you speak in the Eldar? Or do you also know common tongue?” he asked me.  But before I could answer, I noticed a large shadow slowly coming down from above.  It was one of the younger spiders whose feet are so light, they couldn’t even be detected by our Elvish ears.  One of the guards happened to look where I was looking and proclaimed.

“Hir nin Legolas!” my necklace soon glowed and I extended my hand out and a powerful wind blast sent everyone falling down including the spider.  It’s back slammed hard into the trunk of a tree before falling down on a spiked log, piercing it through it’s center and it quickly fell limp.  The elven guards plus the elf who had tried to talk to me, Legolas according to one of the guards.  They all looked at me in either shock or awe at what I had just done.

“I’m sorry.” I finally spoke to show that I knew both Elvish and common tongue.  “I didn’t want that one to hurt you. They’re more deadly than the bigger ones, nana and adar were attacked by one just like that. The venom spread so quickly mother barely had the chance to cry out.” Suddenly one of the guard withdrew his bow and arrow and aimed it at me.  I jumped back fearfully but Legolas stood in front of me, shielding me from the oncoming attack.

“Lower your bow Feren!”

“My lord, she had hurt you!” Feren snapped.

“It was an accident. She saved my life, and as such it would do you more harm than good to bring harm to my rescuer.” Feren without question removed his arrow from his bow and stood down.  Legolas turned back towards me and knelt back down in front of me.  “Little one, how do you know magic?”

“My father’s amulet. It just—glows whenever I feel high levels of fear and fires the magic. I didn’t mean to hurt you I swear it.”

“No apologizes necessary, may I be permitted to see your father’s amulet? Don’t worry I won’t take it from you.” I looked into his eyes and felt deep down he was telling the truth.  I reached underneath my shirt and pulled it out and held it out to him.  He gently took it in his hands and as he admired the crystal gem, I noticed how his eyes widened when he turned it around to look at the runes on the back.

“Am I—in trouble?” I asked nervously.  He looked at me and told me as he handed me back my father’s amulet.

“No penneth. But we would like for you to come with us, the King would like to know of your presence in our part of the forest.” The King? As in King Thranduil? I had made it to King Thranduil’s palace?! I had but lost hope that I would make it here.

Before I had lost my father, he had told me to reach the realm of Thranduil.  If I showed him my amulet, he could protect me.  Those were his last words before the younger spider got to him and dragged him off into the woods, never to be seen again.  Legolas kept his hand out for me to take it and so I did and he ordered the remaining guards to follow us.

As we walked, I soon began to feel the light of the sun upon my face as we reached a different part of the woods.  I couldn’t recall the last time I had felt the light of the sun or have been able to feel all of Yavanna’s great creations all around me.  The feel of the spray of the rushing waterfalls beneath us, the smell of the fresh air instead of the decaying one I had been under.

We soon came to a great fortress that had been built within the trees themselves.  Gates of iron stood before us as Legolas ordered the guards to close the gates behind us.  Once inside I was amazed at the interior of this grand palace.

Narrow walkways of tree bark and light that seemed to be glowing on it’s own from what appeared to be sap from the trees.  Elves all around were walking the various pathways that either were below or on top of us.  Soon enough, we came before a large, intimidating throne of wood and stone.

Large antler-like structures stood on either side of the throne that was at the foot of a narrow staircase at the foot.  And sitting upon the throne wielding a staff was none other than the King of all Mirkwood, King Thranduil.

He resembled Legolas almost to a perfect picture but his eyes held a harshness that felt like winter wind hitting you in the face.  A crown of autumn leaves stood upon his head and he wore robe of onyx and hanging off his shoulders was a blood red cloak.

“Legolas,” his voice held a deep booming sound to it that almost resembled thunder in the far off mountains.  “Who is this child you have brought before me?”

“My lord, this young elf was found within the outer boarders of your realm. The spiders had ambushed her and nearly had her killed. She in returned saved me from a spider that we had missed that would’ve killed me.” Thranduil’s eyes shifted to me.

Seeing him upon his throne lounging against it and his icy blue eyes staring down upon me gave me an intimidating feeling.

“And you had killed it? It wasn’t left alive?” he asked me.

“Yes, Great King of Wood and Stone.” I said bowed to him.

“The child has manners. And a great debt is owed to you for saving my son.” He told me.  Legolas is the son of the King?! I had saved the Prince of Mirkwood?!

“It is also best that you know this young elfling saved me not with a steel of any weapon, but of magic. A powerful magic that I had never crossed paths with before.” Legolas said again.  I watched as Thranduil slowly came down the steps of his throne and stood before us and told his son and the guards.

“Leave us.” They bowed and soon I was left alone with the great King of the Wood.  “Rise young one.” I got back to my feet and looked up at him nervously, fiddling with the ends of my tattered dress.  “How long have you been traveling in the woods on your own?”

“I—lost my parents what feels like an age. But counting from what I could tally in the ground and trees, it had been nearly a year and a half since I had been on my own.”

“And from where did you hail from in my kingdom?”

“The Southern borders of Mirkwood my lord. Near the fell fortress. My parents and I escaped the spider raid when they first came upon the lands.”

“What were your parents names?” he asked me.

“My mother’s name was Thessa, and my father’s name was…..”

“Orrian.” The King finished for me.  I looked up at the King in shock.

“You knew my father?” the king knelt down to my height and asked me.

“Answer me this, do you bear his family’s amulet? A clear diamond surrounded in silver?” I reached down into my shirt and pulled out the amulet necklace and Thranduil’s eyes widened.  “By the grace of Varda. You are her. You are Orrian’s young starlight. You are just as he described.”

“My father spoke highly of you, but I always thought it was because you were the King of our realm.”

“Not only that child but your father and I go back a long time into our elfling hoods back in our old home of Doriath. He was the youngest cousin to the Queen Melian. And my greatest friend. Oh the times we had together as elflings.” His voice held a warm, gentleness and his eyes that once struck me with a cold feeling now held a warm, tender look to them.  “I am sorry for your loss my dear child, but know that your father truly loved you. More than anyone, more than life.”

“That’s what he said before telling me to find you. Saying that you would protect me. I had but given up hope that I would even find sanctuary and that his and my mother’s deaths would’ve been in vain.” Thranduil placed a comforting hand to my shoulder and said.

“You need not think that anymore dear one, your parents can finally rest in peace knowing that you will indeed be safe here in my realm.” Then I did something I never would’ve thought I had the guts to do.

I embraced the Elven king.  He tensed up at the surprised hug but gladly embraced me back.

Later that night after being provided with proper lodgings, food and medical attention to the scraps and bruises from running through the thick shrubberies.  Thranduil sat down with me on my bed telling me all the stories of him and my father growing up.

“And had it not been for me, your father would’ve never had gotten the courage to ask a dance from your mother.” He finished the tale of how he had helped my father and mother begin their courting.

“Father always said he’d learn to thank you for giving him the proper push.” I fiddled with his amulet necklace.  My heart growing heavy with grief.  “I miss him and mother every day.”

“And they loved you dearly. They feared that they would go through life without being able to conceiving a child. Everytime your mother started to bear one, it was either a stillborn or she ended up losing it. But when you came along, there was something about you that made your father believe that you were the one. You were going to be the grace of Varda herself, and he was right.” He tucked some of my hair behind my ear and turned my chin up to look at him, “An elfling born with the power of the Stars and wind, and it is through that amulet that was brought down by his family line that helps harness your powers.”

“Yet they didn’t appear till after I had lost them. If only I was able to use that power to save them.”

“There is a saying your father used to say, ‘Yesterday is history, tomorrow’s a mystery, but today is a gift. That is why it is called the present’. We cannot choose what happens in that time frame or what events will fall, only after what’s done is done, do we have the strength to follow through to the next event that may fall upon us.” I nodded and leaned my head against the king’s arm.

I felt his arm come around me, pulling me onto his lap as my head rested on his shoulder.

“I promise you (Y/n), you’ll never know fear or loneliness ever again. I swear on your father, I’ll try to give the same amount of love as he and your mother gave you.”

“Thank you my lord.”

“No more formalities. You may call me by my name when it is just us, okay?”

“Okay, Thranduil.” I felt him bring me closer to him in a loving embrace and he lay a kiss upon the top of my head.

For the rest of my life, Thranduil kept his word.  I was raised at his side like his own daughter and Legolas came to see me as his own little sister.  I was trained not only in weapons by my brother and father, I was also taught how to better control my magic.  Though for those lessons, I was sent to Rivendell where I was told by Lord Elrond that he and his wife were good friends of my mother.

Lord Elrond taught me of how to better control my magic and how to use it in combat.  Throughout the lands I became known as the Starlight Princess of the Woodland realm.  Any orc that I came in contact with was blinded by my powers of Starlight and shuddered in fear whenever the winds would blow, signaling my arrival.  And whenever I felt doubt or fear of forgetting what my parents looked like, my adoptive father was willing to show me old pictures of him and my father and tell me more stories of them and their lives together. And I never had to live with fear or doubt ever again, just as my adoptive father had promised.

#the hobbit #the hobbit fanfic #the hobbit imagine #thranduil #thranduil x reader #thranduil imagine #thranduil imagines #thranduil fanfic #thranduil fanfiction #thranduil x child reader #the hobbit fanfiction #the hobbit imagines #legolas greenleaf #legolas greenleaf imagine #legolas greenleaf x reader #legolas greenleaf imagines #tolkien fandom #legolas greenleaf fanfic #legolas greenleaf fanfiction

[agathne]

the moon | thranduil of mirkwood

Description: Thranduil is caught in the most embarrassing position. In which, Elrond walks in when Thranduil is about to kiss you. [crack fluff]

Pairing: thranduil/elrond's-daughter!reader

Books tell you that falling in love feels like sweaty palms, nervous chills and heart thumping furiously against your chest - but every moment spent with him feels like waves on a beach. It's calm, not judging - you feel safe around him.

"I shall return to Greenwood in a few moons, is there anything that requires my full attention?" he inquired - nuzzling his head deep in the crook of your neck. He smelled like vanilla and cardamom. He was an elf that was older than you - older than your mother, but he is the only one who could relate to you. "(Your Name)," he says firmly this time, sensing that your attention was in another plane.

"I'm sorry," you turned your head in his direction - fingers digging deeper into his golden locks. "I was thinking about missing you, it will be years until we see each other again, Thran. Unless our houses miraculously bond with each other," you breathed - inhaling more of his scent. To others, vanilla may seem cold - but to you - vanilla was the scent of your home.

King Oropher kept to himself, he did not like the race of the Noldor. You couldn't blame him - for half of your blood was responsible for the casualties of his people.

His mother died because of the Noldor's thirst for the gems - but those days were past. They belonged to a bygone age.

"I do not wish to remain this way - I want to be with you. I want you to become half of my soul," you whispered, letting the embrace linger with your words. "I want the very same, melleth." he hummed - breathing in your scent of lavender. "Tell my father," you met his eyes.

"- ask for my hand in marriage, he will not deny you." you say for certain, already seeing the scene play in the back of your mind. "Yes," he responded - unable to fight against something that he too desired. He reaches for your jaw - about to bridge your lips together, but suddenly, someone walks inside your bedroom.

"Adar!" you scream, immediately rising to your feet - falling down the bed in the process. "By the grace of the Valar!" Elrond covered his eyes - unable to gather the powers to look upon his daughter's lover. "I apologize," you lowered your head - helping your lover to his feet.

Elrond takes a step outside of your room, hand around the doorknob. "I will not speak of this. I will pretend to never have seen this and - I will wait in my room for an explaination." he said to himself, closing the door loudly - face red in both anger and embarrassment.

#thranduil x reader #thranduil x you #thranduil fanfic #lotr x reader #hobbit x reader #thranduil fanfiction

[vilentia]

Shattered Love

Thranduil x reader

Summary: Thranduil's world shatters when he loses his beloved wife, plunging him into heartbreak and sorrow.

Warnings: death, grief, violence, loss

****

Thranduil's heart felt heavy as he stood on the balcony of his grand halls, gazing out into the darkened forest. The moon's pale light cast an ethereal glow upon his sorrowful face, highlighting the lines of anguish etched into his features. The air was heavy with a haunting silence, broken only by the distant howls of the wind.

His mind was haunted by memories of you, his beloved wife, whose absence now gnawed at his soul. The weight of loss seemed unbearable as he recalled the fateful day when everything changed.

- start of the throwback-

"Please, my love, stay within the safety of our chambers," Thranduil pleaded, his voice tinged with worry. "I cannot bear the thought of anything happening to you."

But you were determined to stand beside him, to fight alongside him in the face of encroaching danger. The battle drums echoed through the forest, signaling the impending doom that awaited them. Thranduil, ever the protector, wanted nothing more than to shield you from harm. Yet, against his wishes, you insisted on joining the battle.

As the clash of swords and the screams of warriors filled the air, Thranduil fought with unmatched valor, his heart gripped by both fear and determination. With each fallen foe, his eyes searched desperately for your figure, praying that you were safe. But fate can be cruel, and tragedy struck when he needed you most.

A piercing cry tore through the chaos, causing Thranduil's heart to stop. Time seemed to slow as he turned, his eyes widening with dread, and the world around him faded into insignificance. There, amidst the wreckage of the battlefield, he saw you crumpled on the ground, surrounded by the lifeless bodies of their enemies.

A strangled gasp escaped his lips as he raced to your side, his movements fueled by desperation and disbelief. His hands trembled as he knelt beside you, his fingers brushing against your ashen cheek. His gaze traveled over the wounds that marred your delicate form, each injury an agonizing testament to the violence that had consumed their world.

"No, no! Please, my love, stay with me," Thranduil pleaded, his voice a broken whisper that barely carried above the din of battle. Tears streamed down his face, mingling with the dirt and blood that stained his skin. His voice cracked with anguish, raw and filled with an inconsolable grief.

He pressed his forehead against yours, his grip on you tightening as if he could will life back into your fragile body. His hands trembled as he traced the contours of your face, memorizing every curve and crevice. He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a desperate attempt to share his breath, to infuse you with his own life force.

But you were gone, stolen from him by the merciless hands of fate. The battle around him faded into a blur, his senses numbed by the magnitude of his loss. The once vibrant forest now held only shadows and echoes of a love that was torn away too soon. Thranduil's anguished cries mixed with the sorrowful howls of the wind, merging into a haunting lament that echoed through the desolation.

He clung to your lifeless body, his tears mingling with the earth beneath them. In that moment, the weight of his grief threatened to consume him entirely. His heart shattered, leaving behind a void that could never be filled. And as the world continued to spin, unaware of the tragedy that had unfolded, Thranduil remained locked in that moment of unbearable sorrow, forever haunted by the memory of a love that had been wrenched from his grasp.

- end of throwback-

Thranduil's grief never truly faded, even as years passed. The wounds remained fresh, and the weight of loss burdened his heart each day. He had built a façade of strength, concealing the depths of his pain from the world. But in the solitude of his chambers, where the echoes of the past lingered, he allowed himself to release the anguish he had held within.

Alone amidst the flickering candlelight, Thranduil finally succumbed to his sorrow. His regal composure shattered as he sank to his knees, his body trembling with the weight of his emotions. A guttural cry escaped his lips, tearing through the stillness of the room.

"I miss you," he whispered, his voice choked with grief. "Every moment, I miss you."

The tears flowed freely, cascading down his face and wetting the cold stone beneath him. It was a release, a catharsis he had denied himself for far too long. The pain surged through him, tearing at his soul, but he allowed it to consume him, for in that pain, he found solace.

In the depths of his anguish, he held onto the memories of your love, cherishing them as a bittersweet reminder of what they had lost. He allowed himself to mourn the life they could have had, the dreams they could have shared.

As the tears subsided, a weary calm settled upon Thranduil. He rose from the floor, his face marked by a raw vulnerability that few had ever witnessed. He knew that he would forever carry the ache of your absence, but he also understood that life must go on.

With a newfound determination, Thranduil wiped away his tears, his eyes now harboring a flicker of resilience. He would honor your memory by protecting his people and ruling with wisdom and compassion, just as you would have wished.

And so, he stepped out of his chambers, his regal demeanor intact once more, masking the grief that lay just beneath the surface. But deep in his heart, he knew that your love would forever guide him, a beacon of light in the darkness that surrounded him.

#thranduil #thranduil imagine #thranduil of mirkwood #thranduil oneshot #thranduil one shot #thranduil angst #thranduil fanfiction #thranduil fic #thranduil fanfic #thranduil x y/n #thranduil x reader #thranduil x you #thranduil x wife #thranduil x wife!reader #thranduil the hobbit #the hobbit #the hobbit thranduil #the hobbit oneshot #the hobbit fanfiction #the hobbit fic #the hobbit angst #the hobbit imagine

[knight-of-flowerss]

Prompts: “tell me what is behind your back”

Summary: The reader has been Legolas’ nanny for what felt like centuries now, even though he was a man grown, he refused to have you stop being his nanny. But, when he left with Tauriel he left you a note that was hidden underneath his pillow in his chambers. You go to burn it but there is a visitor standing in the door way, awaiting your response for what you are doing in the elvish princes’ chambers.

Warnings: fluff, angst(Legolas’ mother), gets a little- suggestive -near the end.

Pairings: Thranduil x Reader, Platonic! Legolas x Reader

Masterlist

You: red

Thranduil: blue

Legolas: green

Burning desire

Thranduil X Elf!Nanny!Reader

Legolas had always been fond of you, ever since he was a young princeling, you never knew why he favoured you over the over two nannies that accompanied him. So he spent the most time with you than the other nannies, hell, he even spent more time in your presence than he did in his own fathers.

As the boy got older he finally realised why he enjoyed your company so much, you were the mother he never had.

You were kind but strict when necessary, polite but always stood your ground when someone had whispered some obscurities about the prince or his parents. But most of all, you treated him like a person. Not a prince, not a child, just Legolas.

****************************************

Legolas felt that he was betraying you when he ran after Tauriel who disappeared into the woods. He got about a mile from the door and realised that if he was going to leave, he had to give you an explanation.

****************************************

Your hand smooths his sheets out, stuffing the edges in between the mattresses and bed frame. You hands next go to fluff the large pillows, starting on the right side, you do both pillows and order them neatly.

You walk around the bed and reach for the under pillow. You raise it up to Fluff and notice an envelope nearly falling off the edge.

Your delicate fingers pick up the paper and place it on the bedside table while you finish the princes’ bed.

Reaching for the envelope, you go to put it in his draw on his bedside table when you notice your name written on the front.

Eyebrows furrowed and lips frowned, you peel off the wax and take out the piece of paper. It read:

Dear Y/N

I regret to inform you that I have left with Tauriel and sadly, don’t think I will be returning. I have a small box underneath my bed filled to the brim with golden pieces, enough to last you a lifetime, enough to get you on your feet if you wish to leave or find a new job. Please don’t try and find me and do not show this letter to others eyes than your own. Please, as my last wish to you, burn this letter and build a better life for yourself.

Thank you, and all that you’ve done for me.

Love from,

Legolas.

You look at the back of the letter and his guess of where he would be headed was scribbled on the back.

Lake Town.

****************************************

You stood in shock, tears threatening to travel downwards from your glossy eyes. You couldn’t believe that they had just let the high born elf leave like that, letting him morph from a respectable young prince to a wreck less young man.

Your feet moved faster than you brain, leading you towards the fireplace in the elf princes’ room. Reaching out, putting the corner of the envelope into the flame. After watching it burn for a while you throw it into the fire. You look to your side and pick up the note from the chair.

You go to put the corner of the page into the flames when a voices perked up.

“What are you doing in my son’s room?”

You whip your head around and hid the paper behind your back.

“My king, I..didn’t expect you to be here..”

“What did you expect then? That no one would notice that you overstayed your stay in my son’s room? No one would notice you lingering by the fire? I know my son cared for you but now that he has left, you have no business prolonging your stay in his chambers.”

His stoic stature took few steps towards you, coming chest to chest with you.

“I’m sorry my King, it was inappropriate for me to be staying in her as long as I have, I shall be leaving now, my King.”

You try to walk past him but a hand flew out and stopped at your chest, pushing you back ever so slightly so your eyes meet.

He was intimidating to say the least, he made you feel like he was a mountain and you were a mouse staring all the way to the top.

“Dear,…. What is behind your back?..”

Your eyes widen, looking away while putting the paper in your right hand, crumpling it up.

“I don’t know what you mean my King.”

Your knuckles went white while trying to hide the evidence of your princes’ whereabouts.

“I will not ask again Y/N. Tell me what is behind your back.”

You gulped, your eyes flickering from Thranduil’s eyes, to the table in the middle of the room, to the fireplace.

Your mind was fighting with you as you stared at the flickering of the flames. Your rational brain was saying no. To not get you imprisoned and to just give up the not the the KING.

‘Do not even think about it, just hand the paper to the King and and beg for forgiveness, atleast you won’t be imprisoned or feel the wrath of the beautiful king.’

Your eyes widen and you realised your impulsive side came through, ‘throw the note into the fireplace, protect your prince, protect your honour. Maybe the King could have mercy on you after finding out why you defied him, but it is very unlikely.’

You turned towards your king as his hand had travelled upwards without you noticing as you were lost in your train of thought.

His slender fingers gripped the underside of your jaw and turned your head towards him. Tipping it back to look at him in the eyes.

“Y/N this is the last time I ask before I forcefully take it out of you sneaky little hands, what. Is. Behind. Your. Back?”

He exhaled through his nose in anger, the air hitting your face. That made you snap. You got out of his grip, turned around and threw the note into the fire, watching it burn in the flames.

A look of shock adorned Thranduil’s face, as his eyes flick between the lick of the flames surrounding the scrumpled paper to your face.

Without thinking, he reached out and grabbed your arm. Spinning you around and pushed you up against the wall. Your head hit the wall and you groaned out in pain.

He dips his head down and through gritted teeth whispered, “What was on that piece of paper dear?”

You were so close to the Elvish King, up close you could appreciate his features a lot more. His sharp jawline, his porcelain skin, his soft and plush lips, his cerulean eyes, so complex, full of stories.

His eyes bored into yours as you subconsciously moved closer, your noses touching eachother and your lips grazing.

You get thrown back onto the wall while he steps back, his hand covering his mouth, squeezing his nose and then landing back at his side as he breathes out of his nose.

You step forward after collecting yourself, staring up at the King as his eyes flicker all around his sons chambers, avoiding your eyes.

When your eyes finally do meet, you are nearly pressed up against him, head tipped back as you stare at his pretty face.

Your hands reach to grasp for his robes, pulling Thranduil down a bit to your level. He moaned out your name in an almost submissive whimper, “Y/N…”

Your lips meet his as he pauses, in shock. Your left hand leaves his extravagant robes to cup his cheek.

When Thranduil finally clocked what was happening, his hands came up to either side of your face, palms on your jawline and fingertips weaving through your hair.

The once innocent kiss quickly turned heated as Thranduil guided you towards the table in the middle of the room, pressing you up against it.

Years of being ignored by the gorgeous elf where quickly overlooked as soon as he bit your bottom lip.

You knew that Legolas would be upset when he finds out about your little affair with his father. Someone who he loved dearly and someone who treated him and anyone he liked like the dirt underneath his shoes.

He would be livid.

But you didn’t care and neither did Thranduil, you both just caved into your

Burning desires.

****************************************

@thethreeeyed-raven

****************************************

#Thranduil #Thranduil x reader #Thranduil fanfic #fanfic #the hobbit #the hobbit fanfic #legolas

[justafairytailofinnocence]

Modern Thranduil x anxious reader

Caged birds with broken wings

Chapter 1:

A Dance with tardiness

Synopsis: An antisocial, anxious writer in her early 20s attends a ballet class under the teachings of a mysterious, reserved, austere dance instructor. They form an unlikely within their solace and past.

Warnings: mentions of blood

Chapter 2

A/n: This fanfic doesn't follow along the lines of the hobbit but rather a loosely spin-off au that only uses some characters. I do not own the right to them as they are Tolkien's characters and I respect his creation. (even if the characters might be ooc). Feel free to comment, reblog and like. Let me know if you'd like a chapter 2.

I tended to daydream often, more so when I listened to the music. The tune and tone of the song that played one after the other sent me to the realms I immersed; typically, anyone would daydream into another realm far better than their own: a princess, pirate, elf, fae—anything. My imagination is my realm of comfort, a sealed bubble that I can freely roam however I wish. Unfortunately, within fantasy, we must face reality. Within my reality, I’m not much of an importance, at least not one to have a whole written memoir about. I’m more of one of those faces you’d pass by in the street or grocery store, not giving any second thought to. Though I’d prefer it that way, I’m not much of a talker but rather a writer; I’m more fluent in my words than my speaking. Every attempt I’ve made, I’ve stumbled or become still; my chest would rise heavily and lower deeply. I always asked how people can do it, how they can speak—talk—communicate like it’s a piece of cake. I’d rather shroud myself in my isolation than speak to another living being.

At my desk, in my somewhat clean apartment, I was planning my next latest story in a saga of 3 books. So far, I’ve managed to get in contact with a publishing company via email who were willing to get behind the idea of a feature-length young-adult romance novel, a romance novel about a pirate king and a fae queen. The first chapter was still relatively underdeveloped, yet I’m willing to spend an entire day finishing it. I had only five months to publish the entire chapters. I’ve been a fantasy fan ever since I was a child. To me, fantasy is what the word impossible turned into possible. For ten years, I’ve been writing, and never once has it stripped me of what I truly adore.  

Whilst my fingers pressed against the keys on my keyboard, I received a text message on my phone from the side of my desk surrounded by papers. It was from my mom, who was wondering about my well-being. As always, I respond with the usual ‘everything’s going well—I’m pumping out new chapters for my new novel, ‘A Puncture in Time’, you know—the one with pirates and fantasy, new chapters soon to come ;)’. Even though she’s smart enough to see through my little façade, she writes back, ‘Hey listen, I know it’s hard right now, but I can assure you, things will get better; it just takes practice; I know you’ll meet someone you’ll find it easy to talk to’. I sighed heavily; within her words, I have faith, yet doubt. Should I choose to believe her, bite the bullet and try to speak up or wallow in a lie that can send her mind at ease? Before I wrote back, she sent a post with a link. I furrowed my brows as curiosity swelled my thoughts, my finger tapped the link. It was an ad. An ad for ballet classes. I thought it odd why she would send me something like this: I’m no dancer; I’m certainly no ballerina.

I replied with a question mark ‘?’.

A message bubble popped up: ‘…’ I awaited her reply.

As she was still typing, I took the liberty of glancing through the ad quickly. The tab loaded with a cursive font in bold ‘Les danseuses se réjouissent’. Scrolling past the stock images of ballet dancers, I came across a small section of different levels offered: beginner, Intermediate, and advanced. My mind raced with doubt; I had no experience in ballet, at least not since I was a young child. I wondered to myself, ‘Do I really want to take this? After all, I’m not exactly one for groups’. However, my mind was put at ease when my eyes came across an option for ‘one-on-one private lessons’. At least, I wouldn’t be with people who were far more experienced—let alone a group; the thought of many eyes staring at me—would have my heart sink. As I clicked the option, I was astounded; there were no reviews, pictures, or even a description of the instructor. I was sceptical. Surely, if you were to teach a class, you’d have at least a brief introduction of yourself. Even as an author, I have a concise introduction in my publications. I lightly sighed, weighing my options; on the one hand, it’ll please my mom, get me out of the apartment, and keep me fit; on the other hand, despite being private, I’m meeting someone I don’t know. Who knows what this person’s intention is, even if it’s for a class.

Finally, I heard a ‘ding’ as she replied, ‘Please try, at least for me; it’ll be good for your health, and you once mentioned you wanted to be a ballerina. I know the world isn’t always what we want it to be, but I know you can make it shine; I’ve seen it in your novels; give this a chance, give them a chance, to show them how you can shine, because I know you’ll be the brightest star there :).’

My eyes softened as I read every word; I couldn’t deny she had a way of getting through to me. She was always a caring woman, along with my dad. They were the only two people I could speak to without pressure or the weight in my chest.

I pressed back onto the tab with the private lessons. I clicked to see the booking dates—there’s an option to book for tomorrow, and the price is only $45 per lesson. For the price, it wasn’t too bad; yet still expensive. I filled in the details required to send the booking through, yet my finger hovered as I was about to press ‘confirm’. My mind came to a tussle of thoughts and hesitations; this would be the first time, in a long time, that I would speak face-to-face with an actual living being. However, I recalled Mom's words, ‘Because I know you’ll be the brightest star there’.

Breathing in—I pushed it, I pressed confirm.

I did it. I’m going to attend a ballet class. My head slowly lowers onto my desk, surrounded by papers. My hair dangled over my forehead. The adrenaline that reached the height of my mentality came crashing down. It’s like going on a rollercoaster you didn’t ask for, coming from the highest point of the rail down to the pit below. I start to feel light-headed. I want to sleep. I want to stay here. Perhaps I’ve made a mistake. What if this doesn’t work out?

I rose slowly from my desk chair, picked up my phone, and texted, ‘I’ve booked lessons for tomorrow…I hope you're right about this.’

I watched as once more, awaiting her response, ‘…’

‘Oh, I’m so happy, you’ll fit right in, I know it :)’ she texted.

I didn’t respond. She’s pleased, at least.

I decided to call it a night; I’ve had enough pressure for one day. I logged off, cleaned the papers on my desk, pushed them into a neat-ish pile and headed to the bathroom to shower. As I opened the door, I went inside to set down my pyjamas by the medium-small bathtub’s acrylic side rim. My bathroom isn’t big exactly, but neither is it small. It’s moderate for what it was: a bathtub, shower, toilet, sink, and a medium-sized mirror in the same room. It’s not precisely palace material, but it helps soothe my thoughts. I held my hand out as I turned on the shower, feeling the trickling water against my skin. The temperature quickly changed from cold to warm in just five seconds. Once I was satisfied, I stripped bare, sliding my long-sleeved green shirt off and sliding my darker tracksuit pants. I tossed my unmentionables inside the bathtub. I stepped inside the shower, allowing the warm water to run freely down my skin. I shut the shower enough to have a slit entrance still. I grabbed the soap, rubbing it over my skin, arms, legs, and body. I splashed water on my face as the water rinsed the suds away. I hovered my hands in my eyesight, glancing closer at my fingers. I could see the redness and patches from where I’d picked my skin; it’s a habit I developed since childhood. The habit would annoy Mom, often whispering or saying straight, “Stop picking”, even touching my hand to remind me. Unfortunately, this habit hasn’t subsided; I sometimes even look at my skin with little care, picking the cuticles or rough patches.

Once I finished scrubbing my body with soap, I turned off the water and opened the shower door to step onto the bathmat. I grabbed a towel from the single towel rack located beside the shower. I dried my body, running the towel over my skin. As I wrapped the towel around my body, I glanced at my face in the mirror above the sink. They say eyes are the most expressive in emotion. My narrowed, pinkish lips thinned.

I snapped out of my gaze, continuing to slip on my long blue pants decorated in owl prints, then, the next, a long-sleeve top with the basic purple on them topped with a giant owl embroidered in the front area. Owls have always resonated with me, whether it's their symbolism or captivating beauty. I placed the towel on the side of the bathtub’s rim. I picked up my previous clothes and took it into my bedroom. My bedroom was also medium sized, having a queen-sized bed and an oaken cupboard with a mirrored wardrobe. My room was decorated with tiny figurines I’d collect overtime, albeit from movies I’ve fancied or books. I placed the clothes in my hamper basket behind my door. My body relaxed when my eyes lingered toward my bed, the messy, deep blue sheets draped to the left side. I dismissed the thought of tucking them in for the time being, only plonking myself onto the mattress and wrapping myself within the single cotton sheets and doona drifting off.

Dreaming is the easy part, letting what visions came to my mind run wild. Sometimes, it’s suitable for inspiration, but other times, it's nightmares. The imagination is still enchanting, although, this time, it was peculiar. I was in a birdcage decorated with gold; the entrance was bolted shut; my hands gripped the golden rods holding the cage together. I tried to scream but to no avail. I tried to shake the cage, yet I was too small to provoke movement. My body lowered, feeling the coldness of the metal plate below. I had nothing but rosy ribbon pointe shoes. I suddenly felt myself, in no control, rise as though my limbs were attached to strings. I started to dance, my arms and legs stretching to fit the perfect movements. Eventually, I stopped mid-movement, standing on one leg while extending the other behind. I couldn’t move; I was frozen in place. I could do nothing but shut my eyes.

Suddenly, I woke up; my eyes fluttered open from the confusion I had just endured. Rising from the bed, I pondered for a few seconds. ‘What on earth did I dream about?’. My hands pressed against my face, trying to comprehend my dream and reality. I pulled the sheets off me and got up for the morning. A typical morning for me results in the usual routine: dressing, brushing my teeth and hair, and then looking forward to what the day offers me. Until I remembered that I had booked that class. I typically picked out green tracksuit pants with a white singlet, hoping that would suffice. I picked up my purse and headed out the door to my car. I entered inside, placing my purse in the front seat as I turned on the white car. I noticed outside that it started to snow. Snow is beautiful, especially the little snowflakes that fall into your hand and dissolve upon touch.

As the car started, I prepared to drive to wherever it was that awaited me. The location was further from where I lived; it must’ve been at least twenty-eight minutes. The drive wasn’t particularly bothersome for me; when you live in New York, you get used to the traffic.

As I drove, the snowflakes emerged in more significant numbers. Eventually, I found parking just next to the side of a café. I wasn’t aware if it was for the staff or guests. However, it seemed empty with only a few cars, so—if I get called out on it, I’ll move my car. No one seemed to notice, so I assumed I was okay. I grabbed my black parker from the back and zipped it up. Exiting the car, I stopped to admire the snow falling for a few seconds. It was January 4th, so the snow season was still here. My hands shoved in my pockets, beginning to wander toward where I needed to be. According to the ad, it was building ‘52’; it was vague, I know, but it was the details given. I trudged through the snow, seeing building after building, until I came across something with the number ‘52’, where I needed to be. My hand gripped the gold-looking handle attached to the glass door. As I entered, I came upon a staircase; I took one step after the other. I quickly glanced at the ad to see what floor it was on, yet to no avail. Was it the ‘4th floor? Oh god, oh god, please don’t resort to me asking someone. My fingers started to twitch; I raised one of my fingertips to my lips, feeling the rough patches. My thumb started scraping off the first layer, and small blood trickles formed. I ran my fingers over my lips again as I trailed up the stairs. I could feel my chest becoming heavier, my mind swell with thoughts of self-doubt. Suddenly, the anxiety soon started to subside as my eyes saw the sight of a door. My fingers hesitantly wrapped around the door handle; I took one breath in, trying to be brave. I pushed it open—only for my worst nightmare to come to life.

My breathing became heavier, my heart sank, my eyelids widened, and I could feel myself hyperventilating. There was a group of ballerinas staring directly at me. There must’ve been at least four? Five? Looking my way! Their ages varied, going into their late 20s.

The one brunette asked in French “es-tu perdu, cherches quelqu’un”.

I couldn’t concentrate; my mind dwelled with clouded thoughts of judgment. I pressed my finger against my lip, trying to feel the rough patches.

Another asked in English, “My friend asked if you’re searching for someone”.

Quickly, my eyes diverted to the ground, avoiding their gaze. “I-I-, pr-viate, less-on”. I stumbled over my words.

“Lessons? Private lessons?” the girl spoke once more.

I nodded, avoiding eye contact.

As I quickly glanced, a middle-aged woman in her mid-forties stepped closer; I assumed she was the dance teacher. “Are you referring to the private dance lessons advertised? the one taught by Mr. Oropherion?”.

I paused for a moment, trying to gather my words. Mr Oropherion? Is he the teacher I’m with?

“I-Is. This. Right. Floor.” I tried to sound out the right words, but it was impossible. Perhaps my conscience was right; perhaps this was a terrible idea.

The middle-aged woman, confused, pointed toward the direction I needed to go. “you’ll need to head up one more level, then head to your right” Her voice was calm with a hint of soprano.

Still avoiding eye contact, I left, not even saying thank you, focusing on wanting to escape. I closed the door in front and let out a heavy breath. My head lowered to touch the tip of my hands. I wanted to melt in that moment; I wanted nothing more than to return home. However, I reminded myself that I was doing this for Mom. I breathed in once more, looking up at the door; my hands quickly released, and I began to walk quickly, edging further up the stairs. My mind came crashing down, feeling the dreariness wash over me. Feeling tired, I finally, at last, came across the door I needed to be. It was blank, the painted white withering away around the edges. My hand reached the doorknob, feeling the roundness, turning it slightly. I could feel the adrenaline kick in. I was hesitant, but my nerves started to build.

I started to whisper to myself, “Just a general hello, that’s all it takes—

You're doing this for Mom—

Give them a chance to show them how I can shine; give them a chance to see who I am because I’ll be the brightest star there”.

 I breathed in, closing my eyes and opening the door. As I tried to force my eyes open, I was confused. There was no one here. It was an empty space surrounded by mirrors with bar beams attached to them. My eyes scanned the room, yet no one was there. I suppose I should be relieved, maybe the teacher had caught a sickness and decided to ditch the whole class. I wandered further inside; I might as well take a quick peek. I unzipped my black parker with a furry hood, tossed it on the coat hanger and took off my shoes, leaving my white socks on. I stood in the middle of the dance room, embracing the quiet ambience. I looked in the mirrors, reflecting my figure. Was this even what ballerinas wear? Who even is Mr. Oropherion? If he doesn’t show up in the next 15 minutes, I’m heading off and not returning.

Perhaps Aelwynn, the fae queen in my novel, would’ve also been able to dance freely and eloquently in movement. I still wonder what would entrance the pirate king Sarek Salazar. I never pictured him to be devilishly handsome, though. I suppose Aelwynn would be a beauty, but there must be more to it—beauty can only go so far in their bond; what would their obstacles or hardships be? Perhaps the fae queen is somewhat intertwined with difference, the opposite of a fairytale. Aelwynn is fair, kind, beautiful and strong; she meets all the criteria for something otherworldly, yet what if Sarek is her opposite, a beast? No—What if he was average, a gross-looking thing? Pirates are anyway; what if he wasn’t powerful, just an average man with greed—and the dynamic changes, challenging Sarek to choose between the love of his life or treasure?

Or he would choose—

Suddenly, I heard a male voice emit behind me: “You best have a thorough explanation, girl. Do not even think about squandering my precious time.”

My breathing became heavier as I realized someone was speaking to me. I did not turn around; I was afraid to. Instead, I avoided eye contact, too paralysed to move. My head stooped low, and my hands stood to the side. He spoke again, “Clearly, you are here for a reason, are you not? I’ll admit your intrusion is rather fatuous.”

I didn’t glance up; I couldn’t look; I needed time to gather the words to explain. What should I say? Hey, sir, some ballerinas told me to come here, and I fear speaking to people.

“I see you have a mouth; that means you must have a tongue. Go on, speak.” His voice was deep and tranquil, composed yet icy.

I took a deep breath in, slowly turning around. As my legs moved, I slowly gathered the courage to look into the man’s eyes, even if I muttered a ‘hello’. It would be enough. As my head glanced up to meet his, I noticed his appearance.

He—was like—something out of a fairytale. His face was lean and chiselled; his eyes were like ice; his blueish-greyish irises complemented his cold gaze. His hair tressed down like water reaching his chest, light like snow. Whilst his skin was pale in comparison, a fair tone in colour. His attire seemed far more affluent than mine, donning a black trench coat with white underneath. His trousers complimented the darkness of his coat, and his black loafers were polished. I glanced at his right finger, an oval-shaped ring with a diamond glass stone crafted in sterling silver.

“Did you hear me not the first-time girl?” his tone turned stern.

My mouth moved, finally finding the words to speak. “H-hello, I’m Y/n”.

 “y/n?” he muttered.

My eyes glanced downward once more as I slowly nodded.

“So, you have a voice after all, pray, tell. Why are you lingering in my domain?” he said shortly.

I muttered “private lessons”, though my voice sounded like a whisper.

“Ah, so you’ve seen the ad; I suppose you haven’t wasted our time after all, although you are five minutes late; I expect punctuality, to be exactly on time at the hour.” His voice sounded stern once more.

Well gee, it’s not like it’s my first time here, and gotten lost. My eyes still avoided his; I couldn’t look up, so I nodded.

He didn't react when I avoided his gaze, dismissing it. However, he commented on something else: “Your posture is lamentable. Stand up straighter like so.” The tip of his finger lightly touched my chin, lifting it to meet his gaze. I didn’t turn away precisely, yet I still flinched. My breathing slowed down as I once more met his gaze. His eyes narrowed, and his lips thinned.

“You stand there like a bird, wounded by the natures of evil, ignorant of the world’s knowledge, caged and sheltered from the shadows that lurk within the realm. Tell me, little bird, care to spread your wings?” I glanced at myself in the mirror, standing straighter. I could feel the flush in my cheeks, but I didn’t say anything, only breathing slowly.

 His finger pulled away, and he turned his back to me, walking away.

“I expect to see you here tomorrow at exactly the seventh hour of the night”.

“Do not make me regret my decision, or you shall return to the cage from where you came, little bird”, He muttered.

With that, he walked out of the room, distancing himself further and further away. At that moment, I stood in disbelief for a few seconds, trying to understand what had happened. However, once my thoughts were collected, I gathered my things and scurried out of there, wanting nothing more than to enter my car. Once I exited the building, I was hit with the coldness in temperature as it touched my face.

I opened the car door, tossing my things in the back, turning the engine on. I looked back, trying to see the building to the left. As I drove, my thoughts were plagued with astonishment. I didn’t look away; I maintained eye contact for longer than three seconds, and—I managed to speak my name without stumbling over my words. My emotions displayed were as if I’d seen a ghost. Yet—his face—his appearance—it reminded me of snow; I always loved snow; even when I was a child, it was the happiest of my memories. I recall when my parents took me to the park; I was fascinated by the sight of the winter wonderland, my face lighting up with delight and laughing with joy. I always find that snow rekindles the fond memories I have.

Perhaps Mom was right after all; this might be the start of something I’ve never been able to do. Talk.

#thranduil au #thranduil x you #thranduil #thranduil oropherion #the hobbit au #the hobbit #thranduil fanfic #lord of the rings #thranduil ballet au #thranduil headcanon #thranduil fanfiction #thranduil x reader #thranduil oropherion x reader

[mithrilandvilya]

The Loneliness of Kings

I decided to write this for @chicotfp as a small thank you for all your beautiful art creations. I hope many will enjoy this short tale.

Trade with Lake Town, or whatever other unimaginative name it went by now, was important for the Woodland Elves.  The forest had limited material resources, and if he wanted better armor for his fighters, it was not to be found in the trees, but deep in the mountains.  His people had long had minimal interactions with the dwarves, distrust built between them over generations of unresolved grievances.  Dwarves held long grudges, and elves had long memories. But the Lake Town men eagerly remained the neutral trade intermediaries for metal from the mountains as well as what they could grow and hunt at the lake shores that didn’t thrive in the forest, in exchange for wood, wine, and intricate, high-quality crafts and wares fashioned through centuries of skilled practice that the artisan villagers couldn’t hope to approach in their short lifespans.   

However, the king’s thoughts of Lake Town were bitter.  He had nothing against the pitifully short-lived men there, but the lake itself was to him blacker than the Dead Marshes.  When he closed his eyes, the grayed, gangrenous corpse of his father with blood-stained, angry pupils stared up at him from beneath liver-colored wind-swept waters, bony fingers pointing to him accusingly from the marshy waters, his father’s whispered voice, full of disgust and disappointment, chastising him for failing to bring him home.  But from the Lake, nothing.  It was dark, deep and silent.  And the unbearable weight of that silence said more to him than all the cruel whispers of his father’s ghost ever did.   

He had risked his diminished people two years hence in a secretly desperate measure to do some small thing toward relieving himself and all in his realm from the lingering evil that engulfed the lake as a suffocating mist, just as it spread through the edges of the forest and utterly overpowered the southlands.  It was growing. The people of Lake Town and even the nearby dwarves held no memory or record of the dark events of the earliest days of his reign upon return from the south with so many fewer than had set out.   No relief met them at home, and rather than recovery and rebuilding, his earliest rule at home was instead marked by more defeat, more loss, and more tragedy.  He immediately lost all aspiration of ever living up to his father’s legacy or of setting any bold future for his son.  The body of Legolas’s mother lay as irretrievable as Oropher’s, on hard, cold lifeless bedrock, crushed under the weight of nearly a kilometer of black water at the lake’s deepest part, her mortal wounds unseen and untended.  Never did he see her in any vision or dream, and to his heart it was the harshest judgment of his rule that she made herself lost to him forever.  If she would haunt him like his father, he would fall to his knees in gratitude, but the lake remained dark, deep and silent. 

So he endured.  And his kingdom endured.  It was all he could do. 

--- 

Bard had, he thought, found an ally and friend in the king in the course of the Battle of the Five Armies.  He was thrust into a position of responsibility he had never desired or imagined in its outcome, and had naively expected guidance from his far more experienced and seasoned elven counterpart.  

Each day when he awoke, the faces of Bard’s children looked at him expectantly for instructions for the day, but he did not want to instruct anyone.  He didn’t want to give orders, listen to annoying officials, or make another decision with consequences he could only vainly hope to foresee.  He did his best to serve his people well regardless of his insecurity and self-doubt, but the way his children looked at him, as if they believed he knew what he was doing, kept him awake at night more than anything else.  

He remembered their mother looking at him the same way each day he came home to her with some new remedy for her illness, gathered with little optimism from a different witchy old woman in the market.  She expected every remedy to be the last, but for a different reason than he.  She was cheerful and grateful to the end, and sang soft, sweet lullabies to the youngest even on her last night. At every dawn she would comment about feeling a little better in the fresh light and she would list off chores she planned to accomplish that day with her newly returned vigor, but he knew they would remain undone.  He knew she was dying and felt the sting of failure and hopelessness, unable to hide his despair even to spare her or his children from his dark mood, contrary to the jovial spirit he was usually known for.  As she finally, after months of wasting, drew her last breath, a grimace of surprise at death’s arrival froze upon her face.  He was haunted by her unwarranted faith in him and the dawning realization of its betrayal as her final expression was seared into his memory. 

His letters to Thranduil for advice piled upon his cluttered and dusty desk, unsent.  He had sent only one, the invitation to his ceremony which was replied to quickly by staff with nothing more than a yes, the King would attend. There had been no other communication or visit between them since the King’s departure at battle end.  Aid had come from the elves in generous measure, but it still took two years to rebuild to a semblance of normalcy.   

The thusly long-delayed autumn ceremony was held on the great dock over the blackest side of the lake, where the waters quickly plunged to unmeasured depths, the cedar posts decorated with purple asters, yellow ribbons, and shiny copper pennies hung from strings gently bowing between them.  The elf-king had stood erectly, two heads taller than all the residents of the town, on the shore by the dock, arms held down in front of him, right hand over left. He was dressed in beautifully woven shimmery green and red robes, yet peculiarly in his battle crown rather than the expected autumn Rosehip and Aster. He stared into the distance with a hard-set jaw and hardly paid attention to the proceedings.  He had congratulated Bard with a warm handshake at the event’s conclusion, but his smile had been weak and he and his party were nowhere to be found when the later noise of festive fiddle, drink, and dance by firelight carried to all shores of the lake in the unseasonably warm and starry night.   

At first opportunity to make excuse, Bard sought out the companionship of the last chirping crickets of fall while morose thoughts of the king grabbed his mind and wouldn’t let go.  He analyzed and counter-analyzed every memory he had of Thranduil.  Where had he misjudged?  Was he reading too much into nothing, his own insecurities tainting his vision? Surely he was.  He imagined Thranduil stepping out of the darkness in front of him, shining eyes and mirthful expression with a quick, clever joke about Bard’s foolishness.  But then he felt ice-cold as he recalled the king’s distant expression at the ceremony.  The image of the regal elf’s face gazing over the water and his wife’s dead stare were all too similar , and they confirmed his self-reckoning as a great imposter, unfit to rule. 

 His lifespan and its mark in the depths of time, no matter what he did or did not accomplish as leader or father or husband, could amount to nothing but a drop in the oceans of memory of the eons-aged Thranduil.  Bard and his imposterous legacy would be gone before an elf-king could hardly even notice.  It would be a waste of time for Thranduil to bother at all with Bard.  Indeed, how silly he had been to send that invitation.   

He felt his cheeks redden with shame now at wanting more from him.  He was selfish in his desire for friendship and guidance from the ever-graceful king.  In truth, he was deeply lonely without his wife and greatly felt the burden of now finding himself in a position where everyone looked to him.  Who could he himself look to?  In his fanciful daydreams, he had looked to Thranduil and felt himself secure in his embrace.  It gave him comfort and hope, but if such fantasies had any reality, had he not considered what it would be like for his Comforter?  He knew but rumors of the great losses in the long life of Thranduil Oropherion, but he had seen enough in his eyes to know there was some truth in those rumors.  How could there not be for anyone so long-lived?  How could any ellon or elleth’s life be anything but a long string of grief after grief, especially if they entangled their hearts in kinship with short-lived humanity?  Bard well knew the tortures of memory from just decades of existence, but the thought of the weight of eons of memory nearly broke him then and there, and he buried his face in his hands and sobbed. 

--- 

It was almost unbearable to stand on the shore over her resting place.  Indeed, when he received the invitation, he had no hesitation in accepting it, but he resolved to wear his battle crown to give him strength to bear it. Today he battled memory. A cool breeze wafted off the lake, competing with an unseasonably warm afternoon haze.  In his peripheral vision, a small cabbage white butterfly flopped around between purple asters that were hung along the dock while Bard officially rose to the station he deserved.  

 Without turning his head, he turned his eyes to the butterfly only for it to vanish. Unbidden, a memory of his beloved, smiling broadly and laughing as a white butterfly landed on the aster crown upon her head took over his consciousness.  He could sense every aspect of that moment – the fluttering of dusty white wings, the sparkling low-angled sunlight illuminating her smile and making her hair shine like starlight, the lilting musicality of her laughter over the sound of leaves being gently rustled by the breeze.  It was a hallucination as vivid as reality, but as soon as he tried to grasp it for even more detail, it, like the butterfly, vanished suddenly, replaced by cold black waters.  He steeled his jaw and told himself to “Endure, Thranduil, as you must.”    

He willed his mind to turn to Bard.  He was most pleased to see him rising in position.  He was a man of good quality, and this bode well for the future in this part of the world, if little else did.  He greatly enjoyed Bard’s down-to-earth forthrightness and light-hearted humor.  He was saddened to think of him growing old before his eyes, but in the short time he had interacted with Bard, the man had a way of keeping him in the present, living in the moment. Staying in the present was something Thranduil needed.  No matter how much time he had to live, spending it all in memory was spending it all unwholly alive. Memory was a half-death. Despite his age, he wanted to live.  

Bard’s chestnut eyes and stride were full of youth even though his dark hair was frosted at its edges with a touch of gray, and the quick recalling of his smile and laugh made Thranduil wistful.  His reverie was stalled when he saw it was time to offer his congratulations and he did so sincerely, but his heart continued to tug him back and forth between now and Then , so he set off on his own down the shoreline, lost in his thoughts.  

The butterfly came back to his mind. Butterflies were a symbol of hope, and his wife’s name had meant hope.  Was she speaking to him at long last? He barely dared to entertain the idea. He reasoned that convincing himself so was merely his own will fabricating a construct to justify what he wanted but did not deserve. The Silvan elves, he knew, deeply revered and trusted their King, but he knew better his own unworthiness, reminded constantly by the haunting and the lack of haunting of Oropher and Hope. He had let them down, and he had merely wrought survival and endurance, but not thriving, for the people who counted on him. He tried to make long life merry for his people, making great efforts in the seasonal festivals for their enjoyment, but it was all thinly veiling the darkness barely kept at bay.  

His people deserved more, but without Hope, he could barely imagine there being better days in their future. Thranduil was amazed at the general optimism of men, who died barely beyond birth. Perhaps their brevity allowed it, being unburdened with the full knowledge of the endless onslaught of evil . Indeed, Bard epitomized the hope in men. He was born to no station, beaten down by poverty, corruption and plague, yet shot straight the arrow to a seemingly impossible victory, the full impact of which would unfold fully over decades to come. Thranduil desired to ride that arrow, to soar and strike the heart of darkness. 

The sky had long since changed from light blue to brilliant copper and deep purple, now to a sea of ink teeming with brilliant pinpoints of varying size and hue arrayed in artful asterisms. He beheld the butterfly constellation, with a large white star at its head, slowly rising in the East. Yes, it did so every fall, but tonight he decided to heed its rising as a call to action. He turned back along the rocky shore he had traveled down for miles, a decision made, a soft smile on his lips. 

--- 

“My friend, tonight is a night for celebration, not tears. Let us enjoy the present. Set aside your grief of the past and your worries of the future. I will help you.” 

The sonorous voice rose from the darkness right in front of Bard and he raised his head to find Thranduil’s hand outstretched before him.  Bard gingerly put his hand in his, and felt himself instantly being lifted both in spirit and body into the arms of the Elven King.  He took a deep breath, inhaling the wintergreen scent of the King’s cloak. His weight was born by Thranduil for a moment as he gained his footing, and in that moment the Kng carried him, he felt relieved and refreshed, as if he had slept well after many long sleepless nights. His tears formerly of despair transformed their chemistry to those of unexpected joy.  

 “I have longed for you,” he dared to whisper into his friend’s ear, with a tinge of fear in his voice.  Thranduil’s action was small, a gentle word and an outreached hand, but it had changed everything. His fear was in making too much of the action, but surely it was a gift of elven magic that had so instantly transformed his mood. A soft chuckle rose in the King’s throat, and Bard’s fear was quelled. 

“You are forthright and brave to bare your heart to me. So I will bare mine to you to tell you that I seek you as a salve for the loneliness of kings. In so doing, perhaps I can spare you some of that loneliness as well.   So, come with me, and let us enjoy the present together.”   

The pair walked away from the shore together, into a finger of the forest that concealed them from view of any passersby, and soon joined together in a bed of moss on the forest floor. When lightness split the eastern horizon, they emerged as the pair that went in, together.  

---

Over the years, many people remarked about the strength of the bond between the King of the Woodland Realm and Bard of Lake Town, and happily recounted how the deepened alliance had improved the futures of both realms for centuries. The story of their bond became an oft-related tale crafted to say that true companionship had the power to change the fates of many. 

Thranduil had just heard report of one of the latest versions of this tale as part of a recounting of the news gathered on the latest rounds. As he changed into evening robes, the Butterfly 's bright head and fluttering body rising in the eastern night sky filled his view. Bard had been gone for generations now, but he counted the wisdom of the tales as true, for many fates had changed, including his. He cherished the memory of Bard, his companion against the loneliness of kings.   

#thranduil #elvenking #thranduil fanfic #bard the bowman #barduil

[tamurilofrivendell]

Stop Running | Thranduil x Reader

Read on AO3

Pairing Thranduil/Reader

Synopsis: Thranduil confesses his feelings for the reader but they feel they are not well suited for a king and basically avoid him until they come face to face once more.

Content: Angst. Fluff.

Prompt: (#10 & #14 on this list). They’re in bold in the text below.

Requested by anon (so freaking long ago, I know! I’m so sorry lmao)

“I'm pretty sure about my feelings.” Thranduil had told you four days ago, in a soft voice while brushing his fingers through your hair.

Thirty seconds before you had fled from his sight.

You had been avoiding him ever since and he was growing weary of it. Of appearing in a room only to hear that, not even a minute before, you had hurriedly vacated it. Of not being able to just find you in these very halls that he knew like the back of his own hand!

Thranduil knew what he wanted and what he wanted was you. He had thought that you were of the same mind. So, how had him asking - very nicely, he might add! - to court you, ended up like this?

It was another week before you found yourself once more face to face with the King of Mirkwood.

As a very last resort, he had sent an official summons and guards had turned up at your door to take you to him in the throne room. There seemed to be no other way to get you to speak to him and he knew that you could not ignore an official summons, though he also knew that if you did have the courage to do so, he would have to be ready to dole out the consequences.

As it was, you went as willingly as you could given the circumstances. You had always been one to follow the rules, after all.

Once you were finally standing in front of him, Thranduil dismissed the guards from the throne room altogether. You kept your gaze forward, but not up, so you would not look at him.

Thranduil looked down at you from on high for a few long, silent moments, before he finally spoke.

“You are most difficult to find of late.” His tone was devoid of any real emotion but you could detect the hint of bitterness lingering in the background. Hurt. You could read him well enough... you always had been able to do so.

It was not that you did not feel the same way for Thranduil. Quite the opposite, in fact. It was because you felt the same way that you had withdrawn from him so suddenly. He was the king, he could not be seen courting somebody like you.

Thranduil was staring at you, waiting for you to speak, yet you gave him nothing. His frustration further spiked. He felt quite humiliated, truthfully, as he had never truly experienced a rejection such as this before and he would not have even spoken of it if he had not been so certain that his feelings were returned. So how could he have gotten it so wrong? He still was not entirely convinced that he had but he could not figure out why you would lie.

“Do you truly have nothing to say?” He asked, tutting as he suddenly rose from his seat upon the throne and turned, descending the stairs with slow, careful steps. He paced the floor until he was standing directly in front of you, looking down upon you.

Still waiting.

Still receiving nothing.

“If it is that you are uncertain as to my sincerity, I can assure you that I do not say things for the mere fun of them.” Thranduil stated, leaning down into your personal space just a little. “I am sure about my feelings.”

“As I am about my own. As in, I have none.” You snapped in response, not missing the hurt look that flickered across his expression before you turned your face away from him. “Please let me get back to my work, aran nin, or I shall fall behind.”

Thranduil straightened, silently glaring down at you before he shook his head. “I do not believe you.”

You blinked, lifting your attention back to him with a frown. “I am expected to take you at your word but you will not take me at mine?” You could not help but point out the hypocrisy.

Thranduil only scoffed.

“I do not love you, Thranduil.” You said quietly, doing your utmost to keep your voice steady as you all but forced the words out. You could not break, not here, not now. You needed to stand firm in your decision... even if it broke your heart to do so.

“And I said I do not believe you!” He hissed, reaching out and taking gentle hold of your arm as you tried to turn away from him. He tugged you back to face him, his other hand tilting your chin up and forcing you to meet his gaze. “Do you expect me to disregard all these years?” He wondered, his voice softer now, tinged with sadness. “All those long nights? All those talks? The ways in which you looked at me? You tell me now I imagined it all?”

You almost broke. You almost gave in. The pleading look in his eyes was enough to completely undo you but somehow you held firm, pulling yourself from his grasp and shaking your head. “You saw something that can never be.” You told him, turning and making for the exit. If he wanted to punish you then so be it but if you stood there much longer, you were going to break down.

“Stop running away from your feelings!” He exclaimed from behind you, his tone full of sorrow. Thranduil knew he was not insane. He knew he was not making it up in his own head. He knew that what he had felt between the two of you was real. The only thing he did not know was why you were now trying so hard to pull away from him.

“It was all just a dream, Thranduil!” You cried, spinning back round to face him, finally having reached your limit.

The silence that followed was deafening as you both stared back at each other for a long while. Thranduil studied you keenly, trying to read in your expression what you meant by your words but not entirely understanding.

“What does that mean?” He asked, breaking the silence first. He did not move, just stood where he was and hoped that you would not leave again until this matter was fully resolved.

You were frustrated. If he had just kept quiet, if he had not said a word in the face of your retreat, you would have been gone in a matter of seconds and you might have been able to continue to stand firm.

Yet, as well as you could read him, he too could read you. Thranduil could tell - he could see - that you were running from what you felt, from what he knew was real. Trying to squash down the truth of it

You sighed heavily, resigned as you lowered your gaze to the floor, shaking your head. “You are a king.”

“Yes.” Came his reply, his tone as if nothing about that fact mattered. “And?”

You lifted your head again, looking at him once more. He looked confused and you envied him for it. “And... I am not enough as to be matched with a king.”

His brows drew together as he stared at you, immediately shaking his head. “Nonsense.”

You let out a humourless chuckle, one hand raking up through your hair in exasperation. “It is the truth!” You cried. “I am nothing, I am no one! It was just a dream.”

Thranduil moved then, crossing the distance between the both of you in less time than you could process. He took your face in his hands and this time you could not find the strength to push him away. The fight had gone out of you.

“You are not nothing.” Thranduil’s expression was pained as he looked at you. “Not to me.”

“I am low born, Thranduil, I am-”

“What should that matter?” He interrupted, shaking his head as he kept your face carefully in place with his hands. His hands were soft, his touch gentle. He was afraid you would turn away from him again, afraid that your fear would come back and you would run from him.

“Why do you think it should not?” You hated how your voice shook but you could not help it any longer.

“I am king, yes, but that should not mean that I am doomed to cast aside the one I love, regardless of who they are. Would you have me take someone more ‘suited’ but wholly uninteresting to me, simply for the sake of being ‘proper’? Who cares if you are not some high born noble? Who cares! You can do anything, be anything. You can be taught the necessary work of a queen. It is not-”

“Queen?” Now was your time to interrupt him, blinking at him in surprise, though half of you wondered why. If he loved you would it not stand to reason that he would wish you to be his queen some day? “You... you would have me...?”

“Well, of course.” Thranduil said matter-of-factly, shaking his head as if he could not believe you had any doubt. “Do you truly believe this some passing fancy? Do you truly think me capable of such?”

He looked hurt and you were quick to shake your head. “No! No, I mean... I... I do not know. I just... you would make me your queen? In front of the whole realm? You would... you would truly?”

“Yes.” His answer came without hesitation.

You were not sure if you had known whether or not he was quite so serious about it. About you. You had been far too tangled up in your own doubts, your own worries and fears. However, something about him saying out loud that he wished to eventually take you as his queen was... shocking somehow. It also put into perspective just how seriously he must really feel. Even if you had known on some level, even if he had asked to court you, part of you must have still been a little unsure. As if you thought perhaps he would hold the beliefs you did about your status and would eventually change his mind. To be thinking of you as his queen, beside him... he would not say that lightly.

Thranduil watched your expression change. Your soft frown faded away. Your eyes widenened. The tension seemed to fall out of you and he dropped his hands from your face, skimming them down the length of your arms before he took your own hands in his.

“Please.” He whispered, not above begging, not when it came to this - to you.

You did not speak another word. Instead, you moved forward just a little and leaned up towards him, pressing your lips softly against his own. One hand let go of yours and his arm snaked around your waist, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss.

Relief flooded through him as he understood your action for what it was. Apology. Acceptance. Adoration. Love. Everything you had been running from.

Thranduil knew then, as he swept you up into his arms and turned to carry you from the room, that everything would be okay.

#thranduil x reader #thranduil x you #thranduil fanfic #lotr x reader #hobbit x reader #thranduil fanfiction #requests

[maximwtf]

“Dragon fire memories.”

                   Thranduil x elven warrior reader

words: 1746

google docs pages: 3

warnings: description of a dragon fire scar forming, arguing, that's it I assume?

opening: you’re coming back from an adventure you went on against the rules. Thranduil has closed the kingdom so no one would be able to enter or leave. You come back with some scars, waiting to see Thranduil’s reaction to your arival.

AN// reader can be any gender! I wanted to write something for a Dragon breath scar and for the life of me I couldn’t think of anything, and this is the result :”D Did come up with something short though !

Not proof read!!

         “Dragon fire memories.”

You looked around you, while also making sure your horse was going in the right direction. The woods had begun to close in on you, making you sure of the fact that you had arrived back in mirkwood. Now all you had to do was make your way back to the entrance of the kingdom, and hopefully they would still let you in. You had left without any permission after you had heard that Thranduil was going to close up the whole place, so that no one would be able to enter nor leave the kingdom because of the threats that he had heard about outside. You didn't agree with Thranduil on most things, but especially the way he wanted to cave himself in his kingdom and leave others without help when he clearly was able to help if he just wished to do so. You had taken it as your own adventure to go and see where the orcs were going when the group of dwarfs had escaped. You thought you could have helped, but it had turned out that the thing was much bigger than you had originally imagined. 

You saw the spiderwebs that had spread even further in the forest since the last time you had been here, and your little adventure hadn’t even been that long. Did Thranduil still not understand what kind of danger was coming even his way if he just decided to distance himself from everyone? You shook your head and sighed. It wasn’t long until you’d be back and then you’d see if he had changed his mind while you had been gone.

Keeping your hand on the pommel of the sword just in case spiders were around, you rode forward. You pulled back on the reins slightly and quietly worded out ‘whoa’. The horse stopped just before the entrance. Before entering, you took a few looks around, and from what you could see you couldn’t see any guards just yet. With a hum, you took a better hold of the reins and tapped your calves on the horse’s sides, getting it to start walking forward again. After entering, it didn’t take long for the guards to spot you and start swarming around you. Refusing to get down from your horse, you tried to reason with the almost mute guards by telling them that you had to speak to Thranduil. In reality, that was one of the last things you wanted to do.

to your misfortune, you heard someone call off the guards and they listened immediately, going back in line and then to their guard posts.  You turned to look at the staircase nearest to you, seeing Thranduil walk towards you. You could tell just by looking at him that he wasn’t pleased and you weren’t going to hear anything nice about your little trip.”Get off the horse and come with me.” Was all he said to you and you knew better than to start arguing with him now. You got off the horse smoothly, handing the reins to one of the guards so they could take it to the stables. 

You followed Thranduil to his throne room, and quietly waited as he got everyone out of there for a moment. You stood still as he walked in front of you and began to talk. “Do you have any idea what disobeying rules like this will cause?” His voice was stern, and his expression wasn’t giving you any ease. You chose to not answer him and let him keep talking. “Do you understand that the option of banishing you is on the table?” His voice was becoming more filled with anger, but you still stood your ground and didn’t reply. “You don’t seem to have anything against that. Running away and refusing to defend yourself.” He kept talking, only becoming more angered by your silence. “You seem like you want to get banished!” He turned his back to you as he said that. That was not what you wanted, but it was what you had expected to hear when you had left. But even though that, you were getting mad at him for talking to you like this. “I want to stay!” You barked back at him. “And I don’t understand why you refuse to help anyone even if you are capable of doing so? Do you see the image of yourself you are putting out there? Digging yourself in here like a dwarf!” You continued, stepping closer to him.

 As you ‘yelled’ at him your face began to change, the skin from your cheekbone all the way to your jawline started to form holes incarved into your face, the edges of the holes showing clear burn marks from the dragon breath that caused all this. The scar went all the way up to your left eye, half of it being burnt as well and the eye itself being a blurry mix of white with your original eye color because of that. Some parts of the scar reached your lips on the left side as well, making the left side of your lips burnt too. 

After your rant, Thranduil had turned around, prepared to make sure you wouldn’t have those opinions anymore. He wanted to make sure you knew he had his reasons for every action he made concerning his role as the king. Though that he didn’t have time to say, as he saw the scars that had formed on your face which made him pause almost completely. “What happened to you?” He asked, you firstly noting that his voice had calmed down a whole lot.You lifted your palm against your face, feeling the scar you had gotten when you met the dragon. Thranduil saw you lift up your hand,and saw the same scarring on your hand as well, most likely from you trying to protect your face with the hand. “You haven’t even had a healer look at these. You know better.” His voice got more stern again, almost as if he was mad at you for getting hurt. “Nothing you should be worried about.” You muttered before raising your gaze up to Thranduil. He could now fully see the scar on your face, see the damage it had done to you as it had once done to him as well. “I know how to take care of these on my own.” You spat back at him. He didn’t reply to you for a moment, partly because he didn’t know what to say, but also because he wasn’t sure what to do. The plan of banishing you felt too rough now that he knew about the scars you had gotten. He was aware of the pain you must have felt, since he had felt it once as well, and he still had a scar to remind him of the past.

He took a step closer to you, inspecting the scar with his gaze. “You had plenty of time to do something in order to heal this on your way back. Why didn’t you?” He asked coldly. You stared at his eyes for a moment silently. You didn’t want to tell him that he was right, and when you were coming back, you couldn’t remember almost anything you had been taught about healing, thus it seemed like the scar had just been left like this. No lie Thranduil would believe came to your mind, meaning you had to give in. “I didn’t know how.” You ended up saying quietly, still keeping your eyes on him to see his reaction that never came. “So it seems I was correct.” He hummed as a sign of a small victory for himself. “You do need to see a healer. I don’t dare to banish you from these halls when you’re like this.” He continued, putting his palm against your cheek that had the scar, though careful enough not to hurt you on accident. “You see now why I told everyone not to leave.” His voice had become calmer, you noticed, as he lifted your head up a little with his hand. You didn’t dare to say anything, and in the silence you felt the scar start to disappear and slowly your face turned back to normal, just like you had seen his face do a couple times. You saw Thranduil open his eyes, and look at you again. “Go and see a healer, I can’t help you any more than that.” He then said, nodding as a sign that you could go. You furrowed your brows slightly, in confusion as to why he decided to change his mind about the banishing. You had questions for him, but you didn’t dare to ask him. He seemed to have forgiven you in his own way.

You turned to walk away, but before you could exist you heard Thranduil speak up one last time. “Do not pull a trick like that again. You already got away from banishing once.” He hummed, then turning around to pour himself a drink. You didn’t reply, only nodded, even though you knew he couldn’t see it since he had his back turned to you. With that, you exited the throne room, walking slowly away to find a healer who could help you. You thought about asking Thranduil about healing, and by doing that you could heal the scars yourself so no one else would have to see them. Though now you didn’t dare to ask him anything. You had just dodged being banished from the whole area, and you wanted to give him room to cool down. You had known him long enough to know that even though he may have looked calm at the end of the conversation, he wasn’t. You didn’t know how he felt, but you knew he wasn’t as cool about this as he seemed. 

#lord of the rings #lotr #the hobbit #thranduil #thranduil the hobbit #thranduil lord of the rings #thranduil lotr #x reader #lord of the rings x reader #lotr x reader #the hobbit x reader #thranduil x reader #lotr thranduil #fanfic #fanfiction #lotr fanfic #lotr fanfiction #x reader fanfic #x reader fanfiction #thranduil fanfic #thranduil oropherion #thranduil oropherion x reader

[madwomansapologist]

Autumn Thunderstorm | Chapter 8 - A nightingale sang

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series synopsis: Thranduil thought the recent attack of spiders on a periphery village was the only thing deserving of his attencion. If he could've imagined what he would found there, who he would found there, the Elvenking would wait a millenia in front of that river so he could see her sooner. Or: how Gandalf managed to keep a secret for 14 months.

eigth chapter synopsis: A surprising invitation made you discover a different, incredible place hidden in Greenwood. You were glad that Thranduil showed you such a special place. But probably you were even more glad that he was there with you. [3K]

warnings: female!reader. pre-Smaug. cried writing this but this is apparently something that will happens with every chapter so... go hear a nightingale sang in berkeley square. look i am just a sensitive girl in a difficult world, this is straight up murdering you with love.

glossary: Idril: Treasure, sweetheart┆Ellon: Male elf┆

Forests are secrets in themselves. They hide things. That is what they do, their primordial essense. A forest without a secret is a human without a soul, a planet without a star, a mother without her child. That is the real language of the woods.

You knew all the meadow’s secrets in Rivendell. You knew where the sprouts flourished, where the clearing started, where the trees fall after storms. You knew all its secrets, until you did not.

Because in kind places a forest hides wisteria and sage sprouts. In cruel ones it hides wargs and warm blood. And for those who are lucky enough it hides suspended gardens.

Stone pillars, embedded on gold, supported all seven floors. It would already be a beautiful sight, light reflecting in waves of warmth through Greenwood, but the ascending series of tiered gardens above each floor turned it into a paradise. Each specimen from the wide variet of trees, flowers and vines were part of this mountain constructed of golden bricks.

“I got goosebumps,” you whispered. Even the air was different there. It smelled like honey and daisies. If Thranduil told you that daylight comes from that place, you would have believed him. “Why did you hide this place from me!?”

Strangers had been born and buried and their lifetime would be nothing compared to all the time the Elvenking spend on the suspended gardens. And still, looking into your moist eyes, Thranduil discovered a new sort of beauty in this place.

The green of the vines, more verdant. The gold of the pillars, more golden. The pink of the flowers, more rosy. The whole world was brighter. Wind whispering against the autumn leaves, birds flocking, river crashing against stones: the world became a song. Such a beautiful, intricate symphony. One that he never noticed before.

It must be fate. That was meant to be. Since the world was first created and the stars were put into place. For what other reason did he survived this far, if not to admire you admiring the world his ancestors build? For what reason did Thranduil endure this far, if not to be alone in this world with you?

Your eyes glowed, and Thranduil wondered if Varda put her light into them. Into you.

The Elvenking gestured towards the gardens. “Shall we, idril?”

Thranduil watched as you prepared a raspberry pie in silence, which was better than when he tried to make you let someone else finish it. As if it was offensive for you to get your hands dirty. Your last job was to take care of horses. What is a pie compared to that?

Cleaning your hands, you almost could not believe your ears when the invitation came. It was strange of him to have free time during the day. He never had before, not once since you first got in his realm. But you were not the one to remind a king of his duties.

Not when that can take him away from you.

So this time, when Thranduil suggest you to let someone else bake it, you accept it.

“You really should stop doing that,” you continued along the paved way, and Thranduil followed your eager steps. Turning to look at him instead of facing the path, a delicate smile showed you did not meant what you were saying. “Calling me words I do not know.”

“Yet,” Thranduil completed. “Do not know yet.”

On the first floor, you understood that the construction did not matter. Its halls were simple, with long open arches and practically empty except for the occasional sculptures. Anyone there would only have eyes for the gardens, and whoever built it knew that no amount of gold or jewels would ever compete with nature.

Quince flowers draped over the walls, pears were almost to the point of crop. Thranduil showed you almond flowers, his long fingers brushing against the tiny buds. You did not even knew almonds came from flowers.

Climbing the stairs to the second floor, you brushed your hands against the rough trunk of a pistachio tree. “Do you fear birds?” Thranduil looked concerned.

“Definitely no.”

Following throught the halls, you could see the garden suspended over the first floor. Butterflies and bees flew around the almond flowers, which made you speed up the pace. You heard Thranduil laughing, and he only did not heard you complaining because you were too scared that maybe a bee would enter your mouth.

A swallow landed on your hair, and you tried your best to not move so Thranduil would see it too. When he stopped in front of you, Thranduil’s eyes seemed so… calm.

You knew he was tired and worried. That he had much to do, to understand, to protect. In Rivendell people believe that Sauron is gone, but here they have more than faith to prove the contrary. But now Thranduil look so peaceful.

As if nothing bad had ever happened to him.

“A little one mistook you by a tree,” Thranduil stretched a finger towards your hair. You felt the swallow moving, pulling your hair along, and saw it on his ring finger. Such a small thing, with greenish down.

Your smile went wider when you looked into his face.

“And you by a flower.” In his wood crown, butterflies found a new home. “If you pay attention, you really look like a sunflower kind of person,” you used your hands to cover your laugh. “Always smiling, never yelling at anyone.”

Thranduil’s response was to roll his eyes.

On the third floor, you passed through ebony, cedar and rosewood. You told Thranduil how most of the trees surrounding Aerin’s inn are ash trees, and how sad it is that most of the stories you read use them as metaphor for dead things. Thranduil shared a poem about a willow tree.

It surprised you how he recited it from memory.

Junipers were new for you. Never before you heard about them. But myrrh was not. You told Thranduil that Luthien gave you a bottle of its oil and practically ordered you to use it on your shoulder. His peacefulness oscilated for a second, but it appeared again.

The floor with fruits were your favorite one. Thranduil split open a pomegranate, revealing clusters of seeds inside it. You both shared it, eating slowly while watching the sun reflecting upon Greenwood. You took a tangerine from its branch, and gave him half of it. With half of a fresh fig on your hands, you were more interest on plum flowers than on its fruit.

There is something about sharing a fruit with someone that just makes it feel holy. The way Thranduil cut the fig in half. How you cleaned the tangerine. Your fingers brushing against one another to take another seed. It just felt better than eating one alone.

You brushed your fingers against ferns and orchids. Cherry blossoms floated, washing you both upon pink petals. A few got stucked on your hair. A few that Thranduil did not warned you about.

On the last floor, there were tables and chairs made of wood, but what really mattered to you was the view. From up there, you could see everything. Greenwood, every floor and its suspended garden, a flowing river on distance. Once again, goosebumps explored your body.

“A step back,” said Thranduil when he saw you too close from the edge. It may have been a warning, it may have been an order, but you took one either. He sat, observing carefully. “Your fall is not worth the landscape.”

“Do not be affraid. That will not happen,” your eyes locked on a bird flying away. You think it was a nightingale. He was so small, and yet he knew a type of freedom you would never. How must it be to fly? It happened for you to fall from places that made you feel like you were flying, until you met the ground. Does it works the other way around? You imagine so. “You do not need to worry about me.”

“How could I not?” replied Thranduil. “You reign in my mind. It is my duty to worry about your safety and happiness.”

Your mouth went dry. “It was never my intention to make you worry about my safety or my happiness,” your voice was barely a whisper. “Or about me, at all.”

Words, when commonly used, tend to lose their initial meaning. It dissolves, disappears with each repetition, until the word is just a ghost of what it once was. Of what their meaning once was. So many man use love almost as a greeting, but not a ellon. Never a ellon.

Love for a elve is more than just a word. It is not something that happens several times. It happens once in a lifetime, and it last forever and evermore. Only one person can own a elve’s heart, just their half, and they will never trust it to someone else.

Thranduil never thought of himself as someone lucky, but now he knows he is. In such a dangerous world, Thranduil found you. His friend, his confidant, his love. His one and only. Your heart belong with his. Thranduil can wait however long it takes for you to believe in that too.

“I never said it was.”

The silence pierced your mind. His words… Why Thranduil keep on doing this? Why he keep on saying those sweet, toothaching sweet things? Thranduil is so beautiful, and everytime he opens his mouth you get more sure that his heart is just as pretty. If you could open his skull and study his brain, you would.

“Still,” you licked your lips. “I am not falling.”

Thranduil nodded. You came back to watch the sky, mostly because you did not knew what else to do. It was rosy. A breeze made chills go down your spine, and a petal fell from your hair right into your hands. Your caressed it, and moved it closer to your nose.

“Who created this place?” You sniffed it. “They must be so proud.”

Lost on you, Thranduil did not saw a reason to lie. “It was my father.”

That warm feeling spreading into you faded away. He never talked to you about his father before, but you knew that there was only one way for a prince to become a king. What you do not know is how much does it hurt. It must be a lot. Usually things that we love hurt way too much.

Without a ounce of shame, you walked towards Thranduil. The way he made your thoughts hazy did not matter anymore. You pulled yourself a chair, and dragged it until it was right beside him. Thranduil chuckled at the act.

“He must have been really creative,” you told him. “How was he?”

That surprised Thranduil. People never ask things about his father. They only say that they are sorry, that they feel so much, that it must be so difficult. They never talk about Oropher. They always remind Thranduil that he is dead, but they never talk about him.

“Wise,” said Thranduil. With just one word, he already felt that it was so easier to breath. Sometimes it feels like Oropher only lives on his memory. Like there is this unsurmountable weight on his shoulders, one that none can see or help to carry. It felt nice to share. “And ruthless. He was the strongest until the very end.”

You tried to picture Oropher. The king who died too soon. The warrior that led his people against Sauron, and saw his knights falling down. You picture someone that knew the weight of a sword dipped in blood, the sound of a last breath, the rotteness of a dying land. You pictured this person, and then imagined him daydreaming about suspended gardens. Architecting a palace, designing irrigation, choosing seeds.

Oropher sounds like someone that was worth knowing.

Your fingers dipped into your watery dress, and you bit back a smile. You imagine that Thranduil have the same effect on people. That they will heard how he protect his land and his people, and then get amazed about how he can recite poems about a willow tree. At least he has that effect on you.

“And how was him to you? Was he good?”

“Not ruthless,” Thranduil smiled at the memories in hindsight. You could not help but to do the same. “He was gentle and… When I was just a little ellon, I used to not understand when it was time to shut up. Now I see how awful I was, but he always listened to me. He never made me feel like I should remain silent.”

You held his hand, it was so cold. Stroking his delicate skin, you felt a warmth inside you. Something different from anything you ever felt. You felt… not alone.

“I bet Oropher would be proud of you,” the words escaped your mouth. “I know I am. You are good. You are also great, but you are good.”

Somehow, Thranduil understood exactly what you meant. There are so many great people in this world. So many great poets, great warriors, great rulers. But good… Oh, it appears that the world is always lacking people that are good.

People who will discuss with dragons because their friends deserve their home back. People that will cross a continent to destroy a ring simply because someone needs to. People that will lit beacons without permission, that will use helmets to hide the fact that they are a woman, that will fight even as arrows pierce their chest.

“You think I am good?” Thranduil felt his eyes burning. “You really do?”

“Of course, my king.” You intertwined his fingers with yours. It felt right. Like they were made to complement eachother. A sly smirk replaced your genuine smile. “You think I would put up with you if I did not?

Thranduil looked at the horizon, hoping you would not notice the redness of his eyes. He reciprocated your touch, squeezing your hand lightly. Maybe it was the sunset, maybe it was the autumn leaves, but everything felt golden.

Everything felt just fine.

“You are good,” murmured Thranduil. “Is it because of your parents?”

You let go of his hand, and Thranduil felt the sky getting darker. Your colors also faded, as if it was robbed from your skin. “It is getting late,” you told him. You were quick to get up. Quick to lie. Badly. “I should come back.”

“I am sorry. I really am,” Thranduil ignored everything you said. There was no need for him to pretend to fall for your bad lies. He stand, just as fast as you. “But you are not a good liar, idril. I will not force you to say the truth, nor do I wish for you to speak when you do not want to, but you do not need to lie. Not to me. We are friends. You do not need to perform around me.”

You threw yourself onto the chair, without any energy to argue. You watched the horizon, the changing colors of the sky, and tried to ignore the pressure on your chest. “I am sorry.”

“No need to,” Thranduil sat too. He tried to be silent, but something told him that maybe you also had a unsurmountable weight on your shoulders. That maybe you also needed to share it. “Were they not good?”

“Maybe yes, maybe not,” you huffled. You responded right away, so Thranduil assumd he made the right decision. “That is the problem.”

With your eyelids closed, you turned your head to Thranduil. When courage made its way into your chest, you looked at him. Was he going to judge you? To see you as too much of a problem? A part of you feared that he would. The other half thought it was mean to think of him that way.

“I have no memories of them.”

He let you talk. About how you have no memories of parents, of any family, of growing or sharing meals or going to school or learning to read. About how for you it is like you were born during a thunderstorm, then wandered until you found Aerin. You told him everything.

After you rant, his silence came. He breathe in, and you could feel his body getting tense. “No one ever looked for you?” Thranduil finally said something.

You denied. “Do you think I am crazy?”

“I think…”

For Thranduil, now everything makes sense. The way you tend to pretend not to see when Aerin treated you badly. Or how people insisted on not calling you by your name. Why you would have felt bad if you did nothing. The gentleness of your heart. How your intelligence have a touch of naivety.

But it also made him even more intrigued about why you and Gandalf are friends. Does he have any interest on your memories coming back? Is he the reason why they faded? Can you really see him as a friend?

Thranduil never liked those pilgrim wizards, and Gandalf tend to be the one creating more problems for him. If he is right about who betrayed the free people, then maybe you have something to do with it.

He is glad you are away from him. Thranduil does not trust him.

Thranduil licked his lips. “I think you are so unlucky.”

That made you burst into laugh. For a whole minute. You belly hurt, your cheeks burned, your head spin. It was loud and ugly and true. “I… I agree.”

When silence came, it was natural. It was welcomed. You stared into his watery eyes, and decided that you would never try to hide things from Thranduil. It is just not worth the effort, now when he reacts this way. Not when he is so sweet.

“You still want to go back home?” Thranduil whispered. There was simply no need to, but he wanted to. It felt right to.

You inhale. “Not really,” you admitted. You turned your gaze to the sky, and it was on that marvelous moment when it is not day and it is not night. Thranduil did the same as you. “This place feels like a summer dream.”

A nightingale sang that night. Not that you both heard it, since your voices were louder. But it sang, and it still mattered.

AUTUMN THUNDERSTORM: @ferns-fics @notanalienindisguiseblink @rayrlupin @elvyshiarieko @graniairish @whore-of-many-hot-men @h0ly-fire

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[mimilind]

The Librarian and the Elvenking - Part 1

Pairing: Thranduil x Reader

Rating: T

Chapter Word Count: 2100

Parts: [ Next Part > ] [ Masterlist ]

Full story: [ AO3 ]

♕ ✧ ♕

1. The Anonymous Borrower

When your carriage rolled into Dale for the first time, you were struck with how quaint the town was. Nestled in a bend of the river, it had narrow, winding streets and stone houses with slate roofs. Columns of smoke rose from its many chimneys, and a bustle of humans crowded the streets.

Strider’s hoofs clopped merrily on the stone pavement and the wagon wheels squeaked. After many days on the road, you looked forward to a pleasant supper and a warm bed for the night.

Unsurprisingly, everyone gawked at you when you passed them by. It was always like this when you arrived at a new place; you were an elf with a mobile library in a city of men, of course you would draw attention. But you knew they would get used to you after a few days and return to business as usual, with your service as a – hopefully – pleasant addition in their lives.

You had started your library service roughly thirty years ago, after the War of the Ring, and by now you had been in many human cities. You never stayed for long; as soon as you found someone there willing to copy the books and create a more permanent establishment you would move to a new place. As a result, there were now libraries in several towns, both in Breeland, Rohan and the new Brownland settlements – and today the time had come to Dale. You had only left Gondor alone, for there the new king had built libraries of his own.

It was a lonely life; that was the only downside of being a mobile librarian, but the joy you brought to remote settlements made it worthwhile. And in all honesty, you had never had many friends back home in Imladris anyway.

In the morning you set up your stall in the town square, exposing some of your more popular volumes in stands in front of the carriage, and beside them a sign explaining how it worked. Soon a curious crowd gathered around you, looking at titles, skimming pages and – a few – signing up to become borrowers.

From experience, you knew the first few days would be slow, with people mostly looking, but when some of the more daring had tried your library it would spread like ripples in the water. By the end of the month you would probably have gained a large number of regular customers.

You were just taking a quick lunch in your carriage when three elves walked by. They were the first of your race you had seen in Dale, which was a largely human town with the occasional dwarf resident. Judging by their clothes, these were Wood-elves; garbed in the greens and browns of the forest as was their habit. 

The elves regarded your mobile library with curiosity, mumbling among themselves. Then the taller of them, a silver blonde ellon, sidled up to one of your stands and picked up a book. 

You put your meal aside and stepped out, whereupon he jumped in surprise and nearly dropped the volume. 

”Oh, I see you have discovered ‘The Principles of Lust,’” you said. ”It’s my only Haradrim work; very popular with the married couples. Shall I sign you up on my borrower list?”

The ellon’s pale cheeks had become bright red, and he quickly put the book back. ”I don’t think my wife likes that sort of thing.” 

”Such a shame. Hm. Maybe she would enjoy a book of fables? The Gondorian ladies adore them. This was written by Lady Finduilas, who was the wife of the former steward in Minas Tirith.” You picked up a colorful booklet.

”What are fables?” The ellon seemed almost reluctantly interested. 

“Short stories with talking animals as the main characters, where the reader learns valuable lessons of life – such as not coveting what others have, or judging a book by its cover.” You chuckled. “Pun not intended.”

His lips quirked up at first, but he smothered it before his features had progressed into an actual smile. “It seems risky; lending books like that. What do you do if someone just keeps them? Humans are not very trustworthy.”

“Well, as you can read on this sign here, borrowers leave their name, address and a security deposit, which will be repaid once they return the volume. The deposit can be money or something of equal value. Jewellery is fine too.” You nodded at his fingers, where several elaborate rings gleamed. 

The elf hid his hands behind his back. “I see.”

“I have lost a few books, but mostly by accident. One girl dropped a book in the bathtub, and I get the occasional ripped page – but I have several copies of each volume, and I brought material for repairing them if needed.”

“All this sounds like a lot of trouble. What’s in it for you?” The elf frowned. He had the most formidable eyebrows you had ever seen. Very expressive.

“Well, mostly I just wanted to give the humans some hope and joy after the war, and what better way is there than bringing them stories? As elves, we have time to hear and learn all the tales of old, but a human who lives perhaps eighty years at most is not so fortunate.”

“How altruistic.” 

“Isn’t it?” You gave him a dazzling smile, pretending he had meant it as a compliment. “So, shall I sign you up? And perhaps your friends there as well?” You indicated his silent companions who had stayed some yards away. They reminded you of guards; alert and watchful, but they carried no visible weapons.

“Just I.” 

The ellon produced a silver dollar as a deposit, and writing in an elegant, yet masculine Tengwar he swiftly filled in the form you gave him. 

When you received it, you could not hold back a chuckle. “Your name is Ú-eneth?”

“I am known by that name in this town.” He frowned slightly again. 

“Right. Well, Master No Name, welcome as a borrower. I wish you much enjoyment!” You took his hand and shook it. 

Ú-eneth’s reaction to your simple gesture surprised you; he flinched visibly and stared at your hand like he had never seen one before.

“Sorry! I must have spent too much time with the humans.” Smiling apologetically, you moved your hand to your chest and bowed in an elvish greeting instead. 

“No need,” he mumbled, but still looked bewildered. 

You gave him a cloth bag. “Here is that fable book for your wife. Do you want something for yourself as well? You look like a warrior with those wide shoulders; perhaps I can tempt you with ‘The War of the Last Alliance - a Recount,’ by Meneldil of Gondor?”

His cheeks paled. “No thank you,” he choked.

“My goodness. You fought in it, didn’t you?” You gave him a sympathetic look and pressed his shoulder comfortingly. “Sorry if I brought up painful memories.”

Again your touch seemed to unnerve Ú-eneth. “I have to go.” He left rather hurriedly with his companions in tow.

You looked long after the disappearing trio. When walking, it became even more obvious that they were trained warriors; they moved with that certain confidence and grace obtained by long hours of sparring. And of course their exceptionally fit bodies were a giveaway.

♕ ✧ ♕

About a month later Ú-eneth came to return your book. Like before, his company remained at a distance. 

“Welcome back!” you greeted him heartily, shaking his hand without thinking. Now, however, he seemed to expect it and actually shook back. 

You noticed pale patches on his fingers where he had worn rings the last time. Why had he taken them off? Was he hiding something?

“It was an interesting read,” he said.

“Glad you found it so. I put aside some other books with you in mind.” You took a large, leather bound tome and two smaller hardbacks from a shelf. “Do you like action-adventure stories? This is Rohirric; ‘Tales of Heroes and Dragonesse,’ by Fram Frumgarsson. Human youngsters enjoy it a lot.”

“I am not particularly fond of dragon stories. And I am no youngster.”

“Didn’t say you were.” You gave him a disarming smile. If he had fought in the War of the Last Alliance he must be well over three millennia old.

Ú-eneth took one of the smaller volumes and read the title: “‘The Children of Húrin – a History.’ That Húrin? From the First Age?”

“Aye. It’s based on the man’s tragic life, and carefully recorded by Erestor of Imladris…”

“Huh. That old bore.”

“... who is my uncle.” You smirked at the look on his face.

“I’ll take it,” he said hurriedly.

“He also put down the tale of Beren and Lúthien, if that could interest you?”

“Why not.”

So, he liked romantic tragedies. You stored the information for future use.

Packing his books, you asked conversationally: “What brings three elves to Dale, then? I was told none of our race live here.”

“Business. I purchase wine for… Uh, the king.”

“Elvenking Thranduil? I’ve heard of him.” You gave him the book bag. “Quite a scary fellow, is he not? At least the Daleans think so.”

“To mortals all elves are frightening,” he huffed dismissively.

“I’m not.” You shrugged.

“But you are an unusual elf.” 

“Am I? Maybe.” Perhaps you were a bit different, especially since you spent so much time around humans. But you had no time to ponder it, for your most avid readers had come; Liv and Ylva, two teenage human sisters. They stopped at a respectful distance to Ú-eneth, gawking at him with large eyes.

You glanced at the object of their admiration and understood them. He was handsome even for an elf; to human eyes he must be absolutely stunning. Tall, muscular and elegant, even in his simple, unadorned tunic. 

“I have to attend to the girls now, but it was good seeing you again.” You pressed Ú-eneth’s arm in a friendly manner, telling yourself it was a nice gesture and not at all because you liked how strong it felt. “Welcome back at any time.”

His eyes darted to your hand on his arm, and then met yours. “Aye. I will be back.” 

Something in his expression puzzled you. This time he didn't flinch from your touch, but he seemed extremely conscious about it. Almost as if he had never been touched before, which was odd for a married ellon – he must have touched his wife at least once on the wedding night – and very intimately too, if the Haradrim book was correct about such matters. 

Maybe they didn't live together? That could explain why he seemed so lonely. You felt sorry for him; it must be horrible to have nobody to hug.

Well, actually, you knew it was horrible. So much so, that you had to resort to hugging Strider, your horse, and some of your customers. 

When Ú-eneth had left, Liv and Ylva came closer, and you greeted them with a warm hug each.

“You know him?” asked Ylva in an awed voice after you had released her.

“A little.” You smiled at the besotted look on her face. “Ú-eneth is one of my borrowers.”

“He’s amazing,” said Liv dreamily. “Ú-eneth… It’s beautiful. I love his name too.”

“It can’t be his real one,” said Ylva. “It means ‘no name’ in Sindarin, right?”

“Dunno. I hate the Sindarin lessons.” Liv giggled. “But if he’s not telling his real name, then that’s even more romantic! It’s like in ‘The Children of Húrin’ when Túrin comes to Nargothrond and Finduilas calls him Thurin because he’s so secretive.”

“Ah, yes.” Ylva sighed lustfully. “The way he named himself ‘The Wronged.’ So tragic. I love him!”

“I love both Beren, Túrin and Glorfindel. And now Ú-eneth too.”

“That reminds me…” You held up a shining new book. “I just finished making a third copy of Glorfindel’s autobiography, so you can borrow it now.”

“Thank you! Thankyou thankyou thankyou.” Liv pressed the book to her bosom and made a piruet. Then she stopped dead. “What if Ú-eneth is Glorfindel in disguise?” 

Ylva gasped. “He could be!”

You chuckled. “Sorry to burst your bubble. I know Glorfindel, and Ú-eneth is not him.”

“I’m so jealous of you. You have met Glorfindel, and Elrond, and even Elessar of Gondor!” Ylva sighed.

“If you do all your lessons, then maybe you can study at the Imladris University in the future and meet some of them yourself,” you said encouragingly. “But then you must do your Sindarin homework.”

“We will! We’ll study real hard.” The girls beamed at you.

♕ ✧ ♕

Parts: [ Next Part > ] [ Masterlist ]

Full story: [ AO3 ]

#thranduil x reader #thranduil x you #thranduil fanfiction #thranduil fanfic #Thranduil #lee pace #lotr #lotr fanfiction #lotr fanfic #touch starved #the Librarian and the Elvenking

[sotwk]

Do you write for platonic? (I mostly write platonic on my blog I feel comfortable with platonic)

Hello my new friend!

Yes, I do write platonic fics, although they are probably more accurately described as "familial", since they're stories about the relationships between family members. My Thranduil/Legolas fics and headcanons especially feature relationships between Thranduil and his sons and Legolas and his brothers (original characters).

I hope to write many more platonic "gen" fics in the future, because they're very dear to my heart! I'm glad you're able to write what's comfortable and enjoyable for you as well. Thank you for the Ask!

#sotwk answers #platonic fics #gen fics #thranduil fanfic #legolas fanfic

[tigereyesf]

Heart Of Darkness

My 3rd novel is now available on Amazon in e-book, paperback and hardback formats.

Kita's life takes an unexpected turn in her new job when she begins to develop feelings for her boss. She stumbles upon the biggest secret he could ever keep from her, with horrifying and destructive results. Terrified and confused, she fights to retain her sanity and her life. In turn, he's fighting both to keep her and to stay alive.

Lies, suspicions, murder, explicit sex and horrific home truths all twist around one another in the battle to find the path to survival.

Heart Of Darkness was originally a Thranduil fanfiction 🥰

#thranduil #reblogawriter #thranduil fanfic #teamthranduil #writers #sharethestory #support an author #reblog and share