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rivendell-poet · 1 month

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*･༓˚✧❝𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 (𝐋𝐨𝐭𝐑)❞‧͙⁺˚༓˚✧ « scenarios »

○ Aragorn ○ Legolas ○ Frodo ○ Sam ○ Merry ○ Pippin ○ Boromir ○ Faramir ○ Éowyn ○ Éomer ○ Bard ○ Thranduil ○ Tauriel ○ Lindir ○ Haldir ○ Elladan ○ Elrohir ○

No TWs | GN!Reader | Wordcount : 3.3k (each individual around 190~ words) | Read on Ao3

« 1, 4, 5, 6, masterlist »

𝐀𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐧

✧ When you get to Rivendell the first thing you do is rush to Frodo’s side - checking he’s ok and thanking the healers.

✧ The second thing you do is take in the beauty of Rivendell, eyes going wide as you see the home of the elves in all its splendour.

✧ He’s walking with you and showing you Rivendell, eyes lighting up almost as much as yours when you see the sights - except the light in his eyes and the smile on his face come from your happiness.

✧ Taking note of what makes your eyes shine brightest, he begins to tour more specifically with your preferences in mind.

✧ As you turn around to express your love of something, he realises he’s too focused on trying to capture every inch of your beauty - especially while being in awe like that - that he misses the question.

✧ Aragorn hopes he isn’t blushing too much when he asks you to repeat the question, this time quickly answering it to the best of his abilities.

✧ The next room captures your attention, and Aragorn instinctively goes back to watching you and laughing with you before he realises what he’s doing.

✧ It’s then he realises the blush on his face isn’t because of embarrassment - but because he likes you.

𝐋𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐬

✧ Legolas is enjoying his time in Imladris, with one of the greatest things being the company. There is you, of course, and the rest of the Fellowship - but it is also nice to spend some time with fellow elves (who aren’t his subjects).

✧ Or, almost fellow elves, such as the sons of Elrond. He has always been intrigued by them, not just for the heritage, and it’s good to spend time with the two. Eventually, in a conversation with Elrohir, the topic finally comes up.

✧ “What is it like, living with Lúthien’s gift?”

✧ “Gift?” Elrohir looks at the elf, “Most call it a choice. Is there a reason you ask? A… someone you ask for?”

✧ His immediate reaction is to say no, and that he is just curious, but then he thinks harder. Is there someone he would stay on Middle Earth for?

✧ As he thinks, an image of the two of you - bow in your hand and grinning at him, bathed in sunlight - comes into his mind. And his mind subconsciously answers the question. If you would have him, he would answer yes.

✧ The elf stays silent, and Elrohir gives a knowing look, before speaking briefly. Offering some advice, and congratulating Legolas on at least figuring out his feelings.

𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐨

✧ Frodo realised he liked you from just about the second he laid eyes on you - you were unlike anyone he had ever known, and that excited and fascinated him.

✧ He expected the crush to go away, eventually, once the novelty wore off and you were known to him as a friend.

✧ Except it never did. With every new smile he saw from you, every word, every laugh falling from your lips - he slowly became more and more enamoured by you.

✧ It was after yet another night that you’d come round for dinner, it was becoming a regular (and welcome) occurrence that he truly realised he didn’t just have a crush.

✧ Frodo was in love with you.

✧ When he’d finally closed the door, watching as you’d walked away, he could still feel the red on his cheeks - and could see the knowing smile Bilbo gave him when he’d turned around.

✧ Patting him on the back, Bilbo had given the young hobbit words of support and encouragement - a twinkle in his eye as he hinted this love may not be unrequited.

𝐒𝐚𝐦

✧ Sam had seen you in and around the Shire a few times before, stopping briefly to look at you before going back to what he was doing.

✧ At first he’d thought it was just him being observant, until Pippin had been over and pointed out that of all the hobbits in the Shire - he’d only stop to look at you.

✧ He was mortified to realise what he'd been doing, and had thrown himself back into his work with much more vigour. Trying to stop himself from being distracted, again.

✧ It works ok, but while in the Green Dragon Pippin assures him that the comments weren't meant in a bad way, and that they were all glad Sam had 'found someone'.

✧ Sam almost isn't sure what they mean, until he thinks back to all the times he's seen you - the times he's blushed. The very small interactions you two have had, that have then lightened his day.

✧ It's thanks to Pippin's teasing he realises he has a crush on you, and then thanks to Frodo when he can finally interact with you.

𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲

✧ Merry realised he liked you from the second he laid eyes on you.

✧ And not in a silly, young-hobbits-in-love type of crush - but something that reminded him of the story books he'd read as a child.

✧ The ones that said when you met the one for you, you'd feel sparks like Gandalf's fireworks and you'd just know.

✧ He did just know, taking the first opportunity he could to talk to you; talking to you felt even easier than most, as though you were a lifelong friend and not just a stranger.

✧ Every time you make eye-contact, he searches in your eyes for the spark he so clearly feels in his - and when he makes you laugh for the first time he's delighted to see it appear (however briefly).

✧ Each passing day cemented this feeling even more, but he still believes it was love at first sight (for him at least).

𝐏𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧

✧ When the two of you first met, Pippin thought you were an angel (an opinion he still holds, in some regards). The second he realised you were of Middle Earth, he also realised he was blushing like a fool.

✧ He knows the attraction isn't just superficial from the day he meets you, but he also sees it as a crush at the start.

✧ And then he starts to spend time with you.

✧ You make him laugh, he makes you laugh. He makes you smile, you make him smile just by being there.

✧ It's also at this time when he realises that what he feels for you isn't just a crush.

✧ He likes, no - loves, every part of you. And to call it simply a crush would be an insult to his heart.

𝐁𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐫

✧ Like a lot of the soldiers of the White City, his spirits are high as he watches from Osgiliath, eagerly awaiting the return of the rangers, if only for a little while.

✧ Most of the men are looking forward to the night of celebrations and drinking, although some are more looking forward to seeing their loved ones come home.

✧ Boromir is looking forward to seeing his little brother come home - but he isn’t just looking forward to seeing his little brother. Faramir isn't the only one he dearly misses.

✧ As Captain, he’s in prime position when the rangers come in; immediately identifying the two of you and going over.

✧ He pulls Faramir into a hug before looking at you with a grin, unsure of what to do before you embrace him as well.

✧ Instantly, he hugs back - just as firm and confident as with Faramir’s hug - but inside he can feel his heart almost beating out of his chest.

✧ The grin is still on his face as he comes out of it, and when you begin to talk his heart calms down, although only a little.

✧ It’s only then when he realises his heart isn’t beating fast around you because you’re nervous, but because he loves you.

𝐅𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐫

✧ Faramir knew he liked you from the second he laid eyes on you, even if he was slightly too drunk to realise just how deep it went at the time.

✧ He truly didn’t drunkenly hook-up with people, but he did tend to gravitate towards people he liked. People like you, even when you were in the dark corner. Especially when you were in the dark corner.

✧ And of course, he had kissed you back. The only reason he didn’t try to take it further was because he could smell the alcohol on both of you.

✧ When he had woken up the next morning, he regretted that he had not gotten your name (and the slight hangover).

✧ Then when he saw you, lined up as one of Boromir’s potential betrothed, he could feel his heart do two things.

✧ Skip, at the sight of you again. And drop, at the idea you didn’t love him back.

𝐄𝐨𝐰𝐲𝐧

✧ Staring after Aragorn, Éowyn takes a deep breath, trying to remain calm. From chasing him down, and telling him that she knows looking after the children brings honour (without renown). But she should be allowed to seek honour in other places.

✧ And then she feels a hand rest on her shoulder, calming, as she turns around to see you behind her.

✧ You can see her thought process, and tell her that you aren’t here to override your brother’s - or her king’s - orders. But you are here to give her this.

✧ When you press the sword into Éowyn’s hands, finely polished and gleaming perfectly, she can barely think of the words to thank you before she notices your traditional sword is missing.

✧ Instantly, she realises what you’ve given here and tries to give it back - but you keep it firmly in her hands.

✧ “There are many fine weapons in this armoury. Think of it as my gift to you, for now. A promise that I will be coming back to collect it."

✧ "Besides, it brings me comfort that if orcs get into the caves they shall find a warrior there.”

✧ Taking your hand away from the sword you disappear to follow Aragorn, and Éowyn is left holding it. As she watches the two of you leave together, she realises that she may have fallen in love with the wrong sibling (at least at first).

𝐄𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐫

✧ When orcs are spotted within Rohan's borders, in two separate places no less, Éomer immediately takes action.

✧ It's bad luck you're on the second group of riders sent out, and worse when you haven't arrived back when Éomer does.

✧ He tries to reassure himself that it's simply bad luck, and nothing dangerous has happened, but by the second day his nerves get the better of him.

✧ With Éowyn he sets out to wait next to the gate you'll ride in from - a traditional practice.

✧ While waiting, he takes the time to look around and sees who else waits for the riders. When women there bat their eyes at him he ignores it until he realises something.

✧ Éomer is one of the only men there, and the only one not blood-related to the rider he is waiting for. Almost everyone else here is a parent, a sibling, or a lover.

✧ So where does that leave him?

✧ He feels blush begin to rise on his face as he realises precisely which one he is. Or, more accurately, which one he wishes to be for you.

𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐝

✧ Begrudgingly, Bard watches you leave for the final patrol of your shift before laughing as he sees Tilda’s pout when she looks at you going as well.

✧ Looking up at him, she huffs even more; declaring that it isn’t fair he’s allowed to smile while you’re here and while you're away.

✧ He responds that you’re good company, but he can be happy without you - and that’s a good thing.

✧ Then Tilda looks up at him with a doubtful expression. Announcing that he looks extra happy, and his face turns a bit red like when Bain had that fever one time. Or when Sigrid looks at the neighbour's kid, except she shouldn’t tease her sister about that because it’s ‘feelings’.

✧ As pleased as Bard is that his children are taking his lessons to heart, he’s less pleased about her observations.

✧ Keeping walking, Bard tries to reassure her that that’s not what’s going on with him and you - but internally he’s truly thinking about it.

✧ About the fact you’re the first person to make him smile like that for the first time in… a while.

✧ The fact he always lets his kids go up to you because then he can talk to you, and the fact he talks to you even if the kids aren’t with him.

✧ It’s then Bard realises that, somehow, his children have worked out he likes you before he has.

𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐮𝐢𝐥

✧ Thranduil had barely noticed that the biweekly meetings had become less formal, and more about the two of you spending time together.

✧ He hadn’t noticed that most of the time you spent talking was just about the two of you, and no longer about his son.

✧ The thing that made him notice just how special these meetings became was when, while watching you leave, he could feel his smile.

✧ There was a warmth in him that wasn’t just from the wine, or the fireplace, and instead a warmth because he felt comfortable.

✧ Around you, he could be himself. Not much changed, of course, but something about being near you felt freeing, and as though he was understood.

✧ A feeling he had not felt in a long time, but a feeling he nonetheless welcomed - especially when it was you that warmed his heart.

𝐓𝐚𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐥

✧ Both of you had managed to get into the royal guard - you getting into the king’s guard, while she began to work with the prince.

✧ It was while she was taking a break, eating in one of the soldier’s halls, when Alinar (a fellow guard) had come up to her with a grin. “So, you and them, right?”

✧ Trying not to sigh, Tauriel gave a quick answer that no, she was not interested in the prince before Alinar began to laugh. Explaining he hadn’t been teasing about her and Legolas, but her and you.

✧ “Anyone with eyes can see you look at them like they’ve got a fourth elven ring, Tauriel. You’re really not subtle.”

✧ She continues to deny, swatting him away, although this time it’s more on principle. Not because she doesn’t like you.

✧ Because… she does look at you that way. You are magnificent, and wondrous, and she does want to be more than your friend.

✧ As you walk into the hall, you look over to the empty space besides her and immediately come over - and she wonders if she normally blushes this much when you smile at her.

𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐫

✧ Staring at the new poems he’s written, Lindir wonders to himself when his inspiration went from nature and the Valar to… love.

✧ He can still recognise the work as his own, the same metaphors and adoration for his subjects, but he never considered writing romance. Or writing about someone romantically - because he knows that all his works have a muse.

✧ Re-reading the lines over, he tries to imagine the different elves of Imladris fitting into this prose but none of them do.

✧ Deciding to leave it for later, Lindir takes the scrolls and keeps them with him - resolved in going to the library.

✧ On his way there, you cross paths with him - immediately smiling and asking how his day was.

✧ It’s there, looking ethereal against the backdrop of Imladris and roses, that Lindir realises the subject of his new writings.

✧ You are his new muse.

𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐫

✧ Haldir had felt a spark from the first moment you had interacted, your bow drawn - placed in front of your allies and standing as though it would need a thousand warriors to fell you.

✧ These feelings hadn’t even gone away as you let the arrow fly, only afterwards realising he’s not a threat and batting it out of the air.

✧ When you start to apologise he easily stops you, stating that it’s a relief that the Fellowship is travelling with a skilled warrior like yourself.

✧ Watching you go to the Lady Galadriel, he tries to untangle what he’s feeling for you. Is it simply admiration? Or is it something more?

✧ Seeing you alone and clearly wanting to move, he approaches you after the meeting - offering to show you around Lothlórien.

✧ It’s for a somewhat selfish motive, as he wants to try and realise what his feelings are.

✧ And, as his heart seems to lift when you look around and finally seem happy, he understands what his heart wants.

𝐄𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐧

✧ It’s the day after their birthday, finally in their first century, when Elrohir wakes his brother up by poking him.

✧ Elladan is still sleepy, but he’s aware enough to ask what his twin thinks he’s doing.

✧ “I want to know why you didn’t confess, brother dearest.”

✧ The sing-song voice is annoying, but Elladan still gives the question some thought. Confess? About what? Or confess to someone?

✧ Seeing his brother clearly isn’t going to get it, Elrohir lets out a sigh before directly name-dropping you. He’s instantly rewarded with seeing a heavy blush, before poorly spluttered denial about you simply being a friend.

✧ Looking directly into Elladan’s eyes, he speaks again. “Brother, I have watched the two of you dance around each other for almost a century. Sometimes I think I’m the one suffering because of your love. You could at least acknowledge your feelings to yourself.”

✧ He can still see the blush on Elladan’s face, obvious against his hair. But he can also see acceptance and realisation in his brother's eyes. The realisation that he wants you as something more than a friend.

✧ “Took you long enough.”

𝐄𝐥𝐫𝐨𝐡𝐢𝐫

✧ Elrohir was never sure if he believed in love at first sight. It was never something discussed among the elves, where feelings tended to develop over years of emotional connection. But it also seemed like a real thing to mortals - and not just in the tales of old.

✧ As a son of Elrond, where did that leave him? Would his feelings come after decades with a lover, or from a glance across the forest?

✧ And then you arrived.

✧ Instantly, something skipped in his heart - and he felt almost exactly what he’d always thought true love would feel like.

✧ But it wasn’t quite the blazing fire that some of the tomes described, more like a spark.

✧ Then he met you again, desperately trying to do the best you could to keep your city safe. And then again in Gondor’s war council, fearlessly pledging your allegiance to the new king and winning over others with honeyed words and promises.

✧ It was then when his heart was set on you.

✧ So, not quite love at first sight, it had taken a little more time for him to be completely sure.

✧ Yet he was still completely enamoured by you, at the latest, by at the end of your third meeting.

Hope you enjoyed! So sorry this is late, I had it completed and then forgot to post it - was just sitting in my drafts. Soo... yeah, I am very sorry about that. Thank you again for your support! Requests here.

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

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fantasyworld4ever · 1 year

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I would like to uno reverse and ask how the elves (yep, all the LOTR/hobbit elves you write for) would react to their s/o keeping them warm, whether it be with a blanket, an extra cloak, or even magically radiating warmth.

LOTR/THE HOBBIT ELVES REACTING TO THEIR S/O WHO GIVE THEM THEIR COAT/BLANKET WHEN ITS COLD.

Elrond

Istg this poor guy will survive the cold for you

You don’t realize it’s cold but when you look over at Elrond he’s quite literally shivering from cold

You quickly deduce that the poor ellon has stayed out simply because you were

You chuckle fondly, finding it sweet as you drape a coat/blanket over him and he blinks at you in surprise

He tries to protest but you glare at him and he shuts up

Thranduil

No, just no.

This man will refuse to take your coat

Anyway, he wouldn't even be out in the cold

If he finds it cold, there is no way he’s letting you go out

Legolas

Dude does not get cold

Have you seen him running through those snowy places?

Yeah, he's too jumpy to be cold

He will politely reject your coat if you ask though

Lindir

This poor sweet innocent baby 😭

He won’t wait for you to offer it, he’s gonna just grab it then apologize as he wraps himself in it

Literally freezing

He’ll be okay, he snuggles against you for extra warmth

Haldir

Dude patrols borders, he’s used to it

May actually fall asleep standing up in the cold

You just wrap the blanket around him and he’ll stir slightly

Poor bby, he’s so tired

He’ll hold you tight, swaddling you in the blanket too

Glorfindel

He will snatch your blanket quicker than you can say his name

He’ll apologize but he aint sorry at all

He is COLD.

Let him have the damn blanket xD

Feren

Sweet bby

He won’t say anything even if the air is a bit chilly

He’ll do his best to hide it but you soon realize just how cold he is

“Thank you, meleth.” He’ll smile at you as you drape the blanket over his shoulders but insists you both share it

Figwit

“My lady/lord, it’s cold” He’ll comment on the chilliness of the air as you stroll through the garden

No matter how many times you tell him to call you your name he will insist on using your title in public

When you give him your coat he looks surprised and tries to protest but soon gives in, wrapping it around himself

“Thank you, meleth…” He’ll whisper, his ears red

{Thanks for the request and hope it lives up to your expectations! Apologies for the wait. And as always, my inbox is open!}

#requests #lotr #the hobbit #elves #figwit #thranduil #legolas #feren #lindir #elrond peredhel #glorfindel #haldir #x reader #gender neutral reader #fluff

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the-autistic-vulcan · 1 year

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the part where i talk about fanfics...

okay, this is, not difficult for me to talk about, but i know people are touchy about this subject - so i'm just going to say it:

If a fanfiction is not your cup of tea, then don't read it!

it is quite a simple thing to do for most people, however, there is a lot of readers/fandom explorers who go in to read a piece of fanfiction and then hate on it because:

"i headcanon X as gay, so shipping them with Y reader is a no"

"you can only ship X with Y, no other ships or reader inserts or self inserts are valid

"he doesn't like women or she doesn't like men" and vice versa

this is very apparent in most fandoms, dead or thriving, where a character is, in the majority, is headcanoned as something, but there is a minority that doesn't agree.

for example, in the mcu fandom, a lot of people headcanon Steve Rogers aka Captain America, as bisexual. personally, i do not, but i don't go out of my way to hate on people who read the male reader fanfics or the Stucky (Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes) fics - i've read some and a lot of them are great, tbh.

personally, i like to read and/or write gender neutral reader fics and that is honestly the comfort zone for me - but i know people will disagree and enjoy more gender aligned fics (male or female)

but i digress - in short, let people read what they want to read, if you disagree or do not support a headcanon/ship/trope, please don't ruin the day of enjoyers.

let's not ban certain takes on characters - the world has other worries

Signed, Ali Solar

Taglist:

@mashedpotatosinacup

@witchthewriter

@tolkien-fantasy

P.S. To those on the taglist, i'd love to hear your opinions on this

#fanfiction #ship dynamics #headcanon #male reader #female reader #gender neutral reader #dead fandom #alive fandom #marvel x reader #loki laufeyson x reader #edward nygma x reader #thranduil x reader #bilbo baggins x reader #the hobbit #bilbo baggins #thorin oakenshield #frodo baggins #the lord of the rings #i know there are so many tags but i need to get this across

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intoxicated-chan · 9 months

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CW ➳ Gender Neutral Reader, Reader is an Elf, mentions of death, mentions of unrequited love…

Thranduil won’t admit it, not even on his dying breath, he doesn’t like it when an Elf falls in love. More like, he worries for both sides of the relationship. It won’t matter if both are Elves, he lost the love of his life and doesn’t wish it on anyone.

And it won’t matter if you’re a Mirkwood Elf or anyone else. He’ll warn you, even more when he learns you’re interested in a dwarf or another Elf. He’ll have you face reality, either your significant other will grow to resent your immortality or you will grow to despise their life span.

Or what if you happen to love that person, and they don’t love you back. Are you going to spend hundreds and thousands of years yearning for them?

Even if there is a chance for a happy ending for both of you, that’s all it would be, a chance. You’ll just have to wait and see it for yourself. Will you be promised and continue to be pleased? Or will you live the rest of your life in despair and torment?

Author’s note under the cut…

Should I watch the Walking Dead? Mainly for Daryl/Norman Reedus?

#divider by cafekitsune #x reader #x gender neutral reader #lotr x y/n #lotr x you #lotr x reader #the hobbit x y/n #the hobbit x you #the hobbit thranduil #lord of the rings x y/n #lord of the rings x you #lord of the rings x reader #lord of the rings #angst

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itsonlydana · 5 months

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Heyy I just wanted to ask if you could write something for Thranduil x gn!reader just something really light and fluffy maybe like how he takes care of reader what they do in a day and just spending time together doing romantic things and reader really just enjoying life without a care in the world... (Deine Fanfictions sind soooo super ❤️Ich stecke grade sowas von in der Prüfungsphase es ist echt Gold wert wenn man deine Stories zu Lesen hat🤌🏻 )

Spoil Me, Pamper Me, Love Me | hobbit

pairing: Thranduil x gn!reader 👑

a cozy day spent with Thranduil

warnings/tags: none, fluff!

words: 1,4k

an: such a lovely request; had such a fun time writing it :) take the elvish terms of endearment with a grain of salt.. i literally googled them lmao but i made sure to use gender neutral names. [Ich wünsche dir viel Erfolg bei deinen Prüfungen, anon! Ich hatte meine im Februar und hoffe du kommst da gut durch <3]

+ masterlist + rules +

🌿 reposts and comments are appreciated, they motivate me a lot and keep me writing <3

Being Thranduil's beloved comes with positives as well as negatives – he is a king, a leader after all, and most of his waking hours are dedicated to keeping up his political alliances.

This spanned from week-long travels to other kingdoms to meetings that could last long enough for most of the day to pass without seeing each other much.

Many of these affairs do not require personal attendance though and only expect Thranduil to correspond through letters; a convenience you both treasured admits all the dragging conferences at round tables that were more draining the less importance of the topic to be discussed – even a royal elitist like Thranduil, who took great pleasure in all things rich and extraordinary drew the line after twelve hours of staring at two types of wood to repair a bridge.

Paperwork days – as you called them – were the perfect opportunity for lazy mornings between you and Thranduil. Drowsily cuddling underneath silken sheets that caught the sunrise in their translucent fabric, shutting out the world for unhurried fooling around in each other's arms and with only your giggles and his huffed laughter carrying any indication you were awake at all.

Breakfast was served in your shared chambers and instead of getting up and dressed you took the small feast in bed, unbothered by the missed chit-chat and gossip that eating in the great hall brought forth for Thranduil's kisses are much sweeter than anything anyone could have done.

There is nothing the Elvenking wouldn't do for his significant other, including providing you with the ripest fruits to feed you only to lose himself in peppering kisses to your lips – chasing after the taste of the fruits that colored your lips red and pink.

"The sweetest," Thranduil mumbles, his lips moving from one upturned corner of your mouth over the bow of your lip to the other corner where he breathes another kiss into the crinkle of amusement that makes no effort of hiding across your whole face.

You are sprawled across the bed, still in an airy night robe that's pushed up to your thighs to leave room for Thranduil's hands to gently caress the skin.

The elf himself towers over you, the comfortable weight of his lean yet strong body pressing down on you as his hair falls over the both of you like a curtain of starlight. Your hands trail over his muscles as kisses the spot behind your ear that has you giggling and nudging your knee against his abdomen to push him away.

"Stop, my King–" you laughed, hands sprawled across his chest without any real strength behind them, "you know I can't stand this teasing!"

You feel the pull of his grin against your skin before you hear the rumble of his deep laugh. "I do, meleth e-guilen, I do," Thranduil says, and tipped his nose against yours, "but that makes it all the more tempting."

Your hands trail up to his shoulders and gather some of the light strands of hair, sweeping it over his back. His skin glows in the sun pouring through the window, thrumming under your touch, and with him draped over you, one warm leg between yours, the heat travels to you even if his broad back blocks out the golden light.

"Awful," you huff, "you are nothing but a dreadful lover, keeping me trapped here in bed." Like your hands on his chest, the words carry no harm behind them or any attempt to push him away from you.

If anything, you revel in the attention he peppers you with. The last weeks had dragged you apart and moments like this, where you had to think about nothing except for your lover's care toward you.

"Awful?" he repeats in a playful tone and makes a move to sit up. "Whatever did I do to deserve such harsh treatment?"

Instead, he quickly grabs you by your waist and before you can realize what's going on he has flipped you over, laughter bubbling up your lungs and spilling out while he falls back onto the mattress, pulling you with him and leaving you to topple over across him.

His fingers dig into your sides, holding you down onto him so you can't even escape the tickling that he dooms you with. "Awful, they say! I will show you dreadful, you minx."

Whenever you do make it out of bed eventually, hair all messed up by his hands, Thranduil insists on dressing you.

He treats you like you are made out of glass, warming up the milky creme in his hands before he massages it into your skin so that the chill doesn't bother you, and he sits behind you on the bed while he combs through your hair.

"Looks like thrush nested here," Thranduil chuckles. He barely evades the hand you swipe back at him as you snort indignantly. "Careful! You will scare the birds if you are not mindful of them"

The curse you throw at him instead has him gasping at the pure filth that leaves your mouth that, after hearing his reaction, curves into a smirk. "Get back to combing, Your Majesty. I do not have all day."

"Your word is my command, guren vell."

Thranduils lips kiss your neck, featherlight and then again, lingering. You sigh and let your head drop backward, falling to his shoulder, and blink up at him through lowered lashes, your eyes full of adoration.

His smile lights up a fire in your heart, the softness of it on marble features a reason to go to war just to see it again and for you to be the only recipient of this gentleness with which he wraps his arms around your middle, the hair comb long forgotten, that fuels the fire for all eternity.

On any other day, the duty to dress you would lay in the hands of your most trusted servants or your own, though nothing reached the level of wonderful that Thranduil made you feel right now, helping you to flowy robes.

For you, he even sinks to his knees, the only being alive that deserves this honor of the Elvenking kneeling in front of them, and you smile down at the crown in his hair, the silver circlet glittering just like his cerulean eyes in the midday sun, as he fixes your shoes for you but not without breathing more kisses on the inside of your calf which he carefully holds.

"Shall we walk through the gardens later?" Thranduils hand falls to your lower back on your way through the intricate floors of the underground palace, evoking a pleasant buzz in your stomach.

"We could go riding out," you muse, thinking back to the last time you and Thranduil had taken out the royal elk.

Thranduil steps closer, ignorant of the servants and elves rushing past you with lowered heads and bows, to nip at the curve of your pointed ear.

For everyone else, it looked like he had just kissed you, but his teeth grazed the delicate skin in a hidden manner.

That's how the public display of his utter devotion to you goes; loving kisses that – away from prying eyes – turn completely devoid of etiquette, as well as his hands that never seem to leave you, whether it's in the form of a simple pressure in your lower back or resting on your side to hold you close to him.

Thranduil did not need to put you on display for everyone to know you were his, the expression in his eyes told the story of a King completely in love in a way that didn't need flashy gems or luxuriant robes; not that those weren't gifts you regularly found yourself unpacking nevertheless.

"Whatever you wish for. My heart is your loyal servant," Thranduil vows, smiling at the bright-eyed expression you gift him at that.

The letters on his desk could wait for a day longer, he had all of eternity to manage his kingdom.

Thranduil spends the rest of the day tied to your side – or behind you on our royal moose, as you take him outside to the forest, Thranduils arms around your waist and his chin propped up on your head, as you let yourself fall into his chest. In these woods, with your beloved's sharp senses taking in all of your surroundings even while he busies himself with twirling the fabric of your robes between his fingers or drops kisses to your shoulder and neck, you are completely safe.

©itsonlydana 2024, character art by MiracleAna on Devianart

#📁files: thranduil fanfics #thranduil x reader #thranduil fanfiction #thranduil x you #thranduil oropherion #king thranduil #thranduil #the hobbit x you #the hobbit x reader #the hobbit fanfiction

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ofstardustanddreaming · 11 months

Text

touch starved

headcanon summary: you're touch starved, and aren't sure how to ask for it.

content warnings: none

fandom: the hobbit

character: thranduil x reader

gender neutral reader

you had never been in a situation of a healthy amount of just regular, loving touch from someone. whether it was never being in a relationship, or many relationships that were those who just didn't engage in it. so, whether it was just others choosing not to engage in it, or just never having the ability to, it had left you starved for some touch.

thranduil is a fan of touch and pda, but with his schedule recently, it wasn't often as used to be in your courting. he had fleeting touches, a hand on yours as he debriefs you between meetings, or holding you for a little while during the night as you slept before he woke up and left for the work day.

not to say that you didn't enjoy those touches. you just craved them, yet understood his days were long. you knew you were loved without the touches, seeing the way he looked at you. but that didn't mean you wished for more touch than just his fleeting ones. you longed for longer sessions, being neglected from a sweet touch for so long.

when you heard him enter your room, and looked up hopefully. you were yearning to ask him for longer sessions of just being held, or even holding hands. but you weren't sure how to ask, without seeming like you were wanting to take him from his work, or seeming like you would be needy. you knew those were just insecurities, and thranduil would love nothing more than to cater to you. but sometimes it's just hard to get over the initial anxieties.

when he was changing, he could feel your eyes on him. it was the only thing he could focus on when he came in. he gave you an exhausted smile when he was done, and laid on the bed next to you. he pulled you into his embrace, and you melt into it.

"is there something you wanted to talk about dearest? you've been looking my way like you had a question." he read you like a book. you tense up, unsure how to ask. thranduil could feel it, and was worried something bad was going to happen based on that reaction.

you figure ripping the band-aid off was the best way to do this. "i just feel touch starved lately. i know you're tired lately with work, and i don't want to take you away from it, or be super needy. but could i come to you after our meetings or something to just grab something? sorry if you don't want pda, i can wait until we're together in private if you want but -"

you're cut off with a sweet kiss to your lips. "i'm so sorry my love. i've been failing to give you more than fleeting moments of something you're longing for. i can't imagine how hard you've been craving it. please. bring it to my attention if i'm neglecting that again. work doesn't matter as much as you. come into my meetings if you'd like, anywhere i am, no matter how public. you'll never be a bother for something i love as well."

you can feel tears in your eyes, as he sits up with you next to him, his hands on your face, holding it in a comfortable way. he stares into your eyes to make sure you understand what he says, and you nod. he pulls you in, adding some weight to it, to make sure you could feel the touch like a weighted blanket.

you were thankful the issue had been brought up. a new layer of vulnerability was given between you two, and you gladly took him up on his offer to go get the loving touch you needed and wanted.

#thranduil #thranduil headcanon #thranduil x reader #the hobbit headcanon #the hobbit #thranduil imagine #the hobbit imagine #the hobbit x reader

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gossip-girl-of-middleearth · 7 months

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Greetings, dear readers. Here you shall find my writing masterlist. I regularly take requests, and can write for The Hobbit, Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, and The Witcher. I dally in gender-specific, gender-diverse, and gender-neutral reader inserts, and am happy to cater. Read on and let your mind drift away into a world of submersible imagination…

She’s the Man (Fellowship X Disguised as Boy! Reader!)

The Road Less Traveled (Fellowship x Pregnant! Reader)

The Road Less Traveled (Part 2) (Legolas x Mother! Reader)

“Thanks, I Owe You Guys One.” (Fellowship x Reader)

Speak My Language (Fellowship x Hurt! Reader)

Leap of Faith (Fellowship x Reader)

Wrong End of the Ithillien Stick (Legolas x Reader)

Not a Hero (Fellowship x Soldier! Reader)

Elf Got Your Tongue? (Legolas x Reader)

The Wrong Kind of Stardust (Legolas x Reader)

And Then There Were Two (Legolas x Reader) (One Bed Trope)

The Softest Shout (Fili x Reader)

Silver is the New Sexy (Kili x Reader)

Imagine the Fellowship comforting you as you reveal your aro/ace identity to them

Imagine accidentally marrying Legolas whilst drunk in Edoras

Imagine Legolas only yelling at you in Sindarin when angry

Imagine spending your Sweet 16 with the Fellowship

Imagine Mairon and Melkor dangling you over lava to extract information from you

Imagine helping Legolas deal with a sprained ankle

Imagine waiting at the battle of Helms Deep

Imagine Thranduil helping you deal with your skin insecurities

Imagine you, a bard, writing the song ‘Soldier, Poet, King’ about Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas

Imagine Gandalf taking the Fellowship to you after they’ve all been turned into animals

Imagine you, a journalist, forcing your way into the Fellowship of the Ring

Imagine having a spa day with Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli

Imagine Legolas becoming a “bridezilla” at your wedding

Imagine Aragorn and Legolas helping hide your mermaid identity from the rest of the Fellowship

Imagine having a playful songwriter rivalry with Maglor

Teaching the Fellowship to drive a car would include: (Fellowship x Reader)

Imagine having Maglor as your neighbour in the 21st century

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lillianofliterature · 1 year

Note

If your requests are open, and you are comfortable with it, could you maybe please do a King Thranduil x reader one-shot where reader has cancer and it is like angsty?

the toll of sickness | thranduil x reader

a/n: Anon, I am sincerely sorry for the long wait, but I wanted to provide all the angsty venting and comfort I could for you in this! Thank you for your request! I wanted to do this right by you. I hope this helps soothe whatever parts of you need soothing today. I don’t know anon’s/anyone’s specific diagnosis or symptoms, so I’m doing my best to remain respectful and widely general with the topic of cancer. I took inspiration from my own experiences with the mental/emotional toll of long-term chronic illness to supply a plot to resolve, I hope that’s okay (and still relatable). <3

The reader is implied feminine in this as they are referred to as lady/queen, but otherwise, I did my best to keep it gender-neutral with descriptions.

This could also be interpreted as a reader with chronic illness.

DO NOT REPOST MY WORK. GIF EDIT IS MINE.

summary: after a long day of tiresome treatments and the heaviness of your thoughts, you retreat to your chambers to seek the comfort of your husband’s arms.

warnings: mentions of cancer (the reader has cancer), mentions of cancer treatments and symptoms (including needles), medical exhaustion, nonsexual nudity and nonsexual bathing, open discussions of symptoms, fear of death

word count: 6.1k

music: As Long As We Both Shall Live by Bear McCreary

elvish translations: melamin = my love, melda = my dear/beloved

“I think we will conclude here for today, my lady.”

The head healer’s voice drew your wayward attention back to his prim features. His thin lips spread into a smile as he gently unstrapped the tight leather band above your inner elbow, releasing the tension from your skin. The long syringe with its glass barrel was gently pulled from the blue vein that the pressure had highlighted. You rubbed your arm subconsciously as he set aside the supplies for cleaning, hoping the motion would rid your flesh of the awful sensation of being probed.

You blinked away your muddled thoughts. Briefly, you worried that perhaps he had been talking to you long before you’d heard his assessment to end the treatments for the evening. If you had, you were grateful to find no resentment in his gaze for your absentminded silence.

He softly closed his collection of books that had been displayed around a table on the wall adjacent to your cushioned cot in the infirmary. With a bottle of herbal salve, he applied a generous portion to the inner curve of your elbow, satiating any irritation from his needles. The cool gel of the aloe soothed the itchy redness, while the lavender masked the sterile scent of the medications and intensely bitter herbs.

You glanced up from the healer’s gentle efforts, trying on your best smile. “Thank you for your diligence today, Sudryl. It is very much appreciated.”

He bowed his head as he clasped your hand between his palms, “It is always a pleasure to tend to you, my queen. We will resume tomorrow morning if it suits your schedule?”

“My schedule is always free for your remedies. Thranduil has made sure to take over many of my duties so we may focus on my treatment.”

Sudryl smiled once more as he helped you stand from the cot, draping your silken robe over your bare arms as he did so. “The king is very wise, your majesty. I know you detest this period of healing you’re undergoing, but you mustn't mistake rest for idleness. Your people desire greatly for your full recovery, myself included. In order to achieve that, your rest is crucial.”

You didn’t know what to say. Rest was crucial, you knew that. As were the innumerable treatments and remedies being applied and adjusted every day.

But didn’t anyone understand that you were tired of all of this? Exhausted by more than just the cancer and its seemingly endless repercussions that it presented almost daily. Worn down by more than just needles and salves and bitter syrups that lingered in your throat.

You missed feeling well-rested when you woke up in the mornings after a long sleep—you missed having the energy to spend your days fulfilling your duties as a queen, as a servant to her people. You missed the days in which every activity was not dictated or measured by searing pain or groggy fatigue. You were tired of wrestling with your body just to exist comfortably.

But it’s your duty to get better, they keep telling you.

It’s what everyone’s hoping for, your majesty.

Do your best to rest and eat well, my lady.

Don’t give up hope, Queen (Y/n). You are blessed among our kin!

The people have been petitioning their prayers to the Valar fervently, your grace.

They were supposed to be words of encouragement spoken to invigorate your fighting spirit, to ignite that spark of determination that was starting to flicker these last few months. But these endless strains of hope and enlightenment had started to weigh heavily upon your shoulders like a milkmaid’s yoke, and with every well-intentioned word and chorus of song another stone was dropped into the buckets you carried.

The pressure to recover for the sake of others was beginning to feel like too much—the toll of the sickness itself was enough for one to worry about, was it not? Not only did you feel this fearsome desperation to recover for your own sake, for your own life, but also the need of a thousand other voices begging for a show of strength you didn’t feel tangible anymore.

The summoning of one of your servants outside the infirmary doors reminded you that the hour to retire for supper was nearing presently. You felt your posture deflate as it dawned on you that you couldn’t yet retire for the day. Although your extravagant evening meals were one of the few constants that motivated you to follow your days through until nightfall, your hunger had dispersed in the last few days. Being seated at a stiff table dressed with rich delicacies and savory wines sounded nothing short of torture at the moment, even with the promise of dessert.

The servant curtseyed in the broad doorway as Sudryl led you across the room. You couldn’t help but tense as your legs tremored from the sudden activity. A long exhale slipped through your pursed lips.

“My queen,” She rose gracefully, her hands folding together at her waist. “Your supper with the king is nearly prepared. He will be present in the dining hall shortly as soon as his meeting has concluded. I was advised to escort you there safely.”

Clutching onto Sudryl’s forearm, you hesitated to address the messenger. You couldn’t help the expression of distaste that twisted your face. The thought of food was not the only thing that churned your stomach at that moment; the prospect of being walked through your own palace as though you were an invalid, incapable of making it there of your own merit, as though every pair of eyes in this forest need offer you their due pity, bothered you even more than the risk of losing your supper to the toilet.

Knowing you couldn’t send her away under Sudryl’s watchful eye (for surely there would be further inquiries as a result of such an unnecessary dismissal), you managed to nod in thanks to her before turning to him. The head healer’s smile was brimming with empathy. You tried not to feel offended by his pitying compassion. He leaned forward and pecked your cheek reverently, bidding you a respectful farewell until the morning.

You turned from him and followed the servant into the winding halls. Gaze following the eroded pathway of the massive tree roots beneath your sore feet, you bided the seconds until you were both too far to be noticed by any superior voices that might challenge your decision-making. When your footsteps halted, she turned to face you.

Her brows raised, she asked, “My lady? Is something wrong?”

“No, no. I’m alright,” You waved her worries aside with the vague gesture of your hand. “But I can manage the walk to the dining hall from here.”

Her brows drew together in an expression of confusion. You straightened your back—had she seen through your polite fib? Was it that obvious you had no intentions of eating this evening? Or was just she not used to being given conflicting commands between two monarchs?

“—On my own. I can make it there on my own.”

Her lips parted in protest as she recalled what you assumed were very clear orders from your husband only minutes prior. Stretching your hand out to gently touch her shoulder, you reassured her it would be alright. “I will explain to the king myself that I demanded to be left alone. No trouble will come to you, I promise. You will not lose your position.”

“But my lady, I—it is my duty is to ensure your safe arrival. Are you sure you don’t—?”

The irritation that swelled within you wasn’t her fault, you hastily reminded yourself. You bit back the frustrated sigh you wanted to release, tightening your polite smile. Reasoning with another person about what you wanted to do and why you wanted to do it was the last thing you presently wanted to deal with. Desperate to detach yourself from her and anyone else lingering about, you decided to be straightforward. No beating around the bush.

“I value your persistence, young one, but I would very much like to retire early tonight. You may inform my husband that I’ll be taking my meal in our chambers if you must.”

“Understood, your majesty. I shall inform the king. Have a good evening.” She dipped into an impulsive curtsy, quickly trailing back to the chancellery to relay your decision.

You didn’t even wait for her to pass beyond the long hall ahead before you turned in the opposite direction. Your private chambers weren’t too far from the infirmary, thankfully. However, it still took some resolve on your behalf to encourage your depleted energy through corridors and foyers all the way back to your comfortable bed. The silver silk of your robe billowed around your feet with every step, giving your eyes something other than walls of stone and root to follow.

You were sure your husband wouldn’t be taking the present news about your wellbeing all that agreeably. You could see it clearly in your mind—the disheveled, anxious worry in his eyes that he masked behind a wall of solemn regality. But you could always see what he was thinking. He wouldn’t like the fact that your treatments were taking more and more of a toll on your already wearisome state. He would like it even less when he found out you would soon be dismissing supper altogether.

His concern wasn’t for himself, of course. It was for you—it was always for you.

He wanted desperately for you to be able to enjoy your meals in the glittering brilliance of the dining hall, unperturbed by fatigue and nausea. He wanted you to be able to take those strolls through the forest gardens that you adored so much without the sore discomfort in your bones. He wanted you to relish in your life and its unrivaled importance. And most of all, he wanted desperately to take this lingering sickness away; he wished he had been born with a skill for healing like some of his kin.

But all he could give you were the promises of an unsure future and the enlistment of his most skilled associates and all relevant resources that could be found about your condition. And some part of you—some sad, twisted part of you—felt a rush of guilt that so much commotion and worry was being circulated about the kingdom on your behalf. And that guilt only made the whole affair all the more frustrating and maddening. These days, everything inflamed your anger. This whole tumultuous ordeal seemed to be unraveling more than just your physical state.

You knew it was ridiculous to feel responsible in some way for what was happening to you. You hadn’t chosen this, you hadn’t brought it on yourself—you most certainly didn’t deserve it. No one with cancer ever does. But reasoning with your inner turmoil was like wrestling a wild boar in the mud; there was never any true resolve without the cost of more anxieties, more wounds, more gashes in your soul. And the more you tried to gain a grip on yourself, the less grounded you became, the more it all slipped through your fingers.

The click of the door was a chime of resolve as you leaned against the tall wooden frame from within the calm confines of your spacious bedroom. Sliding out of your supple leather flats and letting your robe slump to your elbows, you took the first deep breath you had been able to control since earlier that morning. The king-sized bed frame creaked subtly as you lowered yourself onto the fluffed silken duvet. Ever so gradually, you felt the weight of the vertical world begin to reprieve from your muscles like steam rushing upwards from a boiling pot.

Rest wasn’t a cure for what ailed you, no, but Valar above, sometimes it felt like it.

Since your diagnosis—the terrifying sickness devouring your energy and livelihood from within your own body—nearly every day had been spent in the infirmary or the healer’s sanctuary, remedies administered by the hour, conversations turning tiresome and sour. It had begun to feel like your own home was a prison, the world beyond the palace unreachable, like every action was a strenuous transaction of vitality and exhaustion. Even just walking the gardens that lead into the forest had become inexplicably draining—it left you feeling as though you’d run to Mirkwood’s southern border and back rather than taking a few turns about the courtyard.

But here, on the cloud-like comfort of your private chambers, there was some reprieve from it all. There were no endless strands of questions about your well-being and your comfort and opinions on the tedious details of your health here—only the distant rush of the waterfalls that crashed brazenly into the river moat outside the palace gates. You could hear the chirping of the early summer insects as dusk narrowed on the horizon beyond the open terrace. There was no sterile smell of concentrated alcohol or the pungent gnawing of tart herbs. Instead, there was a faint aroma of lilacs wafting in from the gardens and the scent of your husband’s musk lingering in your bed.

Closing your eyes and rolling onto your lesser-sore side, you sought out the imprint that his body might have left there that morning. But the duvet was creased flat and folded with a chill under your skin. It was curious futility to think his warmth might have lasted after so many long hours away, you knew that; the bed was always plumped and remade in the mornings by your gracious servants. A coldness ran through you, engulfing your skin in little bumps that felt like prickling needles.

Too sore from your aches to unfurl the taut covers from the mattress and too comfortable to retrieve one of your husband’s many fur throws, you recoiled your arm and folded your limbs closer together, curling into a position that would magnify your own body heat. While quietly taking in the environment of your sanctuary, this small peaceful haven that almost made you forget the turmoil your body was enduring, you hardly noticed as you faded into a light slumber. Caught between the ebbing flow of consciousness as it bobbed around the sleepy release of your strained body, wading between thoughts and dreams.

Unaware of the passage of time as you laid there in groggy consciousness, you hardly felt the urge to stir from your position until you felt the back of someone’s hand on your cheek, the brushing aside of your askew (h/c) tendrils. Then you made out the quiet husk of a voice that hovered above you in the dark.

In the dark? Sunset was still a couple of hours away! And after that, dusk would linger still until the light vanished beyond the mountains to the west. Why was it already so dark?

Hadn’t it only been a few fleeting minutes since you’d closed your eyes, listening to the cicadas and savoring the sweetness of the summer flora? Eyebrows pursed, you could hear yourself attempt to answer, but the meticulous reply you’d fabricated in your mind was delivered in heavy vowels that grouped together lazily. Your speech felt like treacle slipping off your tired tongue.

A velvet chuckle reverberated in your perking ears.

“Have I forgotten my native tongue or was that a very poor attempt at Sindarin?”

Thranduil.

Your nose scrunched up as you fought to drain the sleepiness that was working against you so fervently. Before you could stir the tired droopiness from your eyes with eager fists, two gentle hands cupped your cheeks and swept their thumbs over your closed eyes. The motion was akin to a gentle massage, spanning your sore eyelids and dusting across your cheekbones, a cradling of your vulnerable stillness that filled your chest with a fond fervor. The supple tenderness of his lips collided briefly with yours before parting all too quickly.

“Mm?” Your vocabulary hadn’t quite refreshed itself, it seemed. “When d’dju geten?”

Another rumbling chuckle he didn’t bother trying to hide. You pictured his willowy frame standing primly in front of the tall gilded looking glass, unfastening his stuffier robes and tucking his powder–blonde hair behind his pointed ears, or perhaps even tying it back for the night as he often did.

Stars, it felt like there were weights on your shoulders pulling you back against the duvet as you forced yourself to sit up, like the muscles beneath your skin were unraveling at the seams. You rubbed your eyes and shooed your disheveled hair from your peripheral vision, glancing around the dark room for your husband’s silhouette. A flicker of light plumed suddenly in the sconce near the vanity, illuminating his fair features. The match in his hand extinguished with a puff of air from his lips before his pale blue eyes found yours.

“I only just came in,” he reassured you, “I’m afraid I underestimated how much wind some of our advisors have in their lungs, especially when provoked.”

Another votive flickered to life on the other side of the room, another match snuffed out under his breath. The sunlight outside had all but gone in the murky hours you had been asleep. Now that you could take in the mellow darkness of the evening without confusion, some part of you felt distressed about the sudden absence of natural light. The daylight, warm and golden, always brought you a sense of comfort. But now it was dark and grey and the light of the moon was cold, distant, and you hadn't had a chance to prepare yourself for it. Another chill ran across your skin as a more frigid breeze swept in from the open terrace.

“Did Sudryl have a chance to share the news with you before retiring this evening?” He asked, glancing over his shoulder at you. His lips pursed when he saw your unmoving figure still sitting on the edge of the bed, your back draped in silks, facing away from him. Your slumped posture told him all he needed to know about how you were feeling after your treatments—the exhaustion was palpable in how slow your palm rose to cradle your own forehead, in how shaky you were as you forced yourself up from the bed and took hold of the bedpost.

He was near you in an instant, his strong hands taking gentle hold of your bowed shoulders. There he was, combing the stray hairs on your head down with doting affection, all while the same frustrations were building up inside of you as your sleepiness dissipated.

“You needn’t rise for me, melamin, I am no guest.” He chided gently.

“I know, I just need a bath before we settle in for the night.”

“You’re in no state to manage that tonight, (Y/n)—”

“Thranduil, I haven’t rinsed off the ointments. I smell like the forest—and not in a good way.”

“You smell like an herb garden, fresh and natural, as all things should be.”

“Pungent is more like it,” You quipped, catching the accent of bitter walnuts exuding from your thin robes. It was that old, damp, dingy sort of bitterness that made you want to expel the air from your lungs with a snort when you caught a whiff of it—not the pleasant sort of musk from the gardens.

He laughed again, this time with more relief behind his eyes. Even though he knew you were spent from the day’s strenuous activities, the presence of your humor provided him with some semblance of comfort. And as for your own weary senses, his smooth strain of laughter was more than a consolation for the muted anxiousness that the infirmary always inflicted.

“Then let me help you.”

“Thranduil, I can do it mys—”

“I insist,” He offered decidedly, and you knew well enough from past experience that arguing with him on the matter would prove ineffective.

He gently looped your arm through the curve of his elbow, placing a sweet kiss to your messy hair before turning along with you toward the adjoined bathing chamber. You leaned into him for support and begrudgingly admitted to yourself that he was right—there was no way you could withstand the exertion on your own, at least not tonight. Not while you felt this lethargic, not while your stress levels were causing such tension throughout your body, making everything denser, slower, sluggish.

Once he led you into the warmly lit haven of the spacious chamber, the steam of the hot spring pool seemed to draw you in on its own accord. The walls and their rugged shapes made the flickering yellowness of the torchlight spread longer shadows among its natural angles and divots. The far right wall was connected to the run-off of one of the many springs that stretched like veins throughout the mountain palace—and it was little cavern rooms like this one that reminded you that you were living in the majesty of a low-peaking mountain, not just nestled in the forested density of the Greenwood.

You knelt at the rim of the bathing pool on the soft stone edge, dragging your hand through the clear blue water. The natural warmth of the hot spring invigorated you with a sense of eagerness as you remembered just how soothing these glowing pools always were. A gentle touch to your shoulder lured your attention back to your husband, who with a fond smile, was waiting to help you unravel your robes and underthings. Taking his hand, you were pulled to stand in front of him with the gentlest limits of his strength.

You hardly felt the pressure or the tugging of his lithe fingers as he helped you undress, his touch but a breeze across your sore skin. When you were naked and chilled from the exposure, he guided you into the blue waters and leaned over the pool’s edge to make sure you were steady on the outcropped seat of eroded stonework submerged in the water. As the bubbling warmth enveloped your flesh, your eyes fluttered shut with an involuntary sigh of relief.

There were very rarely things that proved effective for your ceaseless pains—medicines and supplements only lasted so long or relieved so little, and sleep was growing more difficult to manage. But this—the heat bubbling up from the earth, sorted through sediment and mineral—was the most relief you found these days.

When submerged in the hot spring bath, your entire body numbed to its own plague as your bones and muscles absorbed whatever benefits came from the terrain around you. You briefly wondered how you ever managed to get out the last time you soaked like this, with every inch of your flesh basking in the warmth that enveloped you.

You relaxed against the glossy stones, trying to quiet your mind of all the infernal anxieties pressing a weight against your chest. The noise of your thoughts made it difficult to focus fully on the soothing effects of the natural hot spring, tensing and loosening your muscles and posture between every harsh doubt.

With a fresh cloth he brandished from a side table, Thranduil dipped it into the warm bath and began gently scrubbing away the ground athelas mixture. He’d seated himself comfortably on the edge of the bath, submerging his calves into the pool to cradle you between them. The cloth strummed along your chest and stomach as he reached over and behind, where the herbs from Sudryl’s remedies had been infiltrating the cancerous sickness plaguing your organs. You hadn’t meant to show him how weak you felt, how tired you were, how desperately you needed this—but your head fell back to rest against his stomach despite this as the steam curled around you both, dampening your hair and foreheads.

After your rinsing from the spout of a silver pitcher, he coaxed oils and lathered soaps across your flesh, your own fingers clasping onto the pale skin of his forearm or around his leg, refusing to cease contact with him. And although he generously and willingly offered his aide while the healing minerals of that glowing pool of steam soothed you, some venomous voice in the back of your mind tried to feed you strings of doubt and loathing.

He shouldn’t have to do this. He shouldn’t have had to become my caretaker.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I wasn’t supposed to get sick—neither of us was.

He deserves more than this mess I’ve given him. He deserves better than me.

You cleared your throat, trying to silence the growing guilt and shame before that stinging swell of tears could grow any more than they already were.

“What was it you were going to tell me?” You asked after the first of his own sweet-scented oils was being lathered along your arms, turning you about to face him. “Earlier, you mentioned something about Sudryl?”

“Ah, that,” he nodded in remembrance, “I gather he didn’t mention anything about Lord Elrond to you today?”

“Lord Elrond?” You inquired, lifting your questioning gaze to meet his. “No—no, he didn’t. Has something happened? Something to do with our alliances? Or with that trade treaty we adjusted with Laketown in the spring—”

“No, melamin, nothing of diplomatic proportions—all is still amiable with our kin for the time being,” he reassured. When he glanced up at you, the tranquil hope glittering in his blue eyes soothed the curious worry growing in your mind. He almost seemed excited about something. It tugged the corners of your mouth into a brief smile. “I sent word to him a little more than a month ago now, I suppose, to see what he might be able to do about your condition, to inquire about whether his skill with healing might mend what ails you.”

You swallowed hard over the sudden discomfort of anxiety that rose again like bile in your throat at the mention of more treatment, more guests, more expectations for healing. More, more, more.

“He is to arrive within a week of his latest correspondence, which came this morning. Preparations are being made for his arrival as we speak.”

Unknowingly, your grip had tightened on your husband’s forearm, your nails digging shallow crescents into his skin. The sharp sensation drew his attention downward to your hands, his dark brows furrowing in concern. His fingers winding around yours brought your attention to your vice-like grip, which you promptly loosened.

“What is it, (Y/n)? Does this news not please you?”

The earnestness in his pale eyes pierced your heart, the guilt bubbling up in your mind again. You weren’t sure what worried you most. The prospect of more prodding, more treatments, more attempts that might lead to nowhere; the fuss being made across the realm about your condition, about this peculiar, harsh sickness that was so puzzling to even the brightest minds; or perhaps, most worrisome of all, was the fact that you were no longer able to manage the upkeep of a happy facade. So many people were hoping, praying, supporting, and tending to you.

And somehow, you found that to be the most exhausting part of it all. Not only were you fighting for your own body, for comfort and life, but you were trying to uphold and appease every pair of eyes that was eagerly awaiting your miraculous recovery from something you didn’t even know how to fight. There were so many hopes to meet, so many hearts to comfort on your behalf, and your resolve was quietly crumbling.

Before you could think to soften your words in an attempt to save Thranduil’s optimism, your lips began to move, a sudden impulse of tears gathering in your eyes. “What if there is nothing even Lord Elrond can do to cure this?”

He paused, his eyes searching yours briefly before his damp fingers reached up to caress your cheek. How had he not seen the disparagement growing behind your gaze, darkening the lilt in your voice? Hidden behind humor and mischievous quips, but no less obvious.

“If—if I do not show improvement, our people will lose their resolve. Everyone’s counting on me to get better, to show some store of strength I no longer have and I–I can’t will my body to right itself,” you bore to him, panicked and spent from months of effort, “I cannot give everyone the hope they're seeking from me."

“Oh, melamin,” his chin nestled over your ear as he murmured with such rich affection, pressing your face into the musky homeliness of his neck.

“I know I should be grateful for their support, for their prayers and their offerings, but it’s becoming too much, Thranduil. I don’t have the strength for a kingdom’s worth of miracles.”

“You do not owe anyone but yourself the grace of your strength. Had I known their encouragement had put pressure on you to perform, I would have silenced the lot of them.”

Despite his sincerity, you panicked on. “What if I am never rid of it? What if this is my blight that I must war with for the rest of my life?”

He sombered then, drawing in a deep string of air into his lungs. You could see him wrestling with the reality of your honesty, with the questions you both had been too afraid to speak aloud before now. Gathering himself, he drew you nearer to him, clinging to you with a brief urgency that almost startled you.

“Then we will rise together each day to face it. There will never be a single day that you will have to endure this on your own. Do you hear me? That is my promise to you—that my vow and my diligence will never waver where you are concerned.”

Your tears burned with his words and you worked to force them at bay, his sweetness drawing every sour fear and thought of guilt from your mind and onto your tongue. “I am so sorry for this life I have given you. You didn’t ask for this—you cannot be happy with me—with this-this terrible thing I’ve brought upon us. You deserve so much more, and I can no longer give it to you.”

“You’re apologizing—?” He questioned, his voice quiet in shock.

Your eyes clamped shut, forcing the well of sorrows from your eyes to plummet. Gently, he pulled himself back, repositioning his hands on your upper arms as if to garner your absolute attention.

“(Y/n), this life you have given me has been far more than I have ever deserved and could ever strive to. From the moment we met, you have enriched my life just by your existence alone, much less the many qualities and traits about you I have come to treasure beyond all fortune or success. You have given me everything, a dozen lifetimes over, in the mere centuries we have been together.”

“You cannot have wanted this,” you breathed out, hushed by your own shame.

“No, I did not want you to suffer with something so abysmal, something so beyond my control. Of course I did not want for your pain…but if this is our future, if this is our path together, then I want every minute of it, and I will not settle for a second less. I would upheave the very crest of the world and drown mountains in flame if it meant saving you. And if that makes me selfish or ruthless, then I will be the standard at which devils compare their sins.”

His hands had gradually found their way up to your face, cradling your damp cheeks with a sincerity that made your lip quiver.

“Look at me,” he whispered.

The sight of the tearful waterline reflected in his eyes drew a noise of curt regret from your lungs. Your sob pierced his heart, filling him with a desperation to amend the shame and anxiety plaguing your mind.

“If you truly believe that you are at fault for this sickness, then in turn I must be held responsible for allowing it to happen in the first place. As your husband first, but also as your king.”

“No, no that’s not true! It’s not even reasonable of you to—”

“Then how can it be your fault? How could any of this be on your shoulders? There is no sense in blame, (Y/n). Not here, not with this.”

There was a stillness after his words, a stillness that was meant for rumination, and sealed with his lips against your skin and hair. Your hands rose to rest against his chest, nestling them over the dip of his collarbone as you felt for comfort in the blur of your tears. His silence prompted an answer.

“It’s not my fault,” you replied.

“Say it again.”

“It isn’t my fault,” you echoed, meeting his gaze once more, “just as it isn’t yours.”

And as shocking as it was for you to realize it, you truly believed the words he encouraged from you. This sickness wasn’t your fault. Neither of you could have had any sway with fate or destiny, with whatever had brought this on. And perhaps, it just simply was, with no cause or fault at all. What mattered now was how kind you could be to yourself, how to take one moment of strife and find something in it to hold onto. Moments like this were one of those morsels between the ebbing aches of pain and grief that you could relish and devour again and again.

Thranduil leaned forward, pressing his sweat-laced brow against yours. “Do not ever blame yourself, melamin. Do not let those foul words pass between your lips again.”

You nodded against him, pulling him nearer. “I promise.”

In the long minutes that followed, there was the solace of quiet intimacy as he rinsed through your hair one final time, peppering you with kisses and caresses at every opportunity. He met you with a soft fluffy towel when he led you out of the bath, never allowing a breeze to nip at your damp skin. His touch was featherlight as he patted you dry from head to toe, scrunching your drenched tendrils of (h/c) hair without complaint.

“I’m still so afraid,” you managed the courage to speak aloud, “What if–...what if this sickness claims my life?”

“You will not part this world without me, melda. Not a single breath will leave your lungs without my sharing it, not a single heartbeat will we not share,” he vowed, the absolute belief in his voice making the promise all the richer, “there isn’t a corner in this world or any other that you could wander to that I would not accompany you.”

Your silk nightgown slipped over your outstretched arms swiftly, sliding down your body and into place comfortably. He did up the lace of the collar with efficiency, not missing the chance to playfully tug you closer with the slightest bit of his strength. You planted yourself against his chest, the smile on your lips effortless with his own. The firm warmth of his arms wrapping around you had the same sort of pain-numbing effect as the hot spring, lulling every fretful thought to a close. His somber laugh reverberated again, this time through your bones, bringing an ethereal kind of peace with it.

The pillows of your large four-poster bed were positioned, fluffed, and repositioned. You waited patiently, upon his insistence, as he untucked and pulled the puffy duvet back for you to crawl under. Once comfortably tucked beneath layers of silk and cotton, he assumed his place beside you, careful not to jostle the mattress as he settled, mindful that every movement enticed your discomfort.

His body heat made you sleepy as you sank further into the covers, fogging your thoughts with a drowsy anticipation for the release of slumber. You’d waited for this moment all day—it had been the image that had pushed you through the hours of treatment and questions—the moment you could finally burrow against his warmth and drunken yourself with his scent. There was a slight stirring as he reached off to the side to retrieve something on the bedside table.

The fluttering of pages caught your fading attention, pulling your heavy-eyed gaze toward the book in his grasp. “Would you like to continue where we left off?”

You smiled tiredly against his chest, not recalling the events of the book he’d been reading to you for the last few nights. Oftentimes, the first few pages would strike vividly in your imagination, but as his lustrous tone carried on through paragraphs and chapters, the sleepy security that his presence enticed made it impossible to recall anything beyond the thrilling hum of his voice. In all actuality, you were quite sure he didn’t mind if you knew anything at all about the story he was reading aloud. It was enough to hold you and be held.

TAGS: @tessaem @izbelross @bloodblossoms73 @sunnysidesidra

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aeonianarchives · 2 years

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Rainstorms

Fotfictober Prompts: 9 - Rainstorms

Summery: The autumn rain starts in Imladris as a storm, it's time for some fluffy Elrond, Gil and Reader, possibly some Gil x Reader dancing in the rain while Elrond watches his two idiots from his warm study

Characters: Elrond, Gil-Galad, Reader, Glofindel, Erestor

Pairing(s): Elrond x Gil-Galad x Reader, (Side pair) Glorestor

Warnings: Non

Readers Pronouns: Gender neutral - They/Them

You knew full well Elrond and Gil-Galad had stayed in the house to complete paperwork Erestor had given them, but the autumn ran was coming and you could feel it from the crisp hair of the morning and the dull light which was peaking through the clouds, you and Glorfindel had gone for a ride to catch up, you had not seen each other in a few weeks you having been with Gil the entire time because him not being king anymore ment he could be clingy well to you at least not Elrond, that elf had become the lord of the valley no fooling around for Elrond now a days.

"Looks like rain" Glorfindel said you nodded to your friend, you were fairly far from shelter.

"We should head back, our lovers would not like us to stay in the cold for to long especially if it is raining" You said, it started raining and heavily before you even got insight of the last homely house Glorfindel had started running but you couldn't be asked you didn't like running and you enjoyed the rain as well you didn't mind it, Glorfindel did offer to piggy back you but that was to inappropriate so you both decided against it.

once you got to the stairs leading to the courtyard which stood in front of the house you saw Gil-galad "There you are, I was worried the rain had got you" The old king said

"It did get me" you said making Gil laugh

"I can see that Meleth-nin" Gil said

"It looks as if it has got you as well" you chuckled as Gil pulled you into him by your waist you wrapped your arms around his neck

"All the more reason to get Elrond to warm us up" Gil said making you giggle again laying your head against his chest the lord started dancing with you in his arms

"I always wanted to dance in the rain back when I was king but I couldn't in case someone caught me, I had a reputation to maintain can't have me tainting it with being caught could I" Gil said laughing

"I didn't think you cared for reputation" you said

"How rude" Gil laughed.

Elrond smiled as he took a sip from his warm drink as he watched both of you dance, you would complain about being wet when you came in but in the moment he was glad you both were enjoying the rain at least before your complaining will come.

"Lindir you can have the rest of the day off I suspect I will be detained shortly" Elrond said his assistant jumped at his lord suddenly addressing him as he organized the bookshelf which was in his lords study.

"Are you sure my lord" Lindir questioned

"I am, Erestor will just have to deal with getting the paperwork late" Elrond said

"I will let him know" Lindir said leaving, Elrond looked back to his two lovers the rain had started coming down harder you both had started laughing and you pulled Gil into shelter

Gil wrapped you up in his arms "I want a nice relaxing warm bath with the oils and salts Thranduil gifted Elrond, and just soak there" You said

"I wish for that as well" Gil said as well burying his head in your neck

"Why don't we and then jump Elrond for hugs" you suggest

"What are you waiting for" Gil said pulling you to your rooms, you giggled but followed after him.

Elrond questioned why you and Gil did not burst into his study after coming inside as that was what you both normally did, the scent of lavender and sandalwood reached his noise coming from the bed chambers both his and Gil's studies were attached to your bedrooms given how long they worked for.

Elrond chuckled and laid down his quill and stood up he walked to the bathroom were he found both of his lovers in a warm bath he could see the steam raising from it and what had clung the the mirror already.

Gil was doing your hair Elrond kept quite and brought the stool over and set it behind him and sat on it, he took the former High Kings hair into his hands.

"How was the rain" Elrond questioned

"Wet" you put simply making Gil laugh

"Of course" Elrond said

"You always get grumpy after you get soaked in rain but always play in it anyway, you are a mystery to me" Gil said

"It makes me cold and miserable, it is better to have a warm drink and a book and cover yourself in pelts by the fire and read watching the rain" you said

"Agreed" Elrond hmmed

"You as well, I always caught you in the rain, and now your all stuck up" Gil said when the bath got cold you both left it and changed into warm robes, Elrond was already waiting on the bed reading a book you decided to jump on him.

"Hello you" Elrond said wrapping his arm around you Gil decided to to it the more appropriate way and climb in.

"What ya reading" Gil said putting his head on your shoulder, Elrond closed the book and hit Gil gently with it making him scrunch his nose

"How rude, I was high king you know, i may not be the king anymore but the title is still mine" Gil said you chuckled as Elrond and Gil began to argue

"Your ruining the moment" You chimed in you had buried your head into Elrond

"Yeah Gil your ruining the moment" Elrond said hitting him again

"Elrond stop hitting him" You said laughing

"He's always been the same feral herald at heart he hasn't changed" Gil said

"Oh shut up" Elrond said

"Both of you shut up" you said as you hugged both of your Noldorain elves.

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rivendell-poet · 1 month

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*･༓˚✧❝𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐭 (𝐋𝐨𝐭𝐑)❞‧͙⁺˚༓˚✧ « scenarios »

○ Aragorn ○ Legolas ○ Frodo ○ Sam ○ Merry ○ Pippin ○ Boromir ○ Faramir ○ Éowyn ○ Éomer ○ Bard ○ Thranduil ○ Tauriel ○ Lindir ○ Haldir ○ Elladan ○ Elrohir ○

GN!Reader | Wordcount : 4k (each individual around 230~ words) | Read on Ao3

TWS : Drinking, implied arranged marriage that doesn't happen & isn't between reader and Faramir (Faramir), nothing else

« 1, 2, masterlist »

𝐀𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐧

✧ As one of the Dúnedain rangers who looked after the Shire, you had instantly gone to Frodo's side once Gandalf showed up. Although you didn't know the full details of the plan (they hadn't yet trusted you with the secrets of the ring) you agreed to escort them to Bree so they could meet with Gandalf there.

✧ Aragorn noticed you first when you entered The Prancing Pony, carefully herding the hobbits in and making sure that they didn't run off, or get into trouble.

✧ When you look around to try and spot Gandalf he begins to slip into the shadows out of habit, but stops himself and stays easily seen. Aragorn doesn’t know why he lets you see him, but the tension even slightly leaving your eyes seems to make it worth it. Even in the light, you both recognise each other as Dúnedain.

✧ After Aragorn takes Frodo to a separate room, he barely has time to begin his greetings before you swing open the door with the other hobbits and a sword to his neck demanding you release him.

✧ Normally he’d be intimidated, perhaps on guard with you, but even with a sword to his neck the first feeling he gets is admiration - it’s rare to catch him off guard like you have.

✧ The two of you work well together, even though you're slightly suspicious of him, and when Frodo decides to place his trust in the ranger you give it to him as well.

✧ While setting up the fake hobbits together there's some debate over who will keep watch and eventually both of you stay up together (sitting in a comfortable silence).

𝐋𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐬

✧ Even if Denethor hadn’t approved of Faramir going to Rivendell, he did allow you to accompany Boromir to the valley. (You had gone because Faramir asked you, saying your job - a ranger who often scouted Mordor - would be valuable, even if he didn’t know why).

✧ When you had finally arrived in Rivendell you didn’t immediately admire the scenery, instead focusing on finally being (truly) clean after over a hundred days of travel.

✧ Once you were happy with yourself you thought it only right to look at the beauty of Rivendell, wandering aimlessly.

✧ It was then, after taking the same turn for the third time, that an elf suddenly appeared with a pitying look and asked if you had ever been to Rivendell before.

✧ Legolas is delighted when you take him up on his offer to show you around (Mirkwood is not exactly the best place to roam) and takes great pleasure in showing you different places.

✧ At almost every turn he asks you which places you’d prefer to see, taking you on a rather haphazard tour (although he doesn’t seem phased by it).

✧ He doesn’t recognise your Gondorian accent at first, but once he does he’s eager to ask more about it and your opinions.

✧ Eventually, as the stars and moon begin to light your walk, you apologise and explain you must be up early in the morning for an important meeting.

✧ Realising you’ll also be at the Council of Elrond, Legolas wishes you a good night’s rest and that he will see you soon.

𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐨

✧ Gandalf, over the years, employed many people to subtly watch over the Shire - and you were one of them.

✧ Traditionally based in Bree, you had been honoured to be chosen by the grey wizard and kept a close eye on the Baggins family.

✧ Eventually, after being slightly careless the day before, Bilbo manages to find and confront you about your intentions (albeit aided by the one ring).

✧ After learning you're a friend of Gandalf, he quickly invites you in to talk about it over luncheon.

✧ Frodo is surprised when you suddenly appear with his uncle for food, but he accepts it.

✧ The two of you are quick to bond when you talk about your travels - even if most are only a few days away from the Shire.

✧ He's completely enamoured by you - and Bilbo eats quickly to excuse himself and let you two be alone.

✧ You reinforce his ideas of going on one of Bilbo’s grand adventures, and after luncheon is over Frodo asks you to stay so that you may talk some more.

✧ The two of you spend the rest of the day pouring over old maps as you tell him the facts you’ve learnt about those places from the wild, while he shares the facts that his beloved books tell him.

✧ When you realise the time you try to excuse yourself, but Bilbo insists you spend the night in a guest room.

𝐒𝐚𝐦

✧ Like most of the Shire, you were out in the summer festival - enjoying the field that had been cleared to make way for food, dancing, tents, hobbits sitting about, and more food.

✧ Predictably, your friends had dragged you into dancing, they wanted to as well but were too scared to go alone, and then had left you without partners you knew.

✧ The first few spins had been fun, but eventually you needed to take a break and actually enjoy what else the festival had to offer.

✧ As you stand close to the dancers, a hobbit with darker curly hair (the younger Baggins) comes up to.

✧ You ready yourself to say no to dancing, but instead he asks if you’ll dance with his friend.

✧ The words ‘no’ die in your mouth as you see the hobbit next to him, shy but looking on hopefully at the dancing before casting a glance to you.

✧ “Gladly.”

✧ To your pleasant surprise, he’s a decent dancer, and when you both run out of energy to go again Sam rushes to get you both food and seats.

✧ It’s a small gesture, in the scheme of things, but over the food he’s collected and the cheer in the air you can’t help thinking of just how sweet Samwise already is to you.

𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲

✧ Being a hobbit from Bree meant you didn’t often travel to the Shire - it was a rather long distance after all - but it was always nice when you did.

✧ Like travelling to the harvest festival for when the crops started to become bountiful, and everything would be freshly picked and perfectly cooked. You could celebrate in Bree, but food based festivals are always better when done by hobbits.

✧ You’re stuck on what stall to eat from first, overwhelmed at all the options, when a young hobbit suddenly taps you on the shoulder and asks if you need help in choosing something.

✧ Deciding to trust the locals you say yes, and it’s rewarded by a large smile from the hobbit before Merry introduces himself then instantly begins to drag you to a further away stall - talking about all the different options, before trying to guess what flavour you’d like.

✧ He gets above five flavours in before stopping, and saying you should choose what you want - not what he thinks.

✧ When you decide, his eyes seem to light up even more as he tells you that’s his favourite too.

✧ The two of you spend the rest of the night together, and he eventually asks if you’re from Bree.

✧ You say yes but that you’re staying for a while, to which Merry immediately offers to show you around the Shire - offering a date for tomorrow.

𝐏𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧

✧ As one of Elrond’s advisors, you’re aware that something big is going to happen soon. Any elf in Rivendell can feel it, especially when you’re privy to whispers of information such as ‘Sauron’ and ‘the one ring’.

✧ What you aren’t expecting is for this ‘something’ to be in the form of hobbits, one brought by Arwen - and the other three to be brought by Aragorn.

✧ Knowing the Nazgul’s attack on them, you wait on the borders of Rivendell for Isildur’s heir and his company.

✧ When Pippin sees you, almost silhouetted by the falling sun, he believes for a second you might be an angel.

✧ Even when you move to where he can see you (and begin admonishing Aragorn in Elvish) he still can’t shake the feeling that someone like you is too good for him and the hobbits.

✧ He doesn’t realise he’s staring, or blushing, until you come in front of him and gently kneel to check his forehead, asking if he’s ok.

✧ It takes him a second to respond - which probably doesn’t give too much confidence - but you accept his answering, welcoming him to Rivendell.

✧ The place is beautiful, but when you leave them to inform Lord Elrond of their arrival he can’t help thinking the place is already not quite as good.

𝐁𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐫

✧ It was at times like this, when you’d been called away from the crucial stronghold of Osgiliath because of ‘important meetings’, that you wished the rangers didn’t have to listen to Boromir, Captain of the White Tower, and could instead listen to his younger brother, your actual commander.

✧ This thought was probably shared among a lot of the rangers, but you were the only one brave enough to say it, which is why you were currently in what reminded you suspiciously of a school’s detention room.

✧ Apparently this was a good deterrent, seeing as only you were in here, holding a small slip of paper that says ‘Disrespectful to the Captain of the White Tower’.

✧ The door opens, finally, and you’re just about to express your thanks to them for actually showing up when you realise who it is.

✧ Boromir, Captain of the White Tower, stares back at you just as you realise you’re going to have to tell this man what you did.

✧ Trying to master the art of vanishing from Middle Earth, you can feel yourself blushing when you hand him your write-up slip.

✧ There’s a second of silence before a small laugh escapes him, and he looks at you more directly before asking what you said.

✧ You’re honest about it, and to your surprise he asks you for clarification and follow-ups, actually listening to your suggestions.

✧ In the end, it’s a bell chiming that snaps you out of your discussions and when the two of you get up to leave he opens the door with a smile, wishing you a good day.

𝐅𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐫

✧ For the last three years, the Lord Steward had tried to find a betrothed for his eldest son, Boromir. For the last three years you had consistently refused to go. This year, however, your parents had finally put their foot down and made you attend the ceremony.

✧ It was a very small chance he’d choose you, and a (hopefully) even smaller chance the engagement would become anything.

✧ But on the chance it would, you decide to do what anyone would do, and get slightly drunk in a tavern to try and hook up with someone.

✧ With incredible wisdom, you had taken up a spot in a dark corner where literally no-one was approaching you.

✧ And then someone does.

✧ You’re shocked he hasn’t already found someone; not many people would turn down the man in front of you.

✧ In the tavern light his grey eyes seem to shine, his hair a gorgeous colour that reminds you of sweet caramel and looks incredibly soft.

✧ Moved, not entirely by the drink, you find yourself going over - saying a comment and trying to smile, laughing at his response.

✧ There’s a second of silence between the two of you and you realise how close you are.

✧ You close the gap, and the two of you are kissing - you’re going back against the wall and your hands reach out to pull him closer - then it stops.

✧ A muttered apology is all you get before he leaves.

✧ And in the morning you’re left with the vague memory of a kiss, a memory of a semi-familiar man, and a hangover.

𝐄𝐨𝐰𝐲𝐧

✧ As Aragorn’s younger sibling, you’re no stranger to people fawning over your brother. That does not mean, however, it doesn’t amuse you and you don’t tease him incredibly.

✧ You watch Aragorn leave the stables, having just enough time to congratulate him on his new horse, and his new admirer, before said admirer appears.

✧ Although you tease your brother you’re still good to the people who fall for him, and you give a respectful nod to the girl - Éowyn.

✧ She smiles back at you, before her eyes flicker between you and your brother. It’s a tale as old as time, and you sit up slightly straighter.

✧ What you don't expect, however, is for her to compare you in terms of spirit - how both of you seem elven, and noble.

✧ Normally people make a shallower comparison, or just go to you to confirm facts, and it’s refreshing and nice to hear that instead.

✧ You confirm your relation to him, before focusing your attention back on her. That her nature seems noble as well, and that it seems like her uncles.

✧ When she glows at the compliment you smile, and the next few minutes of small talk are pleasant before you’re pulled away.

𝐄𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐫

✧ You first see Éomer while waiting for his sister to arrive, humming to yourself in the great wooden halls.

✧ To your credit you only jump a little when he appears out of no-where, and on his part he is most apologetic.

✧ From his perspective, he came because he heard the sound of your humming - better than the songs sung over festivals in this hall - and wishes to know from whom it came.

✧ He’s silent at first, scared to move in case he startles you too badly - and not wanting to be loud and disrupt the song.

✧ Hesitantly, he asks who you are - and if you are the friend his sister has spoken so highly of.

✧ When you confirm that is you, he says it’s an honour to meet you and he’s glad you’ve been such a good friend to his sister.

✧ There’s a pause again, and just when you’re about to speak Éowyn appears by your side and ready to go.

✧ As happy as you are to go with her, something in you is regretful you could not spend more time getting to know Éomer.

𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐝

✧ In jail for assaulting a counsellor, especially as a guard of Laketown, is not exactly how you expected your Friday shift to go. Still, when you stare at the girl next to you (Sigrid) you can’t find it in yourself to feel bad about doing what you did.

✧ You had simply seen Alfrid towering over her, her being clearly uncomfortable - and you had pulled him off when things got physical. It was bad luck Sigrid had punched him at the same time, landing you both in jail.

✧ The girl seems more apologetic around you being here than her actions, to be honest, and she keeps reassuring you that her dad will come soon to sort things out.

✧ On Bard’s part, the news that his daughter is in jail for punching a counsellor is not what he wanted to hear but he goes out immediately. He’s about to head off when Sigrid tells him about you, and of course Bard realises he needs to get you out as well.

✧ When a drop-dead gorgeous man appears outside your cell, your mind begins to debate the merits of flirting your way out before he introduces himself as Sigrid’s father.

✧ Once you get out he thanks you profusely, as well as apologising for his daughter, but you wave him off with a smile.

✧ Bard can barely believe someone with this much honour still exists in this place, and makes a small note to thank whatever’s out there for having you look after his daughter.

✧ Eventually, you manage to convince him to stop thanking you and to let you go home - although when the man gives you one more piece of sincere praise you can’t find yourself annoyed.

𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐮𝐢𝐥

✧ As you sit at a beautifully carved, uncomfortable desk you realise you’re not as nervous as you probably should be to meet the king.

✧ You’ve seen him before, of course, looking at him when all the elves of Mirkwood are out - or gossiping with the other single elves about what are decidedly fantasies. But you’ve never spoken.

✧ As a private tutor, in written work and fighting, you had jumped at the opportunity to mentor Prince Legolas.

✧ The door opens and you rise to your feet immediately, going into a deep bow.

✧ As Thranduil bids you to rise, you can feel his eyes sweeping over you and looking for any imperfections.

✧ Instead of cowering you meet his gaze, and you swear you see the ghost of a smile on his face before it becomes more serious.

✧ The interview, one of many, is surprisingly pleasant and you find it easy to talk to him.

✧ When you are made to leave, he watches you exit, thinking about saying something before thanking you for your performance and interest in the role.

✧ It’s a small gesture, but to be thanked by the king? It puts a bounce in your step for the rest of the day.

𝐓𝐚𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐥

✧ As the tenth shot in as many minutes hits the target perfectly, you can’t help but wish to use your sword, and against something that isn’t a training dummy.

✧ Elves are known for being archers, and although you’re skilled with a bow it’s easier to stand out with exceptional sword-mastery than exceptional marksmanship.

✧ Then, a voice behind you asks if you want to spar together - an offer almost too good to be true.

✧ Turning around you vaguely recognise the elf in front of you, her hair is distinctive, and you ask if she too is trying to join the royal guard.

✧ Tauriel confirms it, and then the two of you get into position.

✧ There’s something incredibly satisfying about a good match-up and the two of you fight well together.

✧ You’re mostly evenly matched, and it takes a lot of effort to push on the offensive and get her closer to the wall.

✧ Eventually, she wins the first fight. But as you both stand there, catching your breath and smiling at each other, you bear no grudge.

✧ You only ask if she wants a re-match.

𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐫

✧ Anyone wanting to become a healer knows that the halls of the elves are the best places to go, if you wish to learn, so here you are. Three weeks travel deep into your route to Rivendell.

✧ Whilst riding you can’t help feeling something is off about the place - almost as if you’re being watched - but you chalk it up to elven magic.

✧ Then you see an elf, near the borders and picking some kind of flower. He has long, dark hair and you’re reminded just how ethereal the elves are compared to the race of men.

✧ And then all hell breaks loose.

✧ Just as you’re about to call out in greeting, a small band of orcs come out of the trees - you recognize the monster as what they are, instantly drawing your bow.

✧ Lindir sees the orcs approaching, quickly getting out his dagger while cursing his luck.

✧ As an orcish blade pierces him, blood instantly spilling from his side, he begins to wonder if this could be the end before an arrow suddenly goes though the orcs head.

✧ There’s barely time to react as a horse with a rider gallops past him, holding their hand out and pulling him up before wheeling back around to finish off the last orc.

✧ You barely have time to celebrate your victory when you feel the elf beside you slump into unconsciousness, clearly from the bloodloss.

✧ You wish you could say you entered Rivendell in a better way, rather than with a highly wounded elf at your side, but enter Rivendell like that you do.

𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐫

✧ Haldir had been alerted of people in the woods of Lothlórien by the Lady as soon as they had arrived, and had found them quickly.

✧ He was rather disappointed in how easily his troops went undetected, not even by Isildur’s heir or the elves from a distance.

✧ You had been uneasy as soon as you walked into the woods, convinced something was watching you. As an elf you of course knew of Galadriel’s powers, but whatever you could sense was more imminent.

✧ Then, with the quietest of sounds, you hear bows being drawn and arrows knocked into place.

✧ On instinct you draw your bow at the same time as your prince does, except you're quick enough to fire the arrow.

✧ The second the arrow leaves your bow you recognise the elves, and instantly you attempt to bat the arrow down again - wincing as you knock it just enough off target to miss the lead elf.

✧ As Haldir feels the arrow whistle past him, his first thought is that of admiration - the intensity in your eyes to protect this band of people.

✧ Opening your mouth to apologise, he holds a hand to stop you and congratulate you on your shot before turning to the more serious matters of the Fellowship.

𝐄𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐧

✧ As one of only a handful of elves still in their first century, it’s no wonder that you were eventually introduced to the Sons of Elrond.

✧ It had been in one of Rivendell’s great libraries, and although both looked interested to meet you there was one you were more interested in meeting.

✧ Elrohir had been the one to make introductions first, declaring their names before politely asking yours.

✧ Elladan on the other hand hung back slightly. You were beautiful, a full elf, and something about that made him slightly intimidated.

✧ It wasn’t until you had all sat down and you were looking around the library he realised just how compatible you were.

✧ “What books would you recommend?”

✧ The question is simple, but Elladan immediately latches onto it and begins to ask questions - what genre are you looking for, would you like something sad? Would you like a story or a historical account - and if so from which time period?

✧ He speaks fast enough that his elvish begins to flow together, but you keep up with him just as well.

✧ In almost no time the two of you are off the chairs, and he eagerly leads you to the section you're looking for.

✧ Your eyes widen as you gaze upon the piles of stacked books, neatly organised and in shelves.

✧ From the sidelines Elladan watches eagerly, and for the first time since his brother he feels he has finally found a kindred spirit.

𝐄𝐥𝐫𝐨𝐡𝐢𝐫

✧ When Elrohir rides into the Battle of Pelennor Fields with the army of the dead he can practically feel the relief of the soldiers, and wonders if there are many greater feelings in life that this.

✧ Almost two hours later, as the fighting dies down and he begins to look for the wounded he decides there probably aren’t.

✧ He doesn’t realise someone is calling, or at least calling specifically him, until the person yells for the ‘half-elf with the horse’

✧ Elrohir has no idea who the person is, but the fact they don’t refer to him as an elf already makes him love them.

✧ Going over, he sees you crouching beside a clearly wounded soldier - one of their legs incredibly damaged.

✧ Looking up you ask if he can transport them to the Houses of Healing, as not to aggrevate the wound further.

✧ He instantly agrees before hesitantly asking where they are.

✧ Upon seeing the slight despair in your eyes, he holds out the reins of his horse to you.

✧ “Fly swift with him. I’ll keep searching for wounded and sending more up. Return him to me when he’s no longer needed.”

✧ You can hardly believe your luck - but it isn’t for you to question, instead thanking him on behalf of Gondor before going as quickly as you can to the Houses.

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