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cowboybeepboop · 7 months ago

Text

Fields

"Come, let us get you into bed. You need your rest."

Pairing: Thranduil x fem! Human reader

Genre: Romantic smut

Word count: 4.4k

Summary: You’re the King's human lover and you share a special night together.

Warnings: Romantic sex, oral fem receiving, riding him, unprotected sex, p in v sex

a/n: Guys please bear with me, I’m working on some new lotr/th oneshots that shall also be posted soon. As per usual, please let me know if you have any requests and I hope you enjoy.

Thranduil had a quiet moment to himself, laying in a field of flowers as the sun set behind him. He had a look of tranquility on his face as his mind wandered to many different things. He kept his eyes closed. He heard footsteps coming near him, he didn't give a reaction to this though.. he had an idea of who it was.

“You look so peaceful like this,” you hum, lowering to your knees next to his muscular body. You brush his hair from his face, touch light and delicate.

Thranduil didn't move a muscle when you knelt down in the grass beside him. He was quiet for a moment before he spoke, his eyes still shut for the time being. “I am at peace, for now..” He said before his lips curled into a small smile.

“Until someone decides to ruin it,” he added, opening one of his eyes and looking up at you with a slight teasing tone in the last part.

You press a gentle kiss to his lips. “Shall I leave you alone then?” Thranduil's smile widened into a grin as your soft lips brushed against his.

He chuckled softly as he took your hand, looking up at you with a playful look in his eyes. “Don’t you dare,” he said in a quiet but firm tone.

“Come. Lay with me.” His voice turned more of a request as he tugged on your hand ever so gently, coaxing you to lay down next to him in the flowers.

You press your cheek to his chest, eyes fluttering shut as you listen to his heart. “As you wish my King.”

Thranduil wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his chest as his hand came up to brush through your hair gently in a soothing manner. He gently took one of your hands in his free one, intertwining his fingers with yours.

His chest rose and fell with each deep breath as the two of you lay there in the grass, just listening to one another's heartbeats. "That's a good girl.." he murmured with a soft, affectionate smile.

You find yourself drifting off to sleep, the warmth and comfort of his body like a lullaby. Thranduil noticed your eyes growing heavy and your breathing starting to slow, it was a sure sign that you were falling asleep.

He carefully wrapped his arms around you, gently rolling onto his side to pull you closer, holding your body flush against his. "It's okay, little one. Rest.." he spoke quietly, one of his hands gently tracing soft patterns down your back as he held you in a protective embrace, the sound of his steady heartbeat in your ear.

“Mm..” your voice is a soft murmur as you cuddle closer to him.

Thranduil smiled as you cuddled closer to him, his arms holding you in a firm yet gentle embrace as he buried his face into your hair, inhaling your scent. He gently nuzzled his head against yours, relishing in your warm and softness against him.

"Sleep, my darling," he whispered softly, gently starting to stroke his fingers through your hair as he held you in his arms. Thranduil's chest rose and fell with each quiet breath, finding himself starting to grow just as relaxed as you.

After hours of holding you in his arms, Thranduil felt you shiver slightly as a cold breeze blew through the garden, gently stirring the grass around them. Thranduil's heart ached to see you cold, his arms instinctively holding you tighter in an attempt to keep you warm.

He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, before carefully pulling you even closer to his chest. "Are you cold, my love?" he murmured quietly, his fingers continuing to glide softly through your hair.

“It is growing cold, Thranduil..” you murmur against his chest, not willing to leave his warm side.

Thranduil gently adjusted his grip on you, pulling you closer against him, almost as if he was trying to shield you from the chill in the air. He lifted one of his hands from your hair, tracing it to your cheek, gently rubbing his thumb against your skin, before he spoke again.

"We should head inside. You'll freeze out here.." he said in a low, gentle tone, his lips brushing against your forehead in a soft kiss.

“Could you carry me..” you bury your face into his chest, shivering against him.

Thranduil felt your body shiver against him once more, and he gently lifted his head off of yours so he could look down at you. He chuckled softly as he heard your request, gently running his hand down your back.

"Of course, darling," he said with a hint of fond amusement. With a slightly playful smirk on his face, he shifted his body, carefully scooping you up into his arms, holding you tight against his chest.

Thranduil walked through the halls of his palace while carrying you in his arms, his long strides eating up the distance quickly. He could feel you melting against him as he walked, feeling a sense of satisfaction of being able to provide you with warmth and comfort.

Soon enough, he reached your shared room and he pushed the doors open with one hand, stepping inside and lowering you gently onto the bed.

You cuddle into the sheets, your skirt hiked up over your hips, revealing your smooth skin to his gaze.

Thranduil's eyes roamed over your body as you settled onto the bed, his gaze lingering on your exposed skin. His eyes darkened slightly as he took in the sight of you, looking so vulnerable, so delicate, and yet so alluring at the same time.

His own clothes were slightly disheveled, the top of his shirt unbuttoned ever so slightly, adding to the overall rugged appearance. He could feel a familiar heat rise in the pit of his stomach as he looked at you, slowly approaching the bed.

Thranduil's breath caught in his throat as you wrapped your arms around the pillow, your legs slightly parted and revealing even more of your skin to him. He could feel the tension in the air as he watched you, his eyes tracing along the curves of your body, like a predator stalking its prey.

He approached the foot of the bed, slowly crawling onto the mattress behind you, his large form hovering over you as his hands rested on either side of your hips.

“My king..” you murmur, relishing in his touch. Thranduil leaned down, bringing his body close to yours, his chest pressing against your back as he leaned down towards your ear. His breath ghosted across your skin, making you shiver as he gently spoke in a low, deep tone.

"Yes, darling?" he muttered, his hands on your hips, rubbing small, teasing circles against the bare flesh of your skin. He could feel your body heat against his, his own desire growing more and more as he looked down at you.

“You’re trying to seduce me..” you murmur against the plush pillow.

Thranduil chuckled softly, his hands slowly moving up and down your sides, his touch just light enough to tickle. "Is it working?" he spoke in a low, sultry tone, his breath warm against the nape of your neck. He lowered his head, gently nibbling on the exposed skin just below your ear, his tongue darting out to taste you.

You moan softly, enjoying the gentleness of his caresses. “Perhaps it is,” Thranduil's lips curled into a small grin as he heard your moan, the sound like music to his ears.

He gently licked and kissed the sensitive skin of your exposed neck, his hands continuing to roam over your body, tracing every curve, every dip and contour of your form.

"Perhaps?" he repeated with a hint of amusement in his voice, his mouth finding its way to your shoulder, gently nipping at the soft flesh. "Only perhaps..?" he teased softly, his thumbs pressing into your hip bones.

“My King..” You gasp, feeling the familiar warmth in the pit of your stomach as he touches you.

Thranduil continued to shower your exposed skin with kisses and nibbling, his eyes roaming over every inch of your body as he continued to touch you intimately. At the sound of your gasp, he let out a low, approving hum against the skin of your neck, his hands slowly moving from your hips, running up along your sides, to your stomach.

"Does it feel good, my darling..?" he murmured quietly, his fingers gently tracing patterns against your skin, leaving little jolts of pleasure in their wake.

“Very good..” you moan, shifting beneath him so you can gaze up at him, your arms wrapping around his neck.

Thranduil let out a soft, guttural sound of approval as you shifted beneath him, his hands still gently caressing your skin as his eyes met yours. He could feel the heat and desire building between the two of you, the air growing heavier as you looked up at him.

He couldn't deny the effect you had on him; just the sight of you alone was enough to make his heart clench. Thranduil slowly lowered himself down, his body resting fully against yours as he leaned down to capture your lips in a deep, searing kiss.

You tangle your fingers in his hair, tugging at the roots softly as your legs wrap around his hips.

Thranduil let out a low growl as you tangled your fingers in his hair, the tug on his scalp sending a wave of pleasure throughout his entire body. He pressed himself down onto you, his hips slotting perfectly in between your legs as you wrapped them around him, trapping him against you.

He couldn't help himself from pressing himself against you, his own desire growing more and more intense as he felt your body against his. Thranduil's lips moved furiously against yours as he deepened the kiss, his tongue seeking entrance into your mouth.

Thranduil felt a shudder of pleasure as you parted your lips in submission, his tongue slipping past to explore your mouth as he claimed it for his own. He savored the taste of you, his own lust and hunger fueling his actions as he kissed you like an elf starved.

His hands slid down your body, seeking purchase and finding purchase on your thighs as he pushed them further apart. His own hips rocked against yours, the thin barrier that remained between their bodies slowly becoming an increasing irritant.

Your muffled moans fill his mouth as he grinds against you, sending shivers of pleasure through you. Thranduil swallowed each moan you made as he continued to kiss you, his hips rolling against yours in an almost feral manner.

The friction between you was maddening, only adding more fuel to the fire burning within him. He could feel your body's response to his movements, each shiver and shudder driving him even further to take what he wanted, to claim what was his.

Thranduil broke the kiss, lifting his head so he could look down at you, his eyes roaming over your flushed, panting form. "You're mine..." he breathed in a low, possessive tone.

“Always, I’m forever yours my King.” You cup his face, lips parted and cheeks flushed.

Thranduil's heart jumped in his chest at your words, the pure devotion in your voice making his own desires flare even stronger. He leaned into your touch as you cupped his face, his eyes dark and stormy as he looked down at you with a mixture of lust, love, and possessiveness in his gaze.

"You better be," he said in a low, gruff tone, his voice heavy with emotions. "Because I have no intention of letting you go, my darling. Ever."

You smile up at him feeling his fingers tugging at the hem of your skirt. “I shall not leave your side, love.”

With a gentle yet firm tug, Thranduil lifts the dress from your body, the fabric slipping off your skin like silk. He pauses for a moment, drinking in the sight of you laid bare before him, your curves and contours bathed in the soft glow of candlelight.

His eyes sparkle with hunger and admiration as they rove over your flesh, lingering on the swell of your breasts and the dip of your waist. He lets out a soft groan, his desire palpable in the air as his hands move to trace the newly exposed skin, his fingertips leaving a trail of heat wherever they go.

You can feel his arousal pressing into you, the proof of his desire for you unmistakable. His gaze meets yours, filled with a fierce love and a burning need to possess you completely.

With eager, trembling hands, Thranduil tugged at his own clothing, each button and lace coming undone with a sense of urgency. His garments fell away, revealing the sculpted planes of his body, his muscles defined by moonlight and shadows.

His eyes never leaving yours, he reached out to cup your breasts, his thumbs flicking over your nipples in a feather-light touch that has you arching your back with a silent plea. He smiles, a smoldering fire in his gaze, and then his hands slid down your body, his fingers hooking into the delicate fabric of your panties.

With a firm, yet gentle pull, he slid them down your legs, baring you fully to him. His arousal grew even more prominent as he took in the sight of your naked body, your legs open and inviting, revealing your slick and swollen folds that begged for his touch.

He leaned back down to kiss you once more, his hand moving to caress the soft, wet warmth between your thighs, his fingers slipping inside you easily, making you gasp into his mouth.

With a soft growl of desire, Thranduil settled himself between your open thighs, his eyes never leaving yours as he lowered his head to the juncture of your legs. His mouth watered at the sight of your glistening sex, your arousal like a sweet nectar to him.

He took his time, savoring the moment as he gently parted your folds with his thumbs, exposing the delicate pearl of your clit to the cool air. His tongue darted out, tracing a line from your entrance up to the sensitive bud, tasting you with a hunger that was centuries in the making.

His touch was feather-light, yet firm, as he licked and kissed you with an expertise that sent waves of pleasure crashing through your body. Each stroke of his tongue against your clit brought forth a new gasp, each nip of his teeth a shiver of delight.

He held your legs wide open, keeping you open to his ministrations as he explored every part of you with his mouth, his teeth grazing against your inner thighs, his tongue delving deep inside you, and his breath fanning the flames of your passion. His hands remained on your hips, keeping you firmly in place as he devoured you, his mouth moving with a rhythm that was both torturously slow and exquisitely perfect.

You could feel yourself growing wetter, your body responding to his every touch, your legs trembling as he brought you closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy.

Your back arches off the bed as needy moans escape your lips, your entire body quivering with the intensity of the pleasure he's giving you. Thranduil's mouth is relentless, his tongue flicking and circling your clit with a precision that speaks of centuries of experience.

His strong hands hold your hips in place as you try to buck against him, the sensations threatening to overwhelm you. His teeth graze against your sensitive skin, sending jolts of pleasure through your body that make your toes curl and your fingers clutch at the bedsheets. You can feel your orgasm building, a coil of tension tightening in your belly as his mouth works its magic.

You're so close, so very close, and he seems to know it as he increases the tempo, his tongue dancing over your clit in a way that has you on the brink. Finally, with one last, firm flick of his tongue, you fall over the edge, crying out his name as waves of pleasure crash through you.

You're a trembling mess under him, your body wracked with spasms as he continues to kiss and suck, drawing out every last drop of your climax before finally, mercifully, letting you collapse back onto the bed. He watches you with a smug smile, licking his lips as he takes in the sight of you, fully sated and utterly his.

With a gentle touch, Thranduil brushed your hair away from your cheeks, his eyes filled with love and concern as he studied your flushed face. "Are you tired, my love?" he asked in a voice that was a blend of tenderness and desire, his breath warm against your skin.

His thumbs traced the outline of your jaw, his gaze lingering on the way your chest rose and fell with each ragged breath you took, your breasts pressing against his chest with each gasp. The question hung in the air, filled with the promise of more intimate moments to come if you weren't too exhausted from the passionate encounter.

As you nod softly in response to Thranduil's question, you reach down and wrap your hand around his thick, aroused length. The velvety skin is hot to the touch, pulsing with the beat of his heart, and your grip tightens slightly, feeling the veins that run along his shaft.

"I'm not too tired to make sure you're satisfied," you murmur against his ear, a hint of mischief in your voice as you start to stroke him, your hand moving in a slow, firm rhythm. Thranduil's eyes close, his breath hitching in his throat as your touch sends waves of pleasure through him.

His hands tighten around your hips in response, pulling you closer as he lets out a low groan of appreciation. His eyes flutter open, meeting yours, and he smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling with affection and desire.

"Thank you," he whispers, his voice strained with pleasure, as he leans down to kiss you once more, his tongue tracing the curve of your bottom lip before delving back into your mouth.

With a soft whine of anticipation, you position yourself over Thranduil's erect length, the tip nudging against your entrance as you hover for a brief moment. Looking into his eyes, filled with a fiery passion that matches your own, you slowly start to sink down onto him.

The initial stretch is exquisite, his warmth and hardness filling you in a way that feels so right, so perfect. His hands tighten around your waist, guiding you down as he groans into your kiss, feeling the tightness of your body enveloping him inch by inch.

Each breath you take is shallower than the last, each movement of your hips sending shockwaves through both of you. Once you're fully seated on him, you pause, savoring the feeling of fullness before you begin to rock gently, setting a rhythm that's as ancient as the forest itself.

Thranduil's eyes never leave yours, his hands roaming over your skin as if he's trying to memorize every line and curve by touch alone. His breath hitches in his throat with every movement you make, every gasp and whimper that escapes your lips.

The bond between you, the connection of flesh and soul, is palpable as you move together, lost in a dance that's both fierce and tender, a symphony of love and lust that echoes through the very air of the room.

As you reached up to gently trace the pointed tips of Thranduil's ears with your fingertips, his eyes rolled back in pleasure, his hands guiding the rhythm of your hips as you moved above him. The soft touch was a heady sensation that seemed to resonate through his entire being, making him shiver and his grip on you tighten.

His breathing grew ragged, matching the pace of your movements, as you both danced together in the throes of passion. Each brush of your fingers against his sensitive skin sent bolts of pleasure through his body, making him growl low in his throat, his hips rising to meet yours with increasing urgency.

The room was filled with the sweet symphony of your combined sighs and moans, the rustling of the bed, and the occasional clank of his jewelry as his head moved back and forth against the pillow. Your breasts bounced with each thrust, the friction of your skin against his sending sparks of desire through both of you.

Thranduil's eyes remained locked on you, his expression a mix of love, need, and pure animal instinct. The way you touched him was like nothing he had ever felt before you, a tender yet powerful caress that seemed to ignite every nerve ending in his body.

As you continued to ride him, his own movements grew more demanding, his hands moving from your hips to cup your breasts, his thumbs rolling over your nipples as his hips met yours in a relentless rhythm that sent shockwaves of pleasure through both of you.

Thranduil's eyes widened in pleasure as he felt your inner muscles tighten around him, signaling your approaching climax. His own was building, the pressure inside him growing with each stroke as your bodies moved as one.

With a final, deep thrust, he swelled inside you, filling you completely as he reached his peak. The pleasure was intense, a crescendo of sensation that seemed to consume him entirely. You gasped as your orgasm washed over you, your body clenching around him as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through you.

The bond between you grew stronger, your spirits intertwining as your love and desire for each other reached new heights. Thranduil's eyes squeezed shut, a roar of ecstasy tearing from his throat as he released himself within you, the warmth of his essence mixing with the heat of your passion.

Together, you rode the crest of the wave, your bodies trembling with the force of your shared climax, until finally, you collapsed against him, both spent and utterly content.

Thranduil gently untangled himself from your embrace, placing a soft kiss on your forehead before rising from the bed. His eyes roved over your spent form, a mixture of love and adoration evident in his gaze.

He padded across the room, stepping into the connected bathroom. He turned on the taps of the large, stone bathtub, filling the room with the sound of rushing water and steam. As the tub filled, he added some scented essential oils to the water, creating a relaxing aroma that filled the air.

Once the bath was ready, Thranduil returned to the bedside, his gaze meeting yours. You gaze at him through hooded eyes, reaching for his soft blond hair.

Thranduil's hand found yours, and he gently helped you off the bed. "Come, my love," he murmured, his voice still husky. With steady steps, he led you into the bathroom, the steam from the warm water filling the room.

He helped you into the bathtub, his touch tender and careful as he guided you in. Once you were settled, he called for a servant to change the bedding, his voice carrying out into the hallway.

“Will you join me?” You murmur, sinking into the warmth of the water. Thranduil's eyes darkened as he watched you sink into the warm water, your body enveloped in steam and bubbles.

"Of course," he murmurs in response, his voice rough with desire. "I could never resist joining you." He entered the tub, settling in behind you, his strong legs on either side of you.

Thranduil's hands caressed your wet skin, lovingly trailing over every dip and curve as he gently washed away the remnants of your recent encounter. With each touch and movement, his love and devotion for you shone through, his fingers tracing patterns against your skin that felt like a silent declaration of his love.

"You are so beautiful," he murmured, his mouth hovering just beside your ear. "Every inch of you is perfect."

“My King…” you murmur, relaxing into his strong chest, your eyes flutter closed.

Thranduil wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close against him so that your back was flush against his chest. His chin rested on top of your head, and he inhaled deeply, breathing in the scent of your hair.

"Yes, my darling?" he asked softly, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your stomach.

“You flatter me too much.” You reply, head falling back against his shoulder as you relish in his touch.

Thranduil chuckled, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. He moved his head down to place a soft kiss on your neck, his mouth skimming along your skin until it reached your ear.

"I cannot flatter you enough," he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. "Every word I say to you is true. You are everything to me, and I will never tire of telling you how beautiful and perfect you are."

“You are beautiful as well, my love.” He washes your body as you lean against him comforted by his warmth.

Thranduil's hands continued their gentle caresses as he washed your body, his touch strong but still impossibly tender. He savored the feeling of your body pressing against his, and he took his time, relishing the moment.

"Your words are sweet," he murmured, his voice low, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. "But it is you who brings the true beauty into my life."

Thranduil carefully pulls you out of the water, his hands gentle and strong as he wraps a soft, warm towel around you. He takes his time drying you off, his touch reverent as he caresses each inch of your skin.

Once you are dry, he helps you into your nightgown, his fingers grazing over your sensitive skin in lingering touches. "There," he murmurs, stepping back to admire you. "Perfect."

“Thranduil, my love.” You cup his cheek, kissing his lips gently.

Thranduil's eyes closed at your touch, a low growl of pleasure rumbling in his chest as you kissed him gently. His arms slid around your waist, pulling you closer against his chest. He deepened the kiss, his mouth claiming yours with a fierce but tender passion.

"My darling," he breathed against your lips. "You undo me with a single touch."

Thranduil's gaze softened as he looked down at you, taking note of the exhaustion in your eyes. "But you’re weary," he observed, lifting a hand to caress your cheek gently.

His thumb traced over your skin in soothing circles, his touch filled with tenderness. "Come, let us get you into bed. You need your rest."

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black-dhalias · 2 days ago

Note

hiii!!! I saw your request were opened and got really excited lol

can I request a Legolas x reader having an angry love confession with a happy ending? U can add as much angst or fluff wanted !

I hope your day goes well <3

Until Dawn

Legolas X half-elf!half-human!Reader

The clatter of hooves and voices cut through the stillness of the late afternoon. You glanced up from behind the bar, pausing mid-wipe of a glass, your fingers tightening around its rim. Travelers were common in this stretch of the woods, but not ones with such purposeful strides or cloaks woven with the threads of old legends.

The door creaked open, and a gust of wind swept in with the first of them. A tall figure stepped through—and your breath caught.

Silver-blond hair. Eyes like starlight through a winter sky. Legolas.

You didn’t realize you’d frozen until he looked at you, recognition flickering across his face like sunlight on rippling water.

“You,” he said softly, a smile ghosting over his lips. “I had wondered if the stories were true.”

“What stories?” you asked, setting down the glass carefully.

“That the half-elf who once sang Dwarvish drinking songs and shot arrows through the dark of Mirkwood now runs an inn... and claims to be done with the road.”

You huffed a laugh, masking the sudden twist in your chest. “I made a promise to myself. No more goblins, no more dragons, no more running for my life. Just quiet, warm beds and decent ale.”

The rest of the Fellowship trickled in—Aragorn with his wary grace, Gimli grumbling about the cold, and a pair of curious Hobbits looking like they’d never seen such a place before.

“I never thought I’d see you again,” you admitted, voice softer now, carrying only to him. “I thought you stayed in the Woodland Realm.”

“I left,” he said. “There are greater shadows moving now. The kind that threaten all lands, even quiet glades like this one.”

You met his gaze, the old bond between you sparking back to life as though no years had passed.

“I’m not the same as I was,” you said quietly.

“No,” he agreed. “You’re stronger now. But the world still needs you.”

You turned your back, pretending to straighten a bottle on the shelf. "The road nearly broke me, Legolas. I don't know if I have it in me again."

A pause. Then his voice, low and sure: “You don’t have to decide tonight. Just share a meal with us. Rest. Then listen to what the world is asking.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, then turned back to face him. “One night,” you said. “No promises.”

He smiled. “That’s all I ask.”

And somewhere, in the quiet beneath your ribs, something old and restless stirred.

As the last of the Fellowship settled into the great hall, shedding cloaks and weariness like autumn leaves, you quietly made your way to the front door. The bell above gave a faint chime as you opened it and stepped into the dusky twilight

You looked out at the fading sun, your jaw tightening as you reached up and flipped the wooden sign to closed. The familiar scrape of it swinging into place felt heavier tonight. You didn’t want your usuals wandering in, recognizing faces from stories they'd only half-believed, or—worse—asking questions you’d buried under hearth and routine.

When you returned inside, your two staff members were waiting by the counter, mid-laugh over something. You didn’t smile.

“Here,” you said, pressing coin into their palms, “Head home early. Lock the back on your way out.”

They exchanged glances. One opened her mouth to protest—you never sent them off this abruptly—but you shook your head with a tone that brooked no argument. “Not tonight.”

A beat of silence passed. Then, with hesitant nods, they slipped away. As their footsteps faded, the inn fell into a deeper quiet. It was just you and the Fellowship now.

You lit the hearth anew and began preparing a meal: roasted root vegetables, venison stew, fresh loaves warmed over coals. The motions were old, soothing—until a familiar footfall approached behind you.

“I remember when you could barely cook a rabbit over a fire,” Legolas said lightly.

You didn’t turn. “And I remember when you were insufferable.”

“That cannot be true,” he said with a faint laugh.

Your hands stilled over the chopping board. You breathed in through your nose.

“I was not the one who kept dwarves as company.”

You exhaled slowly. The knife in your hand trembled.

“Don’t.”

His grin faded instantly.

“Don’t bring them into this,” you said, voice hoarse. “I live with their ghosts every day.”

Legolas was silent for a long moment. You resumed chopping, though your cuts were no longer even. Each thunk of the blade echoed too loudly in the warm space between you.

“I thought you might want to remember them,” he said softly.

“I do remember them. Every night. Every time I close my eyes. Kili, grinning as he handed me his last dried pear. Thorin, bloody and dying in the mud, telling me—” Your voice cracked, and you pressed your fist to your mouth. “You don’t get to walk in here and open that door, Legolas. Not like this.”

A long silence stretched. You kept your back to him.

Finally, he said, “I am sorry. Truly. I didn’t come to wound you.”

You swallowed, forcing the knot in your throat down, back into the place where you kept it buried.

“I know,” you said at last.

He didn’t leave. But he didn’t press. You felt him step closer, and for a moment his presence was a comfort—but still a dangerous one. A reminder of who you were. Of what the road takes.

And still… it stirred something in you. Something old. Something that had once burned with purpose.

You set the knife down and stared into the hearth.

The inn was warm now, the fire casting golden light over old wood and tired faces. The Fellowship ate in relative quiet, grateful for the food and for the brief peace. You worked behind the bar, polishing mugs and pretending not to watch them.

But you felt it. The way some of them looked at you with curiosity, as if trying to place you—not just as an innkeeper, but as someone... else.

Frodo was the one who finally broke the silence.

“You were in Bilbo’s journal,” he said gently.

You looked up, a mug still in your hand. “Was I?”

He nodded, setting down his spoon. “There was a drawing—almost like a sketch from memory. A half-elf woman with a braid down her back, and a scar across her temple.” His eyes flicked to the faint mark just beneath your hairline, still visible in the flicker of firelight. “He said you moved like moonlight with a blade. That you fought like someone trying to outrun the end of the world.”

You didn’t speak at first. You returned to your task, cloth circling the rim of the mug, slower now.

“Aye,” you murmured at last, “That was a long time ago.”

Aragorn watched you then, thoughtful, but said nothing. The room held a breath.

Frodo’s voice was quiet. “He wrote about how you fought in the Battle of the Five Armies. Said you moved with the grace of the Eldar—but when you struck, there was something in it... a fury, raw and burning. Like the world had wronged you.”

You paused again. Set the mug down.

“He wasn’t wrong,” you said, your voice steady, though your eyes flicked to the fire. “I lost my brothers that day. Kili... and Thorin. Perhaps not by blood, but in every way that matters.”

“I’m sorry,” Frodo said, with the quiet sincerity only someone still young in the world can offer.

You nodded once. “We all carry ghosts. Mine just sit closer to the skin.”

Legolas, across the room, didn’t look at you, but his hand rested lightly on the hilt of his blade—as though remembering the same battle. The same blood.

“I remember that journal,” he said quietly. “Bilbo called you Eluneth—Moon-blessed. Said you were the only one who could outdrink Bofur and outrun a Warg in the same night.”

That pulled the faintest smile from you. “He embellished.”

“No,” Gimli grunted, lifting his mug, “He didn’t. Bofur still complains about it.”

A small ripple of laughter lightened the air, but your smile didn’t reach your eyes. Your fingers curled around the bar’s edge.

Frodo tilted his head, studying you. “If you were part of Thorin’s Company… why did you stop?”

You looked at him, really looked. At the way his shoulders tensed with questions and quiet burden.

“Because I gave enough to the road,” you said simply. “It took my youth, my friends, and my peace. I thought if I built something steady, something safe… maybe the world would leave me be.”

“And has it?” Aragorn asked, his voice low.

You met his gaze. “You tell me. You’re sitting in my hall with war on your heels.”

The silence that followed was heavier than before.

You picked up the next mug and began to polish again. “Eat while the food’s warm. Sleep while the roof holds. Tomorrow, the world finds you again.”

And as you turned away, your voice softened to a whisper meant only for yourself.

“It always does.”

The inn had gone still. The fire burned low, its glow casting soft shadows across the stone hearth. The mugs were cleaned, the food cleared away. The Fellowship had long since retreated to their rooms or bedrolls, lulled by warmth and weariness.

But you sat alone in a worn chair near the fire, half-empty bottle of mead at your side, boots kicked off, legs curled beneath you. One hand rested on your knee, the other held a cup you hadn’t taken a sip from in a while. You stared into the flames, jaw slack, thoughts thick with the weight of old wounds.

The softest creak of floorboards stirred your awareness, but you didn’t look up. You knew who it would be.

Legolas appeared like a memory made flesh, moving without sound until he stood just beyond the firelight, arms loose at his sides, hair unbound from travel.

“You always drank honey-mead when you were thinking too much,” he said, a half-smile on his lips.

You raised the cup, but still didn’t drink. “And you always appear when I least want company.”

He tilted his head, undeterred. “Then I’m exactly where I need to be.”

You sighed, glancing sideways as he stepped closer and took the seat opposite you. For a moment, he just watched the fire with you, like you were back in some forgotten camp beneath the stars.

“I was thinking,” he began, tone light, “about the first time I saw you. You were being dragged into Thranduil’s halls, soaked to the skin, shouting at Glóin for getting you caught.”

You snorted softly. “He did get us caught. He sneezed. Loudly.”

“I remember.” He smiled wider now. “And you, snapping at the guards in three different languages before turning that fury on me.”

“I didn’t know who you were.”

“You called me a pompous tree-weasel.”

You choked on a laugh and finally sipped your drink. “Sounds like me.”

He leaned back slightly, eyes gleaming with some old, private amusement. “But I watched you. Even then. I couldn’t place what you were—elf and human both, but more than either. You didn’t carry yourself like someone trapped. You watched the halls like a soldier would. Like you were already planning how to get out.”

You didn’t answer. The fire cracked softly between you.

“When you escaped with the dwarves,” he continued, voice lowering, “I told my father I saw you leap into a barrel like it was a warhorse. And later, in the woods—when you fired into the trees to cover their retreat—your arrows flew like mine. No hesitation. No fear.”

Your jaw clenched. “You don’t have to say these things.”

“I’m not saying them to flatter you.” He leaned forward slightly, hands resting on his knees. “I’ve met warriors across all the ages. Elves, men, even the proudest Dwarves. But I never forgot the look on your face that day. You weren’t fighting to win. You were fighting not to lose anyone else.”

A beat passed. You looked into the fire, and for the first time that night, your voice wavered.

“I loved them. Not all of them—but enough to bleed for. To die for.”

“I know.”

“I would have taken Thorin’s place in that final charge,” you said quietly. “I would have stood before Azog myself if I thought it would’ve bought him another breath.”

Silence wrapped the room again.

“I think that’s why I watched you,” he said. “Because I knew—if I blinked, I’d miss you burning.”

You met his gaze now. And there it was: the truth of it, sitting between you like a long-unspoken vow.

“I’m tired, Legolas,” you whispered. “And I don’t know what I have left to give.”

He reached out, not touching, just resting his hand close to yours on the armrest. “Then don’t give anything. Not tonight. Just sit with me. Let the ghosts rest for a while.”

You looked down at his hand, then at the fire. And though you didn’t say it, you didn’t pull away either.

In the silence that followed, there was no war, no crown, no past. Just you, and the elf who never stopped watching.

The fire had burned low, now little more than glowing embers nestled in ash. The bottle beside you was empty, your cup untouched for hours. Legolas had fallen asleep in the chair across from you, arms folded, head tilted slightly to the side, his expression softer than you’d ever seen it in battle or daylight.

You watched him for a while, feeling a strange pull of comfort and sorrow. He always looked younger in sleep. Less of a prince, more of the curious elf who had once tried to understand why you, a half-blood stranger, would ever choose to walk with dwarves into death.

But sleep didn’t come for you—not anymore.

The silence wrapped itself around you like a too-tight cloak, and slowly, the weight of memory began to stir.

There’s a flicker in the fire and suddenly you were laughing again. The clamor of a camp at the edge of Mirkwood, Bofur’s wild song about mountain goats and bad ale ringing in your ears. Kili throwing a twig at you because you said he couldn’t grow a real beard yet. You’d thrown it back, striking him square in the forehead.

“Tell me I’m not the prettiest one in this company,” he had said once, arms spread dramatically. “Go on, say it. You can’t, can you?”

You had smirked, braid half-undone, fingers calloused from the bowstring. “You’re lucky you’re not my type.”

He’d clutched his heart as if you’d shot him, then winked and walked off into the trees.

The warmth twisted.

Another flicker—and you were in Erebor.

Blood in your mouth. Thorin’s hand in yours, his grip weak, eyes clouded with too much pain.

“I was wrong,” he said, voice rasping like wind through broken stone. “I see it now. I see you.”

You had begged him to hold on. Promised him that the sun would rise, and that he would see the mountain whole again. But his breath had rattled in his chest—and stilled.

You had sat there for a long time, knuckles white around the hilt of your blade. Kili lay not far. Fili, already taken.

Only silence answered you.

You pressed your fingers to your eyes, willing the sting away, but it clung, thick as smoke.

“I should’ve stayed,” you whispered, barely audible. “I should’ve done more.”

The ghosts didn’t answer. They never did. But the ache of their absence filled the room all the same.

And yet...

There were other memories too. Softer ones. Bifur teaching you Dwarvish insults you were far too proud of. Balin telling stories until sleep took him mid-sentence. Bombur slipping you extra rations when you looked pale. Thorin, once, catching you singing in Elvish to calm your nerves and saying nothing—just sitting beside you, silent, as though listening to a memory he couldn’t name.

And Legolas. Always watching from the edge. Distant at first. Then fascinated. Then something else.

The present curled around your shoulders again, and you looked over at him, still fast asleep in the chair, the rise and fall of his chest steady.

You reached for the blanket draped over the nearby bench, quietly laying it across him. He stirred but didn’t wake.

As you sat back down, hands loose in your lap, you whispered into the dim room:

“I don't know if I can face another war. But maybe… I don't want to be the last of us, either.”

You didn’t sleep that night. But for the first time in years, you didn’t feel completely alone in the dark.

Dawn crept in slowly, brushing the sky in pale blue and soft gold. Birds sang tentative notes outside your shuttered windows, but the inn remained hushed.

The hearth was cold now. The chairs had been returned to their places. Tables were wiped clean, mugs polished and shelved, the rooms above emptied of guest linens. The scent of firewood and rosemary lingered, but your inn—the life you had built to keep the world out—was closed.

Literally.

The sign on the door now read “Gone traveling. Indefinitely."

When the Fellowship awoke, one by one, they descended the stairs expecting breakfast and soft beds to still be theirs. Instead, they found you standing near the door, your pack slung over one shoulder, traveling leathers worn like a second skin, bow strapped to your back, and a dagger resting easily at your hip.

Sam blinked in confusion. “Are you… going somewhere, miss?”

You gave a nod, small but sure. “Aye. With you.”

Frodo froze mid-step. “You’re—what?”

“I packed light,” you said, adjusting the strap on your shoulder. “Can’t say I’m thrilled about sleeping under stars again, but…” You trailed off, eyes briefly scanning the group before settling on Legolas.

He was already watching you.

There was no surprise in his face. No shock like the others. Only a quiet calm. Like a note held long and true finally finding its resolution.

“I knew it,” he said, lips tugging into a faint smile.

Aragorn stepped forward, brows knit. “What changed your mind?”

You met his gaze evenly. “Nothing. Everything. I remembered that the world doesn’t stop turning just because I pretend it has. And if it falls while I sit behind a bar, what did I survive for?”

Even Gimli seemed speechless for a moment. “Hmph. Well. If you’re coming along, I hope you still remember how to march.”

“Better than you remember how to bathe,” you quipped.

That drew a snort from Boromir and a laugh from Merry and Pippin, breaking the stunned silence.

As they gathered their things, still murmuring about your choice, Legolas stepped closer, his voice low for only you.

“You were never going to stay behind,” he said, almost gently.

You looked up at him, your voice steady. “No. But I had to believe I would, until I didn’t.”

He nodded once. “Then let us walk forward. Together this time.”

You studied him a long moment, then gave a small, wry smile.

“Try to keep up, princeling.”

You pushed open the door, letting in the crisp morning air. The road waited, as it always had.

But this time, you didn’t face it alone.

The quiet had ended.

The road to Moria had been long and steep, but nothing compared to the cold weight that settled on your chest the moment you passed through the threshold of the once-great dwarven realm.

Darkness clung to the air like dust, and even your elven blood couldn’t soothe the dread coiling in your gut. These were not halls of glory now, not the shining marvel Gimli had spoken of with such pride.

They were tombs.

Your steps echoed too loudly as you walked. The Fellowship moved in a hush, each bootfall and breath drawing the stone’s attention like an unwanted guest.

Gimli had fallen silent long ago.

You watched him, the way he held his axe tight to his chest like a lifeline, eyes wide as he passed shattered archways and collapsed pillars. His gaze darted toward dark corners, as if hoping—aching—for a familiar face to emerge.

But none came.

And then you reached the Chamber of Records.

The skeletons lay still where they had fallen. Weapons rusted. Dust thick on old shields. It was not war that filled the space now, but mourning.

Gimli moved to the tomb at the center like a man in a dream. You followed without meaning to.

He brushed aside what little remained of a helm and whispered a name: “Balin.”

You froze.

Balin.

Old, kind, sharp-eyed Balin—who once told you riddles on long rides and always made you take the last bit of stew. Balin, who had held your hand when Thorin died, his voice cracking as he promised to carry the king’s memory home.

Your throat closed.

“He was the best of us,” you murmured.

Gimli’s shoulders shook. “He was our hope. Our history. And now—he is dust.”

You stepped forward, placing a hand gently on his arm.

“He believed in this place,” you said. “And if he had known it would take him, I think he would have come anyway. That was the kind of dwarf he was.”

Gimli didn’t speak, but he nodded once, tightly.

“I thought the ghosts I carried were mine alone,” you continued, voice softer. “But grief… it finds us all. And when it does, it binds us.”

He turned to you, eyes wet and fierce. “Do they ever stop speaking to you? The ones you lost?”

You hesitated, your gaze falling to Balin’s tomb.

“No,” you said. “But sometimes, they stop screaming.”

A long moment passed between you—two remnants of the Company, survivors of a story carved in blood and stone. Then Gimli nodded again, slower this time, and placed a rough hand over yours.

“Thank you,” he said.

You squeezed back. “We’ll carry them forward. As we always have.”

Behind you, the Fellowship waited in silence. Even Legolas, usually still and watchful, looked at you now not with curiosity, but understanding.

The grief had found you both. And for this moment, you bore it together.

They came like shadows with blades—goblins pouring from the walls, the ceilings, the dark. The tomb of Balin was barely behind you when the Fellowship was forced into motion, swords drawn, feet pounding over cold stone.

You loosed arrows until your fingers ached, each one flying true—some finding skulls, others throats—but they kept coming.

“RUN!” Gandalf’s voice cracked through the chaos, ancient and fierce.

The Fellowship fled, boots striking the echoing halls of Moria. Behind you, the goblins shrieked, relentless, swarming like ants through the cracks in the stone.

The drums of war pounded.

Dum. Dum. DUM.

You passed dark pits and crumbling bridges, pillars shattered by time. You didn’t dare slow. You barely breathed.

And then came the heat.

A low rumble.

A deeper shadow.

The Balrog.

It wasn’t just fire. It was rage made flesh, born from the ancient pits of a forgotten world. You stopped when you saw it—just for a heartbeat—but Gandalf didn’t.

He turned on the Bridge of Khazad-dûm, staff in hand, sword gleaming like starlight in the dark.

“This foe is beyond any of you. Run!”

You didn’t want to leave. Every part of you screamed to stay.

But Aragorn pulled Frodo. Boromir shielded the hobbits. Legolas grabbed your arm as you hesitated, your eyes locked on the wizard’s back.

“Go,” he said. “Now.”

You stumbled forward, breath ragged, until you stood with the others at the far end of the bridge. Just in time to see the Balrog crash forward—flames licking the stone as it advanced.

And Gandalf—brave, maddening, kind Gandalf—stood alone.

“You shall not pass!”

The blast of light from his staff shattered the dark for one blinding moment. The Balrog faltered—then fell, crashing into the abyss.

Relief struck—until the whip lashed back, curling around Gandalf’s ankles.

You saw his eyes then. Not fear, not regret.

Resolve.

“Fly, you fools—!”

And then he was gone.

Silence fell.

And it screamed.

You didn’t remember how you escaped the mountain. Only that your feet moved and the world blurred and somehow, sunlight burned your eyes when you emerged from the tunnel.

The Fellowship collapsed to the grass and stone. Frodo sobbed quietly. Sam sat staring at the dirt. Gimli hung his head in shaking silence.

You stood apart from them.

Legolas approached, hesitant. “We must move on—”

“Don’t,” you snapped, voice sharp.

He paused, his expression faltering.

You turned to him, and for the first time in years, your grief burned through the surface like wildfire through dry wood.

“I have already lost Balin in this cursed mountain. And now I’ve lost Gandalf too.” Your voice cracked. “And it’s only just begun.”

Legolas reached for you—slowly, gently—but you stepped back.

“I don’t know how much grief I have left to carry,” you whispered. “And I don’t know what’s left of me when it runs out.”

He didn’t speak.

You looked down at your hands—scarred, steady, stained by years of blood—and saw the ghosts rise behind your eyes.

Balin, laughing over a campfire.

“You’ll never beat a dwarf at riddles, lass, but I’ll enjoy watching you try.”

His eyes always twinkled like he saw more than he said.

Gandalf, placing a steadying hand on your shoulder as you trembled in Erebor’s aftermath.

“Even the fiercest fire cools, child. But your spirit—it will forge something new from these ashes.”

You had believed him then.

But now… now the fire only took.

You sat down hard in the grass, legs finally giving out, and stared at the distant sky. The others were quiet. No one had words left.

Even the sun, warm as it was, couldn’t thaw what had been lost.

The Golden Wood greeted you in silence.

The moment you crossed into Lothlórien, it was as if the weight of the world loosened, only slightly, from your shoulders. The air shimmered faintly with magic—ageless, slow, and watching. Sunlight pierced the canopy in golden beams, illuminating the green and gold leaves like fire frozen mid-dance.

The others seemed to feel it too. Their steps grew quieter, breath deeper. The grief from Moria still clung, but here… it was dimmed.

Muted.

You stayed near the back of the Fellowship, your presence quiet and inward. Even Legolas, who normally hovered close, let you be—watching you with unreadable eyes.

Then came the soft sound of approaching boots across leaf-laden ground.

You turned at once, bow half-lifted—then lowered it instantly.

“Haldir,” you breathed.

The elf smiled, and it was like watching a tree in spring—still, serene, but warm beneath the surface.

“I thought the wind smelled of old fire and bowstring,” he said. “I dared not believe it.”

You stepped forward without thought, and for the first time in what felt like days—maybe longer—your posture softened. Haldir’s hand found your shoulder, and yours settled on his forearm, a brief clasp of warriors, friends, kin.

“I did not think I’d see you again,” you murmured.

“I often think the same,” he replied. “And yet, here we are.”

There was laughter in his voice—gentle, low. It stirred something in you that had been buried under stone and blood: memory. Of laughing beneath moonlight. Of shared patrols. Of long talks in old trees about the stars and the silence between them.

With Haldir, there was no past to bleed from. Only stillness. Understanding.

Legolas watched from a few paces away.

He did not speak. But his jaw tightened slightly as your laugh, soft and fleeting, reached his ears—something he hadn’t heard in days. Not since Moria. Not since Gandalf’s fall.

You barely noticed him at first. Only when Haldir led the Fellowship toward the inner woods did you catch the way Legolas lingered back, gaze not on the trees—but on you.

Later, as you stood beneath the trees, hands brushing bark that had seen centuries pass, Legolas finally approached. You didn’t turn.

“I didn’t know you were close with Haldir,” he said.

“He was my first real friend,” you replied, voice distant. “Before the Company. Before Erebor. When I didn’t know which world I belonged to.”

Legolas was quiet for a beat. Then: “You laugh more easily with him.”

You turned to him slowly. “Because he doesn’t ask me how I feel. He knows.”

There was a sharpness in your tone—not cruel, but edged by truth. Legolas flinched, just barely.

“I have tried to be patient,” he said. “To understand.”

“I know,” you said. “And I… I don’t fault you for it.”

You looked away, gaze lost in the gold-lit forest.

“But everything hurts, Legolas. I can’t breathe for the weight of it. Balin, Thorin, Kíli, Fíli—Gandalf.” You shook your head. “I don’t know how to laugh with you. Not yet.”

He said nothing, only studied you with eyes full of sea and silence.

You stepped away. “Give me time. I still want to be near the light. I just don’t know how to stand in it.”

And you left him there, beneath a barren tree—where even the sun seemed reluctant to intrude.

•••

The sky over Helm’s Deep was heavy, dark with the promise of death. Rain lashed the stone walls and wind howled through the crevices like a warning too late to heed.

The keep bustled with urgency—armor strapped on, arrows sorted, blades handed out with shaking hands. You moved among the chaos with steady steps, your cloak already damp, your bow newly strung. You had prepared in silence, your choice already made long before the gates had shut.

Legolas found you as you stepped out from the inner keep, near the passage leading to the women and children. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the sword at your hip, the set of your jaw, the steel in your eyes.

“You’re not going,” he said, water running down his cheeks like tears he would never let fall.

“No,” you replied simply.

“You’re meant to be with the others—”

“With the helpless?” you cut in sharply. “You forget who I am, Legolas.”

“I forget nothing,” he hissed, stepping forward. “But you were supposed to survive this. Do you not understand what’s coming?”

“I do,” you said. “And I’ll face it.”

He looked at you, truly looked at you, as if seeing the shadow of every battle you’d ever survived and fearing this one would be your last.

“I’ve already watched you fall once,” he said, voice low, taut. “When you lost them. Kíli, Thorin, Gandalf. You say you don’t know how much grief you have left—but do you know how much I have? How much more I can bear if you fall too?”

You looked away, breath catching.

“I’m not a memory to protect, Legolas. I’m not something fragile to lock away.”

“No,” he said. “You’re not fragile. But you are—” he stopped, jaw clenched, the words fighting their way out. “You are important. To me.”

That gave you pause.

The rain softened. For a moment, the world blurred around you, only his face in focus—his pain, his fear, his heart laid bare in the spaces between sentences.

“I’m still going,” you said, more gently this time.

He nodded, slowly. “Then I stay with you. On the wall. Not a step behind.”

You gave a quiet breath of what might have been a laugh, or a sigh. “Then try to keep up, princeling.”

He almost smiled—but it didn’t reach his eyes.

As the horns of war blew in the distance and the thunder of Uruk-hai boots echoed closer, you stood together on the ramparts. He watched the enemy. But sometimes, you felt his gaze shift to you—sharp, quick, as though checking you were still there.

Still standing.

Still his.

The night deepened. The sky wept.

Beneath the thunder and screams of wind, the walls of Helm’s Deep trembled. The Uruk-hai approached like a black sea, endless, armored, merciless.

You stood on the battlement beside Legolas, scanning the dark, arrow ready. His expression was unreadable, though his hand never strayed far from his quiver. Every so often, his eyes flicked to you—not in doubt, but in worry worn raw.

Then came the horns.

Not the harsh blares of the enemy—but something ancient. High. Clear.

Hope.

The gates creaked open and light spilled in—silver cloaks, golden armor, moonlit helms gleaming beneath the rain.

Elves.

And at their head—Haldir.

You froze, a breath caught in your throat, disbelieving.

He moved like moonlight through mist, every step purposeful, calm amidst the storm. And when he saw you on the wall, his smile broke through the rain like dawn.

You descended the stone steps as he approached. The moment you reached him, you embraced—not as warriors, but as those who had feared they'd never meet again.

“I hoped,” you whispered. “But I didn’t dare believe it.”

“Lothlórien does not forget its own,” he said. “We came as soon as Galadriel sent word.”

You pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes. “You always arrive when I need you most.”

A flicker of amusement touched his features. “Isn’t that what friends are for?”

Nearby, Legolas stood still as stone. His gaze hadn’t left you.

He watched the ease in your voice, the soft warmth you rarely showed. The way Haldir touched your arm when he spoke, the familiarity in your closeness. A part of him hated it—hated that Haldir saw a version of you he feared he no longer could reach.

Later, as the elves took positions and soldiers prepared for the siege, you and Haldir stood beneath the battlements, heads bowed close in quiet conversation.

He looked at you, studying your face. “There is pain in you.”

You nodded. “There always is.”

“But there is strength too,” he said. “Even when you forget it.”

You offered him a tired smile. “That’s why I keep you around. To remind me.”

Haldir placed a hand over yours. “And I always will.”

Above, Legolas stood watching, eyes narrowing just slightly.

He had never been jealous of Haldir’s grace, his skill, his rank. But this—the effortless way Haldir stood beside you, anchored you—this unsettled something in his chest.

Not because Haldir had it.

Because he used to.

The horns sounded again—closer now. The enemy was nearly upon you.

And still, you stood beside Haldir. And Legolas waited, bow in hand, fire in his heart.

The night would be long. Blood would fall like rain.

But not before Legolas promised himself: Whatever the morning held—he would be the one standing beside you when it came.

The sun rose, but it did not warm you.

The battlefield stretched beneath it like a scar—black blood soaked into the mud, bodies sprawled across the ruined stone and grass. The air reeked of smoke, steel, and silence.

You stood where Haldir had fallen.

His body had already been taken, wrapped in elven cloth and carried with reverence by the survivors of Lothlórien. But you had stayed behind, rooted, staring at the bloodstained spot where he had died defending the wall at your side.

He had smiled at you, even as the blade struck true.

And you had screamed—only once—but it had broken something in your throat.

You hadn’t spoken since.

You didn’t hear Legolas approaching until his hand wrapped gently around your arm.

“You should rest.”

You didn’t move.

He stepped in front of you, his face pale beneath the dirt and ash, his eyes rimmed red—not with tears, but restraint. “You fought with honor. He did too.”

Your voice was a rasp. “You pulled me back.”

A beat of silence.

“Yes,” he said. “You would have died.”

“I was ready to,” you snapped, stepping back from him. “We were overrun. I was going to cover the retreat and you—” your voice broke, rage surging into the hollow place grief had carved—“You should have let me go!”

Legolas flinched as if struck.

“I could have died beside him. I should have—” your voice cracked, your fists clenched, “—instead you dragged me back, again, and I’ve lost another piece of myself—”

“Because I can’t lose you too!” he shouted, voice sharp and cutting through the morning like an arrow loosed in fury.

You froze.

He stood there, eyes wild, chest heaving, all the composure of an elven prince burned away by the fire of emotion long held back.

“I watched you grieve them all,” he said, voice quieter now but trembling. “Thorin. Kíli. Fíli. Balin. Gandalf. Haldir—gods, even Haldir. And every time, I saw something break in you.”

He stepped forward, unflinching. “And I stayed quiet. I stayed patient. I gave you space because I thought it’s what you needed—but I—” he faltered, then whispered, “I love you.”

The words hung between you like a war cry stilled in the air.

“I have loved you from the moment you argued with me in the Woodland Realm, stubborn and wild and brave. I watched you fight beside Kíli and Thorin. I watched you mourn them, one by one. And still, I loved you.”

Tears had slipped down your cheeks before you realized they’d come.

“I couldn’t let you go,” he said. “Not when I’ve already watched you die in pieces.”

You stared at him, all the fury ebbing into pain.

“I don’t know how to be what I was,” you whispered.

“You don’t have to be,” he said, stepping closer. “Just be with me. Whatever pieces you have left—I’ll carry them too.”

You let out a shuddering breath.

And finally, your forehead dropped to his chest, the storm within you breaking. His arms wrapped around you, steady and warm.

There were no promises. No healing words.

But in that moment, grief found company. And that was enough.

The final battle was chaos.

Fire lit the sky in sickening hues—red, orange, and gold twisting like dragons of ruin above the field. Screams tore through the clamor of clashing steel. The very earth trembled beneath the weight of death.

You had lost sight of Legolas.

Not for long—barely minutes—but it felt like a lifetime in the heart of war.

You fought like instinct made flesh, your blade slick with blood, arrows gone. The battlefield blurred around you, faces unrecognizable, only movement and threat. But when you spotted the flash of silver-blond hair through the smoke, something within you slammed into place.

Legolas.

He was on the rise of a broken wall, drawing his bow, loose and precise—until the enemy swarmed behind him. You screamed his name—he didn’t hear it—and your legs moved before your mind did.

A troll's iron mace came down, fast and merciless.

You hit him hard in the side, sending you both tumbling behind a shattered wall of stone as the blow cracked the earth where he’d stood. You rolled, breathless, until you landed hard, half atop him, body shielding his.

There was silence.

Then—

“I’m fine,” he rasped, blinking at you, winded.

“Don’t say that,” you breathed.

Your hands were braced on his chest, blood—thankfully—was not his. But the fear was.

You were shaking.

“You could’ve died,” you whispered. “You should have—”

“But I didn’t.”

You stared down at him, and for one unguarded moment, you let the horror in your chest bloom. “I can’t—I can’t lose you too.”

His breath caught. His hands came up to gently hold your wrists. “You won’t.”

Tears stung your eyes—hot, unwelcome. You pressed your forehead to his, trying to steady your breathing as the sounds of war surged around you once more.

“Still here,” he whispered. “I’m still here.”

You closed your eyes.

You hadn’t made him any promises. You still weren’t sure if you could. But you could hold him close for now. You could fight for his life like he had fought for yours.

For once, it was not about loss.

It was about not letting go.

The White City gleamed beneath the morning sun, banners fluttering high above the citadel. Flowers carpeted the stone, thrown by joyful hands, the scent of hope and new beginnings thick in the air.

Aragorn stood crowned and robed in light, the roar of the crowd still echoing down the mountainside.

You watched from the edge of the crowd, quiet.

For the first time in an age, there was no battle ahead. No blood under your fingernails. No grief hiding behind your teeth.

Just stillness.

And you didn’t quite know what to do with it.

You lingered until the sun began to lower, until the crowd thinned, until the laughter dimmed to celebration-song in distant halls.

And then he found you.

Legolas.

He approached without armor, dressed in white and silver that caught the dying light, golden hair gleaming. He looked like he’d stepped out of a song—ageless, beautiful, unreal. But when he smiled at you, tired and small, he looked only like himself.

“I didn’t think you’d stay this long,” he said gently.

“I didn’t think I would either,” you admitted.

You stood side by side in the garden, the flowers beneath your boots crushed underfoot, the sounds of merriment muffled by trees and stone.

“It’s over,” he said. “And we’re still standing.”

You let out a soft breath. “Somehow.”

You looked at him then—really looked. And for the first time, there was no fog of war, no heavy grief veiling your gaze. You were just… you. Bruised. Whole. Tired. Alive.

“I thought if we made it here, I’d know what to say,” you murmured.

Legolas turned to face you, head tilted. “And do you?”

“No,” you said honestly. “But I know what I feel.”

His eyes searched yours, and you saw it there—hope, held back so long it looked like sorrow.

“You pulled me from the edge,” you whispered. “Again and again. Even when I didn’t want you to.”

“Because I love you,” he said, quiet and sure, no hesitation now.

You reached up, fingers brushing his jaw. “Then you should know... I’m not whole. I may never be.”

“I don’t need you whole,” he said, leaning in so your foreheads touched. “I only need you *with me*.”

You closed your eyes, the warmth of his skin grounding you. Your hand found his, fingers threading between his own, and this time—you didn’t pull away.

No promises.

But something stronger.

A beginning.

#imagines #imagine #fandom request #requests are open #imagine requests #x reader #requests #love #lord of the rings #lord of the rings x reader #the hobbit beorn #the hobbit #legolas imagine #legolas x reader #legolas #elf #reader insert

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rivendell-poet · 9 months ago

Note

Could I request headcanons for how the Fellowship would react to a 10th member but who talks like Deadpool? Like sassy, doesn’t shut up, and frankly crude.

No worries if you don’t want to do this, I personally just think it could be interesting but can’t think of how to write anything about it.

First - thank you so, so much for the request! Will admit I haven't watched any Deadpool movies - but I have just watched 'deadpool being deadpool for almost 6 minutes', so... there's something. Mainly focused on them being sassy/crude/not shutting up.

Hope you enjoy, and that this was what you're looking for <3

*･༓˚✧❝𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐬𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐲/𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐡-𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐫❞‧͙⁺˚༓˚✧ « headcanons »

○ Aragorn ○ Legolas ○ Gimli ○ Boromir ○ Frodo ○ Sam ○ Merry ○ Pippin ○

GN!Reader | No TWs | Can be read as platonic or romantic

��𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐧

✧ Honestly, Aragorn doesn’t particularly mind. He doesn’t love it, but there’s no real negative feelings either.

✧ He’s spent a lot of his life with rangers and soldiers in the wilderness, you aren’t the only person who’s been crude around him before.

✧ Would laugh if you said something particularly funny, or smile if the situation isn’t entirely appropriate to be laughing in.

✧ Aragorn has no problems with you being talkative, it’s nice to have someone who can fill the silence and carry the conversation.

✧ The only exception is when he’s trying to be the diplomat of the group - he’s already having to deal with Gimli, and doesn’t particularly want to deal with a second person.

✧ Normally he’ll just remind you beforehand, and ask that if you do make any comments he shouldn’t be able to hear them.

✧ If you continue to do it he will set up the Middle Earth equivalent of a swear jar, but for bad diplomatic incidents.

𝐋𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐬

✧ There’s definitely a bit of a culture shock. Not only for him being an elf, but for him being a prince.

✧ In some ways he finds it very interesting, and will listen to your insults - sometimes committing them to memory.

✧ He’ll sometimes joke that you and Gimli are trying to corrupt him, to which only Gimli takes offence at.

✧ Agreed that Aragorn’s rule of ‘keep the insults quiet’ was a good one until he realises he can still hear them.

✧ Aragorn is equally exasperated at the two of you when you mutter a sassy comment and Legolas tries (badly) not to laugh or smile at it.

✧ Legolas is delighted by the sass, and on some days he wonders what his father would be like if he didn’t have a filter (sometimes with you in mind).

✧ Talking is also something he’s fine with, but he can get overstimulated more easily than the average person. He’s always very apologetic when he realises he’s approaching his limits, but is grateful you respect his boundaries.

𝐆𝐢𝐦𝐥𝐢

✧ If there’s one person who can be counted on to laugh at your jokes and crudeness, it’s Gimli.

✧ He always appreciates your input to the conversation, not just because of the jokes but also the insults.

✧ (Insults you have heard him use later down the line.)

✧ Although Gimli’s ears aren’t good enough to hear the jokes you mutter under your breath, he knows Legolas well enough to tell when the elf wants to laugh.

✧ Once the talking is over he’ll go to one of you two, eagerly asking what you’ve said.

✧ Will keep up with you talking a lot, generally conversing but is a good listener - nodding a lot and making the appropriate noises.

✧ When he’s working on something, like sharpening his axe, he’ll often ask you to talk so he doesn’t get bored.

✧ (Is very disappointed in you and him losing the drinking competition (if you participated). He knows a human shouldn’t be able to out-drink an elf, but you deserve to.)

𝐁𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐫

✧ Has an odd conflict of interests. On one hand, he’s supposed to be a diplomat and a lot of his company is more careful around him. On the other hand, he is a very charismatic soldier - so of course he’s heard a lot of crude jokes (a lot of which were about him).

✧ As long as it’s not an important scenario, he’ll generally grin at them - occasionally laugh if he feels they’re funny enough.

✧ (He’s uncomfortable if you make comments about certain people/things, like his family, but doesn’t truly hold it against you. He just goes quiet for a short while.)

✧ Would have loved to see you and Faramir try to interact and see how long it takes for one of you two to crack.

✧ Is great at listening to you talk a lot, and is also good at being an audience (see, Faramir).

✧ Wishes the men in Gondor’s army who told these kinds of jokes had half as good a sense of humour as you do.

✧ You don’t realise it at the time, but they’re a good measure of how much the ring’s influencing him; he doesn’t smile as easily when he’s struggling under it.

𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐨

✧ Has the same outlook on you that he does upon first meeting Strider.

✧ You’re not entirely his cup of tea, and there’s some parts of you that do make him uncomfortable, but he still trusts you and knows you’ll protect him.

✧ He’s also Bilbo Baggins’ nephew - of course he doesn’t mind the sass, it’s something both of them have.

✧ There’s a part of him that’s envious at how confident you are with it, although he’s proud that Gandalf tolerates when he’s sassy a lot more than when you’re sassy.

✧ Frodo isn’t great with the crudeness, it’s also a culture shock for him, but he slowly gets eased into it.

✧ It’s something he’ll never truly be comfortable with, but at the end of the journey he’s come to accept it as part of who you are.

𝐒𝐚𝐦

✧ Doesn’t deal with it very well.

✧ He’ll never say anything, of course, he’s much too polite for that - but you can see his respectful, Shire-raised heart skip a beat every time you say something too crude or sassy.

✧ Still shows you that he cares in other ways, as you don’t have too much conversation, like by giving you the extras of a meal if Mr. Frodo doesn’t want them, or cooking something you’ve expressed a liking too.

✧ The only time he’ll actually tell you to stop is if it’s about himself or the other hobbits, but it’s a line you don’t cross (or did once and apologised).

✧ As Frodo gets quieter because of the ring, he’s a lot more grateful for your constant talking.

𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲

✧ Is most amused by practically everything you say, particularly the sass.

✧ It’s something that he tries to master from you, listening carefully.

✧ Every now and then you’ll say something, and then a much quieter mumble can be heard from him as he tries to practise. He gets rather good at it.

✧ Will laugh at the crudeness, although it’s not humour he’ll ever pick up - and it is a bit of a culture shock.

✧ Will forever mourn the fact you didn’t get to sass the Entmoot. (Secretly, he was trying to channel a little of you when he spoke to them).

✧ Merry is also glad that Pippin isn’t the only one Gandalf yells at.

𝐏𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧

✧ For taking even some of Gandalf’s mild annoyance, you’re a saint to him.

✧ Him and Merry are often the only ones who will truly keep up with you in conversations, and it isn’t uncommon for the three of you to start talking when you first walk for the day and only stop when you set out camp.

✧ Occasionally, if he’s being told off by Gandalf you’ll be behind him and making stupid faces - something he doesn’t appreciate because of course he laughs at them.

✧ And then he laughs at you for getting told off as well.

✧ Pippin is the only other person to be subjected to the Middle Earth diplomatic-swear-jar, and it’s for laughing at your comments.

✧ He just forgets it’s supposed to be serious, and wants to have a good time with you.

✧ The only hobbit that may tell the occasional crude joke, although it’s not something he does often and he sometimes feels odd after.

✧ Does introduce you to Faramir, mainly because he’s a servant of chaos.

« 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 » « masterlist of my works »

Bonus : Gandalf is in a permanent love/hate relationship with you. The fellowship have a betting pool on who he's going to end up yelling more at by the end of the journey, you or Pippin.

thank you for reading *･༓˚✧ wish to be tagged?

#lotr x reader #lotr headcanons #tenth walker #x reader #reader insert #gender neutral reader #the fellowship x reader #the fellowship of the ring #aragorn x reader #legolas x reader #gimli x reader #boromir x reader #pippin x reader #merry x reader #platonic or romantic #headcanons

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ironmandeficiency · 2 years ago

Text

the fellowship + romance

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

word count: 1177

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

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

aragorn 🗡️

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

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

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

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

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

boromir 🍻

this man is so damn tactile it’s ridiculous

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

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

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

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

gimli 🛡️

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

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

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

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

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

legolas 🏹

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

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

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

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

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

pippin 🥕

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

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

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

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

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

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

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the-wandering-wonder · 1 year ago

Text

By The River

I was rewatching Lord of the Rings, and oof. I now remember why I swooned over Orlando Bloom so much as a teenager...

Pairing: Legolas x Reader

Word Count: 1,334

Rating: T (angst)

Chapter: 1/1

Summary: You've grown quite fond of Legolas, but when he disappears without so much as a word, your world is turned upside down.

You walk slowly towards the river Bruinen, occasionally glancing up at the clear night sky. A handful of trees litter the path of the river, marking where the beauty of Rivendell merges with the beauty of the forest. You take in a deep breath as you approach a particular beech tree, one that was slowly becoming your favourite.

You smile to yourself as you hear the feet landing behind you, slowing for just a moment as you see the familiar blond elf falling into step alongside you.

“It’s a beautiful night.” Legolas breaks the silence.

You merely hum in agreement, glancing at him with a soft smile, one that he returns.

You couldn’t quite remember how long you two had shared this routine, but he was always there, every night, ready to join you in your walks along the edge of the forest. Most nights you spoke, joking and laughing, but some nights, you enjoyed the simple silence, interrupted only by animals in the distance or the whistling of the wind. Truth be told (but never to Legolas himself) he was the reason you enjoyed your walk so much.

You eventually find yourself paused at the riverbank, looking down at the moonlight reflecting along the rippling waters. A breeze whips around you and you shiver, exhaling softly as you wrap your arms around yourself. You feel a warm presence behind you as Legolas moves to wrap his cloak around your shoulders, his hands resting on your upper arms. Without thought, you lean back into his touch, letting his warmth wash over you.

“Beautiful.” He murmurs.

You tilt your head to glance back at him, finding him gazing down at you, blue eyes sparkling in the moonlight. His hand comes up slowly, resting along the hollow of your throat, his thumb and forefinger pressing up against your jaw, lifting your face to meet his. He dips his head down, tentatively brushing his lips over yours before pulling back and letting his hand return to its place on your arm. Your lips part slightly, but no words come, so you give him a soft smile instead, letting your head fall back to rest against his shoulder as your gaze returns to the waters of the river Bruinen.

~~~~~~~~

The next day, you find yourself busy, running small errands for the council. But Legolas remains in the back of your mind, his soft kiss replaying over and over. Once night falls, you grab your cloak and slip out for your nightly walk. You quickly make your way to the beech tree, pausing for a moment. When all you hear is the rustling of the water and chirping of birds, you glance around.

“Legolas?” You call out, looking up at the branches.

Your heart begins to race as your elven senses pick up no sign of him.

“Legolas?” You call out again, silently hoping that he had somehow lost track of time.

No answer comes and you feel your breath run short, catching in your throat as your pulse pounds in your ears. You force down a deep breath before turning to run back into the walls of the city. You make your way to the council room, steadying yourself before approaching Elrond, who greets you with a nod of his head before returning to the map he was studying.

“Lord Elrond,” you begin, bowing your head slightly, “have you seen Legolas?”

“He is gone,” the elf responds, “A messenger came from Mirkwood this morning, and he left.”

You feel your heart sink to your stomach as tears prick the corners of your eyes. Your jaw drops slightly as you turn away from Elrond, clenching your fists by your sides.

“This troubles you?”

“I was just-” You pause, unsure of how to explain yourself to the high elf. “I did not know he was leaving.”

“Do not worry for him,” Elrond says, turning to look at you fully, “he will return in time.”

~~~~~~~~

You try to follow Elrond’s advice, busying yourself with whatever you can find and forcing yourself to focus on anything but the thoughts of Legolas. But days soon turn into weeks, then into months. And the Sindar elf does not return. You eat out of habit, on the days that you remember, and hardly ever venture out of the walls of Rivendell. Some days your heart aches as it did when Legolas first left, other days it feels cold and numb.

One day, Elrond, who had kept a distant eye on you as you grieved, approaches you.

“You should take a walk,” he says softly, “the air would do you good, as would the sun.”

“The river reminds me of him,” you admit.

“An unpleasant memory?”

“No, not at all. I just…I miss him.”

You stare at Elrond with glassy eyes, tears threatening to fall. He lets out a small sigh as he places his hand on your shoulder.

“Then go to the river, sit with the memories.”

Elrond gives your shoulder a soft squeeze before turning to walk away. You watch him disappear around the corner before turning your attention to the waterfalls scattered around the city, listening to the sounds of rushing water. You slowly walk through the city, heading towards the waters of the river.

You eventually approach your tree, reaching out to run a hand along the bark as you look down at the flowing water. In the light of the noonday sun, the colour almost matches Legolas’ eyes. A tear slides down your cheek as you turn to lean against the beech, sliding down to the ground and bringing your knees to your chest. Your eyes close as you lean your head back against the tree, losing yourself and letting time fly by.

You hear footsteps in the soft grass and you leap to your feet, turning to face the approaching figure. The sun glints off golden hair and your jaw drops momentarily before you close your eyes, deciding that your eyes are playing a cruel trick.

“No.” You say softly.

You slowly open your eyes, taking in the figure that now stands before you. Piercing eyes stare at you as golden locks flutter in the soft breeze. Legolas…

“I thought you’d left,” you murmur, “never to return.”

“You truly think I would do that?” Legolas tilts his head slightly, striding forward to stand in front of you.

“I didn’t know what to think,” you reply slowly, “you were just…gone. You never even said goodbye.”

“I tried to find you,” the blond elf murmurs, “but I couldn’t. And it was urgent that I return to Mirkwood.”

You take a step back and swallow as you stare at the river again, fingertips digging into the bark of the tree as it presses into your back. Finally bringing your gaze up to meet his, you see pale blue filled with concern and… was that hurt?

“I would never abandon you.”

Legolas’ voice comes out as little more than a whisper as he moves in closer, bringing up a hand to caress the line of your jaw, catching a fresh tear with his thumb. You lean into his touch, closing your eyes as you feel his free hand resting ever-so-lightly on your hip.

“ Melethril…”

Your eyes flutter open as you feel Legolas’ warm breath dancing across your lips, his own within inches. Your hands find purchase on his cloak as his body envelopes yours, your lips finally meeting in a soft kiss. You lean into him as his grip tightens on you, holding you close as your lips mold together. Your lungs begin to ache, but your desire for Legolas pushes all other thoughts back as you cling to him.

Legolas finally breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against yours as you both take in a breath. He tilts his head back to look into your eyes, the intensity of his gaze filling you with warmth. He speaks in a low tone, slowly and assuredly.

“I will always come back to you…”

#legolas #legolas greenleaf #reader insert #legolas x reader #orlando bloom #elrond peredhel #angst with a happy ending #fluff #grief #little bit of romance

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backtothefanfiction · 8 months ago

Text

FELLOWSHIP

PART ONE OF THE GREEN LEAVES TRILOGY.

Summary: Part One follows the storyline of the Fellowship of the Ring. This is a reader insert with a name. (Apart from giving reader a Middle Earth appropriate name and some Elven features there’s no specific descriptors) Raea and Legolas have history, when an old friend calls in your help for a mission it brings up old feelings.

Warnings: 18+, light smut, angst, canon typical warnings, dodgy internet translated elvish, protective Legolas, reader insert no use of Y/N.

Word Count: 3.7k+

A/N: Legolas is honestly my first fictional love from this lifetime. I have wanted to write something for him for years. Seeing a prompt from @imclimbingthestairsoforthanc for more Legolas content a couple months back now really pushed me to work on something. I was just going to post this all as one, but part 2 is getting kind of long and I didn’t want to wait anymore. So I’ve divided it up by the trilogy. Anyway, I hope readers enjoy.

You had always hated Bree. It very rarely saw the sun. It was like it had its own perpetual cloud of rain falling onto the small village, its streets forever a sticky river of mud.

You tried to wipe it off of your shoes, but it was stubborn and persistent, as you made your way through the doors of the Prancing Pony, to meet the old friend who had asked for your council.

“Still sitting brooding in corners and avoiding attention I see.” You say as you sidle up to his table, finally lowering your hood.

“Still hiding your ears, I see.” He merely replies.

It’s true, of course. Ever since you fled Mirkwood after Thranduil made a show of humiliating you for being a half breed and you’d sought out refuge in your Father’s realm of men, you had always made sure to style your hair so that it covered your ears; the only physical indicator, apart from your fair complexion, that gave away your Mother’s Elven lineage.

You held the rangers dark gaze for a moment. The tension crackling between you, before you both broke out in grins.

“Raea.” He sighed in delight.

“Aragorn.” You smiled back, taking a seat at the table beside him.

“It’s been too long.” He says, reaching a hand across the table to you.

“Aye, it has.” You sigh, allowing him to take your hand in his, his thumb rubbing a comfortable greeting across the back of it, before he dropped it once more. “Tell me.” You say pleasantly, yet with an air of caution, “What ails you that you have to seek me out.”

“I have news, from a friend.”

“What friend?” You frown. You fear he means the Prince you once knew and loved, but his tone implies another.

His voice is hushed as he says, “There is an evil roaming these lands.” Your eyes grow concerned as you hold his gaze, recollecting the dark forces you sense drawing nearer, the evil who’s heavy tendrils hang thickly in the air these days, growing ever stronger.

“I have heard rumours.” You say, your voice growing lower as you lean further across the table to the dark haired man; and he you.

“They aren’t just rumors.” He cautions. “They are here- searching.” His voice says, growing urgent. “There is one.” He says lowly, allowing the raucous sounds of the tavern, mask your conversation. “One who has set out on a quest to Rivendell.”

“Who?” You frown, your body leaning even closer.

He doesn’t reply with a name, but instead looks towards a small group of Hobbits, sitting at a table the far side of the room.

“Them?” You question when you turn back towards him.

“I need you to ride ahead to Rivendell. Tell Lord Elrond.”

“But Aragorn, I can’t.”

“Yes you can.”

“I have not been a part of Elven society for many moons. Since before the Mayrond Star fell from the heavens.” You tried to say, growing panicked.

“I would not ask, if it were not dire.” Aragorn pressed.

Your body sagged as you conceded, your gaze falling contemplative to the table before you.

“You must go now.” He urged. “Things will happen this night and you must make haste before they are upon us. Even now as we speak, the power grows stronger.”

You meet his gaze and nod in acknowledgment. “Go now, my dear lady.” He urges once more, his hand reaching out to encompass yours in a brief yet firm squeeze of dismissal.

“Wait for us there. Lord Elrond will grant you shelter.” He attempted to reassure you as you stood.

You gave him a brief nod, raising your hood back over your head, before turning to leave; flashing a brief look to the halflings in question whose fates were to be changed forever.

———————

True to Aragorn’s word, Elrond did provide for you shelter, as you awaited the arrival of the four Hobbits and Aragorn. Upon hearing your message, Elrond’s daughter Arwen fled to help. It was she who now rode quickly back into the Elven City with one of the Hobbits held tightly to her chest. The small dark, curly haired, creature, looked sickly as the beautiful Elven princess brought her horse to a halt in the courtyard.

“What happened?” You asked frantically, as you raced to take the reigns from her, the young hobbit being pulled from atop the horse in front of her by two other elves.

“He was stabbed by one of the Nazgûl.” She replied urgently. “He is dying. He needs help.”

The frail young Hobbit, reached for something at his chest, but you didn’t get a chance to see what it was, before he was taken inside.

Aragorn arrived with the others hours later.

———————

You did not go down to the courtyard to meet Legolas or his brethren as they rode through the gates of Rivendell. Instead you merely watched from the safety of a window. But he saw you. Of course he did. He’d always said that in a sky full of stars, he would always be able to pick you out.

You hid nevertheless, yet still listened out for mention of his name amongst the circling conversations over what it was the Hobbit Frodo had brought. It was all in vain though.

His hand grasped yours, pulling you away from the pillar you had been hiding behind. You hadn’t heard him coming, his footsteps always feather light. A hunters feet.

“Why do you hide from me?” Legolas asked, pulling you into a dark alcove, his brow furrowing as he looked you over.

He had said he cared not of what his Father had said. Cared not of your parentage. If anything it had made him love you even more. Yet you had still left.

“I do not hide from you.” You replied, denial dripping out of every word.

His gaze narrowed more. You followed it as his cerulean eyes moved from your own eyes to your ears, his fingers tentatively moving to lift the carefully placed strands of hair, behind their points, instead of in front of them.

“Why do you cover them?”

“To help me fit in.”

He sighed and it was like you could see the pit that opened up within his chest. He had always been so open with his feelings.

“You should not have left.” He says softly but the statement of his words, remain.

“I could not have stayed.”

“Then you should have let me go with you.” He said, his lingering hand at the side of your face, moving to trace the lines of your cheekbones, before he cupped the soft flesh of your cheek,

You shook your head slightly, slowly pulling away from his touch as pain swimmed in your eyes. “But you could not.” You said with a faint yet pained smile, before you pushed yourself away from him completely and walked away,

———————

There was to be a meeting. Another man, Boromir, and a dwarf, named Gimli, also arriving in Rivendell, along with a greying wizard named Gandalf. As you made your way towards the veranda in which the meeting would be held, you felt a hand on your arm stop you. You looked to the fair haired elf confused.

“You will not go.” He simply stated.

His assumption and command irritated you. “What do you mean, I will not go?” You said, attempting to push past him, headed towards the door, but his grip on your bicep tightened. “Let go of me.” You said trying to pull your arm from his grasp.

His blue eyes were fixed on you, a sense of steel behind them. Still after all this time a need to protect you, even though he had been the one to train you, to teach you all that he knew. “You will not go,” he said again,

“You don’t own me.” You snapped at him, “You do not control me or what I do.” You said, trying to pull your arm from him again to attend the meeting.

He pulled at your arm tighter, whirling you around and pinning your back to the wall behind you both. “I will not have you be a part of this. You have been pulled into this enough already. If you go. If you pledge yourself as I intend to pledge, my bow, my life, I will not be able to fight the way I need to.” He said, that hard stare, boring into you. The care behind it for you, his need to keep you safe from harm, making you soften slightly and you stopped fighting his firm grip on your arm,

“Please,” he urged, his voice growing softer as he leaned into you, “I did not fight your decision when you left my Father’s kingdom. When you,” his voice grew quiet as he mustered the energy to fight through the pain of the reality of his words, “when you decided to leave me. Please, do not fight me on this. Let me protect you.” You didn’t fight him as he lowered his forehead to yours, his eyes closing.

There was a long pause as you savoured the feeling of his skin on yours after so long. “Okay.” You finally but reluctantly gave in. He lifted his head to look at you. “Okay.” You said again and his tension seemed to ease.

———————

They were due to set out at sunrise. Your bed, that once felt soft, comforting and safe in the confines of Elrond’s kingdom, now felt hard, uncomfortable, cold and far too spacious; as you turned back and forth and back again, unable to sleep. Fear and worry marred your gut. You hated that you would not go. Not help keep your friends safe. That the man you once loved so dearly, would shut you out from this for your own safety. The man you used to fight side by side with, trained with day in and day out, now thought this one mission too threatening to your lives he would have you sit out. Once loved? Or still loved?

The moment you laid eyes on him again, that ache in your chest consumed you, wanting to split you into two.

You would not, could not, let him just leave like this, on a quest that you knew only excited him due to the challenge and risk to his life. The only thing that could make his immortal life feel more alive.

You ripped the sheets from your body, wrapping yourself in a velvet robe and left your room to seek out his. The sky was starting to turn grey with the first light when you knocked on the door. You knew he was already up. Had heard him through the wood, grunting and panting as he did his usual morning exercise.

When he opened the door, he didn’t look completely surprised by your presence. When your eyes silently narrowed in question, he said, “I heard your feet come to a stop outside the door near 5 minutes back.”

“What and you didn’t think to just come open the door?” You questioned, stepping past him into the room.

“I wanted to see if you would have the courage for yourself to knock. Or if you would decide it a bad idea and go back to bed.” He breathed, closing the door behind you.

You sighed as you made yourself at home on his bed. He seemed to swallow slightly but you paid it no mind, “I couldn’t sleep.” You explained.

“Naun gohena nin-“ he began to say. I’m sorry I…

“Don’t.” You cut him off. There was pain in your eyes. Great sorrow for all that had been. Everything you had had together, that you walked away from in fear, because you didn’t think yourself good enough for him. Because you believed his Father.

He stepped across the room to you. His hand lifting to cup your cheek. “*amman car-dh *gwanna.” Why did you leave?

You shrugged him off. “Law iston.” I don’t know. “Not anymore.” You breathed as he sat himself beside you. “I feared what your father said was true. I would never be good enough for you. A Prince?”

“I have not been that in a long time. You know that.”

“But I should not have been the thing that made you step away from that.”

“You weren’t. I did it for me.”

“Do not lie.” You sighed, as you suddenly rose from the bed. This had been a mistake.

You froze as his hand reached out for your arm, forcing you to stop, to look at him- to hear him out. “I do not lie. Would never lie.” He said, a hard look in his eye. Was that really how you saw him. “You know I never aligned with my Father’s views. Would never align with them. That’s why he sent me away, in hopes it would change my mind- but instead I found you- and my resolve grew stronger.”

You both grew quiet, realising you had come to an impass.

Knowing you were unable to come to an agreement on that truth, you decided to pull from him another. “You do not think you will return.” You all but confirm from the sorrowful look that now seemed to penetrate his eyes. A look that spoke volumes to times lost.

“I plan to do all that I can for the cause. We head to dangerous lands and I long swore an oath to protect.” He says, finally releasing his hold on your arm.

“And what of the oath you made to me.”

When he looked to you, tears were beginning to well in your eyes. It broke his heart, his hands instinctively reaching out to you. “I did not think you wished me to keep it.” He confided in a whisper. “But if you wish me to, I shall. If you wish me to return to you, I shall.”

You didn’t know what to say. He was your everything. Your first and only love. A part of you would always be at home with him. Would only be complete with him at your side. With him standing before you now, you hadn’t realised how much you had missed him being there.

“Don’t make any more promises you cannot hope to keep.” You said, your eyes dropping to the floor. “You already said,” you continued, pulling yourself away from his grasp, “if I were with you on this journey, you would not be able to do what you need to- whether I am physically with you, or just in here.” You placed a gentle finger to his temple and his head softened and turned towards your touch.

You both knew you were right. Neither one of you spoke as you began to walk slowly back towards the door, unable to say goodbye. As you turned your body towards the door to reach for the door handle, you suddenly felt him at your back, his hand tugging at your own to pull you back into him. As your body turned, his lips latched themselves onto yours. His kiss was desperate, deep and filled with a longing that could span lifetimes.

You didn’t question it, the familiarity melting over you like the rays of the sun on a summers afternoon, warm and inviting. He lifted you effortlessly from the ground as his lips continued to move against yours, both desperate, yet long and drawn out to savor every moment. You wrapped your legs tightly around him as he began to lead you back to his bed. You didn’t have it in you to fight him anymore.

It all happened between a few heated breaths and desperate touches, suddenly you were free of your robe as he lay you back upon his bed. Although it had been many a year since you had last lay together, with the familiarity you still had with one another’s bodies, anyone would think it had been no time at all.

He parted from you so that he may lift his loose fitting tunic from his head as you sat up, fingers racing to undo the strings of his slacks.

Once fully naked, he leant down to latch his lips onto yours once more, but quickly parted again as he reached for the bottom of your robe, lifting it up your body and over your head, before it too was thrown onto a heap on the floor with the rest of his clothes.

The sex was desperate and quick. There was still so much neither of you had said. Each unspoken word and feeling from your time apart turned to tension that sizzled and snapped like the embers of the dwindling fire on the far side of the room. You moaned with the stretch of him, whimpered and shuddered when his lips tried to soothe you through every pounding thrust of his hips.

When you had lay together in the past it was usually tender, soft and slow, some may even say you were making love, but this, this was a different kind of fucking entirely- and you loved it.

As you both finished, he rolled off of you, both of you now laying on your backs in a sweaty mess, all angst from your previous conversation completely forgotten. As you both lay there panting and cooling down, you ran a hand through your hair before you looked at him, but his eyes were fixed to the ornate carvings across the ceiling.

You stared at his must hair. Watched as his piercing blue eyes traced the line on the ceiling above, as he silently thought.

“I want you to tie my braids.” He finally said.

His words stopped you in your tracks. You couldn’t help but blink in disbelief. Elven braids weren’t just to look pretty and keep all that beautiful flowing hair out the way. They were a statement. To have a partner do your braids for you to go off to battle, was almost a marriage ritual in itself.

When you didn’t say anything, he finally turned his head to look at you. You couldn’t help but fixate on all the whispy strands of his golden hair that stuck themselves to the pillow behind his head and stuck up in every which way.

“I want you to tie my braids.” He said again, as if you hadn’t heard him the first time.

“No.” You suddenly cut in. “No.” You said, shaking your head and closing your eyes before swiftly scrambling over him to get off the bed.

“Raea.” He tried to call after you as you reached for your night gown from the floor and placed it back on.

“No.” You said again as you picked up your robe and placed your arms back through the velvety sleeves. “No, you can’t ask that of me.”

“Why not?” He asked in that husky and breathy tone of his that always seemed to make tingles flow down your spine.

“You know very well why not.” You said, wrapping the ties of the robe around your waist and fastening them tightly in a knot. You sighed as your hands found a home on your hips and you turned to him exasperated.

“Has there been another for you?” He asks, sitting on the bed, still naked, hands resting on his thighs as he looks at you.

It takes you a moment to answer. You have indeed slept with other men on your travels since him, but you know that’s not what he means. He’s asking you if you have ever loved anyone else. “No.” You finally reply timidly. There’s another moments pause before you ask him the same question. “What about you? Has there ever been anot-“

You haven’t even finished the question before he’s standing and walking towards you as he says “No.”

He comes to a stop before you, reaching out to take your hands in his and you can’t help but seem to relax at his touch. “I want you to tie my braids.” He says again tenderly. “So that I may take you with me. To remind me to return to you.”

In another life time you would have said yes. Would have jumped for joy at his proposal, but you know how important this is. You know what this truly means. You know what happened to make you part. Know all that is still yet to be put right. Can still clearly see the things you have come to resent about him reflected in his eyes.

You shake your head, “No.” you whisper with tears in your eyes. When you slowly begin to back away, only letting your fingers slip from his when you are no longer in his reach, he lets you.

When you wake again three hours later, they are already gone.

———————

Waiting for news after their departure was torture. Talk of what they had set out to do was limited, not many made aware of the task set for the small company; but when it did come, Lord Elrond and Lady Arwen made sure you were kept in the know.

Once the Fellowship had left, they had insisted on you continuing to stay with them. You had no doubt it had something to do with Aragorn’s wishes. You were grateful for the company. Grateful for the luxury. You trained with their guards most mornings to keep you in condition and stimulated. In the afternoons you took walks with Arwen talking fondly of your adventures over the years with the heir of Gondor.

However as the days passed you grew reckless. Never in your life had you stayed in one place for so long. When the news finally reached you of Gandalf’s departure from the company, you wasted no time in saddling a horse and making ready to ride out to join them.

You knew what Legolas had said. You also had heard news of the Orc forces growing. But you couldn’t sit back and do nothing anymore. Despite Arwen’s protests you were reluctantly allowed to leave.

———————

You rode hard and fast through the days and made strategic camp through the night. After what felt like weeks of travelling you finally reached Lothlórien, where you were taken in by the Lady Galadriel and her company. When you reached the wood, you were surprised to find their guard already awaiting you. It turned out Lord Elrond had contacted the Lady of the Wood and asked her to watch over you.

Being in the wood had a strange restorative power that called to your Elven heritage. The soft breeze through the trees and song in the ripples of the waters that flowed through it made you feel peaceful and rejuvenated as you slept. They insisted you stay three days. On that final day, you wished that you hadn’t.

------------------------

@imclimbingthestairsoforthanc @starlight5cat @lillisummers

#Legolas #Legolas x reader #reader insert #Lord of the rings #lotr #lotr fanfiction #lord of the rings fanfiction #the fellowship of the ring #lotr fellowship #legolas fanfiction #Orlando bloom characters

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shrimp-mania · 3 months ago

Text

Fading Lights

Description: You are a woodland fairy, struck by illness after Boromir's death. Will you fight it? Or will your light fade?

Word Count: 2,066

Warnings: heavy grief.

Listen to the Last Goodbye for a truly depressing experience <3

You cried out, a wail of anguish as you fell to your knees beside Boromir’s still form. Your hands, trembling and desperate, clutched at him, seeking warmth, seeking life where none remained.

“Boromir, no! You must rise!” Your voice broke as you shook him gently, then more fiercely, refusing the truth before you. “The battle is not yet won! We must go, we must find the hobbits—there is no time for games!”

But he did not stir. His breath did not come.

Your gaze, wild with grief, turned to Aragorn. “Why does he lie so? Why will he not wake?” A sob caught in your throat as you clung to Boromir’s tunic.

Yet, the silence that followed was heavier than steel, and the weight of it pressed upon your heart like a great stone.

Aragorn called your name, his voice gentle but firm, trying to anchor you to reality. "He is gone, little one," he said, sorrow woven into every syllable.

But you barely heard him. The world around you had dimmed, your focus narrowing to the still form before you. You sat there, cradling Boromir’s cooling hand in your own, running trembling fingers through his hair, smoothing it back as if that simple act could bring him comfort—could bring him back.

The minutes stretched into eternity as you remained by his side, lost in the silence, lost in your grief. It wasn't until Aragorn and Legolas gently lifted him that you stirred, watching numbly as they carried him to the river. The water lapped softly at the edges of the boat as they laid him inside, arranging his sword upon his chest, placing his shield at his side.

You watched as they pushed him off, the current carrying him away, taking him beyond your reach. The golden shimmer of his bracers caught the sunlight one last time before he was swallowed by the distance.

Something inside you cracked.

A wave of dizziness swept over you. The air felt thick, your vision swam, and suddenly your body betrayed you. Weakness seeped into your limbs, your temperature spiked, and before you could call for help, your knees buckled.

You collapsed.

Your wings, once weightless and radiant, now felt impossibly heavy. The soft glow that had always surrounded them faded, their once-vibrant shimmer dulling to nothing. It was as if the grief had seeped into your very being, draining you of your light, your strength—your very essence.

Somewhere, voices called your name, but they were distant, fading into the darkness that swiftly claimed you.

You woke to the crackling of a fire and the faint scent of damp earth and ash. A heavy warmth surrounded you—a cloak, carefully draped over your trembling form. The world around you was blurred, shapes shifting in the dim firelight as your senses slowly returned.

A cool touch pressed against your forehead, gentle and soothing. You blinked, vision swimming, until the familiar silhouette sharpened before you. Legolas. His fair face was set in quiet concentration as he dabbed a damp cloth across your burning skin, his brows drawn together in worry.

“Legolas?” Your voice came out hoarse, barely above a whisper. Your chest felt tight, each breath a struggle, as though the weight of grief had settled into your very lungs. You gasped, unable to fill them properly, panic flickering in your fevered mind.

At once, Legolas leaned closer, his cool hands cupping your face with the same care as one might hold a delicate piece of glass. “Shh, do not strain yourself,” he murmured, his voice a soft melody against the night. “You are unwell. Rest, little one.”

His words should have comforted you, but the ache in your heart was unbearable. Boromir was gone. The weight of it pressed down on you, suffocating, inescapable. You clenched the cloak tighter around yourself, shaking.

Legolas’s keen eyes studied you, filled with concern beyond words. He did not speak of Boromir—not yet—but in the way he carefully brushed your damp hair from your forehead, in the way he stayed by your side, you knew he understood.

"Legolas… what ails me?" your voice wavered, barely above a whisper. "Never before have I been thus stricken." With what little strength remained, you grasped his wrist, as though holding onto something solid might anchor you to the waking world.

Legolas turned his keen gaze upon you, his expression unreadable, though sorrow lingered in his fair features.

“Lovesickness," he said at last, his voice soft, yet certain. "A fate that befalls the Fae when their hearts are shattered beyond mending."

You stared at him, breath shallow, your grip tightening. Lovesickness. The word echoed in your mind, curling around your grief like a vine. You had heard of it before—a malady not of the body, but of the soul, striking only those whose love had been lost beyond recall.

And now, it had come for you.

The night was long and unyielding. Fever clung to you like a shadow, and each breath came with struggle—ragged, shallow, and laced with pain. Your body shivered despite the warmth of the fire, yet your skin burned as if touched by flame. A deep cough wracked your frame, leaving you weak and gasping for air.

Legolas knelt beside you, his fair brow creased with quiet worry, while Aragorn worked swiftly, his hands steady as he spread a cool herbal paste across your fevered brow. The scent of crushed leaves and earth filled the air, but it did little to ease the fire raging within you.

"Will she be well again?" Gimli asked, his voice distant, tinged with concern despite his usual gruff manner.

You tried to muster the strength for a laugh, though it came out more as a weak rasp. "Gimli, I thought you had no love for me."

"I do not!" Gimli's reply was swift, his voice indignant. "I... have no wish to suffer through these two soft-hearted lads mooning about!" His eyes darted briefly to Legolas and Aragorn, his beard twitching in amusement.

They had no choice but to move on, and though it pained them, they could not leave you behind. Your fragile form was carried with care, for Fairies were nearly weightless, and to those who were strong, it was no burden at all. Legolas and Aragorn bore you gently, their hearts heavy with the knowledge that your fate was uncertain.

Through it all, you hardly opened your eyes. The pain that wracked your body was unbearable, and each breath felt like a battle you could not win. The world around you seemed distant, as if you were floating in a haze of fever and sorrow. All you could do was listen—the quiet murmur of voices, the rustling of leaves, the steady rhythm of footsteps, and the soft crackle of a fire somewhere nearby.

Then, a brilliant flash of white light pierced through the darkness. It was blinding, yet it did not burn, and as it faded, you saw him—Gandalf, standing tall, his white robes gleaming in the soft light.

“Oh, Gandalf…” you sighed, a weight lifting from your chest at the sight of him. But even as the words escaped your lips, your strength faltered once more, and you slipped back into unconsciousness.

Gandalf knelt beside you, his gaze somber as he examined your fragile form, laid gently upon a bed of moss. His eyes lingered on your wings—once vibrant and iridescent, now dull and lifeless. His expression grew darker as he spoke, his voice a quiet murmur.

“I feared this would come to pass,” he said. "It is perilous for Fairies to fall in love with mortals. When the love is true, it often leads to this in the end when they are separated. The bond takes much from them."

Aragorn stood at his side, his face etched with concern, but his voice steady as always. “What is the cure?”

Gandalf shook his head, his sorrow deepening. "There is none. She must fight through it, or she will fade away." His words were blunt, yet there was a gentleness in them, as though he wished to spare the others the harsh truth. “All we can do is keep her comfortable, and wait.”

The silence that followed was heavy with the weight of Gandalf's words. None spoke for a long time, each of them caught in the reality of what had befallen you.

A heavy silence hung between you before you finally found your voice again, fragile and uncertain. “Am I to die?” you whispered, your gaze flickering toward Legolas, searching his ageless face for an answer, for something—anything—to hold onto.

Legolas’s expression did not change, but his eyes, keen and filled with sorrow, softened as he placed a steadying hand upon yours. “You are strong,” he murmured, his voice low and sure. “Do not let grief steal your light, little one. The night is dark, but it shall pass.”

Aragorn’s hand rested lightly upon your forehead, his touch firm but gentle. “Rest now,” he said, though there was no command in his tone, only quiet reassurance. “We will not let you slip away.”

_____________

You no longer felt the cold grip of fever, nor the agonizing pain that had once held you captive. Instead, a gentle warmth washed over you, and the sensation of weightlessness enveloped your being, as if you were drifting upon a soft, endless cloud. Your body felt untethered from the earth, free from all suffering and constraints.

Your eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, you thought you were still dreaming. But the vision before you was too real, too painfully raw. Legolas hovered above you, his face streaked with tears that glittered in the fading light, his delicate hands gripping yours with a desperation that twisted in your chest. His fingers ran through your hair with such care, as if he were trying to hold you together, as though you might slip away if he let go.

"Please, please!" His voice cracked, and he leaned close, brushing your hair back with trembling hands. "We have lost so much already. Do not leave us, do not fade into the darkness!" His words were a desperate plea, a cry for the light you had been to them.

"I want to be with my love... To be with Boromir," you whispered, your voice fragile, as you reached out with trembling fingers to gently wipe the tears from Legolas’s cheeks. The sight of his sorrow struck your heart, but the desire for peace with Boromir, to no longer carry the weight of grief, was all-consuming.

Legolas’s hands remained on yours, trembling, but he said nothing. His sorrow was deep, yet his eyes never left you, filled with an unspoken plea for you to hold on.

Aragorn knelt beside you, his face a picture of resolve tempered with grief. His hand, calloused yet kind, rested on your arm, his voice low but firm. "Boromir would not want this," he said, his words carrying a wisdom that could only come from a man who had lived through much loss. "He would wish you a life filled with light—long and joyful. To honor his memory, you must find the strength to live, to carry on for those still by your side."

His words hung heavy in the air, and for a fleeting moment, the darkness that threatened to claim you seemed to pause. Boromir’s face, his final words, his bravery—all of it lingered in your mind, but the love and strength that Aragorn spoke of echoed louder, pulling you back from the edge.

But you were too weak, your heart too fragile to fight against the darkness that beckoned. The pain of loss, of sorrow, of everything you had endured, had drained you beyond what you could bear. You felt your strength slipping away, your very essence faltering as the world around you began to blur.

With what little energy remained, you managed a faint smile, though it was fragile, like a wisp of light in the darkest of nights. "I am at peace," you whispered, the words soft and final, a bittersweet release from the turmoil inside you.

And then, your head tilted gently to the side, your body surrendering, the world fading to a quiet, comforting stillness. The weight of your own sorrow lifted, and in that moment, you were free—free from the pain, free from the heartache, and free to rest.

#lotr #lord of the rings #lord of the rings fanfiction #legolas #legolas greenleaf #aragorn #gimli #gandalf #fairies #sad thoughts #lotr x reader #aragorn x reader #legolas x reader #reader insert #no y/n #greif

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drakoneve · 2 months ago

Text

LOTR/ The Hobbit

Requests are OPEN. Who I write for listed below the cut;

Thorin Oakenshield

coming soon...

Fili Durin

coming soon...

Kili Durin

coming soon...

Bofur

coming soon...

Dwalin

coming soon...

Legolas Greenleaf

coming soon...

Thranduil

coming soon...

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floatyflowers · 5 months ago

Note

Hi can you write something about The Lord of the Rings, Elves💗?

Dark Platonic Father Legolas x Isakeied Reader x Dark Platonic Grandfather Thranduil

You awoke in a room bathed in soft, golden light, the ceiling adorned with elegant carvings of trees and vines.

The air smelled of pine and rain, but the unfamiliar surroundings caused you to panic.

Sitting up, you realized something was terribly wrong with you.

Your body was not your own.

Small, delicate hands replaced the ones you remembered, and long strands of silver-blonde hair cascaded over your shoulders.

The reflection in a nearby mirror near your bed confirmed your fear.

This wasn’t you in any way or form, but the body of someone else, and clearly the vibe of the palace indicates you are in a different timeline.

Or rather a different place.

All you can remember is that you accidentally fall from your balcony.

Your breathing quickened, and you clutched at the bedcovers as your heart pounded in your chest.

This had to be a dream, a strange, vivid dream.

Also, something caught your attention...you have elf ears.

The door creaked open, and in stepped a figure who took your breath away, not from awe, but from the shock of recognition.

Legolas.

His impossibly perfect features were softer than you’d imagined, but his piercing blue eyes filled with concern.

"You have finally woken up, are you unwell, iel?" he asked, his voice gentle, filled with concern.

The word 'iel' refers to daughter.

Did you really get reincarnated into Lord of the rings?

How is that even possible?!

You shook your head intensely, unable to speak as confusion overtook you.

His brows furrowed, and he moved closer, kneeling by the bed.

"You’re safe," he said, mistaking your terror for something external like the accident that happened to you.

The accident where you tried to run away.

His hand reached out, but you flinched away.

Not out of fear, because you love Legolas as he is one of your favourite characters.

However, you still are wary of what is happening.

The hurt in his eyes was clear, though he quickly masked it.

"What’s wrong, meleth nín, are you still upset about what happened?"

Now this added more to your confusion, what exactly happened?

"I apologise...I don't remember anything."

It's safer for you to take this route, pretending to have amnesia makes it easier for them not to doubt you if you act strange.

Before the Elven prince could say anything or even think of what to say.

Another figure entered the room, his presence commanding and regal.

Thranduil.

The Elvenking’s icy gaze softened when he saw you, yet his posture remained stiff.

"What is happening here?" he asked, his tone calm but laced with the usual authority.

Legolas glanced at him helplessly, gesturing toward your trembling form.

"She lost her memories, she doesn't remember anything."

Thranduil’s eyes studied you intently, his sharp features is unreadable at first.

But then he smirks.

"Then we will teach her, and make her remember by reminding her."

This made you feel more relaxed than they brought your lie.

But you can't contain your excitement to explore the world of your favourite books.

Yet, you don't know that you won't be allowed to do that.

And what your new grandfather means by 'reminding' is that he and Legolas will tell you false memories.

Only to remodel you into an obedient daughter and granddaughter.

#tw: toxic relationships #platonic yandere #lord of the rings #lotr x reader #yandere lotr #yandere legolas #yandere thranduil x reader #thranduil x reader #legolas x reader #reader insert

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aspenmissing · 3 days ago

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ʟᴏʀᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʀɪɴɢꜱ/ʜᴏʙʙɪᴛ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

☆ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ | ❋ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ | ✧ꜱᴘɪᴄʏ | ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛᴇᴅ

ʀᴇᴛᴜʀɴ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

𝚃𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚗 𝙾𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚎𝚕𝚍

𝙱𝚒𝚕𝚋𝚘 𝙱𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚜

𝙱𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚎𝚕𝚍

𝙻𝚎𝚐𝚘𝚕𝚊𝚜

𝙺𝚒𝚕𝚒 𝙳𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚗

𝙵𝚒𝚕𝚒 𝙳𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚗

𝚃𝚑𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚞𝚒𝚕

𝙱𝚊𝚛𝚍

𝙿𝚒𝚙𝚙𝚒𝚗 𝚃𝚘𝚘𝚔

𝙼𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝙱𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚢𝚋𝚞𝚌𝚔

𝙰𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚘𝚛𝚗

𝙷𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗

#Lord of the Rings #Lord of the Rings Fandom #The Hobbit #The Hobbit Fandom #reader insert #thorin x reader #bilbo x reader #legolas x reader #kili x reader #fili x reader #thranduil x reader #bard x reader #Pippin x reader #Merry x reader #aragorn x reader

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victoria-writes · 1 year ago

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Masterlist

All fanfics I've ever written with tumblr links! Also all available on my AO3

Ira Blood

One-Shot - Internet friends to something more

Lynn Angel

Bad First Impression - Your first meeting doesn't go smoothly

Nick Hoult

Let Me Stay! - Nick being a freeloader at your apartment

Legolas

Elvish for Dummies - Legolas teaches you Elvish, established relationship

I will never forget you - Legolas proposes to you and reassures you that he wants to be with you

Loki

What's a Patty Cake? - Teaching Loki Midgardian games during a rainy day

Adrian Monk

Love Diagnosis - Monk has a crush on his new assistant (reader) and talks to his therapist about it

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ithilwen-lionheart · 2 years ago

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Home is where the heart is: Home is where you are - Legolas x Modern Day!Reader

Alternatively:

Ignorance is your new bestfriend

__________

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 (you are here)

[ Part 3. Work Text: ]

There is no downplaying the hatred (Y/N) feels whenever her classmates would make fun of the Legolas that they see in the films.

Not only was it already horribly uncouth of them to brand him -or anyone, for that matter- as effeminate because of the way they looked or acted but they also had to sling “gay” about as if it were a rock meaning to insult instead of one’s sexual orientation. (Y/N) would always find herself muttering on the defensive whenever situations as such would arise, her thoughts simmering a little too hot with indignance and her composure only ever tempered by the winsome pondering that endured alongside it: that if Legolas were gay then he would be an addition to a party of wholly respectable people who followed their hearts and in their wake instead brings love in a cynical world that is already teeming with a troubling surplus of negativity.

It’s an enchanting idea -that dash of sweetness on otherwise stale and acrid coffee- like an exquisite chiffon paired with the cup of tea she indulged in one fine spring afternoon as she perused that slash Fellowship fanfic that featured her resident elf, Aragorn, facial hair, and some razors. It felt like a lifetime ago, she wouldn’t have even entertained the thought then that said elf would just stumble upon her doorstep one stormy night. Granted it was something she may find herself writing about, but more out of the imaginings in her head rather than out of actual experience.

(Y/N) actually found promise in it -cataloging everyday life with the Woodland Prince. It would make for a good rom-com with a well-balanced lead. Legolas is as naturally romantic and otherwise capable as he is adoringly ditzy around modern technology. With the probability of property damage at an all time low now that he had discovered the magic of WikiHow and search engines, she actually finds herself chuckling at the mere thought of the plethora of reels that could be made out of the blond archer’s previous exploits- multitude of phone replacements notwithstanding.

He’s “beloved protagonist” coded that way. Mr. All Eyes On Me when he enters the room or makes his first appearance on the first panel or chapter, Darling Please Shut Up an entire season after he finally finds a healthier way to process his trauma and ends up letting loose that silly goose that’s been cooped up inside him for far too long. It would be an advantage that Legolas is already built with more empathy than the usual male lead, that he’s already more than just his looks or his poetic words and that his love prevails over what to others would usually be pride and self-preservation before some dramatic loss or divine intervention hard presses them into a much needed system restart- it would almost be too easy to love him-

It would be too easy to love him. It had been for someone as jaded as her, what more for everyone else?

And then she goes to thinking about the fangirls, the fandom, the trolls and the inevitability of negative press and immediately shuts the idea down. (Y/N) is not about to fight fanwars over at twitter, not anytime soon or in the far future if she’s got so much as a say in it. She barely held herself together today and almost went out for blood when one of her blockmates made a “mockery” of Legolas’ name and thought 'Le-gay-las' to be such a splendidly creative attempt to go about it. These are bored university students, she didn’t want to start thinking about what exponentially worse travesties kids who overindulged on questionable YouTube content are capable of.

Thankfully enough, before her overthinking could get even more cataclysmic, she finally reaches the tell-tale porch of her home. The beginning of that chapter in her book- the very stone that Legolas first stepped on before he changed her life forever. It was an image that was so charged with positive emotions it was not unlike a lighthouse to the turbulent seas of her troubled mind- something that grounded her as much as the thought of what life now breathed past her threshold.

A tenacious smile blots out the line of practiced patience that weighed on her lips, her hands a little too giddy and enthusiastic as she retrieved her keys from the pocket of her bag and unlocked the door.

Upon entering, the delectable smell of dinner wafted through the abode. It was a siren’s call to her protesting stomach and yet it was the longing in her chest that championed over the promise of what she knew to be carefully curated food. It is only by sheer good luck that the skilled chef responsible for this also happens to be the only one ever able to sweeten her most sour of moods- today being no more than an everyday foe for one already so adept at putting the worst of her at ease.

(Y/N) padded through the carpeted stairs with the urgency of a child running to their parents after a nasty row with their playground bullies. She wanted to recoil at the comparison -the notion entirely foreign and not at all founded by previous experiences of the sort and yet her chest brimmed with an all too familiar bittersweet ache at the assurance of a nurturing face and comforting words all the same; of warm arms wrapping around her all in a bid to face what demons the world chose to serve her up on an unwanted platter that particular day. She was certain that her hurried footfalls carried the weight of her emotions, that it was amplified even more when she all but flung her bedroom door wide open and off its hinges if she had a little bit more strength.

Then she sees him. In glittering hues she registers the shape of him, the familiar outline drawn with smothering saturation that glows a bit more vividly than per usual- when her eyes aren’t too watery and her ribcage hadn’t been stuffed with a little too much cotton. Legolas sat curled up on her worn bean bag, eyes focused on the horror flick playing on the telly, a bowl of popcorn balanced on his long legs crossed over each other- the paragon of a couch potato. (Y/N) never would've thought that it would be a look anyone would find attractive. Too often had it been stuck on as a warning label for a bottle of crippling indolence but the Elven Prince lounged decked out in modern day clothes and wore it like a badge worthy of admiration.

He donned a juniper pullover and dove gray sweats and as she walked mindlessly towards him, (Y/N) swore he also had her heart somewhere in his pockets. Swears that he held it a willing hostage there when he subtly presented his cheek for a kiss when she came up behind him, when the corners of his mouth tipped into a languid smile after she did, swears that he tickled it with the sound of the chuckle that bubbled in his throat and the unmistakable scent of strawberries that wafted through the air straight from his mildly damp strands of spun moonlight.

"Legolas,” (Y/N)’s attempt at a careful inquiry proved a futile venture in the face of mirth, “-did you use my shampoo?" she manages with a poor excuse at a raised brow and the galloping echoes of her still missing heart.

A coy little smile and the soft press of thin lips against her own confirmed her suspicion: that he used her shampoo and that her heart was no longer her own.

"My heart lies wherever your feet may take you, en melleth.” he begins as if he shared her thoughts, as if Christmas came early for them and they beat everyone on the entire business of exchanging gifts. He goes on and (Y/N) thinks that it was a fine comparison, “You will have to forgive me for scouring what remnants of you there are if only to keep what little life in me remains in your absence." There was a twinkle in his eyes that belie the theatrical despondence in his words, a playfulness in him that (Y/N) insists warranted the bite on the tip of his sculpted nose.

“That’s what you get for holding mine in a vice grip in your pockets.” She quips and tries not to falter at the mild discomfort on that handsome face.

Soft baby blues look up at her in perplexity. Furrowed brows and genuine confusion making a young boy out of his Elvish immortality, “I do not have anything in my pockets-” he begins and yet his hands find their way into a dutiful search, “As I thought,” he mutters once his foraging concluded and proved fruitless, “Whatever it is you had lost, en melleth. Sadly, it is not with me.” His entire mien was so veritably apologetic, the gears in his head already turning to plot for ways in which he might provide her aid- it was a trait of his that she’d been familiar with. As a sentry to The Fellowship, (Y/N) had always seen Legolas a step ahead of his companions, both in battle of blood and mind. He was only ever second to Gandalf who was a wizard, and on occasions, Aragorn when it came to matters concerning mortals and their ideals. In his pondering, his initial befuddlement had dissipated and had instead been replaced by upset and a very much undue disappointment with himself- (Y/N) didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry at the thought that it was now her incriminating jape that was completely lost at sea, that it was something so abstract that Legolas seemed a bit too obligated at finding.

She instead settled on helplessly shaking her head all the while dismissing what needless fretting the elf is currently doing, “It’s a metaphor for something else, Legolas. It’s not something that’s truly lost in a physical sense. Don’t lose your pretty little head over it.” (Y/N) gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze and hopes that the whimsical smile she tossed along with it would be enough as she took her place to sit on the floor beside the prince.

“A metaphor,” the blond elf muses, “You did mention something of the sort before now. I fear it remains to be a notion I am still yet to fully comprehend.” there was a sheepishness in his smile at what he seemed to consider was a persistent lapse on his knowledge. As much as the look made him youthful, it was something his wisdom didn’t deserve.

And with all things concerning the Elven Prince and his honor, (Y/N) finds herself donning her figurative sword and shield- ever so ready to step into the fray to fight what shadows crept and posed a threat to his tranquility, “It’s not that it’s something you’re yet to comprehend. You have poetry locked and loaded with how you speak, metaphors come as easy to you as breathing does- it’s my choosing to speak in riddles when I shouldn’t that’s the problem.” She was certain that she made no room for self-loathing in the manner by which she spoke because she knew all too well just how equally as easily Legolas would bleed concern for her.

Still, his hand finds hers all the same as he leaned down to give her his full undivided attention, “And what riddle was it that you regaled me with?” he tipped his head in askance, strands of his hair slipping over his shoulder and pinning her down with the lingering scent of her shampoo.

"I swear someday I'm just going to die of diabetes because of your version of clothes-cuddle." (Y/N) lamented off-tangentially as a means of submerging her compromising statement from before back into its watery grave. She adapted the same dramatics the blond elf used on her not too long ago for good measure and it went as seamlessly as the fluid incorporation of his presence in her life. The idea of it wrapped around (Y/N) like a favored quilt.

Legolas on the other hand, he steeped on a wariness that dwelled on her plaint- a jest that unbeknownst to (Y/N), he so gravely misunderstood. He opts to abandon his popped corn kernels and placed it on the floor in front of him in lieu of reaching out to her, “Come,”

It was (Y/N)'s turn to blink up in confusion, “What for?”

“Will you indulge me?” Pleading, (Y/N) surmises, is a look best left for cats and dogs and should by all means be rendered an actual criminal offense when wielded by Legolas on grounds of what farce it would deem one utterly willing to commit for his name.

“Will I even be able to say no when you’re looking at me with those eyes?” she finds herself saying with no small amount of tenderness, already accepting defeat for a war that was all in her head. Those eyes were worth more than a dozen losing battles fought, she thinks, worth all the white flags she could wave until her arms fell off her shoulders-

Legolas raises his vacant hand to cover his eyes and (Y/N)’s thoughts skids to a halt.

“What are you doing?”

“Giving you the option to refuse. You always have a choice, meleth nîn. If my gaze impairs your judgment like so then on my head be it.” Legolas answers simply and so so factually that irregardless of how comical he may look to some in that very moment -a hand still reaching out to her and another over his eyes- his words were astute and to (Y/N) he was what she’d want the entire world to be, “A lone tap on the palm of my outstretched hand for a refusal and two for acceptance.”

She’d take limbs off corpses if that’s what it took to continue waving those flags to surrender to him. (Y/N) decides he needn’t know that, if only to preserve what little dignity she had left to lose and to keep the elf from looking at her in terror at yet another misunderstanding of a completely harmless metaphor.

Though, she does find herself laying her cheek on the palm of that outstretched hand and holding it in both of hers and she doesn’t know if waving those undead hands still seemed like such a bad idea compared to this.

At the very least not until she witnesses the gesture startle Legolas enough that the hand over his face falls to his lap and she is greeted by an almost childish uncertainty made soft by enduring affection, “Is this a "yes "?" he queries, voice as gentle as the thumb that absent-mindedly caressed her cheekbone.

(Y/N) thinks she could settle with embarrassing herself like this, figures she could go above and beyond by nodding her head wordlessly and failing at hiding a smile that was both dumb and shy in equal measure if Legolas would give her an even dopier one for her efforts- like what he’s doing. Perhaps he can work on putting a damper to his elvish charms because even then his beauty remained, or, (Y/N) thinks she could just shove it where it matters because there are more things far worth considering then than her insecurities as a damned mortal.

Like how this painstakingly beautiful Elven Prince gently pulled her in by the waist so that she was sitting on his lap, for instance. Or how he wrapped his slender arms around her stomach and rested his head on top of hers with so much tenderness she ironically felt like she was just a breath away from shattering into a million pieces-

And then he buries his nose into her tresses and breathes in and (Y/N) swears he greedily took those pieces of her in and put them back together again with an exhale and that little shimmy he did to settle them snugly into the confines of her protesting bean bag.

No words were exchanged as they resorted to watching what cheesy horror movie it was that Legolas had on. Adept hands that once wielded bows and arrows with killer precision put hard at work massaging (Y/N)’s aching muscles, wise and quiet lips almost childish as he showered her with an unprecedented kiss here and there.

Three movies in and it became nothing short of an indulgent habitude for Legolas and more than once (Y/N) fails to reign in a giggle at the most inappropriate of times. First was during a particularly gruesome death scene from a slasher movie that Legolas looked at her in absolute horror for; second was at a nasty exorcism that had gone so horribly wrong she wouldn’t have blamed The Elven Prince if in that moment he honestly thought she had been off her rocker as he looked at her in alarm once more; and third was that literally bloody elevator scene from The Shining- though it was also then that she had caught up to something and stepped her foot down because the terror-stricken expression on Legolas’ face remained the same as it had been the first two times. She looked at him long enough that she saw the mischievous twinkle in his eyes. Looked at him long and hard with narrowed eyes until his resolution faltered and a side of his lips quirked ever so slightly heavenwards- (Y/N) was certain that if she hadn’t loved him as much as she did, she’d have sent him back to his maker along with it when the realization dawned upon her that the entire time, the entire bloody time, he had actually been playing her.

Legolas Greenleaf, son of The Elvenking Thranduil, Prince of the Woodland Realm and the stalwart sentry to The Fellowship had been messing around with her. She thought it to be too scandalous an improbability to even entertain- at the very least previously when she was a little too drunk on love and comfort and how Legolas smelled exactly like her that he could never -would never- drop so low as to pull such an elementary prank as making faces. Now that she was a little bit sober, she scours the catalog her mind subconsciously took of Legolas’ fears and inspects them with keener eyes. A part of her thinks she might be overanalyzing it, that it might just be her looking for problems where there is none, but all of that was clubbed down when she recalls that scene with the Balrog from the Mines of Moria, she places it beside the memory she had of the Elven Prince the first night he flooded the bathroom, that one time she accidentally walked in on him naked and he ripped her shower curtains in an attempt to preserve his modesty- his fear was something that took its time crawling into his eyes, something that could only ever pull so slowly and subtly at his features as he always fought so valiantly against it.

It was all those and most certainly not raised brows, glittering widened eyes, and parted lips that hosted a gasp.

A godforsaken gasp.

(Y/N) inwardly banged her head against the walls of her mind on account of her stupidity. She should have known it from the damned gasp. Legolas was never one to make such a clear-cut sound of his discomfiture. Even in the direst of situations it was his face that would tell the entire story, whatever it is that will leave his lips would be actual words strung with a purpose.

Three movies in and Legolas frolicked enough to feign three startled gasps that (Y/N) actually believed in and felt sorry for. Three movies in and (Y/N) could actually commiserate with cross girlfriends and what need they felt to throw silly little punches at their guffawing boyfriends’ arms- embarrassment at the blatant comparison to an actual labeled relationship be damned. Three movies in and (Y/N) gets to thinking that she might actually have to cut Legolas’ screen time if he’s going to start making a habit out of pantomiming goddamn teenagers from cheeky television series.

She’d call it when he actually starts showing fascination towards jerseys and convertibles. The telly would have to find a home in the dumpster then.

“Having the time of our life are we, giggles?” she deadpanned, trying her damndest to remain unamused as velvety chuckles assaulted her eardrums, strong arms winding securely around her waist as Legolas pulled her even closer to him and nuzzled against the crook of her neck as if she were a treasured plush toy at every attempt of hers to pull away. It was once again a losing battle -as with everything else that concerned him. (Y/N) didn’t need those figurative swords and shields, not when they were as good as balloons fashioned by clowns at a children’s party in the face of the elf’s almost puppy-like clinginess.

A golden retriever puppy named “Giggles”- it wasn’t a far-fetched idea. If anything, it made a little bit more sense than the words Legolas spoke next.

"For what joy you bring me,” he states solemnly, chin perched on the plane of her shoulder as he looks up at her with serene determination in his gaze as if a gallant knight declaring the decimation of a most fearsome foe for his lady’s honor, “I shall protect you from 'diabetes'.” and before (Y/N) could even process the absurdity of his statement and crack at it, Legolas goes on- almost ludicrous in his earnesty, “Let all those who attempt to so much as lay a single threatening touch on you be dead before their stroke fell." and he was kissing the top of her head as if she were something so precious that she lost all heart to explain to him that diabetes wasn’t exactly something he could shoot or stab at to be rid of. Instead, she joins this little circus and offers her condolences to it in advance because if by some odd stroke of misfortune it takes on a concrete form, she’s certain that the Prince of Greenwood -otherwise known as the retriever puppy Giggles- would certainly be nipping at its tail in no time.

His lady’s tinkling laughter pierced through the foreboding silence of the magical box before them and Legolas allowed himself a slow smile as he too, fixed his attention on the movie.What pride and joy he had for the success of his pretense at obliviousness may have rubbed the Valars the wrong way because no sooner than he relaxed, a monstrous phantom flashed into the screen and the screech that left with what part of his soul was ripped out of him from shock had been a little too genuine.

-----

[ FIN. End of Chapter 1, Part 3 ]

———-

A/N:

As promised!

Also, as per the disclaimer I had put out on my notice, you will find that this part is written as a lighthearted and speedy almost-crack fic. This is due to the entirety of Chapter 1 initially having been written as a whole instead of in segments with this bit in particular having been cut off from Part 2 due to its derailment from the course I ended up taking with its re-written ending.

Additionally, it had been quite some time since I had last worked on a written piece- even longer still since I had last worked on this particular fic- so I apologize for whatever failure in consistency there may have been in my writing.

I find that I should also let you wonderful readers know that I have read, immensely appreciated, and loved each and every one of your comments and reblogs. I cannot thank you enough for your words of encouragement and investment in this story as it had played a significant role in bolstering my previously dwindling passion with this particular craft of mine.

If time and drive permit, this part may end up with an update containing a visual of some sorts. I had been working a bit more on illustrations when I'm not writing so we shall see~

Taglist: @siriuslydestiny, @elysianluv, @daddy-long-legolas, @foxchild-v

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