#we love our elvenking

[sotwk]

You can tell how a writer feels about Thranduil based on how often they try to use "Greenwood" or "Woodland Realm", when referring to his kingdom, instead of the more commonly known name, "Mirkwood".

[mochi-marmalade]

The Love of the Princess

a/n: i stayed up until 2am writing this :') possibly one of my favorite works i've written?? the title is from a song i listened to while writing, very dreamy vibes. NOT proofread, might proofread later. BIG thankies to @lillisummers for the inspiration!! reader is the daughter of elrond & celebrían :)

Legolas x female elf reader

3.8k words

warnings: none i think....

“My dear, you look wonderful.” Lord Elrond, says as he places a gleaming silver circlet on your head. “Thank you, father.” You reply, smiling. Truthfully, you are hesitant and unsure of what the future holds for you. Soon you will be traveling to Mirkwood to meet your betrothed, away from your family and the place you have called home your entire life. 

A short time ago, your father brought you on business for a diplomatic meeting with King Thranduil. While there, you slipped away to explore. Though you had been in forests before, Mirkwood had a certain air about it, veiled in mystique. “You,” A voice cut through the silence. “I have not seen you before.” You turn around and come face to face with a pale elf. He is fair as the moon and moves nimbly as he walks towards you. “I am the Lady of Rivendell, daughter of Lord Elrond.” He looks you up and down, then slowly nods. “Where is your father?”

“He is… Meeting with King Thranduil.”

The blond elf cocks an eyebrow, wondering aloud, “Should you not join him?”

“I am on my own business to meet handsome strangers.”

He smiles and asks in a sing-song voice, “Is that so?”

You return his smile, but before you can ask him for his name, another voice echoes through the trees. “Your father calls, my lady.” You look between the elf and the passageway to the Elvenking’s Halls, and he dips his head to bid you goodbye. “Farewell, fair sir.” You say before hurrying away. Thankfully, you received only a light reprimanding from your father for sneaking away that day. 

Perhaps life in Mirkwood wouldn’t be so bad, if only you could see that elf again. Then you remember that you are already meeting none other than Legolas, son of Thranduil, and it would be most inappropriate to have relations with others. You hope Legolas is a kind, reasonable person- you don’t even know what he looks like! However, if your father suggested you marry him, then Legolas must be an honorable elf. “We must go.” Your father states. Soon, you are on your horse, traveling once again to Mirkwood for a feast. Here you will meet Legolas. 

After nearly two weeks’ journey, you arrive at Mirkwood. Though it is nearly midnight, you are greeted by the King’s stewards, who lead you to the chambers you will sleep in during your visit. You thank them and quickly close the doors behind them. After a few moments, you decide that the halls are empty enough to quietly creep out of your chambers. You take the same path that you found the elf on during your last visit, hoping to see him one last time. “My lady, it is hardly safe to be away from the Elvenking’s Halls at this hour.” You know that voice. You swivel around to find the stranger smiling from behind you. “It’s you.” Your worried face morphs into a grin, and you step towards him. “I was hoping I might see you.” You tell him.

“Oh? And to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I… I am here to meet King Thranduil’s son. My father and the king have agreed a marriage would be most practical, so we are to meet tomorrow before the feast.”

It doesn’t take long for the elf in front of you to notice your troubled demeanor. He places a hand on yours, and reassures you, “Do not fret, my lady. I think the prince will take a liking to you.” “Do you know him?” You wonder. He chuckles and mutters, “You could say that.” 

“What is he like?”

He looks up at you confused, as if the question was completely surprising. “Well, let’s see,” He begins. “Our prince is a skilled bowman, very attractive, loyal beyond compare, wise, and personable.” You suppress a laugh, and share, “It almost sounds as if you should be the one marrying him.” His eyes widen and he laughs, a sound that rings like chimes in the wind. “I think not.” He says matter-of-factly. You smiled amusedly before yawning. He advises, “I should think it is time for you to retire to your chambers.” “I suppose you are correct.” You agree.

“Shall I escort you?” 

“I would like that very much.” 

You hook your arm in his and he takes you through the great halls to your room. You release your arm and he says, “This is where I bid you goodnight.” You press a kiss to his cheek, and say, “Goodnight.” You hope for the sake of your arrangement that this is the last time you’ll see him, but at the same time, you hope your paths will cross again. You settle on your bed and drift into sleep.

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ☼ ﾟ｡ ⋆

The next morning, you are awakened by elven servants. They bring you food, draw you a bath, and lay out your clothes. After preparing for the day, your father comes to collect you and take you to King Thranduil’s throne room. Lord Elrond seems to sense your anxiety, murmuring, “Do not worry, child. I will be here with you the entire time.” His words soothe you a bit, and you swallow thickly as you near the throne room. Lord Elrond announces your presence as the two of you enter, and King Thranduil eyes you from his seat. The blond elf from your encounter last night is present as well, perplexing you greatly. Perhaps he is a servant, a guard, or a steward of the king. Thranduil rises, beckoning to the elf and declaring, “This is my son, Legolas.” “You are Legolas?” You ask, shocked. He bows his head in respect, saying, “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, my lady.” For a moment, you are speechless, but you manage to respond, “As am I.” Legolas takes your hand and asks you if you’d like to walk. You nod and he asks your father, “May I?” Lord Elrond and King Thranduil both look puzzled, but Elrond responds, “You may.” With that, you and Legolas take your leave, walking out of the grand room and into the halls. Once you are out of earshot, you retract your hand and turn to Legolas. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me! This entire time… You played me for a fool.” He reaches for your hand again, explaining, “No, I don’t think you’re a fool and I didn’t mean to lead you on. My intentions are honest, and I meant to tell you my identity, I swear. Once it became apparent I needed to tell you, I just didn’t know how. You seemed so interested in me, I was afraid you might change your mind if you knew.” You look at him, still hurt and reassured at the same time. “Legolas, you should have said something. I don’t care if you’re the prince. Even if you were the king, my feelings would not change.” You allow him to hold your hands and he lifts one to press a kiss against your knuckles. “I am glad. I look forward to getting to know you better.” You feel heat rise to your cheeks. You spend the day with Legolas and you find he is everything you had hoped he would be- and more. “The time of the feast approaches, shall we return?” He asks. You tell him, “The feast is for us, is it not? Could you imagine a feast without its honored guests? I think we must go… Unless we convince others we are already there by replacing ourselves with remarkably lifelike replicas.” He laughs, then places a hand on the small of your back to lead you to the mead hall. The feast is merry and all who attend appear jovial. There are many elves dancing and singing and, of course, eating. You can’t help but look at the attendees and smile, as if the cheer were contagious. Legolas comes up behind you and notes your smile, asking, “Are you enjoying yourself?” 

“Yes, very much. I have never attended a feast in Mirkwood before.”

“Is it everything you had imagined?”

“That and more.”

He places a hand on your shoulder and draws you near. His heart warms at the way you look up at him, mirthful and kind. As each moment passes, he can almost feel his affection for you growing. “Legolas, would you like to dance?” He raises his eyebrows at the unexpected question, but before he can answer, you take his hand and drag him into the middle of the floor. Laughing, you take his hands and whirl to the sound of the music. He can’t help but watch the way your dress flows and how happy you look to be here. Heavens, the look on your face- he could stare at you forever if you’d let him. The two of you dance for a while, then take a break to drink and converse. You look at Legolas’s flushed face and can’t help but ask, “Are you liking the feast?” “Yes,” He replies. “Truthfully, there are very few times I’ve had more fun.” You beam at him and tell him you are very glad. He murmurs, “Come, I should like to show you something.” You both steal away from the feast and you follow Legolas until you come to the large doors that lead to the rest of Mirkwood. “Legolas, we shouldn’t.” You warn. 

“Do not worry. It will be worth it.”

You creep past the doors and run into the woods together, where he signals you to stay close to him. He says, “I know these woods well, but there is no doubt that danger lurks hidden from sight.” You are no fighter, versed only in combat with weapons. Here, however, you have no bow nor any sabre. Legolas looks back at you and it’s as if he read your mind. “I do not leave the halls without a weapon. I will make sure no harm comes to you.” He says, spinning a small blade in his hand. He begins to climb a tree, and, though you are wearing a particularly elaborate dress, you follow suit. Once you reach the top, you draw in a sharp breath. Naturally, you have seen the night sky innumerable times, but it still leaves you awe-stricken. “Gil-Estel,” You say breathlessly. “It is so bright.” You examine the dark blanket of the sky, peppered with glittering stars. Turning to Legolas, you can’t help but tell him, “It is beautiful. Thank you.” He gazes at you with such tenderness, you wish that he may be yours for a short while. Even if just for this night, you wish that he will stay by your side and grace you once more with his smile. You tell him, “I made a wish.”

“What?”

“I have heard that some men make wishes to the stars. I am not certain of the merit of this belief, but I made a wish myself just now.”

“I see. I only wish that I may be worthy of you one day.”

His response leaves you silent. You want to say, “Oh, Legolas, hûn nín, you already are.” But you cannot speak. His eloquence and timing leaves you dumbstruck every time without fail. His expression is unreadable, and you’re afraid he might think you don’t care for him in the same manner. Just when you open your mouth to speak, he says, “We should return. Too much time has already passed.” Trying to conceal your disappointment, you agree and climb to the ground. He helps you slink back into the mead hall unnoticed, and doesn’t stray far from you for the rest of the night. As the sun rises, elves begin to filter out of the hall one by one. Legolas is talking to King Thranduil, when your father says, “I hope you enjoyed your escapade.” You look at him embarrassedly, and he asks, “Did you think I would not notice? I admit, I still worry for you as if you were a small child, feeling the need to guide your every step. However, I have trust that you are capable of making wise decisions. I only hope that you will be happy.” You tell him, “I am very happy. Legolas is a good man.” Lord Elrond smiles and walks away as Legolas returns to you. “Are you fatigued at all? Do you wish to rest?” He asks. You laugh, “No, Legolas, I feel quite alright.”

“Your hair… It must have come undone in the woods.”

You touch the back of your head to feel that your braids either have unwinded or are tangled. “Would you help me with it?” You ask. Legolas looks at you wide eyed. “Me…? Are you sure?” He questions. You consider it for a brief moment- are you certain you want to take that big a step? When you look at him, though, your concerns melt away. You trust him, wholly and completely. “Yes.” With your answer, Legolas brings you to your chambers and has you sit at the vanity. His fingers are hesitant and hover over your hair for a moment before he deftly begins to detangle your tresses. His fingers are slightly cold, but it doesn’t bother you. He works quickly and skillfully, neatly setting your hair into pleats. You can’t tell exactly how many pins he uses to secure your hair in place, but his gentle hands make them nearly unnoticeable. After a short while, he proudly declares, “I am finished. You may now tell your friends that your hair was pleated by a master.” “Oh, really? A master?” You quip. He nods enthusiastically and you can’t help but laugh. Your smile slowly fades as you realize you must leave within the next few days. “Is something the matter?” Legolas asks sweetly. 

“I must leave soon.”

“Don’t go.” He urges.

“I cannot stay here. I must go home.” 

“Must you?”

“Legolas, I… It is hardly appropriate to stay with you given the circumstances.”

“Then I shall ask to court you.” 

Again, you are taken aback. Legolas, though not always reserved, is acting uncharacteristically bold. You feel his forehead, wondering, “Are you sick?” He huffs in amusement, but takes your hand from his forehead and quickly regains his serious look. “I am being sincere. I would like to stay with you longer.” He says. Your head is swimming with thoughts of him, and your heart is racing in excitement. He calls your name softly, and you bring your gaze to him. He looks earnest, nervous, and enthusiastic all at once. “I would like nothing more.” You answer. He laughs and embraces you, his warmth enveloping you. It is caring, inviting, comfortable and unlike anything you have ever experienced. He lets go and straightens his tunic, uttering, “I do not know what came over me. I apologize if I was too forward.”  You hold his hand, telling him, “Legolas, it is okay. I am happy too.” He grins and ushers you to follow him to ask your father. Lord Elrond looks surprised, but grants Legolas permission nonetheless. King Thranduil’s face is unreadable as ever, but he does not object, which you suppose is good. Your father then takes you aside to speak, saying, “I did not expect to return to Rivendell without you.”

“I am sorry.”

“Do not be sorry, I only mean that your presence will be missed.”

Tears well in your eyes as you realize you do not know when your next visit to Rivendell will be. “Do not cry,” Lord Elrond says softly. “Your journey has only begun. Your family will be ready should you need us.” You nod, suppressing tears. “And,” He adds, peering at Legolas. “You are not alone.” You turn to see Legolas waiting for you beyond the large doorway. “Thank you, father.” You give him one last embrace, and Legolas joins you to see him off. As you watch the horses gallop away, you sigh deeply. Your life will be different from now on, but you’re glad. 

°•. ✿ .•°

You spend much of your time with Legolas, and he quickly learns that you are a woman of many interests. You are skilled with both a bow and a sabre, your fingers move expertly to weave baskets and plait hair, and you enjoy several forms of visual art. He praises your abilities- you are multifaceted and so resolute in your beliefs. He goes so far as to request paper and a utensil as a means for you to draw. Day by day, you explore with Legolas and occasionally stop to sketch the scenery or a species you may have never seen before. During these times, Legolas likes to watch you with deep admiration. Your reverence and appreciation for nature are other things he likes about you. Being the simple creature you are, you find solace just being with Legolas. He provides comfort and care you didn’t know you could have. 

Then, perhaps months later, Legolas is called to Rivendell. “I must go.” He states apologetically. “Take me with you.” You plead. 

“The journey will be dangerous. I do not wish to place you in peril’s way.”

“Legolas, you know I can hold my own.”

He seems to consider it for a moment, but concedes, “I feel you will be safer here with my father and the guard.” “Legolas, who better to ensure my safety than you?” You reason. That seems to have been more effective, as he sighs weakly before saying, “Fine. You may come with me, but we must return to Mirkwood.” You agree, and he hastily prepares extra supplies. King Thranduil emerges, but only to stare at the two of you coldly as you venture into the distance. 

Traveling with Legolas is like a dream. Both of you are often alone in Mirkwood, but there is something to be said about journeying with him. It is truly just the two of you, with no chambers to return to at the end of the day and nothing keeping you confined within one area. You banter with Legolas often during the trek to Rivendell, and at night you bring your head to his chest. You gaze at the stars together as you did that night many moons ago, and you slumber peacefully drawn close to Legolas. He offers you lembas, which you graciously accept each time, and is careful to wipe away any crumbs left on your face. You almost prefer this life to the one in Mirkwood, but it is cut short when you finally arrive in Rivendell.

Your father greets Legolas at the entrance to the great valley and is especially glad to see you. “My dear, it is always a delight. I would talk with you longer, were it not for a pressing situation.” “Yes,” Legolas begins. “I offer my deepest apologies to you.” Lord Elrond looks at him for a moment, then begins, “Oh, no, it is not that. There is… something else that has come up.” You and Legolas look at each other with confusion on your faces, but Lord Elrond is already bringing Legolas further into Rivendell. “Am I not to come?” You ask, feeling a bit dejected. Father turns to you, and says, “My daughter, you must not attend this meeting. I apologize but the magnitude of this is far too great; it will not be safe for you.” You nod your head slowly, and make your way to your sister’s quarters. Arwen embraces you with a wide smile, and you each share what has happened in your lives since you last met. Eventually, your father returns and informs you that you may want to speak with Legolas. You look between Lord Elrond and Arwen worriedly at first, then heed your father’s suggestion. You arrive outside and there are several strange men gathered near the entrance of Rivendell. Legolas turns to greet you and, for the first time, you can see fear on his face. “What ails you?” You ask him as you rush to meet him. “I have been appointed to a task, which will be great in time and distance. It will be treacherous and… I fear I may never see you again.” He explains. “Do not say that. You are steadfast, both in will and in strength. I am sure we will meet again.” You try to convince him. He nods and holds your face in his hands, then presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Meleth nín.” He mutters, still holding your face so you cannot see him. Carefully, you raise your head to meet his eyes, and say, “I love you.” You can see in his eyes he is unbearably upset, as if he cannot bear to leave you. “Go. I will wait here.” With those words, he turns and leaves.

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

It is many months before you see Legolas again. You see your people leave, and it pains you to watch the very life of Rivendell leave the place you once called home. Arwen and your father spend many moments together, discussing something that is beyond your knowledge. However, they also spend many moments attempting to comfort you. You have faith that Legolas will return, so you wait patiently, always watching the horizon for his lean figure. It isn’t until you travel to Minas Tirith with your father and sister that you finally see Legolas again. Arwen weds Aragorn in what seems to be a human ceremony. There you see him: Legolas, casually conversing with some people that you think you saw him set out from Rivendell with. The stout dwarf next to him sees you approaching first and gently elbows Legolas. He looks up, and with a grin opens his arms to greet you. Breaking into a trot, you launch yourself into his arms and he wraps his arms around you in a tight hold. “Legolas…” You sob softly. He quickly leans back to brush your tears away, saying, “None of that, love. I’m here now.” He holds you to his chest pressing kiss upon kiss to the crown of your head. “My lady.” The dwarf grunts, bowing slightly to you. Then he turns to Legolas to ask, “Is this…?” Legolas laughs, “Yes, this is her.” You sigh at the feeling of being in Legolas’s arms again, but you are interrupted by Legolas saying, “Actually, I have something.” He reaches into his pocket and produces a silver ring. “Legolas…” You gasp, eyes welling with tears once again. You nod your head vehemently, and Legolas slips the ring on your right index finger. Legolas doesn’t waste any time kissing you, in response to which you place a hand on either side of his face. When you pull away, tears of joy stream down your cheeks. “What’re you making her cry for now?!” Gimli reprimands Legolas. The elf simply replies with a smirk, “Gimli, have you ever been to an elven wedding?”

[madwomansapologist]

Autumn Thunderstorm | Chapter 11 - Starlight

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

eleventh chapter synopsis: Surrounded by pain and grief, Thranduil found himself willing to be something more simple than a king: he was just a man in love. [2K]

warnings: female!reader. pre-Smaug. angst. hurt no comfort. trauma. baby boy is having a difficult time.

notes: so, here i am. i wrote this chapter and it was so, so, so sad i had to actually rewrite it. like it was sad to the point y'all would ask me if i have something against love.

glossary: Idril: Treasure, sweetheart┆

Most days he can ignore the discomfort. There was once a time Thranduil would fear being unable to stop himself from tearing his face appart. A time long gone by now.

“The Elf-path was affected in multiple points”, his advisor continued the report. “Fallen trees and dead spiders block the way. Give the order and we are ready to clear the path.”

Today is not most days. The cold breeze feels like needles piercing his face, like smoke penetrating his nostrils. The collar of his robe rubbed against the sensitive skin of his neck. The perfected illusion spell hid so much of him. It recreated the bone structure of his jaw, the fat of his cheeks, his left eye. It even covered the smell of rotten flesh.

“There is no need to clean the path”, Thranduil waived his hand, dismissing the emergency council. How luck. During a tornado, one that was able to bring the oldest of trees down, the only blood spilled in the Elvenking’s domain was his own. “We are not expecting any visitors.”

We are not welcoming any visitors, he left unsaid. Soon winter will reach Woodland. The sindars, knowing the forest’s secrets, are free to cross it whenever they wish. Others will have to wait until spring.

Or die trying to reach his Halls.

“What an interesting statement”, Tuor smirked. With the other members of the council far away, nothing stopped Tuor from leaving his place as a captain and acting solely as a friend. Thranduil sighed. “A winter without visitors. No carriage or wagen crossing our land. No one enters.”

“And those who try shall face winter’s cruelty”, Thranduil descended from his wooden throne. He paused near Tuor, then continued his way down the hall. “Nature has always protected us from the rotten, my friend. Do not forget it.”

“I agree, my king. No wanderer daring to deal with wild’s harshness can be trusted near our people.” Tuor glared at Thranduil’s back before following him. Just one more thing to burn Thranduil. “It surprises me. That only now I realized something else.”

“And what is it?”

“That if no one enters, no one leaves.”

Thranduil stopped walking. He turned around, his robe sliding against the stairs. “What are you implying?”, he asked, staring at Tuor from bellow. As if he did not already knew. It was the only thing he could do.

“A new jewerly came from Erebor. One that is not on display”, Tuor walked down the stairs keeping him away from his friend. It felt wrong to look down at a king. Unnatural. “And she did not slept on her chambers.”

A blush made to Thranduil’s long ears, who so easily forgot his place as a king. “Are there any rumors-“

“No”, Tuor interrupted him. “I went looking for her this morning, to inform our trainings will cease for a while. Her reputation continues immaculate, but only because a tornado stole everyone else’s attention. You should had know better, Thranduil.”

Oh, he knew. Thranduil knew it was not right. It was not a behavior a king should manifest, not a sort of request an elve can speak out loud without feeling ashamed. Thranduil knew a lover deserves respect. That the bare minimum one could do is care for the other’s comfort and safety.

And still, he did not stopped himself.

“Stay”, Thranduil whispered. “Please, do not leave me alone.”

Your gaze burned him. For so long you stared into his eyes, and for the whole time Thranduil felt that you could see something beyond him. Where you searching for his intentions, for any hidden meaning, for a way of stopping whatever this is from continuing? Thranduil confessed, stripping the very fabric of his soul naked for you. His heart, bare for you to do as you wish.

That is why it took me so long, Thranduil admitted for himself. How vulnerable it is to not hide the truth.

Your fingers continued steady against the doorknob. He feared you changed your mind again. Thranduil averted his gaze, head turned towards his balcony. The destruction was long gone, but the wind was cold and strong still. What a privileged vision of a chaotic night.

It is late. Past midnight. It has been hours since you decided to not walk away. Enough time for you to decide it was a bad choice. Enough time for you to regret ever laying your eyes on his dead skin and putrid scars. Enough time for you to realize Thranduil is as disgunting as he thinks, and your sweet home is better than this ancient one.

The bed creaked, and his eyes immediately found a way towards yours. Slowly, as if every move had to be delibered, you lay down besides him. Your eyes glistened, the moon reflecting on them, returning his gaze. You smiled, and something inside him froze.

“I feel the same”, you confessed, voice soft in the night. “About everything.”

Thranduil gasped. His throat ached, a sudden need to cry almost taking over him. “Oh, what a relief”, he whispered again. There was no need to, you both were alone. “Thank you, idril.”

One of your hands found a home deep into his long hair. A caring stroke. As the minutes passed, you intertwined your fingers with his. Such a cold hand. Thranduil brushed his open lips against your knuckles, breathing warm air against your skin.

The sweet carress came to an end, so Thranduil looked up. He saw your eyes closed, lips appart from one another. The night was darker. The moonlight felt so cold now. You looked calm.

Gazing upon you, the Elveking rested.

Was he being scolded? A king being lectured by a captain. That would be enough to guarantee Tuor some time in the dungeons. Or it would have been, if he was not right. In the absence of a response, a chuckle came out of Tuor’s throat. “Does that means you finally confessed?”

“Enough,” Thranduil growled.

Tuor heard his king’s words. For the sake of his amusement, he simply ignored them.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

There is no medicine for his pain. After the fire went out, what remained there to be healed already was dealt with. His face itches, the ligaments of his muscles twitch, the burning on his face is constant. Meanwhile the pain is there, his body is not.

Where does a leg begins? One might say right before the thigh. Other would chose the pelvis, or at the basin. Both would be wrong. It starts and ends in the brain. Lose a leg and all the nerves shaill remain there searching for something that ceased to exist. A mind griefs, a brain does not.

His cheek is gone. His neck is gone. His left eye is gone. And it hurts. It feels cold and hot, it tingles and shocks. He can feel muscles that do not move, the need to scratch a skin that is not there. It is a real, anatomical pain.

Thranduil cannot stop it, no medicine can end a fire that is not there, but a few things can help.

Near his chambers, mere minutes away from his bed, a private garden embraces him when pain and worry is too much. Surrounded by this controlled nature, Thranduil breathes the smell of roses and wysteria. The perfume calms his nerves down.

Looking at the box between his hands, the stiffness came back to his shoulders. Inside it was a request, one the dwarves of Erebor carefully crafted. A necklace made of pure starlight. Each of the almost endless white gems came from the Elvenking’s personal collection. Except by one.

That pendant he found back in Rivendell. A tear shaped crystal, with snow locked inside it. Such a beautiful jewel. Such a cruel reminder of the time you both stayed appart, shattered.

Thranduil wondered about the moment he would be able to look at you, aware that you understood his feelings. He dreamed about you looking into his eyes, feeling the same. But Thranduil never imagined it would happen as it did. Yesterday was… not how it was supposed.

You found him crying, bleeding, deep into a filthy dream disguised as memory. You heard his screams, felt his warm blood against your skin, saw his true face. You held him, kissed him, and for a second almost ran away from him.

Thranduil can do more. He can be more.

The doors creaked open, and Thranduil forgot about how worried he was.

A sweet perfume welcomed you into this garden you have never seen before. Usually you would have admired it, but all you did was to look straight into his sore eyes. They fell towards the arms that held you close last night. To the war knuckles resting on top of an armchair.

“Your quartermaster said-”, as you noticed what filled this room, your voice betrayed you. “-you called me.”

In front of Thranduil, there was a table covered by green linin. You saw pearly folded napkins and golden cutlery. In such a intimate place, a proper supper was served. Meat and pies on display, bows with fruits and deserts. So much wine.

Thranduil breathed deep. “Would you join me for this evening?”

It was not different from any other meal you both shared. From the very first meeting, it was always the same. Thranduil would hear, you would talk, and the rest of the world would be successfully ignored. And like always, it was good. It was right. To be just the two of you.

But it was so different too. Impossible not to feel your face heating up, hands soaking in sweat. You saw the tip of his ears bright red. That made you bite back a chuckle.

How could Thranduil look into your wonderful eyes without becoming tongue tied? Or how could you look at the hands of a king serving you more wine and not remember how right they felt against your cheeks?

Listening about the destruction of the tornado, you noticed that he tastes like fine wine. Hearing you speak about your trainings, Thranduil kept on trying to discover what was the scent of your perfume.

As you tried to finish the apple pie on your plate, Thranduil moved on his seat.

“I made…”, Thranduil hesitated. Never before he felt difficulty speaking out loud. Decided to not make a fool of himself, he placed the box besides your plate. “You are so dear to me. I hope the beauty of this gift can make you as happy as you make me, idril.”

Speechless, you alternated your gaze between Thranduil and the masterpiece in front of you. Truth be told, any gift would have make you rejoice after what he said. And still, the beauty of it made you stutter. “Is this really for me?”

“I can… Help you. With it”, Thranduil managed to said. He felt the need to punch his own face, but decided that would make his situation even worse. “If you want me to.”

Looking at him, you used all your courage to answer. “Only if we agree to stop being so awkward. I want to be here. With you. And I know you feel the same. I do not want to ruin this by thinking too much when there is nothing to think.”

“You always says the thing I last expect you to”, Thranduil whispered. Biting the insides of his cheek, he nodded. “I agree. I want to be with you. Nothing else matters.”

You had to stop yourself from jumping on him. Instead, you placed the necklace at the base of your throat and turned around. It was so heavy. If it fell on your lap, it would have bruised. His fingers were so careful. So right against your skin.

Thranduil should have wanted to see how it looked on you, but he could not move his hands away from your shoulders. You should have wanted to show him, but you did not wanted to move away from his touch.

You both knew it was perfect.

AUTUMN THUNDERSTORM: @ferns-fics @notanalienindisguiseblink @rayrlupin @elvyshiarieko @graniairish @whore-of-many-hot-men @h0ly-fire @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @homewhereitsat @instantnoooodles @hungrh4yyy

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

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Hello, lovely ♡ I know you just did some Thranduil smut, but I have a request for more (always more). Could I request where the female (human) reader has a snowball fight with Thranduil and it soon becomes steamy and he gives it to her up against a tree in the middle of the forest? Thank you, dear. Love your writings. You are so talented ♡

Ask and you shall receive!

Of snowball fights and other pleasures

Pairing: Thranduil x Fem. Reader (Human / Noblewoman from Dale)

Word count: 3.2K

Themes : Smut | Soft

Summary: Thranduil has been wanting you for a while now, but he keeps to himself thinking you and Legolas have something going on. What happens when he finds out that is not the case, and you have no attachement to anyone?

Warnings: Kissing | Penetrative / Rough sex | Sex out in the open | Fingering (fem. receiving) | Nicknames | Age Difference | First time (fem.)

Want to be tagged? Want to know the reader request rules? Read all here 

If you like this, please consider giving it a reblog. Thank you! 

There were many rules in Thranduil's life.

They all circled around etiquette, custom, and tradition; they helped govern the elves of Mirkwood. Of these rules, many were written, some unwritten, and one such unwritten rule went along the lines of, "Thou shall not covet thy son's best friend."

You were Legolas' best friend, one he made while on a trip to Dale, and yet, Thranduil desired you. He desired you from the moment he first saw you. Thranduil thought it wholly inappropriate, as he truly believed Legolas himself desired you, and he held his tongue out of respect for both his son and you. 

Alas, that was not the case, not for you, at any rate. Legolas did not harbour the feelings his father thought he had. "Eru help me," Legolas said jovially over dinner one night, "But you're such a jolly sport."

And that was all you were, Eru help you. You were a jolly sport, a good listener, his partner in crime, the sister he always wanted, and nothing beyond that. You knew it was hopeless, that Legolas never saw you as anything but a jolly sport, and would never see you as anything but a jolly sport. Even if you bonked him on the head with a large sign that said 'I want you,' he would still see you only as a friend. Oh well, you reason, you might as well accept it.

You sighed and toyed with your food. Roast duck in honeyed wine, and cooked to absolute perfection. It was too delicious to pass up, but right now, you were simply not in the mood for it. You looked around and watched the elves talking, laughing, and singing before your gaze turned to the dais. The Elvenking was there, resplendent in ice blue velvet and cloth of silver. He had been wearing his winter crown, one made to look like icicle shards and snowflakes. Never in your life had you seen a creature more magnificent, and your breath hitched in your throat.

That hitched breath turned to a soft hum when the king turned his attention to you. Thranduil held your gaze for the longest possible time, his eyes darkening in such a way that it made your skin warm and your cheeks flush. You swallowed and managed a smile. Thranduil kept his eyes locked on yours before an aide called for his attention and he had to look away.

You blink once, then twice. What was that? You thought. Why did he look at you like that, making you feel all warm and feverish? And Eru help you, why did you enjoy it so?

Your stomach growled, and the duck finally appealed to your senses. You set yourself the pleasurable task of finishing every crumb. Legolas excused himself to talk to some others and Thranduil? Well, Thranduil excused himself as well, making his way to your table. "Y/n," he kept his tone perfectly neutral, his face a hard-to-read mask. "I see we have not driven you away with our rowdy behavior."

You looked to one table, where a drinking contest had commenced. At another table, elves gathered around a pair that had been arm wrestling. "I've seen all of this and more back at Dale," you grinned when Gimli, who had also come to visit, demanded a rematch with Legolas in some contest or another. "You're not going to scare me off that easily."

Thranduil smirked and sat opposite you. He kept his attention on his lap, to stop himself from staring at you. "And how goes your friendship with Legolas?" he asked with all the airs of innocent curiosity. "I only ask because the two of you have gotten close over the past few moons."

Ah yes. Legolas. "I'm just a jolly sport to Legolas," you mutter, just loud enough for him to hear.

"Pardon?"

"A jolly sport," you murmured. "A good ear. His partner in crime. The sister he always wanted--"

"And nothing beyond that?" Thranduil swallowed as hope stirred in his heart. Yes, there was hope, and wanting, and lust as well, something that peaked when he caught you licking honeyed wine off the pads of your fingers. Visions of his lips skimming over your fingers flashed before his eyes.

You said nothing and studied him. What was that flashing in his eyes? Why did it make you all warm and feverish again, and make you yearn for more? "And nothing beyond that," you said, your stomach tying itself in knots when you caught Thranduil's eyes darkening once more. There was a sound at the back of your throat, something between a hum and a sigh. Oh, to have him look at you like that all the time, like he wanted to eat you up.

"But maybe it's for the best," you coughed, clearing your throat. You were imagining things, you were sure of it. Thranduil was the Elvenking, there was no way he felt anything for you. No. Nothing at all.

"Perhaps," Thranduil mused as he drummed his fingers against the table. "But is there anyone else who has caught your interest? Anyone at all?"

"Planning on introducing me to anyone?" You teased, but your stomach knotted up again when jealousy flashed harsh and bright in his sky-blue eyes. 

Thranduil fought for composure. Here he was, a survivor of Doriath and king of the woodland realm, caving into jealousy like an elf barely into adulthood. "If you wish," every word was a trial for him. "I will be glad to introduce you, and recommend you."

But you won't be happy about it, you reasoned. In fact, Thranduil looked like he wanted to murder the ellon who caught your attention. You bit your lip in an effort not to laugh. "But there isn't anyone interested in me, more's the pity," you say, your eyes not missing the relief in his. 

Thranduil, awash with a sense of relief he never knew possible, found himself blurting, "Actually, yes, there is. Someone who thinks about you all the time."

Like me.

Thranduil thought he only said it in his mind, but the words rolled off his lips in a whisper. You couldn't make out what he said, and you leaned in, asking, "My lord?"

The king quickly shook his head and cleared his throat, his cheeks turning a pretty shade of pink. How did that just come out? He swallowed, his eyes darting everywhere, hoping no one heard or thought of questioning him. "Nothing. Truly nothing." he quickly rose. "I... Erm... Please do excuse me, y/n, a pressing matter needs my attention."

Before you could say another word, Thranduil turned sharply on his heel, his heart thrilling by what he heard. Legolas only saw you as a friend, nothing more. You were free of any attachment to his son.

By the time he reached his chambers, Thranduil realized he was grinning like a giddy teenager. He then called a soldier to him, and sent him off with a message.

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

It had snowed that night, and the entire world was covered in a beautiful blanket of white the next morning.

You went out, fully clothed in a thick cloak to keep the cold at bay. Legolas had gone off to Dale with Gimli, and you were left to your own devices. When you reached the gardens, you found Thranduil already there, walking and taking in the wintery scenes. "Good morrow," you dipped out of respect. "My lord." 

Thranduil swallowed and tried to bring his racing pulse to an even keel. "Good morrow, y/n."

He quickly turned away and headed towards the path leading into the forest. "And how was last night? Did you sleep comfortably?"

Something compelled you to follow him. "Very comfortably, thank you. I've never slept so well in my life."

Thranduil smiled and kept walking. You kept following, your eyes taking in the wonderful stillness that enveloped the forest, your ears tingling from the sound of snow crunching beneath your feet. "I was concerned, you see," he said, as the two of you continued walking. "Not everyone likes sleeping within a cave system."

"But it's beautiful, my lord," you said, surprised he would think you'd be put off by his home. In truth, the halls were more splendid than the palace of Dale, and you actually grew up within the palace. "Why would anyone not like it?"

Thranduil turned to you, to make sure you were not lying. One look convinced him that you weren't. "It pleases me to hear you say it..."

You felt a sense of mischief growing as you took in all that pristine snow. Thranduil was a few paces ahead of you, oblivious to what was going on behind him. Just once, you thought as you quickly dipped to your knees. Just a teensy bit of fun.

"The dwarves adore it, of course," Thranduil didn't hear you pick up a handful of snow and press it into a ball. "But some mortals... Alas..."

Thump.

A snowball exploded neatly over his cloak. Thranduil stopped and turned. Another snowball hit him square in the chest with another soft thump.

"Y/n," Thranduil took a deep breath and dusted bits of snow that clung to his clothes. "What are you..."

This time, the snowball hit him on the chin, exploding in a wet spray of icy particles. Thranduil looked at you, taking in your grin, the challenge in your eyes. Overcome with a sense of playfulness himself, he tsked before picking up a ball of snow. Before you could think or even blink, a ball of blinding white hit you right in the chest. When he dipped to make another projectile, you picked up your skirts and ran off into the forest, shouting, "You'll have to catch me first!"

The challenge was like music to Thranduil's ears.

You ran and ran, giggling like anything. Thranduil could never catch up with you. Why, you already had a head start on him. And you were certain he couldn't find you, at least not for a while .So confident were you in your own success that you didn't see or even hear Thranduil until he was right behind you, whirling you around and pushing you up against a tree. 

"Hitting me with snowy projectiles?" Thranduil said gleefully as he pinned you against the tree. "And while my back was turned? Very unsportsmanlike, yes?"

Oh, how you giggled beneath him. "B-but it's such fun th-that way."

Thranduil tsked again, this time to disguise the fact that being this close to you was making his body strain against his clothes. "There will be a price to pay for this, you know," he mumbled huskily.

You narrowed your eyes even as your lips quirked upward. "A price, you say."

The heat radiating from his body started to do strange things to yours. You felt warm and feverish again, this time from his being so close to you. You wanted to reach out and touch him, to have his unrestrained self open up to you. And as much as you thought you liked him, you realized you felt nothing like this with Legolas, nothing that made you feel like your blood was heating with need. 

Perhaps it wasn't Legolas you were destined for after all. "And what will that price be, my lord?"

Thranduil narrowed his eyes, as wanting slowly hammered at his restraint. He had asked for a price. A price you seemed to be willing to pay. How much were you willing to pay? "Whatever I want, y/n."

You swallowed and looked up at him, at those beautiful blue eyes that had grown dark with need. When you ran your tongue over your lips, you heard him groan. "And," you asked, as heat pooled in your belly. "What do you want?"

Thranduil dipped his head, his lips just above the rim of your ear. "You," he whispered. Hot breath fanning over your ear made you close your eyes and whimper, made goosebumps rise all over your skin. "I want you."

You swallowed as he pressed up against you, his body flush against yours. His hands let go of your arms and sneaked up your waist; his lips skimmed over your ear. A sound rose from the back of your throat, something that felt like a purr. Warmth and wanting washed over you again, and you grabbed onto Thranduil's collar, saying, "And you shall have me, however you wish to have me."

Thranduil pulled back, his jaw clenched, his eyes burning with passion. On the next intake of breath, his lips crushed yours. 

You were pulled into a darkened tunnel of desire. Thranduil's kisses were deep, drugging you senseless. His tongue, all warm and luscious and sinful, licked and probed its way into the warmth of your mouth. You purred helplessly, your arms looping around his neck. Your body was already throbbing and aching, arousal was dripping down your thighs, and he had just started kissing you.

Thranduil was filled with greedy impatience. On any other day, he would have been slow and languorous, worshipping your body with his very breath, but today he was just overcome with the need to take. He hiked up your skirts, pulling them up to your waist. A hand callused by centuries of hunting and fighting ripped apart your underwear and cupped you between your thighs. When skilled fingers played with your already slick heat, you jolted. "Already wet for me, I see," Thranduil crooned, delighting in your little whimpers, your little noises. He slipped a finger in, moaning into your mouth as he felt your walls clench around it. He took a step back and watched as your eyes almost rolled back and your mouth opened in a half-moan. Your body trembled and trembled when a second finger joined the first, curling gently inside your warmth, making your body arch beautifully against his whenever they struck that place that could only give a woman the type of pleasure she had never felt before. He felt resistance as he pushed deeper, and his body hardened even more. He was going to be your first. And how he hoped he could be your only.

And it wasn't enough. Not for you, and not for him. Thranduil pulled out and your cheeks bloomed with heat when each of those slickened fingers slowly disappeared into his mouth, only to pop out with a soft plop. "Delicious," he crooned again.

"But will that be all?" you muttered breathily, challenging him to give you more.

Thranduil growled. "Oh, there will be more, my petal," he hissed, and his lips opened over yours again. The sweetness of his kiss washed down your throat, leaving you breathless and lightheaded. You reached out to the buckle of his belt, unclasping it and loosening his breeches. Thranduil pressed himself flush against you, caging you to the tree as you reached in and wrapped your hands over his cock. 

The feeling of you pumping his length well and truly undid him. "Fuck," he swore and bit down on your lower lip, leaving it slightly sore and bruised. He kept still, his head thrown back, his breath coming out in shuddering pants as you stroked his cock. You found a rhythm he liked, your hands tightening and releasing, a perverse feeling drowning you as you took him to the brink and threatened to take him over that. What would it feel like, to have him pour over your hands?

But that was not what Thranduil desired. Oh no. Thranduil was hungry for much more than that. "Jump," he ordered, his arms hooking tightly around your waist.

When he lifted you in one swift move, you hooked your legs around his hips, your arms gripping tightly around his shoulders. Thranduil didn't even feel the strain. An ellon such as he was able to bear so much more, and you felt like a feather to him. "Do you want this?" he breathed as he rubbed the tip of his cock against your hole. "Tell me, petal, do you want this? For me to claim your maidenhead?"

You swallowed and looked into a pair of soulful eyes. "There'd be no going back from this," you say hesitantly.

"There won't," Thranduil agreed. "But if you say you'd have me, I will be by your side always."

You swallowed, considered his words, and came to a decision. "I'd be insulted if you weren't."

Thranduil's lips turned into a triumphant grin as they sought yours again. There were no more words this time, there was no need for them. Thranduil's kiss was a sweet distraction from the discomfort and pain you felt when he pierced you with one sharp thrust. Thranduil held onto you, keeping perfectly still, crooning sweet nothings into your ear. He let you adjust to his size, and he savoured how tight and hot you felt around him. 

It was all more than he had ever dreamed of, really. Thranduil would keep himself awake at night, thinking of you, dreaming of you, your body squirming and writhing underneath his, and now, all of that had turned into reality. He started to rock into your body, grinding his hips against the insides of your thighs.

The bark of the tree rubbed up against your back whenever your body jerked with his thrusts. You were sure your back would be bruised and sore the next day, but you didn't care. You only cared about what Thranduil was making you feel, and he was making you feel so much and more.

Jolt upon jolt of pleasure went up your back, turning your bones into a watery mess every time Thranduil ground his hips against you, filling you completely to the hilt.  Your moans were muffled by his kisses, your fingers could only dig into his back. Your legs struggled for purchase against his thighs as he kept bucking into you, his pace growing fast and relentless, his body tightening with each passing second.

And yours started to feel like a tightly pulled string that was about to snap. The soft squelching noises of Thranduil's length sinking into your heat seemed to carry, but you were too drunk on his embraces to care. You threw your head back as those coiled muscles grew closer to snapping. "D-don't s-stop," you pleaded.

Thranduil growled and held you tighter, his hips slapping against your thighs. He sunk his lips into your neck, his teeth scraping at your tender flesh. Your mewls inflamed him and he grew rougher, his growls growing as your walls tightened and throbbed around his cock. "Come for me," he moaned. "Come for me now."

Your body just surrendered, shattering into a million tiny pieces. You buried your face in his shoulder, your cries muffled against his robes. Your body shook violently as Thranduil grunted and buried himself deep inside of you, his essence spilling within your walls. He shivered as your orgasm kept milking his cock, and when he finally finished, he contented himself with holding you to him.

His breath fanned over your throat as he held you to him, keeping you steady. You took a deep, steadying breath and blinked, your mind suddenly clearing as a problem lay before you both. "L-legolas..." you panted. "What... What are we going to tell him?"

"He already knows," Thranduil mumbled, his chest still heaving against yours. "I spoke to him last night, and he gave me his blessing. That's why he went to Dale, so you could decide for yourself without being fogged up by his presence."

Your lips tugged up into a grin. "Trust you to leave nothing to chance."

Thranduil smirked and set you down gently, helping you fix your clothes, your hair, and setting himself to rights. "I never leave such important things to chance. That is why I'm the Elvenking."

[somedaylazysomeday]

A Boon - Part Five

Thranduil comes to visit you in Esgaroth - one ruler to another.

Thranduil x fem!reader

Rating: Mature. Minors DNI.

Word Count: 3,600

Warnings: the pressures of ruling, romantic pressures, mentions of alcohol, mentions of mortality, sleeplessness, weapons, brief fear of intruders

Previous | Next | Masterlist

---

You surveyed the stretch of boards ahead of you. These boards were still yellow, freshly hewn from fallen trees. They were bright against the gray waters of the lake and the gray-brown of the older, weathered boards that made up most of Esgaroth. Still, you were displeased. “This is progress, but it still leaves at least a ten minute trip by boat to reach the shoreline.” 

“Surely that is short enough, Queen?” 

You shook your head. “We are discussing farmers. At the end of a long day in the fields, they may choose to swim rather than wait for a boat or fall asleep at their oars. We can hardly afford to lose any farmers. We shall have to continue construction.” 

“But majesty,” one of your advisors protested, “if we continue, we will block the lake. Kings Thranduil, Bard, and Thorin will surely object.” 

It was a fair point and you nodded to acknowledge it. “Then we shall simply have to be more creative as we search for solutions.”

“Perhaps a bridge of some kind, far off the water…” one mused. 

“My queen!” an official called. You turned, already knowing what you would find. As you had expected, Thranduil waited on the main boardwalks of town. “Elvenking Thranduil of the Greenwood has arrived and wishes to meet with you.” 

You waved back, made your excuses to your advisors, and started back up the wooden boardwalk toward the small elven delegation. The trip was not short, but Thranduil never seemed anything less than endlessly patient as you walked. 

When you finally arrived in front of the elves, Thranduil gave an elaborate bow, took your hand, and pressed a lingering kiss to your knuckles. “My lovely Queen of Esgaroth.” 

“Thranduil.” 

A look of amused exasperation crossed his beautiful face as he straightened and you stifled a laugh. Thranduil had been officially courting you for months and he still insisted on keeping to the utmost standards of society. You, however, eagerly dropped his title whenever you could get away with it. 

“I have business with King Bard, but I could not resist halting our progress to visit the famed Beauty of the Waters.” Thranduil leaned closer. “Why is it that I never find you in your throne room?” 

The reception hall had been your coronation gift from the Kingdom of Greenwood. It was ostentatious to a remarkable degree, especially when set against the backdrop of Lake Town, but it had been the only thing that stopped Thranduil’s complaints about the rest of your coronation. The ceremony had been plain, certainly - perhaps even stark - but there were other things in Esgaroth that needed funds. It seemed a shame to waste gold on yourself.

“We both know that real business takes place outside of a throne room,” you reminded Thranduil. “Besides, I worry that Smaug will come back to steal the ridiculous gems from the walls.”

Thranduil sniffed, pressing a hand to his chest. “I hand-picked every one of those gems. They remind me of your eyes.” 

“They’re… all white?” you reminded slowly. 

“Yes,” he agreed, unperturbed. “But I did not choose them for their color. I chose them for their sparkle. Their fire. That is what matches your eyes. They are your defining feature, you know.”

For all that you thought he was an arrogant, over-confident ass sometimes, Thranduil did know how to deliver a compliment. To hide your flustered state, you asked, “How long will you stay?” 

“I must be in Dale by sunset,” he told you, regret in his tone. 

With a glance around, you scoffed. “You must leave in minutes if you will arrive there by sunset! You might have just waved from your boat as you passed by.” 

Thranduil was unbothered by your caustic tone. “Ah, but then I could not have done this…”

He swept his long robes back, lowering gracefully onto one knee. The people Lake Town drew closer behind the elven guards, watching the scene with eager expectation. 

After an appropriately long pause, Thranduil started, “My dearest queen of Esgaroth… You enrapture me. You have always done so, from the time you were a bar maid, and it has been my delight watching you rise to the challenges of being queen of what was once called Lake Town.

“Our kingdoms have been joined in matters both of diplomacy and trade to the benefit of all our people. I believe it is time we join in a more permanent alliance.” Thranduil paused, looking up into your eyes with a wide gaze of his own. “Will you agree to be my queen?” 

You smiled down at him, wrapping your hands around his. “No, Thranduil.” 

An appreciate chuckle ran through the crowd. Thranduil stood, not looking distraught in the least. “Very well. We shall depart for Dale. Accompany us to our boat?” 

“Of course,” you agreed, placing your hand on his proffered arm. You chatted pleasantly on the way back to the elves’ boat as the people of Esgaroth called sympathies to Thranduil and wished him better luck the next time. 

Thranduil had been proposing marriage to you since the week after your coronation. It had become something of a spectacle for your people to watch his attempts. There was even a betting pool on how long it would be before you gave in. It was a salve to your ego that there were a number of people who bet you would never agree to marry Thranduil at all.

“I shall return soon,” Thranduil announced, brushing your knuckles with his lips once more before he climbed into the elegantly carved boat. 

The elven guard who had been trailing behind you paused by your side for a moment. “Your highness?” 

“Yes?” you asked expectantly. 

“It was the bar maid line, was it not?” 

You smiled despite yourself. “Among other things.” 

The guard shook his head. “I begged him to reconsider that section.” 

“I believe you.” You offered a small smile to the elf. “Thranduil is a victim only of his own hubris.”

The guard hastily stifled a laugh before he climbed into the boat. You waited long enough to wave as they rowed swiftly across the shining waters of the lake. After an appropriate amount of time, you strode to your office, waving away teasing questions about when you would finally allow yourself to be caught. 

There was far too much to be done. 

Lake-Town - or Esgaroth - was not what it once was, but not all of the changes were negative. Most of the people who had survived Smaug’s attacks had chosen to follow King Bard to settle Dale, but Esgaroth had kept almost a third of its original population. And the town was bolstered by the ever-flowing tide of merchants and travelers who chose to settle on the lake instead of further into the mountains. 

Yes, Esgaroth was growing and changing, developing into a fine community with the makings of an actual economy. There were days when you questioned whether you had been made queen as a joke of some kind and if the townspeople would take it away from you. But there had been no hints of that. 

It probably aided your rule that you weren’t queen full-time. You still ran the Ripple, though you had needed to hire additional help for when you were fulfilling royal duties. Contributing to the local job market - and alcohol provisions - definitely helped your popularity among Esgaroth residents.

The Ripple was nearly empty when you stepped inside. Storr beamed at you from his place behind the bar, giving a bow so deep that you worried (or hoped) that he would bash his forehead against the shining wooden surface. 

“My queen!” Storr cried, drawing the attention of both patrons. They lifted their tankards at you; they knew you well enough to know that was the only acknowledgement you truly welcomed. “To what do we owe this honor?” 

You scowled at him. Storr didn’t take the expression to heart. You had largely left him in charge of the Ripple when you were doing other things around the town, and he had handled the responsibility with grace and a level head. You appreciated everything he did for you and your business… and both of you knew it. 

Still, you filled your tone with steel and venom as you said, “This is my bar, Storr. If you’ve forgotten, perhaps it’s time for me to find a replacement.” 

Storr only laughed, and the sound made you smile back at him. You accepted his brief hug when he had stepped around the bar. “You know I hate when you bow to me.”

“Why else would I do it?” he asked, patting your shoulders as you pulled away. “Kirna and Kell say hello.” 

“Give them my love,” you said instantly. Storr’s wife Kirna had been one of your staunchest supporters even before the town had decided to make you its queen. And his son Kell was wise beyond his four years… and far more energetic than you remembered being as a child. 

“Of course.” Storr sighed. “I know you are far too busy, but remember that you have an open invitation to come for dinner.”

“I am never too busy for friends,” you protested.

Storr cut you off with a loud laugh. “You’re too busy to sleep and eat, let alone visit with lowly town residents.” He winked at you, continuing before you could refute that statement. “While we are on the subject, what brings you to the Ripple this afternoon?” 

“Honey mead.” You glanced toward the back room where you stored the mead as it went through the process of fermentation. None of the casks were visible from where you stood, but you looked anyway. “I need to bottle a few casks. That double batch should be ready for consumption next month.” 

Storr grimaced. “That will be a busy night. Will you be here to help?” 

“I- will do my best,” you said carefully. Sadly, the truth was that you couldn’t know for certain where you would be when the mead was ready. It all depended on what was happening in the town. “I’ll see if I can find someone to come up for extra support for the first few nights.”

The first sign you had of an impending conversation was that Storr followed you to the fermentation room. He had always avoided it, claiming that the smells gave him a headache. 

“What is it?” you asked as the door closed behind him. There was a tangle of fear in your stomach as you waited for whatever news he had. 

“Nothing bad,” he assured. “More a question than a concern. But you will dislike it.” 

That did nothing to soothe your nerves. “Go on.” 

“Perhaps you should consider hiring additional help on a permanent basis,” Storr said, clearly choosing his words with care. 

“I… did hire help…” you reminded slowly. “We have five employees for you to manage, and I assist here as often as I can.” 

“You do, and everyone appreciates your dedication to the Ripple.” Storr’s gaze dipped to one of the casks, studying it like it was fascinating. “But the demands of being queen mean that you can’t be here when you say you will, even if you do your best to come. And the problems will only grow worse when you marry Thranduil.” 

The stinging ache of guilt in your chest was frozen in place at the unexpected conclusion to Storr’s point. “Thranduil? He has no bearing on this situation. I have no intention of marrying him.” 

Storr aimed a dry look in your direction. “I heard he proposed earlier.” 

“And I said no,” you told him. “As I always do.” 

“Yes, but you will not refuse him forever.” Storr shook his head, looking somewhat mournful at the idea. “The two of you have been courting for almost two years. Marriage is the eventual goal of courtship, is it not?” 

“Technically speaking…” you trailed, trying not to look as uncomfortable as you felt. With a sigh, you chose to confide in your friend. “I will not marry Thranduil. I cannot. It could never work between us, not for any real length of time. He sees me as I am and is blind to the way I will be. The years will weigh me down in a way that will not happen to him. If I am the only one to see our future clearly, it is my burden to keep him from making that mistake.” 

To your surprise - and mild hurt - Storr seemed to find that amusing. “Such disdain for your Elvenking, even after so long a time… But now, as back when you first met him, I believe you may be misjudging Thranduil.”

You huffed out a sigh. "I do not understand you, Storr. First you claim to be concerned that I will marry Thranduil and now you seem to be angling for that very result. Was my argument that unsound?" 

"No, I think Thranduil is more determined than you seem to believe." 

You opened the first cask of honey mead, letting it hiss slowly as you moved to the next. With the sound of a half-dozen snakes filling the room, you turned to Storr and frowned. “I believe I am at least his match in determination, if not more. You should not be so certain that he will convince me.” 

Storr dragged a hand over his face. “I am not trying to start another competition between he and you. Or even myself and you. I am simply saying that you are more likely to listen to reason.” 

“And how has marrying an immortal elven king become a reasonable option?” you demanded. 

“When you started courting him.” That seemed like a jest and you narrowed your eyes at Storr. He made a helpless sort of gesture. “What I mean is that he pressed your courtship. He encouraged your placement as queen of Esgaroth. Now he is insisting that the two of you be married. Maybe it is not reasonable for him to push for this, but your reasons for fighting him are ones that will be to his detriment, not yours. Do you want to marry him?” 

You began pouring the settled mead into gallon jugs. They would be prepared for the final fermentation process when you were done, and ready for consumption only a few weeks after that. You had hoped that the delay in your answer would distract Storr, but he watched you and waited patiently. 

“That is not the point,” you said eventually, avoiding the question entirely. “Thranduil does not think about the future.” 

“I disagree,” Storr said decisively. “I believe he thinks almost exclusively about the future. Most elves do. We now get enough of them in here to know. Maybe Thranduil just believes the present outweighs the future.” 

“He is wrong.” You punctuated your point with a sharp slap, using the motion to force a cork into the mouth of a bottle. 

“Have you explained your reasoning to him?” 

It was a fair point, and you grimaced. “No. But only because he has not given me the chance.” 

“Then he will only keep asking,” Storr pointed out. “And he may eventually grow discouraged by your refusals.”

You laughed at that, and Storr eventually joined you. It was difficult to imagine Thranduil being discouraged by much of anything. He pursued what he wanted whole-heartedly until he had gotten it, without exception. 

But still, you were thinking about Storr’s words long after you had bottled your mead and left the Ripple. In fact, you were thinking about them so hard that you had trouble falling asleep that night. 

It was ridiculous, and you were half-tempted to take Storr up on his offer only to lecture him at his home. The day had been long and your body was exhausted… but your brain refused to stop tossing up possibilities for the future, and you were dragged reluctantly along for each scenario. 

When the knock sounded at your door, you were grateful for the interruption. 

However, you were not so grateful that you left behind the light, elven-forged short sword that Thranduil had gifted you. He had intended it for decorative purposes, meant to adorn your hip as you were crowned queen, but he had warned that elvish weapons only dulled after hundreds of years of constant use. The short sword would serve as a handy weapon if your unexpected guest was less friendly than you wished (or far too much more).

When you opened the door to find Thranduil on the other side, you let the blade dip until the tip was nearly brushing the floor. The Elvenking’s dark brows were arched high on his forehead, his gaze moving quizzically from the sword to your face. 

“Late night sparring practice?” he drawled. 

You shook your head and stepped aside to let him in. “I was not expecting to see you again tonight. Did you not arrive in Dale by sunset?” 

“I arrived with time to spare,” Thranduil assured you, closing and locking the door securely behind you both. “You need a larger home. One befitting the role of a queen. If there are none in Esgaroth to your liking, I could always have something constructed…” 

“Thranduil, focus,” you commanded, watching the glow of amusement on his face. “What happened? Why are you not in Erebor now? I thought you were meant to be treating with King Thorin?” 

“I seem to have offended him,” he said, offering an unconcerned shrug. “He ordered me to leave and I believed it was best to oblige him. His youth gives his temper an unwise edge.” 

“He’s older than anyone I’ve ever met,” you argued, grimacing at the dry look Thranduil gave you. “Present company excluded, of course.” 

“That may be,” Thranduil sniffed, “but it makes him ill-suited for leadership, especially in a situation like ours, in which so many kingdoms occupy such a small space.”

“His people seem to believe his leadership is excellent,” you countered. “As do the people of Dale. Besides, I believe your opinion has not been requested.” 

“And yet it should have been,” Thranduil climbed the ladder up to the second floor of your home with ease and remarkable speed, offering a hand to pull you up the ladder after he had reached the top. “Considering that mine is the largest of the kingdoms. And I hope to make it still larger when our kingdoms combine.” 

You sighed. “I lack the energy to have this argument once more. Not today. Can we discuss something else?” 

“Of course,” the Elvenking soothed, drawing you into his arms. You settled in that embrace, your cheek pressed against the delicate weave of Elven fabric. It did not muffle the steady beat of his heart, and you were thankful for that. “Perhaps you would like to tell me why you are awake so late.” 

“I… would rather not,” you hedged. If you even hinted at the way Storr’s words had been eating at you, Thranduil would consider you as good as wed. And while you disliked the idea of him losing interest and moving on, your concerns were valid enough that they demanded a solution. “Why are you here, Thranduil? I am happy to see you, but-” 

“-but I was hardly expected,” Thranduil finished for you. “As I said, Thorin removed me from the halls of Erebor, but Bard is still there. I decided to send my guards back to the Greenwood rather than stay in Dale. And when I saw the candlelight behind your shutters, I came here instead of returning to my own kingdom.” 

“Because it’s closer for you to return to Erebor tomorrow?” you asked. 

Thranduil laughed softly. “You know Thorin well enough to know that I will not be welcomed back into his kingdom for at least a fortnight. No, I simply concluded that my time would be far better spent here.” 

You stared up at him, making note of the soft fondness that filled his haughty, fine-boned face. “You… are too kind.” 

“Do not mistake my honesty for simple flattery,” he told you, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I enjoy your company and I prefer to think that you like mine as well. No, I know for certain that you enjoy my company. I would know if you did not - you are far too honest not to have told me so.” 

You huffed out a laugh despite yourself and Thranduil smiled. With the barest hint of pressure against your lower back, he urged you toward the ladder that took you up to the highest floor of your home. “Come, it is surely past time for you to be in bed.” 

The idea of the Elvenking himself ordering you to bed would have made you laugh if only it sounded less appealing. So you let him shepherd you upstairs and into bed. When you had gone to answer the door, you had only pulled on the minimum amount of clothing to protect yourself from the lake breezes. It took only moments to undress once more.

Thranduil never suffered any crisis of confidence, so he stripped bare and slid between the sheets beside you. The warmth of his body next to yours put you in an even deeper state of relaxation, especially as his hand found yours beneath the cover of your quilt. His thumb traced gentle strokes over the back of your hand, almost hypnotic in its steadiness. 

Maddeningly, you still could not fall asleep.

---

Author's Note - There is definitely going to be a second part tomorrow.

Thanks for reading!

[coraoropherion]

Alive [Thranduil x Reader]

A.N: This is my first fanfiction, I hope that you enjoy! Please let me know if there is anything that I can improve on or if you have any requests. I will be taking requests for any LOTR/TH characters or Harry Potter characters. More options to come! (Gif originally posted by blackheart-beauty)

Request: n/a

Pairing: Thranduil x Reader

Summary: Y/N, Thranduil’s second wife, is assumed to be dead after The Battle of the Five Armies, causing Thranduil to begin to fade.

Word Count: 633

Warnings: Mention of major character death, heavy angst, fluff

——————————————————————————————

The Battle of the Five Armies had left the Woodland Realm in a state of somber mourning. Although the battle was won, there was no celebration, only the whisper of an elven lament for the dead. Thranduil, the Elvenking, stood alone in his chambers, his heart heavy with grief. The news had reached him, an agonizing blow that shattered his world—you, his beloved wife, was lost, presumed dead, amidst the violence and destruction. He had tried to search for you after the fighting was over, but it was to no avail.

The weight of grief settled heavily upon Thranduil's heart, consuming his every waking moment. After his first wife, Calathiel, passed on from the mortal realm, it was a miracle of the Valar that he survived, and his spirit did not fade away. You became the new and only reason for him to live, other than his realm. After all, Legolas had left for his own adventures in the North. 

Days turned into weeks, and Thranduil's grief consumed him. His regal façade waned, replaced by a mere shell of the once-proud, brazen Elvenking. His subjects watched in sorrow as their ruler, burdened by loss, began to wither. The light in his eyes dimmed with each passing moment, mirroring the slow decay that befalls all elves who lose their life’s purpose. 

Within the confines of his chamber, Thranduil allowed his tears to flow freely, his sobs echoing through the empty halls. He clutched onto memories of your love, your laughter, and the warmth of your embrace, but they provided no solace in the void left by your absence. Tears stained his fair cheeks, and his blue eyes glistened– his voice choked with anguish as he whispered your name into the emptiness of the night.

It was then, when all seemed lost, that you returned—a week after the battle—bathed in the radiant light of the Valar. The wounds that had once threatened your life were now healed, and you stood before Thranduil. Alive.

His eyes bore into your own with an unbelievable emptiness. It was as if he was staring past or right through you. Suddenly, his crystal vision widened with disbelief, his voice a mere whisper. "Y/N, meleth nín... Is it truly you?"

Your arms enveloped him, holding him close, as tears streamed down his face. His cries were mournful, an outpouring of the anguish that had consumed him in your absence.

"Oh, my love," you whispered, your voice a gentle melody. "I am here. I am alive.  Let me share in your sorrow and mend your wounded heart." Thranduil collapsed into your embrace, his sobs wracking his entire body as he struggled to breathe. 

"I thought I had lost you," Your husband's voice cracked with desperation. You caressed his long golden hair, your fingers weaving through the strands with tenderness. 

"You will never lose me Thranduil. Our love is stronger than the darkest of shadows. I have returned to you. Your heartache has been my own. But together, we shall find solace. Your love has given me the strength to return, and my love will guide you through this darkness."

Thranduil buried his face into the crook of your neck, his heartbreaking whimpers of relief intermingling with the beating of your hearts. You held him, pouring your love and strength into his wounded soul. With each passing moment in your embrace, Thranduil's spirit revived. Alive. The color returned to his cheeks, his eyes regained their vibrant gleam. The darkness that had threatened to consume him was chased away by the light of your presence. Slowly, Thranduil's sobs subsided, his grip on you loosening as he pulled back slightly. He pressed his forehead to yours before whispering,

“Gi melin, Ilmarë nin.” (I love you, my starlight.)

“And I love you. Always.”

. . . . . . . 

Meleth nin = my love

[sonics-atelier]

Dungeons and Dramatics

Summary : While trapped in the Dungeons of Mirkwood Kili and Fili decided to lighten the mood up, it doesn't go well for them though because a certain blonde was watching from the shadows. Crack Fic. Mine.

a/n : my friend told me how the dwarfs were tapped for over 2 weeks in mirkwood and I made this crack theory of what exactly happened that caused them to be imprisoed for so long, @decadentpostnacho this is for you 💗

In the dimly lit dungeons of Mirkwood, the dwarves sat in a circle, their spirits dampened by the endless days of imprisonment. Yet, in this bleak setting, Kíli and Fíli prepared to lift their companions' spirits with an impromptu play. They had secretly penned a melodramatic tale, an “enemies-to-lovers” romance between their uncle, Thorin, and the Elvenking, Thranduil.

Kíli and Fíli stepped into the center, using makeshift props and costumes crafted from scraps. Kíli had fashioned a makeshift crown from twine and leaves, and Fíli draped a tattered blanket over his shoulders to simulate Thranduil's regal cloak.

Kíli : (as Thorin, standing tall and defiant) “Why do you imprison us, Thranduil, King of the Elves? Do you fear our might or are you just in need of better company?”

Fíli : (as Thranduil, with an exaggerated wave of his hand) “Neither, Oakenshield! It is your beauty that captivates me, your rugged charm that ensnares my heart!"

The dwarves around them snickered, trying to stifle their laughter. Thorin sat back, his arms crossed, watching with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. ( Poor Thorin has his hands full )

Kíli : (taking a step closer, eyes wide with mock surprise) “You jest, Elvenking! How could someone as cold-hearted as you know anything of love?”

Fíli : (clutching his chest dramatically) “Oh, Thorin! Beneath this icy exterior beats a heart that longs for the warmth of your embrace. Let us end this enmity and unite our kingdoms in love!”

The dwarves erupted into muffled laughter, tears streaming down their faces as they tried to keep quiet. Even Thorin couldn’t help but let out a reluctant chuckle.

Kíli : (pretending to be torn) “But how can I trust you, Thranduil? Your dungeons are dark and your wines are too bitter for a dwarf’s taste.”

Fíli : (swooning exaggeratedly) “I shall sweeten my wines with the nectar of our love, and together we shall brighten up these dark halls with the light of our love”

Ori leaned over to Balin, whispering with a grin, “Do you think Thorin will take up acting after this?”

Balin smirked, shaking his head. “I think he might just kill them before that happens.”

Kíli : (placing a hand over his heart, eyes glittering with fake tears) “Oh, Thranduil, your words move me. Could it be that beneath this rough exterior lies a heart yearning for your love?”

Fíli : (reaching out dramatically) “Yes, Thorin, yes! Let us cast aside our weapons and embrace as lovers, not as foes!"

Suddenly, a voice echoed from the shadows, stern and filled with displeasure. It was Thranduil himself, having watched the entire performance from the edge of the prison.

Thranduil : “Enough of this mockery! I see now that dwarves are not only stubborn but also foolish.”

The dwarves fell silent, their faces pale as they realized they had been caught. Thranduil stepped forward, his expression a mixture of irritation and something akin to amusement.

Thranduil : “For your insolence, I extend your stay in my dungeons by two weeks. Perhaps next time, you will think twice before creating such absurd tales.”

As Thranduil left, the dwarves remained silent for a moment before bursting into laughter again, their spirits inexplicably lifted by the ridiculousness of it all.

Years later, back in Erebor, the memory of the play would still bring fits of laughter to the company. Thorin, though he would never openly admit it, appreciated the levity his nephews had brought to such a dark time. And Kíli and Fíli? They reveled in the tale, often reenacting snippets of it at family gatherings, much to Thorin’s feigned annoyance and everyone else’s delight.

- @sonics-atelier 2024 , do not repost or reuse in any way , shape or form.

[mastererestor]

Look, the library was fun. But now you want us to build a tree? A tree?

There are about a bazillion different leaves for the Valar only know how many different kind of shrubbery here, and while Erestor can tell birch from oak, Glorfindel is sorting leaves into categories like „funny looking tree“, „odd looking tree“ and „tree-like tree“.

This will end in disaster. We need an expert.

„You have called for my assistance?“

„No, I have not! Not for your assistance, and definitely not for you!“

„Glorfindel, come and let us go count mushrooms. Trees are best left to our woodland kin.“

„A very wise decision, Master Erestor. I cannot work with amateurs in the way… ah, by the Forest Spirits! What is that?“

🐸💋

„Curse and botheration! What sort of rotten realm is this where innocent Elvenkings are kissed by amphibious lifeforms? This means war! I shall-„

„Greetings. My name is Bard. Do you need a hand?“

„A hand? Indeed. We must start somewhere, I suppose.“

„You must come and visit me in Mirkwood, Bard. It is particularly lovely this time of the year.“

„If you don‘t mind me asking, why did you call your realm Mirkwood? That’s not particularly attractive, is it?“

„I agree, but Black Forest was already taken.“

„I hope you are not afraid of heights.“

„Ehr… no… not at all… not in the least…“

„Good, for I must jump up and down now for a final stress test of this branch.“

Boingboingboing

„I can confirm that I am stressed, Thranduil!“

„The green hue of your face goes wonderfully well with the colour of the leaves, I just thought I mention it.“

„Ehr…“

„Good grief, Glorfindel! They have done it! And it looks perfect!“

„Fine, then they can leave now. The sooner, the better. ‚t is a long way back to Mirkwood…“

„Fin! We should at least ask them to stay for luncheon.“

„You are too kind, Master Erestor, but Bard and I have already planned a picknick.“

„Ehr… we have?“

„Yes. Namarië, and if you need any further assistance, call Celeborn.“

„Now about that picknick, Thranduil…“

„No need to thank me, Bard. Now, as we are finally alone, there is something I need to ask you…“

„Yes?“

„It is personal and of a delicate nature, though…“

„Yes? Yes!!!“

„Would you mind peeling the cherries?“

Those trees… those trees! Wahhh… well, at least this gave me the chance to do something for Barduil month. I do not write it, but I read it, and love all the wonderful tales and artwork out there. Thank you all for sharing. Have some cherries!

[meadowlarkx]

elvenkings

Fic for @sindarweek day 2: Locations | AO3

Afterwards, they went back. No tale contains this part: no one set it down. Few set out: Oropher, his tall, gangly son, and a handful of others. A small cluster of green shoots. Spring was returning to the forest, and it smelled sweet, like unfurling leaves and old rot melting. They were very careful. They moved and slept in the trees, wishing their foliage fuller and missing Melian’s temperate cradle. But at the rushing Esgalduin, before Menegroth’s bashed-in mouth, there were no boughs to make the going safer.

“Finrod’s brother,” one said, weeping, “wished his mortal’s beauty to live on unmarred in his memory.”

Oropher looked searchingly at his son. Should we not have come back? the look asked. Should I not have brought you back?

Thranduil shook his head. He was serious-faced, with an edge of temper and a merry wit that darted free at times like a bird startled from a branch. No humor glinted in his gaze now. He was named for the spring, but perhaps it had been this kind of spring. “We had to,” he said simply. “Pass me a lantern:” and he crossed the stone bridge and went inside.

Ringing silence, orchestral silence, the tremor of the air from breath and speech shimmering up the vaulted halls roofed by gleaming roots, through the wide proud galleries with their pillars fashioned like beech-trees. No robbers or kinslayers had made lair of this place. Still they trod softly, reverently, until in the garden with its fountain gone quiet—not the throne room—Medlithor sang out clarion a love-song of Daeron’s, and briefly illuminated the dark like lightning.

Three of Nimloth’s gowns for the little princess. Torn tapestries—gleaming silver. A great book of heraldry, and another of sketches, plans for uncarved statuary. Daeron’s prized notes nowhere to be found. A chest of Oropher’s things, still fastened shut, guiltily perfect. A zither broken and unsinging. The dark space where the bodies had been heaped and burnt atop the frozen ground by their enemies. White bones of a few they had missed. The tree-roots embracing them, the new moss blanketing them. Circles ever widening outward, months late seeking children who would never be found.

Somber return, days in the making. Thranduil sat on a pier and watched the silt swirl and mingle with the clear salt of the ocean. Something tugged in his young breast: he could not name it. It was not sea-longing.

“It was very fine. The floor was fashioned like a vast ocean, sweeping out—oh!—with bright fishes, and strange sea-weeds like purple flowers, and amongst them, stars.” Evranin’s hands fluttered like birds, even when she was not at her stitching. “You used to hop from one spotted ray to the next.”

Elwing nodded dubiously.

“You remember it, don’t you, my girl? I know you do.”

“I think so,” Elwing said.

“Your great-grandfather planned it. He was the first to make the journey across the Sea, and he returned with a beautiful light in his eyes: they glowed in the endless dusk under the starlight.”

Elwing flinched.

“Not thus, sweet,” Evranin said, “like auntie Idril’s. ‘Twas a shine like the dawn, though of course, we knew no dawn then.”

Elwing looked confused, then squinted her eyes like two clenched fists, as though trying to work out a time before sunlight. Evranin thought this very Bëorian of her. At last, satisfied, she gave a little nod of approval.

“He loved the Sea: your great-grandfather. He and his brother meant to cross and live by the shore on the other side—where the fish leapt in the colorful shallows, and the stars’ reflection could yet be seen.”

“But he did not,” Elwing interrupted, frowning. She knew this part, and meant not to be appeased.

“He loved your great-grandmother more, and the woods’ green smell underfoot in the summer. But his brother—your great-great-uncle—did cross over, and he built a fair city for our people by the water. When you look west, my dear, think of all your family waiting to meet you. We live on the shore now, just as they do.”

“I don’t remember the floor of that gallery,” Elwing said quietly. “But I remember the music of the fountains through the room, and Naneth dancing with Ada. There were nightingales in his hair.”

If you looked carefully, as Bilbo was wont to do, you could see the places where the tapestry in Elrond’s library had been repaired. It nearly covered one complete wall of the hexagonal room, confidently draping languid and liquid across space where more books and scrolls could have been squirreled away. Its colors seemed to shift, unearthly, and the weave was finer than any Bilbo had seen—which made the repairs, neat as they were, quite obvious. The image was one of a shadow-crowded forest of brambles and feathery boughs, and in the foreground dark, shimmering water. Shapes were awakening beneath the stars in the twilight by the water’s edge, stretching up glistening bodies and dancing and drawing one another in to embrace. At one corner the winding border had been singed and the damage had not been mended. Still, it was very beautiful. Nearby, upon a varnished wooden stand, a book sat partly open, with thin, cracked pages of birch-paper. It was full of sigils, but Bilbo, despite making a study of Elf-lore, recognized none of them.

“Nor do I know most of them,” Elrond said, when asked. “It is far older than I, and a gift from Oropher from long ago, ere he left eastwards. See, though. Here is Beleg’s seal, and Mablung’s: the marchwardens from Túrin’s unhappy tale.” Bilbo exclaimed over these a while, and then asked: “What about the tapestry?”

“Melian the Maia wove it in the Elder Days.” He did not need to add: I thought it should be admired.

They had argued bitterly on the day the gift was made. It was vanishingly rare to see Elrond angry, but Oropher had managed it.

“Name me not king. I have chosen my king, and I am his herald. Leave it, I have begged of you. I won't ask again."

“And in what world am I to be named lord, while Elwing’s son bears no title? While our prince—”

“You might stay!” Elrond said rather wildly.

“And you might come with us—to oak and elm, the deep forest, people of our own ways—”

“I have made my choice.”

Silence fell between them, a silence of set jaws and brittle gazes. It was from an excess of care that they crossed wills.

“You are so like Lúthien,” Oropher said at last. Pride was soft in his voice. “Nay, your mother in her lordship. You are so like all of them.”

Elrond did not know what he meant.

“Accept these at least. They are your own inheritance. How I wish we had been able to offer you more.” Oropher said nothing else, but Elrond heard in his inmost heart all he meant, and opening his own heart he offered him forgiveness for the harsh words freshly spoken and for the old aches, the beaded necklace of orphans upon orphans, the bruise-tender childhood, the sunken continent, the houseless shades of the dead that crowded like moths: all the wounds still bleeding, and in which Oropher was faultless.

When Amon Lanc grew too dangerous, Thranduil knew what had to be done. Harried and unmerry was the Wood-elves’ journey northwards through the forest’s tree-paths. They took from the hill only what they could carry. Those of Thranduil’s people whom he met on the way—for many lived simply in the trees throughout Greenwood with their companions and children, and had joined themselves to no great settlement—spoke with him in troubled voices, though on the nights his following gathered around their small talans wine flowed and songs were sung.

“We need to make fast a stronghold,” he said. “Underground: a place of stone.”

“Better to go through the trees quickly! to travel lightly!”

“And if there is nowhere left that the Shadow has not touched?”

These Elves shook their heads and he read their thinking: we have always dwelt in this forest. But Thranduil’s heart misgave him, insisting the direst hour was still to come, and that he ready all his scattered people a sanctuary in advance of that hour.

Kingship did not rest easily on this son of Oropher. He had not been born to it, and he had meant never to find it. He preferred swimming the forest’s rivers and downing the sweet nectar of more summery lands to difficult counsels and deference, however warmly they were offered him. Very often since his father’s death, the way did not seem clear.

It was clear in this moment. He felt Elu Thingol’s hand cool upon his shoulder, as surely as if the king sojourned with him in the dappled wood and spoke as he had at the height of his wisdom. He saw in his mind’s eye the bridge that would cross the running water, the enchanted door, the roots that would be sung into high ceilings, the beech-carved pillars, the golden lamplight.

__________

From The Silmarillion: "But the Elves also had part in that labour, and Elves and Dwarves together, each with their own skill, there wrought out the visions of Melian, images of the wonder and beauty of Valinor beyond the Sea. The pillars of Menegroth were hewn in the likeness of the beeches of Oromë, stock, bough, and leaf, and they were lit with lanterns of gold. The nightingales sang there as in the gardens of Lórien; and there were fountains of silver, and basins of marble, and floors of many-colored stones. Carven figures of beasts and birds there ran upon the walls, or climbed upon the pillars, or peered among the branches entwined with many flowers. And as the years passed Melian and her maidens filled the halls with woven hangings wherein could be read the deeds of the Valar, and many things that had befallen in Arda since its beginning, and shadows of things that were yet to be. That was the fairest dwelling of any king that has ever been east of the Sea."

[bi-widower-dads]

bi-widower-dads' February Fic Rec: AUs

Thank you to everyone who submitted recs for us! We've done some sorting and collating, and we've got two posts for you: AUs and Canon-'verse - and a whole load of excellent fic for you to get stuck into while we wait for Barduil Month in April! So without further ado, here are the AUs for you, with a little bit about why our recommenders love them...

Header image by mod @piyo-13!

(a note about tags and trigger warnings: tags are selected from those on AO3 as being those that best describe the story for the purposes of this event; trigger warnings are supplied by the recommenders and may not be comprehensive - your mileage may vary. We've tried our best to include Tumblr handles wherever we can, but if we've missed yours out and you want it included, just let us know!)

One-shots

In the Wake of the Second Horseman by EldritchMage / @eldritchmage | M | 2272 words | tags: angst with a happy ending, implied/referenced drug use, post-traumatic stress disorder - PTSD, implied warfare/violence | trigger warnings: mention of drug use, mention of violence in a war zone, PTSD, nightmares

Summary: When addiction threatens to consume Thran, his lover Bard is desperate to help - but Thran isn't. Yet in ending his relationship with Bard, Thran savages both of them, not just himself. Four years later, Thran's about to discover what remains from his cruelty. What he finds is a surprise - and humbling. What do you love about this fic? Even when things fall apart, redemption is possible if you give it half a chance. Out of tragedy comes hope and a chance for a better life.

love remains by likethenight / @nocompromise-noregrets | G | 11,093 words | tags: alternate universe - modern setting, grief/mourning, Thranduil never sailed west, mythical beings & creatures, folklore, alternate universe - reincarnation | trigger warnings: none

Summary: There is a legend in Dale, that somewhere deep in the forest that borders the city lives the forest king, an ancient being with a special care for archers, and for all things that grow. Bard, camping in the woods after his finals, finds a place that isn't on any maps and begins to dream of something - someone - familiar; and years later, after the heaviest loss he has ever had to bear, he goes back out there again, hoping to find something that might help him recover. What do you love about this fic? Absolutely beautiful fic, such a touching story and excellent writing!

Petrichor by b_ofdale_archive / @beesinspades | G | 14,598 words | tags: alternate universe - reincarnation, alternate universe - modern setting, alternate universe - bookstore, books and cats | trigger warnings: slight mention of past life character death

Summary: It's been six thousand years since Thranduil last laid eyes on his husband - Bard. The world has changed and the great Elvenking with it, lingering in the shadows of Men; as hope for a miracle festers within his heart that grows weaker with every passing day, the only thing keeping him going is a promise he made, many moons ago. What do you love about this fic? I love its overall theme, and the thought that Thranduil will meet Bard again. A lovely and poetically written reincarnation AU, well worth the read!

Multi-chapters: in progress

Love in a time of change by myeaglesong / @myeaglesong | M | 22,840 words | tags: eventual relationships, eventual romance, elf/human relationships, fluff, romance, slow burn, alternate universe - regency, oblivious Bard | trigger warnings: none

Summary: For the longest time, Thranduil has wanted to find a good match for his son, Legolas, to marry. His search leads him to consider Arwen for Legolas to marry, but what if Legolas has already got his eye set on another match that Thranduil may not approve of? What will will happen when Legolas finds out about his father's intentions to marry him off? What would happen when the question of if Thranduil were to marry again was to come up, who could he marry? What do you love about this fic? I am not usually one for Regency AUs but this one is so adorable, and between the kids and the dads there is plenty of potential for shenanigans and some tentative romance! I'm really looking forward to seeing how events unfold…

The Moth Effect by BiSquared / @scary-grace and Dogblessya / @dogblessyoutascha | M | 35,658 words | tags: mothman is real, mothman Thranduil, mothbaby Legolas, park ranger Bard, non-graphic violence, but there is still gore so you've been warned, twilight references | trigger warnings: mothman lore, gore

Summary: (in chaos theory) the phenomenon whereby a mothman moving into your place of employment can have a large effect on the rest of your life. What do you love about this fic? I love the Supernatural/Horror element to it and Park Ranger Bard trying to make sense of all the really weird s**t that's happening around him. Lovely bits have to be the introduction of Mothman Thranduil and adorable Mothbaby Legolas. But best of all is that Mothman Thranduil isn't the weirdest thing happening in Olympic National Park 👀….

Vena Amoris by Patch / @patchoffeathers and Piyo13 / @piyo-13 | M | 72,843 words | tags: crossover with Dracula Untold, alternate universe - vampires, Bard is Dracula, canon-typical violence, slow build, alternate universe - some people live/not everybody dies | trigger warnings: none

Summary: Bard has a secret, one that stems from far to the east, in lands far forgotten and times long past. It's one that no one must know—but times are changing for the people living on the lake. Even for those who, technically, aren't alive. What do you love about this fic? The author does such a great job at merging Luke Evans' two characters here (Bard and Dracula) while still keeping Bard distinctly canon-shaped. Because Dracula!Bard is an immortal, there's a unique comparison of mythological immortalities and the relative costs of them that reflects back onto the plot.

show a little faith, there's magic in the night by BiSquared / @scary-grace | M | 342,922 words | tags: alternate universe - modern setting, slow burn, music industry AU, indie musician Bard, opera singer turned pop star Thranduil | trigger warnings: none

Summary: Bard Bowman's not the type to give up on his dreams easily, but when DJ Smaug's dirty tricks leave his family band stranded in Denver with a forfeit fee the size of Mt. Everest crashing down on their heads, there's really nothing to do but drink about it. The last thing Bard expects is to meet a beautiful stranger in a similar predicament -- and the last thing either of them expects is a rescue. Luckily for them, Thorin Oakenshield's feeling heroic this evening. What do you love about this fic? I am such a sucker for the rock scene (I've spent my entire adult life kicking about there) and it's not often I see it portrayed so realistically in fic (or indeed in original fiction). The characters are all beautifully drawn, the humour frequently makes me chuckle, and Bard going head over heels while trying to tell himself he isn't, it's not happening, not really, because he can't believe his luck, makes my heart go all funny.

Multi-chapters: complete

Followthrough by ofplanet_earth / @ofplanet-earth | M | 26,737 words | tags: alternate universe - modern setting, alternate universe - military, alternate universe - spies & secret agents, snipers, sniper Bard, military captain Thorin, mob boss Smaug, revenge, character death | trigger warnings: violence

Summary: Bard and his children have been living in a little cabin on the edge of Laketown for five years, hiding from Bard's dangerous past. But when that past comes back to haunt them, Bard will have to team up with Thorin and his company to face down his demons, confront the man who killed his wife, and fight to save the people he loves. What do you love about this fic? Great spies/military AU with Bard and the gang!

The grey sea and the long black land by Black_knight100 and Blueberryrock / @blueberryrock | T | 29,702 words | tags: alternate universe - modern setting, alternate universe - cruise ship, first kiss, angst, fluff, angst with a happy ending, eventual romance | trigger warnings: quite angst filled but has an eventual happy ending

Summary: Bard Bowman is thirty-seven years old, widowed and heckled, and he's had enough. If his children want a cruise trip with their lottery money, then so they will have. Bard will only have to work twice as hard to take them out of their little corner of the world. It has been three years. Three years of him raging, and sobbing, and grieving. Three years in which he has turned away from his children. Three years to reach this ship, to put together whatever snapped that day. And the first morning, Thranduil wakes up late. It is going fabulously. Or, in which the two meet on a ship, and there are ups and downs. What do you love about this fic? Thranduil and Bard getting together in the end

Modern Love by Shampain / @abner-krill | M | 65,267 words | tags: alternate universe - modern setting, alternate universe - coffee shops and cafés, alternate universe - human | trigger warnings: none

Summary: Bard is a down on his luck single father working a thankless job as a courier, eternally worrying over when his daughter is going to start sneaking out of the house with boys. As if that wasn't bad enough, his assignments delivering files to Greenleaf Acquisitions puts him in contact with Thranduil, a stern businessman whose only champion is his assistant, Tauriel. And finally, to make matters worse, his friendship with Bilbo Baggins sends everything else into a tailspin. The summer is just beginning, and it's going to be a weird one. What do you love about this fic? Lovely, lighthearted modern AU that is a delight to read!

hands; eyes; voice by bishkebab / @bishkebab | T | 70,163 words | tags: slow burn, alternate universe, accidental cottagecore, governess/single dad romance but make it gay, autistic Thranduil, Thranduil and Bard both have physical disabilities | trigger warnings: mention of autism, fire accident, PTSD

Summary: An isolated life in a too-small cottage was never what Bard dreamed of for his children – especially sharp, scholarly Tauriel and sensitive, insightful Tilda. But school is a distant dream for a large family living off the land – at least until a storm and the subsequent house fire bring a former scholar to their doorstep. Wealthy recluse Thranduil could never have anticipated leaving his family's manor for a shack in the woods and a single father with five – FIVE – children who can barely write ten words between them. But when disaster strikes, he is left with little choice – and maybe close quarters with a handsome widower won't be so bad after all... What do you love about this fic? This is a rare work of art in which Bard is the loveliest dad ever, stubborn, strong and gentle and Thranduil is an introverted autistic lonely lad. The author writes their story in a very poetical way and family is the main protagonist of the story, as is their small cosy cottage. I do love the gentle feeling this story conveys from the start. It feels like a warm cup of tea after a very rainy day and each word is carefully written. This story deserves to be read and reread and rereread. Slowly. (With a nice cup of tea. <;3)

Those Colours We Share by b_ofdale / @beesinspades | M | 84,709 words | tags: alternate universe - soulmates, alternate universe - post-war, set in 1956, Bard owns an animal shelter, slow burn, fluff and angst, disabled character, asexual characters, period-typical homophobia | trigger warnings: none

Summary: Had anyone told them, Thranduil Oropherion and Bard Bowman would never have believed they would see the world painted in colours again. Until that fateful day of December 1956, when one little boy entered a former soldier's animal shelter. What do you love about this fic? I'm a sucker for two lonely people who find each other and forge a new life together.

Beast by Nuredhel / @nuredhel | M | 132,354 words | tags: alternate universe - modern setting, all humans, Bard is a cop, Thranduil is a profiler, mentions of suicide, slow burn, crime and investigation, bonding while working, romance, past problems | trigger warnings: gore, violence, abuse, human trafficing, child abuse, murder, suicide

Summary: Bard Bowman is the leader of a team of investigators trying to solve a very complicated case, when the serial killer they are chasing proves to have a far longer history than they expected the feds call in a profiler. Bard has never believed he could feel attraction again but now he does, how can he express what he feels when they are chasing a beast which seems to defy the very laws of nature? Can Thran feel the same way? The road to love can be bumpy, in special when it is surrounded by murders. What do you love about this fic? It is very exciting, very romantic and intense.

seeking a friend for the end of the world by BiSquared / @scary-grace | M | 238,799 words | tags: alternate universe - modern setting, apocalypse, road trips, family issues and family bonding, opera singer Thranduil, Bard and Thranduil are good parents who are having a bad year, or years | trigger warnings: disease-apocalyptic setting, zombies, major character death, medical injections

Summary: Between dealing with his boss, getting over his ex-wife, and keeping his kids fed and clothed, Bard has more than enough on his plate. He doesn't have time to worry about the frightening rumors coming out of New York City or the lunatic in his service bay who tells him to take his kids and run. But when he stops to help a mysterious stranger on the side of the road, he gets a lot more than he bargained for -- a sexuality crisis, a partner in crime, and maybe, just maybe, a chance for all of them to make it out of this mess alive. What do you love about this fic? Incredible worldbuilding and an edge-of-your-seat plotline! The bonds between all the characters are just beautiful, and it has great worldbuilding. The action is also really well written, and it does tension/dramatics right.

In The Woods Somewhere by Ias / @hubristicfool | M | 249,074 words | tags: alternate universe - modern setting, vampires, vampire Thranduil, mechanic Bard, blood drinking, slow burn, dark, angst, violence, horror, psychological horror, unhealthy relationships | trigger warnings: vampires, blood, angst, sexual content, violence

Summary: These country roads were rarely traveled by any that didn't need to. When Thranduil pulled up beside the man's stopped vehicle and offered him a smile and a ride, there was no one to see the man's grateful expression as he slipped into Thranduil's car. No one to stand by and call out a warning as the taillights were swallowed by the dark branches of the trees. What do you love about this fic? The writing is excellent

Angels and crooks by Nuredhel / @nuredhel | M | 259,072 words | tags: sequel to Beast, alternate universe - modern setting, all humans, Bard is a cop, Thranduil is a profiler, solving crime, family, violence, drug abuse, everyday life at a police station | trigger warnings: violence, abuse, dark stuff, murder, blood, evil, deviousness

Summary: Bard and Thran are getting used to their new life as a married couple, and their new responsibilities as a family. But they still have their jobs and my oh my does that bring some interesting situations and challenges into their existence. Having both experience and special gifts does help, but at times reality can be more bizarre than anyone can expect. What do you love about this fic? It is a good story with very interesting twists and many great characters

When The Pale Swan Flies by EldritchMage / @eldritchmage | E | 290,646 words | tags: alternate universe - modern setting, circus performer Thranduil, cabinet maker Bard, Thranduil's name is Luka, Bard's name is Taliesin (which is Welsh for Bard), slow burn, Thranduil needs rescuing and Bard is happy to do it | trigger warnings: sexual abuse mentioned, underage sex mentioned, prostitution/pimping mentioned

Summary: A year ago, when a carpenter met a caged bird, his good intentions left despair in their wake. Is he a fool to hope he can atone for his missteps? What do you love about this fic? It's got circus acts! It's got two sad men learning to trust and love again! It's got an epic visit to a grocery store! It's got bad guys getting their just desserts, and everyone else getting delicious Spanish teacake! It's got a cute little boy who finds his voice while making puppets! There's a sad short-story prequel to set the stage, as well! And who doesn't like a parade?

Season of Light and Shadow by EldritchMage / @eldritchmage | E | 914,703 words | tags: alternate universe - modern setting, Thranduil is a ballet dancer, Bard is a building super and welder (and artist), slow burn, NSFW, blended family | trigger warnings: momentary violence, momentary mention of drug use, adult bedroom games

Summary: It's the week before Thanksgiving. In an apartment building somewhere in the middle of New York City, the mood is far from festive. Upstairs in Apartment 5B, an injured ballet dancer is having a rotten day. He's lost his job, he's had to walk home in the snow and rain, getting thoroughly soaked and frozen in the process, and the radiators in his rooms are as cold as the New York City streets. He limps downstairs to vent his fury on the night super who didn't fix the heat. Downstairs in Apartment 2A, the night super is also having a rotten day. No money, three overtired and cranky children, a slapdash boss, and not nearly enough sleep. And now someone is pounding on the door like a SWAT team. When an angel knocks on the door of a saint, neither finds what he expects. But with a little luck, the upcoming holiday season might give them both something to treasure. What do you love about this fic? It's two lonely men forging a blended family! It's got ballet! It's got home renovation! It's got four cutie children! It's got cooking! It's got an artist regaining the wherewithal to make his art! It's got lots of cool side characters (ten points to everyone who spots all the Dwarves :-). It's got lots of steamy love! It's even got 3 short follow-up stories! What's not to like?????? This was my introduction to the world of modern AUs with these two, and oh, it's SO GOOD. The kids are brilliant and so realistically drawn, and the dads are - well, they're incredibly hot. XD And the development of the relationship between them is beautifully done, as they go head-over-heels for each other while trying to take things slowly for the sake of the kids…oh, it's great. :D

[tamurilofrivendell]

Sleeping Beauty | Chapter 14

Previous Chapters [1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13] Read on AO3 [x]

Pairing: Thranduil/Fem. Reader Summary: A Sleeping Beauty inspired tale with Thranduil the Elvenking, and a female elf living in Mirkwood under the care ofRadagast, who is actually the ‘lost’ daughter of the late High King Gil-Galad. Taglist: @hufflepuff1700​​​ @jinlizz-dragondrama​​​ @firelightinferno​​ @bubbleyukismile @coopsgirl @achromaticerebus @sleepyamygdala​​​ @smalltownbigheart​ @qmabailor @genderfluid-anime-goth, @0chemicalwaste0, @deadunicorn159, @silvercobra​ a/n: the way this took so long you've probably all forgotten all about it ashahgdahdj ​​

The rabbits pulled the sleigh through the darkening forest with ease. They moved as if they knew exactly where to go, avoiding every trip hazard on the forest floor. This was normal for them but you could also tell this was not the first time they had taken Radagast to the Elvenking's Halls. You had never ventured this way yourself, always wary of crossing paths with other elves on the road. Radagast did not always speak to you of his short journeys, and he often stayed closer to home generally, but even if he had you likely wouldn't have thought anything of it. A wizard's mind was often sought out, after all.

It was late morning by the time you reached your destination.

The Halls of Thranduil were grand, located next to the Elven settlements around the Mountains. Soon enough, the king would move his palace and his people more north, further across the river. For now, they remained where his father had first led them from Amon Lanc, after the threat of Sauron first began to grow. There were rumours (that had reached you through an owl friend) that the Elvenking had reached out to Dwarves to inquire about assistance with bringing his people underground into some sort of cave system.

This sounded like the worst thing ever to you and you hoped that you would be long gone by then... if by some miracle you did not end up actually having to marry this man.

The elves from the first settlement all had their eyes fixed on the wizard's sleigh as he urged the rabbits onward towards the palace. It was incredibly uncomfortable - you had spent practically your whole life not being perceived at all and all these eyes on you at once, from something other than forest animals, made you feel slightly uneasy.

"Here we are, child." Radagast's voice pulled you back from your thoughts and you turned to look around him, as the great hall of the king came into view.

It was very tall, though not as tall as the trees that surrounded it. It was also beautiful and had clearly been built with something close to love and you thought suddenly what a shame it is that it would be abandoned when the elves finally moved on.

There was not much time to stand and admire your new surroundings, however, as Radagast took your arm to help you off the sleigh and then ushered you inside and past the guards like a stowaway. The curious eyes all turned away once the palace doors were shut but all the elves would surely whisper, trying to decide who you were. They knew the wizard but none knew of any elves he might travel with.

"Welcome, my lady." A voice drew your attention from gazing around at the grandeur of the entrance hall.

"Ah! Feren!" Radagast huffed as the door to the hall closed behind you both with a thump, making you feel very trapped suddenly. The wizard's eyes did a quick scan of those standing in the front of him and then they snapped back to Feren. "Where is the king?"

"I am afraid the king is not here. He had to take care of an urgent matter in the forest." Feren explained, his tone soft though a little regretful.

Radagast's bushy eyebrows shot up. "Not here?" He exclaimed, suddenly seeming as if the worst catastrophe in the world had happened. "Not here! He glanced at you incredulously. "He's not here!" His attention turned back to Feren, who looked startled. "But this is important. Our coming was known in advance, ooh... this is just like Th-"

"Uncle!" You cut him off with a sigh, feeling drained.

Radagast glanced at you and seemed to relax. "Right. Yes, yes... I'm sorry."

It took you a moment to realise the silence had stretched out longer than you had expected and when you glanced back up again, you saw that the elves were staring at you. Feren and the two others, the ladies standing just behind him. Three curious pairs of eyes were trained upon you, as if fascinated by hearing you speak. Feren knew exactly who you were, of course, for he had been informed but to the women, the maids, you were just a strange elleth from somewhere in the forest that the king had brought to stay in his own personal hall, and that made you a curiosity.

Unnerved, you shifted uncomfortably, and eventually sort of shuffled behind Radagast's shoulder as a means of attempting to hide.

Feren blinked and looked away, feeling guilty. He felt bad for making you uncomfortable, you could see it in his eyes, and noticing that did make you feel a little better.

"Come." Feren said, speaking to Radagast again. "The King will return by early evening. We are to show the lady to her room."

You trailed silently behind Radagast and Feren, who spoke fairly amicably as they walked the hall together. The maids took up the rear and, while you knew this wasn't the case, you felt as if you were being herded and prevented from fleeing. You looked around a little more as you walked, having never seen anything like it. The muted colours of the decor made you feel almost like you were still out in the deep woods in autumn. Almost.

"Here we are!" Feren announced cheerfully, stopping outside a large door.

You took a moment to react, your attention having been caught by the large portrait on the wall just outside the door. In an intricate golden frame sat the image of a blond haired male elf with piercing eyes. His hair was quite an icy shade of blond (though not quite as pale as Thranduil's, you noted to yourself), down past his shoulders, and braided very intricately. A large crown sat upon his head, set with gemstones the same colour as the frame.

'Oropher', was inked at the bottom of the image in large looping letters. The Elvenking's father, you realised. As you stared at his face, you couldn't help but think of Lindon, and Gil-Galad, and all you had learned about that fateful day...

It was then that your brain registered Feren's voice and you turned your head. Everyone was staring at you again and your cheeks started to flush the softest shade of pink as you hurriedly stepped towards the door he was now holding open. Radagast ushered you inside and you looked around at your new prison.

It was beautiful, truly. Larger than Radagast's entire cottage. It was too much, you decided, but it was where you were stuck for the time being, and it could certainly be worse. You didn't say anything else and Feren almost seemed disappointed, as if he had wanted to hear you speak again.

"Well, uh." He said, slightly flustered, glancing at Radagast before looking back at you. Then he gave you a little bow that made you stare at him like he'd just snapped a rabbit's neck in front of you. You frowned until you realised why he'd done it.

You were royalty.

Oh.

"I will leave you to settle in." He continued, as if not noticing your surprise. "The king will return before nightfall. He is most... eager to meet you." It was a small lie on Feren's part. When Thranduil had left the hall that morning, just before your arrival, he had seemed anything but eager. In fact, he seemed almost to be dreading it but Feren decided it was best to keep that to himself.

You turned and walked further into the room, looking around at the decor and furniture and all the space. It was far too big, too grand, but you realised this was the sort of thing you would have been born into as well. You would probably have grown up in a palace like this. You simply could not imagine it.

Feren and Radagast stood for a few moments longer, mumbling at the door together but you paid no mind. Feren soon left and Radagast tried to help you settle in with your things but you had no desire to unpack your bag. You did not want to feel like you were moving in, like you were staying here, though of course that's exactly what was happening.

You denied the help of the maids too and, eventually, they all left you alone with your thoughts. You were still so overwhelmed from all you had learned the previous day, and how quickly everything had changed. You poked around the room for a while and then you moved to sit glumly by the large window. The position of the room in the tower gave you the view of one of the settlements below but that was not what drew your gaze.

Instead, you stared longingly out over the forest, thinking of your home, your woodland friends... and Thranduil, who would be expecting to meet you in the clearing soon, but you would not come.

The clearing was quiet as Thranduil stood there, fingers stroking over his elk's fur as he waited patiently.

Another hour of standing there was when the impatience crept in.

Where were you?! It was well past the agreed upon meeting time. The sun was high in the sky by now. It was the beginning of a beautiful day but he could not bring himself to really enjoy it. Thranduil was aware that by now the girl - the princess - would be at his halls. He would have to return after meeting your uncle and he would have to try and keep the wizard from pushing any talk of marriage.

He had made his decision already. He would marry only one woman. You.

...if you ever showed up!

"Where is she?" Thranduil muttered to his elk as another half hour passed by. He could not linger out here for much longer. He had duties to attend to. He had a realm to rule, people to protect, an Enchantress to drive out.

The elk made a sound in response but Thranduil was not listening. He was suddenly standing very still, his eyes flitting around every inch of the area, peering through the trees at the edge of the clearing.

Was someone here?

Where he would have thought to feel excitement (he was expecting you, after all) he instead felt dread. He had the eeriest feeling that he was being watched. The hairs on the back of his neck had started to stand on end and there was a shiver up his spine.

The birds had also stopped singing, he realised. Where moments ago there had been chatter, now there was dead silence.

Thranduil moved then. If his own instincts had not been enough, the behaviour of the woodland animals confirmed to him that something was amiss.

He turned and jumped up onto the elk and then they were moving, leaving the clearing behing. There was a deep disappointment in his gut as he travelled back towards his palace.

Why had you not shown up? Had you changed your mind? Had your uncle prevented you? Had something bad happened? Thranduil could not even easily find out what was wrong because he knew not where to even start looking for you. His heart felt heavy as he rode back towards the mountains. Would he just never see you again?

Back in the clearing, the figure of the Enchantress stepped out from between the trees, narrowed eyes fixed on the Elvenking's retreating figure. Her lips were turned up in what could only be called a snarl and she was glaring after him with contempt. She too had come here looking for you and instead she had found that Radagast had secreted you away, just like when you were a baby. The fact Thranduil seemed not to realise that you and the princess were one and the same did not fill her with as much amusement as she would have liked.

The fact that he and Radagast had hidden you away behind the walls of Thranduil's palace, when she was so close, angered her. She had hoped that things would not progress quite so quickly now that she had finally found you, and that she might have had another encounter with you here in the clearing you frequented.

Thranduil was lucky to leave here alive, she thought to herself. She ought to have had his head right here!

Still, she thought, there was no fun in that. He would not come out victorious, none of them would. You could not be saved. The curse was in motion and it could not be stopped. It was only a matter of time and if they thought an Elven stronghold could save you, they were mistaken. She could get you anywhere.

A smirk soon replaced the scowl as the Enchantress melted back into the cover of the trees.

[sotwk]

To the honorable Elvenking and Elvenqueen (whoever would like to reply),

My boyfriend of 3 years and I broke up recently, and while we still both want to be friends, I find myself resentful and unwilling to see him. Am I wrong for that? Should I attempt to force through my resentment?

Respectfully yours,

Anonymous

I hên nín*,

Three turns around the sun is a long time to place your heart in another’s keeping. It would therefore be a painful thing to sever such a bond, whether the choice came from you willingly or not. I am sorry for any sorrow you may be feeling, and I pray you afford yourself extra kindness and consideration.

In all partnerships, one half will never feel exactly the same as the other. It is not wrong or abnormal to feel exactly as you have described. Moving a relationship from a place of high intimacy back to a normal friendship places a great strain on your mind and heart. 

While your desire to remain friends is admirable and not impossible to achieve, this is a challenge that I would advise you not to take on while in recovery. Pushing yourself to engage with your former love before you are truly ready may only cause you to act with bitterness, and I do not believe you wish that for him.

Long ago, when the King and I came to an impasse in our courtship and were forced to part ways, I could not in my grief bear even the sight of him. Thranduil felt differently and could scarcely let me leave, but he did so for my sake. Many years later, after we had the time and space to grow and better ourselves, we reunited as friends, and discovered that the separation had prepared us as individuals to become one.

Whatever the future holds for you, dear one, right now you must focus on your own well-being. Take comfort, for nothing ever ails the heart that time cannot heal. Do not deprive yourself of this important medicine by forcing wellness. Take as many days as you need, and decide on a path once pain will no longer be an influence. A true friend would respect this need. 

His Grace sends you his regards and hopes, as I do, that you find peace and return to good spirits very soon. 

Cuio vae**, 

Maereth

Elvish: *My child / **Be/live well

This "Dear Elvenking/Elvenqueen" game is part of SotWK's Summer Campfire Sleepover 2024. (Requests accepted only on July 11-15, 2024.)

ANONS ARE ACCEPTED for this game ONLY.

How to Participate: Need advice or a chance to vent over a problem? Send a quick letter to King Thranduil and/or Queen Maereth, and one of them will respond with some loving parental wisdom!

[imakemywings]

I THOUGHT YOU WERE JOKING ABOUT THE 'ELROND CALLING ELWING A CUNT' thing. But here I am, a newbie just going through fics one after the other of Elwing being called so many names and being humiliated, while the kidnap fam is uplifted. WHAT IS GOING ON. I could smell misogynistic from a mile away holy moly. But I have read your fics (I FUCKING LOVE IT) and I want more. May I also ask for some ELWING FIC RECS.

Oh no, that was a very literal example. My heart goes out to you in this difficult time of unfortunate realizations, anon.

But I am delighted to share some quality Elwing fic! ╰(*°▽°*)╯ (And thank you, I'm glad you liked mine!)

And by their blazing signify that a great princess falls, but doth not die by TheLionInMyBed is an absolutely phenomenal look at Elwing's last moments in Sirion.

The One with All the Birds by clothono and yes I know this one comes up every time I'm asked for Elwing recs, but it really is so delightful, and all the other characters who appear in it are so well-characterized and engaging. The bizarre connection that Elwing and Nerdanel share, both waiting for their children to return, is so interesting!

Elwing's Strategy by lifeisyetfair is another examination of why Elwing chose as she did in Sirion. Both Elwing and Maedhros are characterized so well, it's delicious.

The Carriage Held but Just Ourselves by StarSpray is an exploration of the line of Melian and Thingol's relationship with death. The whole fic is fantastic, but chapter 3 specifically deals with Elwing.

Elvenkings by am_fae is such a beautiful and sad look at the Doriathrim after the fall of the kingdom. It focuses on several characters, but Elwing is one of them and it handles her so well!

A Fish Hook, an Open Eye by simaetha is a tasty, dark Elwing/f!Maglor where things don't go quite according to plan when Maglor comes to negotiate with Elwing in Sirion.

Après Moi, le Déluge by HerenorThereNearnorFar is such a heartbreaking and tender look at Elwing's relationship with her children.

The Longed For That Cometh Beyond Hope by am_fae does an excellent job capturing the energy of the moments just after Earendil and Elwing secure the Valar's aid against Morgoth.

Was Dancing There by StarSpray is a quick, sweet look at Elrond's childhood with Elwing in Sirion and what remains of the heritage of the Doriathrim.

A Fiend in Feline Shape by Aipilosse deals with the house of Dior and Nimloth generally; Elwing is not the focus, but she is in it, and it's a delightful fic.

Less Flesh than Stone by crackinthecup is the confrontation in Aman that Elwing deserves with Maedhros.

Ebb and Flow by swanmaiden. Elwing is feeling the strain of her pregnancy and Earendil is so gallant as to help her out how he can. I really love how this fic shows the support these two had from their community in Sirion.

Joy is a Bird, a Fragile Thing by estuarie is a deeply touching reunion between Elwing and Elrond in Valinor TT_TT

Friendship and Stern Demand by polutropos is a fantastic look at the correspondence between Elwing and Maedhros prior to the Third Kinslaying.

From the Ones Who Came Before by Kirta is a great look at Elwing and Earendil's life growing up in the Havens. I am always a fan of childhood friends-to-lovers Starwing.

How Big, How Blue, How Beautiful by swanmaids is a great series of scenes of Earendil and Elwing and their life in Sirion, and dealing with the trauma of their childhood.

A Light Burns in the Forest by tinnurin is about how Elwing escaped Menegroth during the Second Kinslaying with Oropher and Thranduil. Really captures how terrifying and chaotic the assault on Doriath would have been.

We Build Castles with Our Fears and Sleep in Them Like Kings and Queens by TheLionInMyBed is more about Idril, but it does also take a look at Idril's relationship with Elwing.

So Summer Comes by potatoesanddreams does a beautiful job of exploring how Elwing's trauma and grief sometimes make it hard for her to be present for her kids while remaining sympathetic.

A Loss of Something I Ever Felt by Arriviste is a fic about Finarfin, but section 4 has his meeting Elwing and Earendil, and it is overall such a beautiful and well-written fic.

At the Water's Edge by crackinthecup takes a look at Elwing's relationship with Idril and what they share in terms of traumatic experiences.

Coastin' by swanmaiden. Heather handles these characters with such love and it really shows! Earendil is always looking to please his wife ;D

Beacon by polutropos has that yummy Starwing reunion smut after Earendil returns to port. A really fun married couple dynamic here!

For Elwing positivity in general I have to @swanmaids because she is the #1 Elwing stan that I know of, so if you want a blog to follow which is 100% pro-Elwing, there she is!

[anneangel]

When I try to explain why 'I love' and 'don't love' The Hobbit, trilogy and book:

Peter Jackson, screenwriters, Warner Bros executive directors: Do you like The Hobbit Trilogy?

Me: oh, yes. I love 90% of it. And the cast is wonderful and the soundtrack incredible. I love 'movie Smaug', and I find interesting that the dwarves gain more prominence than in the book, transforming them into more central characters in the plot.

Peter Jackson, screenwriters, WB: What are your criticisms about it?

Me: There are many good scenes from the original plot that were changed for the movie without need because were already good in the book, many tense scenes in the book were transformed into 'action scenes', such as the escape from the Misty Mountains, Mirkwood and the escape in the barrels. And why revive Azog when just Bolg would be enough? And you guys shit on the character Beorn. And, well, the name of the movies are 'The Hobbit', there should be more Bilbo in this, right?

Peter Jackson, screenwriters, WB: So you like the book that much?

Me: oh, yes, I love 95% of it.

Peter Jackson, screenwriters, WB: Do you even have something honest criticisms of book?

Me: well, there could be SOME female participation, and I could follow Gandalf's journey to the White Council and Dol Guldur, both happen, but in the plot of the book it 'll not be narrated to us because the focus is on Bilbo and only him. And Thranduil doesn't even have a name, he's just called the 'Elvenking' of the Forest, let alone his son Legolas. Radagast is underused and only mentioned once. I would like more to be 'narrated' than 'told' to us. Understand? More dialogues actually describing what they went through, and less summarizing as 'after much deliberation they decided', it's something told. Maybe if the book was more 'narrated' than 'told', then it would be much bigger than it is. Well, It would be interesting to see the narrative from more perspectives.

Peter Jackson, screenwriters, WB: but that's exactly what we try to deliver in the movies! We gave you Galadriel, Tauriel and gave you Bard's daughters, hey, there's your female representation. And we gave you the White Council and Dol Guldur, we gave you more Elrond, and Radagast and even Saruman. We even gave you a badass and handsome Thranduil and we even gave you Legolas. Fuck you, we even gave you Frodo!

Me: Correct. I like the fillers created for the trilogy, nothing against them, the intention was great, the actors play their characters very fine and everyone did wonders with what they had, truly cool, the problem is that I don't like the PLOT of the fillers. Only that.

Peter Jackson, screenwriters, WB: So, in your opinion, the problem is our bad writing plot for fillers?

Me: oh, that's right. Exactly. With the exception of this, everything else was very good.

Peter Jackson, screenwriters, WB: But you can't just blame us! Others also failed miserably in this production, right?

Me: Oh, but the costume designers did relatively fine, cinematographers and art directors too, with the exception of Beorn's design, everything else is tolerable. Even if it wasn't faithful to the book on some aspects, but that's why it's called 'adaptation'. Including the CGI was 'ok', which many complain about, but I think it's an excessive criticism because it's reasonable compared to other current Worldwide Box Office movies similar to The Hobbit Trilogy.

Peter Jackson, screenwriters, WB: So, for you, what really left something to be desired was the plot written of the fillers and plot of changed scenes? Is it?

Me: Oh, yeah. I wouldn't be so critical of the 'need' for to be three movies, if the filler plot and new scenes was better written. But hey, I still like a lot about The Hobbit, whether it's the book or the movies. For example, now just talking about The Hobbit makes me want to read my favorite parts of the book and watch my favorite parts of the trilogy! Haha! Understand now?

[synfulscript]

Lindon Evening Banquet by Roberto F. Castro

. · ˚ ✧ ★ 𝕎𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕦𝕤𝕥 ★ ✧ ˚ · .

INTRODUCTION.

Hello! I am Syn. I have a little over a decade of writing and role-playing experience under my belt.​ As a role play partner, I would consider myself passionate, communicative, enthusiastic, and friendly.​

⋆ My writing style is advanced literate/descriptive novella and I typically write in the third person, past and present tense.​ I write anywhere from a paragraph (5+ sentences) to multiple paragraphs, and I will generally match my partner's posts.​ The word count for my replies typically sits between 400 and 900 words, but may at times exceed beyond this range.​ 

⋆ M x F is preferred pairing-wise, and the gender of my character is of little consequence to me, as I am comfortable writing both sides of the coin. I am LGBTQ+ friendly​.

THE SEARCH.

With that out of the way, I should mention that this ad is strictly for LOTR/Tolkien-verse RP. Yes, I have read the Silmarillion. I will absolutely not be touching Rings of Power content, so I politely request that you refrain from asking.

EXPECTATIONS.

⋆ I will under no circumstances write with anyone under the age of 18. Minors do not interact.

⋆ Communication is a plus, I like to be in the loop. I will do my best to inform you if, for whatever reason, I cannot reply for a period of time. I expect a role-play partner to do the same. Real life always comes first! I am pretty flexible regarding RP partner availability and reply frequency.​

⋆ I will not respond to anything shorter than 5 sentences as I need something to work off of in order to maintain and foster my muse. Minimal grammar/spelling mistakes please. That being said, I will not have an aneurysm if you make mistakes.​

⋆ I prefer writing in discord. For the sake of my (and your) sanity, I request that we create a discord server for our role play in order to maintain some sense of organization.​

⋆ Please collaborate with me! Approach me with any ideas/questions/concerns and we can work something out. I love to brainstorm, as well as create and share head-canons, one-shots, playlists, edits, and aesthetics.​

⋆ My work will often contain mature themes; As such, I expect to be made aware of any and all triggers so that I may be conscious and respectful of them. Do not be afraid to advocate for yourself.​

⋆ Plot over porn. I am more than willing to write explicit content, but I prefer to go with what feels natural for the characters and the flow of the story, and work it in that way rather than slapping in sex scenes willy nilly.. I generally sit within the 80/20 to 70/30 story to smut ratio range.​

⋆ I will allow power play if specifics are discussed beforehand. I will never endeavor to control your character without your explicit permission.​

⋆ I prefer original characters to have some sort of character sheet that I can review in order to get to know them, accompanied with some sort of realistic visual reference (realistic art or picture.)

PAIRINGS I'M LOOKING FOR.

⋆ Lord of Rivendell (Elrond Peredhel) x Elvish Wife OC (Alternatively, Celebrian is fine)

⋆ The Elvenking (Thranduil Son of Oropher) x Elvish Wife OC

[johnmurphysgirl]

A THOUSAND SUNSETS CHAPTER TWO {AO3 link}

PREVIOUS CHAPTER LINK

THE AIR CHARGES WITH TENSION when Bilbo climbs up onto the rampart, his eyes narrowed in concentration before they widen in disbelief, nearly toppling off it at the sight of Balin. Bilbo smiles sheepishly. He feels like a naughty hobbit boy who’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Balin steadies him with ease, looking at Bilbo akin to the way Gandalf had when he’d insisted on coming back. Bilbo sucks in a breath. His guilt easily read as it flashes in his eyes as he looks at the older dwarf. Damn it. Everything feels wrong. He’s the reason behind the utter wrongness.

Balin places a hand on Bilbo’s shoulder, and the hobbit’s head shoots upwards to look at the dwarf. “You should leave, lad, we're stubborn folk.” He briefly closes his eyes in pain for the hobbit. Balin knows Thorin, and while he should be loyal to his King only, he’s grown to love Bilbo. “When Thorin finds out what you’ve done.”

When Thorin finds out what you’ve done.

All the more reason to stay, Bilbo thinks, while shaking his head adamantly. He crosses his arms across his chest in determination. Bilbo had thought about just staying behind with Gandalf, when he’d made the trek back, and even before he climbed back onto the rampart. There’s a part of him that knows what Thorin will do. It’s the part of him that thinks no matter how he’d had no ill intent, he’s still a traitor and deserves to feel Thorin’s wrath.

The other part of him yearns to catch even the smallest glimpse of Thorin. One last time, and Bilbo prays to Mahal, Manwë, Yavanna, anything that will listen to him that once Thorin has the arkenstone from Bard and the elvenking, then surely Thorin will see reason. Once forced to honor the agreement maybe he’ll see Bilbo. Maybe he’ll be the Thorin Bilbo had fallen in love with.

“No.” Bilbo sighs. “I can’t just leave. I’m part of this company. I swore I’d do what I can.”

That was before you betrayed him, taunted his mind. Before you stole from him. Think he’ll want your help? His mind is laughing at him now. Fool.

Balin’s sympathetic smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You will always be our friend, laddie. Don’t you forget that, even if he does.”

Touched. Bilbo is touched at Balin’s words, and he feels like he could cry. Scream from the rampart, even, but he does none of it. Instead he gives Balin a thankful, watery smile. At that moment, Bard decided to make his appearance known, and with it, Thorin approaches the Rampart. Bilbo feels frozen.

“No,” he whispers. What have I done? And yet, he can’t take it back. There is no going back from this, and now he has to face it. Despite his falter, his wavering smile, and the turmoil of panic and pain coursing through his little veins, Bilbo takes a step. And then another. Until he’s directly behind Thorin, his chest nearly heaving as he ignores the concerned gazes of Fili and Kili. He doesn’t deserve their concern.

“We ask you, King under the Mountain, O King, to rethink your previous answer to our parlay!” Bard calls up to them.

“And why would I do that?” Demands Thorin, looking around his company as if expecting them to laugh at the ridiculousness. Which, some do, minus himself and Balin.

Bilbo sucks in a breath which goes unheard as Thranduil holds up high the sparkling gem of the arkenstone. Thorin sucks in a disbelieving breath.

“Impossible,” he mutters. “A trick! You dare to make it look as if you have the arkenstone when it is in this very mountain? You dare try to trick me, the King?”

And this, is exactly why Bilbo had do this, had to betray them. This isn’t Thorin. It just isn’t. The hobbit closes his eyes and swallows the lump in his throat, but no matter what he does it just will not go down.

“It’s not a trick,” Bilbo pipes up, and he notes in dismay how Thorin’s shoulders tense at the sound of his voice. How Thorin slowly turns around to face him. Bilbo squares his shoulders and meets Thorin’s gaze, steadier than he feels. “I gave them the arkenstone.”

A breath. He could hear it all around them, all the dwarfs disbelief, and loudest of all Thorin’s.

“You?” The words are uttered as if Thorin is breathless, as if he were clinging to the soft wind, begging, pleading for Bilbo to tell him it isn’t true. The betrayal cut him far deeper than anyone could realize. “Why would you do this?” His throat bobs, as if every muscle is restraining from grabbing ahold of Bilbo at this very moment. His veins popping out of his forehead make Bilbo’s eyes narrow in concern.

“You’ve changed, Thorin,” Bilbo says with only brief hesitation. His heart palpitates inside his chest like a ticking time bomb ready to explode, or implode whichever happens quickest. “The Dwarf I know would never go back on his word. The dwarf I know would never turn helpless people away, like you’d been done. The dwarf I..” His voice falters, and he has to choke back a sob. “I took it as my fourteenth share.”

The five stages of grief flicker across Thorin’s face as if he’d been stabbed, and he reels backwards as if he’d been burned. Thorin settles on anger. Before anyone can process what he’s doing, he’s grabbing Bilbo by his collar and shaking him amidst the protests of the Company.

“You know nothing,” Thorin hisses. “Nothing. Do not speak to me about change, and least of all about your share. You can claim nothing you miserable, pathetic excuse of a rat!” With each word, Thorin leads him closer to the edge of the rampart.

“Uncle wait!”

It could’ve been Kili. It could’ve been Fili. In all honesty, Bilbo has no idea, because blood rushes in his ears and all he can see is Thorin’s anger and the hurt, and damn it if it doesn’t encompass the hobbit as if he’d been dunked in the iciest, coldest water.

“Thorin.”

Balin, maybe. Bilbo can’t think, he can hardly breathe.

“Thorin, please.”

Him, now. Begging for a chance, begging for Thorin to see him. Bilbo tries to reach his hand out to run it across Thorin’s face, as if touching him would make this all go away. As if it would wake him up. He yearns to touch him. Yearns to plant the acorn he wanted to give to him, and hold him and tell him that he’d wear Mithril for a thousand years if it meant for a chance at his side. If it meant he could stay. If it meant he had a home, and not the hobbit hole in Bag-End. Erebor. Because there is no home for him in Bag-End if he doesn’t have Thorin.

Wherever Thorin is. That’s home.

“Please,” Bilbo pleads again. “Come back to me, Thorin. This isn’t you. It.. It’s not you.” His voice is barely a whisper and yet full of tangible pain, nearly choking him like dust. His heart aflame in despondency.

“Throw him from the rampart!”

Thorin’s order comes at a shock, not only for Bilbo, but for the rest of the Company as well. Thorin shoves Bilbo away from him. He arches a Kingly brow as if to say ‘well?’ But nobody moves. Bilbo’s eyes fill with tears as he looks to each member of the company, who refused to throw him. Refused to kill him. Even against orders from their king. He does not wish for it to be hard on them. Nor does he wish Thorin’s wrath on them either.

“It’s okay.” Bilbo takes a deep breath, despite Fili and Kili’s shake of their head, or Balin’s watery smile, or Bofur’s distress. Despite Bifur and Bombur’s plead, or Nori, Ori and Dori’s pain. Óin, Glóin.. “Do what you have to do, what he.. what he wishes…”

His own willingness to sacrifice himself is interrupted by the indignant noise of Gandalf down below.

“If you do not like my burgular, King Oakenshield, then return him. Do not damage him!”

While Thorin is distracted, Bofur grabs Bilbo with a wavering hand and urges him to climb. And so climb he does far away from those he called family. From Thorin. The words he could not say trapped behind a fortress.